Chapter Two

As the fire crackles softly in the grate, I take in how much Peeta has changed. His eyes are downcast and full of pain. The dark shadows under his eyes match my own, and I wonder what he dreams of at night, which select terrors from the arena inhabit his subconscious. His ashy blonde hair has grown longer than ever, it falls into his eyes, and exaggerates the strong angles of his face. I catch my hand reaching to brush it away, and bite my lip. Everything has changed since we've been back.

"You have them too, don't you?" I jerk back to reality, and his words sink in.

"Have what?" I ask stupidly, distracted by the apathy in his voice. He's changed more than I ever suspected, and suddenly I feel a sense of overwhelming guilt. I should have been there for him, but I've been selfish. His family, after taking their share of his victor's riches, have all but abandoned him. He is all alone. I look down, shame coloring my cheeks.

"The nightmares." He looks right into my eyes, and for some reason he looks angry.

"Oh. I guess we shouldn't be surprised. That place-"

I stutter with the word arena, and bite my lip. It wasn't just an arena.

"It was a nightmare. It's always been one of mine." I admit this, though the truth is that I worried more about Prim being reaped than me. Funny, that I would be less likely to survive her Hunger Games than my own. The thought of having to watch her on the monitors in town makes my heart race, and I push the thought away.

I watch the anger in his eyes slowly subside, and wonder where it came from.

"Peeta..." As I mumble his name, I realize that the feelings I had in the arena never went away, not really. The truth is that I never dealt with them at all. All along I told myself it was an act, just our strategy to survive in a place we were almost guaranteed to die. I've been so distracted by being home and seeing Prim, and my mother, that the boy with the bread slipped through the cracks. We left things bitter and unresolved, and it's my fault.

"Katniss?" His voice is soft, and lacking its usual hollow edge.

"I'm so sorry." It tumbles from my lips, and as it does, I feel how true it is. As though I've finally admitted it to myself, the guilt rushes forward and coils in my stomach. Peeta looks surprised and leans in towards me.

"For what?" He sounds confused and somehow hopeful. I realize I don't know the answer to his question.

"For cutting you off when we got home. For being too selfish and stupid to realize you were going through the same things I am. For lying to you in the arena. For everything!" I throw my hands angrily in the air. I can't even look at him. For some reason I miss him more now than I ever did when we weren't speaking. He sits back in his chair and stares at me.

"Katniss, I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago. I can't exactly be angry at you for not loving me." He looks sad and he shakes his head. My chest starts to feel funny, and I rub absently at it, as though trying to relieve the pressure.

"I miss you." It's all I can offer him, and it's a far cry from what he asked me for all those weeks ago, but it's true. My hand finally reaches out to him, gently cupping the side of his face. My thumb traces the dark circle under his eye. Peeta lets out a sigh and his eyes flutter closed. Giving into my desperate need for some kind of comfort, I slide from my chair onto his lap and rest my head on his chest. It feels familiar, though where there was only skin and bone in the arena, his chest is muscular and warm.

His arms wind their way around me, and for some reason my eyes burn with tears. Soon, they are running down my face and dripping onto his arm. I want to apologize, and then I feel the moisture on my neck, and realize he is crying too. We sit there for a while, two broken children, until both of us fall asleep.

Sometime the next morning, I awake to the smell of bacon cooking. The smoky, salty smell has my mouth watering before I even place it. Vaguely, I note that my neck is sore and the blankets are much too warm. I reach to pull them down, and freeze when my finger touches flesh. I leap to my feet, and jolt Peeta awake in the process. Swinging, he follows my lead and stumbles out of the chair. Both breathing heavily from the adrenaline, we stop mid attack, and Peeta clutches his chest.

"Christ almighty Katniss, you scared the shit out of me!" He doesn't sound too mad, just winded.

Suddenly, a laugh gurgles out of my throat, and another follows until I'm lying on the floor, clutching my stomach. Peeta struggles with his annoyance at me, but eventually gives up and lets out a snort. Wiping his eyes, he chuckles along with me until something catches his attention in the doorway.

"Oh," The laughter disappears from his face, and even his hands seem to tense.

"Hi, Gale.