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They’re good at having silent conversations. After living together for several years, they develop their own little language. Katniss supposes that sharing a home, their days and nights, their secrets and wishes and everything will bring that out in a pair anyway, but she likes to think it's something special that she shares with Peeta anyway.
Something has been weighing on her mind. Sometimes the idea would creep into her thoughts unexpectedly, and she would consider it for a moment before pushing it away. Lately she allows herself to entertain the idea more and more, especially when she catches Peeta looking at her parents' wedding photo with a distant, wistful expression. The more she considers it and tries to imagine that as part of their future, the more real it seems, and when the details of what it might be like come to her in such vivid detail, she knows she wants it for them, too.
She decides to bring it up tonight. The sky is dark, the night is chilly, and the leaves are turning orange, red, brown, and yellow as they fall and gather in sheets on the ground. So far the temperatures only require a sweater and they can let their coats continue to hang untouched, but tonight there is a bit more sharpness to the air than there has been.
A quick, cold breeze drifts into the room as Peeta pushes open the back door and brings in two logs. His cheeks and nose and ears are pink from the wind and its chill, and his hair is tussled in a way that reminds her so strongly of the boy he used to be. He smiles at her as he nudges the door with his hip and it snaps shut, and she smiles back. Katniss sets down the knife she’s using to cut the bread and steps toward him to help with the logs, but he shakes his head and she goes back to preparing their bowls.
As Peeta adds the wood to the fire and grabs the poker to coax it to catch, Katniss lets herself be distracted from cutting the bread and loses herself in thought as she watches him. It strikes her as unfair that no one ever pointed out Peeta’s own fire, that not even she saw it until the war was over. His is different, but it’s there, and she realized it during their first really cold night together. They made their first fire and had tea and sugar cookies on the floor, wrapped up in a shared blanket. Peeta's fire is the kind that’s found at home, where it’s safe and keeps its loved-ones warm. It’s steady and comforting and brings people together. It gives them hope during the cold, dark seasons after the dandelions have wilted away.
He’s so careful when he tends the flames. She loves watching the way he focuses on finding the parts that will catch easiest, and how he shifts the blazing red embers around to spread the flames. The fire light casts the most wonderful glow on his skin, makes his hair look like pure gold, and makes his silhouette stand out more. She likes watching his muscles shift under his shirt and studies the tension there as he keeps his balance on the tips of his feet while he crouches in front of the fireplace. When she gets like this, she wonders if this is what it's like for him sometimes, when he's working on a sketch or painting and searching for every shadow, every changing hue, and analyzing how a line curves or sharpens. When she looks at him like this, she understands why he likes to draw her as often as he does.
Life in 12 has been kinder to them after the war. He’s stronger, sturdier, and more toned than she remembers ever seeing him before. She can feel that change in herself, too, but she loves seeing and feeling the way the change has impacted him; the angles of his face are more pronounced from adulthood, and his body is firmer, more solid under her fingers. She loves the sturdiness in his arms and the strength he’s developed in his good leg.
Katniss is perfectly still and silent as she watches him. Soon Peeta picks up on it. Surely the silence seems out of place to him now as he looks over at her. She wonders when she’d set down the knife. He looks pleased about having caught her studying him, and she isn’t embarrassed by it as she gives a slight shrug and picks up the knife again. He stands and joins her, but her expression gives him pause.
Her eyes shift slowly from the bread to the fireplace and then to him. She starts the pattern over again very slowly. He picks up on this quickly and follows her gaze, except he looks at her when her eyes settle on him.
For a moment he tenses. She doesn’t blame him; at the start of their relationship, he knew she didn't want marriage or children. She still doesn't want children, but she does want him. Still, she keeps looking from the bread to the fire to him very deliberately and then finally stops to hand him his bowl of food. He raises an eyebrow in question at her, and she replies with a firm nod and a warm smile. He beams back as he finally accepts his bowl and they sit on the floor together with stew and fresh bread.
They don’t have the toast that night. Now that he knows she’s ready, she wants him to be the one who asks, to give him that chance and all the fun he’ll have preparing for it. Imagining him stressing over making the perfect loaf of bread brings an amused smile to her face, and she looks forward to following the old district tradition of picking out a white dress and letting him carry her into their house. Plus she likes when he gives her choices. This one is no different even though they both already know her answer.