Author's Note: Just wanted to pop in and say that I will be changing the title of this story when the next chapter is ready. If you can't find Chance Encounters it will be because it is under another title, what it will be called, I'm not sure yet, I'm just unsatisfied with the title of this story which was hastily named. Just look for an M rated story with Finnick O. and you'll be fine. I enjoyed reading your reviews from my last chapter, keep them coming and by all means tell me if something sucks. I've already reached 4,000 words for the next chapter and I still have more to add, so hopefully next will be a lengthy update which I will have up in no later than a week. Thanks for reading. Enjoy.

It had been a week since Peeta last had anything to drink. By no means did he consider himself an alcoholic - to fall under that category would imply an addiction to alcohol, which he did not believe he had. Alcohol provided him with an outlet to escape his many difficulties and troubles. There was no doubt in his mind that if he didn't stop drinking when the dreams or memories would come, it would certainly become an addiction he didn't want to add to the list, especially given his growing dependency on it. At times it became a struggle to keep away.

The revelation he had the week earlier had been a good one, even if it came at the cost of turning his back on his lover. His birthday was approaching, and although it would be the first time he marked the occasion without his parents, he was determined to get his life back of track. He had already started by reconnecting with Noah and fought the constant urge to drink. Now he could only hope by his 19th birthday he would be heading in the right direction.

What if it wasn't enough? The frustrating question had a way of bellowing in the back of his head, nagging at him to the point where he had to shut his eyes and really take a hard look at his life. He would always remember the day he gave up and threw his life away, and the growing fear that he would never be able to pick up the pieces and be happy again, despite how desperately hard he was trying. Although he knew things would get better, deep down in the scary part of his head, he was terrified things wouldn't. It was moments like those Peeta would envy others, his brother particularly and how he managed to handle the death of their parents without letting it take a drastic affect of his life.

He had seen the toll their death took on Noah, and the responsibility that was suddenly thrust upon his shoulders. Noah channelled his grief into his work, primarily the assets and liabilities of their parents estate as executer of their will. On more than one occasion, Peeta witnessed his brother quietly sobbing over legal documents in the study late at night. Too caught up in his own grief, he ignored it and went back to focusing on his own loss, his own pain.

A predominant image would always haunt him, that of Noah sitting by the hospital bed of his brain dead mother, grasping her cold, lifeless hand in both of his own and sobbing into them for some time, before slowly composing himself and reluctantly giving the doctor permission to turn off the life support machine that kept her body alive.

It wasn't until the funeral that Peeta had decided he hated his brother and everything about him. His vacant stare as the coffins were lowered into the empty graves, silent, unmoving, refusing to shed a single tear. It made Peeta seethe silently as he grasped Cato's offering hand tightly.

When Noah moved back home, Peeta was furious at the suggestion of selling the house. Although now haunted with memories and filled with grief, it was still his home, the place he grew up, where he was almost safe from the world. The suggestion resulted in a heated argument, mostly fuelled by Peeta's drunken state, ending with Noah and a bruised eye. It wasn't until he struck his brother, that Peeta realized in a way he'd been given permission to. Noah stood before him, hands by his side, providing him with an outlet for his rage. The older brother was clearly doing what he thought he needed to for him, giving him someone to hate, someone to target and unleash his anger on. Peeta instead turned his back and left the house for two days.

In hindsight, Peeta appreciated it, right before he went back to hating himself.

Their relationship had started to improve in the last week. Noah was kind to him, pretending the damage he had done over the months hadn't made an impact on their bond. He patiently listened as Peeta apologized and promised to get better emotionally. Contrary to his brother's forgiveness, the guilt of the things he said that could never be taken back and the action's he took that he could never forgive himself for festered deep within himself. He didn't want support, didn't want to be told it was all okay and exonerated. He wanted to pay the price.

Noah simply shook his head and patted his back. He couldn't do anything more than forgive.

He had been working since 6. He checked the clock again to confirm it wasn't even 9 yet, much to his disappointment. The morning had dragged on slowly with a steady stream of customers, despite how busy he had kept himself he knew he was in for a long day. Left alone to run the store while his boss ducked out, Peeta was made to work at the front, a task he hated. He didn't want to make coffee or talk to customers and exchange their money, it was the only part of his job that he truly hated. He would much rather be in the kitchen with his fists moulding dough. He contemplated sneaking out back for a cigarette - the one small relief he had left. He stood at the register behind the glass display cases filled with various baked goods made with his own hands and watched a handful of pedestrians ignore the entry, giving him nothing to do but wait for his break and continue his humdrum routine.

On the back of a napkin he started to sketch a design for the birthday cake he was going to make himself. The irony of having to make the cake on his birthday was not lost on him, but since he had turned 16 and begun learning the trade he refused to have it any other way. His own creation was always what he preferred and what he considered superior. Each year he managed to top himself, this year would be no exception. He continued to sketch what turned out to be more than a simple birthday cake. The ingredients began to compile in his head as did the dimensions. Surely less than half would be consumed, the rest would end up refrigerated for a week, but the idea of making it made him smile. He didn't care that no one besides his brother would appreciate his creation, given the lack of extended family or friends, this was his birthday present to himself, something special to mark the occasion and prove to himself that he could change and things could get better.

The sound of the door being pulled open and the ring of a bell snapped Peeta out of his fantasy. He gaped when she walked in and smiled at him, completely unaware of who he was and the role she played in the last week of his life. He recognized her immediately. Tall, long blonde hair pulled tightly back, beautiful and well presented. She was the woman he saw kissing Finnick, his special friend, the one who made him sick.

"Hello," she said politely as she fished in her handbag for her purse, keeping her eyes on the display case, occasionally glancing up at Peeta with a small smile.

He watched her questioningly, studying her long legs and delicate hands. He knew things about her he probably shouldn't have. He knew she worked close, because Finnick worked close. He knew she was with Finnick when he was with him. He knew it had been going on for a little while. Without knowing it, this woman had twice come into his world.

"Can I get a large coffee and one of those cinnamon bun things," The woman asked, pointing at the glazed cinnamon buns behind the counter.

Peeta turned, only to find the coffee pot empty. He spun back to her, still surprised to be seeing her. "It'll be about five minutes for me to put some fresh coffee on, if you're happy to wait?" he asked carefully, hoping she would frown and walk away immediately.

She checked her watch while retrieving her purse. Once again she smiled at him, "I've got a couple of minutes."

The many questions he wanted to ask her piled up in his head. Peeta wanted to know how she felt about Finnick. Did she love him? Was what they share deeper than sex? Was there an emotional component to their relationship? Did Finnick ever mention him or someone special that he described caring for? He turned his back to her as he filled the coffee filter and turned it on. Without making any eye contact, he reached for the cinnamon bun with a pair of tongs and placed it in a small brown bag.

He thought for a moment, carefully constructing questions in his head that would answer his own without prying or crossing any boundaries. "Do you live around here?" he asked nonchalantly.

The woman was distracted by the imminent vibration of her phone. She casually glanced at what Peeta assumed was a text message.

"No," She replied distractedly, eyes still locked on her phone, "I work a few blocks away."

Peeta's heart sank at the answer. There was no doubt in his mind that she had just spent the night with the man he loved. It wasn't even 9 yet, there was no other conceivable reason she would be in his shop so early unless she had come from Finnick's apartment.

Preoccupied with her phone, she turned her back on him. Peeta immediately caught the scent of her perfume. She smelled vaguely like pine needles. It was beautiful. Was this how Finnick liked his women? Attractive, sweet smelling and proper?

Blue eyes raked the nape of her neck as he fantasized about what it would be like to be with her. Peeta felt his heart skip a beat at the thought and the arousal he felt from her. He was unable to figure out where his sudden attraction for her stemmed from, it felt foreign and unfamiliar to be attracted to a woman. He felt another burning question entering his mind, what was Finnick like when he was with her? Did he laugh when they rolled between the sheets? Did they stay up all night talking? Did he hold her as they slept? He wanted to know if Finnick was the same way with her, or was it only for him?

It suddenly occurred to him that he wasn't attracted to her. He was attracted to the knowledge they shared a lover. A movie played in his head of the way Finnick's skin tasted under his tongue, the curve of the man's hips in his palm, the sweet sounds Finnick made as he pushed his way in. The idea of sharing a woman with Finnick turned him on. A vengeful part of him wanted to indulge in the hurt that the man would feel, but Peeta pushed those thoughts out of his head, he was too afraid to feel that cruel, despite reminding himself that he had fallen in love with the man only to have his feelings rejected. If anyone had the right to feel hurt it wasn't Finnick.

"It's gorgeous," The woman said, snapping his divided attention back to her, "The cake."

Peeta looked down at the counter at the sketch of the cake. He smiled a little too widely, "Thanks. Work in progress."

She took a step back, eyes travelled across the glass cases at the various cakes, freshly baked and meticulously decorated. "Did you make all of these?"

"Yeah," he replied, reaching for the coffee pot, half full with a generous amount of steaming coffee. The sound of Peeta filling up the coffee cup diverted the woman's attention back to him. "What's your name?"

The woman looked at him questioningly for a moment, taken off guard by how forward his question was. "Johanna."

"I'm Peeta," He smiled and carefully secured the plastic lid on the cup before handing it to her. "Can I take you out to dinner some time?"

She hesitated for a moment as she pulled a note from her wallet, "That's really nice of you," she paused, smiling politely, "I'm seeing someone at the moment."

"Oh, okay," Peeta embarrassingly mumbled, "Sorry."

"Don't be," she replied in an assuring tone. Taking her coffee and paper bag, she placed a $20 note on the counter. "Thanks. Keep the change."

All he could think to do was smile and nod warmly as she turned to leave.

He wasn't even sure if or how to act on the proposition had it been accepted, but as the door shut behind her, he felt angry, angry that she turned him down, that she was supposedly seeing someone, that it could be the man who made it clear he didn't have room in his life for anyone.

Peeta didn't know wether or not to assume she was telling the truth, or lying in an effort to avoid hurting his feelings. If the woman was in a relationship with someone, it may not necessarily be with Finnick. He was making too many assumptions. He angrily placed the bill in the register and slammed it shut as he desperately fought the urge to raid the ingredients cabinet in the kitchen for the bottle of rum there.

Finnick sat in his bed. At first his eyes were glued to the television screen in an attempt to distract himself from the nagging pinch of frustration he had felt in the last week. Despite his best attempts, his mind would divert back to thoughts of Peeta and how they left things.

Johanna sat on the edge of the bed, carefully painting her toenails jade green.

"Do you want to grab some breakfast?" Finnick asked casually, finding himself somewhat embarrassed by the question, and the tone he used to ask it.

"I'll just grab something on the way out," Johanna replied without breaking concentration from the task she was currently preoccupied with. "No offence, but all you have in your fridge is beer and a carton of milk." She turned her head to smile at him good naturedly.

He chuckled and rose from the bed. "No, I meant go out. Surely there's a place around here that do eggs and coffee."

She looked up at him, "You actually want to go out for once? I always figured you for a hermit."

"Well, I guess I'm full of surprises," Finnick replied, opening his closet and fishing for some clothes.

Her eyes still locked on him, she raised her eyebrow, "Last time I suggested we go out together you freaked out."

"I didn't freak out," he said, pulling on a pair of trousers and closing the gap between them in a few steps. "C'mon, do you want to go or not? It's just breakfast."

The blush that crept into her cheeks was unmistakable. "I know a good place. The coffee is pretty bad though."

Finnick watched as she excused herself to the bathroom a little way past the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. "Is it around here?" he asked, unable to contain his grin.

"A couple of blocks away, maybe you've seen it," she called, "It's the white one on the corner."

His heart skipped a beat. It took him only a moment to put the pieces together in his head and once again, he thought about Peeta and how he hurt him. The very thought of showing up at his place of work where he would undoubtedly be on a Saturday morning, with the woman who unknowingly played a part in the demise of their affiliation made his stomach twist.

"How many times have you been there?" he asked firmly enough to avoid arousing any sort of suspicion.

The sound of the shower filled his ears as she spoke. "Only once, a few days ago on my way to work. Just after you left."

Finnick frowned, the idea of two separate people linked through him coming into contact made him anxious. Peeta would have recognized her. Her presence would have only served to hurt him. He made his way to the bathroom, pushing the door open slightly and leaning on the door frame. He avoided her gaze as she showered.

"I don't want to go there," Finnick said, cracking his knuckles and staring at his feet.

"Okay," Johanna replied as she stood under the warm needles of water. "Might be kind of weird anyway."

"Why do you say that?" Finnick asked, gaping at the comment, horrified that the tale of the last week may be knowledge to her.

She chuckled, "This guy who works there kind of asked me out."

"What guy?"

"A blonde kid who draws cakes."

Finnick was furious. Was Peeta playing a game with him? Using her as a proxy to somehow hurt him? Get under his skin? There was no doubt in his mind.

His phone sat on the nightstand by the bed. Finnick made his way over, following his blind rage and listening to the voice in his head that told him to break the silence and make contact with Peeta, learn his intentions and demand an answer to explain his actions.

That was when he realized how much he missed him, and how the notion of Peeta wanting to move on with anyone else besides him hurt. He had refused to offer the man what he wanted and was now offering it to someone he didn't care about. The familiar contradictory ideas of happiness entered his thoughts. Finnick knew he was no longer happy leading the life he was. He wanted to remain unattached and alone, but he wanted Peeta more.

Grasping the phone in his hand, he scrolled through his contacts. There he was, his name boldly displayed with an image of the two of them. They looked so happy, and for a very brief period they were. Peeta lying in his arms, his blonde hair messy, hanging over his forehead with a genuinely happy smile on his face as Finnick's lips gently kissed his cheek, his free hand caressing the blonde locks. The memories of that morning when Finnick had impulsively decided to let the walls down and take a picture to remember the occasion felt so real that he hoped he would turn around and find the man in his bed, yawning lightly and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He didn't know what he wanted anymore and he couldn't be sure of anything, only that it was for the best. As much as it hurt to think about, it was a blessing in disguise. He would only make Peeta unhappy because he couldn't change. Even if they could make things work, Finnick was more than secure in the knowledge he would inevitably fuck things up. Unless he was completely confident in his ability to love Peeta the way he deserved to be loved, he would break his fragile heart. He knew he couldn't put the man through it all again as much as he knew he himself couldn't bear losing him again.

He took a deep breath before deleting all of Peeta's details, sighing to himself and wondering how long it would take to erase the memories of when they were happy.

Peeta pulled the bakery door closed and locked it behind him, bundled in his jacket, a scarf and beanie, he shivered at the temperature outside. A light snow had just begun to fall from the sky, gently covering the sidewalk. He checked his watch to confirm the time, 7:00.

He was 19.

The cake he had spent hours on sat in a box he held carefully in his arm. A gentle breeze of chilling air blew in his direction and he briefly considered calling Noah and requesting a ride, before deciding the long walk home might do him some good.

The streets were quiet at night with the exception of a few passer-by's with their dogs, but for the most part the night was silent and the streets dark. It wasn't until he reached the empty park that Peeta felt uncertain of his safety. To pass through the wide field cut a short distance off his trip, but the fear of being jumped in the darkness made him still for a moment.

The woods were dark. The moon shone just enough light for him to navigate his way through the sketchy, almost indistinguishable dirt path. He could feel his phone vibrating in his back pocket, no doubt it was Noah calling, enquiring about his whereabouts. Peeta ignored it. He would be home soon.

Snow started to fall harder and the wind had slowly begun to whip louder. He kicked himself for not securing a proper ride home, immediately regretting his decision to remain self-sufficient. He muttered under his breath, watching the cloud of air leave his mouth, indicating how cold it was. He shook his head and continued walking, clutching the box tightly at his side and reminding himself of how good it would be to get home, safe and warm inside.

His breathing became more ragged, the sound of another body following him was unmistakable. Telling himself it was crazy, he began walking a little faster.

The sound of someone approaching at a fast pace behind him made his heart stop. Without thinking, frozen in terror he stopped and turned.

"Hey there, lover boy," A familiar voice cooed.

A large frame dawned on him quickly and it took Peeta a second to place the voice, once he recognised it he didn't have time to react before the shadowy figure emerged from the darkness and took a firm grasp on both of his shoulders, shoving him roughly into a tree and kissing him. The cake dropped to the ground with an audible thump.

Taken off guard, he resisted and tried pulling away. The familiar strength mixed with the tender yet firm touch was something he didn't have to search too far in his memory for, it seemed like just yesterday.

"Happy Birthday," Cato said with a laugh. "Surprised?"