Author's Note: I want to apologize for the first segment of this chapter. I tried so hard to write and re-write it, no matter what I did, it didn't read well. In the interest of getting another chapter up and starting on the next I decided I simply couldn't figure out how to make it work any better than what I had down. I will more than likely come back and edit this chapter in the future. Read, Review. Thanks!

Peeta lined the fresh baked goods into a plain white box. He was quite impressed with what he had managed to throw together so quickly. An assortment of croissants, muffins and donuts were carefully placed and presented much to his satisfaction. He smiled and looked at the contents again, inspecting it quickly before closing the lid.

"I've got to duck out for an hour," Peeta called to his boss, Mitch. He pulled his apron off and clutched the box carefully. "I'll be back soon."

Mitch eyed the box in Peeta's hands disapprovingly, "You paid for those right?"

Peeta paused for a quick moment, "They're old," he lied.

"Don't drag your ass, kid," The older man grunted.

Peeta stilled for a moment, unsure of how to take the comment. The middle aged man looked up from his paper and shot him a half smile. He chuckled and smiled back.

Customers had dwindled that morning after the 7:00 rush. Peeta decided to put together a few pieces to take to Finnick. From experience he knew Finnick would be up at this time and more than likely getting ready for work, he wanted to be sure to get there before he ate.

Winter had finally come. Peeta pulled on his jacket and a pair of mittens for good measure. He shoved one hand into his pocket, a quick relief for his cold fingers. The air was chilly and biting, as he took his first steps through the very thin layer of snow that had fell the night before, he missed the warmth the store provided.

Despite recent, unnerving events that had left him in a state of confusion about his tentative relationship with Finnick, he was beginning to feel content about everything. His birthday was just over a week away and Christmas was right around the corner. As he waited to cross the street, Peeta smiled to himself knowing the rest of the month would be spent crafting gingerbread house's and Christmas cookies.

He had spent half the week in Finnick's bed, sharing heat underneath a quilt. It had been a week since Peeta confirmed how he felt. Neither man had spoken about it since. He didn't expect Finnick to share his feelings, at least not right away, but there was no mistaking the subtle shift in Finnick's demeanour that made Peeta feel more confident in a future for them. He no longer knew if the older man's priorities were still the same. As much as he told himself not to become too involved or get too attached to a man who could hurt him, Peeta allowed himself to fall in love. Now he had to wait for the man he loved to reciprocate his affection.

As he crossed the intersection and started down the street he had become all to familiar with a question he didn't want to ask was answered for him.

He was disgusted.

Finnick was leaving his building. A tall blonde woman stood by his side. He paused, trying to comprehend what he was seeing, doing his best to rationalise what Finnick was doing and unable to come up with any other explanation besides what he knew in his head.

The kiss Finnick shared with her only confirmed his suspicions.

Furious, he wanted to approach him. Demand an explanation, if he was even entitled to one. He wanted to know how many there were, surely the woman could not have been his only other lover.

He gripped the box tightly as he turned to walk in the opposite direction. He threw it into the gutter and felt his heart sink.

Through the course of the night Peeta had gone through different stages of anger. First he would infrequently place the blame on a different party, mainly himself, then grit his teeth and force himself to accept harsh truths he didn't want to. He hated himself more than he thought he could at his lowest moment. He hadn't felt the way he did for Finnick with many people before. One of them left him, and Finnick seemed simply beyond caring about anything he had to offer.

How could he blame Finnick for not caring? He was beautiful, successful, even perfect. Peeta knew he wasn't. He should have never said anything. Maybe love wasn't special. Maybe it was a curse placed on him to destroy any hope he had placed in the person he felt it for.

He wondered if his sudden admission of such feelings were to blame for Finnick's betrayal - if he could even call it that. He had told Peeta time and time again they weren't special, there was no exclusivity, nothing was tying them together. But didn't his admission of love mean anything? Or did it mean less than nothing?

Peeta was certain of one thing. The woman he saw Finnick with wasn't the first person he bedded in the time they'd known each other, and she wouldn't be the last.

Now he was back to square one. He hated being there, having to pick up and start again. He didn't have the energy to do it again, at least not anytime soon. The mere thought of being with anyone besides Finnick was too emotionally taxing. The thought that he fell in love with him so quickly and so soon was disturbing to him. Did the death of his parents leave a void in him? Certainly. But was he trying to substitute something, anything to fill that void as quickly as possible?

He knew that he never wanted to see Finnick again. He could just get by the idea of not being able to hold his hand in public, or get any closer or serious with him. He didn't want to, but tried to accept that they wouldn't be anything more than two people who cared for each other, one more than the other. But to sit by knowing that Finnick was with others was unfathomable to him. He could never do that to anyone, he didn't understand how Finnick or anyone else could be so ruthlessly indifferent.

What they had was special. He was sure of it. They had developed an easy, instant bond immediately. Finnick was all he could think about in the passing weeks. There was something there. That was, of course until it all turned to shit. Like most things did for him now.

He hated Finnick for being with others. He hated him for keeping it a secret. The scary thought of how long it would continue had he not caught him that morning crossed his mind, it made him feel sick. How could anyone find that kind of action okay? How could Finnick sleep around without telling him? The act alone was reprehensible to him, but furthermore, despite the fact that they had discussed there was no commitment, did that give Finnick permission to be with whoever he wanted to?

It was Finnick who sought him out originally. Finnick initiated their first kiss, climbed through his bedroom window. The memories felt torn and ruined now.

Now he sat alone, in a dwindling bar. The same place they had originally met. His head spun whenever he would life it from the hand it was buried in. He was surprised he hadn't cried yet. The thought that maybe he was allotted a certain number of tears per lifetime and he used his up crossed his mind, but he knew the pain that brought tears with it would surely come soon, just not yet. Now he had his festering rage to deal with. Once the fury passed, the sorrow would come.

Nothing was strong enough to block out the pain, at least not any alcohol he could be afforded with where he was. He was disappointed to realize he didn't know anyone who could provide him with the same substances Cato would when his pain would come. He took another sip of his scotch. That was the good thing about Cato, not only was he there when Peeta needed him, but he could always be relied on to provide him with enough to make him feel invulnerable to the feel of the two broken pieces of his heart.

"Get up," he muttered to himself, desperate to be out of the rotten place that now had memories attached to it. He slowly lifted his head and looked around. He knew if he stood to stand, he would undoubtedly go crashing to the floor. The last thing he needed was the cops taking him to dry up in the sober tank again - Noah still hadn't forgiven the last time, or the few times before that.

He looked around the bar carefully, trying to find some sort of route he could survive, of course there was still the matter of getting home, but one bridge at a time. A man that looked in his mid 40's, but was probably shy of 30 sat alone at a table near the back. Placed in front of him, a single bottle of whisky and a half empty glass. His eyes shared the same look of vacancy that Peeta knew his own probably had. He wondered if that would be his life? Sitting in a bar, night after night, trying his best to drown out the world and all the misery it brought? He was only 18, too young to be having that kind of crisis. He immediately pushed the thought out of his head as he placed both of his feet flat on the ground and began to place the weight of his body on them.

Sure enough, the dizziness came and he stumbled quickly. Apparently his attempt of controlling the situation with sheer force or will failed to work. His appendages were clearly refusing to comply with the commands his hazy mind was ordering. He took one step, forcing himself to bite down on his lower lip as the urge to regurgitate came. He focussed on the older man at the back who was now staring at him. He then noticed the stares accompanied with whispers from a man and a woman by the pool table, were they directed at him? Another stumbling step and his hand clutched the back of the stool. As his shaking foot lifted to take another step, he recognized a tall figure approaching him, his vision only compromised by the neon beer sign behind the figure.

"Peeta?"

It looked like Finnick, it sounded like him too, but he couldn't be sure of anything, only that he was falling to the ground.

Peeta was too sick and too tired to stop it. Whenever his eyes would open and reality would distort his half sleep images of a dream for a few seconds, his eyes would close again and a sickening sleep would find him again.

His head spun rapidly, refusing to stop and completely exacerbated by being hung upside down, flung over Finnick's shoulder like a rag doll. He had underestimated his strength. The cold chill of the night air alerted him of his surroundings. He recognized Finnick's car and where he was outside of the bar before he opened his mouth and let out a torrent or vomit, narrowly missing Finnick's shoes and pants.

His eyes closed again, his final thought was how quickly his stomach was turning, no doubt in part to being carried. He passed out again.

When his eyes opened again he felt the cold sweat all over his body. His face was buried in a pillow. It wasn't his. He jerked out of the bed immediately, feeling better when his bare feet touched carpet. The pillow, the bed, the hushed breathing of the man lying next to him. He knew where he was and the blurry images of what he witnessed that day burned in his mind.

He clutched his twisted gut, feeling the contents rise slowly and the dampness of his shirt. He sprang to his feet and darted out of the bedroom, through the small hallway and pushed the bathroom door open. He had just enough time to flick on the light and raise the toilet seat before he released the contents in his twisted stomach into the porcelain bowl.

As he coughed and spluttered and vomited again his hand fisted in his pants. Little could be done to control the volume and noise his body involuntarily made. His hands rested on the cold tile floor. He brought his knees to his chin and closed his eyes, feeling the rumblings in his stomach pass and his head settle. It took a few minutes, certain he had passed the worst of it, he flushed the toilet.

"Peeta?" Finnick's voice called from the hallway. Footsteps came closer until the figure of the tall, half dressed man appeared in the doorway. He paused for a second to wipe the sleep from his eyes before he made his way closer, kneeling by Peeta and the toilet. "What did you take?"

His shook his head slowly and buried it in his knees.

Finnick frowned and stood to his feet, he shifted various items on the counter before handing the smaller man a face cloth. He sat back down on the cold tile.

The pain had subsided - for the time being anyway. His face remained buried, hidden away from the bright unwanted light and the sight of the man he didn't want to see, the root of his pain. The feeling of a bare hand touching his shoulder made him jerk back and flinch.

"What happened?" Finnick asked softly, "The bartender wanted to call an ambulance. Are you sure you didn't take anything?"

He just needed his energy back. Just enough to get home. He didn't want to talk, especially not to Finnick. He was developing a problem, a dependence, one that caused great pain. Psychical pain came trying to fight emotional pain. Was it too much to ask for neither?

"If you're not going to talk to me, then at least come back to bed," Finnick said, his tone slightly agitated. "Come on, get up."

"I don't want to go to bed with you," Peeta mumbled. His stomach had finally settled. He wondered what time it was.

Finnick reached a hand out to touch him again, only pulling back an inch before his hand touched the soft skin. "Fine," he replied, puzzled "I'll take the couch. Or do you want me to drive you home?"

He didn't feel good, but he felt much better than he did earlier. He freed his head and slowly stood up. "I'll walk."

"What?" Finnick gaped at him, "Peeta, what the hell happened to you? What's wrong?"

The long walk home suddenly dawned on him, but he would have rather stumbled home drunk then willingly accept a favor from Finnick.

"Why did you bring me here?" Peeta asked accusingly. "I didn't ask for your help!"

Finnick rose to his feet, glaring at the accusation. "Because if I didn't take you away the manager would have called the cops when you passed out drunk in the middle of the bar."

Peeta blew off the comment as he made his way out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom. His hand reached for the light switch. He quickly searched the room for the rest of his belongings. "Where are my fucking shoes?"

"Peeta, stop," Finnick said in a measured tone, growing increasingly impatient at the younger man stomping through his bedroom. As Peeta made his way past him, Finnick turned on him, grasping his wrists tightly and pushing him into the wall.

"Stop!" Finnick commanded, holding Peeta tightly in place as he struggled to be freed from the hold. "What is wrong with you?"

Peeta managed to free himself from the stronger man's hold. He shoved the man roughly, closing in on him as he stumbled back. "I saw you this morning," he snapped, feeling the pang of pain again once he remembered it all over again.

The same questions reared their ugly heads. Did he really have the right to be upset? Was this about Finnick and the woman? Or was it merely a convenient outlet for him to unleash the same inner rage that had driven the others away?

The older man looked at him questioningly for a few moments as if he was trying to come to the same conclusion. After another moment it dawned on Finnick what Peeta was referring to. He opened his mouth to speak, but words did not come immediately.

"What I do when I'm alone isn't any of your business," he sighed, crossing his arms.

Peeta nodded, eying him bitterly, "Who is she?"

"A friend," Finnick replied, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Like I'm your friend, right?"

"Sort of."

He couldn't fathom Finnick's indifference and his attitude toward his feelings. The implication that the blonde woman was someone Finnick saw regularly made his blood boil.

"How many times have you been with her?" Peeta asked angrily.

"We met a couple of months ago, she works across the street from my office. Since then it's been about once every two of three weeks." The interrogation from the younger man seemed unfair given the position Finnick had taken, but he also knew he owed some answers to him. "Last night was the first time I called her since I met you."

For a brief moment, Peeta wanted to forgive Finnick's actions. He paused for a moment to consider if Finnick sleeping with another person once without making any commitment to him was something he could forgive. He wanted to forgive him so badly, but it wouldn't change anything, he wanted more than what they had. He also knew there was more he didn't know about the man he thought he knew.

Another question raised in his head, one Peeta didn't know if he wanted answered. "But there were other people weren't there? Not just her?" he asked, his anger almost chocking him.

"Yes."

"How many since…" The words choked in his throat. He didn't know if he wanted to ask. "Since we were… together."

Finnick paused. Answering the question would only bring more pain. "Don't do this-"

Peeta scowled, "When I inevitably get syphilis, I want to know who to blame."

He hesitated before answering, knowing his silence was only condemning him further. "Two. The woman you saw this morning, and another last week."

"Shit." He shook his head in complete disbelief. "You really do get around don't you? You make me sick. Are two of your regulars not enough?"

Finnick rose off the bed and stepped closer, his nose flaring at the accusation, "I was clear about everything, about us… But you need to understand it doesn't change how I feel about you."

"That's such a line," Peeta spat viciously, "I bet you had a good laugh when I told you I loved you. The dumbass naive kid falling in love with the hooker. What could you possibly feel for me?"

"I don't know!" Finnick yelled, "It's not a god damn line, Peeta!"

"Bullshit!" His words didn't seem enough. He wanted to cause Finnick pain, physical pain, a fight Peeta was certain he wouldn't win. He used all the rage at his disposal to hurt the man in other ways. "Do you drop that one on all the people that come and go from your bed?"

"No! I wouldn't say it unless I meant it!"

"What?" He scoffed, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. None of it made sense, it never did. "You're disgusting. I'm out of here."

Once again, Finnick's arms stopped him, pulling his arms and locking him in place, only this time his force was stronger as was his will.

"You have to cut this shit!" Finnick snarled, his hands locking death grips around Peeta's. He shook him slightly, trying his best to make him listen. "You have to stop pulling this crap! It's not always about you!"

"Get off me!" Peeta snarled, trying his best to release his hands from the tight grip.

Finnick glared at him angrily. "You know what you're problem is? You're a child. You want to play house with me, you want me to be this perfect guy you can have to himself, you have no idea how to be an adult or what responsibilities come with it. But what the hell can I expect, you're a teenager."

"Screw you!" he barked in reply, "And what? Me wanting you to myself is so much to ask?! What I feel doesn't matter because of my age?!"

"No. I've been down this road, Peeta. I don't want this, I never asked for this shit." Finnick threw his head back in frustration, his strong hands still pinning Peeta's wrists, his grip refusing to falter even for a second. "That doesn't mean I don't want you, because I do. I care a great deal for you."

"Damnit, Finnick!" Peeta yelled, "If you care about someone you d-don't do this to them! You can't put me through the ringer like this! You can't have me when it suits you and fuck the city population when it doesn't, you asshole!"

"And you can't stampede through my life like it belongs to you!" He released Peeta's arms before ripping him away from the wall and shoving him back into it just as aggressively. "I didn't do anything wrong! I was forthcoming and up front with what I wanted from you! I'm sick of having this conversation with you! If you can't accept it then you and I have nothing more to discuss!"

Finnick released his grip on Peeta and stood back, his arms hung by his sides. Peeta noted the way his fists were clenched in anger.

"We want different things," Peeta said carefully, still taken aback from Finnick's words. "You expect me to submit to your demands and your rules, but you won't even meet me half way. You don't care about anything but getting laid. You sure as hell don't give a shit about me or the way I feel about you."

"You really think I don't?" Finnick asked in an accusing tone, he jutted his finger into Peeta's chest, "If I didn't give a shit about you I would have left you on the floor in that bar. I would have done nothing when the cops came, and I sure as hell wouldn't have brought you back here to put up with all your shit! If I didn't care about you I wouldn't be letting you stay here with me every other night, or climbing into your window like a damn fucking teenager! I listen to you, I confide in you and I hold you when we sleep. How the hell can you say I don't care about you?"

"Because you don't want to be with me!" Peeta snapped. The words echoed in his head and he finally realized there was no more discussion. Negotiations were over. Finnick didn't want to be with him. There was nothing more he could do.

The pain in Finnick's eyes didn't go unnoticed by him. Peeta saw the fear in the green stubborn eyes. It didn't mean anything to him, he remained convinced.

Defeated, he let his back slump against the wall and watched as Finnick held a hand to his forhead. "I can't get on board with this, I never could. I can't sit back knowing that your bed isn't empty when I'm not in it. I can't be a part time hobby you look forward to seeing in between rounds. I love you, but I can't."

"If you love me, you won't leave, you won't end this," Finnick mumbled, crossing his arms again and looking at the floor. "You're right. We have something. Just because it's not how you envisioned it, it doesn't mean it's not special."

"Yes it does. That's exactly what it means, Finnick," Peeta sighed, "When I first met you, I thought you were going to be mine, mine only. I fell in love with you hoping that you would see that and give me what I want. But you'll never make me happy. All you do is bring more pain. I would have rather never met you than feel this unhappy around you."

Peeta turned and walked down the hallway to the living room. He could hear the feet behind him as he grabbed his jacket of the couch and quickly put his shoes on.

"Please don't go," Finnick said softly.

Peeta paused for a second, before unlocking the door and closing it behind him.

As he walked up the driveway, he noticed the sun was just starting to rise, giving him an idea of what time it was, and how long it took him to get home. His face and hands felt almost numb from exposure to the cold air. The only solace Peeta could find in the night was that he had the smallest amount of dignity in it all. Despite his feelings and the pain of never seeing Finnick again, he knew one day he would find someone to love him the way he deserved. He was sick of feeling sorry for himself. He'd had enough of letting his fear and misery destroy him. He promised himself he'd be happy again.

He took his jacket off as he entered the door and closed it behind him. The house was dark except for the light that dim light that shone from the kitchen. He'd been caught.

Noah sat perched on a seat in front of the counter in his sleep shirt and a pair of sweatpants, his blonde hair messy from sleep. A glass of milk sat on the surface in front of him. Peeta put his cold hands in his pockets and gingerly made his way into the kitchen, trying desperately to form the explanation in his head. The two brothers looked at each other with tired eyes.

"Couldn't sleep?" Peeta asked, unsure of what else to say.

Noah glanced at his glass of milk and shrugged. "Normally you get in before 3. When I didn't hear you crash through the house trying to be quiet, I got worried."

It's true. He wasn't exactly subtle, but he never knew he was loud enough to alert his brother, who he always tried to avoid waking or alerting or his comings and goings. A small part of him found the humour in it all.

"I didn't want to worry you," Peeta said quietly as he pulled out a glass from the cupboard and opened the fridge to retrieve the milk.

"You know how I am," Noah sighed, taking a sip and setting his glass back down carefully, noting the vacant look in his brother's eyes. He'd seen that look before, it wasn't one he had come to like. He decided to let him off the hook, as he watched him pour himself a glass and take a seat next to him. "I know you can take care of yourself."

He'd forgotten that Noah always knew what to say to make him feel better when he was down. For the first time that night, he let himself smile. "Not as well as you think."

Noah chuckled. For the first time in months, he got to see his little brother for who he was. He watched the way the corners of Peeta's mouth turned into a half smile with that same look in his blue eyes. "You can always come to me with your problems, you know that right?"

Peeta felt his throat tighten, he suppressed the urge to cry and nodded instead. "What? Like my stupid guy troubles?" he chuckled, feeling the tears rise.

He laughed and wrapped moved his hand to wrap around the smaller man's shoulders. "That's what I'm here for."

He nodded again. Finnick's words echoed fresh in his mind, pleading with him not to leave. His own words and realizations replayed too. He knew whatever they had - that special feeling was now over, and he'd never see Finnick again. It was there in his kitchen, under the care of the brother who always looked after him that he let himself feel the full weight of his emotion, facing it one last time before he'd let it go for good.

He let Noah pull him in for an embrace and let himself sob in his brother's protective arms. He had lost too many people, he wouldn't lose the one that never left his side, and never would. He buried his face in the taller man's shirt, wetting it with his tears, listening to his brother tell him it was okay, and he was there for him.