A/N: Okay guys, first things first. I'm sorry that I didn't get a chance to reply to all of your reviews. I always try to reply and say 'thank you' because as a reader and a writer, I know how much thanks means to both sides of the equation.

So...THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND REVIEWING AND ALL OF YOU ARE AWESOME!

Moving along to the chapter, as I've said, this is my favorite in the entire story. Simply for the awesomeness that ensues. It's a great chapter for Katniss. She actually does some soul searching in this chapter! I know, I know, foreign concept, right?

And Peeta gets to be his adorable-sexy-cute self.

All and all, it was a ton of fun to write.

Especially the end. Definitely the end. I LOVE the end. Just for the mental picture. :D

Oh, I had a little shout-out to two of my fav TV shows and a movie. See if you can spot 'em! Peeta has two of the references and Katniss has the third.

Random Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. Peeta and Katniss are just my puppet pals for a while; Smurfs make the best spies; I keep Jack Sparrow in my basement; Dumbledore or Gandalf?. . .biggest question in my life; I think seagulls are strange creatures; Spock rocks; I am terrified of hand puppets; Elves are real...Legolas and I talk...Be jealous; I saw Bob Barker drop kick a small goat once . . . still think I own HG?

Chapter 8

Because I'm in love with her.

Oh. My. God.

My mind is completely blank and yet running rampant at the same time. While I feel dazed, my mind is pulling up every single interaction I've had with Peeta my entire life. Not once did I ever think that he was in love with me. But, now that he's said it . . . it was so obvious. He didn't necessarily hide it, but he didn't flaunt it. Like Peeta had told me himself, he is good at being subtle.

No, he is a master at being subtle.

The bread. The smiles. Little things that I'd never noticed before. I'd just attributed them all to Peeta being Peeta. I think back to more recent times. The past few days since the reaping. The hand holding. The soft words. That look. That odd look in his eye that I didn't have a name for—well, I do now. My mind flashes back to the moment on the rooftop last night. His gentle caress.

Peeta Mellark, the boy with the bread, is in love with me.

The buzzer goes off, signaling the end of his interview and all the interviews in general. Peeta makes his way over to me, avoiding my eyes, and we stand as the anthem of Panem plays. I barely notice when we're ushered off the stage. It's not until the telltale ding when we reach our floor that I realize we'd even entered the elevator.

Everyone seems to be waiting for me to say something, but I don't know what to say. What do they expect me to say? My thoughts are jumbled and my heart is pounding in my ears. This was what Peeta was planning on doing all along, I realize. Admit his love for me on live television, in front of the entire nation. Suddenly, I'm furious.

I spin around and push him into the wall so hard that a picture falls to the floor, sending shattered glass skittering across the floor. "What the hell, Mellark!" I hit his chest. "This was your plan? How long did it take you to come up with the idea?" Everything seems to be clicking inside my head. My mind flashes back to the first night on the train. Peeta had stayed with Haymitch after I'd left. "You told him that night on the train, didn't you?" I turn my fury on Haymitch. "And all this about 'hinting at something more' and 'building the suspense' that was all about tonight! Both of you were playing me! It was all just a game, and I was your pawn! That's what you meant about making it count tonight, isn't it?"

"Now, just wait a minute, sweetheart—"

"Do. Not. Call. Me. That." I hiss between clenched teeth before turning my attention back to Peeta.

"And if you really love me, you would have the decency to tell me yourself instead of on live television, in front of all of Panem!"

It's only after I finish screaming that I realize I'm crying.

Damn it.

With a frustrated screech, both at myself and the world, I fly from the room. I slam the door to my room harder than I ever have and feel very satisfied by the loud sound that seems to reverberate through the hallway. Suddenly, I remember something.

"And so help me Mellark if you pick the lock on this door I will skin you alive!" I yell through the door and I have no doubt that he heard me.

I probably stand in the middle of my room, fuming, for at least half an hour. It's another ten minutes before I can be sure that I'm calm enough to take my dress off, Cinna's beautiful masterpiece, without ripping it to shreds.

I methodically find a hanger and put the dress on it, and then I strategically hang it on the hook on the bathroom door. Robotically, I step into the shower and wash away all the makeup and glitter that my prep team doused me in and by the time I step out into a towel, I'm feeling relatively calm.

But I still feel the rage roiling underneath.

I braid my hair, twisting it deftly between my fingers before slipping into the most comfortable night clothes I can find—a pair of black cotton pants and a matching tank top. I lay in bed and fume.

I just don't get it. The idea that Peeta had been planning this since the first night refuses to sink in. I still don't see how this helps me in any way. All this has done is excite the Capitol. The boy who saved the girl because he was in love with her, only to have the possibility of killing her in the arena . . . tragic. And just what the Capitol would thrive on.

But Peeta doesn't want to win the Games.

I frown. Then what in the hell is he doing?

Hours pass and I can't find sleep. I toss and turn. My eyelids feel like lead, but they simply won't close. My mind won't turn off. I can't stop thinking about Peeta Mellark. What he's play at. What he's thinking. Why. Why, is my major question. Just . . . why?

Eventually, I give up. I haul myself out of bed and quietly unlock and poke my head out of the door. My feet ghost over the floor, not making a sound, and I climb the stairs that lead to the roof.

I step out onto the roof, and the immediate cool breeze that hits my skin refreshes me. I close my eyes and let myself relish the feeling. It feels cleansing, free. Up here, on the roof of the Training Center, I feel the Capitol's hold on me slip. Maybe that's why Peeta and I tend to flock here.

It is when I open my eyes again that I see I'm not alone. Peeta's large figure is leaning against the rails, his forearms resting atop the metal. His head is tilted up toward the stars, as if asking them questions. I wonder vaguely if he's finding his answers.

"Can't sleep either, huh?" he asks, startling me.

I debate whether or not to simply turn around and go. My anger at his actions is still present, but I feel the flames dying out now. All that's left is confusion and a want to understand. "I know you're pissed at me, but I'd rather be out here than cooped up in there," he says.

Giving in, I go over to him and stand by his side. I place my hands on the railing, curling my fingers around it as far as I can. I try not to focus on how close Peeta and I are, practically shoulder to shoulder. I don't know why I'm this close to him in the first place. It seems to only heighten the tension in the air. You would need a hacksaw to cut through it.

But even through my ire, I can feel the warmth radiating off him in waves. The contrast of his warmth and the sudden cold surrounding me causes me to shiver and gooseflesh to appear on my arms.

"Cold?" Peeta asks and before I can deny it, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me to him so that my back rests against his chest and both his arms are wrapped around my waist.

All the ways that I could get out of his embrace flit through my mind. A sharp elbow to the gut. A hard stomp on his foot. Many ideas cross my consciousness, some time-honored classics, some much more creative. And yet, I don't act on any of them. I let myself be held. I might be mad at him, but something about this feels right.

Scary thought.

I feel my ire at Peeta fading. What's the point to hold on to it anyway? We're going into the Games tomorrow, and oddly enough, I don't want to go into the Games angry with Peeta. I want to work things out, just so I'll know where we stand. I just want to know.

If only I really knew exactly what I wanted to know.

In my mind's eye I see the events of the past few days. The days since the reaping. It plays like a movie in my head and I watch it all go by. I see Prim getting reaped. I see myself rushing to volunteer. I see Peeta getting reaped and I see my face, twisted in a play of emotions I can't name. I see the night on the train. Accepting that Peeta and I are friends, escaping from the train briefly. Being pulled through the crowd at the Capitol, clutching Peeta's hand like a lifeline. Opening ceremonies. Our entwined hands in the air. Training. Cato. Weights. Peeta. The rooftop conversations. Peeta telling me that he doesn't want to win the Games. Peeta asking me to trust him. Tonight. The interviews.

All of this takes only seconds, but it feels like longer. I look up over my shoulder at Peeta to find that his eyes are already on me. I'm entranced by those blue eyes. There's just something about him. Something that makes him different from everyone I know. Something that causes me to act like this with him, vulnerable . . . scared . . . no, there's something about Peeta that just makes me feel.

Since my father's death, all the pain I suffered afterward, I shut myself off from emotion as much as possible. It's easier this way. The less you care, the less chance you have of being hurt. It's a lesson I learned in the hardest way possible. But there's just something about Peeta Mellark that makes all of my suppressed emotions jump to the surface, and I've gone so long without allowing myself to feel them that I'm lost, confused by my own feelings.

Until the reaping, everything had made sense to me. I was Katniss Everdeen. I was strong. I needed no one. I relied on no one but myself. All my actions went towards my survival and Prim's. I didn't need comfort. I didn't need reassurance. I didn't need any of these trivial things. They made you weak. They made you rely on someone other than yourself. I didn't need nor want that.

And yet since the reaping, what had I been doing? Clutching Peeta's hand. Letting him hold me as I cried. Sharing random bits of information that I've never shared with anyone. Depending on someone. And I realize that it's kind of nice. It's comforting, knowing that you have someone to go to. I haven't had that for the longest time. Maybe that's why I'm allowing Peeta in as much as I am. Because, for once in my life, I didn't need to be the strong one. I could let someone else shoulder the weight of the world. I could let someone comfort me and make me feel like I wasn't alone.

"I'm surprised you haven't hit me yet," he teases. "I'd braced myself for violence on your part."

"I thought about it," I admit.

"Then why haven't you hit me?"

"Because I'm cold."

Peeta chuckles and I feel the rumble of his chest against my back. I ignore the flurry of feeling in my stomach that it causes. Traitorously, I feel my body begin to relax against him, and in response his hold around my waist tightens. I feel his face in my hair and don't dare move. There is something about the position we are in. Me, allowing him behind me, making me vulnerable. His strong, muscled arms wrapped around me, trapping me against him. It makes it seem like I trust him, like I trust him not to hurt me.

And I realize that I do. Even after all that's happened. His scheming. His interview. I trust Peeta Mellark.

Peeta is a boy who took a beating to give me two loaves of burnt bread that ultimately saved my life and my family's; a boy who drops off a single frosted cookie on our doorstep every year on Prim's birthday. This is a boy who got into a fight at school, risking his entire reputation, to defend the people from the Seam, even though I know that truthfully he was defending me. Peeta is a boy who does everything for others and leaves virtually no thought toward himself. He is a boy, who, through small bits of conversation throughout four years, has taught me so many lessons about people and life.

Yes, I trust Peeta.

It's always been there, I realize, from the moment he gave me the bread. That moment began it all. That was the moment when I knew that it wasn't just me. There was someone watching over me. It's nice, comforting. It felt safe, and I hadn't felt safe since the day my father died.

Feeling perturbed at my rare introspection, and doubly perturbed by what I had deduced and the feelings still roiling through me, I realize that Peeta has hardly said a word.

"You're awful quiet," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

I know Peeta's smiling when he speaks. "This coming from the functional mute. Oh, the irony."

He gently turns me in his arms so that I'm facing him. "I'm sorry, Katniss," he apologizes. "I truly am. I never meant to hurt you, and trust me, I sure as hell never planned on telling you I loved you on live television . . . it just kinda worked out that way."

"But why?" I ask. "That's what you were planning to say, right? That's what was so important? Peeta, I don't understand what difference it makes."

Hurt flashes heavily in his eyes at my words and I quickly add. "I mean, I don't understand what it difference it makes about the Games."

"It makes you more desirable," Peeta tells me, and I frown. "It'll get you sponsors, Katniss. And your interview tonight sealed the deal. It was almost like we rehearsed it. You avoided Caesar's question about our relationship perfectly. By giving such an ambiguous answer, you heightened the suspense tenfold. And then when you mentioned that night in the rain . . . " Peeta trails off. "I still can't believe you brought it up."

"I really didn't have a choice."

Peeta nods, but says nothing more on the subject, and I'm grateful.

After a beat of silence, Peeta speaks again. "They're beautiful, aren't they?" he asks. "The stars."

I glance up and see that his face is once again tilted up towards the night sky. I follow his gaze. "You can't really see them," I say. The bright lights of the bustling Capitol block them out for the most part.

"But you know they're there," Peeta says softly. "It's nice to know that some things are out of the Capitol's reach."

I worry that he might have spoken too loud, but I realize that with the sharp breeze and the heavy tinkling of the chimes, he couldn't have been heard.

"I kept seeing myself die," he continues. I assume he is referring to why he can't sleep. "Over and over in so many different ways. And then, I'll see others dying . . . because of me. Their blood on my hands. I'm scared, Katniss." He confides it to me in a whisper, like it's some big secret. "I'm scared of what I'll have to do. I know I'll die. That doesn't bother me . . . it's just, when I die, I want to die still being me." He looks down at me, his blue eyes boring into my grey ones. "I just want to show them that I'm not a piece in their games."

I don't know what prompts me to say it, but the words escape my lips before I can stop them. "You'll never change," I tell him. "You'll always be Peeta."

There I go using his first name again.

A brief smile flashes across his face, and he suddenly bends down to brush a feather-soft kiss against my temple. "That means a lot," he says, his breath tickling my ear, "coming from you."

I look up at him and am speared by his crystal blue eyes. They hold me in place, and I can't help but stare into their fathomless depths. I see different emotions these skies of blue. A spark of fear and a hint of something I can't define, but overpowering that are two things that I see clearly—determination and love.

Love.

Again, his interview springs to mind. I know that he's telling the truth. Peeta Mellark is in love with me. His admission was so shy and sweet and so Peeta that there was no way I could question his sincerity.

"Why?" I ask suddenly.

Confusion colors his features. "Why, what?"

"Why me?" I continue. "Why?"

I see comprehension descend upon his face and suddenly he seems wary of me. His arms unravel and fall back to his sides, and I immediately miss their warmth. I feel oddly exposed without him holding me. Peeta takes a step back from me and runs a hand through his curly blonde locks. "Why are you asking?"

"Why aren't you answering?" I shoot back. "Come on, there has to be a reason. Why? Why me? I'm nothing special."

"Don't say that." Peeta almost looks mad. "You are so special, you don't even know."

I frown. "I don't understand."

"You, Katniss Everdeen, are the single most amazing person I know." Peeta smiles a little as he speaks. "You're strong. You're a fighter, a survivor. You have such a big heart, and it's full of love. For Prim. The woods. Your father, even your mother. I just hate that life has given you so much pain. I hate that it has destroyed your trust in people. I hate that it has made you take on so much responsibility so young. I hate that it has caused you to close off your heart to anyone but Prim."

"And you love me anyway." I look at him disbelievingly. It just didn't make sense. "But you're so nice."

My emphasis on the word causes Peeta to chuckle and quirk an amused eyebrow at me. "So I can't be nice and love you?"

"You're everything that I'm not, Peeta!" This is bothering me, the fact that he can't see this. "You're open and happy and kind and loving and so completely and utterly selfless! I'm none of those things. I'm closed-off, sullen, rude, and selfish."

"You're reserved," Peeta argues. "And you can be happier than you think or even let yourself be. Admittedly you are rude, but that's only due to your distrust of people. . .mostly," he adds with a slight smirk. Only because I knew it to be true am I not offended by his statement. "And we're all selfish in one way or another."

"You're not!" I argue. "There's not a selfish bone in your body Peeta Mellark."

Peeta smiles. "That's where you're wrong. If I were as selfless as you think, I wouldn't be keeping you up here alone with me." He approaches me, and I tense, like an object of prey might. Why does Peeta always seem to make me feel vulnerable? His arms wrap around me again, and he buries his face in my hair. "If I were selfless, I wouldn't be doing this," he whispers.

I freeze. I don't know what to do. Everything is happening too fast. I can't process it all. His declaration of love for me, my ever-confusing feelings toward him, the Games—oh, god, the Games. But what does this night, this moment, matter right now anyway? The odds that we'll both be dead in days, maybe only hours, is high. So, what does it matter?

Hesitantly, I wrap my arms around his waist and return his embrace. He squeezes me briefly for a moment, and I admire the muscles that made the action happen.

I can't help but think that the Peeta I knew from District 12 would never be so bold. "I didn't think you had the guts to do this or to say all those things," I tell him bluntly.

Peeta laughs a little. "Neither did I, really. Eminent death seems to be the right amount of motivation."

"Don't talk like that," I demand fervently, surprising myself a little. "Don't accept your death."

"There's only one winner Katniss," he reminds me and I stiffen.

He's right. There's only one winner and for me to keep my promise to Prim, Peeta must die.

The thought makes my stomach churn.

"And I want it to be you," he adds softly as he slowly slides his fingertips over my cheek, leaving a trail of warmth.

"Damn it, Peeta," I say, shaking my head, but I don't move away from his embrace. "Why do you have to be such a good person?"

Peeta doesn't say anything, he just gives me a self-deprecating shrug.

I can't take this. "Be my ally." The words escape me without a thought.

"What?" Peeta asks wide-eyed.

"Be my ally," I say again. "We'll be better off together."

"I'll slow you down," Peeta counters.

"No you won't," I say, though I wonder if it's true. It doesn't matter right now.

Peeta remains silent.

"Please, Peeta," I plead softly. "I-I can't not know. In the arena, I have to know that you're alive. I don't want to wait until the end of the day when the anthem plays and see your face in sky."

"Okay," Peeta agrees after another pause. "But what if it comes down to—"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," I interrupt him, not wanting him to finish the thought. I don't even want to think about what we'd do if we're the last two. "Besides, the odds of that happening—"

"Yeah." Peeta shakes his head. "Let's not talk about odds," he says with a small smile and somehow he gets me to laugh a little.

It occurs to me that his arms are still around my waist, holding me close, and my hands are resting on his chest. A flood of emotion hits me in a way that only Peeta can induce, and I step away from him.

"I better get some sleep," I say quickly, disturbed yet again by all the thoughts and feelings Peeta seems to flood me with. "You too. After all we have a big, big, big day tomorrow!" I mock Effie.

Peeta laughs at my poor attempt. "Right."

Like the gentleman he is, Peeta holds the door open and lets me pass before shutting it behind himself. Silently, well, as silently as possible with Peeta trudging along behind me, we make our way back to our rooms. We stand in the middle of the hallway, Peeta's door on the left, mine on the right. We don't move and our eyes meet.

Without thinking about my actions, I open my door and quickly cross the threshold before turning back to Peeta. I hold the door open, a silent invitation. Peeta hesitates for a minute, debating, before he steps into my room. I shut the door and we are both standing in the middle of the room awkwardly.

Oh, how I love it when I act before I think.

"I just—" I try to explain, but I trail off when I meet his eyes. Damn those blue eyes. I feel my stomach flip-flop. "I just don't want to be alone," I finally manage to say.

Peeta smiles in understanding before kicking off his shoes and climbing into bed. Momentarily, I'm stunned by his easy-going nature, but then I realize that this is Peeta. Of course he would be making this as minimally awkward as possible. After all, I'm sure his mind had been racing when I, Katniss Everdeen, the girl that he loved, invited him into her room late in the middle of the night.

Good god, what had he been thinking? A blush spreads across my cheeks and I hope that it's too dark for him to see.

"You just gonna stare at me all night?" he jokes from the bed, his fingers laced behind his head. Okay, now he's purposely mocking me with his comfort in the awkward situation I've put us in.

I scoff, before toeing off my shoes. I climb into bed beside him and for a moment we just lay there, side by side, not touching; but after a few minutes, I feel his warm, strong fingers grasp mine. This comfort that he gives me, this safety that I am begrudgingly, yet selfishly soaking up, overpowers the awkwardness I feel and I mentally say 'to hell with it.'

I shift and lay my head on his chest, throwing an arm over his waist. He makes a sound of surprise before his arms come up to surround me, and I sigh. Oddly enough, I feel relatively relaxed in this position. No one has really held me since my father died. I'm almost always the one holding and comforting Prim and it's truly a rare occurrence when Gale and I share a hug.

Gale. Confusingly, a feeling of wrongness strikes me as I think of Gale while in Peeta's arms.

My mind goes back to Peeta and the warmth of his embrace. I feel safe. I feel protected. I feel loved. A part of me hates that I'm using Peeta for this, but I know I'm selfish. And I remember what he said to me on the roof, how he implied he was being selfish by holding me. Well, at least we're being selfish together.

Suddenly, a very important question pops into my mind. "Peeta?"

Again, what is it with me using his first name all of a sudden?

"Hmm?" Peeta hums, already half-asleep. "What?"

"Do you snore?"

A snort and a brief chortle of laughter escapes him, causing a small laugh to slip from my own lips.

"No." The amusement in his voice is clear as day. "Do you?"

"No."

"Then we're good." Peeta exhales softly, sounding content. His fingers ghost over my back for a moment, sending that fluttery feeling in my stomach into an uncomfortable frenzy. "We're good," he repeats.

My eyelids drift closed and I fall into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

(Does happy dance)

Progress, people! Progress! Finally, Katniss made progress. It's about time, though, right? She knows and accepts that Peeta is in love with her. Oh, how might that change things, you ask?

Too bad I'm not going to tell you! (evil laughter)

Just trust me, when I say that more cuddly moments are to come. :D

Lots of love,

AC