Work Text:
I look out the window of our small house at the falling snow. The sky darkens earlier every day, and the wind bites colder and colder. Still, I’m surprisingly thankful to be standing here, breathing in the wintery air.
Prim comes up and stands beside me, leaning her head against my arm. “Ready for the dance?” she asks.
I nod. I’m thankful beyond words to have her here beside me. It would have been impossible odds for her to have been chosen, her name pulled out of the glass Reaping bowl by Effie, but sometimes I think about the world where that happened. What does that look like? What do I do?
“Katniss?” Prim says again, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yeah, let’s go.” I smile down at her, happy to have her here by my side. She’s wearing her nicest clothes, and so am I. Reaping clothes, although today they have a different purpose. Together, we leave the house and head to the Hob.
It’s the one night where no black market deals are happening in the Hob. Greasy Sae has cooked up a feast. It might not be what Capitol people consider fancy, but it’s a feast to us here. All her best recipes are on display, and everyone from the Seam is invited. Even some of the non-Seam folk are here too. I see the baker’s family, subdued and quiet since one of their sons was Reaped, and a girl I think I recognize as Madge.
“Hey, Catnip.” Gale greets us as we come in the door. He looks relaxed and happier than I’ve seen him in months.
“Hi, Gale,” I reply with a wave. His whole family is here, even little Posy in Hazelle’s arms. “How’s life in the mines?”
He grimaces. “Hard.”
It would be. After the Reaping, though no one from our families was chosen, Gale turned eighteen and had to go work in the coal mines. It’s long hours under the surface without seeing the sun and any time he can spare a few hours in the woods with me he does.
“At least we’re here,” I offer. “Let’s try to enjoy ourselves for an evening.”
Gale smiles and sticks out a hand for me to shake. “Deal.”
After saying hello to the rest of the Hawthornes and seeing Prim run off with Rory, I decide to see who else is around. Even if there’s no actual money or goods being exchanged today, it’s always a good idea to know who’s on friendly terms with you for the future. But, before I can decide who to talk to, someone talks to me.
“Hello,” he says. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
It’s Peeta Mellark.
“Hi, I’m Katniss,” I say automatically shaking his outstretched hand.
“I know,” he nods. “I remember you from school.”
From school? We’re the same age and we were in the same grade, but I don’t think I did anything memorable enough in school for Peeta to still know who I am years later.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say, my mouth speaking the expected phrases while my mind is running wild remembering the night of the burnt bread.
Peeta nods. “I accept your condolences,” he answers formally.
We stand there for a moment, neither of us knowing what to say. I find myself looking at Peeta, examining his face. This boy has suffered so much loss and yet he is still so kind. Between the night with the bread, and the day after in school when he gave me the idea about the dandelion he saved my life twice. And the world has repaid him for saving me by taking his brother.
“Why do you remember me?” I ask, not sure if I want to know the answer.
Peeta shrugs. In the background, the musicians are starting to tune their instruments and he has to raise his voice to be heard over them. “In music class,” he explains. “The teacher asked if anyone knew the song and you raised your hand.” He looks down at his feet, smiling softly. “And then you stood up in your dress, hair braided, and you sang so beautifully all the mockingjays were quiet.”
It’s my turn to smile at the floor. “I didn’t know anyone remembered that,” I say. “My father taught me to sing.”
The band has fully warmed up and they’ve started playing a lively jig. Peeta holds out his hand. “My father taught me to dance.”
I understand that it’s an offer and I take his hand, letting him lead me onto the dance floor. Maybe it isn’t such a bad thing to owe Peeta Mellark.
We whirl through the next few dances until we’re both hot and thirsty. Taking a break to get some water from the barrel in the corner, we sit and share stories about our childhood. Neither of us has very many happy stories, but we give each other what we have.
I tell him about the quiet moments I have in the woods, the days I spend with Gale laughing and hunting away from the suffocating pressure of District 12 and the Capitol. Peeta tells me about the things he learned from his father, the tricks for frosting cakes and cookies, and how one day he hopes to use those same tricks with paint on canvas. I almost laugh at him because no artists come from our district, but then I think about how the woods are my escape. Maybe art is Peeta’s.
Realizing my cup is dry, I offer to get us both more water. While at the water barrel, I run into Gale.
“Having a good time, Catnip?” My face must betray my feelings, because he nods as if I’d given him an answer. “Good.”
I shrug. “Found some unexpected company,” I say lightly.
Gale smiles and I know he likes my answer. “Good for you, Catnip,” he says, though there’s something a little rueful in his expression. “I hope you’re always happy.”
I go back to Peeta and dance some more. He’s not as light on his feet as I am, but he is graceful. When he looks at me, I get the sense that he’s seeing what he would draw on a canvas, the light and dark he would add to capture my essence on paper.
“I’d love to draw you,” he confesses at the end of the song.
“Maybe I’d let you,” I say, already thinking of bringing him to the meadow when the snow melts.
We dance until the last song plays, and I think even in the midst of the cold and dark of winter in District 12 I have found some light.