Unlike the driving route, the walk to Peeta's apartment is quicker than expected, wandering down side streets and in between buildings like a snake moving through blades of grass. Together we walk side by side, few words spoken as Peeta allows me time to process the information that finally seems to connect with me tonight.
Thinking it through again, I realize that intimacy for people with HIV is something that can be incredibly difficult. Concerns about exposure, transmission, and their overall health all seem to combine with the socially important questions of public responsibility – do they have to disclose their status with intimate partners? Do they have to tell people even if their viral load is low and they use protection?
It all seems to swirl in my head as I realize this is a much bigger issue than just the act itself. People with HIV aren't necessarily free to make their own decisions – all across North America I'm hearing stories about HIV positive people being brought up on assault charges for not disclosing their status and I'm appalled.
But I don't know if it's because I'm sad they didn't disclose, or that they were told they have to?
"Penny for your thoughts?" Peeta breaks in as we round out of an alleyway and onto his street. I look up from my shoes, meeting his soft smile in the pale lights from the street lamps.
"Just thinking about everything. It's a lot to take in. I don't think I realized how many things it changes, being positive, not really," I reply. Peeta nods his agreement and I feel his hand brush up hesitantly against mine. I don't pause to take it. I know too that this, this moment of questioning and reassurance, will be a constant note for us. I take his hand gladly, hopefully expressing my willingness without words.
"I know with Prim you probably got a pretty good jump into the pool – she told me the whole diagnosis was out of left field for you – but looking at it from the other side and seeing how much it does actually change things can be a shock." Pulling open the door to his building, he waves me on by and follows me up the stairs. Stepping into his apartment he wordlessly takes my coat, flicking on the light as he hangs it at the entrance. Moving towards the kitchen with ease, I watch him putter around, pulling glassware from the cupboards and turning the oven on in a matter of moments.
"Do you need help with anything?" I ask after a minute, leaning against a counter as he grabs a wrapped tray from the fridge.
"Nope. I'm just going to heat up the lasagna and garlic bread then we can eat. What do you want to drink?" he asks brightly, his mood so very different from the last time he asked me that question here.
"Just some water." Nodding, he ushers us over to sit on the rickety bar stools that circle the beat up kitchen island so that we're facing each other, finally able to really look at one another. The silence fills with easy banter, discussions of our days and the centre and everything that has kept us busy over the past week. It's easily the lightest part of my day, distracting and fun, the moment reminding me of how enjoyable it is to just hangout with someone without any restrictions or expectations.
When the beep notifies us that the oven is ready I know it could not have come at a more perfect time as I realize I'm rambling slightly, my jokes coming more randomly as Peeta laughs heartily at me.
"What's your favourite colour?" Peeta asks out of the blue, getting to his feet quickly and moving to place the tray in the oven.
"Green, like the forest," I reply, smiling at his ease of conversation.
"Really? Like, fresh spring green or late summer green? I'm a painter, you know, so these details are important," he questions and joins me at a stool beside me.
"More like an evergreen forest. How about you?"
"Well, see, that's a hard question to answer. I like orange best, I think, but not like, vibrant pylon orange. More like the orange of a fading sunset with warmth and some reds. It reminds me of when I was a kid." I listen closely; enthralled by the way he describes growing up and playing soccer until the sunset only to watch the sky darken.
"So you were big into soccer then?" I imagine a small Peeta with bouncing blonde curls tumbling over the grassy field and the thought makes me smile.
"I was – at least, I guess, until I broke my leg. It was pretty bad and just before the last season in senior year. Kind of..." He pauses, catching my eye. "It kind of became the vicious cycle that got me into this mess – if you know what I mean?"
I stare at him, a little surprised that he's broaching this so quickly. Nodding, I hope he continues, wanting him to tell me as much as he's willing to. I don't know why I want to know, just that it seems important right now.
I watch as a half-cocked smile sprouts on his lips and he moves his hands emphatically as though throwing caution to the wind. "I'll just get it out there. It was a car crash; Rye had been out drinking and needed a ride home. I went and got him so our Mum wouldn't find out and go bezerk. She didn't really have the easy temperament, if you get me? Anyways, I was bringing him home and another car t-boned us. Fractured a good portion of my leg and put us both in the hospital. Mum was pissed. Sued everyone, got me hyped on painkillers so that I could start training for the season – "
"Wait, what? She made you train?" I gasp, appalled.
"Soccer was my ticket to school – we couldn't afford it otherwise. So yeah, I trained. I was on all of these kinds of pills, 5, 10, too many a day and then eventually, I guess, it wasn't enough. The pain was incredible and it wasn't just in my leg anymore. It was everywhere, eating away at me. The rehab folks told me it was all the pills I was taking. Anyways, I moved on to the harder stuff, just trying to get by and deal with the pressure of school and my mother. I barely graduated high school before I was in deep with heroin. "
"But your mum – " I start, angered at his mother for pushing him so hard.
"No Katniss, that's something that you learn in rehab when you're getting better. My Mum was tough, and yeah she probably encouraged me too much in the wrong direction, but it was me who should have said no. I didn't have to start taking the drugs or keep training or shoot up for the first time. As much as that relationship contributed to my choices, it was still me who fucked myself up. And I have to own that."
He pauses and I don't know what to say. This is a lot for a first date. This is a lot to take in period. I brush the loose strands of hair back from my forehead and meet his gaze.
"Peeta," I start, unsure of where I'm going with this.
"Yeah, I know. Sorry – I guess," he smiles sheepishly and grabs for my hand, holding it tightly. "I'm not at all trying to freak you out. I promise. I just thought – maybe it would be easier to just... Tell you and have it be over with? Then you know the basics and we can just, go from there?"
"Yeah – okay. Um. Okay." I digest his words and let them sink in. They're not too much of a shock. I knew already the big bad in his history, his reasoning was solid. "You're right." I swallow the lump in my throat and pull my thoughts together. "So I know that then. How long did it go on for, can I ask?"
"Of course. I bounced around for about a year, then went to my first round of rehab because my Mum basically had me committed. When I finished I moved back home and just relapsed hard. Moved out, lived from place to place for a while. Then I started getting sick. I guess from there you can probably get where I'm coming from? Rye only found out how bad off I was when he got a call from the hospital. I'd come in strung out and half-starved and they needed a next of kin just in case I took a turn for the worse. That's when I was tested and it sobered me right up like a bucket of cold water. He got me into a heavy-duty treatment facility and helped me start to turn around. He's been –" he laughs weakly and looks away, his cheeks flushed, "He's probably the reason I'm still here. I owe his ass everything."
"Thank you for telling me all that," I start, watching him carefully as he avoids my gaze. "You didn't have to, but you did. It means a lot." I pause, wanting to say something inspired to show my awe at his accomplishment of turning his life around, but terrified I'll muck it up. Instead I stutter, "Well, as great as it is to know who you were, it doesn't really change who you are now, so, why don't you tell me about what kind of music you listen to?" His laughter breaks out loudly in the kitchen, a burst of light in the shadows that seemed to have filled the room. He turns back to me then, his eyes alight, and smiles.
"How do you feel about banjos?"
We continue on like that, our questions building and our answers coming descriptively, as though we are trying to write a novel with our words.
When finally the food is ready, I help Peeta pull out the cutlery and plates, moving easily with him in the kitchen, our actions natural and in sync. Sitting down beside him, I allow him to serve me up a heaping slice of lasagna and fresh garlic bread before raising my glass in a toast.
"To us and our ridiculous stories," I laugh, clinking my glass against his.
"To us for our bravery and endurance," he counters, his smile broad and his words carefully describing something deeper for us. I duck my head nervously, lifting the lasagna to my lips for my first bite.
"Oh god, Peeta this is delicious!" The taste of melted mozzarella, perfectly cubed zucchini and sliced mushrooms coming together with a sharp tomato tang almost makes me want to swoon with delight. Peeta laughs heartily at my reaction, nodding and raising his bread to me.
"Wait until you try this. Did I mention I'm an awesome cook?" His words surprise me and I look down at my food with the realization that Peeta actually made this. There's no way I could make this, I'd burn all of it. And here I'd thought he'd just bought the damn tray.
"No. But now that I know, you'd better watch out. I'll be over here all the time if you keep cooking like this!" I moan excitedly and take another big bite.
"You can come here anytime," he mutters and despite my excitement I catch a note in his voice that makes me look him square on.
He means that.
I shudder. And smile.
"Maybe I'll take you up on that, Mellark," I reply lowly and stuff another morsel of food past my lips before I can say anything else.
"So..." Peeta says later after we're finished, pushing aside his cleaned plate and wiping his hands on a napkin.
"So..." I counter, mimicking his movements and waiting, uncertain of where to start. I can feel it in the air, this is the harder stuff.
"I haven't been with anyone since, um... Everything."
If it wasn't rude to do so my mouth would be hanging open at his admission, clearly surprised by that fact. And likely surprised that this is what he is starting this conversation with. Oh boy.
To be honest, I would have thought he'd have been with someone – he is too nice, too sweet, too smart and hell, too good looking to be without anyone. It baffles me. Is it just Peeta or is it really that hard of an issue for people to get past? I don't know – all I do know is that the shock is clearly evident on my face.
"Don't be so surprised," he mumbles, the flush creeping up his neck.
"I'm not – I mean, I am, but... Really?"
"Really. I haven't been much of a go-getter since getting clean. They say in the program the big steps are getting plant life and keeping it alive instead of trying to work on relationships but, I guess…I failed at a cactus, alright?" He laughs openly and while I laugh along with him, I also notice the way his hands clasp together in his lap.
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm not much good at it myself. Gale was the last serious relationship I had and we clearly didn't get anywhere with that." Peeta nods, keeping eye contact with me while I grin lamely. "I don't really know what I'm supposed to say here," I admit after a moment, tentative. Peeta nods and fiddles with his pant leg before reaching out for my hands.
"Katniss," he starts carefully, his thumb rubbing over my knuckles, "I don't know what to do here either, not really. But I do know this. I know that before I didn't touch many people – I've avoided it as much as possible since my diagnosis because of stupid shit – but I know that right here, right now, I can't stop touching you. That doesn't have to mean anything more for now, but I need to say it because I want you to know how big this is for me. Please don't get scared of that. I just need you to understand, this is terrifying for me too."
"We're in kind of the same boat here, aren't we?" I ask awkwardly, my fingers gripping his.
"We are. I'm starboard though, okay?" The joke makes me laugh and breaks the tension in the room, resetting us until we're laughing excitedly, our bodies shaking with the weight being lifted from our shoulders. The moment is perfect, a comfort and a calmness floating around us.
And then it settles and we stop, seemingly in tandem, our gazes meeting as we grin at each other foolishly.
"I want to kiss you now," Peeta whispers hoarsely, clearing his throat with the effort. My palms are sweating.
"It is practically non-existent on the pyramid, you know," I whisper in return, hoping to make a joke and not alienate him in this moment.
"So you'll allow it then?" It seems to work.
"I'll allow it – " I don't even finish before his lips are pressed to mine, his right hand finding my cheek while his left grips my fingers tightly. The kiss is over before I realize, the breath caught in my lungs as he pulls back to look at me.
"Sorry – was that – " he starts, but I don't let him continue, sliding forward to the edge of my stool and meeting his lips again with my own.
The moment seems to stir our bodies on fire as his hands grasp my neck and run up into my braid. I let my own hands wander up his forearms, to his broad shoulders, before I pull back and gasp for breath. I press my lips back to his softly, wanting more but too nervous to ask.
I don't need to.
His tongue brushes against the seam of my lips, begging for entrance. I let him in, allow him to explore as I long to press myself closer. The kiss grows deeper, my breaths shallower, our hands more desperate.
He pulls back first, air heavy as he catches his breath. Our foreheads meet then, the moment soft around us.
"That was – " I try, my eyes searching his.
"Yes. It was." His smile is gentle, his thumbs tracing my cheekbones softly. "When do you have to be home?" The thought breaks through the haze from his kiss and forces my mind back to reality. I look down at my watch and frown.
"Soon. I should probably get walking before Prim starts to worry." But I don't move. I'm stuck to my chair not wanting to leave.
"I'll walk you," Peeta murmurs, leaning forward and brushing his nose against mine softly. Normally I'd protest but right now I can't argue. I'm intoxicated by him, drawn to his touch and his being.
I never want this moment to end.
AN: Ow, my body is sore today. My mind is tired too. I'm feeling pretty whiny about everything and nothing much is helping. I'm definitely not getting this done as much as I wanted, but as I work towards the end right now I hope this chapter will do for now. Thanks for sticking around.