A/N: edited 25/12/14

What was a filler chapter of 2k ish words has been combined with the next also-kind-of-a-filler chapter to create a chapter of Katniss, to Peeta, to Katniss, and to Peeta again in POV terms. That makes sense, right? Whatever, just read it.

Chapter 6: Morning Light

Katniss

My dreams are pleasant. Most nights I dream of horrible things; my father suffocating in the mines, Prim crumbling away from a lack of food, always calling, calling, calling out for help; Mom's vacant eyes staring blankly at her two daughters as we waste to nothing. These dreams wake me up with a sheen of sweat upon my skin, my head spinning, and the uncanny taste of blood in my mouth from where I'd bitten down on my tongue to choke back the screams.

But now I dream of Prim and my mother together in our small allotment, making crowns from daisies and listening to birdsong. I dream of my father and I in the forest, gathering berries and climbing trees in search of the best view above the leaves. No one is starving, no one is being blown to bits. Everyone is safe and sound and I feel content. Happy in the way that the feeling banishes all sadness from my bones and makes my body tingle.

It's the sound of a bird tweeting that wakes me from my peaceful slumber, and I don't mind that I've awoken. For a long time I keep my eyes closed, listening for the animal's song through the bleary mess of my sleepy mind, so comfortable it would be practically torture to move as much as a finger.

Warbler.

An image of the yellow-bellied bird pops into my mind as I listen to its high-pitched trill floating through the balmy fall air, caressing my ears. I could very easily fall back asleep, the hangover from last night encouraging me to bury my face back into the pillow and rest. But I have things to do today. I stretch my limbs like a cat, my toes curling on the soft mattress and a shiver rolling down my spine. I frown, and rub my palm over the bed. I could've sworn that my bed wasn't this comfortable two days ago. Did Mom buy a new sheet? Did she knit a new one? Even so, the coarse thread and wool she usually used wasn't this soft. And since when did it smell like… like bread?

My eyes snap open and I wince, quickly closing them again at the morning sunlight shining straight in my eyes. I now know what a hangover feels like, my head is spinning, my throat is sore, and I feel as if I could throw up any moment. I rub the heel of my palms against my eyes and breathe in and out through my nose. Once my head has stopped throbbing as violently, I re-open my eyes, only to be met with a white painted ceiling instead of corrugated iron.

Where am I?

This is not my room or my house. This is not my bed.

As quietly as I can, I sit up, and find that I'm completely naked. I can see my boots kicked off by the door and various items of clothing – not all mine – flung about. My heart clenches tightly in my ribcage. I cover my chest with a bed sheet, and take a deep breath before looking to my left. A blonde head lies on the pillow next to me, looking angelic in the soft daylight pouring through the open window to the right of the headboard.

Peeta.

Everything from the night before comes rushing back; awaking me as if I've jumped into the lake at mid-winter. I stare at the boy lying beside me, his arm flung out over the bed, almost touching me, his body half-covered by a bed sheet. He's blissfully unaware that I'm naked in his bed. I bite my lip, and attempt to slide around him and off the bed, only to freeze when he mutters something under his breath and rolls over, his hand grazing my side. My skin burns under his unintentional touch, a reaction I didn't expect to experience from something so simple. I grip the sheet tightly in my fist, watching him shift about in his sleep, the bedframe creaking a little under his bulky frame. He wrinkles his nose and rolls back over, facing his open bedroom window.

My cheeks warm when his lower back and ass are uncovered, and I look away, biting my lip until I'm certain that he isn't going to wake up if I climb off the bed. I tiptoe around the room, pulling on my dress, picking my boots and jacket from the floor, all the while watching Peeta's sleeping form like I'm tracking an animal in the woods.

Once I'm dressed I press my ear up against the bedroom door, I listen for sounds of people outside his bedroom. When I'm sure I can hear nothing, I pull the door open and step into the corridor. My heart skips a beat when I hear coughing from behind the door I've just come through, and I dart towards the nearest door, finding myself standing in a linen closet, pressed up against shelves of drying towels and clothes and aprons. I peek through a gap in the door, and watch Peeta walk, completely naked, to the bathroom at the end of the hallway. Once the door has closed, I dart down the stairs, push open a window in the bakery kitchen and jump down into the back streets.

"Get lost you filthy brat!" a merchant woman screeches, and I fall into the trash cans outside the bakery in my haste to escape the road and hide my face. I have to be anonymous, just one of thousands of Seam people, rummaging through trash cans. I flee back home, the early morning sun casting a long shadow on the dusty track beneath me as I head towards where I belong.

It's only when I get home that I realise the enormity of what the previous night entailed.

Why else would I be sharing a bed with one of my classmates, my clothes and his strewn all over the floor? I splash cold water over my face, gripping the side of the sink. What have I just done? I have to try and control my breathing as I slump into a kitchen chair. Does Peeta realise what has happened now? How am I going to face him at school on Monday? I hold my head in my hands and groan.

"Katniss?" Prim's quiet voice is unsure and I reveal myself from behind the door. "Where have you been?!" my sister exclaims, running to fling her arms around me. "I've been so worried about you!"

"I had a bit to drink and stayed at Madge's house," I lie, knowing that Madge would back me up if needed. Prim frowns.

"Are you okay?"

"No, can you get something to ease my headache?"

"I'll get you some sage leave," Prim says, disappearing into another room. I rest my head on the worn table top, only lifting it when Prim places a chipped mug of tea in front of me. I gulp it down, waiting for my head to clear. Maybe then I'll be able to think through the last twenty-four hours.

I change out of my dress and go to the forest for some fresh air, stripping off into my undergarments and jumping into the lake my father showed me when I was younger. The water has a chill to it, and I'm only able to stay submerged for a short while, but, like seeing Peeta lying next to me, it makes me wide awake. I scrub my skin and hair, trying to wash away last night and the embarrassment that comes with it. As I dry myself off, I wrack my brain, trying to remember what I can. I remember kissing Peeta at Bron's house, and again at his house, and then it's a muddled mess of images.

How did I get to the bakery? My forehead creases as I think. Did Peeta invite me back to his home? Did I follow him? I shake my head, pulling my jacket back on and re-braiding my damp hair. I need to stop thinking about this or it will drive me crazy. I storm through the forest, shooting arrows angrily at the trees I come across, trying to expel this feeling from my body. I feel unsure of myself. I feel conflicted.

I feel guilty.

I shouldn't have left like that. Like always I chose to fly away instead of face my problems head on. Peeta's going to hate me.

Peeta

My first thought is:

Why am I naked?

I've slept in the nude before, but that's only in the summer months when it's too hot to wear anything except for a thin sheet to fight away the mosquitoes. But it's autumn now, and the stifling heat that was once here is now beginning to fade away, so there's no need to sleep with no clothes. My head feels like it's in a metal bucket that's been hit, everything bending at odd angles when I move too fast. Drinking too much always does this to me. It makes the world warp and my memory vanish.

I sticking my head out of my open bedroom window, taking in a big lungful of air, trying to clear my hungover mind. The clock on my bedroom wall tells me that it's 9 am, which means I have a little while still until I have to open the bakery as per Mom's orders. I groan, dropping my head, and walk down the corridor into the bathroom to freshen up. I keep the shower water cool as it helps me to feel less sluggish but it's only when I scrub my back with some soap that I truly become alert. The soap causes my skin to sting for a split second so painfully that it brings tears to my eyes before I wash it away with water. I jump out of the shower and dry myself before looking over my shoulder into the mirror to assess why my skin stung so badly.

My eyes widen at what I find. "What the hell?" I say under my breath, twisting and turning. Long red lines stretch from my shoulder blades to the middle of my back. I run my hand over the raw skin, squinting at my reflection. They aren't deep, just scratches, really, but they still hurt. And I have no idea how they got there.

I pull on a shirt and head down to the bakery. Mom keeps her 'headache' pills locked in a small tin behind the bread bin sitting on the kitchen table. I find the tin, and crack the lock open, and take three of the little capsules into my hand, swallowing them down with a glass of water before pushing the lock back into place, and hiding the tin exactly where I found it.

With my headache cured for some time, I spend the next few hours standing at the kitchen worktop, elbow deep in flour, kneading dough for loaves to be served later in the day. I'm sure that most people sleep off the hangover, loading themselves down with water and pills; trying to be brought out of the haze alcohol brings. Baking is my release though. I find the rhythmic movement calming - soothing even. By midday I've made two dozen loaves, and finished icing a cake for the Undersees and a couple batches of cookies and prepare to open the bakery. A sharp rap at the door brings me out of my thoughts. I run my hands under the water of the kitchen tap and run to the front door, wiping my hands on my apron.

"Mr Mellark, why are you not open today?" Marjorie, the retired midwife from across the road says, peering up at me with a smile. "I was hoping that you could open just for me, Farrell, I need some fresh bread."

"It's Peeta, Mrs Stark, not my father," I inform her, letting her into the bakery and turning the closed sign.

"Peeta?" she asks, squinting at me. "Ahh, you look so much like your father," she says, giving me a grandmotherly pat on the shoulder.

"What do you need?" I ask her, heading to the counter.

"A fresh loaf, something that will go with everything," Marjorie smiles, pulling out a pouch of coins. I put a new loaf into a paper bag and pass it to the woman.

"That'll be seven coins."

"Seven?"

"It was baked this morning." Marjorie digs the coins out and hands them to me before beginning to speak while I work the register.

"Now, this morning I heard such a clatter outside your house."

"You did?"

"I did," she confirms, nodding her head. "And I saw someone climbing through the kitchen window and darting down the street. I shouted at them, and they ran straight into the garbage cans. They disappeared off to the Seam, but I couldn't see where it went after that. I couldn't get there fast enough."

"Did you see them when they were by the bins?" I ask, leaning onto the worktop, trying to figure out if I noticed anything to be missing from the kitchen while I baked over the past few hours.

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. My eyesight isn't what it was anymore," she pulls her shawl over her shoulders. "I better get going, dear."

"Thank you for telling me about the intruder."

"Thank you for the bread!" Marjorie says as I open the front door for her. "Say hello to your parents for me, and tell Rye that if I catch him messing around with Cathy again, I'll have his guts for garters!"

"Will do, Mrs Stark. Will do," I chuckle, watching the woman wander away.

It's mid-evening when my family returns from Great-Aunt Grace's.

"Rye Mellark!" Mom hisses, slamming the front door. "I have never been so ashamed in my entire life!"

"It wasn't what you thought it was!"

"How long have they been at each other?" I whisper to Dad and Fenton who are standing beside me looking like they've heard this argument ten times already.

"The entire journey back," Fen replies tiredly.

"Your brother was caught with the maid," Dad frowns, though there's a sparkle in his eyes.

"Again?"

"Again. You'd think he'd learn, but no." I shake my head, and look at Rye and Mom.

"You were kissing the maid!" Mom exclaims, jabbing her finger into Rye's chest.

"And that was it! Nothing else happened!" he snaps.

"But that is exactly the problem, Rye," Mom narrows her eyes. "I told you not to do that. I told you that it would lead to something bad. When are you going to get it into that thick head of yours?"

"When are you gonna stop being a bitch and listen to me?" Rye shouts. Mom straightens up, eyeing her son. Rye pauses and backpedals. "Mom, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

The sharp slap to Rye's cheek cuts his apology off. Dad splutters to defend him but Mom speaks over him, her harsh, calculated words shutting him off completely.

"You will never call me a bitch again. Do you understand?"

"I'm sorry."

"Do you understand?" Mom repeats.

"Yeah," Rye rolls his eyes. Mom scowls, her upper lips twitching

"Aymee, leave him alone," Dad says in a warning tone when she clenches her fists.

"You step one toe out of line you'll be out of this house." Mom threatens, before storming off. Rye thunders off in the opposite direction into the darkened street outside, cursing not-so-quietly under his breath as he walks. He's inherited Mom's temper, that's for sure. No-one goes after him, or tries to stop him. Rye always disappears after an argument with Mom, and normally returns drunk. Fen washes some dishes to help out and retreats to his own room, leaving Dad and I mop the bakery floor.

"You have fun at the party?" he asks softly as I swipe the mop beneath the edge of the counter.

"Yeah, it was fun."

"You got a hangover?"

"Yup." I groan, scrubbing my face with my hands, causing him to chuckle.

"How's Katniss?"

"I think she had fun, but I can't really remember very much of last night," I grimace. "Alcohol always does something to me, and I don't know what it is, but I can never remember a thing. It comes back to me at random moments which is always a fun trip down memory lane." Dad laughs again, opening the door of the kitchen to chuck out the dirty water.

"So you and Katniss had a nice time?" he asks once the bucket is empty.

"We did. I'm glad she came."

Katniss

Guilt is a funny thing. It causes you to think about the subject of concern all the time, every minute of the day, whatever you do, making you sick of even the thought of them but also like you're being eaten from the inside out. I can't stop thinking about Peeta. I haven't seen him since Friday night. I spent Saturday in the forest, and have done exactly the same today; sitting atop a tree, breathing in the fresh forest air, appreciating the quiet.

I'm surprised that Peeta hasn't come and spoken to me yet, because I know that I'm not going to be the one to confront him. Although I don't want to think about it, I can't help but wonder if he's going to act as if nothing happened. Maybe he'll completely disregard me at school or when I trade at the bakery. Shouldn't he at least acknowledge that we slept together? Yeah, we were drunk, but it still had to mean something. I mean, he took my virginity. It's never been something I've felt the need to protect yet it' still sacred and important to me, and although I'd understand if he wanted nothing to do with, I'd still be hurt.

Even if he thinks it was nothing but a mistake, how am I going to face him, or his kind-hearted father? I can handle the guaranteed teasing from his brothers, but his mother is another story completely. She'd full-on explode complete with steam erupting from her ears if she found out who her son had been fraternizing with. Imagining what she'd do to him makes my knees feel weak.

My mind flits back to past days when he'd come into school with red welts painting his face, his eyes swollen and purple. He'd brush the concerns of others away, joking about how 'it wasn't a good idea to wrestle with my brothers' or 'I walked into a wall'. They were transparent excuses; the excuses used by the women in our district who were abused by their husbands, by someone they wanted nothing but trust and love from.

I wasn't the only person to see right through them. Once, when we were around five or six, Peeta came to school with his arm in a sling. Of course, his fellow classmates were curious as to what had happened. He claimed he fell off his bike. We all damn well knew that his mother sold his bike the year before at Christmas time, saying it was a waste of money.

His arm healed after six months but he never went to see the proper doctor, or even my mother. I heard that Fen and Rye had to make do with the bandages they had at the bakery to hold their little brother's arm together after their mother fractured the bone in a fiery rage about something as trivial as leaving his school work on the kitchen table.

Clambering down from the tree, my hands scraping over the rough bark, I run at a sprint to meet Gale as promised. I push all thoughts of the baker's son to the back of my mind, begging them to stay down until I can get home and think by myself. Besides, Gale hasn't been able to go hunting for three or four days due to illness, I don't want to keep him waiting or bombard him with my inner turmoil.

"You seem occupied, Catnip," he notices anyway that afternoon as we sit on the rock at our usual meeting spot overlooking the wooded valley, wiping his nose with a handkerchief.

"Do I?" I murmur, looking out at the horizon.

"Yeah, you do," Gale says. "What's up?"

"Nothing, I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

"Why do you have so many questions?" I snap.

"Why do you have such blunt answers?" he retorts, equally as fiery, even when recovering from illness.

"I've just got a lot on my mind lately…"

"Winter is a month or two away, you don't need to be worried about food just yet."

"Thanks," I say, turning away. "Just another thing to add to my list."

"You have a list?" he raises his eyebrows. As if he doesn't have a list as well.

"We should get going. If we stay out here for any longer, I'm going to end up with no blood left," I say, slapping a mosquito away from my arm. Gale and I stand, and head back down the hill and into the woods. I shoot a few squirrels and then hide my quiver and bow in hollow trees.

"Are you worried about the Games?" Gale asks, breaking our easy silence. I pause. "Is that it?"

"Yeah, I'm just worried that I err… won't pass it." I lie. Gale sees right through me.

"Fuck off," he laughs. "You'll pass it just fine. Now tell me the truth."

"You don't need to be concerned about me," I say, sliding under the fence after checking for patrolling Peacekeepers.

"You're right, I don't," Gale says, following me under the metal. "But I am."

"It's nothing."

"Is it Dough Boy?"

"Dough Boy?" I arch an eyebrow. "Really, Gale?"

"Don't change the subject."

"It isn't Dough Boy."

"Yeah it is- you always wrinkle your nose when you're lying," Gale says. I roll my eyes, kicking at the dusty track beneath my feet with my boot.

"He hasn't done anything wrong, I'm in the wrong," I blurt out, and Gale's eyes harden.

"What happened?" he demands.

"Don't do anything to him, Gale."

"I won't."

I come to a halt and fix him with a hard look. "Promise me you'll leave him alone. Promise me."

"I promise I won't touch him."

"Good," I say, walking ahead.

"You can't do that, Catnip. Tell me half the story and then leave me hanging!"

"Tough," I say, opening the door of my house. "See you tomorrow."

"You didn't do something you're regretting, did you?" he asks jokingly. I force a smile and wait until he's out of sight before dropping it in place of a frown. My happy mood dissipates. I slide down the wall, letting out a loud exhale of air.

Shit.

He noticed.

Not that it's difficult to notice how I've been acting these past few days. I just can't get thoughts of Peeta out of my head. How am I going to face him at school? I feel my cheeks heat up at the thought of it, especially given that I've seen him totally naked – sober, too. I can't even look at dying men on my kitchen table when they're brought it to be treated by my mother. Facing him is going to be impossible. With a heavy sigh I climb to my feet and go into the kitchen to skin the squirrels I caught.

"Hey Katniss," Prim greets me as she and Mom walk through the front door.

"Hey, how was the birth?" Prim has been tagging along on Mom's visits around the district, learning as much as she can. Today Mom was called out to assist in a birth. I always get a feeling of fright in my stomach when someone hammers on our door, worrying about a family member or a friend and asking for my mother's help, but Prim takes after my mother in the sense that during a medical emergency she's calm and collected.

"It was good, she had twins," she smiles, her eyes bright.

"Twins?"

"She's a Merchant," Mom says, putting her bag on the table. "She'll be able to look after them."

"How's Gale? Still got the flu?" Prim asks.

"He's fine. Thinks he caught it from Posy," I shrug my shoulders and continue to prepare the animal in my hands. Prim and Mom continue to chatter throughout the evening, making their way out onto the front porch to watch the sunset and leaving me to eat my food in peace.

The next morning I wake with a stiff back and sore neck. I fell asleep at the kitchen table. I stand, stretching my limbs and rolling my neck. The cherry wood clock above the fireplace shows that I'm late for school. But if I run, I'll make it with about a minute to spare.

"Prim! Prim! Wake up!" I say, running into the bedroom we share. Prim lifts her head from the pillow, her golden hair sticking out in all directions. "We're late!" I exclaim. Her eyes widen and she sits up.

"Why didn't you wake me?" she asks, scrambling out from the blankets and grabbing her clothes.

"I overslept!" I tell her. Mom rolls over in her bed, and faces the wall. "Mom?" I ask her. No answer. Today must be one of her bad days. Again. Yesterday she was fine, chatting away with Prim on the porch until the moon was high in the sky. I bite my lip and put another blanket over her hunched form. "Please eat something." I whisper to her. She mumbles something in response, but I don't catch it.

I pull on my jeans, a t-shirt and a jacket, hopping into the kitchen as I frantically pull on my boots, I find Prim slicing the loaf of bread at the table.

"Prim!" I say. "No time for food!"

"I'm hungry!" Prim says, shooting me a look. I braid my hair, and head out the front door. Prim follows close behind, shoving the bread into her mouth. She hands me a piece and I end up eating it all in one big mouthful of bread, fruit and nuts. Peeta made this bread.

Peeta.

Shaking my head, I swallow our hasty breakfast and walk behind Prim, braiding her hair as neatly as I can at the speed we're walking at.

"Is Mom gone again?" Prim asks. My fingers still in her hair.

"She'll be back before you know it," I say, tying off the braid with a ribbon.

"I'm not stupid, Katniss," she says as we reach the school gates, our chests heaving. "I know when she'll be gone for a long time."

"I'll see you…later," I whisper after her, but my words are swept away in the wind.

My cheeks burn as I fling myself into my classroom.

"Thanks for showing up, sweetheart," Haymitch says sarcastically from the front of the class.

"I overslept," I mumble in reply. This is becoming a pattern for me lately, and I don't know why. I'm never late, ever. I scamper down the passage between the rows of desks and pull my chair out, wincing as the legs scrape noisily against the floor tiles. Sitting down, I pull my braid over my shoulder and let out a breath.

"I swear, Haymitch seems to have a permanent supply of whatever's in that flask."

"And I'm pretty sure it's not water," I joke, turning to face the person who just spoke to me to offer them a wry smile. Peeta smiles back at me, his eyes sparkling, and his hair falling in messy waves over his forehead. "Peeta!" I exclaim, my eyes widening. I move away from him, my shoulder pressed up against the wall as I stare at him like a rabbit caught in headlights.

"What?" he asks, unsure as to how to react.

"Nothing!" I hiss, looking away, a flush creeping up over my chest and neck.

"You over your hangover yet?"

"Yes. You?" I'll keep my answers short and to the point.

"Thankfully. I'm not the best at handling my alcohol. I can remember hardly anything from Friday night," Peeta chuckles, shooting me a smile. I laugh nervously.

"How strange," I offer.

"I did walk you home, didn't I?"

My heart stops beating. Does he remember nothing? But that means that…

"Yeah, you did. I hope you made it back to yours okay," I force a smile.

"I got there just fine."

"Oh, good. That's good."

My mind has literally exploded. What does he mean that he can't remember anything?' I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to drown out Haymitch and Effie arguing, and the whispering students around me to sort out the situation. At least I know he's not just being an arrogant idiot and acting as if nothing happened. Surely he should feel something? If not guilt, maybe embarrassment? I know I feel embarrassed. I can't even look at him.

Perhaps he's just pretending to not remember anything. Perhaps he can't believe that he slept with a Seam Brat like me, and is now ignoring the truth. But what if he genuinely can't remember what happened between us?

"So, can you remember what happened on the way back to my house?" I ask him, trying to act as indifferent as possible.

"No…" Peeta trails off, his eyes narrowing. "Why?"

"No, don't worry about it," he narrows his eyes, leaning in closer, and I all can picture is his ass as he walked into his bathroom while I was hid in his linen closet not five feet away. I scramble to make up a story.

"You just laughed the entire way there…" I say quickly, telling him the first thing that pops into my head.

"Well thank God," Peeta chuckles. "I was worried I did something so embarrassing it would haunt you to your grave." He bumps me on the arm playfully and I inch away from him. He can't touch me. Not now. Our conversation is interrupted when Effie begins instructing the class to stand and follow her and Haymitch out of the corridor. Once we reach the school hall, Effie lines us all up by the wall. Haymitch leans by the wall, looking around the hall with a scowl that could match mine.

"I saw you all at the Reaping Dinner," Effie begins, stalking up and down the hall, her heels clicking. "And, I'm quite frankly horrified at your dancing skills. So, today you will be learning how to dance properly, and no, I don't mean that horrible dancing you do at parties." She pulls her gloves off, finger by finger and Haymitch wheels a record player out into the centre of the hall.

"Oh no," I breathe.

"This happens year after year, and this time round is no different. I'm going to have you dancing like professionals by the Winter Ball, if it's the last thing I do!"

Peeta

Why Effie? Why? Out of all of the people who could have been drafted in to teach us, it had to be Effie Trinket, didn't it?

Katniss walks forward and I trail after her. Standing awkwardly beside her, I watch as half the year group reluctantly stands with their partners. Effie stands, watching us with pursed lips. Haymitch straightens up and walks towards the brightly coloured woman, smirking at everyone he passes. He's enjoying this way too much. "Come along, Haymitch!" Effie says. "You're going to help me."

"I never agreed to that," Haymitch grumbles.

"You do know how to dance, don't you?" Effie says. Haymitch nods. "Then come here and put your hand on my waist." Haymitch coughs and splutters, his eyes wide. Effie waits expectantly. A laugh echoes around the hall. Haymitch begrudgingly walks forward, grumbling all the way. "Now then, gentlemen, put one hand on your partner's waist, like so," she looks at Haymitch who places a hand on the beltline of her shimmering golden dress.

"Do you mind?" I ask Katniss.

"No, go ahead," she says through gritted teeth.

"Are you alright?" I ask her, placing a gentle hand on her waist, my hand tingling, electricity shooting up my arm and into my chest.

"I'm fine."

"Then, gentlemen, you shall place your hand in your partners. Ladies, your other hand needs to be on the shoulder of your partner." Effie instructs as Haymitch does as he's told. Katniss' hand is cold in mine, the hand on my shoulder light as a feather, barely touching my body. She seems to know how to stand, angling her arm, her back straight.

"You dance?" I ask her.

"My father taught me. He said that every woman should know how to dance."

"Now, the steps are simple! Gentlemen lead. One, two, three. One two, three!" Effie calls out, putting the stylus onto the record. A slow beat fills the room. Effie leaves Haymitch and marches around the room, correcting various people, tapping at their arms and guiding them along. "Very good," she congratulates Katniss and I, placing a hand on her chin as she inspects us. "Katniss, my dear, you're a natural. But I can see one teeny, tiny problem."

"You can?" I ask warily.

"I can," Effie says, stepping confidently forward. "You're standing so far apart that it's making it difficult for you to dance properly. You need to step closer, close enough so that if you had a piece of paper between you, it wouldn't fall." And with that Effie, pushes us together, until our torsos are pretty much pressed against each other. Katniss stiffens, staring past me with steely eyes. I can feel my face going bright red.

"You two are just adorable!" Effie squeals, seemingly unaware of how uncomfortable we feel, clapping her hands together before tottering away, her perfect hair bouncing with every step.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to Katniss, moving away and watching her entire body relax a little. What have I done to make her be like this? I don't mean for her to be uncomfortable. You can't stop the Effie-train once it's going full speed ahead, and I was hit by it without much chance to escape.

"It's fine," we dance in silence for the next few minutes. Katniss doesn't look up at me, but I find myself transfixed on her face. The feel of her hand in mine. The curve of her spine under my palm.

"Effie, they're kids. Put something they can really dance to on," Haymitch tells Effie from beside the record player.

"How do you expect them to learn the proper etiquette if they do not have the proper resources?"

"Loosen your corset and have a drink!" Haymitch advises, pulling the record away and replacing it with another. Brushing the woman aside, Haymitch positions the stylus and allows a joyful melody to fill the room. Katniss turns to the sound of a violin playing, a drum of some sort and a guitar.

"I know this song," she says, her eyes lighting up. "It's a Seam song."

"So I'm assuming you know the steps?"

"Of course," she says, taking my hands. She spins us around, and after several minutes of stepping on her feet with red cheeks, I get the hang of the Seam folkdance. I spin Katniss around, nearly getting whipped in the face with her braid as she spins. Laughter erupts from around the room and I look around. The Merchants in the room stand there confused, watching as a mass of dark-haired people dance around the room, the steps familiarised in time.

"I wish I knew how to dance," I murmur, stumbling around. Katniss pauses, her chest rising and falling.

"Didn't your father or mother ever teach you?"

"No, my Dad has two left feet, and you know what my Mom's like."

"But is your mother a good dancer?"

"I've never seen her dance before."

"Well, for a person whose father and mother don't dance, you're doing pretty well," she says, her cheeks turning red.

Later on that evening, Rye catches me tapping my foot and humming as I knead bread. "What are you doing?" he asks me, one eyebrow raised as he pulls on an apron.

"Nothing, I'm just in a good mood."

"You danced with Everdeen, didn't you?" He says with a smirk. "Did Trinkie and Drunk force you?"

"Trinkie and Drunk?"

"Answer the question."

"Yes. Effie thought we were awful dancers."

"You didn't stand on her feet too much did you?"

"Who, Effie?"

"Katniss, idiot."

"Not too many times. Besides, she said I was a good dancer, which is more than I can say for you."