I stand in the kitchen staring blankly at Peeta before turning to leave. Haymitch bailed on this conversation, and I plan on doing the exact same thing.

But "Katniss, wait," and a hand is on my shoulder. I turn to see Peeta's face staring hard at me, willing me to stay. "I need to talk to you," he says.

I shrug his hand off my shoulder, and he complies. "I've already said everything I have to say to you," I answer. Because it's true.

"But you haven't given me a chance to say everything I want to," he says plainly. Like his being courteous and logical will make me stay.

I waver, but decide it's the least I can do. So stand waiting, waiting to hear him out.

"I don't know what you've been doing these past few weeks, and you have no obligation to tell me. That doesn't mean I haven't wanted to see you, because, believe me, all I've done is want t-"

"Peeta, just stop." I'm still staring at him, but my voice is wavering and I'm not sure why.

"Katniss," he says taking my hands in his. I jump a little, startled at the contact.

"Sorry," he says going to release his grip, but I feel guilty, so I give his hands a squeeze back, because this is what I'm used to with Peeta. Being close. The corner of his mouth turns up in a smile. But he lets me have my space and drops his hands.

" Regardless of how I feel about you otherwise..." he dropped his gaze for that last part, "Above all, I want us to be friends. We're fellow victors, and we've got so much in common because of it that..." Wow. It's not often that Peeta's at a loss for words. "I just mean, I wish you'd trust me enough - as a friend, even a comrade - to let me know when you're not okay. Or when Haymitch isn't okay. Because I want to be there to help."

I'm listening real hard by the time he ends his piece, and my first reaction is that I almost want to hug him for it. Peeta is a good person. I do trust him, that's why I let him live... or, why I wanted to save him... or at least thought he didn't deserve to die in the Games. But I just hate the fact that he loves me, that everyone in the country is under the impression that he does and that I return the favor. When Peeta's around now, I just feel like some invisible iron fist is forcing me towards him, pushing us to be together against my will. I feel it like a cold, marble rock in the pit of my stomach. And I know I can't give him the wrong idea, can't give him false hope about a future I'll never have with him. So we're silent for awhile, until I whisper,

"Right now you can help by giving me and Haymitch some space."

I'm about to turn when words pour out of his mouth again. "Katniss," his voice strains, on the edge of some emotion.

I turn to look at him. "Yeah?"

"I wasn't going to ask, but...You and Haymitch. Is there something going on between you two?"

My gut clenches at his astuteness, but I ignore what he may be asking and just answer, "Other than his hassling me for fresh turkey at every meal?"

Peeta just gives me a look that says, yes, other than that.

"Why?" I can't help myself. It just spurts out of my mouth.

"It's just..." He stops deliberately, not wanting to go on. I raise my eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

"You smell like him."

I scoff, throwing my hands up in response. Really? Again? What, do I never shower or something?

"Well I've been over here quite a bit keeping a sock in him," is my lame but biting defense. "The aroma's bound to seep into my clothing."

It's Peeta's turn to raise an eyebrow as he reaches a hand to my face- wait, no, my braid - and lifts it to his nose and nods to himself before offering it to me.

"Smell this," he says.

Grudgingly, I hold the braid up to my nose and take a wary, dainty sniff. Straight-up Sleeping Haymitch.

It's as good as being caught red-handed.

I blink for a long second, taking a deeper breath to melt my face into its stoic mask, but all I get is another whiff of what Haymitch's neck smelled like last night. It makes sense; I'd slept tucked right under his chin all night. Or day. Or whatever. I wonder briefly if people in the Hob noticed, but am not all that worried since that place has its own smells.

I try to shrug off the shudders the smell has given me, but before I can say anything at all, Peeta asks it. What I've been dreading.

"What exactly have you been doing here, Katniss?"

I shrug, fixing my gaze on anything but his eyes. "I end up sleeping here sometimes."

"You're sleeping with hi– "

"No! I'm not! And goddamnit, Peeta, why are you talking so loud?"

But his expression deflates all the same.

Oh, shit. I know exactly what his next question is going to be. He even begins to ask it. "But... you sleep with him." And it goes unsaid, like we used to.

"Yeah," I have to duck my head, find someplace on the ground to focus on to answer him.

He's silent for a minute, or maybe a hour, nodding. "I understand," he finally says, a new hardened quality to his voice.

"But only sometimes," rushes out of my mouth before I can stop it, "And it's not like – " Not like what? Not like I'm kissing him too? Because, as I've proved in recent days, I am. So it's not what, not like I'm repeating exactly what I did with Peeta back in the arena? I don't think I am, I think Haymitch and I both understand that I can't fall in love, that maybe neither of us can. But Peeta cuts me off with a downward swipe of his hand.

"You don't have to explain yourself," he says. "I just wish you trusted me like I trust you. I owe you my life, you know."

Yeah, there's that. He's playing all his cards tonight. He just doesn't know that he's asking for the one thing that's hardest for me to give.

I reach out an arm, but let it drop to my side. Desperation kicks in. I swear I'm about to break into a whine when he turns and walks out the door. Instead, I steel myself. I cannot be weak. I cannot cry over a boy walking out of my house. Not after everything else I've seen. So instead, I get angry. It only takes a few seconds.

Fuck! And I'm gritting my teeth together, my hands locking behind my head, and bring my elbows down hard on Haymitch's counter.

I just killed two relationships with one stone. Not only did I make it seem like Haymitch and I are doing things and then proceed to deny it, I also successfully alienated another person who I care about.

Suddenly, I'm so angry. This is what happens when I care about other people, when I care about what they think of me. This is why I try not to care about anyone, anything. Why I just try and survive. But the Games has made that increasingly difficult for me, as I am still discovering.

Fuck!

I reach out, grabbing at the knife rack, the nearest thing to me, and spin, slinging a thick knife at the opposite wall of the kitchen. It lodges itself and vibrates with a satisfying thump and zingggg, and I'm standing there watching the thing, breathing heavy, my rage subsiding. That's when I catch a shadow of movement in the doorway. I grasp another knife, Tribute reflexes taking over once again.

"Easy on the cutlery, sweetheart," I hear from the shadows, "Knives are my thing."

Haymitch. He steps into the room, inspecting the still-vibrating knife.

"Did you just eavesdrop on all of that?" I demand.

He looks back at me. "Enough of it." He crosses his arms, amused.

I deflate. There are so many things I should say right now. Instead, I just stay silent. Until I admit, "I just hate making him feel like that."

He nods. He knows there's some bit of truth to this, though there's definitely a lot I'm not saying. I'm terrified he's going to demand something more out of me, but thankfully he lets the silence between us stretch on. I'm about to think he's going to let it take over our conversation entirely until he says plainly, with a bit of (mock?) resignation,

"It's because you're secretly in love with him."

I give him a look. "No I'm not."

"Secretly."

"I'm not!"

"Secretly."

I know he's just trying to get my goad, but it's working. "Haymitch!" I chide.

"Secretl-"

"Damn it, Haymitch, you of all people should know just how incapable I am of loving anything or anyone!"

We're both taken aback a little by my outburst, but I'm just so sick of people telling me what to think and what parts to play that I'm not about to take it from Haymitch too.

Finally, he speaks. "I don't know about incapable, but I sure as hell know about unwilling."

I look up at him.

"It's survival," I say in explanation, all emotion gone from my voice. My eyes are moving out of focus as I speak. "It's too hard to love and survive. It makes everything so much harder."

"On the contrary," he says, "everybody needs love to survive."

Silence really does overtake us this time.

When I can't bear the things hanging in the air anymore, I leave.

The thing I appreciate about Haymitch is, he lets me.

AN: Sorry about the glacial pace of my updates. And thank you so much for all y'all's support along the way! I have the next chapter drafted, so it shouldn't be long *fingers crossed*! I hope you liked this chapter as the plot begins to thicken...! Yeah? No? Critiques or suggestions? Let me know in reviews? :D