A/N:Some of the dialogue in this scene DOES belong to Suzanne Collins and I do not take full credit for the making of this scene. The lyrics at the beginning of the story are taken with love from I Can't Make You Love Me by Sleeping At Last.

I close my eyes, I won't see,

The love you don't feel when you're holding me.

Morning will come and I'll do what's right

Just give me 'til then to give up this fight.

All I want to do is take her in my arms.

I know she doesn't feel the same way about me. I know every act of affection she has to fake towards me hurts her. I wish I could give her the independent life she longs for; I would if I could, if we weren't in an arena packed with people who want to kill her. The Capitol won't keep her alive unless she acts accordingly – unless I try to keep the odds in her favor. If I had to choose between her life and mine I would have no second thoughts.

If she dies, and I live, I'll lose the only person I care about most. I need her. I know she doesn't need me. She has a family to return to, a boy - a man - who would be able to support her way better than I ever could, and a sister she loves more than herself.

I'm looking at her now. She doesn't notice. She's curled up in at the cave entrance, the bow she holds poised in the air, an arrow tensed to shoot. I don't think she's watching out for other tributes as she says she is – the weather is too violent, even for the careers. In the end she gives up and her head rests against the cold wall of the cave as she sighs. Her bow and arrow hand limply from her hand. I can see the dull red streaks of blood coiling around her arms and swirling across her neck and cheeks.

She found me by the river bleeding to death. It would have been easy to kill me then, to fake a sudden slip or to act like she didn't see me hiding on the rocks. I would have understood. Even when she was trying to stop the blood, I thought it was only just to make the act believable. She told me she wouldn't leave me... and the possibility that she may even care for me makes it worse. I am the reason for her pain. It would be a total lie if I said I didn't want her to love me the way I love her but then again, when the time comes for me to die, she shouldn't have to live through the same agonizing pain I would have felt if our roles were switched. She's the strongest person I know, she doesn't need me – I'm less of an asset than I am a burden. Now we're in this cave and she's still trying to protect me.

A few strands of her dark hair have escaped her braid. I feel a strong desire to tuck those loose strands behind her ear, to get closer to her. I want to comfort her. I want to run my fingertips along her bruises and wounds, through the knots in her hair, over the creases of hardship on her beautiful face… To go back to that time on the roof when, for a few heartbeats, even the slim chance that I could live with her in my arms forever seemed more probable than my death.

I try to smile, knowing that those memories would be the best things to think of before I die, but I can't. Here I am with an infected leg, probably dying of blood loss. Pretty soon my heart will stop beating and I don't want to torture her anymore. Pull yourself together.

"Peeta."

Her voice takes me by surprise. It's enough to make my heart skip a beat. My name reverberates in the cave - when she says it, it sounds so delicate. I gaze up at her, and she's staring back at me. Her eyes are wild. Does she need me? I move closer. I wince as the pain in my leg doubles with the effort. She stays still. When I bring my hand up to caress her face, she makes no sound. My fingertips lightly brush her cheek, afraid that she'll recoil from my touch, but she doesn't. She softly sighs and leans into my hand, eyes closed.

"Peeta," she begins again, with more certainty this time, "Back at the interview… you said you had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?"

She gazes up at me, expectant. The moonlight filtering through the shadows reflects off her skin. Her skin... Her olive complexion and stark gray eyes remind me of a deer; of modest, unquestionable beauty but always distrusting, examining, curious. I could only dream of finding the perfect color of her eyes to paint them. I smile, and desperately hoping the darkness is hiding the blush I feel creeping up my neck, I look down at my hands.

"Oh, I don't know. Let's see. I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair... it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up."

I tell her about how my father used to love her mother, and how when I asked him why she married the coal miner instead of him, he told me that when the coal miner used to sing even the birds stopped to listen.

When I look up again, her smile is rueful.

"They do," she says, then shakes her head, "I mean they did."

"On the first day of school," I continue, "the teacher asked who knew the valley song in assembly. Your hand shot straight up, and when you went up there and started singing, I swear every bird outside that window fell silent. After that I-…" I bite my lip. What if she shuts herself out even more when I tell her the truth? Will she think I'm still acting?

"Peeta, what is it?

Tell her.

I try to get past the sudden embarassment I feel heating up my face and clear my throat, "After that I knew – just like your mother - that I was a goner. Then for the next eleven years I tried to gather my nerves to talk to you."

"Without success," she adds.

"Without success. So you could say that when my name was drawn in the reaping, it was a real piece of luck."

Her smile widens for a moment, and then fades. She looks away and I can see the hints of a frown tugging at her lips. You're just confusing her. This was all just an act, remember?

"You have… a remarkable memory," she says at last.

"I remember everything about you. You're the one who wasn't paying attention." I reply softly. I can feel her eyes fixed on me in the dark.

"I am now," she says.

"I don't have much competition around here, anyway." I'm too tired to explain myself any further. I sigh and look out at the rain, ready to move away. She refuses to let go.

"Peeta," she says simply, "you don't have much competition anywhere."

I'm not prepared when she leans in. Her fingertips leave trails of fire across my cheeks. Her touch has turned my mind into a whirlwind of emotion and thoughts. She places her hands on either side of my face and moves closer. I catch a glimpse of her silver irises, and my heart pounds against my chest because I swear I can see her perfectly dilated pupils. Her lips stop inches from mine and she takes an unsteady breath before closing the distance between us…

Our lips gently collide. She kisses me and I am too eager to kiss her back. Her lips taste of blood and salty tears, and I can't get enough. I want you. I carefully wrap my arms around her. I need you. The truth is, this may be the only chance I get, and I want to do it right. My head spins in pure bliss. I could do this forever.I take it that her fingers entwining in my hair is a good sign so I pull her closer. We're so close that I can feel each of her shaky breaths blowing against my skin and her heart thundering against my chest. I'm drowning in her touch, her scent, her warmth… I don't want to forget any of this. I'm not sure if it's intentional or not, but her teeth lightly graze my lips and it's like every particle in my body shivers in gratification. A weird grunting noise escapes my mouth and she smiles against my lips.

After a few seconds, we pull away. When the euphoria subsides and my mind is functioning as its supposed to again, I notice the cut on her forehead has started bleeding again.

"Are you okay?" I ask. She shakes her head without any elaboration and lies down next to me.

"Does your leg hurt?" she inquires. I put my arm around her and say it doesn't.

The wound on my leg sends a surge of pain through my body and I can feel warm blood flowing down my knee. It's only a matter of time before she'll notice.

"Katniss." I breathe close to her ear, so only she can hear. She nods ever so slightly and buries her face in my chest. She knows. I don't need to say anything else, because as much she may hate how I feel towards her, she knows.

During these few moments when my whole world is surrendered to one person I unconditionally and helplessly love, loved and will love until the day I die, the only word echoing in my mind and branding itself on my heart is her name.

Katniss.