Chapter 3
I knock.
I wait. No one answers.
I knock again. Maybe he's not there. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he's much busier than I am. I think. Maybe he's forgotten and I'm-
He answers the door.
His hair is still too long, it hangs in his eyes. He's still thin, not as thin as I am but you can tell he hasn't been eating well. He has bags under his eyes like the ones Octavia used to chastise me for even though I could hardly control what my face decided to do. He hasn't been sleeping. Well, neither have I. But his eyes are still the same bright blue. The same color that spied on me through mud and leaves in the arena. The same pair that filled with tears as he put the berries to his lips to show the capitol that he wasn't just a piece in their games.
This is the first time I really allow myself to look at him since he had returned to twelve. To comprehend the fact that he's here and I'm here. I had this overwhelming urge to throw my arms around his neck and never let go.
"Katniss?"
"Yes?" And suddenly what little excitement I had at his presence was gone. What did Peeta and I have to talk about? Only things that would cause me pain. Things I wasn't ready to discuss at all.
"Did you want to come in?" He asks, a ghost of his old smile appears.
"Sure." I brush past him, I take off my coat and hang it on the rack by the door out of habit. His house smells like warm bread and something else familiar.
"Lamb stew." I jump because Peeta is standing right behind me and I'm not used to his presence at all.
"I thought I smelled something familiar." I try to smile too, attempting to start a conversation with him.
"I thought you would like it." Peeta says, forcing his smile as well.
We stand there in uncomfortable silence. I have no idea what to say. He just stares at me, waiting for me to spout more generic small talk. Clearly he doesn't know that this is the longest conversation I've had in months. I look at my fingernails, tearing at the cuticles, racking my brain for talking points.
"Should we eat?" asks Peeta.
"Yes" I say, relieved.
He walks over to a chair and pulls it out, then hesitates. I take the other chair. He stares at me for a moment then sits down.
"Oh," I blurt out "Where you holding that out for m-"
"Don't worry about it." he reassures.
We both laugh uncomfortably.
"I'll go get the stew" Peeta gets up and ladles two bowls for us. He brings them over to me and the smell is heavenly.
"It smells good." I say, hoping that this compliment will put us both at ease.
"Thanks," he says nervously "but reserve your judgements until you've actually tasted it."
I let out a small chuckle. A real one. He smiles. That seems real too. This is progress.