Laura💌

Katniss slumps down onto a park bench and taps out a reply to Johanna, declaring herself accounted for and certainly not going home with Peeta Mellark. Not going home with anyone. Not that she would have…even if 007 had decided to show. Katniss Everdeen does not act on impulses. Everything must be calculated, precise. That’s how you survive in this world–with self-control, brutal practicality, and grit.

This whole thing was a mistake. A big mistake, huge. Just like Peeta said, though she really doesn’t want to credit him with being right. How could she have let this frivolous fantasy run away with her? Why on earth would she put her trust in some random stranger when you couldn’t even count on the real people in your life, the ones who were supposed to protect you? She feels a prickling sensation in the corners of her eyes and swipes at them angrily. The stupid mascara is going to ring her eyes like that raccoon she nabbed by the creek last June. The mascara that she wore for him.

Katniss stabs her finger at her phone, opening the text chain and firing off an angry message to 007.

Katniss Everdeen Where were you?! I waited HOURS

She stuffs the phone back into her bag, determined not to wait around for his response like some lovesick idiot, then stands up, dusts off her slacks, and marches toward the road to call an Uber. Normally she wouldn’t splurge on a car, but it’s dark and the thought of running into Peeta Mellark again at the bus stop in front of the wine bar is too much to bear.

— — —

The buzz from the three glasses of Pinot is wearing off by the time Katniss gets home 30 minutes later. She pulls off her hunting boots and stomps into the kitchen, momentarily considering cracking another bottle of wine, but settling for a tall glass of water instead.

In her sparsely decorated living room, she sets the glass down on the coffee table and collapses face first into the cushy forest green couch. She runs her fingers over the velvety fabric that only seems to get softer with time. This is the only piece of furniture that Katniss has ever purchased that wasn't second-hand. The wide-set cushions in an L-shape make it preposterously large for the cramped space, but she doesn't care. As a homebody, there are few things she enjoys more than snuggling into the couch with a fuzzy blanket and a mug of cocoa. Unbidden, a thought hits her that this couch is like the furniture equivalent of Peeta Mellark. It's so big and broad and cuddly…

Oh God. Where is this stuff coming from?

Katniss groans and rolls over, dragging a hand down her face. She had been shocked to see Peeta striding into the wine bar earlier, golden curls artfully disheveled, dark wash jeans that fit, like really fit, and broad forearms on full display below the rolled up sleeves of his blue button down. For a split second she had almost thought–hoped?-- that maybe he was…but no. That was ridiculous. Of course Peeta Mellark is not 007. It's his brother's bar. He probably stops in there all the time. She certainly would if she knew she could score a free meal off her sibling. No, it had just been incredibly bad timing that her nemesis happened to wander into the very venue where another man was busy ripping out her heart and feeding it through a wood chipper. Add insult to injury. Figures.

Katniss leans down to grab her phone out of her purse, hoping 007 will have responded with something contrite so that she can blast him and then later forgive him like an old softy. But there's nothing there. No response. The bastard! Rage flashes red hot in her veins, but then subsides as quickly as it came, like the way a campfire flares up when you throw a handful of pine needles on it before falling back into blackness. Cold, dark, nothingness. There is no spark in the way she is feeling now, only shame at letting herself get taken for a ride.

She takes a few deep, calming breaths and her heart rate returns to normal. A rational thought hits her– the first one she's had since she ran out on Peeta an hour ago: Maybe something happened to 007. He really doesn't seem like the type of person to ghost her. Maybe he got sick? Or had a family emergency? Oh no, what if he had an accident! Katniss fumbles with the phone and shoots him another message.

Katniss Everdeen Hey, are you ok?

She waits with bated breath, but there is still no response. Katniss puts the phone down. Then picks it back up. Then puts it down again. She chugs half the glass of water and nearly chokes when the familiar ping rings out, amplified by ten in the silent apartment.

It's an unfamiliar number. It has the same West Panem area code, but it's definitely not him.

415-525-1980 Did you get home ok?

The angry campfire in Katniss' belly flares back up. Not this again. Not another wrong number fiasco.

Katniss Everdeen Who the hell is this? 415-525-1980 Sry its Peeta Hazelle gave me your number Hope you don’t mind

Katniss groans. She does mind.

The phone pings again.

415-525-1980 So did you? Get home?

She rolls her eyes, reminding herself to deal with Hazelle and her meddling later. Then Katniss hammers out a sarcastic reply.

Katniss Everdeen No, actually. A nice guy picked me up. Dressed kinda weird. Seems a little warm for a ski mask, but some ppl run cold, y’know We’re driving to a deserted cabin in the woods

Peeta replies almost instantaneously and she has to laugh at his nonchalant response.

415-525-1980 Oh, that’s cool Nice car?

Katniss Everdeen Not sure exactly. He told me to get in the trunk Must have seen I was tired. Nice to lay down 415-525-1980 How thoughtful Well, i should let you go Don’t eat too many s’mores at the cabin

Katniss leans back against the cushions, biting her lip. She thinks about the way he looked when his brother Rye thought he was on a date, the cute blush on his cheeks. He has that kind of pale complexion that sends up a bat signal every time you feel an emotion. Katniss is everyone's type, he had said. Everyone’s type. His type.

She pauses and then throws caution to the wind. Maybe she’s still drunk after all.

Katniss Everdeen Night, Peeta Bread 415-525-1980 Sweet dreams

Katniss touches her lips and realizes she's smiling again. She saves the number to her contacts as “Peeta Bread,” then pulls her favorite blanket up to her chin and falls into a surprisingly deep, dreamless sleep.

— — —

Katniss doesn't hear from 007 the next day or the day after that. In fact, a whole week goes by without a single peep. She doesn't hear from Peeta again either, which for some reason, rankles her even more.

Johanna says she’s like a human storm cloud lately, raining on everyone that gets within five feet, fouling everyone’s mood. Even Prim caught on to her sister’s attitude problem. Normally Katniss masks everything with Prim. She always has. Isn’t that the one thing she’s always been able to control? The only silver lining is that Prim has promised a Gilmore Girls marathon at her upcoming visit.

It’s about 3 pm on Friday when Katniss sidles up to Hazelle’s coffee stall, trying not to be obvious as she scans the market for those ashy blonde waves.

“This is your third one today,” says Hazelle suspiciously. “Are you sleeping ok?”

“Huh?” says Katniss distractedly, glancing over her shoulder toward the produce stand. She’s seen Peeta there before purchasing vegetables that she has no idea how to cook–swiss chard, long bulbous gourds, leeks. Katniss likes to imagine the delicious smells that must fill his kitchen when he cooks. The sound of butter and garlic spitting and hissing in the saute pan. The way he looks with an apron tied around that trim waist…

Hazelle snaps her fingers in front of Katniss’ face. “Earth to Katniss!”

She flushes. “Sorry. I’ll have my usual.”

“Make that two,” says a deep voice behind her. Katniss spins on her heel.

“You,” she breathes. He smells so good. That distinctive aroma of cinnamon and fresh herbs hits her immediately, cozy and fresh at the same time.

“Me,” he confirms, a wide smile lighting up his face. He holds up a Mellark’s bakery bag that she can tell is full of those cheese buns. Her mouth waters. “And you owe me a coffee, remember?”

— — —

Since the day is gorgeous, Peeta suggests they take their coffee outside. There’s a nice riverwalk outside the Hob, a rare sign of gentrification that Katniss can get behind. The city made an effort to plant native species in the landscaping, which has attracted an abundance of honey bees and butterflies that Katniss has never seen in the Seam side of town before. She points them out to Peeta as they walk, sipping on their steaming drinks. As an ecologist by training, he seems to find her near encyclopedic knowledge of the local flora fascinating.

When they round the bend near the Panem River overlook, Peeta notices a blossom of Orange Hawkweed that has fallen on the footpath. He stoops to pick it up and tucks it behind Katniss’ ear as if it is the most natural thing in the world. She’s seen him do casually charming things like the before, but when directed at her, the action feels so soft that she doesn’t know what to do with it.

“That’s your color,” he says, an almost wistful smile playing at his full lips.

Katniss scoffs. “Orange?”

Peeta laughs at her outsized revulsion. “What? It is. And it’s my favorite color, too. Muted, the color of sunset.”

“You’re a strange person, you know that?” She cocks her head and peers up at him. He’s looking back at her with an odd intensity that makes her skin itch.

“Look, I owe you an apology for being a dick that night at the wine bar.” Peeta drops his gaze to his shoes, scuffing one of his black Vans against the cobblestone path. “It's not an excuse, but I'm… going through some stuff. I’m not acting like myself. I’ve been lashing out at you–at everyone. It’s not right. I’m sorry.”

Katniss sniffs, watching an Osprey swoop low over the river. “Yeah, I know. You're going through the paperwork to restrict access to our public land.” Somehow the jab doesn't come out as harshly as she intended. It feels hard to malign someone who looks so sincerely apologetic.

Peeta shrugs. “That's fair.”

“That's it? You're not going to say something smart back?” she retorts. The Osprey dives for a fish and misses.

Peeta shrugs again and Katniss can't detect any disingenuousness in his mild, almost sad expression. The fact that he's not being defensive has the effect of lowering her fight response. So after a long pause, her face softens and she asks, “What are you going through?”

“Just some health stuff, that's all,” he says evasively. His eyes flicker down to his left leg subconsciously. Then he quickly changes the subject, proffering the Mellark's bag.

Katniss digs out a cheese bun, practically licking her lips. She can't stop a satisfied moan from escaping her throat when she takes a bite. She chews thoughtfully for a moment, then remarks, “Did you do something different to these?”

Peeta's eyebrows knit together. She used to think the idea of a guy looking like a puppy dog was rom com bullshit, but with Peeta, the likeness is truly uncanny. “You don't like them?” he asks.

“No!” Katniss exclaims, pulling the bun towards her as if she's worried he might confiscate it. “I mean, no, I love them. It just tastes different.”

Peeta looks relieved. “Oh, um, I added Gouda in the center,” he says sheepishly.

Katniss’ eyes flick up to his sharply. She feels like she just swung too high on a swing set and flipped right over the top. She told 007 about how she liked her scrambled eggs: with as much Gouda as possible. She distinctly remembers telling him. But if Peeta has noticed anything odd in her reaction, then he's an excellent actor. He looks completely nonplussed. We ate a cheese plate together, Katniss reminds herself. That's all. Maybe his brother brought home some of that excellent Gouda from the wine bar so Peeta threw it in with this week's batch. There's a perfectly reasonable explanation. She blows out a long breath and steadies herself.

“It's delicious, Peeta. Really.”

“Unlike this coffee,” he says, wrinkling his nose as he takes a sip.

“I'm doing you a favor. How can you even taste the coffee through all that milk and sugar you usually get?”

Peeta smiles at her indignation. “Well, I don't take everything with sugar. I like my tea black.”

“What?! No honey?” she protests.

“No need. Not if you're drinking the premium stuff. There's this great loose leaf tea place in the same neighborhood as Rye's bar. They do samples. I could take you…” He trails off.

“We're not friends, Peeta,” Katniss reminds him, but the hairs on her arms stand up at the suggestion. It felt almost like he was asking her out. On a date. She rubs at the gooseflesh pebbling her skin.

A flicker of uncertainty flashes in Peeta’s eyes at her rejoinder, but he recovers quickly. “Obviously,” he says, voice smooth as butter, knocking her shoulder gently with his, perhaps aware of the electric, irresistible effect he is having on her body. “But still, I wouldn't wish a Lipton tea bag on my worst enemy.”

Katniss smirks. “Am I your worst enemy?”

“Meh, probably a tie with my neighbor who picks up his dog's shit but then leaves it on the sidewalk in those little plastic bags,” deadpans Peeta.

Katniss gasps in outrage. “Then it doesn't even biodegrade!”

“I know, right?!” he says, matching her energy. They explode into laughter.

“Well, maybe we can…bump into each other. You know, at the tea place,” says Katniss, a smile twitching at the corner of her lips.

— — —

It turns out, they don't need to wait to bump into each other for tea. Because it happens the next day at the farmer's market.

For god knows what reason, Johanna had insisted they wake up early on their one day off to stroll through the pop-up stalls along the new riverwalk. Either Johanna has developed a sudden taste for novelty pickled vegetables or she has completely gone off the deep end. She normally hates places like this. It's full of almond moms and sticky-faced children and shiny couples wearing color-coordinated outfits.

And there, helping Ripper stack a crate of home-distilled white liquor, is Peeta Mellark. He starts when he sees her, then his face splits into a sunny smile. Her heart stutters like a bird taking off into a gale, fluttering up, before being sucked back to earth.

“Well what d’you know,” Peeta remarks, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he sets down the heavy crate. “Katniss Everdeen.”

Katniss doesn't know what to do with her hands. Are they shake-upon-greeting type acquaintances now? That seems too formal. But obviously a hug is out of the question. So her arms hang awkwardly by her side, making her feel like she’s devolved into an ape.

“Peeta,” she says, nodding at him in acknowledgement.

There is a loud cough and Katniss tears her eyes away from Peeta long enough to notice the bronze-haired Adonis of a man standing beside him. “Ah, the arch nemesis,” says the too-handsome man, with a smirk. He turns pointedly to Johanna and jerks his head in my direction. “Does this one belong to you?”

Katniss folds her ape arms across her chest, glad to finally have something to do with them, and scowls. There is something uniquely enraging about someone referring to you as if you are not standing right in front of them.

Johanna’s eyes light up with mischief and she gives an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, sadly. There's nothing you can do about the scowling, but she's housebroken.” Johanna sticks out her hand. “I’m Johanna. Pleasure.”

“Finnick. Likewise,” says the man, shaking her hand and jabbing his other elbow into Peeta’s ribs. “Well, my charge will talk your ear off about the most boring shit imaginable. Sedimentary rocks. Polluted runoff. Owl pellets… But he's got a good heart, y’know?”

Peeta and Katniss both roll their eyes. Their best friends grin, evil glints in their eyes. Then Johanna “accidentally” trips and pushes Katniss into Peeta's chest. She faceplants between his pectorals and his hands leap up instinctually to steady her. Face burning, Katniss reels backwards and makes a point to stomp on Johanna’s foot with the reinforced heel of her hunting boot.

Peeta smiles at Katniss. Not the self-satisfied smirk he wears when they argue, but a real smile. Sweet, with just a touch of shyness. “Oh, actually. It's good we ran into each other. I got you these.” He reaches behind him and grabs a bouquet of fresh yellow primroses.

“What?” she says dumbly.

“For Prim,” Peeta clarifies. “You mentioned she was coming to visit the other day. I was going to drop them off with Hazelle for you, but now you're here so…”

Did she mention that? Katniss racks her brain. She’s surprised he even remembers. It must have been no more than a passing comment.

“Um, thanks?” she says, her voice lifting up at the end as if in question.

Twin pink blooms appear on Peeta’s cheeks. “It's nothing.”

Katniss takes the flowers from him and opens her tote bag to place them inside.

Peeta is smiling again. “That's wild!” he says, turning to the side to reveal the bag slung over his broad shoulder. It's from the West Panem Public Radio annual fundraising drive. Katniss likes to listen to their podcasts on her long runs. “Same tote.”

“Huh. Yeah,” she murmurs, oddly breathily. Now her eyes are fixated on his shoulder, the way his freckled bicep strains against his white tee. She imagines she could swing from his arm like the thick branch of her favorite oak.

Get. A. Grip, she chastises herself with alarm.

“Caesar Flickerman is a national treasure,” says Peeta, his voice bringing her back to earth with a thud. It feels like falling out of a tree.

Katniss shoots Peeta a hesitant smile. Caesar Flickerman is the blue-haired radio personality with an iconic reedy voice and a gift for setting his guests at ease. “If they ever take This Panem Life off the air, I may perish,” she admits, while Peeta nods his solemn agreement.

“Same.”

They stare at each other and the rest of the world fades to white noise. Somewhere is the fuzzy background Johanna excuses herself to admire the tree stumps carved into woodland creatures at the booth next door and Finnick receives a suspiciously contrived phone call from Annie. Something about a flat tire. Looking at his carefully manicured nails, Katniss doubts that this man has any clue how to use a car jack, but she decides not to question it.

Peeta rubs the back of his neck. Katniss bites her lip. Then he says, “Hey, if you're not busy, want to take a walk? In the woods? The way you spoke about the forest that day at the Town Hall…it stuck with me. Was thinking you could show me? Through your eyes?”

— — —

***Peeta***

Peeta can't believe she agreed. They are now making their way together through the bustling crowd of shoppers. Dads with canvas bags full of kale and vendors hawking gallon jars of sauerkraut keep sending them pitching into each other at regular intervals. Every time her skin brushes his it's as if she is flint and he is sawdust. Combustible. A ticking time bomb. He tries not to think about the feeling of her face against his chest, the way she stiffened at first contact, then relaxed into it, just for a second. It made his mind start galloping uncontrollably toward the edge of a mountain peak, feelings and impossible possibilities rolling down the steep, snowy slope, picking up speed and debris until it felt like nothing could stop it. Not insecurities. Not doubts. Not even his mother’s voice in his head.

“Over here,” says Katniss. She tugs at his arm, dislodging the hand he had tucked in his pocket specifically to avoid the risk of touching her. The giant snowball pitches further down the mountain.

Katniss slides her cool palm into his embarrassingly sweaty one and leads him toward the exit. The wind catches a wisp of hair that has escaped her braid and it tickles his forearm. Peeta tries not to visibly wince as the snowball plummets completely out of his control, demolishing a mountain chalet.

They finally break free of the throng near a bank of city bicycles. Katniss doesn’t let go of his hand right away, so he takes a reckless chance and gives it a little squeeze. She shifts a bit closer, the bare skin of their forearms pressing together. It’s electric.

“Let’s take bikes.” she finally says, releasing his hand to pull out her phone. In a practiced motion, she unlocks one of the cycles and pulls it out of the docking station. She looks up at him expectantly.

Peeta blinks back. He runs a hand over the back of his neck, which he knows is on fire, and not from the mid-morning sun. “Oh. Um. Not the bus?”

“This is faster,” she says. She snaps the kickstand down on her bike and heads back to the docking station. “Here, we can use my account–”

“No,” interrupts Peeta, catching her shoulder. Oh god, this is excruciating. He focuses on a point somewhere over her left shoulder to avoid her steely gaze. “I’m not so great at cycling,” he grits out. Understatement of the century.

Katniss stills. He prepares himself for the barbs, the humiliation. But all she says is, “You don’t know how to ride a bike?” It’s not a mocking tone, just curious.

Peeta shifts the weight off his prosthetic leg. “Yeah, um. Things weren’t…great at home growing up. Missed a few milestones.”

Katniss nods in understanding. “I missed some, too.” She stares at him, unflinching. Then she announces, “I’ll teach you.”

“Wh-what?” he stutters.

“Peeta, I’m a great teacher,” she says, hands finding her hips. “You don’t believe me?”

Peeta can’t believe how adorable she looks like that, all flushed and petulant. He doesn’t want her to teach him cycling. He wants to learn everything about her. He wants to know about her missed milestones and to help her find them. He wants to know her favorite song so he can turn up the volume whenever it comes on the radio. And…he wants to know if she tastes like that Burt’s Bees chapstick she’s always putting on. How she likes to be touched. What she looks like when she first wakes up, all mussed and foggy-brained from a good night's sleep. What it would be like to hold her all night…

Peeta shakes his head. He supposes cycling lessons may be the only way to find out. “I believe you’re a great teacher,” he tells her. “Not sure what kind of student I’ll be though.”

Katniss grins and actually claps her hands together in anticipation of the task. “Look, I once taught Tony–you know that hulking guy who works at the butcher’s? The one they call Brutus?” Peeta nods. “I taught him how to french braid his kid’s hair after his divorce. Dude basically has meat cleavers for fingers, but now he can whip out pretty decent pig-tail braids.”

— — —

It turns out, learning to ride a bike is not so bad. Especially not when it means Peeta has an excuse to have Katniss Everdeen pressed up against his torso, gripping the back of his bicycle seat in a way that makes it impossible for her hand not to accidentally graze his ass, once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth, he wonders giddily if it isn’t an accident.

And somehow after a lot of cursing (him) and a lot of coaxing (her), he finally manages to get the hang of it. He’s wobbly, sure, but he’s moving forward in a reasonably straight line. It feels freeing, actually, to glide down the bike path like this, the wind buffeting the curls off his forehead, the sounds of the world around him flaring up as he approaches and then fading away as he whizzes past. His cheeks hurt from smiling just about as much as his right hip bone does after several spectacular falls onto the grassy margin of the trail. And when they finally pull up at the main trailhead of the forest, the radiant, windswept smile Katniss gives him is enough to mend any bruise–to his hip bone or his ego.

They head down the wooded path, the sound of their footsteps softened by the blanket of pine needles spread before them. Peeta’s left leg is acting up. Probably from the unfamiliar angles on the bicycle. He’s trying not to limp, but Katniss’ eagle eyes are narrowed at his uneven gait.

“Have you tried yarrow for your leg?” she asks abruptly.

Peeta balks. He hopes she didn't notice his prosthesis earlier. There were a couple of times his pant leg rode up and he wondered if maybe she had seen. Bullseye knows about the prosthesis. Is Katniss onto him? He decides to play dumb. “Huh?”

“Your leg,” she repeats. “I see you limping sometimes. My mom used to use yarrow for aches and pains. There. See?” Katniss points to a knee high plant with clusters of flat-topped white flowers. “You grind it down. Make a poultice. You should try it.”

“Okay. Yeah, I'll try. Thanks,” says Peeta, relieved. Then he pauses before adding, “You don't talk about your mom much.”

Katniss stiffens and Peeta wonders if he's gone too far. She yanks up a blade of tall grass and begins shredding it. “She took my dad's death hard. Major depression. I think she had it before, you know? A mild form. Undiagnosed. But that was the last straw for her. She couldn't do much of anything for years. Grief consumed her.”

“Katniss,” whispers Peeta. His voice cracks a little, as if the sound of his heart breaking for her has somehow escaped his lips. “That sounds really hard.”

She shrugs. “It was what is was. We got by ok. Hazelle and her son, Gale, helped. Haymitch, too, when he was half sober. It's why Prim and I are so close. I practically raised her.”

“That's special,” he tells her. “She's lucky to have you.”

She doesn't say anything for a long time, just knocks her shoulder against his. He responds by wrapping an arm around her waist, tucking her into his side. They keep walking because it's easier than looking at each other with their emotions running this high.

“Prim’s going to love those flowers,” says Katniss, finally breaking the silence. He's relieved to hear a smile in her voice.

He gazes down at her, wishing he could bend forward and kiss the top of her head. It would be so easy. It would feel so good. “I'm glad.”

She hums contentedly and doesn't try to remove herself from his side even though it's kind of awkward to walk like this. They hop over a gnarly root and Peeta almost eats it. Katniss laughs and he hip-checks her playfully. God, he doesn't want this feeling to end. But Peeta knows he can't keep up this ruse with her much longer. He has to set the wheels motion. He owes her that.

“Can I ask you something else?” he ventures.

“Mmhmm.”

Peeta hesitates. She sounds so dreamy and relaxed that he hates to burst her bubble, but it’s now or never so…“Whatever happened with that guy? Your pen pal?”

The spell is immediately broken. Just like he knew it would be. Her eyes snap to his, flashing dangerously. “What about him?” she demands.

“Nothing. I just. You seemed upset that night when he didn't show.”

She wriggles out of his grasp and runs her fingers down her braid. Her nervous tic.

“Yeah, well. I was. He was–” she searches for the right word. “Not who I thought he was, I guess.”

“Maybe he wasn’t ready for you,” Peeta suggests in a low voice.

Katniss scoffs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, maybe he realized how special it was–what you had together. And he didn’t know how to handle it.” Peeta swallows thickly. “Totally cowardly. I’m not trying to make excuses for him or anything. It’s just. A guy would be an idiot to try to start something with you if he hadn’t worked out his own shit. Made things right.”

Katniss gazes steadily at him, something unreadable flickering across her face. Does she know? Did she guess?

“I don’t mind helping people through their shit, Peeta,” she says, enunciating carefully. Then her brows knit as if she’s worried they have jumped into the deep end of a pool and she’s not sure if they’ve learned to swim yet. She makes a transparent attempt to lighten the mood. “I mean, I clean the toilets at an archery and axe-throwing establishment that hosts birthday parties for pre-teens.”

Peeta knows he’s supposed to laugh. It’s their thing to make jokes and sling half-hearted insults at each other, but all he really wants to do is tell her how he feels. That he admires her resilience and the way her face goes all soft when she mentions her sister. That he wants to wrap her up in a soft blanket and feed her grilled cheese sandwiches and put her somewhere safe where she won’t have to be so goddamn resilient on her own anymore. That she’s made him feel like himself for the first time since his accident. So he doesn’t laugh. He just says, “You deserve someone who would help you through yours, too.”

Katniss smiles softly. “Thanks.”

They have made a full loop around the nature trail by now. It's well past lunchtime, and though Katniss' stomach grumbles audibly, they still tarry at the trailhead. It’s time for Peeta’s final move. “Here, um, have you seen this?” he says as casually as possible. He hands her a printed flyer. “Updates on the nature preserve.”

“And here I thought we were having a tender moment,” Katniss snarks, snatching the paper out of his hands and rolling her eyes.

Peeta drops his voice an octave, straightening his glasses with mock seductiveness. “Well, I wouldn't want to risk you succumbing to my charms.”

Katniss folds her arms. “I watched you fall–in slow motion–off a bicycle and into a rose bush. I think I'm safe from your charms.”

“Heyyy, I think that had an aphrodisiac effect. Come closer.” Peeta beckons to her and she humors him by leaning in. “You see?” he says, demonstrating a deep inhale. “I smell like Miss Dior from those roses.”

Katniss plucks off a thorny stem still lodged in his blond locks and lets her hand linger, twisting one of his curls between her fingers. “I think you better quit while you're ahead, Romeo.” She tugs at the lock of hair and he shivers. He wants to pin her against a tree and let her pull harder.

But instead, she turns on her heel and marches off in the direction of the Seam. “Bye, Peeta Bread!” she calls over shoulder, sashaying her hips in a way that is both mesmerizing and wildly unnecessary.

Oh. She knows exactly what she's doing.

— — —

***Katniss***

Katniss tosses the nature preserve flyer into a trashcan the first chance she gets. She doesn't want to know what's in it. She wants to hold on to this fleeting feeling of contentment for a little while longer. She wants to forget about everything for once and just let Peeta be the man who was vulnerable with her, who told her she mattered, that she deserved better.

She doesn't want an enemy. She wants…him. The realization hits her like a shot of espresso. It fizzes in her veins, awakening every nerve ending in her body. Katniss is suddenly desperate to put as much distance between herself and Peeta as possible before she does something stupid, like run back there and press her lips to his like she's wanted to do all day. She wants to tell him that he does, in fact, smell a little like roses, but also like fresh air and something distinctly him–warm, like the spices in a fresh apple pie. But Katniss is not going to do that.

She's not.

— — —

By the time she gets home, Prim is already lounging on the couch shooting the shit with Johanna. She launches herself at Katniss before she can even get the door closed. “Alright, you human barnacle,” grumbles Katniss, while secretly relishing the way her sister clings to her just as tightly as she did when she was eight years old.

The sisters flit from topic to topic like hummingbirds in a flower garden. Johanna’s head ping pongs between the two of them trying to keep up until she finally gives up and pulls on her headphones. Prim is doing great in her residency program. Obviously. She’s top of her class, and the only downside is one dickhead surgeon that gives them all hell and a couple of catty ladies at the intake desk (“Angela got pissed once because I forgot to wish her cat happy birthday!). By the time they stop laughing their asses off and come up for air, the shadows are already growing long outside the apartment window and Katniss has to click on the flea market lamp on the side table.

“Oh!” she cries, suddenly diving for the tote bag she tossed unceremoniously beside the door. “I almost forgot. These are for you.” Katniss pulls out the bouquet of primroses with a flourish. She stands up, cracks her back, and goes into the kitchen to fill up a vase with water.

“Aww,” squeals Prim. “Thanks, Sister.”

Johanna, who has been scrolling mindlessly on her phone for the past hour, perks up at the sound. She pulls out an ear bud.

“Save your breath,” she says, smirking. “Those aren’t from her. They’re from her boy toy.”

There is a thump from the living room and Prim runs sock-footed into the kitchen, sliding across the tile floor until she slams into the island. “Stop! Katniss. I thought you said he ghosted you!”

Katniss heaves a sigh, snatching the bouquet from her sister and arranging the blooms in the vase. Then she stomps back into the living room, flipping Johanna the bird with both hands. Prim trails after her, poking her mercilessly in the ribs until she gives in.

“He's not my boy toy. And it's not 007 either–at least…” she trails off, not ready to give voice to the nagging suspicion she's been having all day. The feeling that she’s known Peeta longer and more deeply than she thought. “Nevermind,” she says hurriedly. “He's just this guy I met. From the Conservation Department.”

Prim wrinkles her nose. “Nerdy McButt-licker?!”

Johanna busts out laughing so loudly that their crotchety upstairs neighbor pounds on the floor to shut them up. Katniss winces at the nickname. Ok, so maybe she had been a little harsh. She massages her temples. “That's the one.”

“I thought you hated him. Didn't the hunting restrictions go into effect this week?”

“Yeah. They did. But he's…I may have misjudged him, ok? He was kind of an asshole at first, but he was trying to help. Even Greasy Sae thinks it was a good idea. Says she'll get more business if tourism ticks up.” Katniss looks up at Prim, feeling sullen. She hates admitting she was wrong. And she doesn't like the wicked grin spreading across Prim's face either.

“Shut it,” Katniss grumbles preemptively.

“I have nothing to say,” says Prim solemnly. Then she drops her voice dramatically, “Just, blink twice if you're under duress.”

Katniss lunges at her belly in the spot she is most ticklish. Prim squeals like a stuck pig. The upstairs neighbor stomps. And Johanna cracks open another bottle of wine. “This is going to be an excellent night,” she announces.

While Johanna and Prim are distracted by the wine glasses, Katniss pulls out the phone that has just buzzed in her pocket.

An unflattering, poorly-lit photo she recognizes from the state government ID card Peeta wears on a lanyard around his neck stares up at her. She claps a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. Well, that's a Nerdy McButtlicker mug shot if she ever saw one. The text says:

Thought you might want to use this for target practice tonight. Sorry about the preserve. Yours, P

— — —

When Prim leaves a few days later, it’s like watching the Wizard of Oz in reverse. The whimsical, brightly colored world fades into drab black and white and Katniss returns to her routine. Wake up. Brush teeth. Wrestle with hair. Stop at Hazelle’s for coffee. Try to stop Haymitch from scaring away their customers. Second coffee. Try to stop men eager to impress their dates from injuring anyone with an axe. Go home. Frozen dinner. Read before bed. Repeat.

She still hasn’t heard from 007, but it doesn’t sting so much anymore. In fact, she’s oddly relieved. Because the way she’s been acting around Peeta. The way she’s been feeling. It felt almost like cheating. Sad, when you think about it, to be worried about cheating on a man in your phone who may or may not be catfishing you, especially when the other party in this equation is a man with whom your biggest romantic transgression is prolonged eye contact.

They bump into each other all the time. Sometimes it’s totally random. Sometimes she orchestrates it like a woodland bird performing an unusual mating ritual. Maybe sometimes he orchestrates it, considering the number of times it happens. Today it is in the town center. Katniss had agreed to help Mags hang up flyers for her new Zumba class for seniors. She’s pinning one to the bulletin board emblazoned with the words “Shake your tailfeather while you’ve still got one!” when Peeta approaches.

His eyes twinkle at the poster, then he turns them to her. “How was the visit with your sister?”

“Oh, it was fun,” she says. Here he goes remembering to ask after Prim again… Peeta’s either a master manipulator who has zeroed in on the one person who makes Katniss crumple like a paper doll, or he actually wants to know about the things that are important to her. She’s not sure which one is more unsettling, but the second option makes her chest ache. In the good way.

“We do this thing where we choose an episode of Gilmore Girls and then eat everything they do on the show.”

He grins. “Wow. And you live to tell the tale.”

“I know right?” Katniss stands on tip-toe in an attempt to slap another poster onto the top of the City Hall notice board.

“Lemme guess,” says Peeta, snaking his arm up hers to help her reach. His body presses tantalizingly against her back and she can feel his breath on her neck. It smells like peppermint. “Two–no three cups of coffee. A doughnut maybe? Or Waffles. Some kinda sweet breakfast food from Luke’s anyway. And then I’m gonna say if they watch a movie in the episode there’s gonna be popcorn, Red Vines, some gummy bears and…. several pizzas. They always have multiple pizzas in the shot even when it’s just Lorelai and Rory.”

Katniss gapes at him. “You’re a Gilmore girlie?”

Peeta looks offended. “Duh. What’s not to like?” He starts ticking off reasons on his thick fingers. She is transfixed by them in a way that makes her squeeze her thighs together. “The banter. The women-led cast where the women actually talk–to each other. The sublime early aughts pop culture references?”

“You know, you’re a lot different than I thought you were,” she says, leaning back against the cool marble of the City Hall building and smiling up at him.

It was an off-hand comment, but something tightens in Peeta’s expression. He blows out a long, slow breath like a steam train coming to a halt. “I’m not sure which version is actually me.”

She cocks her head. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, the me you first met? Remember that guy? Rigid. Snarky. Stick up his ass?”

“You forgot ‘self-righteous,’” she says, poking him in the ribs.

Peeta snorts. “Precisely. Well, you know I told you about the health stuff? I’ve been kind of angry since then. I hate it. I’m working on it.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Anyway, I just threw myself into work. Something I could control. I thought–I dunno–that if I could do something good. Save the forest, stick it to Snow Corp, that it would make me…redeemable. Good again. Does that make any sense?”

“Peeta,” she says, putting a hand on his forearm and squeezing. “That’s heavy.”

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “And look where it got me. Made an enemy out of the prettiest girl in Stars Hollow.” The corner of his mouth twitches up, but the smile doesn’t quite ignite his eyes.

Katniss squeezes his arm again. “Well, Jess was really the best for Rory anyway, right? Even with all the snark and swagger.” She holds up a hand to stave off any rebuttal. “And don’t fight me on this. I’ll die on this hill.”

— — —

Later that day, Katniss does a double take at a new message on her phone. It’s him.

007 Hey there. I know this is weird. I wouldn’t blame you if you hate me. But I have to try… I’m sorry I ghosted you like that

Her emotions are spinning around in her head wheel-of-fortune style. The wheel ticks past anger, to hurt, to uncertainty, then comes to a stuttering stop somewhere between longing and fear. Katniss’ hands start to tremble. It’s impossible, and yet…if she’s right?

Katniss Everdeen Why didn’t you reach out sooner? I thought something terrible had happened

007 I know, I was a coward

Katniss bites her lip. A coward. Someone else said that to her recently.

Katniss Everdeen What have you been doing this whole time? Besides being a coward i mean 007 I was working on something. A project. Look, you owe me nothing, but if you’ll allow me to try again, I swear I’ll spend every moment repairing what I’ve broken. I’ll make it my vocation to make you happy.

Her hands are full-on shaking now. Katniss doesn’t even know if she could type out a reply if she tried.

007 And I’ll repaint those off-center bullseyes, too I’m STILL getting nightmares about those…

Something between a laugh and a cry wrenches free from her throat and she decides it’s useless to play coy. This would have happened anyway. She replies in one word.

Katniss Everdeen Where?

— — —

Katniss opts to walk to the meeting point even though it’s a good six miles away. She needs the time to think. Both Prim and Johanna have already given their opinions on the matter. Johanna (predictably) said “hell yes” to the meeting. She thrives in chaos and is practically salivating at the promise of secondhand embarrassment. Prim ( also predictably) has given her usual bad advice, which is to say, she has given Katniss a perfectly equal number of pros and cons. If you weighed them on a scale, there would not be a single gram deviation. It’s good that he apologized and didn’t try to make excuses for himself. But it’s bad to start off on a shaky foundation. It’s good that he wants to make it up to you. But it’s bad that he was so cryptic about that so-called “project.” It’s good that you still felt some spark when he reached back out. But it’s bad that there’s someone else giving you sparks, too. Maybe bigger ones. Maybe ones that could start a fire…

Katniss has reached the town center now and smiles to herself as she passes Mags’ neon Zumba poster. There’s a young woman there pinning a notice to the board. She turns when she hears footsteps approaching and Katniss realizes her face is familiar.

The woman must feel it too because she suddenly snaps her fingers in realization. “Katniss Everdeen!” she exclaims, her shock of black curls bobbing. There’s a lanyard around her neck with a government ID card. “I thought that was you.”

“Oh. Rue, right? Hi.” It’s Peeta’s coworker. The one always with him when he was doing forest canopy surveys.

“Isn't it great?” Her face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Sorry, what?”

Rue jabs her finger at the notice in response.

ATTENTION Pursuant to Chapter 10, Section 4(c) of the West Panem Code of Protection for Local and Indigenous Livelihoods, subsistence hunting, fishing and gathering is permitted in the lands designated as protected wilderness area for citizens (a) enrolled in native Panem tribes, and/or (b) West Panem citizens residing within 30 miles in any direction of the perimeter of the Paylor Regional Forest.

Katniss lets out a long breath. A rich, resonant laugh echoes somewhere deep in the recesses of her memory. Her father's laugh. She can almost smell the woodsmoke on his leather jacket, the one she still wears for comfort when she feels alone. She can picture herself in two dark braids instead of one skipping down the trail in front of him, turning over mossy rocks to find the best bait worms, learning how to identify the berries that were safe to eat. The tang of them exploding over her tongue and staining her round cheeks. Pressure builds behind her eyes. Happy tears.

“Wow,” she whispers, dumbfounded. “Guess Peeta must be disappointed.”

Rue frowns. “Disappointed? Are you kidding me?” At Katniss' blank look, Rue continues. “He was a man on a mission after that Town Hall meeting. Spent all his free time in the legal section of the state archives until he found a loophole. Our boss was not happy. Peeta almost got fired over it.”

Katniss opens her mouth, then closes it. She is speechless.

“Peeta didn't tell you?” asks Rue.

Her mind hitches on the word Peeta. Peeta found a loophole. Peeta argued with his boss over it. Peeta.

“I-I have to go!”

And then she's running.

— — —

It's a miracle she makes it to the meeting spot at all. Katniss is so distracted that she had a close call with both a delivery truck and a gaggle of angry Canadian geese. She pushes the sweaty flyaways off her forehead as she skids around the bend. It has to be him. It has to be, right?

And. It. is.

There, leaning up against a wooden sign board at the place the conservation department is breaking ground for the new nature center, is Peeta Mellark.

It's hot today and he's wearing a pair of khaki shorts, his prosthetic limb crossed casually over his other leg. His hair is a complete bird's nest, curls sticking up here and there, just like she likes it. He's staring off into the middle distance, looking pensieve. It's the aggressive honking of one of the stupid geese that finally causes him to look up, and when he does, it's like Katniss is seeing the sun for the first time after a long, cold winter.

Katniss stumbles forward, still in a daze, until she's close enough to touch him. But she doesn't dare. Not yet.

“Is this real?” she whispers, her breathing ragged from the run.

“Real,” he confirms softly. He lifts a tentative hand and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers glancing across her jaw. Her breath catches and she leans into his touch, orienting herself to his warmth like a sunflower.

“You–it’s you,” she repeats, still unable to fully grasp it.

“Yeah, I…” Peeta rubs the back of his neck. His face is open and vulnerable. “Are you upset?”

She shakes her head. “I wanted it to be you,” she admits, her voice cracking on the last syllable.

The tension in his broad shoulders releases visibly, and he lets out a relieved laugh. He drops his hands to the tops of Katniss' arms, running them down her olive skin until they catch her wrists. Her heart gallops. “Oh, thank God,” he breathes, pulling her closer, his thumbs on her thrumming pulse points.

“You found a loophole.”

Peeta nods. “But that’s not the best part.”

“It's not?” she murmurs. Everything is happening too fast. The forest. 007. Peeta. All of it swirling around her like a thick fog, confusing her senses.

Peeta lifts the corner of the heavy tarp draped over the signboard behind him. In bold black lettering it reads:

FUTURE HOME OF THE JACK EVERDEEN MEMORIAL NATURE CENTER

Katniss gasps. Peeta comes up behind her as she stares up at the board and rests his chin on her shoulder.

“From your reaction, I'm guessing you didn't read that flyer I gave you, huh?” he says gently, his face so close to hers that she can feel the five o’clock shadow on his cheek.

Katniss shakes her head, then runs a trembling finger over her father's name.

“Typical,” he says, his grin widening against her neck, that old touch of swagger creeping back into his voice.

She twists around, pleased to hear his sharp intake of breath at the sudden sensation of her breasts pressed against his chest. Close. They're so close. “I wouldn't test your luck right now, 007, master of deceit.”

“Well noted,” he laughs, then looks up at her shyly through impossibly long, pale lashes. “Do you like it? There was a community vote, and I submitted your dad's name. He won by a huge margin.”

“I can't believe you did this,” she mutters.

He shrugs. “It was the right thing to do. So–so I don't want you to feel like you owe me something. I know that's a trigger.” He takes one of Katniss' hands in both of his, brushing his fingers over her knuckles tenderly. “I would have done it anyway,” he assures, those guileless blue eyes imploring her to believe. “Even if you…if I…if you and I…” Peeta grips his curls and lets out a frustrated little growl. “Look, what I'm trying to say is– would you take another chance on a common dandelion?”

Katniss doesn't respond. She can't. She's rooted to the spot, silent as an oak.

“Katniss?” he prods, brushing the back of his knuckles over her cheekbone. Her heart is pounding out of her chest, but she still can't move. She wills herself to wake up like one of Tolkien’s Ents.

Peeta gives her a playful smile. “Someone once told me dandelions are an excellent source of food, if you're peckish.” He waggles his eyebrows at her suggestively and the sheer silliness of it breaks her out of her stupor. But then Peeta catches her wrists again and winds them around his neck possessively, and there is nothing silly about that. She twists her fingers into the curls at his nape and tugs, eliciting a desperate groan. “Shit, Katniss I–” he begins, but she puts a finger to his lips.

“I want you to shut up and kiss me, Peeta Mellark,” she whispers.

Peeta's eyes go dark and unfocused. His Adam's apple bobs in the thick column of his throat. But even with the tension building between them, he can't resist one last jest. “Right in front of your dad?” he whispers, nodding at the signboard.

Katniss' laugh rings out for a mere second before he swallows the sound beneath the press of his soft, eager lips. Her hands find his firm chest and fist the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. He slides his hands into her hair, fingers curling around the back of her head, thumbs on her cheek bones. The kiss is everything.

“Peeta,” she gasps, as he tips her chin back for better access, coaxing her mouth open to receive him. He goes slow, so deliciously slow. Every movement deliberate. Every stroke of his tongue a promise. I will make it my vocation to make you happy, he had said. And she believes it. And she wants it. Someone to hold. Someone to protect and to be protected by. For the first time in her life, it all feels possible.

When they finally break apart, lips red and puffy, hair mussed, he peppers kisses across the freckles on the bridge of her nose. “God, I love Panem in the spring,” he declares, drawing her into his chest and burying his face in her hair.

“Me too,” she hums, planting a kiss on his pectoral.

— — —

They walk back towards town hand-in-hand, their conversation spilling forth like a raging mountain stream after a snowmelt. “How did you find out it was me?” She wants to know. “When did you guess?” He wonders. “So Finnick and Johanna knew about this all along?…Rat bastards!”

And then the million dollar question. “What are the odds that out of all the wrong numbers I could have texted, it would have been yours?” Katniss muses.

“I don’t know,” says Peeta reflectively. He slows his pace and then stops all together, kissing her softly right in the middle of the footpath. “But they were certainly in my favor.”

Peeta bites the side of his thumb, considering. He supposes he fits the bill in the sense that he is considerate, respects boundaries, and is well-mannered, maybe to a fault… But the term “gentleman” also feels weirdly co-opted by misogynistic assholes who think women should fall at their feet if they hold open a door or pick up the tab at dinner. 

Peeta Mellark Actually, yes. But not in a condescending way Um I hope Bullseye Quick, which Jane Austen beau best represents you?

Peeta lets out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Then he scans his mental catalog of the author’s works. He’s read most of them, but Pride and Prejudice was the most recent. And the 2005 film adaptation is one of Annie’s favorites, so it's been background noise in the apartment lately. Her and Finnick typically rewind and replay sections several times when they get…distracted. 

Peeta Mellark Ugh putting me on the spot. It’s probably Mr. Bingley

Peeta winces a little as he types it–it’s not the sexiest answer– but if you can’t be honest with the perfect stranger in your phone, then when can you be? The fact is, historically, he’s been a Bingley. Optimistic. Affable. Quick to fall in love….

Bullseye Mmm golden retriever energy. I see… Peeta Mellark Am I putting you off the meeting? Bullseye Nah I can get behind it as long as you don't jump all over me and lick my face 😜 Peeta Mellark I make no promises. Depends on if you have treats in your pockets Actually, lately I've been a little sassy. It's kinda giving Elizabeth Bennet Bullseye Well that works out. I have major Darcy vibes 

Peeta smiles idiotically at the phone, his heart feeling lighter than it has in days. They agree on a time and place to meet before Bullseye says goodbye so that she can get on her twice weekly Facetime call with her sister, Prim. It’s odd, Peeta thinks, that he knows so many intimate details about her–her deepest fears, her hopes, her dreams, even the name of her beloved sister, but at the same time he doesn’t know her at all. It feels surreal that in less than one week this all will change. 

___ ___ ___

***Katniss***

“So you’re really going to meet this guy?” comes Prim’s skeptical voice over the phone. Virtual Prim scrunches up her nose. “You, Katniss Everdeen, queen of introversion, princess of canceled plans, lady of constant solitude?”

Katniss scoffs. “Hey, I meet plenty of people. I’ll have you know I was propositioned by every single member of a bachelor party last night at Abernathy’s.”

“Ew. You know that drunk meatheads sexually harassing you at your workplace is not what I mean.” She plops her head on her hand, the giant poof of her blonde bun bobbing on her head. “It’s just–this feels so out of character. How do you know he’s not some creep?”

“Prim, he told me he’s Mr. Bingley. He didn’t even hesitate. How many creeps do you know that have Mr. Bingley at the tips of their tongue?” Katniss says matter-of-factly, as if this settles things. She pulls a few items out of the fridge so that she can wipe down the bottom shelf. Katniss can’t sit still while she’s talking on the phone–it’s either anxious pacing that gets her a noise complaint from the crotchety old man downstairs, or cleaning.

Prim still looks unconvinced. “This isn’t because of Gale, is it?” she asks quietly.

At this, Katniss lets out a snort. She swipes her cleaning rag over the white plastic surface and then replaces the contents of the shelf, wondering vaguely how she has ended up with three half-eaten jars of pickles. “Definitely not. Prim, I know Gale and I dragged things out, but that relationship was over months before it was official. We’ve been over this. There’s no one I’d rather bag a buck with, but life isn’t a hunting trip. Just because you grow up skinning rabbits with someone doesn’t mean you’re compatible romantic partners.”

The corner of Prim’s lip lifts. She looks relieved. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“Anyway, this isn’t serious.” Katniss continues. “And I don’t see how it's any creepier than a Tinder date. And… I dunno, he’s nice. And I could use a friend right now.”

Prim’s face softens. “I wish I could be there. Especially with everything going on with the woods.”

“I know little duck,” says Katniss, pausing her frenetic cleaning to look her sister in the eye. Prim looks so grown up in her Panem U hoodie over a pair of scrubs, her modest apartment in the background, the brown men’s loafers of her live-in boyfriend visible by the door. She’s doing her residency at one of the most prestigious hospitals in the country and is well on her way to becoming–in Katniss’ opinion–the best pediatrician Panem has ever seen. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. I’m so proud of you. You know that, right?”

Prim gives her a long-suffering look reminiscent of her teenage years. “No, Katniss. Not once have you told me this. Not once. ONCE!”

Katniss barks out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah…”

“Look, will you just take Johanna with you or something? She can wait outside in case things go south.”

***

Johanna is entirely too gleeful the next day when Katniss broaches the subject during their lunch break. Her angular face splits into a grin so saucy they could probably serve it at the Olive Garden. The fact that Johanna is this excited sends alarm bells off in the back of her mind and Katniss immediately tries to backpedal.

“Maybe this is a bad idea–”

“This is a GREAT idea,” cries Johanna, actually rubbing her hands together in anticipation of Katniss’ inevitable mortification. Johanna puts a bracing hand on her shoulder and peers down at her through a curtain of purple tinged hair. “Plus it’ll take your mind off the hot nerd from the Conservation Department, since you seem so determined to hate him. Or on second thought, maybe it will be so terrible that it’ll drive you straight into his arms. Either way, I’m seated.”

Katniss groans, feeling her cheeks flush without her permission. “I do NOT want to think about Peeta Mellark right now.”

It’s true, she doesn’t want to think about him, especially not in the same sentence as 007. For some reason it feels weird, like the two of them can’t coexist in the same reality, like they are on separate planes in some metaverse. When Katniss tries to examine this feeling, she comes up empty. Honestly, feeling her feelings has never been her forte. At least not since her dad died and Katniss' mom sank into a deep depression that held her captive somewhere between life and her husband's grave. So that's why it's odd, these prickles of emotion, the heat that rises in her cheeks and pools in her core when she thinks of Peeta Mellark, her nemesis. And likewise, the twinge of guilt, as if she's betraying the man in her phone. The one who seems to see her soul. She just needs to meet him already, it feels like it's the only way to quell this confusing storm raging inside her.

***

Katniss lingers outside the agreed upon spot, a cozy wine bar in the regional capitol, suitably far enough from her home town that if 007 turns out to be a catfishing weirdo, she can more easily block his number and fade into obscurity. She smooths down her forest green sweater that Prim says accents her curves, and twists the end of her braid with restless fingers. She almost left her hair down flowing around her shoulders, but it seemed like trying too hard, especially since she had already done something out of the ordinary by swiping mascara on her short eyelashes. She had always wished they were long and luscious like her father's in the old photo hung over the mantle at home. And then an intrusive thought pokes her like a pesky stinging nettle–Peeta Mellark has long lashes, too. She accidentally noticed them the other day at the Hob after she chucked a cheese bun at him. Peeta had blinked those lashes in surprise and she wondered how they didn't get tangled up. Katniss rubs her temples in frustration and puffs out a breath of air. Stop thinking about him! She reminds herself.

Johanna clears her throat from her hiding spot in the alley where she has a good view of the interior through a window if she stands on a milk crate. She jerks her head toward the door and makes a “what are you waiting for” gesture with her hand. 

Katniss takes a deep breath and pushes open the heavy oak door. The sound of clinking glasses and conversation fill her ears. The place is nice, but not ostentatious. She's not surprised 007 has good taste. It's also quiet thanks to the plush cushions on the furniture and the intimate set up of the tables, nestled into alcoves, between lush potted plants. Her heart buoys thinking he clearly remembered that she gets overstimulated in a crowd. Katniss selects a small booth in full view of the window into the alley. A sweet-smelling candle is flickering on the tabletop and there is a painting of a meadow full of wildflowers on the wall. She can't stop staring at it, marveling at the way she can almost feel the wind rustling through the swaying grass and the sun on her face. Longing bubbles and fizzes in her chest, longing for her father, longing for the girl she used to be by his side in their meadow. 

Katniss shakes herself from the vivid memories, pulls out her worn copy of The Hobbit and a single dandelion plucked from the lawn outside Abernathy's, and places them prominently on the table. She smiles a secret smile feeling the candy bar in her jeans pocket, a subtle nod to their golden retriever banter. He'll surely find it hilarious. And maybe, thinks Katniss with a shiver, maybe she won't mind if he does bound into her personal space. She's surprised that the thought thrills rather than terrifies her. 

Then Katniss waits. She waits. And waits. And waits.

Every time she hears the faint tinkle of the bell above the door she perks up, adjusting the book and flower, hoping it's him. And each time it's not, her heart grows heavier.

— — —

***Peeta***

“Finnick, so help me god, if you ruin this for me I am going to tell everyone that you sleep in a silk bonnet!” Peeta grits out, casting a disparaging look at his best friend’s carefully styled bronze locks.

Finnick scoffs. “Go right ahead, I'm not ashamed of my beauty routine.” He examines his nails coyly, then gives Peeta a noogie. 

“Gah!” yelps Peeta, desperately smoothing down his hair. He actually put in effort today, used some goopy product that Rue recommended for curls. He glances nervously at the door, worried the scene Finnick is creating will draw attention. “I told you I don't need a chaperone.”

“Pfft,” tuts Finnick. “Not a chaperone, I'm your second. Y’know, like in case the “woman” you're sexting with is actually some burly catfisher and you have to duel him or something.”

“I'm not sexting with her!” Peeta protests, dropping his voice an octave on the sexting part. There's a little old lady waiting for the bus on the corner and she is giving them the hairy eyeball. “And unfortunately I left my dueling sword at home, so if you'll excuse me–”

Finnick grips Peeta’s shoulders before he can proceed, his expression sobering. “Ok, ok,” Finnick concedes. “But c'mon, man, you have to admit that you let yourself get hurt sometimes. You always dive in head first with that big ‘ol heart of yours.”

Peeta rakes a hand through his curls out of habit, wincing as his attempt at looking dapper is foiled. “Yeah, I know…but this one's different,” he says, rocking up on his toes, a nervous, hopeful current buzzing in his veins. “I can feel it.”

Finnick still looks skeptical, but he doesn't push it further. He's a dick sometimes, but at the end of the day, he's a great friend. “Ok, Peet. But at least let me take a look first.”

Finnick ambles over to the open door through which a welcoming amber light spills onto the darkening sidewalk, and peers inside.

“She’ll have a book with her,” mutters Peeta, wiping his sweaty palms on his dark wash jeans. “And a flower. A dandelion.”

Finnick stares for so long, and with such a curious expression on his face, that Peeta wonders if it actually is someone duel-worthy.  Finally, Finnick gives a low whistle. “Well, she's pretty, that's for sure.”

Peeta waves the comment off impatiently. He already knows this. Her beauty transcends the bounds of his shitty, outdated iPhone. It’s wrapped up in her words, the funny little expressions she uses, the way she can be poetic one moment and then snarky the next. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt chemistry like this with anyone, except maybe, well…Peeta’s stomach somersaults as a flicker of silver and a sweep of a dark braid flash in his mind and then shimmer away like butter in a hot griddle. Peeta coughs as if he can physically dispel this ridiculous notion from his body.

“Harmless then,” he says, attempting to push Finnick aside. Enough is enough.

Finnick resists, still looking mystified. “Well, I wouldn’t say harmless,” he chuckles.

“Ok, this is getting ridiculous. I'm a grown ass man.” Peeta dodges Finnick with the practice of a former star wrestler and launches himself at the door. Then just as quickly, he is reeling back, his eyes wide as cinnamon rolls. “Is that–?”

“Katniss Everdeen,” they say together.

Both Peeta and Finnick are silent for a long time. The old woman on the corner gets onto the bus and it belches a cloud of putrid fumes as it drives off. Finally Peeta scrubs a hand over his jaw and breathes, “Well, shit…”

Emotions are raging inside Peeta at the speed of weather changes in the mountains. First shock, then gut wrenching disappointment, then disgust, then relief? And then, at last, he lands on anger. White hot anger. And somehow that feels like the only emotion he knows how to handle in the moment. When he is fired up like this there is no chance of anyone stopping him, so he easily sidesteps an alarmed Finnick and marches into the wine bar without so much as a glance behind.

She’s at his favorite booth, the one with the wildflower painting. Because of course she would choose that one. How infuriating to realize that your rival has a chilling psychic power over you, that she can see inside you, instinctually know your likes, your dislikes…Is this how she has been pushing all his buttons?! 

Peeta skids to a halt in front of the table and slides into the booth across from Katniss, mastering his rage and training his face into a smirk. He drops his eyes to the bulging pocket of her jeans. “Is that a Snickers in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” he says smugly.

Katniss gasps. The shock in those sharp silver eyes tells him this was not a targeted catfishing exercise. She has no idea that the man in her phone is him. But she quickly composes herself, folding her arms across her chest in a way that pushes up her small, pert breasts and instantly draws his traitor eyes. Peeta blushes, feeling like she has already scored a point against him.

“Ugh gross,” she bites out. “It's an inside joke. For my friend.”

Peeta feigns nonchalance, digging his hand into the bowl of complimentary popcorn in the center of the table and shoving a handful into his mouth.  “Kind of rude for your friend not to show up.”

Katniss narrows her eyes. “Kind of rude for you to speak with your mouth full,” she retorts, not missing a beat.

Peeta doesn't react, which only serves to annoy Katniss more. “What's he look like?” he asks her, glancing around the bar. “Maybe he just doesn't see you tucked away in here.”

Katniss flushes a delicious shade of strawberry and Peeta chalks one point up for himself. “I don't,” she starts, “I don't know.” She holds her head aloft proudly, but doubt flashes in her eyes. She looks so vulnerable for a moment that he almost feels bad about twisting the knife.

“You don't know?” repeats Peeta incredulously. “What do you mean? Is this some kind of blind date?”

“No!” she says too quickly and the attractive bloom of pink stays painted on the apples of her cheeks. Her cheekbones are so high and sharp that they look like they could cut glass. “It's just…a-a pen pal.”

Peeta plants his forearms on the table and leans toward her, trying to throw her off balance by the proximity. This ends up backfiring, however, because he catches the scent of her hair and it transfixes him with memories of spring. There's no other way to describe the earthy freshness, the subtle notes of cherry blossoms. “A penpal?!” he scoffs, sitting back against the plush backrest and attempting to get a grip on himself.

“Don't you have a PhD or something? she hisses through tight lips. “Do you really only have the capability to repeat back what I'm saying like a giant, bespectacled parrot?” 

Peeta can't help it. He barks out a laugh, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Touche,” he allows. “But you gotta admit, I think not many of us have had a penpal since the third grade.”

Katniss just harrumphs, crossing her legs and looking defiantly at the door, refusing to meet his eyes. She looks nice in her fitted green sweater and wide-legged black slacks, and there's something so oddly charming about how those worn leather hunting boots she always wears are peeking out from the hems. It's just so her. 

“Maybe he got caught in traffic,” Peeta suggests mildly, turning around to follow her gaze toward the completely empty street.

Katniss makes an irritated growling noise in the back of her throat. There's no traffic out here in West Panem. Ever.

“Or he got kidnapped by a gang of mountain trolls,” he grins, nodding cheekily at the copy of The Hobbit on the table. Her eyes flash and she pulls the book toward her possessively as if Peeta is sullying it with his razzing.

“I know what you're trying to do, ok?!” snaps Katniss. “Trying to make me feel like some kind of undesirable loser for getting stood up.”

Peeta’s grin drops. Shit. It's fun teasing her–it’s so easy, and well, she looks cute when she’s mad–but he never meant to make her feel small. That familiar voice pipes up in the back of his mind and ice fills his veins. Peeta, you worthless thing. Katniss is scowling at him, but it’s not her usual one. She looks almost defeated. And Peeta reminds himself that the restrictions on activities in the nature preserve are set to go into effect next week. He also reminds himself how he would feel if he were the one sitting here with a raw, open heart thinking Bullseye had rejected him.

“Katniss, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–”

But before Peeta can beg her forgiveness, a smooth baritone that sounds uncannily like his own cuts through the air. “Peeta bread!” the voice cries delightedly. “I didn’t know you had a date?!”

Peeta blanches. Oh dear God. Rye. He’s not supposed to work tonight. It’s his business partner Thom’s night. Peeta checked the schedule! He checked that list twice, Santa Clause style.

Katniss’ head swings around so fast that her thick braid nearly knocks over her glass of water. She peers up at Rye distrustfully, her eyes flickering to Peeta's, then back again, clearing clocking the family resemblance. “This is not a date,” she says icily.

He winces at her tone. Would it really be that bad to be on a date with him? 

Rye just looks confused. He raises his eyebrows at Peeta. “Oh sorry, he just has a type–”

“Jesus, Rye,” grimaces Peeta. He wants to melt onto the floor and seep into the wine cellar. “Katniss is everyone's type,” he mumbles, stealing a glance at her. The crease between her eyes deepens and he hopes she doesn't think he's still messing with her.

Fortunately, Rye recovers himself and turns on the Mellark charm that Peeta normally has in spades, but seems to abandon him everytime he finds himself in Katniss' presence. Rye spreads his arms wide, now the picture of a debonair wine bar owner. “Well, any friend–er–” he shoots another bewildered glance at Peeta when Katniss' scowl intensifies, “acquaintance of Peeta's is an, um…acquaintance of mine. I'm going to have the kitchen send out a complimentary cheese plate and a bottle of our best red. Do you like Pinot Noir?”

Katniss' ears perk up at the mention of cheese and her stomach gives an audible grumble that Peeta pretends not to notice. She pauses before admitting, “It's my favorite.” She gives Rye a tight, concessionary smile as if to say, you seem nice enough, it’s not your fault your brother makes me want to run headlong through the plate glass window at the front of this bar.

Rye grins. “Well then you're going to love this.” Then he launches into a detailed description of the wine’s silky tannins and complex flavors, including the hint of baking spice that you get when you age it in French oak barrels, a nod to the family baking business.

Katniss looks bemused. The same expression that Peeta gets when Rye waxes philosophical about wine and that Rye gets when Peeta yammers on about biodiversity in broadleaf forest ecosystems. He notices there are specks of gold in Katniss’ right eye that catch the flicker of the candle light, just the right eye. Why can’t he stop staring?

“You know a lot about wine,” says Katniss generously, seemingly trying to make amends for her curtness earlier. 

Rye puffs out his chest. “Well, kind of comes with the territory. I co-own this place.”

“Oh, wow,” she replies, sounding actually impressed. Peeta feels a tug of pride deep in his chest that she approves of the place he selected for their first meeting. But then that heady tug suddenly feels like a trapdoor opening when he remembers that Bullseye is gone. It’s only Katniss Everdeen left. The most dizzyingly desirable yet utterly out of reach woman he’s ever known. “It’s a really nice place,” she says, gesturing to the decor with her olive hand–small, but sinewy, like she could definitely send an arrow sailing through his heart with ease…and perhaps already has. “I love the artwork.”

“Thank you!” says Rye warmly. “Most of the paintings are Peeta–”

Peeta’s eyes widen and he shakes his head at Rye, swiping his hand discreetly across his neck in the universal sign of “abort!”. Rye cuts himself off with an unconvincing hacking cough. Katniss’ shrewd eyes snap to Peeta’s  face and he avoids them. Will she remember that first conversation? The one where he said he was a painter? Even if she did, she probably thought he meant painter as in, house painter, commercial painter, right? Peeta swallows thickly, feeling her retina’s burning into his skin.

“Rye,” Peeta says, through gritted teeth. “How about that cheese plate, huh?”

Rye takes a hint and scurries off to the kitchens, leaving Peeta and Katniss alone, an unbearable silence stretching between them. The booth suddenly feels impossibly small. He shifts his bad leg into a more comfortable position and inadvertently grazes her knee with his. A flush creeps up his neck.

“So….Peeta Pie…” says Katniss, finally breaking the awkward silence. He’s surprised to see that her scowl has been replaced by a little smirk.

Peeta groans and pulls his hand down his mouth. “Bakery humor, you know? I come from a long line of bakers.” 

“Guess that explains the stuff you’re bringing to Hazelle at the Hob.”

“Yep!” he confirms.

Katniss presses her lips together, then says, “I don’t know why, but I just never pictured you as a baker.”

Peeta smirks and places his arms on the table in front of them, flexing shamelessly so that the outline of his biceps will strain at the fabric of his blue button-down, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. “Ah, I guess you think I’m too cut to be a baker’s boy, is that it?”

Katniss snorts and rolls her eyes. Peeta immediately regrets it.

What a dickish gym bro thing to say?! He has never, not once in his life, flirted so terribly. He had more rizz as a 16-year-old than this! Sure… he works out his upper body a lot more than he used to, he supposes his physique must look ok. But he has to, he needs to use his arms a lot more than he used to. When the prosthetic is off it’s surprising the strength you need to maneuver around. And maybe, says a voice that sounds oddly like his psychologist, Dr. Aurelius, you worry about your physical attractiveness more than you used. You wonder whether anyone finds you desirable, and that’s why what you just said is a cry for help, a need for reassurance?

The look of revulsion Katniss is giving Peeta mirrors his internal monologue. He has to fix this! He casts around for a topic that will neutralize the situation, something they can’t possibly disagree on. His eyes land on the book.

“What’s your opinion on the decision to excise the scouring of the Shire in Peter Jackson’s interpretation of the Return of the King?” he asks suddenly. 

Katniss blinks at him. “Huh?”

“C’mon, are you going to tell me you’re ok with the film completely leaving out the impact of war on Hobbiton? That it only shows war as some epic battle of elves and dwarves and men and not one of the common people?” Peeta raises his eyebrows at her expectantly. She still has her eyes narrowed, but she’s leaning in now. He knows she won’t be able to resist.

Finally Katniss blurts out, “And it totally sidesteps the commentary on industrialization!” The words come tumbling out of her mouth so fast that even Katniss looks surprised by them. She claps a hand over her mouth.

Peeta and Katniss stare at each other for a long beat, and then suddenly, they both erupt into laughter. It’s that kind of delirious laughter that you only get after unbearable tension. The kind of laughter that makes your eyes stream and coaxes the most unattractive and uncontrollable wheezing, snorting and gasping noises from the depths of your belly. The kind of laughter that wraps you up in a cozy, giddy blanket until you forget every painful thing.

A few moments later, Rye returns with a cheese plate (which Peeta notes is definitely custom made at twice the usual size) and two generous pours of the specialty Pinot. He gives Peeta a subtle wink before disappearing as quickly as possible. Katniss and Peeta dig into the platter, suddenly ravenous.

Now that the ice is broken, the conversation flows like water out of a washed out dam. They have the same taste in books (though Peeta knew that already) and music (though Katniss says he leans too heavily into sad-boy indie pop of the early aughts). And to Peeta’s delight, she tells him more about her sister, Prim, clearly the most precious person in the world to her. It feels like a gift to be trusted with those memories. Then Peeta makes Katniss laugh, recounting the time he and Rye played a prank on their big brother, Bannock, leaving “evidence” of a mouse all around the bakery, sending him on a Tom and Jerry-style wild goose chase to exterminate the ever-elusive pest.

It’s nearly 10 pm when their conversation falls into the first lull in hours. They have had second and third glasses of wine, a fact that left Katniss in stitches over his impossibly rosy cheeks, while she seemed cool, calm, and almost entirely unaffected. She tells Peeta she’s got stamina thanks to the drinking habits of her friend-of-the family, Haymitch–a  person too irresponsible to be a surrogate father (her dad was killed in a workplace accident when she was eleven), but too close to be without a family title. Her and Prim have always called him “uncle.” The wine bar has emptied out and the ambient noise around them has subsided to a dull hum.

Peeta casts another glance toward the open door. A cool evening breeze rustles through the leaves of the Monstera near the host station. “Guess your friend’s not coming, huh?”

Katniss pinches the bridge of her nose and looks down at the crumbs of chocolate fudge cake on her plate. She doesn’t look angry anymore, just so tired. “Just–don’t Peeta. I don’t need your gloating.”

Peeta holds up his hands in defense. “I’m not,” he tells her firmly. “I swear, I’m not. Listen…” Peeta pauses, searching her face, feeling her eyes lift to his like gray stones falling into the blue depths of a lake. “Anyone who would stand you up is making a serious mistake.”

Katniss blinks. She looks like she’s trying to figure out whether he’s being a prick or not.

“Big mistake. Huge,” assures Peeta, evoking Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

The reference earns him a half smile. She shrugs. “I should go.” Katniss begins rifling in her purse for her wallet, and before he can stop himself, Peeta puts a hand out to still the motion. He marvels at the way his fingers encircle her entire wrist, at the feeling of her heartbeat quickening in the delicate veins at the base of her palm. She gasps.

“It’s on me,” he says softly. 

Katniss doesn’t jerk away like he thought she might, but she shakes her head. “No way.”

“C’mon,” says Peeta. “It’s the least I can do after barging in and ruining your evening.”

“You didn’t–” Katniss cuts herself off and sighs deeply. “Peeta, I can’t. I have a thing about owing people.”

The corner of Peeta’s lips lift up in a hopeful grin. “Okaaaay,” he drawls. “Then buy me coffee at the Hob sometime?”

Katniss scrunches up her nose as she considers this. Her pulse thrums against the pads of his fingers. “Fine,” she relents, snapping the clasp on her purse closed. 

Peeta tries not to feel devastated as she stands up from the table and slips out of the booth. He releases her wrist and she immediately covers the spot where his fingers were with her other hand, caressing the soft skin in the way he wants to do. There’s an unreadable expression on her face. Confusion? Resignation? Or…could it be, longing? Pull yourself together, man, Peeta chastises himself. You’re projecting.

He stands up, too, and breathes, “So, see you around, then?”

“Well, seeing as I’ve got a debt to pay now…guess so,” Katniss snaps, but there’s something softer in her tone, something less cutting in her scowl. “Tell your brother I said thank you for the lovely meal.”

Katniss spins on her heel and glides toward the door with that soft footfall like one of Tolkien’s elves walking atop the snow. Before she crosses the threshold, she throws her head back over her shoulder, braid cracking like a whip, and calls, “Your coffee order is shit, by the way. Peeta bread.”

Peeta Mellark Dandelions? 🤔 Bullseye Yeah, they're remarkable actually. I mean first of all you can eat them Peeta Mellark If there's one thing I know about you it's that you love to eat Bullseye Yup, belly right up to the all you can eat weed buffet 💀 But they have medicinal qualities too. My mom used to use them in her practice. They're diuretic. Will have you peeing like a racehorse  Peeta Mellark I'll keep that in mind 😅 Bullseye But you know what's most amazing?  Dandelions are survivors. Their roots go deep–deep as 15 ft! And they clone when divided. Almost impossible to kill. And they keep that sunny face in spite of it all Don't ever underestimate the common dandelion 

Peeta actually has to sit down with this last one. It tweaks something deep in his chest. He lowers himself onto a fallen log, mindlessly rubbing the spot where his stump meets its artificial socket.

Peeta Mellark That's poetic Bullseye  Don't be offended k? but…Dandelions remind me of you

Peeta's heart leaps. He knows people find him charming. Intelligent perhaps. Handsome on occasion. But somehow this compliment eclipses them all. It's hard to put into words the level of delight it gives him to be compared with the death-defying bane of a suburban homeowner’s existence.  

Crack!

The snap of a twig startles Peeta out of his reverie. He lets out a strangled yelp, which he struggles to turn into a cough when he realizes who it is.

Katniss Everdeen.

She snuck up on him like a mountain lion. And as any wildlife biologist knows, a wild cat is much more lethal than a bear. It'll take you into the death spiral with its hind paws before you have time to text SOS, which is exactly what has happened to Peeta right now.

“Jesus Christ, you scared me!” he gasps.

Katniss smirks, and he can't help but notice how attractive that shade of blue is on her. It makes her eyes look like mist settling over the mountains at dusk. “I have that effect on people,” she says.

Peeta shakes his head vigorously. She has no idea the effect she has.

“What are you doing out here?” says Peeta moodily. He's annoyed that she interrupted his moment with Bullseye.

Katniss lifts up a shapely hunting bow that looks handcrafted. “What does it look like?”

“Trying to unalive as many defenseless creatures as possible while you still can?” he sneers, surprised by his tone. What is it about this woman? She pushes all his buttons, including some he didn't even know he had. In truth, Peeta’s not even against hunting as long as it's regulated. It's healthy for the ecosystem.

Katniss shrugs, and when she shifts her oversized hunting jacket, he can see she already has a fat gray squirrel dangling from her belt. “Something like that.”

Peeta’s face feels hot. He needs to get out of here. He stands up too abruptly and sways on his bad leg. Shit! Peeta loses his balance and lurches toward her, his hands finding purchase on her narrow shoulders. Katniss grunts in surprise, but her hands go up immediately to grasp his forearms, helping to steady him. Her grip is surprisingly strong for someone so small. 

“Woah! Easy,” she cries. “Are you ok?” An odd look flits across her face, somewhat more curious than annoyed.

“Yeah,” breathes Peeta. He's not sure what exactly is taking his breath away–the near fall or her intoxicating proximity. “Sorry.”

Katniss frowns. “You don't have to say sorry all the time.”

“Sorr–I mean, yeah. Bad habit,” he releases her shoulders and shoves his tingling hands in his pockets.

She seems to regain some of her previous swagger. “Unless you're gonna apologize for trying to stop me hunting Thumper out here…”

Peeta recovers his own confidence. “Not a chance, Davy Crockett,” he grins.

— — —

***Katniss***

“How's Bond, James Bond,” asks Johanna, keeping one eye on the mayhem in front of her. She and Katniss are overseeing a birthday party at the Abernathy's axe-throwing range. 

“Fine. He gave me some good advice.” Katniss grabs an axe out of the flailing hand of a pre-teen boy. “Nuh-uh, nope. You can't take that past this line.” The boy rolls his eyes at her and scampers off. 

“Really? What's that?” says Johanna, arching an eyebrow.

“He said I should fight for what I believe in. That there are haters out there, but we can't let them stop us from doing what's right.”

Johanna snorts. “Since when did you need someone to encourage you to do whatever the fuck you want.”

Since effing Peeta Mellark started making her knees weak and her insides all scrambled up, that's when…

“Yeah, yeah,” grumbles Katniss. “But anyway… Here.” She shoves a flyer into Johanna's hands. “You'll be there right?”

Johanna glances at the flyer for the counter-protest at the Department of Conservation’s Town hall meeting and then grins wickedly. “A live show featuring unresolved sexual tension and a blonde bombshell? Count me in!”

“Ugh, why are we even friends,” moans Katniss.

— — —

The day of the Town hall meeting dawns bright and cool. There is a light frost blanketing the grass that will burn off by noon and Katniss is annoyed to see a few dandelions poking up outside the rec center, glistening with the ephemeral crystals. She doesn’t want to associate Peeta Mellark with dandelions. It will ruin them for her.

There is already a small crowd gathered wearing camo shirts and holding picket signs. Katniss waves to Greasy Sae who runs a soup stand in the Hob and always buys her game. There are also a couple of Gale’s buddies from the mine who Katniss knows by association but has never had a conversation with that extended beyond platitudes about the weather or the prospects of the local football team. And her mom actually turned up with Hazelle, too. Katniss is a little surprised, but pleased to see that she’s looking lucid, with some color in her cheeks.

And Haymitch’s friend Plutarch has come through with the media. She sees the charismatic anchor from News Channel 12, Caesar Flickerman, recording an intro in front of the building. 

Plutarch gestures for her to come over and urges her up on a makeshift stage. She has to stand on a milk crate to see over the podium. Katniss clears her throat. Her palms are sweaty and her mind feels blank. Suddenly every coherent thought has abandoned her. There is a buzz in her pocket and she steals a glance at her phone screen. 

007 Hey! You've got that thing today right? Good luck! You're going to kill it

Katniss smiles, feeling emboldened. She takes a deep breath and lets her impassioned plea ring out. Toward the end of her speech, she realizes Peeta Mellark is standing quietly in the back, hands clasped behind his back, his head cocked as he listens. They lock eyes as Katniss closes, and an unreadable expression crosses his face. 

— — —

***Peeta***

The Town Hall meeting was a success, he supposes, by any standard measure. The overwhelming majority of West Panem citizens favor the wilderness preserve, so much so that he got a standing ovation. People from every walk of life got up to speak about what the Paylor Regional Forest means to them, from the slightly disoriented, wispy haired old woman, Mags, who recounted skipping stones at the lake with her first love who has long since passed, to the troop of scouts who like to catch bullfrogs by the creek. So why does he still feel like shit?

Well, maybe it's because she spoke about her love of the forest, too. Spoke about it in a way that brought tears to her eyes and to his as well. About how she and her sister, Primrose, used to gather medicinal herbs with her mother to keep the folks from the impoverished side of town in good health. And how in the lean times after layoffs at the mine, fresh game and foraged mushrooms kept them alive.

Peeta trudges to the hob with a heavy heart. What’s the point of trying to do good all the time when it just makes you feel so bad? Sometimes it seems preferable to just go work for a soulless corporation or something. At least then there’s no moral ambiguity. 

“Hey, Hazelle,” says Peeta, attempting a half smile and depositing a large box of fresh baked goods on the counter. He’s been stress baking again. If only carbohydrates could solve your problems in the long term instead of burning off fast like the empty calories they are.

“Wow, these look amazing, hon,” smiles Hazelle, sifting through the pastries, all individually wrapped. She arranges them artfully in the glass display case. 

Peeta shrugs humbly. “It was nothing.” 

Hazelle gives him a long, appraising look and fusses with the collar of his jacket. It’s the kind of thing a mother might do, Peeta imagines, if he had ever known a mother to be soft and warm. “Why don’t you go sit over there,” she says. “I’m gonna make you some cocoa.”

“Cocoa?” Peeta laughs. He doesn’t remember the last time someone made him hot chocolate.

Hazelle winks. “Chocolate can solve all manner of ills.”  

Peeta decides not to argue. He plops down at one of the cafe tables, pulls out his phone and sighs when he sees there are no new messages. Bullseye has seemed down lately, too. Her prose has seemed less flowery, more clipped. He hopes she’s ok.

Ten minutes later, Peeta looks up at the sudden screech of a chair against the slate tile floor.

Katniss Everdeen is seated at the opposite table, unwrapping one of his signature bakes. She hasn’t noticed him yet, so he indulges himself in watching the careful way in which she considers the cheese bun. First, she examines it, twirling it around with long, callused fingers. She plucks off a crispy bit of asiago cheese from the top and pops it tentatively into her mouth, then closes her eyes as if in ecstasy. Peeta swallows heavily when her pink tongue darts out to swipe the grease from her plump bottom lip. The intensity of the sudden tug in his abdomen frightens him.

“Enjoying the show?” comes a low, sultry voice, causing Peeta to nearly drop his cocoa. He immediately lowers his gaze, his cheeks burning with shame. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to stare?”

Peeta grimaces, stealing a nervous glance at Katniss out of the corner of his eye. “She taught me a lot of lessons,” he says bitterly. One of those being not to lust after girls from the wrong side of the tracks, Peeta thinks. In spite of himself, he smiles. His mother would hate Katniss Everdeen. Maybe it’s the one thing they have in common…

“You like it?” queries Peeta, nodding his head toward her half-devoured bun.

Katniss tosses her braid over her shoulder dismissively. “What's not to like? It's cheese and carbohydrates.”

Peeta smirks. “I made it.”

Katniss drops the bun as if it's a soiled diaper.

“Wow, so mature,” mocks Peeta.

Katniss growls in annoyance. Then unexpectedly, she tears off a piece of bread and lobs it at his face. It bounces off his forehead, leaving several crumbs clinging to one of his golden curls.

Peeta's mouth falls open. Without thinking, he rips open a packet of creamer and dumps it aggressively into her coffee.

“I like it black!” she shouts, her face flushing in such an attractive way that it only enrages Peeta further.

Maintaining smug, deliberate eye contact, he grabs the carafe of half and half and fills her mug to the brim till the liquid is a creamy white. Katniss balls up her fists in outrage.

“Well, you need to lighten up!” Peeta shouts back.

They glare at each other, nostrils flared, breathing heavily. A tendril of dark hair has escaped Katniss’ braid and found itself draped across her parted lips. It rises and falls with her breath. Peeta fights the sudden inexorable urge to tuck it behind her ear and replace it with his own lips. 

“You have crumbs in your hair,” grumbles Katniss, extending an olive hand to brush them away, but Peeta catches it between both of his. She gasps, though she doesn’t pull back. Peeta doesn’t have a plan. He doesn’t know what possessed him, only that the feel of her skin makes him burn so intensely that he’s afraid she’ll leave only ashes in her wake when he finally lets go.

—  —  —

***Katniss***

Katniss flexes her right hand and stares at Peeta’s broad, retreating back, completely stunned. What in the hell just happened? She wills her breathing to return to normal so that she can think rationally.

She hates him. Of course she does. She has every reason to hate him. He’s just manipulating her the way he manipulates everyone around him, with that sweet, shy smile and those disarming nerdy glasses and that deep, calming voice that always seems to know exactly the right thing to say. Well…the right thing to say to everyone except her, that is. 

Katniss marches up to the counter. “You're selling his baked goods?” she demands of Hazelle, who is wiping down the espresso machine.

Hazelle glances up with a wan, knowing smile. “Aren't they delicious? And he won't take a penny of profit.”

“Well he owes you,” gripes Katniss, scowling. “He's about to cut off your game supply.”

Hazelle puts down the cloth and leans across the counter, covering Katniss’ still-tingling hand with her own. “Oh, honey,” she says warmly, nudging Katniss’ chin up with her other hand so that she’s forced to make eye contact. “You know it's always nice to have fresh meat, but we don't rely on it anymore. Gale sends money. Posy’s almost grown. We can buy it at the butcher's now. So can your momma.”

Katniss lets out a strangled sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She leans her cheek into Hazelle’s palm and closes her eyes for a moment. Everything feels so confusing. She’s not sure she knows how to exist without fighting for survival.

—  —  —

Outside the Hob, Katniss feels a familiar buzz in her pocket. He’s been quiet lately. But then, so has she. Katniss taps the app and stares at the three little words illuminated on the screen. She stares, and stares, and stares.

007 Should we meet?