Hey guys So I know this ended up being crazy long, but I really couldn't put it down until I reached an ending I was okay with. More to come soon. I really want to develop this story and expand with more characters outside of Katniss and Peeta while still focusing on their personal struggle so stay tuned. Enjoy!
We stand there for an immeasurable amount of time, letting the seconds or minutes or hours pass as we cling tight to each other, our only solace in this unforgiving world that has taken away everything we love. But when Peeta strokes my hair and murmurs that everything is going to be okay, his breath tickling my ear, I start to wonder if I am wrong about the universe. Maybe it hasn't taken away everything I love.
This thought freezes me, my hands still wrapped around Peeta's neck as I breathe him in. The still night air stands around us, almost like a protective blanket from the prodding eyes of the rest of the world. So many times, I have felt like the cameras were always in view, forcing our relationship, or the Capitol was somehow tainting our relationship, controlling us. In a way, they still are, considering we have been brought together because of the Capitol's torture, but that doesn't matter now. In this moment, I finally feel utterly alone with him, and it's not an unwelcome feeling. I think of him, his arms around me, and wonder where this will eventually lead. It took Peeta becoming within inches of death for me to finally understand just exactly how much I need him. Before he was captured and tortured, his cloudy mind conjuring up dangerous images of me, I was too afraid to admit how I felt about him. I had Gale, the rebellion, and too many conflicting emotions surrounding my boy with the bread to sort out exactly what Peeta and I had. But that day in the forest, shooting the propo, I realized exactly how I felt about him. Even Finnick saw right through me in that second arena. Now, being here with him, I know I should tell him the truth, but I don't know if I can form the words. For two years, I have accepted Peeta's love and listened to him declare how much I mean to him, but I've never been good with words. I don't want to complicate things, especially when even though I know I do… love him, I'm not sure I'm ready for that… commitment. To have him that way, always. And he wants to be friends, but he never did exactly tell me what he wanted. Does he still love me, or is friends all he can force his still-mending mind to comprehend at the moment? I have no idea. And that alone is enough to scare me into biting my tongue.
So I just stay where I am, breathing in that faint scent of cinnamon and dill, holding tight. When a steady breeze begins to pick up, I snuggle closer to absorb as much of his body heat as possible. He notices and pulls me in for a tight hug.
"Why don't we go inside, Katniss?" he whispers into my hair. "I'll make you some tea, and then you can go to bed." I nod my head in assent, noticing how he carefully subtracts himself out of the equation when mentioning my bed. I shrug it off, remembering we're just friends. But then again, I still needed him during the night in my bed even when we were friends….
He leads me up the porch stairs and for the first time in months, he steps into my house. As we cross the threshold, I feel an odd sense of relief. Something about having him here, although it brings back painful memories when more than just me and him occupied this house, it also makes the house feel more alive, less lonely. I welcome the feeling, keeping his hand and mine and never taking my eyes off him as he fixes my tea. Once he's done, he makes me relax on the couch, putting his arm around my shoulder as he sits beside me. The closeness isn't enough for me, so I tuck my legs up onto his lap and am automatically jolted back in time to our interview with Ceaser post-Games when I made this same gesture. Tucking my feet on his lap felt so forced back then, all a ruse to subdue the Capitol, but right now, it's never felt more genuine. It's as if we are actually touching for the first time.
I lean my head on his shoulder and break the silence, illuminating the dark living room with my heavy whisper. "What was it like?"
"Mmmm..?" Peeta asks, sounding as if I've pulled him from another train of thought.
"What was it like… to be in the Capitol? Tortured, I mean."
His knuckles turn white and he pauses for so long I start worrying I've said the wrong thing, dug too deep into painful memories, before he gives me shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
"It was… indescribable," he sighs. I've never seen him try so hard for words, his mouth twitching and eyebrows furrowed, that I scoot even closer to him in the dark.
'You don't have to tell me," I say, touching his hair with my hand that's not wrapped in his.
He turns to look at me, his blue eyes bright paired with a sad smile. This next part he just barely whispers. "I want to, though. I just want to tell you everything."
I smile hearing this, knowing exactly what he means. Just the thought of having someone to confide in and share everything with lightens my heavy heart the tiniest bit. "I know," I say.
"I didn't believe you had anything to do with it, Katniss. The whole time I was there, I knew you didn't know anything either. I didn't hold anything against you. But it became so confusing… Day by day, my thoughts weren't mine anymore. I became scared of you, even though I knew it was wrong. I couldn't control it. Then after the first week, I couldn't even process the fact that it was wrong to associate you with those memories. They became my memories. I didn't start realizing what was real and not real until I saw the shininess in the memory where I started the fire in District 12. I knew that wasn't true, that the Capitol razed 12, so I tried to look for something in that image. Then I found that silver misty, the shiny, unstable edges of it that classified it as "not real". As I did that, my memories, the real ones, came back. Especially ones of you. I'm convinced it's a miracle that I can remember all of you now. Of course there are bad days, where the flashbacks are strong and so real and immediate, but after I call myself back, I remember the real memories, of you and me. And that fixes everything."
I'm floored, lost in his words, of the very nightmarish reality of losing who you are. I ask exactly what is on my mind, blurting it out before thinking about what it implies. "What do you remember about us?" I ask.
"You singing the Valley Song on the first day of school, your hair in two braids with that brand new dress. That day when I gave you the bread in the freezing rain. That slap my mother gave me stinging. I remember your face on the day of the reaping, strong yet masking all that vulnerability and sadness. The cave you nursed me back to health in, our homes here, the feeling of watching you watch Gale being whipped, your sister comforting me that cold night. And your face when you asked me to stay with you. That night on the beach when you told me you needed me. And for one moment," he says, his eyebrows scrunching," I didn't care that it could have been an act. You sounded so real, so yourself, that I believed it just to be happy for the remaining moments of my life. I remember the white lab coats, the screaming…" he winces and continues. "And you and me, through that one-way glass, when I wasn't myself. I think I called you a mutt… God I'm sorry for that, Katniss. You know I could never see you like that, I mean you are-"
I cut him off. "Peeta. Don't apologize. You weren't yourself. That's why you were finally telling the truth about who I actually am," I laugh. He starts to disagree, but I put my finger to his lips. 'It's a joke," I reassure him. "We don't always have to agree on the goodness of my heart."
'Fine," he murmurs, allowing himself to smile. As he stares into my eyes, his blue irises boring into mine, his face abruptly changes and become serious.
"Most of all," he murmurs gently yet suddenly, changing the subject. 'I remember how I felt about you….how – how I feel about you now. That's what reminds me of who I really am and who you really are."
I stare at him blankly, processing his words. How he feels about me. Present tense, meaning he feels that way right now, as our bodies sit close on the couch, protecting each other from nightmares. It makes my heart race to know that after all this time, after everything I've done and haven't done to him, he still loves me. Is still looking out for me, not even considering his own needs. I want to respond, to tell him how I feel, that I do love him, but I know that will lead to other things that I'm just not ready for. So I sit and smile, squeezing his hand tightly, aching to let him know that I feel the same way. Even if I will never be able to enter the kind of relationship he wants, I still love him. I can still be his friend. Maybe one day I'll even have the courage to say that to him. But for right now, our embrace does all the talking. He's back, he loves me, and even if he doubts it, I love him too. I just can't love him the way I wish I could. I'm too broken.
We sit as the night unfolds around us. Time stops as I link my fingers with his, relaxing into his strong and steady frame that seems to be formed exactly to the shape of my body as if I was made to fit. Before I know it, I let my heavy eyelids pull me under into a warm, comfortable sleep, knowing Peeta's there to comfort me.
v
I awake cold and alone. My bed feels hard underneath my back, and I grope the sheets, finding nothing but a tangled mess of fabric. My heart sinks quickly as I realize Peeta has left. But before I get too upset, I brush it off and remind myself to be fair. He's trying to respect my wishes, give me space, and be my friend like we agreed to be. And I don't think friendliness is necessarily considered sleeping in the same bed to ward off bad dreams. Except for maybe when it comes to me and Peeta.
As this thought runs through my head again and again, the strangely tainted and odd friendship Peeta and I have, I rise and get dressed in simple pants and a long-sleeved shirt. I don't even bother to braid my hair back. In the bathroom, I splash my face with water before squaring my shoulders and walking into the bright sunlight illuminating the kitchen, briefly wondering how to face another day.
The sight in my living room stops me in my tracks.
He's there, laying on his side on my couch with his feet dangling haphazardly wayward. His hair is tangled, the blond locks turning golden in the streaming sunlight, and he looks so peaceful there's no way I could ever wake him. As I slowly lope to the kitchen to start making a meager breakfast for both of us, I realize he must have carried me up the stairs after I fell asleep on the couch. His unseen kindness and protectiveness of me makes me want nothing more than to return the favor. I have broken down in front of him and let him comfort me too many times. I never imagine the amount of pain and grief he's suffering as well.
This thought makes me put down the jug of milk that Greasy Sae milked and walk over to the side of the couch, kneeling on the wooden floors to softly run my fingers through Peeta's hair. It's so soft and comforting, the way the locks rub against the skin of my hands silkily, almost like butter. I don't even realize when he first opens his eyes. Which makes obviously appear as the creeper who decides to stroke his hair while she thinks he's still asleep. I don't know how long his sky blue eyes have been staring at me before I finally rip my eyes away from his hair on my hands and focus on the rest of his face. Only then do I realize he is staring.
I jump up, awkwardly putting my hands at my sides before scurrying over to the kitchen to focus on the breakfast. I wish the kitchen was a separate, distinct room so I could hide my embarrassment of being caught from him. But since it's not, his eyes are free to roam over my face, searching them with an amazing yet embarrassing intensity. I expect him to say something about our friendship, or ask for an explanation, but to my relief, he doesn't. He just chuckles slightly in that easy, friendly way, then gets up and walks over to stand across the kitchen counter.
'So," he says, his voice, rough with sleep, sounding attractive and husky. "What can I do to help?" I can tell he's trying to lighten the mood, so I play along, deciding to forget my slip up with the you-just-caught-me-stroking-your-hair thing.
"You," I say authoritatively, "can sit and wait. You've already done enough."
He raises his eyebrows in confusion. "Katniss, I was just sleeping. How have I already done enough?"
"Peeta, you carried me to bed last night and slept on the couch so that I wouldn't be alone. You've done more than enough. I don't think I will ever stop owing you."
He smiles, thoughtful. "And I know how much you hate owing people."
I'm surprised he chooses to say that, that he even cares enough to decipher my complicated thought process, but his words unleash this feeling of delicious happiness in my heart that overshadows that fact.
"So, what's for breakfast?" he asks, leaning back on the stool as the sun brightens my kitchen. The sunlight makes everything look happy and bright, even the deep chocolate cabinets glow with light. I can feel a certain routine forming, but with Peeta here, staring at me as I cook, I know I would be glad to welcome this as my daily routine for the rest of my life.
I end up being right. As soon as we wake up, he comes to my house and we eat breakfast then go about our day. I've started to hunt again in order to bring in food and take my mind off everything that lies inside District 12's fence: the seeding, the nightmares, and the omnipresent grief that I and Peeta struggle through together. Peeta bakes at both of our houses and in the new bakery in town. He also paints, but he only does that at night, when he retreats back to his own house. I've never seen his new paintings: they are stored away in a spare bedroom at his house. After that first night when Peeta slept on my couch, I told him that I wouldn't fall apart if he left for just the night and then came back. I didn't know if I was ready to let him come sleep with me after so many months of fearing any closeness to another human being. So he goes home at night, while I pretend I can fend off the nightmares without him. Which I can't obviously. I wake in my room, shivering, but I've learned to bite back the screams so that I don't wake Peeta. He needs his rest, not bothersome Katniss Everdeen crying out to him at all hours of the night.
About a week later, Peeta and I decide to take a walk through town. It's the first time we have been out together in town in the middle of broad daylight at the busiest hour of the market. We walk past the lot where the new trading market has sprung up in place of the old Hob, trying to ignore the fact that literally everyone in sight is staring at us, mouths gaping open. Sure, it might be a shock that we are now friends since Peeta's hijacking experience, but I would have thought they would have at least tried to conceal that fact. I guess I was wrong.
'Why are they staring?" Peeta leans over to whisper in my ear. "We aren't some crazy Capitol people." We both wince at that, but he continues. "They aren't even trying to hide it." Then, Peeta automatically straightens and gazes with those breathtaking blue eyes directly at a young woman who is ogling over the sighting of us. She scurries away, her face red and hot with embarrassment.
I laugh, tugging on his arm to keep him moving when suddenly my fingers freeze. Without thinking, I've broken our careful let's-be-friends agreement. Or at least I think I have. But Peeta only hesitates for a moment before letting me lead him away. My hand is still grasping his the fabric at his elbow, so I gently slide my hand down to pull away. I'm just running my hand over his fingers to release my grip when his strong, steady hand latches onto mine and grips tightly, giving a tiny squeeze that makes my heart flutter. I don't object to his warm hand around mine, only hold tighter as we roam through the streets, hand intertwined. If we had a good amount of stares before, now we have about the whole of District 12 looking at us. One woman, old in age with wrinkles sagging her face, even gasps at the sight of us linked together, then smiles so widely it looks like it hurts her cheeks. Another girl, a young teenager, stares at us so intensely it forces me to steal a glance. She's olive-skinned like me, with dark mahogany hair and intense gray eyes that loom across my face like storm clouds. She takes me by the arm that isn't claimed by Peeta, abruptly pulling my head close to hers so quickly I don't have time to pull away until she's already whispering in my ear.
"Please tell me that what you did for him was real. My family… they died for this. Please." I can hear the palpable pain in her voice, and I immediately know what she's asking. She wants me to admit to her that my love for Peeta is real so that she can finally at least move on in her grief, knowing her family died for the revolution that was sparked because of Peeta and I's so called "undying love" for each other. Seeing that pain well in her eyes, I give the only response I can muster, which is the truth.
"It was real," I murmur, squeezing her hand as Peeta stares quizzically at the interaction. 'Thank you…" I stutter, hesitant, "for a-asking. I won't say I'm sorry. I know that only hurts more. But thank you. For your family." With that, I pull away and tug Peeta along, glancing back to smile somberly at the brave girl whose pain I share so deeply in a way she'll never know. Peeta doesn't ask about it, and I don't offer up any explanation. For some reason, even though I don't know her name, I want to keep the girl with the storm cloud eyes to myself, just for one day.
As we continue to move along, I see Thom, Gale's old friend who I know works planting seeds. I can tell he is slightly surprised to see me with Peeta, but he masks it well. He nods at us and I wave with my free hand, grateful that at least he can act civilized at the sight of Peeta and me together. I continue towards him until I realize Hazelle is there, with Rory, and consider turning around just to avoid the awkwardness before Hazelle's soft as butter voice carries over to us. "Hello, Katniss. Peeta."
"Hi, Mrs. Hawthorne," Peeta says politely, glancing at me to gauge my reaction. I compose myself, feeling strange at the notion of Peeta and Gale's mother in conversation. I release Peeta's hand briefly to give her a genuine hug. She smells like soap, and I can tell by the way she chuckles into my ear that she comprehends the fact that Peeta and I are just friends. She also knows I feel uncomfortable because I think she'll mention it to Gale. And he, out of all the people in this world, is one person I don't need to see right now.
"Hi," I say.
"Well, I'm glad to see you two back," Hazelle remarks. "You both look so well."
"Thank you," Peeta says sincerely. Even though Hazelle's remark is somewhat of a joke because we both know we look like sleep-deprived, grief-stricken ghosts.
As I stand there, between Hazelle and Peeta's friendly conversation, I am suddenly hyperaware of Peeta's arms dangling at his sides. I ache to reach out and grasp his fingers but know it will only cause more confusion and tension with Thom and Hazelle as onlookers. So we bid our goodbyes quickly, and as we begin to walk away, I can't help myself. I reach out and gingerly wrap my hand around his warm ones. He looks a little surprised, but easily regains composure and just keeps walking. This feels so right, my hand in his. To anyone else, I know it looks like something else. That much was confirmed by the gasps and stares of the people. But to me and Peeta, just knowing that we are there for each other, that's what feels right. And after all I have been through, I couldn't care less what other people think.
Later that evening, we are behind his house, a blanket spread out in the grass as the stars twinkle against the summer sky. The humid air sinks into my pores, but not in an unpleasant way. Alive with an almost palpable electricity, the air that separates Peeta and I's arms feels charged, tingly. I don't know what I'm doing with him because the last thing I ever want to do now is to ruin our friendship by using him to comfort myself, but something this time feels different. I start to wonder if what I felt in the cave, on that beach in the Quarter Quell, is what I'm feeling now. That same warmth spreading throughout my body, the spark of electricity hovering in the air between the two of us. I wonder if I could be starting to fall for the boy with the bread. And just that thought terrifies me.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks me suddenly. He stays where he is, lying on his back as the moonlight soaks into his skin and turns it a dusty, silver color.
I answer truthfully without giving away too many of my thoughts. "I'm thinking about you," I breathe, hoping he doesn't take my honest answer in a wrong way.
I hear his intake of breath and turn my head to look over at him. His eyes are closed now, and his lips are curved into a soft smile. Even though I now I am only setting myself up for future complications, I can't help smiling in return.
'What about me?" he asks curiously.
"I don't know," I mutter, searching for the proper words. "I just—I'm thinking about our friendship, I guess. How nice it is to have someone to confide in." It's a half-truth, but I carefully omit the part about my complicated feelings for him.
"I know," Peeta agrees, and I can't tell if he was hoping I would say something else or not. "My nightmares can get so bad…"
"Why don't you ask me to stay over?" I interrupt. "You always come over when you hear me."
"Well, I just usually lay there until I come back to reality. I don't want to wake you."
"You should," I say. This is too much like Peeta, sacrificing his own feelings so that I can get more sleep that I don't need anyway. Sleep only brings more nightmares.
"I know, Katniss," Peeta says gently, and I can tell he wants to hold back whatever is on his mind. Abruptly his face looks so sad, so heartbreakingly sad. And not only does it make me ache for his pain, it makes me furious. The Capitol, even though overthrown, is still somehow haunting the halls of our minds like a terrible phantom. And I hate them for doing this to Peeta. For altering his memories, taking away his family, and leaving me with this crumpled man filled with grief. He has suffered so much in these past years, like I have, and although I understand exactly his grief, I can't form the words he needs to hear. I've never been good with words like Peeta, so I do the one thing I can think of. I scoot closer to him and bury my face in his chest, wrapping my arms around his waist and begin singing. The same song I sang to myself that night Peeta came to see if I was okay. My voice is sweet and fills the night air softly. I can only hope it's what Peeta needs, because more than anything, after he has helped me so much and stayed down in my uncomfortable kitchen so many nights, I long to be that sense of comfort for him. I want to be the one who finally who consoles him so that he knows he doesn't always have to be the strong one.
"Deep in the meadow, under the willow, a bed of grass, a soft green pillow…"
His eyes fly open and turn to stare into mine. I focus on those bright blue irises and sing, imagining the comforting words of my father's song floating into his heart and his mind, patching up the quilt of grief and confusion. I suddenly want to tell him everything I've been thinking about him, and for the first time since I've met Peeta, I do. I don't hold back. I tell him what I've been thinking about since he's been back, what I wanted to tell him that night we slept underground in the Capitol, and how it felt to lose him to the Capitol after he was taken from the arena.
I begin in a whisper, terrified of letting him in and exposing myself so emotionally for the first time in so long. But I continue, determined to eradicate that tragically sad smile off of his face.
"You are a painter. You are a baker. You sleep with the windows open and double knot your shoe laces. You never take sugar in your tea…" He looks at me in confusion but I continue. "That's what I was thinking that night in the control room underground when we were in the Capitol. I wanted you to remember, to tell you everything about who you were, but I just couldn't form the words without breaking down. And when Haymitch told you the Capitol picked you up, you were all I thought about." My voice gets soft here, and even I can hear the palpable pain in my whisper as I remember that horrible feeling of helplessness. "I felt so helpless, like it was my fault. Like I should have known what the rebels were planning. And when you came back, I was so hurt, and I realized I was too late. Because I realized how I felt about you. And you were… you were…" my voice falters, "You were gone. And I realized how much you meant to me too late. When you finally came back here after the war was over, I had been thinking about you. I missed you. I wanted you to comfort me, but I wasn't sure if you still wanted to see me after everything the Capitol did to you, after everything I did to you. I was scared. But you came back, and cared about me enough to hear my screaming and try to chase after me. You're all I have left, and I can't stand to see you sad this way. I just wanted to let you know that—that I care about you and we're friends, so you have to let me in. You just have to. We only have each other."
I'm crying now, those stubborn tears trailing down my cheeks. I can't lose him. He's staring at me so intently, his cerulean blue eyes searching my face. I see when the realization dawns on him that I'm serious, that I did think about him constantly and cared about him. And even though I'm too afraid to say this out loud, I think he realizes now that not everything I said and did was an act, especially that night on the beach when I was determined to die for him. I'm desperate for him to say something, but all he does is hug me so tightly that my breathing hitches, but it's not uncomfortable. He radiates heat and feels so warm and close, it's beyond reassuring. He brings a certain steadiness to everything that makes life's problems seem much more distant. I know that asking him to let me in and let me comfort him in return is hard, considering I myself shut people out more than I let them in. But I've just poured my heart out to him, and I want him to do the same. I want him to know he doesn't need to protect me from this; we suffer from the same nightmares anyway. So, with the fireflies buzzing around the night sky and the heat sweltering, we hold each other as we cry together, mourning the loss of so many people we loved.
That night, I know Peeta is going to leave. He walks me to my door and finally lets go of my hand. His lips are just forming his goodbyes when I yank him close to me, resting my head on his chest and breathing in that ever present cinnamon and dill scent.
"Stay with me," I breathe, hoping he understands what I'm offering.
"Always," Peeta murmurs. And with that, our friendship finally rekindles where it left off so many months ago in that arena as I walked away from that lightning tree with Johanna, leaving Peeta behind, only to fully come back to him now when all we have is each other.