a/n: as always, thank you all so much for the feedback - the reviews, alerts, favorites are all so very appreciated! can't even believe i have over 300 reviews! :s okay, enjoy!
Pushing the beads of sweat from her brows, Katniss moved closer and closer towards the sight in front of her, towards the mass of flames that blazed.
Her legs moved on their own accord, moving faster than she thought possible, and her heart beat rapidly under the cotton material of her shirt. She could feel the beating everywhere, not just her heart; it throbbed in her fingertips, her legs, the pit of her stomach.
Her stomach lurched as she watched the flames erupt, the tendrils of the flames wrapping themselves around the small car, enveloping it whole, shaking the metal frame violently.
Her ears throbbed with the sound of a scream, a blood-curdling noise she didn't recognize.
As she swallowed, her throat raw and sore, she realized the source of the scream – it was her.
She choked back another sob, the heat of the flames melting her skin, blistering her fingers as the tips of her hands skimmed across the dancing flames.
She could see the dark hair, the olive skin that belonged to her father and tears began to blur her vision. His body slumped across the heated leather of the seat, unconscious. His head tilting to the side, she could see a soft orange glow on his face from the fire.
The orange reminded her of something, stilling her actions for just a moment, filling the pit of her stomach with a tangled sensation. But she couldn't recall what it was, nor did it matter.
She needed to get her father out. She needed to help him escape the cages of the flames. She needed to save him.
She grasped the metal of the door handle, swallowing the cry that threatened to escape her lips; her throat was too raw from exhaustion, too coated in the thick smoke of the fire.
It was locked.
Bracing herself, she pulled one arm to her face, hiding it in the crook of her elbow as her other hand made contact with the glass of the window.
And then she heard a noise that pierced her ears, leaving a hollow ringing noise in its place.
She felt her body thrust backwards, her head fall to the dark pavement beneath her with a loud thud.
Her limbs couldn't move. Wouldn't.
She picked her head up slightly, dropping it when the rising flames of the fire violently swept across the entire car.
He was gone. She had failed.
She closed her eyes, this time almost wanting, wishing for the tears to come.
But they didn't. She was numb.
She didn't know how long she laid there – five minutes, five hours. The heat was scorching, the sirens wailed too loudly in her ears. But she didn't move.
Until she felt a hand on her, cool and soft, lingering on her face, sweeping her jaw.
She opened her eyes, squinting as she saw a shadow standing over her.
She couldn't see who it was, or what they looked like.
But suddenly, she a saw a flash of a smile. A smile she knew well. A smile that was familiar to her, comforting. A smile that had frequented her dreams more times than she could count, lately.
Her heart swelled in her chest with something she didn't know.
She blinked, and the shadow was gone.
She lifted herself slowly, her limbs too sore, too tired.
And that's when she saw him, this time only a few feet away; the tuft of blonde hair, the blue eyes bright even in the darkness of the night. He smiled at her again, and gone was the side of the highway, the flames, the car.
She blinked, and he was gone, too.
And then she woke up. She rolled over onto her side, her back slick from sweat, and let out a breath that sounded more like a shudder. She turned to the clock, her eyes narrowing in the dark to read the dull numbers.
It was only 3:42 am. After uncomfortably tossing and turning on the mattress for over an hour, she'd managed to sleep for all but fifteen minutes, and now, she wasn't sure she'd sleep at all for the rest of the night.
Katniss wasn't a stranger to nightmares – they'd trailed her every night since her father died. But somehow, since she'd come to Cedar Point, she'd become estranged from her nightly terrors. She'd become accustomed to the luxury of not having to re-live her father's death over and over.
With shaky fingers, she pushed away the stray strands of hair matted to her forehead and rose from her bed.
Pulling on Gale's old sweatshirt, she wished for a short moment that she was back home, back to the comfort of her best friend.
She trudged into the bathroom, splashing water onto her face before making way to the living room, her footsteps lazy and tired.
Silly her, she'd allowed herself to become used to sleeping for more than just a few minutes.
Running a hand along the length of her braid, she slipped into the kitchen, surprised that the light was still on. She didn't remember leaving it on when she'd come in.
She passed the hallways, the bare white walls a small comfort to her now, and froze as her eyes fixated on a figure hovering over the counter in the middle of the kitchen.
Peeta's eyes steadily focused on the ball of dough on the counter as he dug his knuckles into the beige-colored lump, a small patch of flour dusting his left cheek. His lips twisted as he whistled lowly, a tune she'd heard a million times but couldn't quite remember.
His lips curled upwards as he whistled a little louder, and reached for a small bowl of tiny, black berries from the counter, oblivious to her presence.
She blinked, her heart thumping too rapidly, too uncomfortably in her chest. That smile, his smile, reminded her of something … something she couldn't recall, something that made her chest ache and swell.
She closed her eyes - her clammy, sweating palm falling to the bare wall of the hallway - and it came back to her. The fire, the car, her father: all disappearing. The smile, the blonde hair – it was him. It was Peeta.
He looked up, his steely blue eyes widening as he noticed her. His smile faltered, replaced by another smile only seconds later. It was a different smile this time. One that didn't reach his cautious, almost scared eyes.
She didn't know what to say, or how to say it. Their conversation from earlier, the paintings, his dreams were still too fresh in her mind. Her thoughts were still too tangled a web for her to understand.
His words echoed in her ear. 'I'll understand if you don't want to speak to me again.'
As intricately tangled and confused as her thoughts were, she knew she didn't want to not speak to him. The feelings that he gave her - of being young, of being her age instead of her mother's, of the tingles in all the absurd places – she couldn't forget, couldn't let go of them.
He stared at her, his eyes piercing into hers, trying to determine her thoughts, her feelings. When he noticed that she wasn't running away or punching him in the gut as he had suspected she would, but was instead walking towards him, dropping herself into the steel stool opposite him, a small, crooked grin spread across his chapped lips.
"You're not sleeping …" he said, his fingers pulling at the dough, stretching it over the berries before folding it over the small black mounds, careful not to crush them.
She nodded, watching his mechanical movements as he repeated the action. "And you're baking?"
He grimaced, his eyes focused away from her face, point-blank on the dough in front of him. Her eyes dropped to the apron fastened at his waist; it was white, or at least it used to be. Colors splotched across it in wild patterns, in a way that reminded her of his room. But instead of the chaotic mess of colors from the paint, the colors on his apron were different hues of pinks and blues – stains from berries, most likely.
"I couldn't really sleep, thought I'd get a head start." He said, shrugging.
Her eyebrow quirked – when she came up from Peeta's place, all but falling into her bed from exhaustion, she assumed he did the same. "Do you always bake before you sleep?"
He turned from her, bending down to a cabinet. The back of his hair was mussed, blonde clusters of strands matting to his scalp. He turned back, his expression still the same – guarded, cautious. He put a small, metal loaf pan on the counter with a loud clink as the metal hit the granite surface. "Sometimes. Most of the time I just bake on the days I don't have work or when I'm working the afternoon shift."
Katniss nodded, watching as Peeta swiftly poured the dough into the pan, his face contorted with concentration. She shifted her gaze downwards, her mind out of words to say.
Pulling at a loose thread from the pocket of her hoodie, she could hear Peeta moving around the kitchen, his footsteps loud and heavy as always.
She heard a screech from the metal grinding against the wooden floor beneath her, followed by a small, almost inaudible sigh. "I'm sorry."
She turned towards him, her eyes wary. He sat two stools away from her, keeping his distance from her.
"For what?" Her voice was shallow, just above a whisper.
His shoulders slumped, his expression solemn. "For … for everything. For freaking you out."
A flash of the smile from her nightmare appeared as she blinked; it was him, she knew that. He was in her dream. He was the one who made it all go away, made the torturous, repulsive sight of her dying father disappear.
She couldn't tell him that, couldn't tell him that he had saved her from her nightmares, too. It would be too much. She'd be revealing too much – too much something she didn't even know, something couldn't even begin to fathom.
She didn't speak for a moment, watching as Peeta's blue eyes became bleaker, focused on the slabs of wood that tiled the floors as she took the time to process her own thoughts.
"I can understand. Kind of."
His eyes snapped to hers, a momentary expression of relief flooding over them.
"You don't – I mean… how?" he stuttered, an usual occurrence for Peeta.
She closed her eyes, her forehead resting against the palm of her hand.
"I've been through a lot – like you have. I can understand, finding something that helps you, or makes you feel just a tiny bit okay. And wanting, with all you have, to keep that thing. Even if it is just in your dreams."
She risked a glance at him, her mind compelling her to continue for a reason she couldn't understand. After the revelations of the night, after everything, she should have wanted to hide from the boy sitting in front of her; she should have wanted nothing to do with him.
But that wasn't what she wanted.
She did understand; she understood because Peeta made her feel just a tiny bit okay. He made her feel the way she'd felt before her dad died, and before her family shattered to tiny, sharp shards of glass, before she'd taken on the responsibilities of both of her parents. His ability to understand, to listen made her feel safe. And she did want, with all she had, to keep that with her.
She'd only felt this comfortable with one other person before – with Gale. But she'd never even been able to tell him, in so many words, what she'd gone through, or about her nightmares. He wouldn't understand, despite how hard she knew he'd try. He couldn't. He hadn't been through it – any of it.
But Peeta had. Peeta had lost his father, too. Peeta had also lost his mother in the process. He understood.
And that's what compelled her to continue, to speak in a way she'd never done with another person before.
"When my dad died," she started, her eyes trained on her hands as she wrung her fingers, pulling and stretching at them. "My mom kind of … disappeared, too. I mean, she was home, she was physically present, but she wasn't really there. She fell into a depression, and she didn't get out of bed for months. She didn't go to work, she didn't … she didn't do anything.
"And – and we ran out of money. Fast. I mean, my parents only had so much saved up. My dad was a coal-miner. And my mom hadn't worked since I was born. And the insurance money barely even covered the bills – the mortgage and electricity and water.
"So I started working before school, and after school to make sure that Prim at least had something to eat every day. And then … and then one day, my mom got out of bed and for a moment I thought that was it. That she was going to come back, that she was going to be our mom again."
Katniss paused, the disappointment she felt that day still so palpable, so real. The memory was still too vivid in her mind, as was the anger she felt. Her eyebrows creased as she continued, her nostrils flaring. "She went out, and Prim thought she'd gone to get groceries or something but she didn't come home for hours. I was at work and …and she left Prim home, alone. When I came back that night, she still wasn't home. She came back much later that night, and luckily, Prim was sleeping by then. She stumbled in, looking every bit Haymitch's sister."
With a fleeting glance in his direction, she noticed that Peeta had moved onto the stool closer to her, his face much closer to hers than she'd anticipated. She wrung her fingers again, pulling at them harshly. Her skin stretched too widely over her knuckles, the skin around her bones losing its color.
"I was just … I was so angry at her. I mean, I was angry at her from the moment my dad died and she turned into this hollow, shell of a person. But that night – that night, when I saw the look of worry and anxiousness on Prim's face I just … I can't find it in me to forgive her."
She ran her fingers down her plaited hair, twisting it around the length of her index finger. She suddenly felt self-conscious, hyperaware of the fact that she'd told a boy - whom she knew for all but a month - the feelings she'd kept captive for years now.
She lifted her face to his once again, eternally grateful for the look on his face – the same look he wore when she told him her 'truths' of what her favorite color was or why she didn't like ice cream.
She suddenly felt less self-conscious, knowing he was one of the few people in this world who could make her feel that way.
"Is she the one who calls you?" he asked, his expression placid, his voice soft. His eyes weren't guarded anymore, but were inviting, comforting.
She nodded, remembering the masses of ignored calls and deleted voicemails.
Katniss grimaced, her lips curling unhappily. "You probably think it's stupid – I mean, she didn't do anything nearly as bad as your mom but I just … can't."
He shook his head, a wisp of blond hair falling into his eye as he covered her hands with his larger one. "Just because it's not the same kind of bad doesn't mean it was any easier on you, or on Prim."
He moved his hand from hers promptly, letting it fall limp into his own lap and she found her fingers feeling chilled from the lack of contact – an unfamiliar feeling to her.
"It just – she made it impossible for me to trust anyone after that. I mean, if you can't trust your own mother to be there for you when you need her, then who can you trust?"
He nodded, the blue in his eyes clouding as he bit on his lip. He understood, he was all too familiar with that feeling.
But then he smiled at her, warm and comforting, encouraging her to continue. And it shocked her, all at once and with vigor, how this boy had been through it all, been through the same things she'd been through, but had come out of so differently than her, so much better than her. He still saw the good in people, he still gave his heart to people, to his friends. He still trusted. He still smiled in almost every moment of his life, as if he'd never seen any evil in the world.
And somehow, in his moments of doubt, deep in the darkness of the night, she'd been the one to make it better.
She could not understand it.
But she did understand the rare feeling of being safe, of having something or someone that can take it all away or, in her case, make it all worth it. The person that can give you the smallest spark of hope – you don't forget them, and you don't let them go.
She'd been that person for Peeta. She'd somehow, without any effort on her part, been able to protect him from the monsters that waited for him in the dark, in his dreams.
But he'd also been that person for her. Not just in her dreams, as she'd realized in the small wink of sleep she'd managed a mere half hour ago, but in her life, too. After too many years of bending this way and that way under the stresses of what her life had become, he'd somehow coaxed her back to her old self, her seventeen-year-old self.
She bit her lip, unsure of what to say, or how much to say.
She trusted him, that much she knew; it was evident from the way she'd opened up to him in the past few minutes, and the way she'd opened up to him in the past month. But she didn't trust herself to not shrink back into her shell following the admission of what she had to say, what she was feeling.
She opened her mouth to continue, to show him that she understood, that he'd helped her, as well.
But she couldn't.
"I get that you didn't want to let go of something that made you feel less lonely, or less afraid. I can understand that," she offered weakly. "Prim and Gale are the only people that I can trust. They're the only people who make me feel okay.
"And you," she admitted a beat later, her voice hushed, stringed with nerves and hesitancy.
Almost in slow motion, Katniss watched as Peeta's thumb moved to her cheek, his palm caressing her jaw. His skin was calloused and rough, but his touch was soft and sweet and everything that was Peeta.
Her heart lodged in her throat, her chest aching with an unfamiliar feeling. An uncomfortably pleasant, anxious feeling she couldn't pinpoint.
Her eyes flicked to his; his face was flustered, tinting a light shade of pink. But his fingers, matching the tone of his voice, were firm, resolute. "You can, you know? You can trust me."
His fingers glided across the skin that stretched over her cheekbones, leaving a warm, foreign feeling on the surface of her face in their trail as he tucked a stray wisp of dark hair that had strayed from her twisted braid before dropping his hands to his side.
She nodded, the gesture slow and deliberate, as he smiled, the kind that ignited a hundred, thousand rampant feelings within her.
Hope, she realized, was just one of them.
Katniss groaned outwardly as she heard Johanna's voice behind her, full of an ire that Katniss hadn't missed.
It was clearly one of those days for Johanna. And the rest of them were just going to have to suffer her wrath, and deal with her annoyance over the most inconsequential of things.
Days like these, she truly wondered why Annie and Peeta put up with her; she wasn't sure she'd ever really get her answer.
"Listen up, Brainless. I'm going to need you to pick up your snail-like pace just a little bit so we can get these people their food, and then get them the hell out of here so that the people who are waiting out there," she barked, jabbing her finger in the air towards the small line of people that hard formed outside the entrance of the diner, "hungry and annoyed and getting on my last damn nerve, their food so that they can eat, and leave and then I'll never have to see their stupid faces again."
Johanna turned on her heels, her hair nearly whipping Katniss in the process as she turned towards Peeta, her eyes narrowing down on his face.
He looked up from where he stood, running a hand through his blonde curls as he set down two plates of food onto the wooden counter, peeling the note for his next order off the wooden surface with his other hand.
He met his eyes with Katniss' for a fleeting moment, an apologetic smile on his face as there always was when Johanna went on her rampages.
"And you, lover boy," Johanna said, thrusting her thumb in his direction, all but spitting the words out. The nickname was a new one, one that Katniss hadn't heard before. "Get your mind out of whatever la-la land it's stuck in today and back on the burgers you need to grill. One more burnt patty and I'm firing you."
Katniss felt herself smirk – she couldn't remember Peeta grilling even one burger to imperfection today, and there was nothing wrong with the pace she was working at. Johanna just needed something to say, something to yell about.
Her eyes flicked to Peeta as he rolled his eyes good naturedly, a smile spread wide across his face, "Got it, Jo."
Johanna muttered something under her breath - most likely a string of swears - as she turned around, trudging back to the counter. She spoke to the next round of customers, plastering on her face a smile so fake that Katniss had to wonder why she even bothered.
Katniss quirked her eyebrow as she neared the counter, orders from her last table in hand. She stuck them to the wooden surface before slumping against the counter.
"Well, she's just a ray of sunshine today," she said wryly, the words sticking in her throat when she realized just how much like her uncle she sounded.
Peeta nodded, "I wouldn't take her too seriously – I think she's just pissed about Annie going to see Finnick and stuff."
"Plus," Katniss added, "it's Friday. You know how much she loves those."
Peeta chuckled, small wrinkles forming around his chapped lips. "Yeah, she's quite a fan of the weekend rush, that one. Even more so when we're down one on staff."
Katniss felt her own lips tug upwards. "I guess we won't really have time to do the portrait today in between crowds, then."
Peeta's face suddenly jolted with new-found excitement. In a way, it reminded her of Prim's face on Christmas morning. Her expression was always one of pure, unadulterated joy – regardless of how grand, or small her present was. To Prim, a present was a present, and Christmas morning was always the best day of her existence.
"I didn't tell you?" he asked, his deep voice almost giddy. "I finished it!"
She frowned. How had she managed to miss that? "When?"
Peeta laughed, the sound loud even in the clamor of the crowded restaurant. "Officially, last night but I just added the finishing touched this morning and—"
"Can I finally see it, now?" she asked, cutting him off.
It was a wonder that she had managed to be patient for this long, but she wasn't sure she'd last any longer.
"Not yet. " His smile faltered dramatically, the amusement in his eyes growing.
"Why?" she hissed.
"Well … because, as an artist, this painting is like my child, my masterpiece. And, so it's revealing has to be – well, I guess dramatic is the word I'm looking for."
Katniss rolled her eyes. "Like what? Have a special, VIP midnight showing for it here at the diner?" she snapped, her voice wry.
He bit his lip, trying to conceal the smile that was fighting to inch its way to his face – a failed attempt on his part. "Well, no … I was thinking something a bit … simpler? Like, dinner tomorrow night? At my place? I'll cook you some food to thank you for being so patient and then I'll show you the painting."
"But you cook me dinner every night," she pointed out. "Besides, don't we have work?"
"Well… this will be different. A little more special than just burger and fries in a foam box." He paused, his jovial expression faltering a bit, sensing her apprehension. "I mean, only if you want. It's not really that big a deal – I could show you tomorrow anyway, sans dinner.
"And we close early tomorrow – its Cedar Point day. They make this whole thing out of it with a carnival on the boardwalk and fireworks and stuff."
She shook her head, pushing the hesitancy she felt out of her mind. "Dinner's okay, as long as I get a strawberry cupcake, too."
Peeta's lips tugged upwards, a smile spilling across his face. "You'll get two."
For a brief, quick moment, the feeling of Peeta's fingers, warm and soft, trailing across her face flashed in her mind. She shifted her gaze from him, suddenly uncomfortable, the same unfamiliar, confusing feeling pooling in her gut.
Picking up the plates of food from the counter swiftly, she shook her head, trying but failing to force the foreign feelings away.
Katniss clenched her nostrils shut, her face contorting with disgust as she picked up the small cylinder container of dill powder, and then garlic powder, shaking both into the large vat of mayonnaise in front of her.
Apparently, covering Annie's shift also meant covering Annie's job of making the dressing. Her nose scrunched up as the strong, pungent scent of mayo wafted towards her, her hands mechanically moving about, mixing the odd concoction of different flavored powders and herb leaves.
Her eyes flicked towards the clock hanging above her, the time reading 6:47 PM. The diner had closed nearly an hour ago, and Peeta had all but disappeared without any notice as soon as the last customer had been served his dinner. Brick and Sae had cleaned up quickly, leaving just her and Johanna in the diner; Katniss figured they were eager to get back to their families, ready to begin the festivities for the night.
Johanna slumped in next to her; the long, dangly necklace that hung off of her bony frame hitting the metal counter Katniss worked on with a loud clink. She peered at the large bowl of dressing, a wry, sarcastic smile smeared across her face.
"Sucks to be you," She said, her voice matching her smile.
Katniss grumbled her response, the words coming out a mumbled mess. She glanced sideways at the dark-haired girl next to her, giving her a dirty look for good measure.
Johanna laughed in return, the sound loud and snarky in Katniss' ears. She really couldn't stand her sometimes.
"So …" Johanna started, a moment later, a little swing in her ankles as they dangled off the side of the counter. "You're having dinner with Peeta tonight?"
Katniss' head whipped towards her, her eyes squinting. "How do you know about that?"
Johanna rolled her eyes, but the smallest of smiles played on her lips as she chewed a slab of gum in her mouth loudly. "He told me. Duh."
Katniss nodded, her movement terse. "Yeah, it's for the portrait. He wants to reveal it, or something."
She turned back to the dressing, twisting the spoon around the large vat one last time before dipping in a plastic spoon to taste it.
From the corner of her eyes, she could see Johanna's head bobbing up and down as her eyes narrowed down on Katniss, giving her a once over.
"What?" Katniss snapped as she put the spoon down – thankfully, the ranch dressing was done.
Johanna handed her the plastic lid from the metal bowl, popping her gum in her mouth loudly. "Please, tell me you aren't gonna show up to Peeta's looking like … that."
Pressing her fingers down on the edges to make sure the lid was properly positioned, her eyes dropped down to her clothes; underneath her fraying apron, she wore a gray t-shirt and her jeans - it was her usual attire.
She shrugged, peeling the sticky, now almost gooey gloves from her hands. "Why wouldn't I?"
Johanna shook her head, "You seriously are brainless, aren't you?"
Katniss' eyebrows knit together in anger, but before she could retort a bitter reply, Johanna continued.
"Come with me, I'll make you look at least a little bit presentable," she said, hopping off from the metal ledge, taking her keys out from her pocket.
Katniss stilled, frowning. "I look fine," she mumbled.
"Do you not remember anything of what I told you before we went to that party? Colors make you look more alive and less like you're about to go work at the local morgue."
Katniss stared at her still, not budging and the older girl snapped her fingers at her, irritation clearly etched across her face.
"I'm not taking no for an answer, Everdeen," she barked, heading towards the front of the diner. Katniss begrudgingly followed. "Let's go."
Katniss' eye twitched, grunting as Johanna hovered over her, prodding at her eyelids with a pointy-edged pencil.
"Just hold still," Johanna snapped, her fingers pressing into Katniss' shoulder.
Katniss slumped; she had just assumed Johanna would throw a shirt at her – bright pink, or orange, that barely covered her body, leaving most of her skin bare – and that would be that, like it had been when they'd gone to that party weeks ago.
But instead, Johanna had simply sat Katniss on the stool in front of the large vanity mirror in her room, promptly pointing out each flaw on her face. "You're eyebrows are so bushy, have you ever even heard of a tweezer?" and "Would it kill you to leave your hair out for once? I swear if I have to see this damn braid one more time …"
"Is this really necessary?" Katniss grumbled, her agitation with the older girl growing each second. "I mean, shouldn't you be at the Cedar Point day festival thing anyway?"
Johanna's fingers stilled over her eye for a minute, the jagged edge of the pointed pencil lingering right above her eyelashes, before she pulled it along the length of her lid. She dropped the pencil to the table, releasing her grip on Katniss' shoulder.
"I usually go with Annie … and since she's not here," she shrugged, her shoulders slumping carelessly. "I guess I'm just gonna stay home."
Katniss' eyebrow, now clean and plucked, rose. "Why don't you go with Cato? Isn't he your boyfriend?"
Johanna's expression contorted, his face scrunching up. "No – I mean, I don't know if he's my boyfriend or not but he's not the kind of guy I'd go to the carnival with. The carnival's a special thing, and he's not really a special guy."
Despite her mostly unfavorable feelings towards the dark-haired girl, her interest couldn't help but be piqued. "Then why are you dating him?"
Johanna shrugged non-committedly. "He's good for more of a time-pass thing. It's not serious."
She coaxed Katniss' hair out from the braid it was in, the strands falling in waves down her back.
"I know you were here for that whole fight Annie and I had, and she was right about Cato. He is a whore. But it doesn't really bother me – I don't love him or anything." She paused, biting her lip, leaving a white imprint on the pink skin as she continued, "He's just good for those nights, you know, when you're just extra lonely and need another body to cuddle with."
It wasn't a feeling Katniss was familiar with, needing someone to be there with her, but she nodded anyway.
"I don't even know if love exists. I mean, Annie does, she believes in it with all she has but she's also been heartbroken because of a guy before. And I haven't." She shrugged. "I don't really know which is better – believing in love and letting yourself get hurt in the process or not believing, and keeping yourself whole. Safe."
She looked down at Katniss expectantly as she ran her hand through her hair, and Katniss shrugged, as usual at a loss for words.
She didn't know if she believed in love. Sometimes, she saw people, saw how happy and brilliant they looked wrapped up in their lovers, and she believed. Sometimes, she remembered the way her parents used to look at each other, in a daze, as if no one else existed in the world but the two of them, and she believed.
But then she remembered her mother, after her father died. She remembered her uncle, after the love of his life left him; the claws of desperation that tore at them, the tendrils of emptiness that wounded itself tightly around their entire existence, suffocating them, the hollow void that enveloped them whole. And despite the fact that sometimes, she believed, she knew that she wanted no part of it.
Johanna tossed a shirt at Katniss, pulling her out of her reverie. "Try this on, it'll go with your jeans." she said, stalking out of the room.
Katniss examined the shirt; it was yellow and sleeveless, the area near the neckline covered with a mesh type of net, but it didn't show off more skin than that. She pulled it on, enjoying the way it hung off her frame. It wasn't tight, and it didn't stick to her skin as she had suspected a shirt given from Johanna would.
She pushed her hair behind her ears before walking out of the room, her own shirt tucked under her arm.
Johanna's eyes rose to her as she stood in front of the television box, an apple hanging by her fingertips.
She nodded appraisingly, "You look good. Just one more thing …" she said, fumbling through her purse. She pulled out a small, colorful tube.
Johanna smeared the gooey liquid across her lips, tracing the outline of her lips with the tip of her cold fingers. "There. Now, do you need a ride?"
Katniss shook her head, the ends of her hair tickling her bare shoulders. "No, I need the walk."
Johanna nodded, lazily falling onto her couch, her long legs extending on to the small coffee table. She reached for the remote, seeing Katniss out with a wave of her fingers. "See ya."
Katniss paused at the door, her fingers twisting the door knob. She could see, if only for a fleeting moment, what Peeta and Annie saw in the dark haired girl. She wasn't quite as awful as she made herself seem.
She was just protecting her heart, and that was something Katniss could understand.
"Thank you, Johanna."
Tugging at her hair with one hand, Katniss knocked on Peeta's door.
It was absurd, she thought as she gnawed on her upper lip, how her nerves threatened to paralyze her. She'd been here, in Peeta's garage, too many times before to be nervous about it now. But she couldn't help it, didn't know how to contain her emotions.
He opened the door a moment later, a warm smile on his lips that managed to calm her erratic nerves just a little bit.
"Hey," he said, stepping back to let her in, his eyes lingering for a quick second on her bright shirt, "you look nice."
He looked calmer than she did, but the way his fingers fidgeted with the buttons of his dark brown shirt told her otherwise; knowing that he felt even a hint of the nervous electricity she felt made her feel better.
"Thanks" she responded, a nervous tremor in her voice as she tugged at her shirt. She glanced around the room, noticing that most of the clutter that normally surrounded his room had been cleaned up. The paintings still hung, in a wonderfully eclectic fashion, against his walls, but the floors were less cluttered, and she wondered where he'd stowed the rest of his stuff. He'd set up a small circular table, the same folding table Katniss had seen on the deck upstairs before, with two chairs around it.
Her eyes caught on a black figure, covered in a dark sheath in the far corner of the room, away from the couch, and she inched towards it. Peeta followed behind her.
"So, do I get to see the portrait now?" She turned around, a hint of a smile in her gray eyes.
He chuckled, the sound low in his throat, "Not yet … dinner first."
She groaned, though she obliged when she felt the violent grumbling coming from within her stomach.
He led her to his make-shift dinner table, his hand resting on the small of her back in a way that made all the heat from her body pool to her belly. And suddenly, she wasn't as hungry anymore.
"You didn't have to do this," she said, taking a seat on the folding chair, waving at the table in front of her. "We could have just as well eaten upstairs."
He lifted his shoulders, a beautiful combination of blue and green swimming in his eyes. "I wanted to."
He walked towards the other corner of his room, his 'kitchen' the garage, and came back with two plates of food in his hand. He set them on the table, next to the utensils and drinks he'd already set out beforehand.
She was almost taken aback by his careful planning, his generosity. But then again, it was Peeta, and being kind and generous was what made him.
"I'm not as great with the stove as I am with the oven and the grill …" he grimaced lightly, taking his seat, "but I tried. And I had some help from these two little girls I happen to know."
She shook her head, eyeing the food on her plate. Long, thick strands of pasta filled the deep set plate, lathered in a creamy white sauce, with small, pink colored shrimps peeking from under the pasta. It was probably better than anything she'd eaten; it certainly looked it.
Peeta stood abruptly, Katniss' eyes shifting from her food to his eyes.
"I forgot the bread," he said, a sheepish smile on his lips. He walked back to the counter near the sink, retrieving a small basket that looked comically tiny in his large hands.
He set it on the table, taking his seat once again.
He peeled back the corners of the cloth that covered the bread, revealing small, yellow buns.
"Try one," he said, pushing the basket towards her with his fingers.
She picked one up, the bun warm and soft in her hands, her mouth watering from just the scent of it. She tore a piece off of it, unleashing steam from within the bread as she did so.
She lifted her fingers to her mouth, the bread all but melting onto her tongue. The buttery, cheesy taste exploded inside her mouth; this was truly better than anything she'd had before.
"This is amazing!" she said, covering her mouth with her fingers, her mouth still full of bread.
He beamed. "Thanks! They used to be my dad's favorites. It's an odd combination, but he always made it with Shrimp Fettucini."
"What is it? Is there cheese in here?" she asked, swallowing the last chunk of the bun she held in her fingers before reaching for another one.
"Yeah, they're called cheese buns." He nodded, smiling widely. "My dad was real original with the names.
"It was one of the first things I learned to bake at my parent's bakery." He added, and it amazed her how he could speak of his past without the same bitterness or sadness, that she couldn't seem to avoid, filling his voice.
She swallowed the remaining half of her second cheese bun, the bread sliding deliciously down her throat before he picked up her fork, twisting it in the pasta.
"How do you do that?" she finally asked.
He snorted, his fork paused halfway to his mouth, hanging in the air. "How do I do what?" He asked carefully.
"How do you … how do you do that? Talk about things from the past without getting sad or angry or whatever?"
His smile faltered, his fingers resting his fork back on the plate before moving to his chin. He opened his mouth to speak, but then shut it.
The color from her face drained as he hesitated to speak; she'd told him more than she'd told anyone, but maybe he wasn't ready to tell her things yet. Maybe it was too personal. She shouldn't have asked. It wasn't her place.
"I'm sorry," she said, attempting to back-pedal. "You don't have to tell me if you don't—"
He shook his head, cutting her off. "It's not – it's not that. It's just, I mean, I guess I don't know. I was trying to think of an answer, a way to explain it but I'm not sure I really have an answer."
He paused, looking like he had more to add. Katniss waited patiently, chewing the pasta slowly in her mouth.
"I guess, I'd rather just forgive and forget than dwell on the things that happened. I mean, it wasn't all bad. There was more good in my life, in fact, than there was bad before my dad died. My family was a happy one most of the time, and I try to remember that than to remember how awful it got after he was gone."
"I wish I could do that – forgive, I mean. I wish I could forgive my mother." Her heart swelled in her chest, making it hard to breathe. She wanted to be more like Peeta; she wanted to absorb some of his good and push out all the bad that she had within her that threatened to suffocate her very existence some days. "Am I a bad person for not being able to forgive her?"
His fingers brushed hers as he rested his hand on hers. "Of course not. Katniss, you are one of the strongest people I have ever met. You aren't angry at your mother for selfish reasons. You aren't angry at her for abandoning you. You're angry because she abandoned your sister. That doesn't make you a bad person."
He swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing. "You're the best kind of person there is. You just don't see yourself for who you are. You don't know the kind of effect you have on people."
Katniss felt her cheeks warm, her skin prickle from his words. He patted her hand before letting it go, taking one last bite of his pasta. She looked down at her plate and noticed that she'd finished her food, as well.
He patted his face with a tissue, his lips stretching widely across his face, excitement bubbling in his eyes. "Okay, are you ready for the portrait?"
Katniss looked up at him, his excitement contagious. "Really? I can see it now?"
He laughed, standing up. "Well, I was actually gonna wait until after dessert but, I think now is as good a time as any."
She followed him as he led her to the black form that she'd wandered to earlier.
He put his arms on her shoulders, turning her body around. "No peeking yet," he scolded mockingly.
She sighed, crossing her arms across her chest. He was being so dramatic about all this.
She heard movement behind her, but kept her promise, not turning back.
She felt his hand on her arms a moment later, the other hand shielding her eyes.
"Okay," he said, twisting her back the other way, his nerves audible in his voice. "Here it is."
He let his hand fall to his side, finally revealing to her what she'd been itching to see for weeks now.
She let out an audible gasp; it was beautiful. It resembled her, yes, but it wasn't her. It couldn't be her.
The girl in the picture sat behind the dunes at the beach, her legs covered by the roots and weeds of the small plants that rose from the sand. Her skin was a creamy, rich olive color. Her eyes were like glass; brilliant shards in a hundred different shades of gray, each shade tinted just lightly by the orange-pink glow of the sky as the sun swooped low into the horizon behind her . Her hair wasn't the simple braid Katniss usually wore. It was twisted in an elaborate braid, the kind her mother used to twist her hair into for events like Christmas Dinner and birthdays when she was younger. Her lips, shaded with a rosy tinge, were curled upwards, in a smile that looked like she held a secret.
She was not pretty; she was not beautiful. She was as radiant as the sun.
Katniss turned to Peeta, his face just inches from hers, her eyes wide with awe. "This isn't me, Peeta. But she's … she's beautiful. Beyond it."
His lips curved in the softest of smiles. "It is you, Katniss. You are beautiful. That is exactly how I see you."
Her own lips imitated his, her heart beating in every inch of her body. Her fingers buzzed with a jittery feeling, a deliciously uncomfortable warmth pooling in her gut.
His face inched towards her, his fingers finding hers. He laced his rough, calloused fingers through hers, and squeezed lightly.
His eyes held a question, a question he was too afraid to ask out loud.
She placed her hand on his chest, and leaned in closer, meeting his lips with hers.
They were warm but chapped, and sweet, just like Peeta, as they moved under hers slowly, softly. His other hand moved to her back, pulling her in closer.
Her heart swelled, beating too fast, drumming loudly in her ears.
And just like that, he pulled back, his fingers feathering over her lips where his had been just a mere second ago.
He let out a shaky breath, revealing a smile bigger than she'd ever seen him wear before.
It warmed her heart.
He kept his fingers knotted with hers, his thumb aimlessly tracing her palm. "Dessert?"
Katniss tip-toed into her room, padding softly across the creaks in the wooden floor to where her clothes lay in a pile on the floor. She pulled off her jeans, and set Johanna's shirt on a nearby chair, reminding herself to return it the next day.
She pulled on her tank top and shorts, walking quietly into the bathroom.
She turned the faucet on, splashing her face with the cold water, removing the make-up that was now smudged from her face.
Drying her face, she stared at her reflection.
She felt different, felt … she didn't know how she felt. But she didn't look any different. She traced her fingers across her lips, almost disbelieving that Peeta's lips, warm and soft, had been there only a little while ago.
He hadn't kissed her again, not even as they walked to the beach, their fingers intertwined between them, but her heart hadn't stopped beating at an unusual pace since his lips touched hers.
She brushed her teeth, swiping her face with the back of her hand before heading back into the room, shutting the light behind her.
She climbed in under the covers, and felt Prim's body roll towards her.
A pair of blue eyes blinked at her, laced heavily with sleep.
"You're back?" Prim asked, her voice quiet and tired.
Katniss nodded, turning towards her baby sister.
"How was your date?" Prim asked, and though Katniss couldn't see it, she could hear the smile in her voice.
"It wasn't a date …" Katniss replied, her voice sounding weird to even her own ears.
"Did he kiss you?" Prim asked eagerly, all traces of sleep now gone from her voice.
Katniss' jaw dropped. "Prim!" she reprimanded, "I'm not going to tell you that!"
"But why?" Prim's sweet voice whined, "I'm your sister!"
"My baby sister," Katniss corrected, "I can't … we can't talk about these things, yet."
Prim huffed loudly, her chest rising with the effort as she turned away from Katniss.
"I'm not that young, Katniss." She stifled a yawn. "But whatever, I'll just take that as a yes, then."
"Prim!" she scolded again, earning a small giggle from the younger girl.
She shook her head; her sister knew her better than she did; she didn't really expect her to not find out. It still didn't make any less awkward for her, though.
A moment later, she could hear the even breathing coming from the other end of the bed, and she knew her sister had fallen back into her slumber. She focused her breathing on her sister's, matching her inhales and exhales, and it wasn't too long before she was asleep herself.
a/n: okay, so after the slight angst/weirdness after the last chapter, i hope this left you all content! i hope you guys liked it! two more to go, now. that's a little bittersweet.
also, a mini-shout out to the few of you who reach out to me on tumblr and twitter - i love hearing from you guys! and of course, a thank you to Leigh for editing!
reviews, as always, are appreciated! thank you all for the support! and i swear i'm working on replying to reviews, i'm just really, painfully slow :(