Chapter Text
The hum of the high speed train vibrated through the floorboards as it hurtled through the dark towards District 6.
Katniss stood in front of the vanity mirror in her private compartment, having finally stripped off Cinna’s heavy red gown. She was dressed in a soft, oversized cotton nightshirt, her dark, freshly washed braid pulled over one shoulder. In the mirror, the mark on her collarbone was undeniable. A deep, violet red bruise blooming starkly against her pale skin.
Every time she looked at it, her skin prickled with heat. But right behind that heat came a cold, sharp thorn of irritation.
He knew how to do it because he’d done it before.
Unable to let it rest, Katniss pulled her robe around herself, opened her compartment door, and padded silently down the dim corridor. She didn't bother knocking before slipping into Peeta’s room.
Peeta was sitting on the edge of his bed, barefoot, wearing a plain gray henley shirt with his black dress pants loose around his hips, belt and buttons unfastened. He had a glass of water on his nightstand and was just pulling his clock off the table when the door clicked shut. He looked up, startled, his blue eyes widening slightly.
"Katniss?" he asked softly, his voice raspy with sleepiness. "Is something wrong? Did you have a nightmare?"
"No," she said flatly, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
He sat up straighter, studying her defensive posture. "Okay... then what is it?"
"How many?"
Peeta blinked, utterly bewildered. "What?"
"How many, Peeta?" Katniss demanded, taking two heavy steps toward his bed. "I want to know how many girls you've put your mouth on like that. Before the Games. You said you knew what you were doing out on that balcony. You sounded experienced."
Peeta let out a soft, tired sigh, dropping his face into his hands for a second. When he looked back up, a faint flush was creeping up his throat. "Katniss, it’s past midnight. Do we really have to do this right now?"
"Yes," she snapped, her jaw setting into a hard, stubborn line. "Because every time I look in the mirror, I have to wonder who taught you how to do it," she pointed a finger to her neck. "You owe me an explanation."
"I don't—" Peeta paused, catching himself, breathing out through his nose to keep his temper cool. He looked at her with a mix of disbelief and gentleness. "Katniss, we agreed we were just friends. Why does this even matter to you?"
"Because!" she barked, before her voice cracked. She scowled, biting the inside of her cheek. "Because we’re supposed to be in love, aren't we? What if someone asks me about your past? What if the Capitol reporters dig something up? I need to know!"
It was a terrible excuse, and they both knew it. Peeta saw right through it, but he didn't call her out. He just rubbed his neck, looking resigned.
"Fine," he said quietly. "Four."
Katniss felt her stomach drop like a stone into a deep well. Four. A hot, ugly knot of jealousy twisted tight in her chest. She scoffed, trying to sound indifferent and failing miserably. "Four. Right. Of course." Her voice was much higher than she meant for it to be. "Well? Who were they?"
Peeta rested his elbows on his knees, staring down at the plush rug. He took a deep breath. "The first one was Delly."
Katniss froze. "Delly Cartwright? Delly Delly?"
"We were thirteen," Peeta said quickly, defensive. "It wasn't... it wasn't romantic or anything, Katniss. We were sitting between our parents' shops in the square, talking about what it was like to grow up, and neither of us had ever been kissed. We just decided to see what it was like. It lasted three seconds, we both laughed because it felt weird, and we promised never to talk about it again." He rubbed a hand across his forehead, then added quietly, "It was both of our first kiss."
Katniss gritted her teeth. Delly was endlessly sweet, cheerful, and harmless. It was impossible to stay mad about Delly. "Fine," Katniss muttered. "That’s one. Who else?"
Peeta sat quiet for a beat, thrumming his fingers nervously on his knee. Then he offered reluctantly, "Mara Whitaker."
Katniss’s brow furrowed. "The tailor's daughter?"
"Yeah."
"When? I’ve never even seen you talk to her."
"I didn't know you were paying that close attention," he shot back.
Katniss stopped the pacing she didn't even realize she was doing. She decided to ignore that. "When were you kissing Mara Whitaker, Peeta?" she asked darkly.
Peeta swallowed hard, looking deeply uncomfortable. "It was at a merchant birthday party a couple of years ago. Her parents hosted it in their parlor. They... played a game."
"A game?" Katniss sneered. "What kind of game?"
"They put names in a bowl, drew a boy and a girl out, and stuck them in a linen closet together for seven minutes," Peeta mumbled, refusing to make eye contact. "You were supposed to kiss while you were in there."
Katniss stared at him in utter disbelief, her mouth hanging open slightly. "You lock yourselves in dark closets at merchant parties just to kiss random people? What is wrong with you town kids?"
"It’s just something people do!" Peeta said, throwing his hands up in mild defense, his cheeks burning red. "I didn't invent the game! We stood in the dark, we kissed for a few minutes so we wouldn't feel stupid, and then we waited out the timer making awkward small talk. That was it."
Katniss crossed her arms tighter, her fingers digging into the fabric of her robe sleeves. She hated how easily he talked about it. She hated that there were parts of his life in the town square she had been completely blind to while she was hunting in the woods.
"That’s two," Katniss said coldly. "Who’s the third?"
Peeta went quiet. The lightheartedness drained out of his expression, replaced by a cautious, heavy silence. He cleared his throat.
"Jacey Williams," he said softly.
The name hit Katniss like a slap. Jacey Williams was pretty. Effortlessly pretty. She had bright eyes, shiny hair, and lived three doors down from the bakery. Her father gave coin for blackberries. She did remember seeing Peeta with Jacey. Because...
"Jacey," Katniss repeated, her voice dropping an octave. "She was your... girlfriend."
"For a few months," Peeta admitted. "Last year. Before the Reaping."
"Did you... did you kiss her a lot?"
"Katniss—"
"Did you?" she demanded, stepping right up to the side of his bed. "Did you give her marks like the one you gave me tonight? Is that where you learned this?"
Peeta looked up, his blue eyes searching her tense, furious face. He looked almost pained by the intensity of her questioning. "Yes, Katniss. On occasion. We were dating. She was nice, she was pretty, and... yeah. We kissed... often."
"Why did you break up?" Katniss asked, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them. She needed to know everything. She wanted to pick apart every detail of Jacey Williams until she understood why the thought of Peeta holding that girl made her want to throw something through the train window. "Did you love her? Why wasn't she good enough?"
"Because... I didn't love her!" Peeta said, his voice rising in sudden, passionate frustration as he stood up to face her. They were standing inches apart now, the heat radiating off him. "She was sweet, Katniss. But every time I looked at her, every time I kissed her, I felt like a liar! Because I was thinking about someone else. I ended up breaking it off a few weeks before the Reaping. Because it wasn't fair to her!"
Katniss blinked, her chest heaving. "Who?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Who were you thinking about?"
Peeta looked at her like she had lost her mind. Like there was no way she could be so dense. The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating, filled only by the rhythmic clack clack of the train tracks beneath them.
He reached out, his warm, steady fingers lightly brushing the edge of her jaw, right above the dark, blooming mark on her neck. His touch sent a violent shiver down her spine and gave her goosebumps across her flesh. She wanted him to do it again.
"There’s a fourth girl, Katniss," Peeta said softly, his blue eyes darker than she had ever seen them. "And she’s the only one who has ever actually mattered to me."
Katniss swallowed hard, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. "Who?"
Peeta’s thumb gently traced the bruise on her collarbone, his gaze sliding up to meet hers.
"You know who," he whispered. "You've always known."
Katniss couldn't speak. The fierce, irrational jealousy that had been burning inside her since the balcony vanished, replaced by a dizzying, terrifying weight of panic. She stood frozen under his touch, staring into the face of the boy who had loved her from afar while she had been busy surviving, the boy who had just bruised her skin so beautifully in the dark.
Peeta slowly let his hand drop, stepping back slightly to give her space, though his eyes never left hers.
"I'm tired, Katniss," he said quietly, his voice laced with a bittersweet sadness. "If you're done interrogating me for the night... I'd like to get some sleep."
Katniss stood there for three long seconds, her mouth opening, then closing. She couldn't find a single sarcastic remark, nor a clever defense. And worse yet, she didn't want to leave. She wanted to crawl into the bed with him. But she couldn't do that now, not after... all this. Without another word, she turned around, pulled open the door, and slipped out into the dark hallway, leaving Peeta alone in the quiet hum of the train compartment, knowing he would eventually slip under her own sheets when the nightmares came for her.