After dinner, my mother insists everyone go back to their own homes. Peeta needs his rest. Johanna and Gale return to their house. Effie goes to Haymitch's. Delly takes one of the rooms at Effie's. Her old home, like all the homes outside of Victor's Village, was destroyed in the firebombing. She hasn't gone into Town yet. I can't blame her. She lost her entire family in the bombing. Only a few of the merchants made it out. Gale thinks the Capitol targeted the bakery first. Delly's family was only two shops down. I try not to blame myself, but I think the blood of District 12 will always stain my heart.
After redressing Peeta's bandages and doing some quick reflex exercises, my mother retires so her room. I can tell she wanted to say something before she left as she hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, but she just turned away.
"You really didn't need to go have brain surgery to get my attention," I whisper.
"I've been trying for years to get your attention, I thought this would finally do it," he teases back. We lie on the couch together for a while in the dark. I listen to his heart thud in his chest. He feels me breathe. It's platonic and intimate all the same. I play with his hands, running my fingers along his. He twirls his fingers lazily in my hair.
"I missed you," I whisper.
"I'm glad," he whispers back.
Peeta takes my hand and brings it up to his lips. They are soft and dry. He presses a chaste kiss on my knuckles. The kisses trail down the length of my fingers. He kisses the flat of my palm, and my stomach whirls in excitement. I pull his hand to my mouth and kiss his palm back. It reminds me a little of our time before the Quell.
We stand outside the door to my room. The day on the roof has only reaffirmed my decision to keep him alive in the arena. Peeta lives. I know he'd lose it if he knew what I was thinking, so I only say, "What should we do with our last few days?"
"I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you," Peeta replies.
"Come on, then," I say, pulling him into my room.
Peeta doesn't have pajamas. He offers to go back to his to get them, but I worry the door will lock behind him. "It's fine," I say. We go to the bathroom to get ready for bed. He swishes a minty mouthwash through his teeth while I brush my hair. I try my hardest to get him to laugh - poking his sides and tickling his neck, but he manages to keep it together until he spits the rinse into the sink.
"You are awful," he says. I give him a devilish grin.
We retreat to the bedroom. I dozed off for a bit on the roof, and I'm not really all that tired. Peeta looks out my window and down at the people on the street.
"The Capitol looks alive from up here. Like a living, breathing thing." I look down and can see what he's saying. The energy below almost beats like a heart. The crowd ebbs and swells like the city is inhaling and exhaling. The tiny people look like they move as one, part of a colony where the parts make up the whole. I want to kill it. I pull the curtains closed harshly. Peeta looks at me.
"Let's not think about them tonight. For once, let's just be you and me, and not worry about the audience," I say. He smiles shyly and nods.
I crawl in bed and Peeta joins me after removing his leg. We lay on our sides facing one another. "I don't want to be with anyone else when we are in there," I say, referring to the Arena. "Just you and me."
"Okay," Peeta says, and a weight lifts from my chest. Just me and Peeta. He reaches down and takes my hand in his. I've always found his hands fascinating - the way they knead bread, they way they pull a brush across a canvas, or the way they tuck a stray hair behind my ear. I pull his hand up to my mouth and press a kiss into his palm. It's meant to be a friendly kiss, but I can feel the air tingling around me. Peeta inches himself closer to me, and I don't pull away. He pulls our clasped hands between our faces and kisses my hand back.
Peeta's lips linger, and my body is alight. I pull my hand from his and begin tracing his face with my fingers. I draw my hand along his cheek. I curl it behind his ear and trace his jawline. He breathes out a ragged breath, and I know I'm not being fair, but I have so few moments left in my life. I want to memorize what his jaw feels like before I lose my fight to stay alive. I creep closer still, and avoid his eyes. My fingers continue from his jaw, across his cheek, and lightly cross his lips. I can feel his blue eyes on mine, but I just stare at his mouth as I trace his mouth with my thumb. He pulls forward still. My thumb rests flatly on his lips and he presses our mouths together. We aren't technically kissing each other - my thumb is between our lips - but we kiss as if it's not. I can't feel his lips, but I can feel his breath on mine. I can feel his body pressed into me. He's right there.
I wanted to drop my hand that night, but I couldn't. I was crippled with fear. It was like kissing him, but not. Now I'm laying with my head on his chest, and I prop myself up on an elbow look up at Peeta's face. He looks so much older than he did then. His time in the Capitol aged him, as did the War, and the Arena. It did me too. I take my fingers and trace his face. He leans into my hand. I brush my thumb along his lips and I feel his eyes on me. This time, I meet them. I lean forward and kiss him, my thumb in the way again. He kisses back, but this time he grabs my wrist and pulls my hand away. His mouth is on mine fully now. I can feel the heat of his lips. His tongue darts out and caresses my bottom lip. I open my mouth to let him in and his tongue is dancing with mine. We are both panting into each other. I pull myself on top of him and trail kisses along the jawline I'd memorized so long ago. He moans softly into my hair and I cover his mouth.
"Shhh… my mother." For the first time, we feel like a couple of teenagers. I feel him smile against my hand and we both end up giggling. Peeta is near tears laughing when we hear my mother at the top of the stairs. I roll off Peeta and curl back into his side. I close my eyes and try to wipe the smirk off my face. I can feel his chest hiccuping in suppressed laughter. I sense my mother over us and his chest stills. We both feign sleep as she feels his forehead and cheeks, checking for any sign of fever. She makes a few minor adjustments to his bandages and sneaks back upstairs. We both burst out laughing.
Breakfast the next morning is raucous. After weeks of tension and stress, we finally feel like we can breathe. Gale is losing it laughing as Johanna impersonates Delly trying to swim. Delly is blushing and smiling, but is still beaming with pride when she tells Peeta she swam a whole three feet by herself.
"It's true, I saw it," added Gale. "And she was much more graceful than Johanna is giving her credit for." Delly smiles gratefully at Gale.
Peeta is stationary in a kitchen chair, with all of us buzzing around him. Delly brings Peeta a third helping of pancakes, and he groans.
"I can't do any more, Delly. I'm going to burst," he whines, rubbing his stomach.
"You are a tiny thing and you need to eat up!" Effie chimes in. This is the first time many of them have seen Effie wigless. I hope they didn't expect her to act as different as she looks, because sans make-up Effie is still as uptight and regimental as ever. Her hair falls simply at her shoulders, and for the first time I see Gale interact with her like she isn't the outcast of our group. He crosses to Peeta's seat.
"I'll take care of those, Peet," Gale says and picks up the plate, shoveling the pancakes into his mouth. I watch as Johanna tries to steal a bite from his dish and Gale stabs at her fingers with the fork playfully. She smears some maple syrup on her finger and threatens to thread it through his hair. Gale takes off and they chase each other around the kitchen.
"I think we are going to need to separate those two," Haymitch winks at me. A loud crash indicates Johanna has knocked something over, and I can see my mother trying to restrain herself from scolding everyone in the room, when Effie takes care of it for her.
"Johanna Mason! A lady does not chase men around the house!" Effie decries.
"Well, in case you missed it, Effie, I'm no lady." Gale bursts out laughing. I don't think I've ever seen him laugh as much as I have in the last couple of days. He looks nice smiling. Much less like the fiery, angry man I'd grown apart from.
"Well, one can aspire to greater things," Effie concludes. We all help clean up breakfast except for Haymitch, who I don't think knows how to clean. I wonder how Effie can stand being at his home, but the smell has improved dramatically since he stopped vomiting on the floor.
That afternoon Effie and Delly sit on the porch gossiping like schoolgirls. Gale and Johanna have disappeared on a hike into the woods. Peeta is sleeping inside after the commotion of breakfast wound down. My mother is upstairs in her room.
Haymitch and I sit a ways off, watching Delly and Effie whispering. Had the fate of geography not separated them, I think Effie and Delly could have been thick as thieves. I could see Effie guiding Delly through manners and appropriate dinner discourse and fashion, and Delly thriving in it. Effie looks back at us and smiles. She really is stunning when she's not hiding under make-up.
"I don't think you're alone anymore, Haymitch," I say.
"Not even if I wanted to be," he says back.
I suspect this time, Effie is here to stay.