Archive of Our Own ^beta

Teaching Peeta to swim is going terribly.

Terribly might be an overstatement. He can sort of float now, though it was clear from the moment Katniss got in the Training Center pool with him that it’s not at all a natural ability. He sinks like a rock no matter what he does.

Katniss tells him to raise his arms over his head to redistribute the weight, and it helps a litte, but pretty soon Peeta’s face goes under for the umpteenth time. It’s driving her insane. She tells him to do it again, and this time take the deepest breath he’s ever taken, but the results are no better.

For his part, Peeta is being pretty good natured about it, but he’s been so hard with her the last few months that she can’t help but find it a little patronizing. She’s gritting her teeth, hoping he doesn’t notice.

The thing is, Peeta’s survival skills are the ones that count this time. She’s worried enough about the likes of Gloss and Enobaria hurting him; she doesn’t want to have to worry about the water getting him too.

 “I’m just going to drown, aren’t I?” Peeta says, mirroring her thoughts. “If there’s a water arena I’m just doomed.” He’s smiling, but Katniss doesn’t go along with it.

“You’re not going to drown,” she says, shoving her hand under his butt for the tenth time and pushing him up. “And don’t joke about that.”

He gives up, flips right side up so he’s facing her. It’s funny how his hair sticks to his forehead when its wet, making his whole head look smaller. The water comes up past Katniss’s chin, so she’s treading, but Peeta has a few inches on her.

“Isn’t the floating part supposed to be the easiest?” he asks. “How the hell am I gonna move in the water if I can’t stay still in it?”

Katniss shrugs, trying to look nonchalant. She’s pretty sure Peeta can see how tightly wound she is, anyway. He just knows how she’ll react if he says anything. She’s close to losing it as it is, and she’s thankful he’s not going to make her talk about it.

“You can’t float because your legs are too heavy,” she says. “It’s ‘cause you’re strong. You’ve got dense bones.”

“How do you know that?”

“My dad was the same,” she says. “I used to tease him for it.”

“Your dad taught you to swim?” Peeta says, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I never thought about it, but that makes a lot of sense.”

“Yeah,” she says.  “But speaking of moving in the water, lets get on with it. I don’t know if we’re going to make any more progress on floating.”

It takes a while, but Peeta eventually gets the hang of propelling himself forwards. She tries teaching him to tread, but his bottom half pulls him down like stone, and he’s fighting a hard battle immediately. She’s not joking when she says he’ll be perfect if they need to retrieve something from the bottom of a lake.

Front crawl comes with mixed success, but finally, after two hours, she feels like he can at least get himself where he needs to go. She’s impressed by how quickly he’s comfortable with the water, how quickly he trusts her. They call it mission accomplished, and Peeta suggests that they can come in again tomorrow to make sure he’s gotten it down. Katniss isn’t entirely satisfied, but it’s fine for now.

They wrap themselves in towels and sit at the edge of the pool, not yet ready to go shower. Katniss holds her towel around her tightly, scowling. It’s just occurred to her how lucky they’d been, in their first Games, that the terrain was something as familiar to her as the forest. It’s unlikely to be that straightforward again. For all she knows, they’re headed into a desert arena for the Quell, and all of the time spent swimming is wasted.

She’s not ready; there’s not enough time. So many dangerous and poisonous things exist and she doesn’t know how to protect him from any of them. Along with the usual nightmares, dreams of things she’s never seen visit her every night now. Sunburns, blistering winds, quicksand, avalanches and monsters the size of houses. It’s too much.

Katniss’s first Games hadn’t spooked her this much, but then again back then it was her own life she was fighting for.

“Hey,” Peeta says, bumping her shoulder with his. She realizes he’s been talking and that she hasn’t heard a word of it. “What are you thinking about so hard? You look like you’re about to have an aneurysm.”

Katniss attempts a smile, but it’s really just her mouth stretching wide. There’s clearly no joy in it. Peeta chuckles, shakes his head slightly, like she’s being ridiculous.

“You’re a good teacher,” he says. “Before today I really would have drowned if you threw me in deep water. I can definitely last a solid four and a half minutes now.”

Katniss’s smile now is slightly less fake. It’s not enough for Peeta though, and he leans down to rest his forehead on her shoulder, water dripping off of his wet hair onto her towel.

“Seriously, I learned a lot,” he says. “You’re a good teacher.”

She relaxes some more, decides to play along a little.

“Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

“I dunno,” he says. “You’re not the most patient person I know.”

She gasps in fake affront, and then they’re both silent a moment. Peeta’s arms come around her for a second. He gives her a squeeze. It feels nice. Peeta’s next words ruin her brief peace, though.

“Did you teach Prim how to swim?”

Katniss frowns.

“I was going to,” she says quietly. “She wanted me to. I kept putting it off because it was always a bad time. I definitely wanted to,” she adds hastily. “It just... well.”

Another brief silence.

“I can’t believe I never did it,” Katniss says.

“You’ll teach her when you get back,” Peeta says, and his tone is less playful. She hates it.

“Don’t do that,” she says.

“What?”

“Talk about the future,” Katniss says. “I don’t have a future.”

“I just—“

But she cuts him off. She doesn’t know what he’s going to say, but she knows she can’t handle it right now. 

“Future is off limits,” she says, harsher than she means to. She uncrosses her arms and takes Peeta’s hand. “Just... please, let’s not do that. I just said goodbye.”

She doesn’t want to cry today.

Peeta’s feet are still in the pool, and he’s practicing his egg beater kick for treading. He gives her hand a squeeze

“Ok,” he says. “Anyway. I’m glad we did this. I’ve wanted to learn to swim for ages.”

“Oh yeah?” asks Katniss.

“Yeah. It would have been really embarrassing to die the only Mellark who can’t.”

Despite herself, Katniss laughs.

“Well you can cross it off of your list,” she says.

She’s starting to shiver now, so she suggests they dry off and get changed. It’s already mid-afternoon, but she figures Peeta will want to squeeze in some more training before dinner. Thankfully though, he’s not as hard or pushy as he was when the Quell was first announced. He never would have made a joke about their deaths a few months ago.

The message behind it is clear though: If she has no future, neither does he. That’s fine; she’ll play that game for now.

***

 “So,” Peeta says, when she meets him outside of the locker room, showered and clean. “I had an idea.”

Katniss is braiding her hair, willing it to dry faster. She motions for him to keep speaking as they walk towards the elevator.

“I think we deserve a sillier day,” he says. “It’s already 3 o’clock. Let’s do something fun instead.”

“What do you mean?” she says. She’s finished braiding now and hits the button for the twelfth floor. Peeta shrugs.

“I mean let’s take a break. I don’t want to waste all the rest of my time with you just being serious.”

Part of her is still in the pool, stressing about whether Peeta’s skills are good enough and whether they’re at all prepared. Part of her is terrified. But there’s another part of her that lets out a huge sigh of relief at his suggestion. She can’t prepare for everything, but she can distract herself.

“All right. What do you wanna do?” she asks him. The elevator dings and they step out onto the twelfth floor. Peeta turns to Katniss, smiling at her.

“Well... you said I could cross learning to swim off my list, why don’t we cross something off yours?” he says. He’s a little cautious, like she might make fun of his suggestion. It occurs to her that she might be doing to him the same thing he’d done to her when they’d first heard about the Quell.

“Like...”

“Like something you’ve never done before.”

He looks at her expectantly, but she’s having trouble. She wants to participate, wants to have a silly, light day. It’s difficult, though, and he’s staring at her, and she’s trying so hard to think that all she can think of is how she can’t think of anything.

“It doesn’t have to be anything big,” Peeta says with a chuckle. He shakes out his hair, which has dried sort of weirdly flat. Katniss frowns. She’s about ready to tell him she really can’t think of anything when she gets an idea.

“So,” she says. She thinks she might be blushing a little. “You know those games they have for kids? The cardboard shapes you put together, and it takes a picture?”

Peeta raises his eyebrows at her. He’s smirking.

“You mean a jigsaw puzzle?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve never done a puzzle?”

“Don’t laugh at me!” She says, shoving him playfully. “I know it’s for kids. I’ve seen Posy doing a puzzle on the floor at Gale’s. There’s only ten pieces and they’re frayed, but I thought it looked fun.”

“Katniss Everdeen! Fun? You?” he punches her lightly on the arm.

“Shut up.”

***

Katniss places the box on the flat mahogany table in front of her. She’s sitting on the floor between the table and the couch. Peeta sits opposite her.

It was surprisingly easy to get ahold of the puzzle, though Katniss hadn’t thought to worry about it until Effie had mentioned how charmingly low tech their chosen passtimes were. Within twenty minutes, an Avox had been sent up to floor 12 of the Training Center with two cardboard boxes. One of the puzzles had been a portrait of President Snow. Peeta asked for the other one practically before it had registered.

“Peeta,” Katniss says, looking at the front of the box. “This has, like, a thousand pieces.”

Peeta leans forward and slides the box to the middle of the table where he can reach.

“I mean, yeah,” he says. “You didn’t think you were going to do a ten piece puzzle that Posy could do, did you?”

“No,” Katniss says, leaning forward as well. “But there’s a lot of blue in this picture. A lot of the pieces are going to look the same.”

“It’s no fun if it’s too easy.”

The puzzle proves more frustrating than fun, anyway. Katniss is constantly trying to fit together pieces that she thinks are parts of the big fish in the middle of the puzzle. None of them seem to fit together, and now she can’t remember if she tried that one with this one. But that doesn’t work either. She’s getting irritated, and Peeta can tell.

“It’s easier if you start on the edges,” he says. She looks up, and sees that he’s got a good portion of one of the puzzle’s corners, while all she’s managed is three pieces and a pile of others that should fit them somehow but don’t. “Corners are even—“

“Well I’m doing it this way,” she snaps, trying the last combination again. It’s still not working, and she hears Peeta snort as he tries not to full out laugh at her.

“Why are you so good at this?!” Katniss demands, throwing down the uncooperative piece. “You’ve gotten at least thirty pieces already!”

“It’s not my first time,” he says good-naturedly. “I loved puzzles as a kid.”

Katniss doesn’t say anything more. Instead she tries a few more pieces into her three-piece section. They don’t fit, so she quietly sides it away when she spots a corner piece.

Then it seems to go quicker, though she thinks Peeta might be going deliberately slowly, because he lets her find and place the piece that finally completes the border. Normally it would only annoy her further, him letting her win like that, but right now it feels sweet.

Eventually Effie appears behind the couch, studying to see what they’re doing. She makes another comment about how delightfully old-fashioned their activity is, and then turns and walks to the table. She’s looking at cloth swatches for something. An idea blooms in Katniss’s brain.

“Hey,” she hisses across the table. “I thought of something I’ve never done.”

Peeta looks up from the puzzle. He’s making decent headway on the turtle.

“Okay?”

“I have never seen Effie without a wig,” she says, very seriously.

“No,” Peeta says, eyes widening, though she can see he’s suppressing a grin. “You’re asking me to—anyway, it’s not your turn.” He glances back down at the puzzle.

“I dare you.”

“We’re not playing truth or dare.”

“Oh come on!” she says. The puzzle is maybe a third of the way done. “I’m switching our activity to that. Then it can be your turn. We’ll never get another chance.”

Peeta groans, closing his eyes like he’s bracing himself.

“But—“

“Peeta come on.”

“Fine,” he says. “I guess I’ll take the risk. I just hope she doesn’t murder me.”

The mention of Peeta getting murdered wipes the smile off of Katniss’s face, but if he notices, he gives no indication.

Now though, she’s forgetting again because Peeta is walking up behind Effie, looking over her shoulder.

“Whatcha looking at?” he asks her, stretching his arms high above his head, opening his mouth in a wide yawn.

“Oh! My, you surprised me. These are for—“

But she doesn’t finish her sentence, because Peeta sweeps his outstretched arms around and downwards, “accidentally” catching Effie’s hair and knocking it onto the carpet.

All is still. It’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Peeta stares at Effie and she stares back. Neither move. Katniss tries hard not to make noise, but it’s difficult. Effie’s head is round and completely bald, with a clear line of demarcation around her hairline where the skin tone shifts slightly lighter. Otherwise, Katniss thinks, Effie looks like an egg.

Peeta and Effie stand there blinking at one another for what seems like an eternity. Katniss is about to burst when Effie smiles tightly, robotically, and finally says:

“Peeta, it looks like I’ve dropped something. Would you mind picking it up for me?”

Head bowed, Peeta leans down and picks up the pick mass now on the floor. There’s something in his embarrassment that Katniss likes.

He places the wig in Effie’s hands again, and now she’s trying to put it on, though it quickly becomes clear that it’s a rather involved process and that she can’t do it without a mirror. It looks like the wig might even be upside down. She turns to address both Katniss and Peeta.

“You will tell no one of this,” she says, blowing at a piece of pink hair, stuck in her mouth. “Not a soul!”

“We would never—“ Katniss starts, but it’s too late because Effie is running out of the room, cloth swatches forgotten on the dining table. She drops her wig again as she reaches the doorway, and Katniss and Peeta both avert their eyes as she turns, scoops it up from the floor, and disappears.

“That was quite something,” Katniss says, finally allowing herself to laugh. Peeta comes back over, his cheeks aflame.

“I think that was the worst thing we could ever do to her,” he says, though he’s laughing softly too. He drops down to the floor, puts his face in his hands. “Did you see how her scalp was lighter?”

Katniss falls over laughing

“No point wasting makeup on skin nobody is supposed to see!” she says between bouts.

“Right,” says Peeta. He looks slightly sick. Guilty, probably.

“Hey,” Katniss says. “Don’t worry about it. Effie will be fine. And you completed the task. It’s your turn now.”

“What about the puzzle?”

“We don’t want to spend our whole day on the puzzle. Maybe we’ll have time to do more of it later.”

 Peeta nods, massaging his temples with the heels of his hands. It doesn’t take him long to come up with their next activity.

“Well,” he says. “I’ve never gotten drunk before. That would be a first.”

Katniss thinks back to the first time she’d gotten really, properly drunk, at Haymitch’s, when Peeta had barged in and spoiled it. It wasn’t fun; she’d been there because she’d only just learned about the Quell. She tries to bury the memory, keep it far away from her. As far away from right now as possible.

“I am shocked,” she says, gaping with fake outrage.

“Shocked I’ve never gotten drunk before?”

“Shocked you would suggest something so scandalous.”

“Oh, you didn’t know?” he says, wagging his eyebrows “I’m a loose cannon now. Yeah—just a few minutes ago I actually knocked someone’s wig off.”

Katniss gasps dramatically.

“Well then,” she says, “I guess we’ll have to get drunk, or you might do something really crazy.”

***

They order two bottles of champagne, because why not? They’ve heard the fancy Capitolites discuss wine, and Katniss has always felt that they must have been making things up on the spot, because all the wine she’d tasted on the Victory Tour had just tasted like wine. It feels rebellious to order the most expensive variant and then aggressively fail to appreciate it.

Three bottles are delivered in a bucket of ice placed on the dining room table. Katniss picks one up and wipes it down with her shirt. It’s cold.

“Hey,” Peeta says, touching her elbow. “We don’t actually have to drink if you don’t want. Haymitch will probably get mad at us anyway.”

Katniss snorts. He might be trying to back out, but doesn’t want to say so. It’s so juvenile, what they’re planning anyway. She doesn’t blame him.

“If Haymitch shows up, he’ll probably join us.” She places the bottle down on the table. “But if this is too irresponsible, I get it.”

She’s not actually sure how she feels about it. She’s trying, for now, not to think, and the idea of alcohol greasing the wheels is appealing for just that reason.

Peeta touches her elbow, and she meets his gaze. They look at each other for a long time.

“It is irresponsible,” he says, smiling. “Let’s do it anyway. Just today.”

Katniss’s stomach swoops. She picks the bottle up off of the table again.

“Cheers.”

She goes to open the bottle, but it’s not like any wine bottle she’s ever seen. Underneath the foil, there’s a metal cage around the cork. She struggles with it, jostling the bottle a bit as she does

 “Careful with that,” Peeta says. “I’ve heard those popping.”

“How hard could it be--?” Katniss says. She’s finally gotten the cage off when suddenly the cork shoots from the bottle. Peeta only barely manages to get out of the way in time for the projectile to fly over his head and hit the wall behind him with a smack.

It strikes Katniss as hilarious, and she’s laughing when he gets back up.

“You could have taken my eye out!” he cries. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Trust me. I didn’t know that was going to happen,” she says, still laughing.

Peeta can’t help but laugh as well. He’s not very good at being annoyed with her.

“Well,” he says, gesturing to the open bottle. “Are you going to pour or are you just going to drink out of that?”

“Hmm,” Katniss says. She makes a face. Shrugs. “There’s three bottles. Why waste a glass?” She brings the bottle to her lips and swigs, as though she’s daring him.

“So?” Peeta asks her. She stares at him, not understanding. “What do you think?”

“Oh, of the Champagne?” Katniss asks. “It’s sour. Not a bad sour, though. Lots of bubbles.”

He grabs his own bottle and manages to open it without shooting the cork at anyone. Katniss is right: the champagne is sour. But it also tastes vaguely like berries, maybe strawberries. It’s somehow juicy at the same time as it dries out his mouth.

Katniss is looking at him very intently now.

“What?” he asks. He starts walking towards the couches, and Katniss falls to his side.

“Nothing. It’s just funny that we’re doing this.”

“Would you rather get drunk with Haymitch?” he asks, grinning widely at her.

“No,” she says softly, as her hand brushes against his.

***

Champagne, as it turns out, is dangerous.

Katniss is pretty sure she remembers Effie warning her about it. Something about the bubbles making it go faster. She feels light and carefree as her and Peeta’s jokes get sillier and sillier. She understands how one could start going down a dangerous path with this stuff; it’s been a long time since she’s felt this good.

And that’s the crazy thing, she’s invigorated. Peeta’s laughing and she feels like she might burst with affection for him.

“You’re having fun,” he says, almost smugly. He’s stretched out on one of the couches, on his stomach. His head is propped up on one of his arms and he’s smiling widely. Katniss can tell he’s even more tipsy than she is.

“So are you!”

“Guilty.”

They’re quiet for a minute. Katniss takes another swig. There’s a lot of wine in this bottle; it’s occurring to her now, and she doesn’t seem to have a very high tolerance.

“You know,” she says. “A month ago I never thought we could do something like this.”

Peeta furrows his brow, tilts his head to the side.

“What do you mean?” he asks. “The drinking? ‘cause—“

“No, not that,” Katniss says, shaking her head. She puts the bottle back down on the table. Their puzzle is still there, unfinished. “We were so busy training all the time. You were all serious all the time. I missed regular you.”

It’s not really an embarrassing thing to admit, but she blushes anyway. She’s not alarmed at the words so much as it’s suddenly clear how short the distance between her brain and her tongue have gotten. She leans forward and grabs her bottle, takes another swig. It’s fine.

“You missed me?” Peeta says. She looks at him, eyebrows raised. He’s smiling just a little. She makes a face at him

“Don’t tease me,” she says.

“I would never.”

Peeta reaches for his bottle and almost knocks it over, making a gaspy, exaggerated noise followed by punching the air in victory as he gets a hold on it. It’s cute, Katniss thinks.

“I kinda feel like we’re breaking the rules,” Peeta says, taking a swig from his bottle. He’s looking off to the side, thinking hard. “By having fun now, I mean. It’s like we’re...” He trails off, not finding the words to express his thought.

“Like we’re more than just pieces in their Games?” Katniss says with a smirk.

“Now who’s teasing?” says Peeta, meeting her gaze and smiling wryly as well.

Katniss shrugs. She rotates so that she’s facing Peeta head on and brings her knees up to her chest.

“No, I’m serious,” Katniss says. “Like, if they can’t make us be sad and scared, they lose. ‘Kill me if you want, I don’t even care.’”

Peeta’s eyes look unfocused, and he chuckles, chewing his lip. He’s not really looking at her, but she can tell he’s paying attention to her words.

“That’s powerful,” he says. “Like a final ‘fuck you.’ Not even just to the Capitol.”

Katniss frowns.

“Who else would we be saying ‘fuck you’ to?” she asks.

Peeta shrugs, smiling crookedly.

“Death, I guess,” he says slowly.

“That is powerful,” she says, and they both laugh loudly. She grabs her bottle off the table and holds it up as if to toast Peeta. He does the same. “Fuck you, death.”

“Fuck you, death,” Peeta repeats. They take large swigs from their bottles.

After, Katniss leans back and looks at the ceiling. She keeps her champagne close to her chest and burps loudly. It might have been embarrassing, but Peeta’s laughing so hard she feels strangely accomplished.

“I’ve had plenty of time to be sad and scared,” she says, when he calms down. “I think I might be done with that now.” She turns her head so she can see Peeta on the other couch. He’s nodding.

She realizes he does this thing with his eyes, narrowing them slightly while agreeing to something. There’s something about it that feels conspiratorial, like she’s got a secret and he’s the only one in on it. She’s never noticed it before.

“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

They chat a bit more, but Katniss is feeling antsy. She wants to do something. She gets up and goes to get the third bottle of champagne. Her current one isn’t even done yet, but it would also be a shame for it to go to waste.

“Next task!” she cries, and Peeta groans. He sways dangerously for a second when he rises.

“Woah,” he says. “Wow, I guess it’s got to me more than I realized.”

Katniss is marching to the elevator, and Peeta has no more trouble as he joins her. She hits the call button

“You forgot your wine” she says, pointing to the table authoritatively. Peeta waves her off

“I finished it,” he says with a chuckle. “I might need a little break now anyway.”

“I don’t know,” says Katniss, as the elevator dings and the doors slide open. “Your goal was to get drunk, wasn’t it? I don’t think you’re quite there yet.”

“You’re a horrible influence”

“Yes I am.”

She turns around and enters the elevator, feeling witty. She glances at Peeta as she places her hand at the top of the column of buttons. Dramatically, she slides it down, hitting them all, or at least that’s the idea. The effect is a bit ruined because the five button doesn’t get pushed and she has to hit it on its own.

“Oh, I see,” Peeta says. “Going to every floor, are we?”

“I’ve never been to every floor,” Katniss says.

“Ah yes! And it would be a crime to not right that wrong.”

“I agree. I’m glad you understand.”

***

They’re on the roof again, and it would be chilly, but the alcohol is keeping them warm. Katniss’s left side is pressed up against Peeta, and the last bottle of Champagne is sitting between his knees. They opened it around floor 8, when they realized that the other Victors were none too pleased with their sudden appearance in their living quarters. Maybe tomorrow it’ll be embarrassing.

“Hey, truth or dare?” Peeta says.

“We’re not playing truth or dare, remember?” Katniss says with a snort.

“I did your dare earlier.”

“Fine,” she says. “Truth.”

“Knew it,” Peeta says, turning his head towards her, a vague smile on his lips.

“I’m just not up for a dare right now,” she says, and it comes out more defensively than she intends.

“It’s a valid choice,” Peeta says. “Perfectly legitimate.” He bites his lip and looks down, like he’s thinking, or maybe like he’s embarrassed. She realizes what he’s going to ask about right before he does. He opens his mouth and thinks maybe she should have gone with dare after all.

It doesn’t matter, she tells herself. It doesn’t matter.

“Would you have ever...?” he starts, but it doesn’t come out. He laughs at himself and tries again. “If it wasn’t for the Games... would I, um... ever have had a chance with you?

The question hits Katniss several different ways. The answer that immediately jumps to mind is no, simply because of who she is. The idea of Peeta Mellark--not her lover, not her friend, not even her ally—the idea of the baker’s son striking up a conversation with her, asking to spend time with her. To before-Katniss, that would have just been a weird moment in a regular day she’d forget about.

But she’s thinking of how softly he asked the question, how his eyes flick up to look at her face. He’s meeting her gaze even though he knows she can see him. Full of warmth and the lights of a shining city, they’re baldly hopeful. That’s always been his calling card; he’s always had his north star to follow. Katniss isn’t like that; she’s been tripping through a field half blind, knocking things over. Something in her melts.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe.”

Peeta nods and looks away, chewing his lip again. It’s not the answer he wanted, but if she’d given him that answer he’d have known it was a lie. She’s sure of it. Yes would mean No, but maybe...

“Are we going to finish this?” she asks, gesturing to the Champagne bottle. She’s not trying to change the subject, but it happens.

“Alsolutely,” Peeta says, picking up the bottle and taking a long swig. He hands it to her and she does the same.

“Hey, thanks,” he says.

“For what?”

He shrugs. He thinks she’s lying anyway. Being charitable or something. It’s not until this moment she realizes she’s not lying, not one little bit.

***

“What the hell are you doing?” Haymitch demands. He’s standing by the dining table, staring at Katniss and Peeta, who are by the couches. Peeta is upside down, and Katniss Is trying, for the third time, to help him center his weight above his head.

It doesn’t work. Haymitch has distracted him, and he falls down again onto his back. He’s thankful for how thick and bouncy the thick rug under the coffee table is.

“He’s trying to do a handstand,” Katniss says. “Neither of us have ever been able to do it before.”

“Indeed that is a crucial skill.”

Katniss ignores him and turns her attention back to Peeta.

“Come on,” she says. “One more time.”

“I need a minute,” Peeta says. “I feel a bit nauseous.” Though Haymitch is upside down in his field of vision, he can see his mentor crossing his arms, leaning against the wall.

“What you need is to go to bed,” Haymitch says. “It’s getting late. You should really get some sleep.”

“Big day tomorrow,” Katniss and Peeta say at the same time. She looks at him and they start laughing again. Haymitch rolls his eyes and turns around.

“Hardy har har,” he says. “You want to be rested for the interviews, but do whatever you want. I did my part.”

Peeta hears footsteps; Haymitch is leaving.

Katniss plops down on the sofa again, while Peeta stares up at the ceiling through the glass coffee table. He can see the underside of the cardboard puzzle pieces, still there from earlier.

“Shiiiiit,” he says. “We didn’t finish the puzzle!”

“Not yet,” Katniss says. “It’s fine, let’s leave it.”

The ceiling is spinning above his head, and it’s making his stomach flip. Weirdly, he doesn’t mind the feeling. Peeta raises his head to look at Katniss. She’s curled up, her knees up against her chest. He wants to be close to her, hold her.

With great effort, he sits up, groaning like an old man in a way that makes Katniss chuckle. Upon standing up again he lets himself plop down on the couch next to her, on his side. He shimmies close, rests his head on her shoulder so that the tip of his nose is just brushing her neck. He slides his left arm behind her back and is pleased when she arches to make it easier, so he can hold around her waist, his forearms squeezed between her belly and thighs.

He takes a deep breath through his nose.

“Mmm,” he grunts. “You smell nice.”

“Thanks,” she says, goofily. They sit there for a while. Peeta doesn’t want to move, but after a while his neck starts hurting from the angle, so he stands up and leads Katniss to his bedroom.  She follows him wordlessly, not letting go of his hand.

If he was sober, he might be acting differently, less obvious, but she knows how he feels about her already, so he figures it doesn’t matter. He’s had the best day he’s had in forever, and she doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe that’s what’s stirring in the back of his mind now.

It’s not an idea, more like the ghost of one, telling him to make a move. He’s vaguely aware that it’s something he would normally never ever do, but right now he’s feeling brave. And something is different tonight.

They’re lying next to each other on top of his bed, frowning at the ceiling, when Katniss says:

“Is it just me, or is the room spinning?”

“You get used to it,” Peeta says with a snort. He turns onto his side so he can see her better. She does the same. His heart starts beating faster. Maybe he’s not so brave after all.

“Today was really fun,” she says. “Did a couple of new things.”

“It’s not over yet,” Peeta says. “Not until we go to sleep.”

They stay there, looking at each other, for a long time. Peeta feels the blush rising to his cheeks. She’s not looking away, still gazing with that slightly amused smile on her face, and he suddenly feels like she knows. She can see through him, can see he’s thinking about trying something.

But for some reason, he has a suspicion that she might not mind.

A sly smile is creeping across her face, like she’s laughing at him.

“I thought of another thing I’ve never done,” he says, his voice shaking a little. He’s got to hurry up, or he’ll lose his nerve.

“What’s that?”

He scoots closer, brings his face up to hers. He wants to give her the chance to pull away, if she wants. He can feel her breath on his face, thinks he might hear it speeding up. Now. he’s got to do it now.

He kisses her, very softly and chastely, on the lips. It’s short and sweet, and because he can’t help himself he does it again.

“I’ve never kissed you in private,” he says, and immediately he averts his gaze. He thought it would sound grand and romantic, but he just feels stupid. He’s drunk and he shouldn’t have.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

But then she shifts and now she’s the one pecking him on the lips.

“It’s okay,” she breathes. “No consequences. No future, remember?”

It’s quiet.

 “Truth or dare?” Katniss says.

Peeta blinks.

“Dare,” he whispers.

Katniss smiles, lifts her face closer.

“I dare you to kiss me again.”

So many thoughts are rushing through Peeta’s head. He can see the cave, where he and Katniss had their first kiss.  He can feel her hand on his while his other paints in the plant book. He can hear her laughing, crying, screaming. He feels all the fear and all the hope and all the tension of something new.

He tries to block out everything else for now.

He wants to. He shouldn’t. They’re drunk, or at least they were.

He kisses her.

Katniss responds immediately, rolling over him so Peeta is on his back and she’s straddling him, and his hands find her waist. He can’t believe this, how it feels so different. It’s overwhelming; he breaks from her for a second, his breaths coming fast and short.

He looks at her and has trouble believing she’s really there, the way her eyes are cutting through him, into him. He’s never felt more seen, more known. Something in him is boiling, because he knows he can’t keep this, but she’s here and it feels... real.

She places her palm over his heart, leans forward, brushing her nose against his ear.

“Your heart is beating so hard,” she says.

It is. It’s pounding like it’s going to rip out of his chest.

“I’m—“ he starts to say, but his voice cracks and now he’s cursing, but Katniss giggles—giggles, and kisses his neck softly. Peeta gasps at the feeling of her lips there. Maybe he did drink more than he thought. But she must have also because he’s never seen her act this way and it’s freaking him out a little.

“I thought of something I’ve never done,” says Katniss.

She goes for his lips again, moving them against his slowly. She’s gotten better at kissing since their first, but he’s never really noticed until now. Though usually they’re kissing for someone else’s benefit, and never just for enjoyment, never just to kiss.

He gives in, kissing her back, relaxing his restraint more and more. It seems like she wants this, even. She’s sucking gently on his bottom lip, and he’s hyperaware of the full weight of her, resting on him. She’s just said--

“Wait—“ he says, and she’s not stopping, so he has to push her up and away from him. Just for a second, he hopes.

She’s looking down at him expectantly, and he wants to ask her why? but he’s also wanted her so badly and or so long that instead he asks her:

“What did you mean? A second ago”

She doesn’t answer right away, so he studies her face. She’s starting to blush, and her eyes are darting to and fro, all of a sudden having trouble looking at him. Gently, he lifts her chin with his right hand so he can meet her gaze. She’s terrified, he realizes, but also... excited? Nervous? His stomach flips around and then she leans down and kisses him softly on the lips. It’s enough. It’s plenty.

He can feel his palms sweating and his pants tightening; he’s really starting to think this is what he thought it was. One more way out though. She needs to know she doesn’t have to do anything in particular. Never.

“Tell me to stop if...“

“I will,” she says.

He doesn’t realize she’s not going to until later, when she’s sliding his boxers down and there’s nothing else left between them.

***

Peeta’s never had his head between a girl’s legs, never had hers between his. He’s seen a girl naked before, but he’s never gone all the way to the end, been unable to stop. He never thought it was possible to feel so good, so surrounded by someone.

He’s told Katniss a million times that he loves her. He tells her again when it’s over, but the words feel brand new in his mouth. They’re lying in their usual way, his face in her hair, and when she turns her head he can see that she’s smiling, albeit in a tired, spent way.

She twists around, places a kiss on his shoulder, and that’s the end of it.

***

It’s weird in the morning.

When Peeta first wakes up, it takes a minute for him to remember everything that’s just happened, and he’s so thoroughly and completely happy that he forgets, for a second, what today is. The interviews are tonight. Tonight is when he has to make sure that every audience member roots for Katniss and only Katniss.

It was supposed to be easy to give up the rest of his meaningless, silly little life, but now all of a sudden he’s grieving something he never thought was possible.

It makes him angry, strangely enough, at Katniss. Angry that she didn’t figure this out earlier, angry that the time he could spend doing that with her would be so horribly short. What was the point, if nothing could ever come of it?

Oh.

Oh.

No future. No consequences. He’s so stupid.

He knows it’s not right. They weren’t making promises last night, but he’s angry that he’s so confused, angry that he’s tasted something he probably should have died without knowing.

And yet, the memories are so wonderful that he can’t actually bring himself to wish that last night didn’t happen. None of it fits with any of the rest of it, which is just so typical that he could scream.

He gets out of bed and stretches. Then he hurries to the dresser and finds a clean pair of boxers. There’s light streaming in through the window, and being naked in front of Katniss in the daylight just feels wrong right now.

He’s just in time, because she’s stirring and a second later she yawns loudly, stretching her arms out to her sides.

“Morning,” she says, and yawns again. Her eyes are still closed.

Peeta mumbles “good morning” and starts pulling on pants, before realizing that he really actually wants a shower, and if he puts on day clothes it will be really obvious that he’s doing it for her benefit.

He realizes with a pang that he’s also furious with himself. Furious for losing focus, for wanting a future with her. He has no future; he’s going to die. Katniss will go on to have a life, to love someone else.

The thought makes him feel hollow.

Katniss makes an mmmm sound and sits up against the headboard, pulling the covers with her so they cover her chest. It hurts.

The smile she’s wearing fades as soon as she meets his gaze. Reality is hitting her too, now that last night’s haze has lifted. She glances at the bed side table, looks at the clock.

“Wow, I need to go get dressed,” she says. “Effie will freak out if I’m not ready in time.”

“Yeah,” Peeta says vaguely. “I think I’m going to shower, so—“

“So I’ll get out of your hair,” Katniss says, cutting him off.

He turns away as she leans down to retrieve the clothes she discarded last night. She’s quick, and he hears her coming closer to him as she walks around the bed. She touches the back of his arm lightly as she passes.

“I’ll see you later,” she says.

He almost makes it.

“Katniss,” he says, turning towards her. She’s made it to the door, but she turns also. She stares at him, her expression unreadable.

He opens his mouth, but he has no idea what it is he wants to say. She’s the only one who can leave him so tongue-tied. There’s about twelve things competing for his attention and what finally comes out is probably the worst of all of them.

“Why?” he asks her, and then immediately regrets it. But it’s out there now; there’s no taking it back. “Why now?”

 It’s supposed to be about her, not him. Nevermind the fact that now she’s visibly uncomfortable. She doesn’t love him. She slept with him because of a combination of alcohol and impulse, not love.

And he shouldn’t be so greedy to ask this of her either. He’s an idiot.

“Peeta, I—“

”Forget it,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “Nevermind. We were drunk. It was a mistake. I should have stopped it.”

Katniss crosses her arms.

“I was there too,” she says. “I made the same choices you did.”

Peeta turns back to the dresser, opens a drawer and yanks out a towel. The dryer in the shower makes the towel unnecessary, but he’s trying to force himself to end this conversation so Katniss can leave. The quicker she gets the hint, the quicker they can pretend this never happened.

He doesn’t want to pretend though. He wants to take Katniss in his arms again, kiss her, make her his again. But it’s not possible. And what Peeta Mellark wants has never ever mattered, anyway.

“We have to get back on the ball,” he says, and he sounds choked up, even to his own ear.  He slings the towel over his shoulder and closes the dresser, then walks to the bathroom. “I’ll see you later.”

Katniss nods and says “ok,” so he starts closing the door, but she interrupts him again.

“Hey,” she says. “Last night was... really nice.”

His stupid heart flutters. Nodding wordlessly, he closes the door. She doesn’t stop talking.

“You’re right,” she says. “We gotta get back on the ball. But—“

She’s quiet for a long time. Peeta goes and turns on the shower, convinced she’s gone, but then he hears her voice through the door again.

“I really did like it,” she says. Another pause. “I’m glad it was you.”

Six months ago, he would have been on the moon if she’d said that to him. Now it’s a punch to the gut.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes squeezed shut. “We had a great day yesterday.”

The room is already humid and steamy, and water beats against the stone floor of the shower, but he waits until he’s sure she’s gone to start crying.

***

Katniss closes the door softly, sure she’s ruined everything.

Why?

Last night happened because she’d wanted it to. It had felt good, and right, and it hadn’t occurred to her that he might be hurt. She’d wanted him, and was sure it would make them both happy, if only for a second. She’s never been the best at forethought.

Besides, what he’s really asking was if there‘s any chance she loves him. It doesn’t matter though, because she doesn’t know how to answer a question like that. She’s dying for him; she’s slept with him. That should excuse her from needing to parse out the specifics of her feelings.

It’s only fair that he survive this time. People have called her a survivor again and again, but it isn’t true. Peeta is the survivor. He’s the dandelion who will spring up no matter what happens. If she dies—when she dies-- he’ll handle it. She knows he will, even if he doesn’t.

She wouldn’t be able to go back to 12 and just live, not without him. She knows it now; she felt it last night. She’d fall apart without him, and that’s not the same as just being in love with someone.

She steps out into the common area. There’s nobody else up yet, and it’s eerily quiet. The puzzle’s still on the coffee table, half finished. Yesterday she’d said that they would finish it later, and the strikes her harder than she expects. There is no later. They’ll never finish that puzzle.

“Not yet,” she whispers.