It's like our family is trying to forget the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. As September passes, we pretend they never happened. No one brings them up. Peeta doesn't talk to me about them either. In fact, he hardly talks to me about anything anymore.

I'm fine.

Settling in.

Yeah, it's good.

He must have a list of "safe" responses to all my questions. They are further proof that his darkest fears lie buried beneath his brave facade. If he's sharing them with someone, it's not me. So eventually, I stop asking.

Peeta does begin to come to the bakery again, which I like to think is a good sign. He doesn't say much, but I think the familiar, step-by-step process is like therapy. Baking and painting: my son's only comfort these days.

Without fail, he shows up in the kitchen every morning. He usually has paint stains on his hands and in his hair, as well as dark circles under those blue eyes. Today is no exception.

"Good morning," I say as he enters the kitchen. A rush of crisp air follows him, momentarily lifting the stifling blanket of heat from the ovens.

"Morning." He gets right to work, setting up his space. Flour. Eggs. Yeast. I mix up one dough, he kneads another. This is the one place where we're a team, even if there is a coolness between us.

It's very precise work, too. We have to make plenty to sell with enough leftover for our family. Still, when you've done it for most of your life - or in Peeta's case, all of it - you understand how to efficiently meet the day's quota without sacrificing the quality.

Around eleven, a tap at the door brings me back from the other world in which we bake. On the steps outside is Delly Cartwright. I know her parents well; they were among the few friends I had growing up. Her family lives above the shoe shop that they own just a few fronts down and Peeta and Delly have been friends since they could walk - maybe even before then. When they were much younger and my wife would go out, I'd let them into the back to make little figures from the dough.

"Hi Delly," I smile. "Your folks need something?"

"No, but they send their greetings!" She returns my smile with a warm one of her own. I like Delly for many reasons, but this is a large part of why I'm always glad to see her. Most children stick their heads down when adults talk to them - including I as a child - but she always greets everyone like they're her favorite person in the world.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes, actually." She toys with her blonde braid. "Is Peeta home?"

I open the door wider, allowing her to come further inside. "Yes, he's in the back."

"Oh, good," she sighs. "I've been trying to catch him since he's come back! I still can't believe he's here. Those Games were the worst ones I've ever had to watch."

Nodding, I put a hand on her shoulder. I can relate. "Come on," I tell her. "Peeta will be glad you stopped by. He's been a little forlorn since he came home."

That's an understatement, but I don't want Delly to worry. I lead her back into the kitchen. Peeta looks up from the tray he just slid from the oven at the sound of our footsteps and grins when he catches sight of Delly. She's like a living piece of his childhood.

"Hey, Delly. It's been awhile."

"Peeta!" she cries. "I was so worried that I'd never see you again!"

"Well, here I am." He puts the tray on the counter and slides off the oven mitts.

"How are you?" Delly's words tumble out and over the top of each other. "I can only imagine everything that you've gone through, so I'm sure it's taking awhile to recover. But I'm so happy for you and Katniss. You used to tell me about her, remember?"

Peeta looks at the floor, as has become custom when Katniss is mentioned. His cheeks, which were already red from the ovens, burn even brighter.

Delly prattles on. That is one thing about her - she isn't very good at reading social cues. "Of course, the reasons for your getting together are awful, but I can still see you telling me that you were going to marry her someday when we were six. Seeing you two together in the cave and the way she kissed you… it made me wish that there was something I could do to help you guys." She walks over to the steaming tray and looks curiously at its contents. "What are these?"

Looking relieved at the change of subject, Peeta picks one up tentatively. It must still be scalding, but he holds it out to Delly. "It's an apple and goat cheese fritter. Try it and tell me what you think."

While Delly munches on the fresh pastry, I take a moment to analyze my son's reaction to her comments. Could he have just been embarrassed or did her words remind him of something more painful? The way his eyes hollowed when she mentioned Katniss… the way he wouldn't meet her eyes…

"It's delicious, Peeta," Delly says. He can't have expected to get a fair review from her. Delly would eat a charred piece of raisin loaf and still praise it to save someone's feelings.

"How's your leg?" she asks between bites.

Just like he did when I asked, Peeta lifts his pant leg to show her the prosthetic. "Getting better. It still hurts, especially at night when-" he trails off. "Anyway, it makes me very off-balance."

"You'll get used to it, I know you will," Delly promises. "It's lucky Katniss knew how to tie that tourniquet or you'd have died for sure. She's so good at that stuff."

Katniss again. Peeta turns back to the pastries and begins to arrange them in a basket.

"Listen, Delly, I've got to run home and finish a painting. I'll drop by later, okay?"

"I should be going anyway," she says compliantly. "I'm supposed to be helping my dad, but he let me come over and check if you were here. I'll see you soon, Peeta." Delly finishes off the pastry then dusts the crumbs from her hands.

Peeta nods, giving her a small, distracted smile. "Bye Delly."

Even though he said he was on the way out, Peeta remains in the kitchen for a long time after she leaves. He takes a tedious amount of time putting away ingredients and cleaning the space, sweeping his hand across the counter to gather the scattered flour.

Helpless. That's how I feel. I've tried to understand how he feels. I've opened myself up to him for the first time in years. And yet, here he is, struggling with some deep rooted sadness, and it's like I'm barely here.

"Peeta," I burst out at last. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

He shrugs, his eyes still fixed on the white dusted counter space.

"Was it nice to see Delly?"

This time, Peeta nods. "Yeah, she seems good."

"She's not the one I'm worried about."

"Dad, it's alright. I'm fine." If he was stalling before, now he doubles his speed, shoving the last of the ingredients onto the shelves haphazardly and moving towards the door. Unease slides out of the corners and wraps itself around the two of us like a blanket. A blanket of sin and sadness. I know that this detachment is stemmed from his trust that I lost when he was younger. He couldn't count on me before, so why should he now?

"I - I understand that I'm not a safe person to talk to -" I start out. "Listen to me, Peeta. It's not good to bottle your feelings. It's the same reason we slit the top of a pie crust. You have to let the steam escape. Even if I'm not the right person, please tell someone. Your brothers, Delly, Katniss, anyone."

His shoulder's slump uncharacteristically. "You are a safe person," he says. But it sounds like he's trying to convince himself as much as me.

"Peeta, it's okay," I find myself assuring me. "I know I've screwed up. But it's still my job to look out for you and I can tell something's not right."

There's a very familiar look in his eyes. It's the same one that I see when I look at my wife. The hurt, the abandonment. He's deciding, right here, right now, whether or not he can trust me. For a moment, I have a wild urge to pull the plug. To tell him to forget it. Because if Peeta decides to put his faith in me again, then I have the responsibility of keeping it. The way things stand now, I've already acknowledged my failure. Don't have to worry about breaking him because I already have.

"I just-" Peeta begins. "Everything used to make sense. I knew where to fit in. So, things weren't perfect, but I- I think I'd take that life over this one."

I'm not quite sure how to respond. "Well, you'll learn what to do with this life. Things have changed, but surely some of it's for the better?"

My son shakes his head slowly. "I can't think of what. I've been trying and all I can remember is how simple everything was. School and baking. That was what I knew."

"I get that this is a huge adjustment, but look at it this way. You're safe from the reaping, you can afford real food and real paint, and-" I pause, unsure of whether this is the appropriate time to bring Katniss into the mix.

"You don't get it," he sighs. "No one does unless they've been in there. The Gamemakers can hit a button and you're dead. The only reason you're alive is so that they can make sport of your suffering. There's nothing worse than being unable to control the little things that you're so used to manning."

This is the first time he's spoken about the Games. Somehow, hearing his account of them increases their sadistic nature tenfold. "You're right," I tell him. "I don't understand."

"And that right there!" Peeta cries out. "See, your first instinct is to give up. But in the Games, you can't do that! Give up and you go down without a fight. You've let them win."

"But you won," I point out. "You defied the system. You and Katniss both escaped."

"Because we played the Game," he mutters.

"How do you mean?"

My son sucks in a great gulp of air and chokes on it. Eyes streaming, it takes him awhile to compose himself again. "It- it was all a game. Every word. Every kiss. Just a way to keep each other alive."

I blink, uncomprehendingly.

He becomes exasperated with my refusal to catch on. "Dad, it was an act. There are no 'star-crossed lovers'. No romance. It was all just the game of the Games the Capitol had us playing to survive." There's a bitter aftertaste to his words.

And then the weight of what he's saying, the implications, drop on my head. "Oh, Peeta. Katniss isn't- that was never - I'm sorry."

"I don't want sympathy, I want her safety." He seems to realize all he's just said. "Dad, you can't tell anyone. Not my mother or my brothers- no one. If the Capitol finds out, I don't know what they'll do to Katniss. They're already upset about the berries at the end. It was all an accident that we got out alive. Please Dad? Promise?"

I'm still trying to swallow this news. "But- she - it was so real."

"Well, that was the point, wasn't it?" He asks wryly. Then, for the first time in years, he asks my advice. "What should I do?"

"Nothing. You can't, Peeta. If what you say is true, then this can't get out."

"But it's like you said! Steam is building. I can't keep kissing her for the audience. It's like- it's like I'm using her!"

I think back to all the caresses in the cave. The way Peeta looked up at Katniss. He joined the Careers to save her, took a near fatal strike from Cato to let her get away. Is he truly that good of an actor? "Did you know?" I ask softly. "Were you pretending the whole time?"

"Doesn't matter," he sighs.

"It does too. Was it all a Game to you?"

His silence is answer enough. Katniss Everdeen. The girl Peeta's loved for years, let him think that she loved him back. "So it's not you who was using her," I say. "She was using you!"

"Dad, she kept us alive."

"And let you believe that she cared about you." I don't know why this needles me. Maybe because I so often feel helpless myself.

"She does care about me," Peeta says. "I - I felt it. She just doesn't love me. I know who she loves. It's Gale Hawthorne. She couldn't kiss me without thinking of him."

I frown. "I thought he was her cousin." That's what people have been saying, at least.

"Just part of the story," Peeta shakes his head sadly. "People can't have him on her other side- it would ruin the image we've already created."

"I don't know what to say."

He scuffs his boot on the floor. "Nothing to say. Forget it, I should never have said anything. I wish I could take it all back."

"No, I - I needed to know," I lay a hand on his back. "At least now I understand where you're coming from."

"The Victory Tour is right around the corner. As soon as the snow falls, the cameras will be back and the game will be on once again. Don't you see? I'll never escape this. Katniss and I barely even talk anymore!"

"Peeta, you'll find a way to make things work. You always do."

"Not this time. It's not like dough. You can't just remold a relationship that never existed."

He gives me one last small smile, then swings open the door. On his way home to the cold, lonely house that reminds him of the fake romance he's living.