Chapter by Azalea again. She says that writing romance is her specialty. LOL

KPOV

I sit with my back against the tree, as I watch the school's courtyard. There aren't many people here yet, since it's pretty early. The people that are here are just sitting and studying or doing their homework. And a couple of people, like me, are simply enjoying the quiet. The peaceful silence that will disappear, as soon as more students arrive. My eyes close, and I sigh. But I feel so anxious, so scared, and I can't seem to calm down. I just keep wondering what I'll do when Peeta gets here.

"Hey."

My eyes pop open, and I see Finnick smiling down at me. I smile slightly and wave at him.

"Hey, what are you doing here?"

"Nothing, really." He shrugs. "I just like to get here and enjoy the quiet before it gets chaotic."

"Me, too." I sigh.

"Ever been to the Fine Arts Hall before school?"

"No..."

"You should see it." He smirks. "It's truly magical."

"I'll bet." He chuckles and holds out his hand for me.

"Come on." Sighing, I grab his hand, and he helps me up. "We should probably talk, anyway."

"About?" I ask, as I follow him to the school doors.

"Katniss, you know what I'm talking about."

Suddenly, I begin to feel anxious again, as I wonder if he's talking about Peeta. After all, Annie doesn't exactly seem like someone who would keep a secret. And I guess, since he's her boyfriend, Finnick would be the first person she would tell.

"Peeta?" I say quietly.

"Yes."

"So, you know that he..."

"Of course, I know." He smirks. "I'm pretty sure we all know by now."

"Great..." I mumble.

"I guess, my question is... What are you gonna do about it?"

"I don't know." I sigh. "I have to talk to him, I know that."

"No, you don't."

He traces the first painting on the wall of the Fine Arts Hall. It's a golden bird, with its head ducked down and its wings raised as if it is about to fly away at any moment. A mockingjay. My father used to love them.

"What do you mean?" I ask, still staring at the painting.

"You don't have to do anything." When he looks at me, I realize that he is serious. "Nobody's forcing you. Just like nobody forced Peeta to kiss you. He did that because he wanted to."

"I know." I duck my head, hoping he can't tell that I am blushing.

"So... do you want to talk to him?"

"Yes..."

"You sure?"

"Finnick, you're really not helping."

He chuckles, as we start to walk again. We walk rather slowly, appreciating all the art on the wall. This is really the only place where students are allowed to draw on the walls or practice the arts. Over and around the band room doorway, there are music notes and treble clefs drawn in black and white, with color added in certain spots. It flows so beautifully that it's difficult to believe it was really only drawn by a student.

"So, you're nervous."

"Yes..."

"And rightfully so." He sighs. "I remember this. That unsteady phase of a relationship. The one where two people want to become something more, but they don't know how. It's pretty nerve-wracking."

"How do you know that I want that?" I decide to challenge him.

"Like I said, I remember it pretty well, and I know how it feels. I can tell that both of you want the same thing."

"Finnick?"

"Hm?"

"When did you get so smart?"

"Gee, thanks." He chuckles and rolls his eyes. "But seriously, there's nothing to be nervous about. You like him, don't you?"

"Yes... I mean, I think so."

"Okay," he cuts in. "And it's obvious that he really likes you, so there's nothing to worry about."

"Did he ever..."

"What?" He stops to look at the paintings of food above the Consumer Science room.

"I mean, did he ever... You know, talk to you about me?"

"He told me a little bit about you when we first became friends." He chuckles. "I remember, this one time, when he got a letter from you, he kept going on and on about it. He was so excited... Wouldn't shut up about you."

I smile slightly, but I can't help but feel guilty. I had always felt bad that I stopped writing to him, but now it's even worse because I never realized how much the letters meant to him.

"That one's nice." I point at the painting above the door of the auditorium's backstage door.

"You like that one?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Do you know who painted it?"

"No."

He smirks, as he points at the door across the hall. The Fine Arts Room. We start walking toward it, but just as we reach it, Finnick stops.

"I better go," he says. "Annie's probably waiting for me, by now. But I think you might want to take a look inside."

"I guess, I'll see you later, then."

He nods and pats my back lightly before walking off in the opposite direction. I watch after him for a moment, wondering what waits for me in this room. Why would Finnick tell me to look inside? Maybe, he noticed that I liked the paintings so much, so he thought I might want to see more. For a moment, I consider walking away, but then I realize that Finnick might ask me which one I liked the best, later. Sighing, I decide to go in, simply so that I'll have something to say if he ever asks me about it.

As soon as I open the door, I am overwhelmed by all of the intricate art decorating the room. Some are bright, some are black and white, but they are all equally beautiful. I walk in slowly, taking in each picture. The one that catches my attention, though, is the unfinished one in the middle of the room. I stare at it, trying to figure out another possibility, but I can't. It's me. For some reason, somebody has drawn me. It's so realistic. And although I would never use this word to describe myself, the only word I can think of to describe it is 'beautiful'.

"Katniss?"

I jump and turn around, only to find two very familiar blue eyes, staring back at me. He slowly walks out of the back room, holding onto a fresh paintbrush, still wrapped up. My stomach starts to feel tingly with nervousness, and I cannot seem to find any words.

"I, um..."

"So, you found it." He smiles weakly, as walks toward the painting of me.

"Yeah, I..." I trail off, as I look at him, and suddenly it hits me. "You?"

"Yeah." He nods, sitting down on one of the stools. "What do you think?"

"It's amazing."

I smile slightly, as I walk toward him. As I stare at it, really trying to appreciate every detail he has drawn, really taking it in, he puts his arm around my waist. Before I even realize what I'm doing, I put my arm around his shoulders, as I continue to examine the painting. And for a moment, everything feels normal again. Like I only came here to see my friend's work, like we are both just appreciating it together.

Like we are both just friends, without even wondering how it might feel to become something more. But I know that we both are. And my stomach begins to tingle again, at the thought. I take a deep breath, knowing that I'll have to talk to him about it at some point. Instead, I try to focus on the painting to buy myself some time.

"I knew you liked to paint." He looks up at me, but I just stare at the paper. "But I never knew that you were that good... It's so perfect."

"Thanks."

"You're really talented, you know," I say quietly. "You really are an artist."

"Thank you again."

When I look down, I realize that he is smiling up at me. I smile back, as I turn to face him. I take my hand off his shoulder, but he does not let go of my waist. Silly as it may seem, such a simple thing makes it so much easier for me to speak without getting nervous. So, before he can even decide to let go, I start talking.

"I'm so sorry, Peeta," I say, before I can stop myself. "I shouldn't have just left you there."

"Well, I shouldn't have kissed you." He sighs. "I should have asked you, first. It was wrong to just kiss you without your permission. I'm really sorry, I don't know what came over me."

"But that's the thing..." I take a deep breath, as he stares at me. "You weren't wrong-"

"Yes, I was. You don't have to-"

"Please," I cut in, knowing that this will be difficult to say, as it is. "I just think you should know... If you hadn't kissed me, I wouldn't have..."

"Wouldn't have what?"

"I wouldn't have realized that I like you," I say quickly.

I look at him from the corner of my eye, hoping he didn't understand me. But he did. I know because he is staring at me, wide-eyed. He stands up and stares down at me, but I keep my head down. After a few seconds pass, he uses his thumb to gently lift my chin, and I become momentarily afraid to breathe.

"Do you really mean that?"

"Yes..." I whisper, surprised that I managed to find my voice at all.

"So, if I were to kiss you right now," he smirks, "would you kiss me back?"

"I think so."

He chuckles, as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

"You're my best friend, you know?" I nod. "We don't have to do anything that you don't want to do."

"I know." I smile slightly. "But what if I want to?"

"Well..." For a moment, he look unsure, but he composes himself. "What exactly are we talking about?"

"I mean..." I sigh. "You're my best friend, but I think we both want to be more."

"Really?" he asks quietly.

I nod slowly, and he takes a deep breath, as his hands find mine. He intertwines his fingers with mine, and I stare at our connected hands for a moment.

"I think, we could try."

"Me, too." I look up at him, and he stares right back at me and sighs. "I really want to."

He gently pulls his hands away from mine and places his arms around my waist. I wrap my arms around his neck, as he lightly kisses my cheek. Then, I rest my head on his shoulder. It feels so good to just hug him like this, to hold onto my best friend, just like I used to. But this time, it feels different. It feels like something has changed between us. It feels like some kind of wall between us has been torn down, and we are really seeing each other for the first time.

And for some reason, I love this feeling more than anything.