I’ve always loved thunder. The way it rolls deep within my chest and echoes in the deep old bones of the mountains around us. I would squeal with each clap and reach up to catch it in our Seam home as my daddy smiled from his chipped armchair. We’d play a game of hopping from spot to spot on the floor at each rumble and though his eyes hung in deep dark circles from his shifts in the mines, my father never tired. Then, Prim was born and she was terrified of thunderstorms for a time. 

It’s just one leak in our shiny and spiffy Capitol made home that’s been standing for almost a century now though. Thom and his builders have much more important things on their minds than a tiny leak in our roof. 

Some people still don’t even have roofs. The make-shift canvas of the sturdy tents lining the district hardly constitute roofs. 

When the war began, the Capitol wasn’t quite as invested in the architecture in their dear sweet Victors’ homes. They couldn’t keep up their perfect veneer in District 12 when they obliterated it into the ground. The poor things. 

And besides, a little water didn’t hurt that much. In my father’s home, we had at least ten designated containers to catch the drip of rainfall. 

When I step outside into the morning, the sun is bright and clear in the sky. No trace of the ominous grey and green puffs above remains. The grass is wet and smells of rain. A small trickle of a stream has formed on the gravelly road, opposite our home. At least the geese have been subdued into some semblance of peace because of the storm. 

Peeta had left this morning before the sun even stretched out into the sky. Usually I would already be out in the woods too, or by his side watching him knead dough or wipe sweat off his brow. 

But, I couldn’t settle last night. Even in Peeta’s arms I was restless. And when my eyes finally drooped shut, a nightmare had found me. The giant crash of thunder that split the sky in two in the middle of the night woke me up. In my dreams all I heard were bombs and gunfire. It had reminded me of-

Peeta let me rest in this morning when he heard my grumpy grunt as I shoved my face under the pillows to hide from the sunlight. Not that he let me do anything. But he had gently tucked me back in and left a muffin on my nightstand for when I was ready. 

Part of me wanted to pull him back in by the shirt of his buttoned collar and waste away the day. But even my arms wouldn’t listen to my demands. The bed was so nice and I fell deep into the mattress covered in one of the sheets as Peeta left the fan to run for me. The cinnamon and dill buried deep within the fabric of his side made me feel like I was rocking on a boat, in a lake with gentle rolling waves in my head. 

Besides, we haven't even kissed since he returned to me almost four months ago. At first the chaos of finishing the important parts of the bakery and going through the final touches to get it up and running had us distracted. Now I’m not so sure he wants to kiss me. 

I kick the loose rocks littering my path to the bakery. They skip and hop and fling themselves in the air. One hits another rock and angles itself to launch at someone passing me clear across the street but their back is turned and they don’t even feel it ping off the heel of their boot. I mumble an apology to myself though, and feel the heat of shame caving in on me from every inch of air around me. 

Before I know it, I’m in front of the bakery. It was one of the first buildings up in Twelve. Everytime I see it my heart swells with pride for Peeta. Even though it’s just the bare bones now, I can see its future clear across every brick. The sign hangs proudly over the front. The ‘s’ in Mellark’s is slightly crooked and splotchy because of my shaky hands, but when Peeta began painting it with such excited and reverent hands, he insisted I contribute to at least one part of it. 

Normally, I never enter through the front door of the bakery. The back door has always been home to me in a way. The first time I ever came to the back doorstep, I was sitting tall on my father’s shoulders and happily babbling along to a tune he was singing. He and Mr. Mellark quickly exchanged two squirrels with a respectful nod and I mimicked them which put the trace of a laugh onto the baker’s weathered face.  

Now, I want to surprise Peeta as one of his customers. The bell of the door jingles as I walk through the door. No one mans the front counter so he must be in the back. 

“I’ll be with you shortly.” 

His voice carries through the opening to the room with the ovens and prep tables and my shoulders relax at his calm but steady voice. The way the bakery was built and rebuilt, it’s easy for him to call out to customers without having to yell. My lip twitches up into a soft smile and I pull out one of the chairs dotting the tables around the room. 

His clomping footsteps and another ring of the bell clash together in my mind. I look up to see the new customer, expecting someone from Thom’s crew but I instantly tense up at the sight. 

Her hair is coiled perfectly into ringlets around her face and a big fur coat rests on her shoulders. Her chest is unnaturally large and her bottom even more so. But she’s perfect, right down to her nails. Not a blemish in sight and her blonde hair shines with health and lustre. 

She’s big and pretty.

“Artementia!” 

Peeta’s shout pulls me from my scrutiny of the clearly Capitol woman. His steps are quick as he approaches her and wipes the flour off of his hands onto his apron. 

My head jerks back when he reaches for her across the counter and they embrace. His smile is brilliant and he doesn’t even notice me lurking in the corner. 

“Oh my dear.” They pull back from their hug and that woman kisses both of his cheeks, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth. “It’s been far too long.” 

“It really has Artie.” He squeezes her hand. “How have things been for you?” 

“Well why don’t we go and have lunch together? I’m sure you’ll be having your break soon anyway.” 

“It’s just me today, I’m not sure I can just close up shop for my lunch break.” 

“They can survive without you for an hour I’m sure. Just flip your little sign over and we can go to the opening of that restaurant down the street.” 

Peeta’s head turns to the back, searching a long moment for something. When he turns around, it seems he’s already made up his mind. He lets out a sigh before plastering his smile back on for the woman. 

“Well alright,” His hands work swiftly to unknot the apron around his waist and place it on the counter. “Sure wouldn’t want anyone else to give you the grand tour of our pristine district.” 

She places a hand over her chest and lets out a soft laugh and Peeta’s chest rumbles with a short chuckle. 

They walk over to the door, not even glancing my way as Peeta flips the sign on the door over to ‘closed’ and locks the door. Before the door smacks shut behind them, I shove it open and storm past them in the opposite direction. To the woods. 

The rock in my hand scatters to the ground. 

It was pretty and I thought Peeta would’ve enjoyed its smooth surface and swirling brown rings. 

But maybe now it’s not enough to preoccupy his mind with the pretty blood and flesh woman beside him. 

His head whips back to the loud sound of the slamming door and ping of the rock and I quickly turn my face away from his line of vision. 

“Katniss?” His hopeful voice calls out. But I’m already pushing to round the corner of the rebuilt merchant businesses. “Katniss!” 

He can have fun with his gorgeous Capitol woman on his arm. I don’t care. 

I save the grumbling for later though, my mind focuses on the ground below me as my legs carry me in a spring towards the fence. I duck under my spot in the chain-link and snatch up my bow and arrows. 

After the fifth poor squirrel participates in my very important exercise of letting my feeling’s flow for the day, I climb up a strong and tall tree. I lean into the familiarity of pulling myself up its sprawling branches and swinging my body up and up. Reaching for the sky just as its leaves are. 

Have I really lost my dandelion in the spring already? 

Did the hungry storms of last night, and the contrast of the harsh summer sun this morning already wilt it?

He so easily welcomed that woman’s touch. Someone from the Capitol no less. And he’s barely touched me in months. Save our desperate grip on each other as the terrors of the night take over. 

I will not be sharing a town with the woman Peeta so readily shares himself with. 

Instead of rough bark behind my back, I feel the hard arm of a rocking chair digging into my spine. The room is cosy and safe, like Peeta. I feel the sway of my body with the branches of the tree and hug my knees tight to my chest. 

“This baby takes nothing from you Kitty, my heart just has to grow some more. Like my tummy. That’s all.” 

I relax into her arms, feeling the steady beat of her heart where my head lays. Her stomach is fat, nice and cushy. As fat as anyone in the Seam could ever get. She smells pretty. Like the dirt and plants Daddy lets me dig my grubby little fingers into. I feel the song rattle through my chest as she hums to me. My head gets droopy and I curl further into her. Her hands run through my hair and as she rocks our bodies together on the chair, my head clouds with dreams that I can’t touch yet. But I know they’re there. Happy and warm. 

“I’ll always be right here with you baby.” 

Shivering in the downpour I’ve been caught in, I hum the same tune she soothed me to. Without thinking, my body rocks back and forth on the soaked moss and lichen on the limb closest to the ground. If I let my hand hang limp from my side I could probably brush the tops of the chives sticking out near the base with my fingertips. I don’t remember my journey down from the top of the tree, but it must’ve happened somehow. 

I could be crying. I don’t know. The fat raindrops on my face disguise any that may come. 

But it would be hard to disguise the snot squirming its way out of me. I rub my bare forearm under my nose. 

I do what I do best. 

I run. I hide away. And I sulk. 

It doesn’t matter. 

They all leave. 

Even if they don’t want to, they always do. My father and Prim's choice was made for them. I don’t know what’s worse. To have Peeta’s choice made for him or for him to actively choose that I no longer fit into his life. 

Either way, it’s all unbearable to think about. I gasp in sharp breaths and my chest is tight with the pain and fatigue of it all. I feel like I’ve just run the worst marathon of my life, and I’ve never even gone over five miles when training for the Quell put a stick up Peeta’s ass. 

His clomping footsteps alert me to his presence long before I can see his form through the sheets of rain obscuring my vision. Maybe if I tuck further into myself he won’t notice me sitting on the lowest branch of the tree. 

I was never a lucky person though. 

He approaches me slowly, like I would a skittish animal. I tuck my chin into the safety of my knees. Surely he’ll go away if I ignore him hard enough. 

I feel the air move around me as he swings a leg up and over and brings his body to rest on the same branch as me. It’s not without difficulty though, I know his leg still bothers him and can be cumbersome at times. After a quiet moment of him gathering his balance again, he lifts my chin up with his finger. 

I can feel the tear tracks, dry and crusty against my cheeks and I know I look like a drowned rat, or rather a drowned Buttercup from my little pity party under the torrential rain. 

“Oh, Katniss.” Warmth floods through me, all-consuming and relieving as his thumb traces the skin under my eye. “What’s wrong baby?”

My nose stings again as a fresh wave of fat tears fall from my eyes at the nickname. My lip wobbles and I can’t breathe. I try to answer, but everything comes out as a choked sob. Peeta reaches around to wrap his arm around me, rubbing my back in comforting circles. When I finally get the words out, they’re incomprehensible with my stuttering breath, throat full of tears, and snot muffling everything. To anyone but Peeta, who knows me so well, past the need for language. 

“Why doesn’t she want me anymore?” 

“What brought all of this on sweet girl?” 

“You’re leaving me.” 

“Not real.” 

“Maybe not your arms. But you are. Your heart.” 

“Never Katniss.” 

Fat rain drops fall from his delicate eyelashes, leaving behind them a darker shade of blond from the moisture. 

“You’re right here Katniss.” His steady and warm hands take my hand that’s shivering from the cold. He guides it straight over his chest and the comforting thump of his heart beneath warms me more than his coat he wrapped tightly around me does. I blink at his motions, my mind puzzling and patching them together into an attempt at coherency. 

His other hand reaches towards me and he watches me closely for any sign of apprehension in my eyes. I can’t manage any to bubble up in me at the moment. Tentatively, he presses the pads of his fingers against my own chest, speeding up the beat of my own heart along with his under the firm press the palm of my hand has against it. His fingers straighten until the heel of his own hand is flush against my heart. The soaked fabric of my shirt clings to us both from the water of the rain. 

“And I’m right here.” The pitch of his voice sounds at the edge of a question and a statement. 

It’s not fair to him to be stuck with me though, just because he knows I wouldn’t be able to handle it. He deserves someone good and beautiful. Just like him. 

Not a girl scarred from the fire she wore for pageantry and glory. 

“I’m not pretty enough for you. I’m not big enough.” 

“Sweetheart.” 

“I wasn’t enough.” 

“Katniss.” My name breaks on his tongue; he physically can’t even force the muscles to move again, as if the ache in his chest is agonisingly painful from the blow of my words. I understand now. His heart is broken. Like I shot an arrow through him instead of the truth. Maybe I did, the day I sang to the birds in kindergarten and we’re forever tethered now from the invisible line of bow string to arrowhead. 

“I love you.” 

His beautifully made eyes well with tears, glossing the blue over with his pain. My eyes begin to water again, even after I’ve exhausted myself of the hydration required to sustain them. It’s not hard to feel what a man like Peeta feels for yourself, deep in your bones. 

“I came back for you. Back to twelve. Back to myself.”

“It kills me that you think you’re not enough. I’m so sorry I said those words in 13 to you. I know I’ll never be able to take them back. Or the-” He stares at my throat, where his hands once wove together into a nest of fear and pure hatred and I swallow under his gaze. “But I promise Katniss. I will remind you how beautiful and smart and brave and loving you are every single day. You are perfect for me.” 

“But you don’t want me.” 

“I’ve wanted you that way ever since I’ve understood what it meant.” 

But that doesn’t make sense. His constant distance and the sincerity behind his words clash within my mind. My brow furrows and my face deepens into a scowl.  

“Show me.” 

His eyes drag from their connection with mine, down to my lips. He looks back to me and his eyes widen with an emotion I’m all too familiar with. 

“I’m afraid.” 

“What?” 

“I’m afraid I won’t stop Katniss. They changed me. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“So don’t stop. You’re my Peeta. No matter what.” 

The kiss is gentle and sweet and I pull my body back against the rough bark, forcing him to lean into me even more. I cradle him between my thighs and smile against his lips. They taste like a fresh burst of blueberries on my tongue and my smile widens at the thought of him sneaking his own fresh muffin from the bakery’s supplies. The way his lips slide against mine, slick with the torrent of rain that assaults us is new and exciting. To consume the very rain itself off of his lip makes my chest flutter at the fact that not even the rain will get the chance to touch him that way so long as I remain in this embrace. 

He shifts slightly against me and I immediately panic at the feel of him in that way. My body stiffens straight under him and he pulls back from my lips with a sheepish grin. 

There’s an apology in his clear eyes but I won’t have that. I speak before his mouth can form the words.  

I blurt out in a pant. “I like kissing you.” 

I tuck my head into his shoulder to hide the blush that crosses my cheeks. But it’s too late. He’s already seen it if the dopey smile on his face is any indication. 

“I like kissing you too.” His lips find the small space of skin by my hairline that isn’t hidden. 

I scoot closer to him and burrow into his chest. 

And that motion was a big mistake. Or maybe the best mistake I’ve made today.

We both carreen down into the cushion of soft grass below us when I push Peeta off-balance. A giggle bursts from my mouth unbidden as I land mostly on top of him. His body bears the brunt of the fall but he seems completely fine and a goofy grin crosses his face. He leans up to me and my heart flutters when he pulls me in for another short, sweet kiss. I nestle my knees around his hips and pull back from him with a smile. 

I reach my hand to his ear and tuck a wisp of blond back behind his ear. The kisses and our proximity have made me bolder. Bold enough to interrogate him. “What is your little blonde girlfriend going to think about this?” 

He sits up to bring his upper body off the damp ground and my body follows him. 

“Who?” 

I roll my eyes at him. I hold a hand to my chest and bat my eyelashes at him. “Oh Peeta it’s been far too long.” 

“So that’s what this was all about. You were jealous?” 

“No.” I scowl, crossing my arms tight over my chest. 

“Katniss, she’s old enough to be our mother. Maybe even our grandmother.”

“Hmm.” My eyebrow twitches. “Maybe you’re into that sort of thing.” 

He wraps his arms tighter around my waist, deliberately lower than where they were last time. He looks into my eyes for any sign that he’s gone too far but I won’t give him any. With a light pressure, he squeezes my backside tentatively with a wolfish grin, as if he’s just gotten away with stealing the last cookie from the cookie jar. 

“What I’m into is what I have my hands full of right now.” 

“But seriously Katniss, she saved us from the bombing in the Capitol after I tried to drag you away. She visited us both but I was the only one awake when she did.” His eyes are tender as he brushes a sopping wet piece of hair off of my collarbone. “It’s only ever been you my darling girl.” 

“And it only ever will be?”