The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.

A+

I don't give myself much time to celebrate my good grade in Biology, because Peeta is right behind me, meaning he's the next one to receive his exam… except he's currently lying on his desk, face down.

I turn and quickly shake him. Not like that's not totally obvious and not like the teacher hasn't already seen him. This is far from the first time. Peeta's gotten a habit to fall asleep in weird places. My couch happens to be another example.

About two weeks ago, he came over to discuss the trial. When I returned from refilling our cups with tea and trying to think of a reason to delay his leaving, I found him sleeping on the couch soundly, on his stomach and one hand almost touching the floor. Without putting much thought in it, I opened the window slightly. (When Prim saw it later she called me crazy, much like I had done to Peeta. We are related, after all.) After watching him for a while, wondering what the hell to do now, since I knew I couldn't bring myself to wake him up, I went downstairs again. Hours passed. It was while I was taking a bath that he left. Prim said he woke up while she was in the room to look for dishes needing to be washed that I might've brought upstairs. She looked worried as she told me how, after noticing the late hour, he slipped that his mother would kill him. Then quickly ran off with a muttered goodbye.

"A. What'd you get?" I ask, turning backwards after the teacher has passed our row.

"B+," Peeta says, handing me the paper. I take a quick look. I almost laugh at one of his mistakes. Not to make fun of him, but at the irony.

"That's not dandelion, it's yellow hawkweed. It's not easy to tell them apart just by appearance, but a dandelion produces only one flower per stalk," I explain, pointing to the image.

"I knew that was too easy." He says with a sleepy smile and I allow myself a laugh. "You're too good at this stuff. Sadly, that knowledge won't earn you anything in this district." My entire face flushes not only at the compliment, but because I know something he doesn't. That knowledge won't earn me money since we're not in district 11, but it is what saved my life. I still remember the taste of bread and dandelions like I had them for breakfast. I don't say anything, but Peeta doesn't find it suspicious, after weeks of sitting together at lunch where the conversation is mostly between him and Madge.

"I never thanked you," Peeta states after awhile and I look up, not following. "Thanks for helping me out with some of the questions."

I shrug, "This is the only subject I don't despise and find completely irrelevant, so it was my pleasure." His face takes on a thoughtful expression and I can't help but grin at his sleepy eyes.

"It is all irrelevant, isn't it? The grades, too. I'm glad I got a B and you an A, but it wouldn't have made any difference if they were Fs. Especially with my mother not learning about it." He leans forward to rest his chin on his forearms. Just remembering the story of how that woman slapped a 6-year-old boy for getting the exact same grade he has today makes me flinch.

"Hey now, that's not a reason to give up studying at all. I'm not helping you again, you know," I threaten, even though I'm not so sure how much of my immunity to Peeta Mellark I have left anymore.

We scowl at each other until the bell rings. Peeta's scowl is overdone and I suspect he might be mocking mine. While I'm putting my stuff in my bag, the teacher wishes us a good winter break and reminds us to watch the program the Capitol will show in honor of New Year's. When I turn back around and see that Peeta's left me behind, I think he might actually be mad at me. Really scowling, I leave the room. When I see him leaning against the wall, I roll my eyes, hoping my smile's not too obvious.

"What? You thought I left you?" He questions, as we begin our walk to the parking lot. "Aw, Katniss, I would never… you are my ride," he says after a pause.

"Yes, I am. I'm also nice enough to drive you to Haymitch again instead of letting you walk miles, possibly in the wrong direction."

Today is the 19th of December. We're meeting Bannock and Mr. Mellark at the drunkard's house to go over everything one last time, since it's forbidden to discuss anything with each other at court tomorrow. I don't know his family well, but with Rye's bad reputation I'm getting the vibe he might be the one to get us in trouble. It surely won't be Bannock, the golden boy and the person that organized this whole thing in the first place. Many people have their wrong opinions about me too, though, so I try my best not to judge. At least not before I hear what they plan to bring against Ellesse.

"Tell me when you think of a way to repay you for your sacrifice." A chill runs through me, though it doesn't lower my body temperature. If anything, the opposite happens. As long as Peeta is unaware, it's welcome. It hasn't really stopped snowing since the weekend of the week that he slept at my house. That reminds me...

After we're situated in my car and are waiting for Rye to show up, I bring myself to ask, "Peeta, are you sleeping okay?"

He rubs a hand over his tired face, "That obvious?"

"It kind of became when you fell into deep sleep not after 5 minutes of laying down on a surface." It's his turn to blush.

"Yeah, sorry about that." I shake my head, because that wasn't where I was going. "I miss my house, as ridiculous as that is. I never really felt safe there, but it's what I'm used to. The cold floor at Bannock's can hardly compare even to the misery I used to live in." My heart clenches involuntarily. I'm about to do something I might regret.

"Can my couch compare?"

Peeta snorts, as if the answer is obvious. If it's so obvious, why is my heart beating so fast in anticipation? "That was probably the best sleep I've gotten ever."

"You're going to need an even better one for tomorrow," I say, using my professional voice. "If the judge doesn't come to a decision by the end of the day, we might not be able to leave."

"I'm already nervous so I honestly doubt I'll be getting any sleep today, Kat." I note his use of a nickname and I can tell he does too by the way he tenses up, but I don't comment on it, not sure how I feel.

"If you want, you can come over," I propose cautiously.

"Why? Can't we go over everything final at Haymitch's?" he asks, his mind somewhere else.

"To sleep, idiot," I say, exasperated.

I watch the emotions wash over his face. Confusion, realization, surprise, something I can't name and then back to confusion.

"I know it's not your home and you said you missed it, I get that, but I'm sure even a small couch, no matter where, will do you better for one night." I feel the need to explain myself.

"That's really nice of you, but, like I said, I can't even imagine falling asleep."

"It wasn't so hard to imagine in class, was it?"

"Well, class is boring. Believe it or not, you're interesting to me." I feel warm again. "That's not quite the reason I meant, though. Tomorrow is so important, I know myself and I know I won't be able to calm down enough to go to sleep."

"Tomorrow is important. Tomorrow. Not today. You're not helping anyone by putting yourself through this, Peeta. It's proper to show up at court in your best shape."

After a moment, Peeta looks at me and sighs like he's giving in to something. "I'll ask my dad, but I'm sure he won't mind." I'm taking that as an assent.

"I didn't even think about that," I confess. "It is probably best to stay with your family."

"Katniss, I'm sick of my family," he says as his own confession, with a sad laugh. Rye chooses that exact moment to enter the car and make himself comfortable on the backseat.

I turn on the car, while Peeta turns around to greet his brother. He might be overdoing it a little, judging from the look Rye gives him that I see in the mirror.

"Whatever. Let's hurry the hell up, so I can be free earlier." Does he really have more interesting things to do? That is so foreign to me. Even if I had more friends, I would still prefer to spend my free time doing something productive that can help my family in some way. As we pull out of the parking lot, I spot a group of blonde girls with their arms linked, giggling, as they make their way to town, probably to go visit shops from which they can never afford what they really want.

The ride to Victors' Village is quiet. I don't know why the brothers aren't communicating. I, personally, have nothing to say to Rye and with his presence feel weird to do so to Peeta.

When we arrive at Haymitch's, everyone else is already there. Mr. Mellark, gotten comfortable in the house after weeks of daily visits to his lawyer, is sitting at the kitchen's table, reading something. He greets us and so does Bannock from his place on the couch. I suspect the honey brown haired girl cuddled close to him is his wife. Even 8 months pregnant, she goes to stand up when she sees me, but I stop her with a hand which I then extend for her to shake. She does with a smile, "I'm Elsa."

"Katniss," I say shyly. Good thing my job doesn't involve much interaction with people. Ha.

For the first time I'm grateful for Rye, who I've lost track of, when he enters the room, dragging Haymitch by his sleeve. He really doesn't want to waste his time here. Honestly I'm leaving as soon as possible too, wanting to do some hunting so Prim and my mother have enough food no matter how long I'm in court. I need to remind Gale, too, and I have to be home by the time Peeta decides to come.

The first hour goes great, as Haymitch makes all of the witnesses recite. You'd think it sound monotone after so many weeks of repeating it over and over, but they're all so driven by the desire to bring that woman down that I begin to feel really confident about their victory.

It doesn't last long. In fact, I feel all of our confidences crumble down when Rye throws his sheet of paper in the fireplace.

"This isn't going to work," he says with finality in his voice. Anyone can tell it's something he's been keeping in for a long time. I don't even blink, but Peeta immediately tenses next to me. To comfort him, but also to try and keep him from doing something stupid, I place a hand on his knee. He's not impulsive like me, but no one likes change in plans, especially in the last minute.

"Nobody is going to buy this crap," Rye states confidently.

"It's the truth," Peeta forces out.

"How do you see me sharing my inner terrors in front of the whole district? For what? For that bitch?" He turns his back to us, not even waiting for an answer. The deep breaths he's trying to take remind me of Peeta right before he broke down in my car. He's not about to cry, though. He's just panicking, which is even worse.

"It's just one time. Can't you do that?" Peeta asks, trying to hide his irritation. I remember my promise to him to never have to go through this again. He must've remembered it too.

"I really don't think so, Peet," Rye says sadly, turning around. "I'm so-", but Peeta's already out of the room, out of the house.

Rye's decision isn't a big step back, compared to the number of witnesses left. The problem is how far back it will take them. I look around the room. Haymitch, like me, doesn't seem very surprised, though he does have his hand placed on his forehead, deep in thought. I'm disappointed to see Mr. Mellark's face. It's like he regrets ever starting this. It reminds me of how scared I felt for Peeta's reaction about his mother's lover. Elsa seems to be the most collected. That's a big deal, since she's also comforting Bannock, running her hand up and down his back.

Doubting Peeta's return and even more his desire to go to Bannock's today, I let his dad know he'll be staying over. I try to be subtle, but he still looks shocked. A little mad at each member of the Mellark family (except Peeta but some days it's hard to remember he's even a part), I don't back down until he agrees. After making Haymitch promise me he'll make sure everyone, no matter how small the number, is on the same opinion by tomorrow, and a wave to Elsa, I leave.

It's not hard to find Peeta. He's just beside my car, observing a bush of flowers.

"Petunias?" he asks me.

I wrinkle my nose, "I'm pretty sure those are some artificial hybrids sent from the Capitol."

Peeta laughs loudly, no sign of the bitter boy that ran out, and there's only one time I've been more thankful for my knowledge of plants.

Even with Peeta's appearance at my house earlier than usual, I get to do all of the things I planned. I should've expected this to happen the moment I mentioned it to him. He insists to watch over Prim and prepare whatever he can with the small amount of ingredients we have. He even tells me he'll pay me back for using them the same way we agreed he'll do for Bannock's debt. I almost slap him for that.

I come home with two squirrels, a rabbit and a half full basket of berries. It's winter, but there have been warm Sundays I've come home with less, but I didn't trade today and I can be really good when my sister's survival is at stake.

I'm surprised to find my mother has come out from her room and is now chatting quietly with Peeta, while Prim scribbles on a piece of paper on the table next to them. I knew there were only so many times I could avoid their meeting, especially with Peeta starting to work with me. I could see that they might meet during his sleepover, too. I just didn't expect it to be initiated by her.

Peeta welcomes me with a smile and I smile back, quickly ruffling Prim's hair, but then quickly get to work preparing a stew. It's dark outside already and what's the point of the sleepover if he goes to bed late?

My smile is even more genuine at the bread on the kitchen counter. My mother comes to help me cook and raises an eyebrow at my expression, one corner of her mouth lifted. I ignore her, cleaning my game. She sighs, taking out a pot.

I'm thankful that while we eat, there is no mention of the trial. The only time it comes close to that is when I remind my family I'll be gone tomorrow, possibly the entire day. I can tell Prim wants to beg, as she's already tried a few times in the past few weeks, to come with me, but won't. Not with Peeta at the table.

I watch as Peeta dips a piece of bread in his stew and takes a bite. Curious, I reach for the bread to grab a slice of my own and try it. My hand freezes mid-air. It's filled with raisins and nuts.

"I want you to tell them about the bread."

The sudden memory of his words makes a chill run down my spine, much like remembering that rainy day often does. This is Peeta's way of reminding me. He needn't had to. I haven't forgotten, though I have tried to avoid it.

The last thing Peeta needs is someone else giving up on him. If I had an out before, I don't now.

While mom washes the dishes and Prim gets ready for bed, Peeta and I go to find him the necessary covers and pillows.

"I know you slept on the couch upstairs last time, but you can choose between it and the one in here," I let him know, as we enter the living room.

"Where's your room?" asks Peeta.

"Uhm, right behind the stairs…," I say quizzically.

"This couch is fine." He smiles at me and starts arranging the sheets.

I leave him the pillows and go upstairs, promising to be back with more comfortable clothes. It hits me, as I'm pulling my long tunic over my head, that I don't actually have anything to give to a boy. With a sigh, I open again the small wardrobe where I keep my clothes in the office so Prim can have the one downstairs for herself.

In the lowest drawer are the few belongings of dad we didn't have to sell. I pull out a soft green shirt and black sweatpants. I used to wear them for a long period of time after his death, even though they were too big for a 12-year-old girl. They both provided comfort and also spared me some money, as therefore I didn't have to buy clothes for myself. Now they smell more like me than like him.

Peeta doesn't seem to mind, in fact he looks a little amazed, as I hand him the clothes, abashedly. The color in my cheeks only intensifies as I realize Peeta is pulling his sweater over his head and I'm still in the room. I hurry towards the kitchen, but not before I hear him say, "Oh, I don't care if you see me."

"I care, all right?" I call back, closing the door without a look back.

My mother is still here, putting the glasses back in the cupboard.

"Something I can help with?" I ask her. My voice sounds weird to my own ears. I'm still not used to this actually being a two-way conversation. I still anticipate her answer.

"You've helped so much already, Katniss," she says, certain emotion in her voice I don't dare call motherly. "You did a good thing, helping Peeta."

"We understand each other very well when it comes to mothers… mother." I'd rather watch Peeta get naked, no matter how uncomfortable it'd be, than have this conversation less than 12 hours before trying to get rid of his mother.

"Katniss, I…"

"I don't want to hear it," I hiss. Her abandonment, much like people's behaviour towards me, is something I don't want any false justifications for.

I'm not as relieved as I thought I'd be when I return to the room and find Peeta, fully clothed, sitting on the floor with Prim, who has the ugliest cat ever in her lap.

"I thought I told you to go to bed and that I'd be right there," I scold her gently, not really mad.

"Buttercup wouldn't stop scratching on the door. He likes Peeta," she exclaims with a giggle, putting the furry creature on Peeta's legs. If it as much as grazes dad's clothes, it's sleeping in the snow.

I let them play for some time, so Peeta can distract himself and Prim can enjoy having somebody else in the house. I've been so caught up in the trial and doing the last hunting for the year, that we haven't had the chance to invite the Hawthornes over for weeks.

I busy myself with tidying up the room, occasionally sneaking a glance of Peeta deceiving the stupid cat with a ball of yarn or Prim rolling on her stomach in a fit of laughter.

I pick up the book Peeta must've forgotten on the small table beside the couch after reading it while I was out. It's the one we're studying in English. Wrinkling my nose in displeasure, I drop it on top of his bag. It slides down and a sheet of paper escapes between the pages. I kneel to retrieve it and place the bookmore firmly in place. My knees give out when I see what the paper represents.

It's a drawing. Not completely finished and uncolored, but still a drawing. Of my place. The old bench, the school building behind it, the tree. They're all there.

Having heard the both thumps on the ground from the book and myself, my sister and Peeta are done with games and staring at me. Well, Prim is. Peeta's gaze is focused on what's in my hands.

"I should head to bed," she announces, aware of the tension in the room. "Goodnight." Taking Buttercup in her arms and shooting a hesitant smile at Peeta, she gets up to leave. But Prim's not the only that wants to get rid of the uneasiness. The easiest way to do that is to just hit the pillow (preferably just figuratively).

"I'm going to go too. It's been a long day, tomorrow's going to be even longer." Giving up on the stupid book, I just leave it along with the painting where I found them. "You know where the bathroom is. The toothpaste is on the sink. Good night," I blurt everything out swiftly, following my sister.

As we close the door and get comfortable on the bed, I can tell she wants to say something. The unrest in this room isn't much lighter. Before I can even ask her anything, though, she's closed her eyes. Way to leave me hanging, sister.

I toss and turn, hitting my head against the pillow. I can't believe I acted like that to my guest. To Peeta. Just because I'm not sure how the things he does sometimes make me feel and I don't know if I want to be.

After what seems like hours, I settle on the fact that what he did was nice. Friendly. I'm sure that he painted a lot of things for Prim today. It's what he does and it doesn't make me special. I misinterpreted his look when he saw me with the sheet in my hands. It was just surprise that I went through his things.

I need to say something tonight, right now. Otherwise I won't get any sleep and look and feel awful tomorrrow. Quietly, to not disturb Prim, I get up. I've let my hair out of my braid. After all of the rolling around I did, I probably look like Buttercup, who hisses at me from the foot of the bed, but I don't have time or anything to do about it.

I almost throw a fit when I see that the couch is empty, before I spot his figure on the floor by the fireplace. I've been as quiet as possible (and that is a lot), in case he was sleeping, so he jumps when he hears my voice, "Were you cold?"

"No, just couldn't sleep… as guessed," Peeta says, as I settle down next to him.

"Something I can do?" I ask, my voice barely heard over the crackling of the wood.

"I'm alright."

"I think we have some milk in the fridge—" I continue, but he interrupts me, saying he doesn't need anything. I keep on insisting, determined to make this night better. We argue, speaking over each other, before I put an end to it by saying loudly, but not loud enough to wake up my family, "I'm sorry!"

He looks at me, perplexed, the firelight making his blue eyes a weird orange.

"I'm sorry I made things awkward…"

"You didn't do anything," he interrupts me more gently this time, as if to keep me from embarrassing myself further. "I'm not going to tell you I drew your place, because I had nothing else to. Well, it drew itself, really. I guess it's buried in my subconsciousness. But I'm not some stalker either…"

I stop him with a soft laugh, "I never thought that. I just got a little scared after seeing it drawn like that. Nobody's supposed to know what that place means to me… that painting looked like it was drawn by somebody who had a pretty good idea." That's the closest to the truth, most perfected explanation I can give right now.

Peeta looks down to collect his thoughts. "I was never going to show that to anyone. I promise. I didn't know what was going to happen to it. Maybe I would've given it to you, after it was fully finished. Definitely not today."

I smile behind my hair at the idea of me in his future.

"No matter what happens tomorrow, remember, your job's not done," I tease. I managed to convince him his debt could wait until the trial's end. The truth is I have to get back to work as soon as possible. We both have families to take care of. In the districts, who doesn't?

"How could I forget?" He smiles softly. "Stop worrying and go back to bed."

"I can't turn my mind off." Now that I know we're okay, all I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course.

"Try."

"No.

"Excuse me?"

"Show it to me."

"Excuse me?"

Flushing, I hit him lightly on the arm. "The painting. I want to see it again!"

"Well, since you asked so nicely..." My fist meets his shoulder as we get up and move to the couch.

"Like I said, it's not done...," he reminds me as he opens the book.

I focus all of the attention on the sheet in my hands and this time take a really good look at it. I don't have an artist's eye like Peeta, who by the looks of it can remember every sight, but I know this place by heart. No, it's not done, but everything that is, is perfect. I tell Peeta so.

"Maybe... maybe you could paint what's seen from there. It has a really good view of the woods. It's why I like it so much, really." I imagine what a done painting could like like, bigger and colored, and my heart flutters happily.

Peeta grins as if the idea alone brings him pleasure. He sure loves painting. "That can be arranged. Maybe after the snow melts." I nod. I miss the real colors of the forest. Today it looked like a graveyard.

After a couple more minutes of staring at it, I reach to put the sheet back in place, but Peeta stops me, "Keep it. I can make another one. In fact, I will and then I'll give it to you too."

"Peeta..." That's all I manage to get out. I do want to take it, but I feel like I've already taken too much.

"Keep it. It's not like I'm saving your life." No, not this time.

I put it back on the table, where I plan to take it from to move it to my room later. Later. Why not now, after I've said what I needed to say?

"You should be getting some sleep, Katniss. Got to look proper at court, remember?" Peeta says, mirroring my thoughts.

"Are you going to sleep?"

"No."

"Then we won't sleep together. I'm not leaving you alone with your thoughts and I've gone without sleep for way longer," I tell him confidently, wrapping my arms around my knees. With a sigh, he mirrors my position, leaning the side of his head on the couch.

I study his posture. He looks more restless and anxious than tired.

"What are your thoughts?" Peeta considers my question for a minute, probably wondering if he should answer it at all. We both know it's doubtful I'll like what I hear.

"I don't know how to say it exactly." Not a good sign. "When we come out of that courtroom, I want to still be me. I don't want to change in there. If my mother loses, everything will change. Everyone will know the truth no matter what, but then will immediately be back on my side. Who am I then? Some sad victim?" He scoffs at the idea. "And if she wins... I don't want her to suddenly own me. Literally she won't, because her sons aren't a part of her plan, but figuratively... Whatever game she's playing, I don't want to be a piece."

His words give me a whole new perspective. Will the friends that have abandoned him really dare to come back if Mr. Mellark gets the bakery? I had imagined the opposite might happen – if the witch wins, it'd be like nothing ever changed to those not close to the case. Therefore they have no reason to ignore him. Some will pity Peeta, that's for sure and I don't think either of us is a fan of that.

Peeta's been trying to find a way to keep himself, no matter how good or bad the things I've been worrying about turn out. This has it's positive and negative side. I don't want anyone doing stupid things tomorrow, but I also don't want him to crumble down at the end.

"I've also been thinking about Rye…," he continues with a sigh. "When I ran out today, it wasn't just because of disappointment. I was upset at him, I am, but there's also a part of me that finds his words to be true." I begin to protest, but Peeta shushes me. "I'm still going to do what I have to do. I'm still in this 100%. I'm just starting to wonder if at the end it'll mean something. All of the pain and humiliation to say a few things and keep our mother away from what should never be hers. I'd be lying if I said I don't entirely care about other people's opinions. Still, that's not what bothers me the most. Ripping old wounds open's got to have some side effects, Kat."

It does. That's why I reacted the way I did when my mother tried to apologize today – something I've been awaiting for a while, yet something I'm not sure I can handle the aftermath of. That's not the first time I've ran like that.

"Are you anxious about Ellesse's reaction?" I ask him and he nods. "Haymitch is ready if she and Caroline try to spin things."

"If she makes a joke out of it, I don't know what I'm…" he trails off, running his fingers through his already messy hair frustratingly. "I have to put everything out there for the judge to examine and for her to do whatever she wants with it. How am I supposed to do that?"

"With all of the negativity you can find in yourself directed towards that woman," I tell him sternly. "And a lot of courage." I take a deep breath. I even close my eyes for a second. I don't care about Peeta's gaze on me, I need this moment. Here goes nothing…

"I know I'm going to talk about it tomorrow, but I want you to hear the unedited version first." Like when he told me stories of his abuse, though this is done for completely different reasons. Peeta seems to get my drift, though he probably has no idea why I chose this day of all days to mention the unmentionable. I started confidently, but now I've lost all of my words. He notices and places a hand on my knee. It does nothing but make me feel even more out of my skin.

"That was both the best and the worst day in my life. When my father was killed, it wasn't rainbows either, but the realization still hadn't come then. It really hit me when I had nothing to come home with to my…" I struggle. "This is hard!" I exclaim, just to get it out before it finds it's place inside my head and makes me keep this in for even longer.

I only half register Peeta gently pulling me down to lay beside him, the same way we did once on a different couch.

"I was ready to die. Your mother was telling me to go do so, just not in her backyard. Then you showed up." Before I know what I'm doing, my hand finds his cheek. I trail my fingers up and down more than a couple of times, trying to get rid of a no longer visible bruise. Peeta looks shocked, like he can't believe I'm willingly touching him. It hurts more than I'd ever be able to admit this way.

"It wasn't just the bread that kept me alive. It was you and not just with the act of throwing it. You reminded me what hope is… long enough for me to get a hold of myself and try to make my still alive, though barely breathing, family to do so too. My mother… I'm sorry I tried to hide her away from you, there's not much reason to anymore, but I still remember when there was. Things are better now, because of you."

"Katniss, you're the one who has a good job and who spends all of her time not working, hunting. I haven't done anything," Peeta argues, grabbing my hand in his.

"Yes, you have," I assure him with a laugh, already feeling lighter. "You just don't know it, because I've never told you," I say, guilt-ridden.

I tell him the entire story. How by the time I reached home, the loaves had cooled somewhat, but the insides were still warm. When I dropped them on the table, Prim's hands reached to tear off a chunk, but I made her sit, forced my mother to join us at the table, and poured warm tea. I scraped off the black stuff and sliced the bread. We ate an entire loaf, slice by slice.

"The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn't know how."

"We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then…for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion." I nod, smiling faintly at the memory of our discussion in Biology. I won't tell him what dandelions symbolize for me. It's not hard to guess if you know when they bloom.

"After school, Prim and I went to the meadow and filled a bucket with dandelion greens, stems, and flowers. That night, we gorged ourselves on dandelion salad and the rest of the bakery bread." In the dim light, Peeta's happy smile shines.

"It was never the same after that. I found my place in the woods. Then I gained enough of myself back and stopped being too afraid to do something about my father's murder." My eyes must be shining too. With spite.

"You're digging into that?" Peeta asks, forehead wrinkled in worry.

"I really don't want to talk about that right now. Not tonight."

"Okay," he whispers. "Thanks for everything you did talk about. I just hope it wasn't said with all of the negativity you can find in yourself directed towards me."

"Well, it certainly was with a lot of courage," I tease back. In all seriousness, I hope what I just went through wasn't for nothing and he remembers bravery is more often than not awarded.

"I really don't hate you, Peeta Mellark," I decide to say, to assure him, but to also keep the mood lifted.

"I really don't hate you either, Katniss Everdeen." I know he doesn't.

It's become a habit to point out our firsts. Like the first time we touched, it was like signal bells rang in my head. When I rested my head on his shoulder to remind him he's not alone, my first attempt at comfort. The day he first came over, so many different firsts happened. I move closer and wrap my arms around his neck. The bells sound like sirens as I feel myself trapped to the couch cushion by his strong hold.

I smile at the thought of the clothes that used to smell like my dad, then like me, smelling like Peeta. I breathe in the cinnamon he likes so much, even more than chocolate. Sleep doesn't seem so impossible right now.

"Peeta…," I murmur after a moment.

"Mm?" his lips move against my hair.

"I would really love some milk right now." I feel his chest vibrate with laughter and then slowly pull away from me.

"I'll go check if there's any." I hadn't expected him to. I probably should've. It's Peeta. A smile ghosts my lips as I watch him walk away. When he's out of my sight, I burrow my head in the pillow.

I slip into a dream about cupcakes.