Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Mornin’, Sleeping Beauty!”

I look up groggily to see my sister standing by my bed, tray in hand. I sneak a peek at what Prim’s brought for me.

Soup. Of course.

“Before you get all whiny, take your meds,” she instructs, nodding at the bottles on my nightstand. “You don’t need the morphling anymore, right? Just the ibuprofen?”

“That is correct. Thank you, Nurse Everdeen,” I say, rolling my eyes as I comply with her demand.  It’s been kinda nice for my kid sister to take care of me for the past few days, but she’s been enjoying the opportunity to boss me around a little more than I’d like. “What are you doing home from school so early, anyway?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say ‘early.’ I mean, yeah, I had last period free, but it’s almost 3:30. You’ve been out cold all day. Hence, why I brought you soup instead of oatmeal. I figured lunch was more appropriate.” She makes the latter comment with a smirk, clearly in anticipation of whatever complaint I was going to issue…not that I would have any witty rejoinder at the ready, given that the sleep syrup/morphling combo the dentist prescribed has had me teetering at the edge of consciousness for the past couple of-

Wait. 3:30?

“Oh, shit! My paper!” I practically fly off my bed in a panic, only narrowly avoiding knocking my open laptop onto the floor. “I was working on it last night, and-”

“Whoa, wait a sec,” Prim interrupts, laying the tray down on the nightstand. “You’ve been high as a kite on painkillers for the past two days, and somehow decided it would be a good idea to work on a paper?”

“My draft was due today at noon. Most of it was already done, I just needed to write the conclusion.”

“Katniss, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You had oral. surgery. Why didn’t you just ask for an extension?”

Why not, indeed? Perhaps because it would mean talking to Peeta. Peeta Mellark, my poli sci TA. My totally brilliant, charming, unattainably gorgeous TA…that I already embarrassed myself in front of on the first fucking day of tutorial.

My cheeks burn at the memory. “It must have slipped my mind.”

“Well, either you’re gonna have to grovel or deal with the late penalty, because it’s definitely past the deadline.” Prim chuckles, lifting my laptop off the bed so that she can sit next to me. The screen flickers to life as she picks it up. “Hey. Wait a second.”

“What?”

“Are you sure you didn’t ask for an extension?” She looks at the screen, then back to me.

“Pretty sure. I don’t remember sending anything.”

“Well, you might want to search your memory again, because your inbox has an email from a Peeta Mellark with the subject line, ‘Re: paper extension pretty please.’”

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit. Balls. Oh my god, no, no please no.

I sink back onto my bed, grabbing a nearby pillow and covering my face with it to muffle my cries. “Ahm mfo mfuckdd,” I wail.

“Cool down, tiger. I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Prim says, patting my pillow-covered head reassuringly. “So. You want to hear what you wrote, or what he said in response?”

Neither. I just want to hide under the covers for the rest of the semester. I pull the blanket over my head for good measure.

Unfortunately, Prim interprets the pathetic whimper I emit from beneath my mountain of bedding as a signal to choose on my behalf. “I agree, little chipmunk. Let’s read yours first.”

“If I ever come out from under here, you will be the first one I kill,” I threaten.

“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen. Like I said, I’m sure it’s not…so…” Prim’s commentary trails off. She goes silent for a couple moments, then breaks out into a full cackling fit. “You know what, forget I said anything,” she gasps between spasms of laughter. “Oh my god, this is amazing. Can I post this on Twitter? You would go viral in, like, fifteen seconds.”

My stomach bottoms out. This can’t be good.

Oblivious - or, more likely, indifferent - to my growing embarrassment, Prim clears her throat and begins to read,

Dear Peeta,

I remember you sayng to to us lowly undergrads that you, also an undergrad but awesomely more intlelgient than us since you got this special TA job, would look over our papers before tuning them into .prf Abernathy (why doe he alswy smell like liquot?) and give us feedback if we submiited them befor noon on Thursday. Unfortunately despite my best efforts I wad unable to finish over the weekend like I had planned and hen on MondayI had oral surgery (not the good kind)–

“Is there a good kind of oral surgery?” she wonders aloud.

“Please stop reading, I beg you.”

Ignoring my plea, Prim reads on,

–and had my widnsom teeth sliced out on Monady. I have been working so hard on this paper and as I told you before this is my only humanities class and I don’t know what I am doing even though you are the best TA on earth and have been really nice an hekpful, I really want to get an A to show you how much I care about this class eben though I only signed up beczuse it was the only one that fit in my scheduke and i am so sorry I said all TAs are kiss ass flunkys, I swear I didn’t know you wre a TA, at the time I was just relieved that I wasn’t the lone senior in a sea of freshmen. I am sorry I didn’t apologies earlier, but I was embarrassed and I am also super awkward around cute guys in general and it’s even worse because you’re my TA-

My sister pauses again, and even from my hiding spot I can practically hear her smirk. “So, you think this Peeta guy is cute, hm? Very interesting. Also, your writing is only barely legible.”

This time, I just growl, blindly hurling a pillow in her general direction. Undeterred, Prim continues:

Anyways Like I said I have been working super hard and I really want to do well but I am not doing very good after this surgery, the medication is really strong and I don’t like medication but it hurts a lot and I’m not allowed to eat anything but soop and on top fo all thatPrim calls me a chipmunk because my cheeks are so swollen,  so I don’t want to go to school until I am better and less chipmunky, but that might not be until at least Friday. So i am asking from the boottom of my heat for a little extension, even though I’m sure you have  a lite and things to do like your girflriend or something because you know, the weekend, but if youwoud be so kind as to look at it over teh weekend I would owe you so big and I hate owing people but I really want to do well. If you say no I will understand, I promise, even though I will be sad…thank you so so much, Peeta my favorite TA (I mean it, your the best).

Sincerely, Katniss Everdeen (not Catnip, my best friend calls me that and I hate it, but he does it anyway)

“Are you finished?” I groan.

“Nope. There’s a postscript.”

PS, I promise I will answer all your questions in class so there wont be any more awkwaed silences from me, i promise I pay attention, your just really intimidating and your eyelashes are kind of distracting. Also I will get you more expo markers that work because I like it when you doodle on the board and you should have markers that work, even though the school shold give them to you, not me. But I like you and you need good markers so I will ge you markers. Ok Love you bye

Finally, Prim stops reading. She sits silently next to me for a minute or two before speaking up again. When she does, her tone is light, on the edge of teasing. “So….I bet you’re wondering how he responded…”

“Actually,” I reply. “I’m trying to figure out if I’ll be able to drop this class even though there are only five weeks left in the semester.”

My sister sighs, prying the covers off my head. A whoosh of cold air hits my face in the process. “First of all, no. You’re not dropping this class. Second of all, even though your email was totally hilariously cringe-worthy, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by Peeta’s reply.”

“You read his email??”

“Of course I did! You should, too.” She grabs my laptop and places it in the space next to me. Grinning, she rises from the bed. “Go on. You know you want to,” she sing-songs as she slinks out the door.

I’m tempted, I admit. But what’s the point? Even if he managed to find some nice way of telling me how ridiculous I am, I’ll never be able to show my face in class again.

“Actually, I think I’m going to go back to bed,” I yell, closing my laptop without giving the screen a second look.

“Fine,” Prim yells back from down the hall. “But you’re gonna have to face him eventually!”

“We’ll see about that,” I mutter quietly. Then I pull the duvet back over my head and pray for my meds to drag me back into sleep.

Chapter Text

“Would you stop that? It’s getting distracting.”

Prim pauses mid-bounce. “Huh? Oh, sorry.” She gives me a sheepish smile before settling back into her seat. “Just excited.”

Her response is puzzling - much like the way she’s been behaving since the moment I agreed to come out with her this afternoon. Not that she’s wrong. Just the sheer act of showering and putting on real pants has been remarkably effective in making me feel like a real human again. But I don’t get why she keeps grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

I just shake my head. “Har har. I know you must feel incredibly accomplished for dragging me out of my room-”

“-You mean, your cave,” she deadpans. “No matter. You’re here, which is what’s important. Though I have to say, I’m still kind of surprised you’re going through with this.”

I raise a brow at her. “What, because I’m a hermit?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, what can I say? Even I need to get out now and again,” I say with a smirk. I pick up the menu. “Anyway, what were you thinking of ordering? I need to fuel up before I get on this.”

“You sure do,” she replies, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. There’s a playful smugness in her voice that worries me, but I shake it off. “Anyway, I might just get something light,” she continues. “You know, something I can take home easily in case I need to jet out of here.”

Ugh, of course. Now I get it.

I play along, shooting her a look. “And why would you need to do that, young lady? Don’t tell me you were just pitching this whole ‘lunch study date’ thing as an excuse with Mom so you could sneak away to see Rory.”

“I won’t say it didn’t cross my mind,” she admits. “But that’s not the point. I mean, I don’t know about you, but I’m not really interested in playing third wheel.”

And I’m back to being confused. “Third wheel? Why, are we meeting someone here?”

This time, it’s Prim who seems puzzled. “Well, yeah. Isn’t that why-”

I don’t catch the rest of what my sister says, as I’m distracted by a flash of blond passing through my field of vision. My eyes land on the sight of Peeta slipping into a corner booth. Books and papers are piled up next to an open laptop, suggesting that he’s been there for a while. I try not to stare as he sits there, chewing on the end of a pen as he reads over an essay, but it’s hard to drag my gaze away. I mean, the afternoon sun reflects off his golden hair just so, and seems to brighten the whole room…

No. Stop.

I force myself back to reality and focus on more pressing issues, like how to get the hell out of this place without being seen. “We have to go,” I blurt.

“What? Why?”

I lean forward, keeping my head down and my voice low. “Remember that TA I sent that ridiculous email to the other day, when I was all hopped up on meds? Don’t look now, but he’s right over the- I said, don’t look!” I hiss.

Prim ignores me. Tilting her head upward, she twists around and scans the restaurant. “Blond, right? I’m guessing he’s the one with the laptop and a stack of papers? You were right, he is cute.”

“Could you not talk so loud?”

She gives an exasperated sigh as she plops back down. “Why are you suddenly all crazy? Getting cold feet or something?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Katniss. Isn’t he why we’re here?”

“We’re here because you suggested this place, remember?” I counter. “I just went along with it.”

Prim cocks her head at me. “But in his email-”

I put my hands up. “Wait. What email?”

She stares at me, confusion evident in her face. “His reply, remember? He mentioned that he’d…” Prim trails off, her eyes widening with realization. “Oh, shit. You really don’t know. Wait - are you seriously telling me you haven’t checked your email since Wednesday?”

My blood runs cold. Oh no.

“Primrose Everdeen…did you know he was going to be here? Did you - did you set this up?”

“Of course not! I thought you knew! That’s why I was so excited when you agreed to come here!”

“But why-”

She wags a finger at me, cutting me off. “You know what? No. I’m not going to answer any more questions until you read your fucking email.”

“Language, Prim.”

“Whatever. Just read.” Prim crosses her arms and nods at my phone. “Go on.”

A brief staredown ensues, but I know it’s useless. Sighing, I pick up my phone and open the email app.

“12 unread messages…”

“Stop stalling!”

“Okay, okay.” Bracing myself, I scroll down to Peeta’s reply and tap on the message.

Hi Katniss,

Thanks for your, um, somewhat unorthodox extension request. I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that you were under the influence of your wisdom teeth meds when you wrote me?

As it stands, Professor Abernathy just pushed the paper’s due date by a week. He announced it in lecture this morning; I noticed you’ve missed a couple of classes, but from reading your email I can understand why. In any case, given the later due date, I’m more than happy to check out your work and give you feedback. No need to worry about girlfriend or weekend plans interfering (I have neither, unless you count reading/marking drafts a sign of a vibrant social life).

If I may be honest - you don’t need my help, though I am happy to offer it regardless. I’m actually looking forward to reading your work; your perspective as a scientist is really refreshing, and I enjoy hearing what you have to say in tutorial. If your email is any indicator, however, you might benefit from having a proofreader ;)

So yes, please free to send me your draft whenever you are able to finish it.

Hope you feel better soon,

Peeta

P.S. You have no need to feel at all embarrassed for what happened on the first day - it was my fault for not telling you right away that I was the TA, and for that I apologize. Also, thank you for the expo marker offer, but it’s no trouble. I’ll talk to Prof. Abernathy about getting new ones (he never uses them, anyway).

P.P.S. It goes without saying that I’m available to provide any help/feedback you may need during office hours…or at Sae’s, where I plan to spend my weekend enjoying their free wifi and reading a lot of drafts. If you are feeling better and need to get out of the house (I got my wisdom teeth out last year; you may not feel like it now, but trust me, the cabin fever will hit you hard in a couple days), feel free to come by…they have a number of excellent non-soup food options, perfect for someone recovering from oral surgery. We can chat about your paper, the lectures you missed, or my crippling social awkwardness around students the same age as me. (Just don’t tell the freshmen.)

“So?” I look up to see my sister staring expectantly at me.

“So, what?” I ask back.

“So, you’re totally going to go out with him, right?”

“He didn’t ask me out!”

“Um, yeah. Because he’s your TA, and he’s not dumb enough to ask one his students out in writing after aforementioned student - that would be you, just so we’re clear - flat out said ‘love you’ to him over email while high on pain meds.”

“You’re reading too much into this,” I protest. “He was just being nice, and trying to make me feel better after I’ve humiliated myself. Besides,” I add with a sniff, “his offer was purely academic. I can tell.”

“Tell him that yourself,” she retorts. “He’s coming over right now.”

“What?” I turn around, and - sure enough - I see Peeta ambling down the aisle.

He stops right in front our booth and gives a friendly little wave. “Hey,” he says, smiling his stupidly perfectly dimpled smile. Why does he have to be so attractive? “Nice to see you out and about.”

“Hey, Peeta.” I greet him as calmly as I can. “Yeah, this is my first time venturing into the wild in days.”

I feel a kick to my shins. I gesture to my sister, resisting the urge to kick her back. “Um, this is my sister, Primrose. Prim, this is Peeta, my Intro to Political Science TA.”

Prim sticks out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Peeta. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you. Katniss really enjoys your class.”

Peeta rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, well. It’s not my class, not really. Professor Abernathy is tough, but he’s an amazing teacher. I’m just lucky to have the opportunity to help out. Did, um, did Katniss tell you we’re actually in the same year at school?”

“She might have mentioned that, yes,” she replies, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “But this is the first class you’ve had together?”

“Actually, we were in Professor Heavensbee’s freshman biology class together.” I perk up at this new information, but say nothing. “She probably didn’t notice me because there were like, a thousand people in the course,” he says with a chuckle. “But I still remember when she argued with our TA about the ethics of cross breeding animal species in front of the whole class. It was incredible. She, uh…she definitely left an impression.”

I flush at the memory. How does he remember that? More to the point, how did I not notice him before? “Seneca was a jerk,” I mumble off-handedly.

“No argument there,” he agrees. “I was happy just to pass. My mom wanted me to go pre-med, but I could barely survive the labs. Poli sci was a much better fit.”

“So I hear,” Prim says. “She says you are an excellent TA.”

“She’s an excellent student,” he replies easily. I search for sarcasm in his voice, but find none. “Your sister is a real force of nature. Don’t tell them I said so, but the other students are totally intimidated by her.”

“Oh please,” I scoff. “I barely say a word in class.”

“But when you do, people listen. Honestly, I don’t think you realize the effect you have.” His blue eyes bore into mine as he speaks, and for a second I wonder if he’s really talking about my in-class participation.

Peeta clears his throat. “Anyway, um…I can tell that I’m interrupting, so I’ll leave you ladies to continue your lunch and get back to marking-”

“Actually,” Prim interrupts, “something came up, and I’ve got to go.” She rises from her seat and shrugs her jacket on. “Peeta, you think you could keep her company while she waits for her food to arrive? She was going to work on that paper for your class, anyway. I’m sure she’d be happy to join you at your table. Looks like you’ve got a good spot. Nice and cozy.”

I try to protest. “But I haven’t even order-”

“Okay, see you later! Try not to have too much fun without me,” she says with a wave, walking off before I have a chance to throttle her as she stands. I watch helplessly as she heads toward the exit, whistling the tune to ‘You’re Welcome’ from Moana.

I finally drag my eyes back to Peeta, who is shifting rather uncomfortably from side to side. “She…didn’t really have anywhere to go, did she?” he asks.

“Nope,” I sigh. “But if it makes you feel any better, the fact that she’s willing to leave me here with you after chatting with you for two minutes is a pretty strong vote of confidence in your character.”

“I’m honored,” he chuckles. The sound of his laugh warms me to the tips of my toes. He shoots me a tentative smile. “I’d, uh, be happy to oblige her request, though. I mean, if you prefer to have your own space, by all means…but if you want to join me, you’re more than welcome.”

“You sure? I mean, she’s gone. You don’t have to humor her or anything.”

“No, I want to.”

“Oh.” I hesitate, certain that he’s just being polite. But when he smiles at me again, I’m struck by the notion that he actually looks…hopeful. “Okay.”

His eyes light up. “Great! My ‘office’ is that way.”

Grabbing my things, I follow him to his booth. He shifts a stack of papers to the side to make room for my stuff. “Welcome,” he says with a grin. “Have a seat and we can get started.”

As I settle in, I feel my phone buzz with an incoming text.

Primmy: You can thank me later

My eyes narrow as I type out a reply.

Me: Not if I kill you first

“So,” Peeta begins. “You, um, want to order some food first, or do you just want to go ahead and show me what you’ve written so far?”

I look up guiltily. Here he is, offering to help me on a weekend, and already I’m screwing it up. “Oh, right,” I rush out. Quickly, I open up my laptop, closing out any potentially embarrassing windows before pulling up the file with my paper. I direct the computer his way. “Here, may as well just read it off mine.”

“The evolution of political activism in the digital age,” Peeta reads aloud. “Nice choice. Very timely.” He shares a smile with me before directing his gaze back to the screen.

I’m grateful when a server comes by to take my order, if only because her presence distracts me from staring at Peeta as he stares at my laptop. He reads silently, the quiet punctuated by the odd hum of agreement (or concern - it’s hard to tell which) and the scratching of a pencil on paper as he scribbles out a few notes. Even amid the din of clattering plates and cutlery and the sounds of families and friends talking, it’s like he is in his own little world, the usual easy expression on his face replaced with one of intense concentration. It’s a look I’ve only ever seen flashes of during our most serious debates in class, but I’ve never had an opportunity to study it up close. And then there’s his eyelashes. Seriously, when did I develop an eyelash fetish? They’re like a doll’s, so long that I wonder how they don’t get tangled together when he blinks. The whole picture is oddly breathtaking, but also feels so…normal, allowing me to pretend for a little while that I’m not his awkward student, and he’s not my TA. We’re just two college kids studying together at a cafe.

Peeta stops reading and looks up so suddenly that I start. I blush, caught. But he just smiles and says, “This is really great work so far, Katniss. Are you sure you’re in the right major?”

“Thanks, but I’m good,” I say, shrugging off his compliment. He just chuckles and goes back to reading.

I take a sip of my water, hoping the glass will mask the grin threatening to overtake my face. Despite the coolness of my response, inside I am triumphant. This may be some annoying freshman class that I’m only taking so that I can fulfill my graduation requirements, but for some reason Peeta’s good opinion on my work makes me feel like I’ve won some sort of prize.

Of course, I’m so busy giving myself a mental high five that I totally don’t notice when things go south.

“Um, Katniss?”

I look back at Peeta, whose smile has given way to something else entirely. I can’t tell exactly what’s going on in his head, but his tone of voice tells me it can’t be good. My mind reels with the myriad of ways I could have screwed up, but I try to stay calm. “Is there something wrong?”

“Ah, well…um,” Peeta says, rubbing the back of his neck. He pushes the computer away and turns it back in my direction. “Maybe you should read the last bit for yourself.”

Chapter Text

My finger hovers over the trackpad. “Stop stalling, Everdeen,” I whisper to myself. “You’re going to have to read it eventually.”

Rationally speaking, I know this to be true. But as I sit here in a darkened corner of the Environmental Sciences library, I can’t quite bring myself to take action. I mean, I’ve gone this long. I’ve barely opened my laptop all week. I’m practically a Luddite.

I peer up at the giant clock hanging above the circulation desk. Tick, tock, it taunts, reminding me that I’ve only got a few hours before my deadline. If avoiding my laptop makes me a Luddite, Professor Abernathy is even worse - he’s probably the last prof on the eastern seaboard to require that students submit hard copies of their papers instead of using Dropbox like everyone else.

I would like nothing more than to hide under my bed until graduation. But the clock persists in its ticking, so I force myself to click.

I scan through my draft, making tiny adjustments here and there and patting myself on the back for having the foresight to do most of the work before my fateful visit to the dentist. In fact, for the most part, I’m pretty proud of what I’ve written. But that doesn’t do anything to quell my rising anxiety as I get closer and closer to the end.

Finally, I reach the section I’ve been dreading to revisit since I last read it more than a week ago:

While recent developments in the American political arena point to the potential pitfalls of social media (ADD STUFF HERE ABOUT ECHO CHAMBERS, FAKE NEWS, RUSSIANS?), message dissemination through mediums such as Facebook and Twitter have also highlighted new possibilities when it comes to rapidly mobilizing large groups of people to take action and rally together in support of (THIS THIS AND THIS. WOMEN’s MARCH? AIRPORTS? ISERT BLAHBLAH HERE ABOUT HOW AWESOME INDIVISIBLE IS. I SHOULD TELL PEETA I WENT TO ONE OF THOSE TOWN HALL MEETINGS, HE WILL BE SO RPOUD.REP THREAD IS SUCH AN ASSHOLE, I HATE THAT GUY.  I OH SHIT ITS GETTING LATE, I SHOULD ASK FOR AN EXTENSION HOLD ON ILL BE RIGHT BACK)

OKAU IM BACK AND SO READY TO FINISH THIS SHIT, YO [MORE HERE ON SOCIAL MEDIA? TUMBL?]

In conclusion, it is clear that INSERT CONCLUSIN HERE, PS. PLEASE LIKE MY PAPER AS MUCH AS I LIKE YOU PLEASE AND THANK YOU. BY THE WAY YOU SHOUKD KNOE I SOUNDED SUPER DUPER PROFESSORNOL IN MY EXTNSION REUQEST EMAIK AND NOT AT SLL LIKE I REGULARLSY THINK ABOUT YOU NAKED. OOOH INJUST SAID NAKED, BUT LET ME TELL, YOU THAT IS JUST THE BEGINNING, FOR EXAMPLE-

Cheeks flaming, I instinctively slam my laptop shut. Would it be childish to skip tutorial? Probably. That doesn’t mean I can skip out on submitting this paper, though.

I take another breath and open my laptop up again. I’ve really gotta finish this. Determined, I select the offending text, delete, and get to work.

The next hour goes by in a blur. The pressure to complete my work on time proves to be a good distraction from the embarrassment that continues to simmer below the surface, but it threatens to bubble over again as I trek across campus toward the poli sci department offices to submit my freshly printed essay. To my relief, Professor Abernathy’s door is closed and the hall is empty. The dropbox he has for paper submissions is still outside the door, looking more than a little battered - it’s probably the same one he’s used for the past decade or more. I stamp the cover page with the date and slip it into the slot.

Whew. Paper, done. Now I just have to worry about the final.

I’m contemplating how many classes I can skip without it having too much of an effect on my final mark, when I hear the sound of someone clearing their throat behind me.

“Hi, Katniss.”

Oh, no.

Slowly, I turn around. “Hi, Peeta.”

In the silence that seems to stretch out between us, I take an opportunity to study his appearance. At first glance, he seems as put-together as ever, but there’s something in the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes that makes it clear he’s not his usual self. He looks…tired. And maybe a little annoyed.

“Nice to see you’ve fully recovered. Perhaps we’ll finally see you in tutorial again?”

It’s unclear if he’s trying to make a joke or some kind of dig at me. His face is a mask, completely unlike the kind, easygoing expression he normally wears. I’m sure at this point he is frustrated about something, but it’s hard to tell what about. Probably the fact that I ran out of that cafe with nothing but a dumb excuse about needing to pick up Prim, and I haven’t so much as looked at him since.

“Look, about that day at Sae’s…”

And there it is.

“I’ll pay you back,” I blurt. I jam my hand into my laptop bag, fishing for my wallet. I pull out a twenty and hold it up. “Here. This should cover the cost of lunch.”

Peeta waves my hand away. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

“It’s fine. Just take it,” I plead, hoping he will accept it so I can get the hell out of there before things get any more awkward.

“I’m not taking your money.”

“I’m not a charity case,” I argue.

He pinches the bridge of his nose with a groan. “Honestly. You really think that’s what I care about?”

The heat rises in my face. Of course I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I want to talk about it.

Peeta blows out a sigh. “This is not how I wanted this conversation to go. Just…” he trails off as a portly professor walks by, tipping his head in greeting as he passes.

Realizing our surroundings, I suddenly feel exposed. Peeta seems to be of the same mind. “Can we take this chat somewhere a bit more, um, private?” he asks.

If ever there was a time to flee the scene altogether, this would be it. But those goddamn golden eyelashes of his flutter at me as he silently pleads his case, and I find myself nodding in assent.

Peeta escorts me down the hall toward his office. He opens the door, revealing a windowless room occupied by two massive desks and a few chairs. A petite brunette sits at one of the desks, oblivious to our presence, typing away at a laptop as music blasts from her oversized headphones.

“Um, I don’t know if you’ve seen her in lecture, but I share a space in the department office with the other TA in the course.” He stalks over to his colleague and taps her on the shoulder. “Hey Johanna, do you think I could have a few minutes to chat with one of my students?”

Johanna shuts off the music, removes her headphones, and turns from her station. Disdain is evident in her eyes as she looks me up and down. “If you’re another one of those chicks pretending you’re interested in earning ‘extra credit,’ you’re out of luck. Peeta’s practically a monk.”

“Jo, stop,” he sighs, his cheeks tinged pink. I suddenly wonder if he’s thinking about what I wrote in that draft. “Katniss is the best student in my section.”

Her eyes light up and a wide grin appears on her face. “Katniss? You mean the girl who-”

“Out, Jo.”

“Okay, okay,” she replies, lifting her hands in mock surrender. But she doesn’t seem able to resist making one last comment before she slips out the door. “Forget what I said earlier about the extra credit, but stay away from my desk,” she quips.

I clench my fists as she passes me by, reminding myself that attacking a TA three weeks before graduation is probably not a good move.

The door clicks shut, but I’m already feeling like I’ve been there too long. “This was a mistake,” I mutter as I turn to go.

Peeta rushes forward. “No, wait,” he implores. “Don’t let what Johanna said bother you. Trust me, she was definitely teasing me, not you.”

I whirl around to face him head on. “You mean you didn’t share what I wrote?” I all but accuse.

“No,” he intones. “I would never do that.” I search his face for a lie, but his expression is sincere - like he’s horrified that I would even consider that something he would do. “But…I do think we should talk about it.”

And just like that, the other shoe drops. I can feel my defenses rising. “What is there to discuss? How I managed to humiliate myself in writing, not once, but twice? Or how your fellow TA seems to think it’s hilarious?”

“No! I told you, I never said a thing about that.”

“Excuse me if I find that hard to believe. She practically threw it in my face as soon as she realized who I was.”

“You don’t understan-”

“Don’t understand? Fuck, Peeta, come on. I mean, seriously, do you think I’m stupid or someth-”

“Katniss, stop.” The vehemence of Peeta’s command throws me for a loop, causing me to pause mid-rant. When I look up, I realize that we’re practically nose to nose. His blue eyes are blazing, his frustration evident in the intensity of his gaze.

If I wasn’t so mad at him, I’d be far more willing to admit how hot he looks right now.

Satisfied that he’s got my attention, Peeta tries again. “Johanna doesn’t know about your draft. She doesn’t even know you asked for an extension. No one else knows, not even Abernathy. So believe me when I tell you that you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who confessed to having a huge crush on her TA in a paper that he was reading,” I bite out. I sound like a completely irrational idiot, but at this point I don’t really care.

“You’re right,” he grits back. “I’m not. I’m the one who found out by reading said paper that the student he has a huge crush on actually likes him back.”

Wait, what?

“But- I- um,” I stammer. “No, wait. That’s not possible. You - at the diner - you looked so…uncomfortable…”

“I was uncomfortable,” Peeta affirms, “but not how you think.” He leans in closer. I can feel the heat of his breath on my cheek, and it’s all I can do to stay standing, let alone maintain eye contact as he draws out each word.

“I was uncomfortable,” he repeats, “because when you find out that the girl you’ve been fantasizing about for months not only feels the same way, but is able to describe said fantasies in incredible detail, the last thing you want is to be trapped in a public place where the entire world can see how turned on you are.”

The weight of Peeta’s words knock me back. How could he…does that mean…?

“Y-you can’t possibly…” I sputter.

“I can. I do.”

My gaze darts upward. One look in his eyes, and I know he’s dead serious.

I don’t know who moves first. All I really seem to register is the force with which my back collides with the door as I moan into his mouth.

“You…have no idea…how much I’ve wanted you,” he murmurs, punctuating each statement by planting open mouthed kisses along my jaw. “And it’s been killing me, knowing you want me too, but not being able to do a thing about it.”

I can’t help the gasp I let out when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. “Oh god, this can’t be real,” I say breathlessly. “Please tell me this is real.”

“I’m not sure either,” Peeta teases as nips at my lower lip. Sliding his hands under my thighs, he lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist for support as he turns and walks us over to the closest desk. “For all I know, this is just another fantasy. I mean, I haven’t been able to walk into this office without picturing all the things you wrote about wanting to do in here. It’s basically what’s gotten me through the week.”

I can feel myself flush as the words flash through my mind, and I’m not sure if it’s due to embarrassment or arousal. Probably both, I realize with a shiver, as Peeta nuzzles the crook of my neck. “You have…a remarkable memory,” I pant.

He pauses to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, locking eyes with me as he does so. “I remember everything about you. You just haven’t been paying attention.”

Despite his swagger, I can sense a sliver of doubt in his expression. “Well, I’m paying attention now,” I say softly.

He shrugs in gesture to the empty room we are occupying. “I don’t have much competition in here,” he points out.

Emboldened, I hook my ankles behind his back and pull him in closer. “You don’t have much competition anywhere.”

All talking stops after that. When he kisses me again, it’s all I can do to contain another moan. Instead, I respond in kind, arching into him encouragingly. I can feel him hard against my center, and I grind into him with little care for where we are or what will happen next, because holy shit, I have never felt so fucking good in my life. Peeta grips my braid, and I let out a hum of pleasure. I slip my hands beneath his shirt, desperately seeking purchase along the broad planes of his back. Our kisses become more frantic, our thrusts more insistent, and I can feel myself climbing higher, higher-

“This is your five minute warning. Whatever is going on in there better be done before I get back. And you sure as hell better not be anywhere near my desk!”

Oh, fuck.

Peeta tears his mouth away at the sound of Johanna’s voice, and I whimper at the loss of contact. Chests heaving, we stay frozen in place, struggling to control our breaths as we listen for the sound of footsteps leading away from the office.

Unfortunately, by the time the coast is clear, the realization that I’ve been dry humping my TA has set in…and so has the accompanying mortification. For both of us.

Peeta is the first to step away. Avoiding my gaze, he runs a hand through his hair. “I, uh…I’m sorry I got carried away.”

“It’s fine,” I say quickly. I hop down from the desk, smoothing out the front of my shirt. “We, um, we probably shouldn’t be doing this in here, right?  Wouldn’t want anyone to get the impression that you’re taking advantage of your students.”

“Yeah.” The discomfort in his voice is palpable.

Tears start to prick at the backs of my eyes, making me feel like even more of an idiot. I make for my laptop bag. “I should go.”

Peeta suddenly whips his head up. “Wait, Katniss, no. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Didn’t mean it like what,” I snap back. “Like you didn’t mean to kiss me?”

“No no no, not that. Never that - what we just - I mean, you, just now…wow. I didn’t even…that was…wow,” he stammers, for once at a loss for words. “It’s just…you’re right. I mean, I’m still your TA.” Peeta takes a breath. “I know we’re the same age, and it’s not the same. But…I’ve never done this before-”

“The TA thing, or the making out with a student thing?” I interject.

“Both,” he replies. “And I know it sounds dumb, but I don’t want any teacher-student power dynamic getting in the way. The last thing I want is for you to feel like I’m taking advantage of you. So…just hear me out, okay?”

I scowl at the way he parrots my words back at me. He makes a good point, though.

“Fine,” I say. “Talk.”

Peeta takes my hand, idly rubbing his thumb over my knuckles as he tries to figure out how to explain himself. Despite my annoyance, the gesture feels oddly comforting. “The truth is,” he begins, “you taking this class is simultaneously the best and worst thing that could have happened to me this semester.”

My curiosity about what he means gets the better of me. “Go on.”

“I had the biggest crush on you in first year,” he confesses. “That story I told your sister? There’s a reason I remember it so well.”

I narrow my eyes at him, still wary. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“At the time? Probably because I was a dumb freshman, and I was totally intimidated by you.”

I have difficulty reconciling this picture he paints of himself with my own perception of him. “But you’re the intimidating one.”

He shakes his head, chuckling lightly. “Trust me. When you walked into the lecture hall that first day, it was like I was in freshman bio all over again. Except this time, I was Seneca. I was terrified you’d yell at me like you did to him.”

“I would never-” I start, but stop when the memory of how our first day of class springs up. I shift my focus back to him. “You’re nothing like that guy. You’re brilliant.”

“I’m really not,” Peeta insists. “If I were, I would have figured out a way to talk to you sooner.” He gives me a sheepish smile. “Seriously, I’m pretty sure the whole class knows how much I like you. Jo has been mocking me about it for weeks now.”

So that’s how Johanna knew about me. I smack myself internally for thinking the worst of him.

“When you sent me your…extension request,” Peeta continues, “I didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, I couldn’t believe my luck. Just the idea that you were being flirty - painkillers notwithstanding, I mean - gave me hope that I might actually be able to do something about this crush. But on the other hand, there was no way I could tell you I liked you back without sounding like a total creep - especially since you’re one of my students.”

“True,” I concede. I guess Prim had been right after all.

“And then, at the diner…I mean, I had a feeling that your sister was up to something when I walked over, but when you didn’t immediately run away, and I thought, man, I might actually have a chance here…”

“And then I did run away.”

“Yeah. But that- I get that. I mean, you had no idea what was going on in my head at the time. But I felt like a total coward. I felt terrible for not saying anything, for not having the courage to explain myself right then and there.”

“I probably wouldn’t have listened,” I reply honestly.

“Still, I should have done more. But now…now that we’re here, and you know how I feel, and I know how you feel…” He gives me a shy, hopeful smile. “The point is, I really like you. I have for a while. And now that I know what it’s like to kiss you, I would really like for that to continue. But only if you allow it…and maybe only officially after the term ends, so that we can get this whole TA thing out of the way and date without either of us getting in trouble.”

In spite of everything that’s happened, his confession still surprises me. “You want to date me?”

“Well, yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Sorry, that’s a lot to unload on you all at once, isn’t it?”

“A little,” I admit. “I’ve spent the past two weeks trying to convince myself that this whole fiasco has been some kind of morphling-induced hallucination. So to have you tell me all this… I guess I’m still having a hard time believing any of it is real.”

Peeta takes a step closer. “It’s definitely real.” A slow, lazy grin forms, and it’s hard to keep one from forming on my face as well. “But it makes you feel better,” he offers, “I can write it all up for you and send it in an email.”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes. “All of it?” I ask.

“Every embarrassing detail,” he promises. His voice drops to a murmur. “I might even throw in a few of the fantasies I’ve had about you as well. That way, we’ll be even.”

My stomach flips at the thought. “I think I could deal with that,” I say, closing the distance between us. “On one condition.”

Peeta’s hands rest on my waist. “Anything.”

I reach up to loop my arms around his neck. “At some point, you’ll have to show me exactly how well you remember what I wrote in my paper.”

Peeta tilts his head down, his lips hovering over mine as he breathes his reply.

“I look forward to it.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

I hate my life.

Okay fine, I don’t hate it - not by a long shot. But I do hate that despite the veritable mountain of pillows I have on either side of me, I can’t find a comfortable position to sleep in.

I adjust the blanket for the 74th time before casting it off completely. What was I thinking? I’m fucking boiling in here. 

Losing the blanket actually seems to do the trick. But just as I’m finally about to drift off, a loud guffaw jolts me awake.

Fuck. Dr. Aurelius told me I need to get as much rest as possible, but the universe seems determined to ensure that never happens.

“Peeta!” I yell, frustrated.

My husband comes running in, phone in hand. “What? What? Is it happening?”

“No,” I say with a scowl. “But I was trying to take a nap, and you woke me up.”

“Sorry, love.” Shooting me a sheepish smile, he sits down at the edge of the bed and rubs my back soothingly. “I just...got an email.”

The back rub appeases me, but only to a point. “It must have been pretty hilarious,” I grumble. 

He smiles. “It was, actually. In a nostalgic, reminder-of-why-I-love-my-wife kind of way.”

I tilt my head upwards to face him more fully. “Explain?”

Peeta shows rather than tells, offering me a look at his phone as he pulls up his school email app.

“Just read,” he urges. His eyes sparkle mischievously. “You’ll understand what I mean.”

It’s pretty obvious which message he’s referring to. The message - I recognize the sender as one of his PhD students - is at the top of the screen. But that’s not why it’s so distinctive.

What grabs my attention is the subject line, which simply reads, “OW.”

To: Peeta Mellark

From: Leevy Watkins

Today at 1:27pm

Subject: OW

dear hello professor Peet, 

I am sick (allergig to tracker jack bees and got stung, not doing too god and not sure if I’ll be alive to come tomorrow to our thesis dense meeting and I’m sorry, i have big heache. Everything shiny like orange bubbles, talk edits soon i promse. 

best slutantions, 

Leevy

I look up at Peeta. He’s trying hard to hold in a laugh, but a small chuckle still manages to escape.

“It seems,” he observes, “that you have a successor.”

I glare at him. I can’t even remember how long it’s been since I sent that disastrous message (though the fuzziness of my memory is more likely due to present circumstances than anything else)...and yet, it still continues to haunt me. 

“I’m more than happy to pass the mantle on to someone else,” I deadpan. 

“Oh, come on!” he whines. “It’s funny, right?”

“Well, since I know you are going to be all sweet and understanding and ignore the part where Leevy signed off with ‘best slutantions,’ I suppose I can allow you to enjoy a bit of a laugh. As long as she doesn’t have a crush on you. Which I know she doesn’t. So we’re good.”

He leans down to kiss my forehead. “I’ve told you once, and I’ll tell you a million more times. I’m so glad you wrote me that day. If you didn’t, who knows where we’d be?”

I’m about to respond, when a sensation down below grabs my attention. A very wet sensation.

So much for my nap.

“Well,” I say tightly, “If I didn’t write you, you probably wouldn’t be taking me to the hospital like you need to right this second.”

“Take you to the hospi- oh. OH. Oh my god. It’s time?”

A contraction hits, and my face twists. “Yup,” I confirm with a wince. 

Peeta jumps to his feet, flying around the room in search of my pre-packed hospital bag. “Okay. Okay. Let’s do this.” He hefts the duffel over his shoulder and turns back to help me up from the bed.

I take deep breaths as I hobble to the bathroom to grab a towel for the car. “Just promise me something before we go,” I tell him. 

“Of course. Anything,” he says, an endearing combination of panic and adoration in his eyes.

“When we’re at the hospital...promise you won’t let me send any emails.”

He lets out a watery laugh. “Absolutely. Now let’s go meet our baby.”

To: Leevy Watkins

From: Peeta Mellark

Today at 11:58pm

Subject: Re: OW

Dear Leevy,

I’m so sorry to hear that you had an unfortunate encounter with a tracker jacker today. I didn’t realize we had that allergy in common! 

I hope that by the time you read this message, you are feeling recovered. That said, please don’t worry about our meeting. I won’t be able to make it tomorrow, anyway. Katniss gave birth a few hours ago, so I’m going to take a few days off to focus on her and the baby.

We’ll schedule a meeting about your thesis edits and defense in the next couple weeks (luckily you still have plenty of time!) Hope you feel better soon. 

Best,

Peeta

P.S. Her name is Willow.

Chapter Text

“Wow, it’s been years. This really takes me back.”

I can’t help but cast a look in my husband’s direction as he stares up at the blue awning of Sae’s diner. As expected, Peeta is grinning like a fool. “Nothing like a visit to the old stomping grounds to whip up those nostalgic feelings, right?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I say. To be truthful, for as much as Peeta looks at his days marking papers in a booth at Sae’s with fondness, I still tend to associate the place with the cringey embarrassment I’d nearly drowned in all those years ago. No desire to relive any of those memories, thank you.

Which is a shame, really, because the food was actually quite good. 

Peeta seems to clue in, judging by the light chuckle he lets out. “Come on, Katniss. You can’t still be thinking about—”

“—about how you were reading the porn I wrote in my Poli Sci paper while hopped up on morphling? Yeah, can’t say it didn’t cross my mind.”

“It was forever ago,” he insists. “And besides, you have to admit that it’s made for a great story.”

“An incredibly embarrassing story,” I correct.

Peeta shoots a sly smile my way. “Our origin story. And to be fair, if anyone had anything to be embarrassed about in that booth, it was me.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Excuse me?”

Despite my protestations, Peeta pulls me into an embrace. “You heard me,” he whispers. “My reaction to your writing bordered on indecent, you know. I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or annoyed that you didn’t notice at the time.”

“Might have spared us a good amount of angst,” I concede. “Though I still have dreams about our meeting in your office that day.”

“Dr. Everdeen, I’m shocked. And to think, we haven’t recreated that moment in your office.”

“We’ll be back home in a couple days,” I murmur, toying with the collar of his dress shirt. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

“Are you two pervs done yet?”

Peeta and I instinctively spring away from each other like two students caught in the act, rather than an actual married couple. I turn to find Jo smirking in our direction.

“Professor Mason, how nice to see you again,” Peeta says with a grin. “Katniss and I were just enjoying a moment of nostalgia, is all.”

Jo shoots him a look. “Thinking about the time you two almost broke my desk, you mean.” She pauses, clearly taking a moment to relish how the memory has me blushing like an idiot - just as it does every time she brings it up. “Anyway, Haymitch sent me to see what was taking you two so long. Good thing I arrived when I did, or you might have gotten yourselves arrested.”

Peeta, at least, seems unruffled by Jo’s teasing. “Missed you too, Jo,” he replies with a laugh. “So, how’s the old man?”

“See for yourself. Why he wanted to meet up here at Sae’s is beyond me, but I’m glad you could make it.”

Having dispensed with the obligatory banter, Jo motions for us to follow her into the restaurant. The diner has been closed for a private event - Professor Haymitch Abernathy’s retirement party. It’s an intimate, casual affair (“budget cuts,” Jo notes sardonically), but Peeta’s former mentor seems to be in his element. I actually can’t think of a time I’ve seen him so…relaxed.

Though that could also be due to the bottles of white liquor lining the bar.

“Well if it ain’t the star-crossed lovers,” Haymitch drawls. “How’s my star pupil?”

“Willow’s at home, actually,” Peeta answers, pulling Haymitch into a hug. “Left her with Katniss’s sister so that we could have a date night while we’re in town.”

“You two are no fun,” he pouts. “I was gonna show her the pictures of the geese that congregate outside my office every morning. I’m thinking of adopting them when I leave this place. Any hints on how I could make that happen, Katniss? You’re the expert.”

I just roll my eyes. “We can talk about it at brunch tomorrow, Haymitch,” I tell him. “And before you ask, yes of course Willow’s looking forward to seeing you again. Assuming you don’t overdo it tonight, that is?” I add, casting a not-so-subtle glance at the glass in his hand.

The old professor barks out a laugh. “I always knew I liked you, Sweetheart. You know, Peet here wasn’t subtle at all about his little crush on you back in his TA days—”

Now it’s Peeta’s turn to feel embarrassed. “Not this story again, Haymitch, please.”

“—you could see it on his face as soon as he saw your name on the class list—”

“Haymitch, no—”

“—and to think, it’s all because I assigned him to your tutorial that the two of you got together. We had a bet going, Mason and I, for when the two of you would get your heads out of your asses and realize what was going on. Took longer than both of us thought, which is honestly saying something.”

Much to my amusement, my husband’s usually cool demeanor has been replaced by an adorable blush that reaches up to his ears. So much for nostalgia.

Of course, it’s just my luck that my phone rings, interrupting the moment.

“We should probably take this,” I say apologetically. “Prim promised Willow she could call to say good night to us before she goes to bed.”

“Put her on speaker,” Haymitch says, wearing an indulgent expression akin to that of a doting grandfather rather than an eccentric academic. A few of his colleagues seem shocked by the transformation, but he doesn’t seem to pay them any mind. After all, he’s practically family.

“Sure.” I hit Accept on the call as I pull my phone out of my bag and switch it to speaker. “Hi, Prim.”

Except it’s not Prim.

“Hey, is this the bird professor?” a young man shouts. The din of voices in the background suggests that he, like me, has his phone on speaker. And the slight slurring of his speech seems to suggest that he’s, well…totally sloshed. “Dr. Everdeen, the bird professor? Is that you?”

I do my best to maintain my composure. “Um, yes, this is Dr. Everdeen. May I ask how you got this number?”

The gentleman on the other end of the line does not answer my question. Instead, he asks another of his own. “Do mockingjays have feet?”

“Pardon me?”

“My friends and I were talking about mockingjays,” he explains. Drunk or not, there’s an urgency in his tone that suggests he’s taking the matter incredibly seriously. “And one of them said they don’t have feet. And I said that that was bullshit, of course they have feet, because why wouldn’t they? And now everyone wants to know the answer, and I was told to ask you because you’re the bird professor and you know a lot about mockingjays, like more than any of us ever could- and like that’s a lot, ‘cause this bar is like fucking packed, man, and we all just really need to know if mockingjays have feet. It’s just really, really important to us. So do they?”

Silence falls, and it’s then that I realize that everyone appears to be waiting for my answer. Not just the drunk students on the other end of the line; everyone at Sae’s also appears to have caught on to the absolutely bizarre conversation I’ve inadvertently been drawn into.

Jo raises her eyebrows. “Well?” she mouths.

I clear my throat and raise the phone to my lips. “Yes.”

My response elicits a remarkably exuberant round of cheers from whatever bar these kids are calling me from. “Yes!!! Thank you so much, Dr. Everdeen! You’re the best!” the young man cries. Shouts of “Pay up, bitches!” and “I knew it!!” filter in over the speakerphone, and the call ends as abruptly as it began.

I look up to see Peeta staring at me with a strange mix of wonder and glee in his eyes as he desperately tries to hold in a laugh. Jo shakes her head. Everyone else seems to be either confused or impressed.

And Haymitch? He simply raises his glass in salute, sending a smirk my way before turning to chat with a colleague, as if his retirement party had not just been interrupted in such a surreal manner.

Blowing out a breath, I turn to Peeta. “So is this what it feels like?” I ask.

He shakes his head with a chuckle. “No, the drunken messages I get don’t usually involve an audience. Your experience is absolutely unique in that regard.”

“That poor kid is never going to hear the end of it when he realizes what he’s done,” I say with a laugh of my own.

Peeta loops his arm around my shoulder. “Nah,” he replies. “He’s just making some funny memories. Just like we did. Will he think about it and cringe? Probably. But it’ll make for a good story.”

My gaze lands on Peeta’s old corner booth as he speaks. A vision of two idiot college kids awkwardly flirting amid stacks of unmarked papers appears in my mind’s eye, and I can’t help but smile. “Yeah,” I say. “I suppose it will.”