"Does Twain always go out this much?" I asked as Peeta and I listened to his father's steps recede down the hallway toward the stairs. He'd peeked into the room, smirking at us sitting across from each other on the bed with a mess of textbooks and notes between us, and announced he'd be back in a few hours.

"N-not always," Peeta smiled to himself, looking down at Buddy in his lap. The kitten was flopped on his back, stretched out over Peeta's crossed legs and batting at the curling edge of one of my notebooks. Peeta scratched his stomach and Buddy immediately curled up around his hand and bit at his fingers. Peeta's hands and forearms had become littered with red surface scratches, though it only looked like Buddy had actually drawn blood once or twice.

My plan to get him ready for our finals involved going over all of the classwork he'd missed to bring him up to speed so that once it came time to study, we could do that together. Trying to prep him for tests more than two months away was useless. In all honesty, I'd never really needed to bother with studying. I had never had much time to study to begin with, and for the most part if I didn't learn something when it was taught in class, I wasn't going to learn it on my own either. I listened and took notes during class, and that was enough. Writing helped me commit it to memory. That technique wasn't going to work for Peeta; writing too much was still too difficult for him. It seemed to be getting harder. Every few minutes he'd drop his pencil and start rubbing his wrist.

Buddy wormed out from under Peeta's hand, apparently bored with the attention, and abandoned us to sit in the window. I watched Peeta tug at his fingers, frowning down at the page of notes in front of him. It was math, his worst subject, and one I wasn't particularly fond of either. He had been struggling to keep up with the class, let alone fill in the gaps in what he had been missing. It didn't help that Capps was an insufferable asshole, and seemed to be even harder on Peeta because of the exceptions that needed to be made for him.

I flipped my book closed and started to straighten out the mess between us. Peeta looked up at me as I reached for the book in front of him and stacked it on top of my notebooks.

"P-please tell me we're d-done," he said as I lifted the stack to move it off of the bed.

"We're done," I smirked, dropping the pile to the floor. He sighed in relief and grabbed me by the wrist as he stretched out to lay down. As he pulled me down I pressed myself to his side, hooking my arm around his waist and kissing his jaw.

"I hate math," he said, his eyes fluttering closed. The recent change in his medication had him tiring out far quicker than he usually did. For his sake, I hoped it wasn't a permanent change. He'd never make it through a full school day like that, and that was part of the deal to get him to move up the next year.

"Me too," I said, nuzzling against his his neck. He wrapped his arms around me, letting out a contented sigh. His fingers traced lazy circles over my back and I smiled to myself. We hadn't found any true privacy since that night in the kitchen and that was the first thing on my mind. I loved the bursts of confidence he had shown me on that night as well as the nights leading up to it. I hooked my leg over his, turning my face to kiss his neck. Peeta hummed quietly, his throat vibrating under my lips as his arms tightened around me. All I could think of was what he said to me. He wanted to undress me. Did he mean it? I shifted to kiss him, making it as slow and deep as I could stand. "You're not too tired, are you?"

"N-no," he smirked. I smiled and kissed him again, tugging at the hem of his shirt. He sat up, allowing me to pull it up over his head. I laid back down with him, shifting to straddle his leg. Peeta slipped his hands under my shirt, smoothing them over my skin as he pushed it up.

"Do you remember what you said?" I asked between kisses.

"Yes," he smiled, sliding his hands to my breasts. I could feel his cock though his pants and against my thigh. I kissed him again. "C-can I?"

"Yes," I said. He pulled back, looking at me for a moment before mirroring my smile and kissing my neck as he sat up, shifting me with him. He slipped his hands under my shirt, settling them on either side of my waist. He took a slow breath, his expression hesitant and unsure. I kissed him softly. "Peeta, I'm sure. It's okay."

He let out a soft chuckle, pressing his lips to mine as he lifted off my shirt. He smoothed his hands over my shoulders, cupping my breasts briefly before continuing down my sides. The feeling made me shiver. I tugged at his undershirt, working the fabric up into my hands before pulling it up over his head. I pressed my lips to his shoulder, leaning forward to press myself against him. His skin was hot against my own, a stark contrast to the cool breeze blowing through the tiny sliver of open window next to the bed. I tucked my arms against my chest and laid my head on his shoulder. He smoothed his hands around to my back, letting them travel over my skin. His fingers slid under the band of my bra. I smiled to myself, turning my head to kiss his jaw and shifting to help him with the hook. He had never managed to get them undone with out my help. Before I'd even reached behind my back he took the strip of fabric in his hands, and it popped open a moment later.

"Hey!" he said, straightening up with a smile on his face. "I did it!" I burst into laughter, dropping my forehead against his shoulder. He chuckled. "D-don't laugh at me."

"I'm not," I said, shaking my head and trying to get my giggles under control.

"Yes—you are," he said, pressing a kiss against my neck. I sat up, smiling at him and kissing him gently. "Those things are t-tricky." I laughed again, covering my face as he pulled the straps down my arms. After a moment I dropped my hands, letting my bra fall down my forearms before dropping it to the floor. Peeta looked down at me, sliding his hand over my breast, pausing to rub his thumb over my nipple. My breath caught in my throat, and I watched his tongue dart out over his lips as he touched me.

Peeta hooked his arm around my waist and turned, laying me down on the bed beside him. I could feel my skin burning and drew my hands up under my chin, covering my breasts with my arms as he looked me over. He smiled, leaning down to kiss me softly and gently curling his fingers around my wrists to move my arms. I let my hands fall to my sides and his kisses traveled down my neck to my chest, his lips barely brushing over my breast as he sat up. He sat back, his tongue darting over his lips as he unbuttoned my pants. I lifted my hips as he pulled them down, watching the look on his face. He swallowed hard, pressing his lips together, and I bent my knees to help him get my pants off of my legs. He smoothed his hands up my thighs, hesitating and looking up at me when his fingers reached my underwear. I bit down on my lip and nodded. Peeta leaned down, planting a soft kiss on my hip that made me shiver, and slowly slipped my panties down my thighs and off of my legs.

I kept my thighs pressed together, too aware of the heat between them, my arms instinctively moving to cover my breasts again. Peeta's eyes roamed over me, and he let his hand come to rest on my hip, his thumb rubbing small circles on my skin. He laid back down and kissed me. I reached for the waist of his pants and he pulled back, sucking in a breath.

"J-just, um—wait," he said quietly, flashing a brief smile. I muttered a quiet apology, and he kissed me gently before looking down at me again. He slid his hand up my stomach to my breast, squeezing it gently in his hand, leaning down and brushing his lips and tongue over my nipple. I sucked in a deep breath, settling my hand on his hair and watching him. His hand drifted down my side as his mouth moved to my other nipple, and I felt his fingers ghosting over my hair, tracing where my thighs were pressed together with his fingertips. He pulled back, looking down between us and smoothing his hand across my hips. I shivered, wondering what he was thinking. I'd never felt so vulnerable. Even when he touched me, when he'd worked his fingers over me and made me come, I hadn't felt this vulnerable. I shivered as his hand moved over my skin.

"Please?" I asked softly, reaching for the waist of his pants again. Peeta hesitated for a moment and nodded, allowing me to unbutton his pants and push them off of his hips. He helped me pull them down his legs before pressing himself against my side. I could feel his hardon through his boxers, pressing against my hip. He trailed his fingers over my hips, down toward my thighs, while nuzzling his face against my neck. I let my thighs fall apart, knitting my fingers in his hair as he slipped his hand between them. He was still unsure about himself, and his touch was cautious. I spread my legs further, trying to encourage him. His fingers found my clit easily, but I wanted something more. I turned my face toward him, capturing him in a kiss as I reached down and covered his hand with mine, lining my fingers up over his. His breath hitched in his throat as I guided his fingers over me.

After he had showed me what it felt like, I had an easier time reaching an orgasm on my own. I knew what to push for, as well as how far to follow the things that felt so good. His fingers still felt better than my own. I moved them over my folds, sliding my tongue against his. Peeta let out a soft moan and I pulled back, taking a breath before sucking his lower lip lightly. I moved our fingers to my entrance. I'd felt this on my own, and now I wanted to feel it with him. He opened his eyes, sucking in a shaky breath. I held his gaze, exhaling against his mouth as I pressed our fingers into me.

His hands were larger than mine, his fingers thicker, and my eyes fluttered closed as I adjusted to the fullness of both of our fingers. After a moment I started to move my finger and Peeta followed suit, his eyes still locked on mine while I opened them. He pressed his hips against mine. The heel of his palm pressed against my clit as he worked his finger inside me; the feeling dragged a moan out of me, my eyes all but rolling back at the sensation.

"Oh my god," he muttered, repeating the motion and latching his lips to my neck when I dropped my head back and moaned again. I gasped for breath, moving my finger faster and urged him to do the same. I felt him smile and nip at my skin gently. He curled his finger as he pumped it into me, and the gesture made every muscle in my body tense. My back arched and my knees drew up; I was getting close, and he pushed his finger further into me, grinding the heel of his palm against my clit. I moaned his name, my thighs clamping shut around our hands, my hips bucking as I came.

Peeta kissed me as I relaxed, panting against his lips. My thighs fell open and he carefully pulled his finger out of me, rubbing over my folds and kissing the corner of my mouth. I felt warm and boneless, and as I relaxed I felt him moving his hips against me. He was rock hard with only his boxers stopping him from grinding against my bare thigh. I reached down between us and pushed his boxers down with one hand, wrapping my fingers around him and moving my hand with his hips. Peeta moaned, muffling the sound against my shoulder while he pumped into my hand. I shifted to watch him, barely looking away to kiss his jaw. I changed my grip, pressing him against my palm and uncurling my fingers just enough to watch as he came, spilling into my palm and moaning my name softly.

"Wow," he breathed against my skin. I laughed softly, turning onto my side as he kissed me. I laid my head against his pillow and he turned away from me, reaching between the bed and the wall to pull out that disgusting towel.

"Oh my god, no," I immediately rolled away from him and off the bed. "Keep that thing away from me. I'll just go wash my hand in the bathroom."

"It's c-clean," he protested, smirking at me as I yanked my clothes back on, being careful to keep the hand in question from touching the fabric.

"I know, she made me help fold yesterday, remember?" I snapped. "And I don't know that wasn't Rye's. Or your Dad's. Ugh." I shuddered, turning to yank open the door and leave the room. It wasn't until halfway to the bathroom that I realized I'd been too disgusted to appreciate Peeta stretched out naked across his bed. I sighed, glancing down at Buddy as he darted into the bathroom before I closed the door. "Boys are gross, Buddy. Promise you'll stay cute." Buddy purred in response, winding between my ankles as I moved to the sink to wash my hands.

I looked up into the mirror as I dried my hands, frowning at the tangled mess of my hair. As I worked my fingers through it, smoothing it out before braiding it again, I caught sight of an odd shadow on my neck. I leaned closer to the mirror, but still couldn't quite see in the dim light coming in through the window. Even after all the time I had spent there I couldn't get used to the constant electricity. I flicked on the switch by the door, blinking for a moment as my eyes adjusted, and looked again. There it was, halfway up my neck, too far forward to hide behind my hair. A fucking hickey, right out in the open for his father, Prim, Rye, our nosy friends, and my mother to see. I swore under my breath before slapping the light switch off and stomping back to his bedroom to give him hell.

Somehow the mark on my neck had earned me little more than a frown from my mother when I got home. I'd even made it through almost an entire lunch without a word out of Delly or Madge. Every time Peeta looked at me his eyes dropped to my neck, a hint of a smile curling the corners of his mouth.

"So study time is going well, huh?" Madge said, reaching across the table to poke at my neck. Hoping for her to keep her mouth shut was clearly hoping for too much. Delly giggled as I slapped Madge's hand away. "Was that a reward?" She grinned at me before turning to Peeta. He just chuckled, dropping his eyes to the table, his cheeks flushing.

"You're an asshole," I said to Madge, self-consciously rubbing at the side of my neck.

"Don't be embarrassed," she grinned. "Delly has some, too."

"I do not," Delly huffed, blushing faintly as she glared at Madge.

"Oh?" Madge hooked a finger in the front of Delly's shirt, pulling it aside to reveal three or four along the curve of her breast.

"Madge!" Delly slapped her hand away, her blush deepening as she pulled her shirt back together, buttoning it up to her neck. Madge cackled.

"Wanna see mine?" she leaned back, reaching for the waist of her skirt.

"No," Delly and I snapped in unison. It just made her laugh harder. I looked over at Peeta; he dropped his eyes to my chest briefly before looking up at me, raising his eyebrows and smiling. I backhanded his thigh under the table.

"Ow," he chuckled, retuning the slap, though much softer than I'd hit him. The bell rang a moment later. Madge blew kisses at us on her way out of the cafeteria with Delly. I just sneered in response, hooking my arm through Peeta's as we walked back to the classroom.

He was doing much better in the halls than he had when he first switched to the cane. We moved a bit faster, walking closer to the walls with Peeta on the inside, protecting him from anyone who might bump into him, accidentally or not. The first few days we had been the last in our classroom without fail, and I could tell how relieved he was that was no longer a problem. One less thing singling him out.

I doodled idly in the margins of my notebook through class. I'd finished the problem Capps had on the blackboard long ago, but he wouldn't call on me to provide the answer. He never did. Not only was I a girl, I was a girl from the Seam, and those two things added up to a waste of classroom space in his mind. Even after the two incorrect answers he'd gotten out of other students, he wouldn't bother with me. I glanced toward Peeta; he was staring down at his desk, a slack grip on his pencil, clenching his jaw.

"Mr. Mellark," he said, sighing in exasperation. "Perhaps you could enlighten us with an answer." Peeta didn't even look up. Capps raised an eyebrow, shifting impatiently where he leaned against the edge of his desk at the front of the room. "Mr. Mellark?"

I straightened up in my chair, frowning and glancing between Mr. Capps and Peeta. There were a few hushed giggles from around the room. The blank look on Peeta's face had me worried. I drew a breath, ready to say something, and he raised his hand to rub his fingers over his eyes.

"Mellark," Capps barked. Peeta jumped, snapping his attention up toward the front of the room. He looked utterly confused. Merx snorted, shaking his head and grinning as he turned back around. "Since you've been staring so intently at your work, I can only assume that you have a bit of mathematical genius to share with the rest of us. So, please. Share."

"I—um, I'm-I'm sorry?" Peeta stammered, shrinking in his seat. Verne was practically falling out of his desk to leer at him, barely containing his laughter.

"The problem on the board, Mr. Mellark," Capps pointed behind him, pushing himself off the edge of the desk to stand. "Do you have the solution or not."

"N-n-no, sir," Peeta slouched down in his desk, pushing his hat down over his eyes.

"Don't know why I bother," Capps muttered, turning toward the blackboard and picking up a piece of chalk to scrawl the answer. I didn't need to watch; I knew what I had was right. I kept my eyes on Peeta, trying to figure out what was going on. He kept his head down, shifting just enough to glance up at me for a moment before hunching up his shoulders and looking down. His eyes were red. If he wasn't crying yet, he was on the verge. At least it was his last class.

Peeta hesitated when class was over, perched at the edge of his seat with his cane in his hand. I got up out of my chair and crossed the room to him. Merx stared me down as we passed each other. He didn't look very intimidating anymore with the permanent lump I'd left in his nose. I walked back to Peeta's desk and slid my hand over his shoulders.

"Hey," I said softly. He looked up at me. His grip on his cane was white knuckled and the hand curled around his books trembled. "What's wrong?" He shook his head, glancing toward the front of the room where Capps sat staring the two of us down. "Okay. Come on." I hooked my arm under his, helping him to his feet. He was unsteady as we made our way out of the room, moreso than he'd been in a long time.

"S-sorry," he said, leaning against both me and the cane for balance. "I d-d—don't know what—happened."

"You're making me nervous," I said, setting my hand on his shoulder to steady him as we walked.

"Um—how long was, um, C-Capps t-talking to me?" he asked, his voice soft and hesitant.

"What do you mean?" I asked, frowning at him. "A few seconds. Did you not even hear him? He called your name three times."

"I d—didn't," Peeta said, pressing his hand over his face, trying to hide his twitch. We stopped outside the office and I moved in front of him. Something was wrong, I could see it, and he was being evasive. I didn't like it. "I'll see you—in a c-couple hours—right?"

"Yeah," I nodded. I squeezed his hand when he started to move away, pulling him back to me and planting a soft kiss on his cheek. He flashed me a smile and I stood and watched him until he went into the office, frowning at the grip he had on the door frame. Something was wrong.

I turned and walked back to class, turning all of it over in my mind. I zoned out of the rest of classes, staring down at my notebook and trying to figure things out. His symptoms were changing. He had been slipping into bouts of vacant staring more often, and he needed things repeated more than he used to. He'd even started rejoining conversations with something said a few moments before, as if nothing else had been said. His medications had been switched recently. The meeting he'd had with Dr. Lawrence and my mother. I felt like something was being kept from me. I was on edge for the rest of the day and all but bolted out of the school as soon as I could.

Rye was in the kitchen when I arrived, already at work on the bread for the evening rush. I dropped my books in the mudroom. He ducked out front to help a customer as I went into the kitchen, and that meant Twain was upstairs. I moved to the sink to wash my hands, scrubbing my arms up to the elbows with the gritty brick of soap that sat next to the tap. Rye returned as I was tying on my apron.

"Where's Peeta?" I asked.

"Upstairs," he said. "I think he's asleep; he was exhausted on the way home. Dad's taking a nap, too. Just you and me, Catpiss."

"Oh, good," I sighed. Rye pointed out what he'd already finished, stepping out front again as the bell rang and leaving me to get to work. I preferred the kitchen. Most of the customers that came in and out were fine. They placed their orders, paid, and left. Some were very clearly looking down their noses at me as I bagged their orders. People like Merx's parents. Gilda's too. The customers I really couldn't stand were the ones who just would not stop talking. There was only so long I could force a polite smile and nod before completely losing patience, and it was not nearly as long as they liked to keep talking.

Once the cases were stocked and the last batch of cooking set out to cool on the counter, I retrieved a folder of old order forms from beneath the counter by the register. They were long and complicated, and if Twain really expected me to be able to take over that particular task, I had a long way to go in understanding them. Nothing was ordered by any standard weight. It was all in cases, and the size of every case was something Twain had apparently committed to memory. I couldn't find it written down anywhere.

After a few minutes I heard a door open upstairs and Peeta's shuffling footsteps in the hall. I looked up as he came downstairs, smiling at him as he reached the bottom. He looked as though he'd just rolled out of bed; his shirt rumpled, eyes bleary. He pulled out the stool beside me and sat down, mumbling a hello as he did.

"Feeling any better?" I asked.

"I am," he nodded. "I j-just, um—needed t-to lay down."

"It seemed a little more serious than just needing to lay down," I said.

"What did?" Rye asked, moving into the doorway by the storefront and folding his arms over his chest. Peeta sighed, scratching under the edge of his hat and rolling his jaw as he looked up at his brother. Rye just raised an eyebrow.

"I, uh—zoned out at sch-school," he said, glancing toward me and smoothing his hat back down.

"Zoned out or blacked out?" Rye asked, crossing the kitchen to sit down across from us at the worktable. "Was it another one of those things? I thought you were on medicine for that now."

"Another one of what things?" I asked, straightening in my seat and turning toward Peeta. He looked toward Rye and then back to me, taking a hesitant breath.

"Hang on, you haven't told her?" he pointed toward me.

"Haven't told me what?" I demanded, looking between the two of them. Peeta shook his head, tensing up as he looked at Rye.

"Peet, seriously," Rye said. "Tell her." I narrowed my eyes at Rye, turning in my chair to face Peeta. He frowned, glaring at Rye before he turned to me.

"What is it?" I asked, losing my patience with the entire scenario. Peeta hesitated, dropping his gaze and tugging at his fingers nervously.

"Um—I've b-been having these b-blackouts for a while," he said. His posture sagged as he paused, the muscles around his eye fluttering. "A few seconds just—slip b-by. They've b-been getting worse and—going on f-for longer. I g-get headaches afterward or I g-get dizzy s-sometimes. Dr. Lawrence says they're s-seizures."

"Seizures?" I asked. He nodded. I'd seen seizures before. Mom had patients with them every once in a great while, and what I saw in Peeta was not what I'd seen in them. No muscle spasms, no unconsciousness, nothing as terrifying or shocking as what I'd thought a seizure was.

"They put you on meds for it. Why are you still having them?" Rye asked, annoyance creeping into his voice.

"It has t-to—build up b-before it works," Peeta said, glancing at him before turning back to me. Was he having the kind of seizures I was familiar with, too? How had I never even seen any of this? I folded my arms over my chest and looked down at the table, trying to talk myself out of being angry about him holding out on me. Did he not trust me with it? How long had my mother known?

"Why are you getting mad?" Rye asked, raising an eyebrow at me. I snapped my head up to look at him but before I could open my mouth to respond the bell out front rang. He rolled his eyes, slumping off of his stool and out to the storefront for the customer.

"A-are you getting mad?" Peeta asked quietly. The nervous tone in his voice killed any anger that might have been building.

"No, I'm just—confused, I guess," I shrugged, trying to shake off the tension in my shoulders and turned toward him again. "How long has this been going on?"

"I think it's, um, b-been longer than I r-really know," he said, raising his fingers and pressing them against the side of his face, rubbing the muscles around his eye as they began to twitch. "I d-don't usually realize they're happening."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I said, and the look on his face made me regret not softening my tone. I reached over and took his hand, threading our fingers together. He just shrugged and shook his head. "Peeta, do you not trust me with this stuff?"

"I d-didn't want anyone to w-worry for no reason," he said quietly. I squeezed his hand.

"Peeta, have you ever seen someone have a seizure before?" I asked.

"I d-didn't even know what they were," he admitted.

"They're terrifying," I said, studying his face and trying to push the idea of him convulsing on the floor out of my head. "Mom has had a patient like that and it's—it's not like whatever happened to you today."

"D-Dr. Lawrence said there are different kinds," he said, looking down at our hands. "That, um—the ones I have are minor. B-but could get worse."

"How much worse?" I asked, hoping for an answer other than what was running through my head. Peeta just shrugged in response. That did absolutely nothing to help how nervous I felt about it all. I did my best to keep my imagination from running away with me, and ultimately ended up pushing the subject out of my mind completely to stop it from happening. It wasn't until I got home that night, and Prim had gone to bed, that I allowed myself to revisit any of it.

"Mom?"

"Hm?" she looked up from the book in her lap, her glasses slipping down her nose.

"Peeta told me about his seizures," I said, tucking my feet up onto the couch.

"I'm guessing you have some questions," she said with a faint smile, setting aside her book and pulling off her glasses.

"He had one at school," I said, chewing on my lip and picking at the blanket over my legs. I couldn't figure out exactly what I wanted to ask. "He probably wouldn't have even told me that's what it was if Rye and I hadn't bothered him about it after school." I glanced over at Mom; she was watching me with a patient, expectant look on her face. "He told me there are different kinds of seizures, I just—I don't know. I didn't think-" I stopped and shrugged. I wasn't sure how to put it to words.

"You're thinking of Mr. Pruitt," Mom said, pausing and shaking her head. "Wow, I didn't realize you remembered that. You were so young." Her expression grew distant for a moment. Dad had still been alive. She was thinking it, too. Neither of us would say it. She shifted in her chair and sighed. "He had tonic-clonic seizures. They're far more extreme than what Peeta is experiencing."

"What is Peeta experiencing?" I asked.

"It's hard to know for sure," she said. "We don't have the ability to run any of the tests that could pinpoint it, and I really don't know very much about epilepsy. Dr. Lawrence thinks they're absence seizures, but there's a chance they could be complex partial seizures. Or both." She paused, smoothing her hair back and letting out a soft, embarrassed laugh. "I really don't know the difference. I'm more than a little embarrassed to admit that."

"How long do you think he's been having them?" I asked.

"It's very likely they've been going on since shortly after the accident and we've missed them," she said with a faint shrug, looking toward the low fire burning beside her. "They don't really look like anything, for the most part. And they're brief. Peeta would have no memory of them, of course, so he would only notice if they happened at a time when he'd realized a few moments had slipped by."

"Are they dangerous?"

"They can be," she admitted. "It's important to get them under control. He can live with them, just like he can live with the injury. It can be controlled, but not necessarily cured."

"So this is just another thing that will stick with him forever," I said.

"Unfortunately."

I sighed, adding this into the list of things Peeta found himself stuck living with. Another thing that witch he had for a mother had saddled him with forever. I'd seen his scars and forced myself not to stare at them or touch them too long to keep him from feeling self-conscious. I'd noticed the way he flinched at loud noises, shied away from certain tones of voice, retreated from conflict before it even came up. What she'd done to him went far beyond his brain injury, and it just made me hate her even more.

"Is there anything else you'd like to ask?" Mom said. I snapped my head toward her; I hadn't realized she was watching me.

"Is it possible he might have other kinds of seizures?" I asked, chewing the inside of my lip.

"He could, in the future," she said. "Dr. Lawrence explained things to me a bit. They're caused by misdirected brain activity. The type of seizures Mr. Pruitt had were generalized. That means the activity was more, um, widespread. Peeta's is localized, it affects certain functions but not his entire brain. There's the chance it could spread, and his seizures could get worse. That's why controlling them is so important."

I nodded, trying to wrap my head around what she meant. I had looked through some of her books, enough to understand, at least, that the brain worked on electrical impulses and chemicals traveling between nerves. It all had seemed entirely too complicated and delicate for something that our entire lives depended on.

"May I ask you a few questions?" Mom said. I turned to look at her, raising my eyebrows. "I've only seen the seizure that Dr. Lawrence induced in the office. At least, that's the only seizure I've actually been aware of as I saw it. What did it look like?"

"It didn't look like anything," I shrugged. "He was just staring down at his desk. He still had his pencil in his hand and he kept clenching his jaw. I was across the room, though. I couldn't really see much."

"And what about afterward? How did he seem?" she furrowed her brow in concentration.

"Confused," I said. "Embarrassed. Unsteady. He had a hard time walking."

"They can be difficult to recover from," she nodded. "I'm guessing you're not the only person who noticed." I shook my head and she sighed. "Poor thing. Twain's going to need to bring that up with the principal." She paused, shaking her head before turning to me. "Is there anything else you want to ask?"

"No," I said, though I really couldn't think of what else to ask.

"Okay." She got up from her chair, leaning over to kiss my hair. "I'm going to get to bed. Don't stay up too late."

"I won't," I said, looking over my shoulder as she went to her bedroom. I sat until the last of the evening's fire flickered down to embers. Buttercup yawned at me, stretching out as I got up off of the couch and picking himself up from his perch on the back of it to follow me into the bedroom. Prim was long asleep, the lamp still burning beside her and a book face down on her chest. I smiled to myself, lifting the book and marking her page before setting it aside on the nightstand. After changing into my pajamas I turned off the lamp, marveling for what felt like the thousandth time at just what the Mellarks had done for us. This time last year we didn't even have lamp oil. Back then, I had climbed into bed beside Prim and wondered what on earth we were going to eat the next day. In the morning I would be able to send anything Gale and I were able to bring down home with him after our hunt and still be able to have breakfast when I got home. I smiled to myself, lifting the blankets to slide into bed beside Prim. She turned to face me, folding against my chest as I draped my arm around her.

When Gale and I arrived at the bakery on Saturday to trade we found my mother sitting in the kitchen with a mug pressed between her hands. Prim was kneeling on one of the stools, leaning over a recipe book and eying whatever Rye was mixing beside her. I stopped short just inside the kitchen, staring at the scene in front of me. The entire scene felt surreal. Gale stopped beside me and smirked.

"Well," he said. "Isn't this domestic?"

"I'm learning how to make muffins," Prim beamed at us.

"Ah, hard at work, huh?" Gale said, folding his arms across his chest and looking over at Rye. "Must be exhausting, hanging out in a kitchen all morning. And to think we only managed to hike, what was it, Catnip, eight miles?" He paused and looked over at me. I just rolled my eyes. "And hauled back a couple dozen things to trade between the two of us. You really got it rough, Mellark."

"Excuse you, Gale Hawthorne, he works hard," Prim snapped.

"Thank you, Primrose," Rye smirked.

"And he doesn't get all filthy and gross. He smells good," Prim gave Gale a look. "Plus, dead things are disgusting."

"Yeah, Gale Hawthorne," Rye imitated the look on her face. "Excuse you." Mom shook her head, laughing silently.

"I thought you were supposed to be with Peeta this morning," I said to Mom, taking off my game bag and setting it on the chest of drawers at the end of the worktable.

"He's still asleep," she said, smiling to herself as she watched Rye and Prim at work. I looked toward the stairs. It had been a long time since Peeta had slept through my arrival on a Saturday morning. His new medications must have been hitting him harder than I'd realized. I started for the stairs. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To see him," I said, stopping to look at her.

"Did I not just say that he's asleep?" Mom raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but-"

"And don't you have some trading to do?" she continued, casting a pointed look toward my game bag.

"Yeah, but-"

"Then maybe you should do that," she said, raising her mug and taking a sip of her tea without taking her eyes off of me. I sighed, ignoring the amused smirks both Rye and Gale were sending my way. "Maybe if he were able to get the rest he needed after school he wouldn't need to sleep so late on the weekends." I stared at her for a moment before I caught myself rubbing the side of my neck and snapped my hand back down to my side.

"Okay," Twain came into the kitchen from the storefront, rubbing his hands together. "What do you have for me?" I just pointed toward my game bag, letting Gale take the lead to trade. I didn't have much need for it anymore; whatever came my way I manged to find a way to push in his direction. I leaned against the counter, folding my arms over my chest and trying not to be too obvious about my sulking.

"You're going to have to take a bit of extra this week, you know," Twain said, moving past me with a brace of squirrels and a goose in his hands, shooting me a wink as he set them down in the sink. "Since, you know, you worked so hard all morning."

"Inflate his ego a little more, Dad," Rye said. "Since, y'know, that's the only big thing he has going for him."

"You're one to talk," Twain chuckled, pushing away from the counter and going back to the storefront. Gale snorted.

"Yeah? Apple, tree," Rye pointed to himself and then to his father before the older man disappeared through the doorway. Twain returned a moment later with a bag of fresh bread in the crook of his arm. We lingered for a few minutes, and I kept stealing glances toward the stairs, hoping for some sign of Peeta before we left. The second floor stayed silent, though. I picked up my game bag, following Gale out the back door as Prim followed Rye into the storage room to retrieve the muffin tins.

"Your mom's a cockblock, huh?" Gale smirked at me as we made our way home.

"Excuse me?" I snapped, glaring at him. He laughed.

"You were pretty eager to get upstairs to see Peeta," he said. I wanted to slap that stupid, smug grin off of his face. "In front of your mom? I thought you were a little smarter than that."

"She didn't care before," I scoffed. "Why should I suddenly expect her to care now?"

"Because before you weren't turning up covered in your boyfriend's little love bites before," he jabbed his finger toward my neck. My hand flew to the side of my neck, though I knew it was long gone. "I'm sure she gave her own boyfriend an earful about that."

"Don't say stuff like that, it's weird," I rolled my eyes, rubbing the side of my neck.

"Like what?"

"About my mom and Twain."

"Okay, Catnip," he chuckled. "How do you deal with that shithead all the time?"

"Rye?" I laughed. "I don't know. He's really not as bad as I thought he was, though. Probably not as bad as you think he is, either."

"I certainly fucking hope not," he said, shaking his head. "If he is Delly needs to seriously reevaluate her life choices."

"She might need to anyway," I said. Gale laughed.

"I just hope Peeta's nothing like him," he said, cutting his eyes toward me.

"Oh my god, no," I said. "Not at all."

"And he'd better not be an asshole to you," Gale raised an eyebrow. "Brain damage or not, I'm going to have some words with that kid if he's not good to you."

"I'm sorry, who's the asshole?" I shoved Gale's shoulder, sending him staggering a step to the side. "Don't say it like that."

"Fine," he chuckled. "Sentiment still stands, though."

"He's good to me," I said, tugging at the strap of my game bag and shifting it on my shoulder. Gale nodded. We made the rest of our walk in comfortable silence.

"By the way," Gale said, slowing for a moment as we approached my house. "I'm not a huge fan of this whole Prim spending time with Rye thing."

"Believe me," I rolled my eyes. "I'm not either. I'll see you."

"Yeah," Gale smirked, continuing on to his own house as I climbed the steps to mine. Once inside I shucked my boots and coat, setting a massive pot of water on the stove to boil so I could scrub the dirt and sweat from the morning's hunt from my skin without freezing in the process. I couldn't help but envy the hot running water I'd felt from the Mellark's tap. We'd only just recently accomplished being able to eat well through the winter and I was already pining for bigger and better. I hefted the pot from the stove, carefully carrying it across the kitchen and into the bathroom to pour into the washtub I'd already filled with just enough water to dilute the heat. I stripped and crouched in the water, hastily scrubbing the dirt from my skin before the water went cold. I dried as quickly as I could, scrubbing some of the ground oats Mom kept beneath the sink into my hair and combing it out before retreating to the bedroom to dress.

By the time I returned to the bakery, Prim was sitting in front of a rack of steaming muffins, looking incredibly pleased with herself as she picked one to pieces. Peeta sat beside her, a half eaten muffin of his own sitting in front of him. He glanced up as I stepped into the room, looking exhausted.

"Katniss! Try one," Prim pointed toward the muffins on the table. "Peeta says they're good."

"They are," Peeta smirked at me. I sat down across from them and Peeta gestured toward the rest of his muffin. I leaned forward to reach for it and Prim smacked my hand away.

"No, have your own," she snapped, pointing to the rack.

"Fine," I chuckled, picking up a muffin and dropping back down onto the stool. "A little tired today?" Peeta nodded, scratching his fingers up under his hat and nearly knocking it completely off of his head in the process. He smoothed it back down, watching me as I broke pieces off my muffin to eat. Prim beamed at my compliments, and it really was good, though the dried fruit was a bit too sweet for my taste. "How did this morning go?"

"Fine, I g-guess," he shrugged. "I really j-just want to go back to bed." He smirked, nudging my foot with his under the table.

"I bet you do," I said. I wouldn't have minded going with him.

"You should, since you're so tired," Prim said, licking the crumbs off her thumb. "Mom said you don't get enough rest."

"I feel like all I d-do is rest," he said, smiling at Prim.

"You're supposed to," she said, giving him a look. "You're sick. And that's how you get better. By resting."

"Oh," Peeta nodded, looking up at me and smirking. "Th-thank you for the ad-advice."

"You're welcome," Prim said, popping the last of her muffin into her mouth. Mom and Twain came downstairs a few minutes later, greeting me briefly before Twain stepped out front to check on Rye.

"Why don't you two go out and get some fresh air," Mom said, gesturing toward the back door. "The weather's getting nicer. And the more you walk, Peeta, the better off you'll be." Peeta looked at me, and I could see it in his face that he was too tired for it. "It'll help you shake those medications."

"The two of you could stand to do something more than hole up in that bedroom," Twain said. Mom shifted, raising an eyebrow at me. I had to physically restrain myself from rolling my eyes. "I think you've been studying hard enough. I'm sure you've gotten Peeta up to par on quite a bit." Twain smirked, and I swear I saw him wink. I looked over at Peeta and he refused to make eye contact with me.

"Go for a walk," Mom repeated. "Get out of the house."

"Fine," I sighed, sliding off of my stool. Peeta followed me into the mudroom, lifting his sweater off the hook on the wall. I lowered my voice to a whisper. "Why is your dad such a weirdo?" Peeta laughed softly and shushed me as I pulled on my own sweater.

"Feed the birds before you go anywhere, please," Twain called after us as we stepped out the back door. I followed Peeta down the stairs, watching him as he followed the edge of the porch to where the bucket of chicken feed sat. I thought back to the first time I'd watched him make that walk, when he'd needed to brace one hand against the porch to keep from losing his balance. He was still hesitant, and still moved a bit slow, but he looked far steadier on his feet. I leaned against the fence as he went in to check on the chickens and ducks.

"Do the pigs not get to eat today?" I smirked. He chuckled, letting himself out of the pen before shoving his hands into his pockets.

"We, um, switch off. It must b-be Elswick's turn with the pigs," he nodded toward the tailor next door. "She shares the work and the c-cost for s-some of the meat when, um. You know."

"Does she get eggs, too?" I asked, watching the hens peck at the feed scattered across the ground.

"Yeah," he said.

"I'd really much rather be in your room," I said after a moment of awkward silence. Peeta laughed, nodding toward the back alley and looping his arm through mine. He leaned on me for balance as we walked, slipping more than once and needing to grab hold of my arm to keep himself steady.

"You know, when you're not so completely exhausted we could go out to the meadow," I said, nudging him with my elbow. He glanced down at the gesture and then back up at me.

"That's, um, k-kind of a long walk," he said.

"Well, I know." I could feel myself starting to blush and look away. "I'm just saying. When you're feeling up to it. We could maybe get a little privacy out there." Peeta smiled to himself, glancing at me before training his eyes on the ground ahead of us again.

"I think I'd like t-that," he nudged me with his elbow.

"One of the places Gale and I take to get out to the woods sometimes isn't far off from there," I said. "You want to work up to that, right? Going out to the woods? Were you serious about that?"

"I was," he said, his smile widening briefly.

"I'd really like to take you with me," I said. "It's beautiful out there. It's not what they make you think it is in school."

"There's n-no wild animals waiting t-to eat us?" he said, though from his tone I think he was only partially joking.

"I've seen some wild dogs," I shrugged. "A cougar once. That's about it. It's quiet, mostly. Peaceful."

"It s-sounds nice," he said, and I realized he was watching me instead of the ground. I stopped, turning to face him and kissed him softly.

Peeta and I made our way back to the bakery, moving a bit more slowly than we had in the first half of our walk. If Peeta was exhausted before, he was ready to curl up and sleep on the ground at my feet now. My mother was mercifully gone when we returned, and Twain was out front with customers. Peeta and I went upstairs, and he all but collapsed into the bed the minute we reached his room. I closed the door, scooping up Buddy from where he stood on the floor, meowing and staring pitifully up at the bed. I set him down on Peeta's back, stopping to pull off my shoes before climbing up onto the bed beside him. I tucked myself between him and the wall and closed my eyes. I felt Peeta move a moment later, heard the thunk of his shoes hitting the floor, and then felt his arms around me. He was asleep in a few short minutes, his arms wrapped tightly around me and his warm breath moving through my hair. It didn't take long for me to fall asleep along with him.

I woke to Peeta's hands moving over my back slowly. Our legs were entwined, my body pressed against his, my face buried against his neck. I smiled and nuzzled the hollow under his jaw, loving the soft hum that it drew from him.

"Awake?" he said softly. I nodded, pressing my lips to his neck. His hand drifted lower, his fingertips slipping into the waist of my pants briefly before he covered my ass with his hand. I chuckled softly, nipping at his skin. Peeta was never this forward. Even with the bursts of confidence I'd seen in him lately, this was pushing it. He pressed his hips to mine, pulling me closer as he did. I felt him getting hard, pressing it against me. I curled my leg around his, pulling him even closer to me.

I pulled back just enough to kiss him slowly. I flicked my tongue against his lips and he met it with his, shifting over me and pulling me beneath him in the same motion. I laughed softly against his mouth and he smiled, rolling his hips against mine. The motion cut my laughter off, sending a wave of heat through me. Peeta's tongue swept through my mouth, his hips pressing forward as he dragged his hand down my side to my thigh.

"Peeta," I laughed nervously, keeping my voice as quiet as I could manage. "Your dad's home."

"Then I g-guess we better b-be quiet," he said, nuzzling against my neck to kiss me.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" I asked. He smiled against my skin, sucking and nipping gently. I slapped his back. "Do not leave another mark on me."

"But—I liked it," he said, nuzzling into my hair. I spread my legs beneath him, gasping when he dropped down between them. I steepled my knees, tilting my hips as he pressed against me. He hooked one hand under my thigh, murmuring against my lips as he kissed me again. I whimpered quietly as he began moving on me, grinding into me. The heat and weight of him on top of me felt so good. I couldn't help but imagine undressing him like this; his bare skin against mine, his hips pressed between my thighs, his cock rubbing against me, pushing into me. I moaned, biting down on my lip to hold back the sound. Peeta stifled his own against my neck, grinding against me and looping his arm under my hips to lift me into him. He murmured my name, his lips brushing against my ear, and I had to swallow back the sounds threatening to leak out of me. My heart hammered in my ears as he kissed me, his hand finding its way to my breast. Peeta groaned and bit down on my lip, his hips pumping against mine. My head swam and my body tensed, rolling up against him as he came and my own orgasm flooded through me. He carefully lowered himself onto me, kissing me softly before nuzzling into my hair.

"You didn't answer me," I said quietly, pressing my lips to his temple and twining my fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. He murmured in response. "What the hell just got into you?" Peeta snorted, laughing and shifting to kiss me.

"I'm—s-sorry," he said. I shook my head, kissing him again. "I, um. I had a d-dream about you. And I woke up—and you were h-here. You looked so b-beautiful. I c-couldn't help it." I blushed, dropping my forehead against his shoulder.

"Stop," I smiled, tightening my arms around him. "I'm not beautiful."

"Yes you are," he said, planting a soft kiss against my neck and shifting his weight off of me. I kept my hold on him, tucking myself half under him and smiling to myself.

Thank you, as always, for your reviews, follows, and favorites. We're going to be taking next week off from updating this story to participate in Prompts in Panem over on tumblr, and encourage everybody to check that out (promptsinpanem dot tumblr etc).

We also participated in the Spring Fling Fic Exchange on Archive of Our Own, and now that the authors have been revealed, I'll be posting the story my husband and I wrote for that on this site as well. There are a ton of authors doing the same, and every story submitted for that exchange was amazing. Track them down and read them!

We'll be back on April 1st (for real. Not a joke) with the next chapter, and in the meantime you can find us on tumblr. I'm alonglineofbread and he's yourpeetaisshowing.