Music: "Au Revoir" by One Republic.

Peeta

She loves me. The word yes never sounded more awesome, not in all of living history.

Even now, one month later, with my toothbrush sticking out of my mouth and froth smeared across my lips, I'm still replaying that moment at the lagoon in my head. How once she said it, we'd fallen into a deep kiss that went on and on.

Afterward, we sat at the edge of the lagoon, Katniss ensconced in my lap, and watched the light from the lanterns flicker against the water, a prism of white and dark greens. A lizard dodged a dragonfly and slinked into a bush. The air hadn't been as muggy as it usually was during the day. We even heard some sort of monkey howl peacefully into the dark, and it was crazy how at home it made me feel.

"This is romantic," Katniss said, like the notion was foreign to her.

"Yeah," I said against her bare shoulder.

That was all. For once, I had no urge to talk. There was nothing I needed to say to make that moment any better than it already was.

But that night at the lagoon was an exception. Since then, she hasn't expected romance. The little things have mattered more to her. Bread baked just the way she likes it. Long showers where the spray eventually runs cold on us. Evenings where I make Jo and Tigris laugh while Katniss looks on. Her hand in mine at school. The funny cross-eyed pictures we take of ourselves with my camera.

My feelings have had me steamrolling through my days. Until now, what I've forgotten during my island high is that summer is a dead-end. I can't veer from it no matter what I do.

It's June. Four more weeks and I'm out of here.

Haymitch banging on the bathroom door jolts me out of my thoughts. I jump and nearly gag on my toothbrush. It's my last day of school. I'm a mess of excitement and sadness. I'll be free for the next month, but I don't want to be free, not when everyone is preparing to go separate ways without fanfare, knowing they'll be back in the fall.

The hours go by too quickly today. When the final bell rings, Cinna wishes me well and gives me a mockingjay pin as a present. I'll miss him. I'll even miss the familiar trill of Mrs. Trinket and her daily powerwalks through the halls. I'll miss Gale's political rants and his friendly jibes at lunch. I'll miss walking that familiar path home with my girlfriend.

The school throws me a farewell party that afternoon. In the courtyard, Cinna and the other teachers pass out plates of fried fish and cups of mango juice. They play music from a boombox that has seen better decades, and someone initiates a game of soccer. Ever the ceremonious culture, they demand a speech from me. I think they're all stunned when I keep it brief.

A mockingjay swoops in and perches on Katniss's shoulders. She's so beautiful and carefree. Watching her, all I can think is that I want to be part of the reason she'll always look that way.

Fuck. I retreat to the bathroom like a loser and splash icy water on my face to keep from crying. The suffocating hug that I give Katniss when she comes searching for me, inquiring whether I'm okay, dulls the pain. She wipes away a few stray tears that linger at the corners of my eyes and makes a goofy face that I'm able to laugh at.

The walk home is quiet. I don't mind because I doubt that I'd be able to concentrate beyond the drumming of my heartbeat. Our linked hands swing between us, but the movement seems like a buffer. The sun catches those little features I'd first noticed during that infamous cab ride. Her freckles and chapped lips. The same glossy orange polish graces her toenails, which leads me to study the arches of her feet as the hem of her skirt brushes the pavement. My tongue wants to race up those arches.

She wears the corset-style top that I've complimented many times. It's laced tight up the middle. And tucked in the dark hair cascading around her shoulders is that one thin, naughty, hippie braid. I'd smile, maybe tease her by tugging on it, if I weren't so antsy.

Our feet beat out a rhythm on the sand-dusted road. The humidity has taken a turn for the worst, beading sweat across the back of my neck, along the waistband of my jeans, and definitely in the crevices of my palm, where it's pressed against Katniss's skin. But the summer air is still saturated with the perpetual scents of Panem. Salt and orchids. Sunscreen and spicy food.

I'm attuned to lots of things, like the relentless prickles of anticipation and desire in my abdomen. Katniss's breathing thickens and speeds up a little. She feels me peering at her clothes, the way they hug her body, as well as her pretty ankles and delicate wrists. She's aware of what I'm thinking. Somehow, we both know what's going to happen when we get home.

Staring ahead, we begin to walk faster. Not quite a mad rush but not patient either. By the time we reach the cottage, I'm dizzy in a good way. I want to get her inside, and I can tell the feeling is mutual from the way both of our pulses throb in the spot where our fingers are linked. I know Katniss. I know her thoughts and movements, and this dynamic between us, this hyperawareness.

No one is home. During the day, Violet has begun making house calls to the villagers, resuming her role as a local natural healer. It's brought more money into mix, but for the most part people pay her in food. And Haymitch is busy restocking supplies for the cantina. Buttercup is probably hiding under the couch.

Katniss and I climb the porch steps. The door sighs open for us. The quiet continues even as we step into the living room. We stand there, weighing the options, the different available surfaces.

Okay, so maybe my habits haven't fully changed, because I'm ready to spill everything I want to do to her, and how, and where. We turn so our bodies face one another. She brings our joined hands to her mouth and kisses my knuckles, then gives me one silvery look that makes my shorts tighten.

Before we met, sex was never meaningful for her. But in that cove, when it was just her and me, it was meaningful. It was the best night I've ever had, but it was still fast. I want this to be different. I want it to be the kind of moment she's always deserved.

Katniss has no words. She simply releases me and tiptoes backward, then swings around and heads straight for her bedroom. Her hips and skirt do that flouncy thing they're so good at, demanding my full attention. The sheer curtains billow as a hot breeze sweeps into the cottage, and the plants quiver. Arousal claims me from head to fucking toe. Dropping my backpack on the floor, I trail after her.

kpkpkpkpkp

"Like that?" I pant, circling my hips.

Katniss whimpers in the affirmative, the sound as thin as a string of thread. Between the sweltering temperature and the friction of our movements, we're sweating as our bodies roll in tandem above the sheets. My arms shake, bracing my upper body while I pin her wrists above her head and slide in and out of her.

This is real. I'm between the cradle of her thighs, the head of my cock popping slowly through her dark, sweet wetness. My mouth descends and slants over hers, and then I gyrate my hips, only to hit a soft spot that makes her yelp in pleasure. Triumphant, I repeat the action, learning about her with each breaking thrust. She enjoys when there's a slight pivot to my movement, right at the end like a surprise. Adding this twist makes the mattress coils bounce, but it also makes her knees quiver.

The force of it pitches her into the bed, but nothing about this is hard or swift. We're liquid. Back and forth. Backward and forward. It's one of my favorite sights, seeing her face like this. Her open lips, the greedy flash of her eyes, the creases across her forehead while I fuck her gently. The moans bubble from her throat, and I'm the one doing this to her. She's mine. I'm hers. There's no one between us anymore.

Our fingers lace together. I need this moment to last. I'm determined to make love to her until she's lost all sense beyond my cock working through her. But I can't take much more. She's too good at this, looping her waist with mine, tightening around me so that I hiss. She's trying to be the giver, but I won't let her. That's my job today, to satisfy her, to give my feelings to her, all of them.

Rocking into her, I prop my tongue against my teeth and concentrate on her reaction. I sink down, putting my weight into it, which spreads her wider. It forces our damp chests to rub together as we trade hot puffs of air.

On a particularly solid thrust, her nails bite into me. I murmur, "Was that...a good one?"

"Uh-huh," she keens.

I chuckle. She sounds overwhelmed. How else can I overwhelm her?

"Tell me...what...to do," I say.

"Love me," she answers.

"Always," I rasp.

But the way her pelvis tilts up hints that she'd like it to be faster. Eventually, I give in. "How 'bout this?" I say, rising on my knees, her legs circling my waist as I shift from long and deep to shallow and quick.

The instant I do, Katniss cries up at the ceiling. "Peeta! There. Fuck me right there."

That's more like it. I nod and grasp her hips, locking her in place as I increase the momentum. Her face thrashes from side to side as if she can't handle it, a line of sweat drawn across her hairline. It's slippery where we're connected and oh, fucking god.

Almost. I need to hold out. She has to be first.

I work us into it, chasing the beautiful noises she makes until it happens. Her teeth grind together. She squeezes my waist as her joints tense.

"Come," I encourage her. "Come loud and deep."

With a shout, she convulses around me, drenching me in her orgasm. My head flies back as I lose myself to it, feeling our muscles twitch together, the flexing sensation drawing me fully out of my skin. Gasping, I land on top of her, collapsing into her arms. For a while, we just lay there, listening to the mockingjays tweet outside the window while Katniss plays with my hair.

Glancing at each other, we giggle. We're exhausted, but I still have plans. I kiss the side of her breast and, in a breathless voice, say, "Again."

kpkpkpkpkp

And again. And again. Each time, it takes me a while to be ready for her, but that afternoon doesn't let up. My body loses track of itself. I can't control what she's done to me, what she brings out in me. I want to know everything.

I relish the sight of Katniss biting into her pillow while her thighs flank my head. My tongue flattens over her opening, then lashes into the wetness, and then rides up the crease to the the tiny center of her, which swells as I draw it between my lips. This is followed by her twisting me onto my back, and the explosive sensation of her own mouth bouncing around me while my hands weave into her hair. I've never done either of those things until her.

Later, my body hovers over hers once more, but I still need help from finishing too soon and have to pause. At her insistence, I bring her leg over my shoulder to test the depths we can reach, and forget it. I nearly die with her.

kpkpkpkpkp

The rest of the month moves fast. I sketch my favorite places to go and all the different ways Katniss smiles. I master local recipes and have a cook-a-thon with Violet, then grow bolder, altering some of the ingredients and testing the outcome on my host family. At every meal, the table is free of tension and bustling with jokes.

Now that Violet knows, Katniss feels more comfortable coming to me once Haymitch is gone for the night. Nevertheless, her mom stays out occasionally, visiting with Greasy Sae and not returning until late. I think Violet leaves for a few hours on purpose. We wouldn't go that far with her in the house, so we make the most of these small windows of privacy.

With the sheets pulled over our heads, we stifle our moans. Sometimes, I'm dangerously loud. One time, she has to clamp her palm over my mouth while she rides me. She hikes her knees up to the sides of my chest, her chest flush against mine and her head buried in the crook of my neck while she muffles the octave of my cursing.

When we're finished, she shifts a bit on top of me, and I misinterpret. "Don't leave," I whisper.

"I'm not going anywhere," she promises with a wicked smile. "I'm staying right here—" she wiggles her hips to emphasize where we're still joined "—to cause all kinds of trouble."

We get better and better at it. I lick around her nipple until she's begging me to suck. She does the same to the tip of my erection. I make her grip the headboard posts. She palms my ass, encouraging me to go quicker. I tug her legs to the end of the mattress, part her thighs, and kneel. She climbs onto my lap. I bend her over. She bends over me.

On the nights when Violet is in bed early or Haymitch has the evening off, we bring blankets to the beach and have sex there. Or we just kiss. Or we merely sleep after losing count of the stars.

kpkpkpkpkp

At the tail end of June, I talk to my dad on the phone. His voice is familiar but distant, like something pulled out of mothballs. I've missed him so much. It's a comfort listening to him while I mope on my bunk, glancing morosely at my packed luggage by the bedroom door.

My brothers get on the line, mostly to grill me about my ex-girlfriend (they heard) and my new girlfriend (I told them in a letter). They start describing the hissy fit Mom went into when she learned what happened with Madge, but then they break off awkwardly. It's weird, but I get the feeling they're hiding something.

I'm dreading having to speak to my mother next, but my dad retrieves the phone instead. This time there's a cautious slant to his voice.

"Peeta, there's something I should tell you," he begins. "Your mother..."

I grip the edge of the bed. "Dad...?"

I picture him in him standing in the bakery, flour dusting his wrists as he arranges and rearranges the stainless steel measuring cups. He does that whenever he's nervous.

My father sighs. "I'd thought to wait until you were home, but I don't want you to arrive to a shock. Your mother and I...we've...that is, we've been having some difficulty lately." My silence makes him chuckle, shakily and without humor. "I suppose some things have changed about you." He clears his throat. "Peeta, your mother...she's moved out, Son."

That announcement drops from his end of the world and lands with a thud into mine. Instantly, I know where this is coming from, more than he can imagine. Guilt punctures my chest. I'd been planning to tell him face-to-face about Mom cheating. But I guess I don't have to.

The Mellark dam bursts. He rehashes the gory details. In a nutshell, he caught my mother. It happened around Christmas time, although he thankfully leaves me in the dark about what exactly he saw. She'd been having an affair for over a year, and my father had had his suspicions early.

After six months of her failing to change her ways, she left. He insists that Mom still loves me, that this isn't about me, that she'll still be there for me.

He's wrong. I know for sure that she won't be around at all. She's not even there to break the news with him, or to defend herself. Because what I think doesn't matter.

I hear the veil of doubt in Dad's tone, but he refuses to let the news do more damage today. He sounds completely wrecked from having to drop this on me, that I can't do it. As shitty as I feel for not outing Mom when I had the chance, what's the point in telling him that I knew about her all along? Dad would understand, but learning that his own kid had to see firsthand what she was doing would hurt him even more. Easing my conscience isn't that important.

There's a pinch of sorrow, yeah, but mostly I'm just relieved that she's gone. Dad says things will be different once I'm back.

All I can say is, "Good."

He tries to coax my feelings out of me, but it's awkward, and I'm too far away. And somehow, it's like we don't have to say much else. I sense us both thinking the same thing: In lots of ways, we've been waiting for this to happen, for her to bail out on us.

It's not like Dad to end on a tragic note, so he asks me about Katniss, and that's when I can't shut up. I tell him that I can't let her go. I don't want it to be over, but I don't know if I can handle the pain of losing her either, being helpless if distance changes us. I've always been a hopeful person, but can I take this chance?

"Oh, Peeta," Dad says after a long pause. "You're not afraid of taking chances anymore. You already took one just going to Panem. You took one dating Madge. No matter who you're with, there's always a risk."

I wonder if he's thinking of Mom. They couldn't make it work even in the same house. There's never a guarantee.

"All you can ever do is try. If it's worth it," he says.

It is, I think to myself. Katniss is worth it.

kpkpkpkpkp

On my last night in Panem, Violet and Haymitch make themselves scarce, with Haymitch off to work and Violet to Sae's house, giving me and Katniss that time again.

I walk into my room and find her waiting there. She stands in front of the window with her back to me, illuminated by the light of a single candle. She's wearing only my white shirt. We watch each other's reflections through the glass as I stop behind her, slide my arms under hers, and begin to unbutton the shirt.

Within minutes, we're moving in the dark.

She arches her back.

"Yes," I pant.

And she moans.

"Yes," I repeat.

She moans so hard for me.

"Yes," I cry out.

The bed sighs as we come.

kpkpkpkpkp

We're up all night. I hold her to my chest, sucking up my tears because it just won't help. But I'll remember this.

And in the morning, we make love again. And I'll remember this.

She stands at the porch, her body wrapped in a blanket, watching the sun rise with me. There it is, lifting, lifting, here, an orange light stretching across our toes and warming them. I'll remember this, too.

A thousand moments surge through me: red birds in flight through dense foliage, a girl tied to a statue, her shackled wrists, this little home, Violet in an apron, Haymitch clapping me on the shoulder, spices, a naked body, Cinna's calm voice, Gale's impassioned comments in class, the weather-beaten and sun-touched faces of the islanders, a bus swerving across the road, dreamers by the sea, sky and palm trees, sheets of color, jumping off a cliff, music, Old Man Sae's guitar and his wife's wrinkled smile, a waterlily pond, the click of my camera, a dandelion seed, a kiss, a dance, a cove.

The light touching her braid. Her feet on my lap. Her smirk as she stole my notebook and made me chase her around the house. The snipping sound of her cutting my hair. Her labored breathing when she taught me to swim. Water dripping from her chin. Her limbs rippling beneath the lagoon surface. The letter K drawn in the sand. A white nightgown billowing like a cloud as she led me secretly to the beach.

Nights. Nightmares.

Pen and paper. Silence.

My name. Words. Love.

I'll remember this.

At breakfast, Violet's eyes shake with sadness, but I grasp her hand to help thwart any tears. Haymitch swallows but keeps the conversion light. Katniss just stares at me from across the table.

When I cut a tiny piece of my pepper, there's a pause. Then we all crack up. The story of my first pepper is legendary in this cottage, so we all replay the whole thing, which leads to more stories about this year. It helps cheer us up.

Every neighbor comes by to wish me well, because on this island the villagers are all family to each other. They grow up together and sing songs and dance together. They raise each other. And when someone who's part of their family leaves, they say goodbye together.

Old Man Sae pats me on the cheeks. "Be a good boy."

Greasy Sae wipes her eyes. "You're going too far."

I think she might be right. I can barely respond around the lump in my throat.

On the porch, Violet gives me a book she made of all the meals we've cooked. She smooths back my hair and then hugs me tight, refusing to let me go. I don't want her to.

"Thank you," she says.

I don't need to ask what for. I know.

Haymitch isn't as sentimental, but his clears his throat, his voice gruff. "I should say something inspirational, but I haven't got your knack." He smiles wryly. "I'll just repeat Violet's words. Thank you."

No. Thank you.

"I don't regret a damn thing," he says.

Neither do I. This is home. I'm leaving my home. Again.

He shakes my hand, but I tighten my grip and pull him into a hug. My voice cracks. "I'll miss you, Haymitch."

Sighing, he ruffles the back of my head. "Ah kid...you've got no idea," he mumbles. He separates us, then nudges his chin toward Katniss and speaks quietly. "Don't give up."

I nod. I'll do my best.

He's coming with me to the airport, but Katniss isn't. She and I want to say goodbye in our special place, not in some air-conditioned, white-walled terminal. We spend our last hour at the beach play wrestling on the sand, Katniss blocking my attempts to tickle her feet and retaliating by going after my armpits.

The tide is low. Pink and ivory seashells dot the sand. Katniss and I call a draw. Wiped out, she straddles my lap and rubs her nose against mine.

She's still wearing my white shirt. "You'd better take care of this shirt," I tease, fingering the collar. "It's only on loan."

I wasn't serious, but she sobers and starts fussing with the shirt, smoothing it over repeatedly. "K-keep swimming," she manages. "In th-that lake you talked about. And make sure to...and be careful whenever..."

"Katniss?" I ask, concerned. "Tell me. What is it?"

She glances at the water, then draws a breath that seems to come from a faraway place. "You'll be returning to your friends and going to parties," she says, her words shaking in the breeze. "You will meet other people."

This isn't what I expected. My stomach lurches. "That won't—"

"We'll write, yes. And you will call, I know. But..." She swallows. "You'll see Madge again. And there will be other girls, too. Pretty girls who like you, who are fun to talk to, who'll make you laugh. You'll have new experiences like you did here, moments you won't expect. And if one day—"

"Katniss. Stop."

"I-I will understand, Peeta. You should be happy—"

A sob leaps from her mouth. I grab her face and sweep my thumbs over her cheeks. "This isn't our last kiss."

My lips cover her lips, my tongue tumbling with hers, seeking and finding. The kiss is salty from her tears but nevertheless sweet. With only ten minutes left before the cab will show up, I bury my face in her hair and whisper everything she needs to hear to make her strong. "We have a story," I say. "An American boy who travels to Panem Island and falls for a girl. They met by the sea—"

"They met in a square," she corrects.

"It's still by the sea. Can I finish?"

She chuckles. "I will miss your rants. Never finish them. Never, Peeta."

I kiss her ear. "You know the best part about our story? It's a true one. It's real. It's permanent, no matter what happens next."

"That sounds nice," she realizes. "What does happen next?"

"I don't know, but the sea isn't going anywhere. Some things stay constant. So maybe. Someday..."

"Someday."

"Someday, we'll meet here again. Katniss, I've loved you since before I knew it. There's no way I'll stop now that I do know it."

I'd been forcing myself not to break down until I got on the plane, where no one I care about would see me. Just as I feared, I can't hold back anymore. When I pull back, we're both crying but grinning. My heart ruptures and my throat squeezes, and I'm shattering. But we're grinning. That's a good end.

She presses her three middle fingers to my lips. I kiss them and mouth, I love you.

No one ever told me how much willpower it takes to let go. I learn what that's like as I haul myself to my feet and crush her to me, wishing that I could somehow disappear inside her, or just take her with me.

I'll remember this. Her arms, wrapped around me, changing me forever. Her voice, saying that she's mine.

"I'll never forget us," I promise.

I meant it when I said that I won't stop loving her, but she's right. My life will continue, despite my heart being here, despite what I feel. It will continue. If there's anything I've learned this year, it's that I can't control things, or foresee what's around the corner, or who will be standing there.

But there's always hope. So I hold onto that and pretend everything I've told her is a certainty, while she pretends to believe me.

We share one last long look. I walk backward, holding her smile in my head, in my chest, in my whole body, while my feet drag over the sand. The girl that I love seems to know I can't do it, so she blows me another kiss. And turns her back first.

That's the moment I relive on the plane as it speeds over the ocean, as the cluster of islands below gets smaller, as my life there gets smaller and smaller until I can't see it anymore. I close my eyes and replay my last sight of Katniss. I picture her turning away and walking down the shoreline, along the edge of the sea, her footsteps slow but graceful. As if she, like me, has a long way to go.

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