Work Text:
"Is this okay? I'm not sure if I drew the leaves properly."
I try not to smile at Peeta's concern. His intensity always comes as a surprise. He sits cross-legged on the floor; I lie on my stomach in bed. Joining him isn't an option with my bruised tailbone. We've been like this for hours. A pillow props me up so I can watch his progress. A pad of paper rests on his lap. Several pencils are in a row before him, along with various other supplies. I've never been interested in art before. His paintings of the Hunger Games impressed me, but I didn't like them. However, my indifference seems to be fading. I've narrowed this down to two reasons: either being stuck inside for longer than I'm used to has made me soft, or Peeta really is an amazing talent.
I look over his shoulder at the sketch he's just finishing.
Everything is perfect. From the delicate shading of the petals, to the intricate details of the leaves, to my urge to pluck the plant from the page right now. I can't believe Peeta has drawn this just from my description. I'm not very good at explaining things. But he understood quite well. It seems like he sees Elecampane every day.
I try to keep the awe out of my voice. "It's good enough to go in the book."
If Peeta were a citizen in the Capitol they'd all go crazy over his work. Probably dub him an artistic genius. That almost happened on the tour. But knowing the fickleness of the wealthiest place in Panem, its residents would forget about him within a few days. Move onto someone with twenty piercings in intimate places. Suddenly, I'm so glad that he's right here with me in District 12. Home. People really appreciate beauty here, since there is such a lack of it where everything is dusted over with coal.
His eyelashes have begun to captivate me again. How bizarre.
I make myself focus on his sketch.
Filling out my father's book of useful plants is important, not Peeta's eyelashes.
He frowns down at his work. "If I made a mistake someone could die."
"Don't worry, Elecampane's one of a kind." I pause. "Wait, there is Bloomshade. Those petals are just a bit pointier. By a fraction of an inch. And poisonous."
He thrusts the drawing towards me.
"Look closely!"
The smile I've been holding back appears. "Really, you're so gullible."
Worry is replaced by a flicker of frustration. He shakes his head, hair catching in the setting sun's light. It really could be made of gold. I still find myself thinking that his fair coloring is strange. My mother and Prim are also blonde, so I should be used to it. But Peeta's the only male I know from around here that isn't raven haired.
"Glad to see that you're well enough to tease me."
I shrug, which is an accomplishment in my current position. After lazing around eating cheese buns I've forgotten to think before I act. That's not good for my injury. I gasp as a wave of pain shoots down my spine. Peeta is on his feet before I can blink.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing," I manage to choke out. "Tailbone just hurts a little."
"I should get your mother. You haven't had any medicine today."
"I'm all right."
Compared to how much I wanted to scream when I first jumped from the tree, there isn't any reason to complain. No stars flash before me; there's no chance I'll pass out. But Peeta fusses over me anyway. He never seems to take what I say at face value. I don't know why, since I'm not one to lie. His search for hidden meanings in everything I say usually irritates me, but not now. Now it's a relief to have someone here. Even if I look like a weakling. I know he'll worry even longer if I deny I'm in pain, so I don't.
He sits beside me on the bed and strokes my hair. His fingers are always so warm, as if he's just taken bread out of an oven. If I'm not careful, I'll fall asleep; the pain has subsided enough for me to be in danger of doing just that. I raise my face to his.
The eyes of this kind boy are ridiculously blue.
"Peeta..."
He takes this as a warning and starts to remove his hand. I reach out and catch it. Another point in the Katniss acts without thinking category. He raises his eyebrows slightly. I did this before. Right after my injury mere days ago, so of course he remembers. But that time had been beyond my control. Sleep syrup makes people do crazy things. But he must know that this is an act of free will.
Peeta just looks at me. It hurts in a way I don't expect.
"You know, Katniss, I'm not as gullible as you think."
"I know." It comes out as a whisper, so I clear my throat. "I know."
If he leans down a little, our lips will brush together. In public, he'd surely go for a kiss. Even I would, if the right people were watching. Keeping up our act of being deliriously in love with one another is of utmost importance. My act, in any case, since he shows no hesitation about his love for me. What I feel for him is a mess that I can't understand, no matter how hard I try. But, I admit to myself, I haven't been trying very hard.
If he kisses me now, when no cameras are around, will it be different?
Maybe I might see how the boy with the bread and I fit together.
We wait for each other to make a move.
I don't realize I'm holding my breath until he looks away.
"I'll be back tomorrow. Get some sleep."
"Okay."
He lets go of my hand.
I miss him already.