Chapter Text
Part One: Before
1.
“Does anyone know the mountain song?”
A small hand shoots up in the air, confident and enthusiastic. “I do, I can sing it,” says a girl with two dark braids in a red, plaid dress.
Katniss. My father had pointed her out to me while walking me to school. “See that little girl? I almost married her mother. But she left me for a miner from the Seam.”
“How could she choose someone else over you?” I ask my father with true, if childish, indignation.
He chuckled, but answered seriously, “When he sang even the birds fell silent to listen.”
So, when she stood up to sing, I checked to see if the birds stopped singing to listen to her her. They did. She was so brave and her voice so sweet, I couldn’t not look at her. In that moment, I understood how her mother could have made the choices she did.
2.
We were five then, she was a girl from the Seam, and I was a merchant’s son from town. My mother would have been annoyed going on furious to know how much attention I paid to that girl over the years. My two older brothers would never have shut up about it. My father would have understood completely, but he would've deferred to my mother to keep the peace in our house.
But still, I watched her, and my feelings grew from admiration to infatuation to the unrequited calf love that consumed my adolescent heart. I could never manage to work up the courage to speak to her, to try to build a friendship with this girl I found so fascinating.
And then when we were 11, her father and several other miners were killed in an explosion and cave-in of the shaft they were working. She didn't come to school for two weeks, and when she did come back, she was changed. Not just the deep sadness in her eyes, or the new quiet reserve, but physically changed. She seemed to be shrinking into herself, becoming thinner and paler. Her once bright eyes were growing dull.
She was dying of hunger, a fate far from unknown in district 12, especially among people from the Seam. Watching Katniss and her sister waste away broke my heart, but I didn’t know how to help her.
Until one evening, after the sun had just begun to set and a moderate rain was falling, I heard my mother yelling at someone from the back door of our bakery.
“Get away from my trash cans! Can’t have one day without filth from the Seam going through our garbage! I’ll call the peacekeepers if you don’t get out of here!” Her voice is full of disgust and anger.
I peek out from a window and my breath catches when I recognize the gaunt figure of Katniss, now stumbling weakly away from the cans against the back wall of our bakery. My face burns in equal parts shame, misery, and anger. Shame and misery for how I have not done anything to help her while she’s starving, and an intense, burning anger at my mother for turning away this girl with such cruelty.
My mother calls to me, still in high annoyance, to come back and tend to the bread in the oven. I reluctantly leave the window, and an idea occurs to me. While she is sitting at the desk in the corner, going over her ledgers with an eagle-eyed sharpness, I pretend to clumsily drop the bread directly into the fire. I know this will earn my mother’s displeasure, but I have to do something.
Sure enough, she looks up to see me standing there with no fresh bread on the racks. I hastily pull the burned bread from the oven. When she comes to inspect the blackened loaves, she hits me on the side of my face, by my right eye. I fall back against the wall with the force of the blow.
“Oh, you stupid boy! Go feed it to the pigs, why don’t you?” The tone in which she yells at me is the same she used with Katniss, angry disgust.
I take the two loaves to the back door, and when I get outside, I’m relieved to see Katniss has not gone far. She watches me tear off the worst of the burned bread and toss it into the small pen of pigs. Trying to be sneaky, knowing my mother could be watching and knowing it would bring on more violence from her, I toss the rest of the bread in Katniss’s direction.
She hesitates for a moment, looking at me and then down to the bread before she quickly scoops it up and hurries away.
I turn back into the warmth of the kitchen behind me, where my mother is still angrily pouring over the bakery’s ledgers, and my father has come to prepare more dough. He undoubtedly heard my mother’s raised voice and the following thud as I hit the wall, and he must see the rising redness on my cheek and the swelling of my eye but does not say anything except to get up to my room.
I lie awake that night, heart pounding, replaying the moment our eyes met. Tonight, for once, I’d done something that mattered.
3.
The following day I watch Katniss at school, looking for signs of change and hoping that she'll come talk to me. Her eyes seem a little brighter, but she doesn't approach me.
I catch her staring at me a few times throughout the day, surrounded by my townie friends, but she always quickly looks away.
Finally at the end of the day while I’m talking to a few people and she's waiting for her younger sister we catch each other’s eyes. I see her hesitate and then see her chin lift in resolve before she marches directly toward me.
I break away from my friends, who whisper amongst themselves when they notice her approach. I ignore them and focus on the girl in front of me. Again, my heart is racing, and my mouth is suddenly too dry to speak. Luckily, she starts.
“Um…,” she can’t quite meet my eye, but her chin stays up, and her voice is steady, “I wanted to say, the bread…” I can tell this is difficult for her, and I wish I could think of a way to make it easier for both of us, but I just stand there silently.
“Thank you,” she finally manages. Her face is flushed red and still is not meeting my gaze, though I can tell she feels relief.
For a moment I still can’t speak, and she turns to leave, but I reach out and catch her arm. “You’re welcome.” I say simply, and sincerely, while looking into her eyes.
She just nods and then looks away when she hears her sister calling for her.
“I have to walk Prim home.” She says shortly, before pulling her arm away and walking toward the smaller girl.
When they reach each other, they hug. Then Katniss looks down and picks a dandelion from the ground at their feet. I watch them walk away until they disappear from my sight.
4.
In the following months I speak to Katniss Everdeen more than I had in the preceding twelve years. We develop a routine of sorts, where I wait in a quiet corner of the hall in the school building away from my group of friends and she finds me. At first our conversations are short and stilted, but they grow to become more comfortable over time. We talk about teachers, our siblings, and eventually a little bit of everything.
The first day she found me, two weeks after the dandelion, I was hiding from a girl in my friend group named Lily after a particularly awkward “date” the previous weekend. She came up short but then gave me a sweetly hesitant smile. I return her smile with genuine warmth, happy to be so near her again.
“Hello, Peeta,” she says, in her reserved way.
“Good morning, Katniss. How are you today?” I can’t think of anything more interesting to say. She is still so thin, but her eyes bright again, and her chin no longer points to the ground.
“I’m ok. It was my birthday on Sunday. I’m 12 now.” She says solemnly.
Having turned 12 just over a month ago, I understand her mood. We are now officially old enough to be entered into the pool of potential tributes for the Hunger Games, which are the Capitol’s punishment for a failed rebellion over 70 years ago. Soon the reaping will be held, and a girl and boy from each district will be sent into the arena to fight to the death. We never talk about the reaping or the games.
There is another reason for Katniss to be solemn though, the fact that she likely had to sign up for tesserae for herself and her family this year. That means that she will receive a year’s worth of grain and oil for the three of them, but at the cost of three additional entries with her name on them for the reaping.
“Happy birthday,” I say.
She smiles again but more distantly this time and walks away. I stand there for awhile, looking after her, until my friend Delly finds me and drags me off to class.
That year we are both spared in the reaping. Neither tribute from district 12 returns.
5.
On her 13th birthday, I manage to sneak a loaf of unburnt bread from the bakery. I think my father knows I’ve taken it, but he doesn’t ask any questions. My mother does not know, because I would've received more than a smack on my cheek for this offense if she did. She keeps a close eye on inventory and profit, so I worry that she will find out eventually, but I do it anyway. I stow it away in my school bag and sleep fitfully that night.
I want to give her my gift first thing in the morning, but I know she wouldn't appreciate having an audience. She is still very withdrawn at school, only talking to me when we meet in our quiet corner.
I worry that she won’t be there today. Sometimes she doesn’t show, and I just wait by myself until its time to go back to class.
She is, though, and I can feel the silly grin break out on my face as she approaches me. She looks both pleased and annoyed.
“Happy birthday!” I whisper excitedly, knowing that she would prefer not to draw attention to the day, or herself.
I reach into my bag and pull out the wrapped loaf. It’s the same kind that I gave her – or threw at her – the year before, full of dried fruit and nuts. Her eyes widen and she looks from the loaf to me and back again before she speaks.
“You- you shouldn’t have done this. You’ll get in trouble,” she looks at my face anxiously, probably remembering the black eye I received last year. Or maybe she noticed the random bruises my brothers and I showed up to school with occasionally.
I haven’t spoken to her about my mother, but Katniss is observant. Her concern warms me, and my smile widens even further. I would gladly endure my mother’s wrath to make this girl happy.
“I wanted to, I really wanted to,” I assure her.
She takes the bread, flicking her eyes from mine to the loaf in her hands like it might bite her. I can see that I’ve made her uncomfortable, and wish that I knew how to alleviate it, but I am glad to have given her the gift.
“Thank you.” She says simply, with slightly less effort than the last time she said it.
She puts the bread in her own bag, and we talk for a few minutes more. Eventually the hall fills up as kids come in from playing outside. She says goodbye and leaves first, like always, and I watch her go with the same dull ache.
That summer, we are once again both spared in the reaping. Neither tribute comes home.
6.
The next year, I finally gather up the courage to walk her and her sister home from school some days. Katniss is hesitant at first, but we are friends now and despite herself she does seem to enjoy my company. My friends and my older brother Ryan, who is still in school with us, take notice, and I am teased about my “crush” often.
It doesn’t bother me though, as I think it's well worth it to get to spend any amount of extra time with her. I’m also growing very fond of her sister. Primrose is a sweet, thoughtful kid and anyone could see how close they are, and how protective Katniss is of the younger girl.
It’s on one of these walks in early April, with Prim skipping ahead, that Katniss pulls a small brown bag from her satchel and hands it to me wordlessly. I open it and look inside.
“Blackberries?” I ask, happy but confused.
“Yes, I found them in the woods on Sunday. It’s still a little early in the season, so they might not be very sweet, but… I wanted to give you something, um, for your birthday.” She is fidgeting with the strap of her bag and won’t look at me.
I’m stunned into silence, which isn’t like me. My family gave me a cake and some clothes, and my friends gave me trinkets – but this meant more to me.
“I- uh, thank you, Katniss. Really.” I touch her shoulder, and she pulls away but looks up at me. A rare smile lights up her face, and I cherish that gift as much as the berries. We share them as we walk. They are quite tart, but they’re the best blackberries I had ever had.
In July neither of us are reaped. There are no victors from 12 that year.
7.
When we’re both 15, Katniss takes me into the forest for the first time. I’ve always admired her bravery, going out to hunt and forage for her family. But the woods were a place of nightmares for me – rumored to be full of monsters and muttations, things the fences were meant to keep out.
One day, whiled we were walking home from school with her sister, who had stopped to pick some flowers growing near the edge of the Seam, she suddenly turned to me.
“What are you doing on Sunday?” There is a quickness to the question, like she’s asking before she can talk herself out of it.
For a moment I am taken aback, as we only talk at school and when I can walk her home. I like to think we are pretty good friends at this point, and I am more than half in love with her, but we don’t hang out like normal friends would.
“N-nothing,” I stammer, then correct myself, “Except helping my father in the afternoon, doing some prep work for the bakery. Why?”
“I’m going out to the woods, um, to set snares and go fishing. In the morning. Gale’s coming, too. You could come. If you want.” When she looks at me and sees the obvious hesitation on my face, hers drops slightly. “Never mind.”
With this she walks quickly to where Prim is still picking flowers, leaving me several steps behind. The deep-seated fear wars with the desire to spend more time with her, and really to give in to anything she wants. I don’t like saying no to Katniss Everdeen.
“Wait!” I call out, running to catch up. She stops but does not look at me. We are near enough their home that she sends Prim along on her own.
“It’s ok that you don’t want to come, I’m sure you have something more fun you can do with your friends,” she says, still not looking at me. She turns away, to follow Prim home.
“I’ve never been outside the fences. I’m afraid,” I say quietly, and with no little embarrassment. This girl, looking so slight and delicate, has been breaking the law and risking her life to feed her family for the past three years. I am a coward.
My confession stops her, and she turns back to look at me. She is quiet for a moment, but she walks back to where I’m still standing. She tilts her chin up to look me in the eyes, and smiles. My breath catches. She has never smiled at me quite like this before.
“Trust me.” I do.
8.
Two weeks later, on a Saturday morning before the sun has risen, we meet up near an old warehouse known as The Hob, an outpost for trading of dubious legality. This is where much of what Katniss takes from the woods is traded for things her family needs. Poaching and foraging is technically illegal in district 12, as is going beyond the fences which are supposed to be electrified, but the peacekeepers turn a blind eye. They are also regular customers, Katniss tells me, with a fondness for fresh game.
I'm not going hunting with her and Gale, for which I am grateful. Both because I don’t know how to hunt and would just be in their way, but also because I am intimidated by the older boy, who's 17 now.
Like Katniss, he's from the Seam. They resemble each other so closely that many of the kids in school think they’re cousins. He is tall and olive skinned, with her same black hair and grey eyes. But unlike her, there is a simmering resentment under the surface of his usually sardonic smile where she has a quiet strength and resilience.
He stepped up to care for his family after his father died in the same explosion that killed Katniss’s. He has three younger siblings. Katniss told me once that he also signs up for tesserae for his family and so must have dozens of entries this year.
I can understand his anger, but it makes me wary of him. Especially because I am a townie, the son of a merchant who has never had to take tesserae. It is still possible for kids from town to be drawn for the reaping, but it’s usually kids from the Seam.
He and Katniss became friends when they both went out into the woods to try to stave off starvation by hunting. She had her bow and arrows, both the bow and the skill to use it given to her by her father. He went out with a knowledge of snares and a hunting knife. Together they have been able to feed their families and keep much of the district in fresh game and wild produce.
I’ve had minimal interaction with him, only passing the briefest of greetings if we run into each other when Katniss is around. I obviously know him from school, although he is two years ahead of me. He is a handsome boy, who is popular with many of the girls from both town and the Seam. I have always been jealous of him, or more accurately, how close and and Katniss are.
Today, the two of us are just going out to the very edge of the woods beyond the fences. Katniss means to acclimatize me to the world beyond district 12 a little at a time. I’m still afraid, but glad that she is still willing to spend time outside of school with me, so I push the fear down and follow her to a small break in the fence. We slip through it and into the small clearing just outside the district.
She glances back at me, and I try to smile reassuringly at her, as though I’m not scared at all. She laughs, seeing through my attempt, and takes my hand to pull me forward.
At the contact of our hands, my heart starts to pound. Ordinarily, Katniss is very careful not to touch or be too close to anyone except Prim. She might be like this with Gale, when they are alone in the woods together, but otherwise she is reserved and guarded. The fact that she has casually taken my hand despite this is not lost on me, and it thrills me as much as the forest ahead terrifies me.
I realize that part of it is being outside of the district. She seems to relax almost immediately. It’s interesting to see this different side of her. But as we approach the line of trees, my feet slow without my telling them to, and she matches my pace.
“It’s alright,” she says softly, “the bears don’t come this close to the fences, and I can protect you from everything else.” This last bit she says with the hint of a wry smile.
I nod and force my feet to move forward, still holding her hand.
In the trees, it is beautiful in a way I didn’t anticipate. There is so much color and life. Inside the district most everything is some shade of grey, but out here there are vibrant greens and warm browns. Golden light is filtered through the treetops as the sun rises. There is the soft burble of a stream and small chittering noises of unseen animals and birdsongs from above. I forget to be afraid and just enjoy the moment. I even forget the hand in mine - until she lets go to pull a bow from a hollow log.
“How are you doing?” Katniss asks, watching me curiously. It makes me smile.
“Surprisingly well, actually. It’s really pretty out here. Also, no muttations yet, so that’s good,” I attempt some levity despite the fact that my fear is returning.
She rolls her eyes at me and says, “Come on then, we don’t have all day.” I can tell that she’s pleased with me though, and that propels me forward more effectively than a pack of muttations at my back could.
For awhile we just walk, and she seems to know exactly where she is going. Before too long, we come to the stream I could hear earlier, and we stop. She sits on the bank, and I join her, careful not to infringe on her space but sitting as close as I dare. We are silent for a few long minutes. It’s comfortable, peaceful.
“He started bringing me out here when I was 6 or 7. My dad,” she says without prompting, her eyes fixed on the flowing water but also far away. “He showed me plants that we could eat or use for medicine. He taught me songs that mother wouldn’t allow us to sing inside the district. He gave me a bow and was so proud of me when I learned to shoot.”
Her vulnerability both surprises and touches me. She almost never talks about her father. I don’t know exactly how to respond, except by carefully placing my hand over hers and giving it a slight squeeze. She looks up at me then, and then quickly away before taking her hand back. She looks embarrassed.
To cover for both of our discomfort I say, “My father only ever taught me to bake.” We both smile at this weak attempt at humor, but it does help to dispel the awkwardness.
We sit there for a few moments before I ask, “So what made you want to bring me out here? Not that I’m not happy to be here with you,” I add quickly.
She thinks for a bit, and I am beginning to think she won’t answer when she shrugs uncomfortably, but she does. “It makes me happy to be out here and I just wanted to share it with you.”
Her words are quiet, and she again won’t look directly at me, but my heart seems to fill my throat, so I just nod, and we spend the next few hours together out in her woods. She points out the plants her father must have shown her. When a deer skitters across our path, she takes my hand to hold me back and doesn’t let go for the rest of our time together in the woods. I have never been so content.
We both survive the reaping that year. Neither of the tributes from district 12 does, though.
9.
My 16th birthday is only a few days away, and my friends are talking about throwing me a party. Sometimes we sneak into an empty house in victor's village and drink liquor pilfered from some parent’s supply, although I don’t care for it much. This seems to be the direction my friend’s plans are going in, though, and my father is planning to bake me a cake to share with them.
I'm indifferent to all of this, wishing that I could spend my birthday with Katniss.
I’m pretty sure that if I invited her to the party thrown by my other friends she would decline, unable to conceal her horror at the very idea. I can’t even imagine how that would go if she did say yes, given how little she likes to socialize and how different she is from them.
From us, I realize. Katniss and I are very different, in circumstance, disposition, and behavior. For all our differences though, we seem to fit together well. Being friends with her is simultaneously exhilarating and comfortable. Even after all our quiet meetings and Saturdays in the woods its never enough. I could spend all day with her and still want more.
And its not just time that I want more of; I want to hold her hand and make her smile that special smile. I want to explore those lingering glances that tie the pit of my stomach into knots. I want to kiss her and see if her lips are as soft as I’ve imagined them to be. Katniss would probably run and never look back if I tried, but the fantasies persist.
Sometimes, though, I do catch an enigmatic expression on her face when she’s looking at me. She always averts her gaze when she notices me noticing, but I can’t help hoping that she’s having similar thoughts.
“Peeta!” My friend Delly shakes my shoulder, pulling me from my reverie. “What do you think? Victor’s village the weekend after your birthday?”
I missed most of this conversation. A few of my friends seem mildly annoyed, but others, including Delly, are giving me knowing smirks. My crush – obsession – with Katniss is not as secret as I would like it to be, and they still tease me about it. Honestly, I think everyone except Katniss knows at this point.
We're all in the lunchroom, and Katniss is sitting several tables away with Madge Undersee, the mayor's daughter. My eyes have been sliding over to the back of her head for most of this meal and my friends all seem to have noticed.
I've tried to invite her to sit with us, but she steadfastly refuses. When I tried to join her and Madge one day she looked almost panicked and suggested that I should sit with my friends. I recognize that our time together is separate from other aspects of our lives, by her preference. I do my best to be grateful for the time we do spend together and remain hopeful for more.
“Um… whatever you guys want to do is fine,” I say vaguely.
My friend Billy nudges me and says, “Why don’t you invite your girlfriend, we’re dying to hang out with her and see what all the fuss is about.” He’s joking but I don’t take it well, glaring at him until he holds his hands up and shakes his head, “Geez, never mind.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” I worry that if she hears people saying this or thinks that I’ve been encouraging the rumor she would be upset. Our friendship is still fragile, and I need to protect it.
I desperately wish he were right, though, that we were together like that.
“Then she’s a fool,” a pretty blond girl named Aster says cooly. She is a friend of Lily, who is more a friend of Delly. Her family is wealthy and connected to the capitol, though they live here in district 12. I’ve gotten the uncomfortable feeling that she has tried to flirt with me sometimes.
“We’re friends, just friends, and she doesn’t like crowds or parties.” This I know is true, she avoids gatherings and only attends those that are mandatory.
“Ok, ok. We’ll have the party the weekend after Peeta’s birthday, at that house across from Haymitch’s, and we won’t invite Katniss,” Delly says trying to smooth the tension. She’s one of my closest friends and an exceedingly kind person. I appreciate her not joining in on the teasing.
I glance over again at Katniss as she gets up to leave. She catches my eye and gives me a small smile, until Lilly and Aster giggle. Her cheeks flush and she looks down abruptly before leaving, with Madge following close behind. Madge gives me an apologetic smile. It is obvious – everyone else knows.
“Thanks, guys,” I say with uncharacteristically bitter sarcasm. I don’t follow Katniss, knowing it would only embarrass her further.
10.
A little over a month later is Katniss’s birthday. She spends the Sunday before hunting with Gale and once again I am envious of their connection. She seems more comfortable with him, which I attribute to how similar they are. Both from the Seam, both risking their lives to feed their families. He’s her hunting partner.
I worry, too, though that she has feelings for him. That could be part of why she is so careful to keep distance between us. He is very good looking, and I think he’s begun to notice her as more than just a hunting partner in the last few months. He certainly glares at me more often.
Still, I take the scraps she gives me with pleasure and gratitude, and we spend the next Saturday together. She's been showing me how to fish in our little stream. I enjoy fishing because I can allow my mind to wander and let my eyes rest on her at least as much as they do on the pole.
Today I have brought a small, iced cake with me for Katniss. My father helped me with it, while my mother was occupied elsewhere. I pulled it out after we got settled in our spot with the rods in the water. Her eyes lit up, but then she looked guilty.
“You shouldn’t have gotten me anything, I didn’t get you anything on your birthday,” she complains. I have come to know that Katniss hates to feel indebted to anyone.
“I wanted to. It makes me happy to bake for my friends.” Hopefully, she will be more comfortable if she thinks I do this for everyone and am not singling her out. I am, but its better for her to think otherwise.
“Besides, you’ve literally gifted me with more knowledge and experience than I could ever repay.”
This is absolutely true, in addition to lessening my fear of the woods surrounding our district, she has also taught me so much about them.
She still seems uncertain, but she smiles at me. I split the cake into two pieces, and we share it on the bank, watching the water while we eat. I try to watch her surreptitiously, enjoying the way she relishes food. She looks up and catches me watching her. She swallows and looks away quickly.
There's a small glob of icing on her cheek and without thinking I reach out to swipe it away, bringing my face closer to hers than it has ever been before. We both freeze, my hand still on her face and her eyes locked on mine. I don’t breathe and it seems like she doesn’t either. Before I can stop myself, I lean in and gently press my lips to hers. I pull back and look at her face, which is stunned, but neither of us move away. I’m about to, when miraculously, she leans into me and kisses me back.
Her lips are even softer than I had imagined.
11.
Katniss Everdeen is kissing me, I think deliriously. Our lips are still pressed together, moving in innocent exploration. This is my first real kiss. I wonder fleetingly if it is also hers. Then I am completely consumed by the sensations coursing through my body. I feel electrified.
She pulls away first, looking down into her lap. My breath is coming faster, and I cannot look away from her dark head. There is a pulse bounding in her neck and her cheeks are stained red.
We sit in silence for several long minutes. Honestly, I’m shocked she hasn’t run. I swallow hard, and the sound seems louder than it should be. It draws her eyes, briefly, up to my chin.
“I’m sorry,” I say, unsure of what else to do in this moment. I’m not at all sorry, but I am terrified that I’ve broken something between us.
Katniss doesn’t respond. She shakes her head, small and quick, like she’s batting the words away without wanting to examine them. Her gaze drops again to her lap. Her fingers rip at the grass beside her knee. Not a word, but she’s still here with me.
I desperately want to believe that means something.
Carefully, I reach out to lift her chin- not to force it, just to see her. She resists, just a little, but then lets me. Her eyes meet mine, defiant and unreadable at first, but there’s a flicker of something else underneath – uncertainty, maybe.
“You’re… not upset?” I ask, trying not to but hoping anyways.
“Well, I wasn’t, but I’m starting to have some regrets,” she says sarcastically, deflecting her moment of vulnerability.
I can’t help it – I grin like an idiot. She rolls her eyes but still doesn’t pull away.
“I’m not either, really, I just…” I steady myself, wanting to get the next words exactly right, “I didn’t want to lose what we have. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time, but I was scared. Still am, actually.”
She stares at me again, quietly.
Contemplating. Considering.
Then, slowly, her hand comes up to my wrist. Her fingers curl lightly around it. My pulse leaps and, and she must be able to feel it, but she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t move away, either. Instead, she leans in – tentative, cautious, but she’s the one closing the gap now. Her eyes stay on mine until the last second, then flutter shut.
I meet her halfway. The kiss is soft, slower this time. Her grip tightens a little as I move my other hand to gently cradle her face. She exhales into my mouth, and the sound curls straight through me.
When we part, she keeps her eyes closed for a beat too long, like she’s afraid of what happens when they open.
Just then one of the fishing poles is tugged by something in the river. The spell breaks. Katniss disengages herself from me and automatically catches it and begins to bring the fish in, her actions showing experience and skill. I watch her, impressed by her ability and still dazed from kissing her. When the fish is landed and she sets it aside to be taken home, she avoids looking at me.
“Can we- should we- do you want to talk about it?” I stutter over this question, afraid to ask but desperate to know. What does it mean? Could she possibly feel even a fraction of what I feel for her?
Katniss shakes her head and gets up, “I don’t know what you want me to say.” She starts to gather what we brought, still avoiding my eyes.
I stand, too, and help her. “I don’t really know what to say either, except that I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time and I hope that doesn’t… make things harder.”
She stops then and finally looks at me. Her expression is hard to read, but she doesn’t seem angry. She looks almost sad. “I’m not a good person to like.”
12.
“What do you mean? You’re amazing. You’re so strong, and smart, and beautiful.” I try to take her hand, but she turns from me and shakes her head.
“I don’t- I’m… I’m just barely surviving, and I - I can’t think about anything else. I’m sorry, Peeta.”
When I put my hand on her shoulder she doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t turn around either. I can feel her tension thrumming just under the surface. I wish that she would look at me.
“This is enough, I don’t need anything else. I meant what I said about how much your friendship means to me.” I want so much more, but I will take whatever she can give.
She turns then, and there is some heat in her eyes now. “Things are… different now, and I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?” I whisper, sure she won’t answer but unable not to ask.
She looks pained, and I know this must be nearly impossible for her. Katniss doesn’t talk about her emotions; she shows them through her actions – the berries, bringing me out into her woods, giving me some of her time.
Realizing this, I don’t press her. Instead, I take a small step closer and say, gently, “You don’t have to explain. Just… tell me if you want me to stay.”
She hesitates, her jaw tight, eyes flicking away. Then she gives me the smallest nod – barely more than a breath – but its enough.
She looks so small, fragile. I take another step, closing the space between us, watching her face to gauge her response. She allows me to enfold her in an embrace but does not immediately move to hug me back.
“We can figure this out, together. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. Please don’t push me away, I couldn’t stand it.” I match her vulnerability, knowing it’s a gamble, that it might scare her away again.
To my immense relief, her arms encircle my waist, and she relaxes into me a little. She presses her face against my chest and takes a deep breath.
“I didn’t mean to feel anything for you – for anyone. I can’t… I won’t let myself hope for something – for a life I can’t have.” She says this into my chest.
I rub her back, trying to soothe her. Maybe this is the difference between town and the Seam – between lives where hope still feels possible and ones where survival is the only goal. Maybe that’s why people from town rarely marry people from the Seam.
But I don’t need her to promise me anything. I don’t need her to be ready. I just need her to know I’m here, that she’s not alone.
“I just want to spend time with you, in whatever way you’re comfortable with. I’m sorry if it scares you, but I care about you.”
She pulls back then, just enough so she can look up into my eyes. I look down at her try to read her expression. Her lips part slightly, and she closes her eyes as I lower my face to hers. Our lips brush together softly, at first, and then I take her face in my hands and deepen the kiss. Her hands come up to hold my wrists.
I pull away before I can get carried away and rest my forehead on hers. Her eyes stay closed, but she lets me hold her.
She looks up at me, holding my hands, and says with clear trepidation, “I don’t know what I’m doing…but… maybe we can try.”
The reaping was only weeks away.
13.
The weeks that follow are the happiest of my life.
Nothing changes in any obvious way. We still keep to our quiet corner in the hallway at school. We still slip away to the woods whenever we can. But something in her has shifted – and something in me has, too.
Katniss kissed me. I kissed her. And somehow, she didn’t run.
June arrives warm and green. The air is heavy with the scent of damp leaves and river water. The town sweats under the weight of summer, but I hardly notice. Every moment I can steal with her feels like a kind of magic.
Gale watches us now. He doesn’t say anything, but it’s obvious he resents how much time she spends with me. I catch him looking at me sometimes like he’s trying to size me up, like he’s already decided I don’t measure.
But Katniss doesn’t mention it. If she notices, she doesn’t let on. She still hunts with him, checks traps, keeps that part of her life intact. But it’s me she comes to in the quiet hours between.
Sometimes she shows up at the bakery, slipping through the back just to watch me work when my mother isn’t around. Other times, I find her waiting near the edge of the square when I close up for the day. We don’t always talk. Often, we don’t need to.
I join her and Prim at their house when I can. It’s small, dim, patched together with scavenged bits and love, and it feels more like home than mine ever has. Their kitchen smells like herbs and woodsmoke. Prim chatters away while Katniss moves through the space like she belongs to it, and somehow, when I’m there, I feel like I belong, too.
I don’t take it for granted. She doesn’t invite people in easily – certainly not into her home, her family, her world. I know this means something.
My friends still reach out – Delly, Aster, the others – but I can't pull myself away. Not because I don’t care, but because all I want is this time with her. And time feels like a thread pulled taut. I can feel the Reaping pressing down on us, gaining weight with each passing day. I don’t want to waste a second.
When we go to the woods, it’s like entering another world. Just the two of us. No bakery, no Seam, no Reaping. There’s a rhythm to those afternoons now; shared silences, gentle touches, the way her shoulder brushes mine when we walk side by side. Sometimes I kiss her, and she lets me. Sometimes she kisses me, and each time it still feels like a gift I haven’t earned. She pulls away slowly, like she’s testing the edge of something she’s afraid to fall into.
She’s still guarded. I know how much this costs her.
But she’s trying.
She brings me things – berries, herbs - little signs that she’s thinking of me even when I’m not around. She doesn’t say what they mean. She doesn’t have to. I know.
And when she looks at me, really looks at me, there’s something there. Not just need or fear. Something like trust. Maybe even something like want.
I find myself memorizing her. The shape of her mouth when she’s thinking. The way her voice softens around Prim. The way she holds herself in stillness, like she’s always waiting to run.
Some nights, I dream of a future. Not grand or impossible. Just… more. A small house by the woods. Her laughter echoing off the stone hearth. Bread rising on the table. Her hand reaching for mine across a crowded room.
I know better than to believe in things like that. But I still do.
As the Reaping draws closer, I watch her more carefully. I listen harder. I try to commit everything to memory, like I’m afraid of losing it all.
But when she leans into me in the woods, when she presses her lips to mine like she means it, when she lets her fingers slip between mine as we sit under the trees – I believe.
Just a little. Enough to hope.
And for the first time in my life, I let myself imagine we might have more time.
Maybe even a future.