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Katniss braided her hair this morning, something she hasn’t been able to do for a while. She says it’s because it was too short - though I’m not sure I buy that. I think it’s because of her mother and sister. She’s been making her way out of her usual routine more often. It’s still mostly trips into the woods. She will walk into the heart of Twelve. She does her business there quickly, and gets back home fast. I don’t blame her. They’re working on rebuilding, and I think they will be for many more years. Maybe until I’m thirty.
She invited me to the woods today. She wanted to take me on a picnic and show me the lake and the woods. I had asked her a few times prior, because I had never been there before the war, probably because my mother thought it was revolting when Katniss would come to our backdoor with streaks of animal blood on her face and different creatures hanging off her belt for our father.
I stare at her as she shimmies her dirtied shorts off, sketching the different angles of her face in a small book. The way her braid falls over her shoulder when she looks over at something. Her nose when it scrunches as she looks towards the sky. Her lips. Her scars, all over her body. If only she would sit still and let me paint her, I think.
The sun shines through the canopy of trees and spatters the sandy bank of the lake with dashes of light. Katniss looks spotted, like a big cat in one of our old lesson books. Her olive patchwork skin glows in the splashes of light. When she looks at me, the middle of her face is illuminated with light and her grey eyes shine. I think she catches me staring at her, because a very faint smile flickers on her face. I avert my gaze quickly, and stare at the shimmering water.
“Are you joining me, or what?” Katniss says, folding her shorts neatly and placing them on the picnic blanket. She’s gotten more sassy towards me recently. Perhaps it’s because we’re going out now.
I was painting in my living room alone, when she knocked on my door. I let her in, and she haphazardly handed me a bouquet of various wildflowers. Dandelions, lilies, asters, wild strawberry flowers. She hadn’t done that before, so I was taken aback.
“Thank you,” I had said, getting a bit flustered. I could feel my ears getting hot and cheeks turning a pale salmon, “What are these for? Is it a holiday I’ve missed? It’s not my birthday, either... They’re beautiful, by the way.”
She turned red and broke eye contact with me at that point, and rocked back and forth on her heels a little bit. It was silent for a while. I stared at the bouquet, then at Katniss, then back again. She began to pick at her fingers and her brow was furrowed, like she was thinking something through very hard.
I was about to break the silence, and then she surged up and pushed her lips to mine. She put her palms on my cheeks, trying to pull me down closer to her. It felt very much like an awkward exchange between a boy and a girl in the schoolyard. She pulled away before I could really register fully what was going on.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I just did, I-” Katniss stumbled, turning an even brighter red and taking a particular interest in one of the knots of the hardwood floor.
“Katniss,” I grasped her shoulders as quickly and lightly as I could before she could make a dash for the door. She looked up at me very slowly, tears pricking at her eyes. I smiled very wide. It still makes me giddy when I think about it.
I coaxed her slowly into the kitchen, so I could grab a jar and fill it with water for the flowers. I placed it on the table and we sat down in two chairs, turning them to face each other. We talked as I held both her hands, running my thumbs along the scars there. We talked for a while. It was awkward for both of us, spilling our hearts out on some random day at the end of spring. There was a bit of kissing at the end, and we agreed to start being a bit more than friends.
“Yes, I’m coming!” I reply back to her, marking my spot in my sketchbook and setting it on the blanket. I stand up, offering a hand out to help her up. She pulls off the top she had worn, leaving her in just her undergarments. I take off my shirt, revealing the patchwork underneath. We stare at each other for a long period. This is the most we’ve seen of each other in a very long time.
Katniss lifts a hand and runs it along my chest, feeling the new skin and where it meets the old, where patches of hair still remain. I simply grasp her braid and run my fingers through the tied off end. She moves up to my shoulder, tracing the scars down my arm, finally reaching my hand and taking a hold of it. I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding and smile softly at her.
“You’re going to have to teach me how to swim, you know,” I say, breaking the silence at last. She grins at this and steps into the shallows before me, turning herself so she can grasp both my hands and face me. “And it’ll be a challenge with this leg.”
“We’ll stay where you can comfortably touch for now. I’ve got you.” We wade deeper, now waist high. The water splashes against my stomach, and I instinctively stand on my toes, arms folded and held up. Katniss smiles, and dunks herself into the water. She swims around me, dipping under the surface, twisting and turning, swimming out to the middle of the lake and back. She looks at home. Perhaps she is. She mentioned this place is special to her, as her father used to bring her here. She stands still for long enough, and a school of fish come up to her and dart around her legs as if they were a log.
“Are you sure you’re not from Four?” I joke, making my hands into a cup and splashing her face. She smiles that rare smile and turns away, only to turn back towards me even faster and soaking me with water. A gasp escapes my lips, and I splash her back just before she can make it under the surface to avoid me. I track her as she swims around my legs, watching as the sun shines through the water and reflects on her body, highlighting her scars every now and then.
She surfaces, and a splash battle begins. I’m soaked in no time, and I hold my hands out, blindly grabbing for Katniss. I hear her laugh, and move towards the sound as the barrage of water continues. I finally reach her, and pull her towards me. Maybe a bit too fast, as she tries to pull herself onto my shoulders and slips, causing us to both topple over and sink into the water. We fall into a deeper part of the lake, and I cannot feel the ground between my toes.
Katniss is the first to break the surface, and does her best to pull me up to air and move us towards the shallows again. I do my best to help and kick with my good leg and my hands in hers. We find a log submerged in the shallows, and take a seat, our shoulders just above the surface. It’s rotten and slimy, but provides enough relief. Katniss breaks out in a fit of giggles, pointing at me slightly. I’m confused at first but join in rather quickly.
“Listen,” I say, a few chuckles spilling out of me. “ You try and swim for the first time with one leg!” She cannot speak, and nearly falls backwards under the water. Her hair is falling out of her braid now, and strands of hair are plastered against the side of her face and pushed back over the top of her head.
A comfortable silence falls upon us after the last of the giggles escape Katniss. She rests her head on my shoulder as we stare out onto the lake. The fish come back to us, and swim around our bodies, under and over our legs. They’re curious creatures, but they don’t interact with us besides the accidental brush of a fin or scale against skin.
“What kind of fish are these?” I ask, pointing to a particularly interesting one. “They’re very pretty.” It’s one with dark green on its back, pale spots and a very bright orange belly.
“That one’s a brook trout,” Katniss says quietly. “It’s quite tasty. They’re also an important type of fish. Like a ‘canary in a coal mine’. I think my father called them an indicator species. Something like that.”
“Interesting,” I whisper. “I’d love to paint one of them. If you’ll take me out here again.” Katniss raises her head from my shoulder and looks at me with a somewhat quizzical look. I brush my soggy hair out of my face and over my head, some strands returning to their curly state.
“Why wouldn’t I?” She says. I shrug. “I kind of want to take you out here often, and show you what my father showed me.”
“Maybe not the skinning animals part… or hunting…” I say nervously. She smiles at me. “But everything else, yes. A thousand times yes.”
“I also think you’d like to see the forest in the different seasons. The trees are especially pretty as summer turns to fall, and some of the leaves are half red half green.”
I hum a reply, and we fall into another bout of silence. Katniss’ head falls back to my shoulder. The only thing we can hear is the gentle crashes of miniscule waves against the bank, the occasional splash from a fish’s fin, and the birds singing above us in the trees. I try to memorize Katniss’ legs. Not in a weird way, but because of the way the light plays off of her different scars and how a fish looks as it passes over. It would take me a week to make sure I mixed the right colors and sketched out the memory right. It would be so much better if—
“Would you let me paint you someday?” I burst out, surprising even myself. But I have to paint her. I have to attempt to capture how beautiful and liberated she looks in the trees. In the water. Somewhere out in these woods. Stringing an arrow, rebraiding her hair, rubbing her dirtied hands on her pants.
She makes a noise, and I’m instantly worried she’ll say no. Was it a ‘hm’ of ‘I’m thinking about it’? Of ‘That’s stupid, Peeta’? The silence stretches a bit too long, and I begin to think I’ve taken things too far when she interrupts me quietly.
“I’d be okay with that.” I breathe out quietly, and lean my head over hers.
↟𖠰↟𖠰↟
It’s early when she wakes me. The sun is barely creeping over the window sill in the bedroom as she quietly shakes me awake. She’s fully dressed, in grey pants covered with pockets and an off-white shirt tucked into her pants. It’s embroidered around the ends of the sleeves and the collar, with small leaves and other natural elements. I’ve been seeing that on a few of her garments lately. I think it’s a new hobby she’s taken up. She’s wrapped up her outfit with her signature braid, a dark brown belt, and cream colored socks.
“Come on, Peeta,” she says quietly, brushing the curls from my face. This is such a new Katniss. I guess we’re both figuring things out. I never knew she could be so physical - I don’t think she really knew it herself - and I never knew how much I craved that touch.
I sigh, slowly pushing the covers off of my body, shivering slightly as the cool air in the room hits the skin of my chest and leg. I grasp my cane carefully, and pull myself up. It’s a new cane, crafted by both Haymitch and Katniss. Good, sturdy, and comfortable. I hobble along the floor to the chair in the room, where I begin the process of attaching the fake leg.
“I’m getting things ready downstairs, so I’ll be there when you’re ready.” Buttercup makes his entrance then. He’s getting older, Katniss said to me only a couple weeks ago. She says she’s been trying to be nicer to the thing. I think he’s pleasant company, and he’s good at catching a mouse. He’s definitely banged up after all these years but is still full of attitude.
I hum a reply, and finish before moving to the dresser. I pick out a pair of pants similar to Katniss’, only it has fewer pockets and is pale brown in color. In the next drawer, something catches my eye. A new shirt, matching Katniss’. Off-white, with embroidery on the sleeves and collar. Only this time, it’s small dandelion flowers with wild strawberries and their flowers. I admire it for a few moments, and run my fingers along the careful stitches. I pull it over my head and tuck it into my pants. I roll up the pant over my false leg, and pull a sock over my good foot.
I perform my bathroom rituals quickly, and pad down the stairs as quietly as I can. A faint snort falls out of Katniss, and I can’t help but smile.
“Still don’t think I’m quiet?” I ask cheekily, pecking Katniss on the cheek as I pass behind her in the kitchen. She shakes her head with a quiet smile. I sit on the counter and begin to peel an orange, making sure to remove the small stringy bits on the slices as I remove them from the rind. I offer a few slices to Katniss, and she gratefully takes them and pops them into her mouth.
“Why do you want to paint me?” she asks, hopping up on the counter next to me, scooting close enough for our shoulders to touch.
I stop my hands on the peel of the orange and look at my thighs.
“It’s going to sound weird… Not like weird weird but, like-” I start, “you know…”
She stares at me, seemingly understanding me but remaining curious.
“I just think you’re very beautiful. Even when you’re just laying on a picnic blanket, or the fish are swimming around you because you’ve sat still for so long. Or when you come to my house and sit on my kitchen counter just to watch me bake, even if you’re covered in outside and animal blood, and I know you’ve tracked mud into my house.” I stop and look at her carefully. Her expression is neutral, unreadable, and I get nervous.
“Okay,” she says quietly, and pulls herself closer to me on the counter. We’re so close now, our noses and foreheads are touching. I stare into her tired grey eyes as she stares into mine. We stay like that for a while until she finally moves even closer and gives me a kiss, lighter than a feather. She moves away quickly, giving just a few inches of distance. I finish the last of the orange awkwardly and hop off the counter, standing in front of Katniss and laying my hands over hers where they rest on her thighs. She smiles a touch, and carefully entwines one of her fingers in my hands.
I help her down from the counter slowly, and we finish packing the rest of the things in silence. The sun is beginning to creep across the hardwood floors all over the house, making everything a bright orangey yellow. I can see dust particles floating every which way as Buttercup swats a small fruit fly in the air. I make a note to paint the cat with the sun on his pelt.
“I’ll have to go back to my house to get my painting things.” Katniss nods slowly.
“I’ll go with you,” she offers, and I don’t refuse. I just can’t remember which paintings I’ve left up in the studio.
“There might be paintings in there you don’t like,” I look at her carefully, and she simply nods. “I sort of remember what I showed you on the train. The arenas. Things like that.” Katniss stays quiet for a while, thinking it through.
“I can do it,” she whispers.
We make it through the studio with no issues. I gather my brushes, paints, and jars and put them in what was an old toolbox. I hold a canvas under my right arm. Katniss just stands and stares at a few canvases I neglected to cover after they dried. One is a particularly nasty scene: a wolf mutt with blood spattered across its face, painted from my point of view as I struggled up the Cornucopia.
We head across the Meadow and into the woods. Katniss stops a few times to tell me about a specific bird, and shows me how to mimic its call. I’m not a great whistler, and I end up scaring a couple of them off. I’m a bit upset, but at least it makes her smile a little.
I’m glad we woke up early for once. Lately, we’ve been sleeping in, until the middle of the morning. Sometimes even just before noon. The sun is in just the right spot this morning, reflecting through the trees and onto our bodies as we pass through. Katniss looks especially beautiful as she pads along quietly, carrying her quiver of arrows over one shoulder and her bow in one hand.
↟𖠰↟𖠰↟
“Um… a little to the right, maybe? I don’t know, I think you look very pretty either way, so whatever’s best for you.” I’m sat on a small stump with my canvas propped up in front of me. I sketch Katniss’ figure with faint brushstrokes as she makes small adjustments to her pose. She’s propped herself against a tree, her bow leaning against a leg as she runs her fingers through the fletching of an arrow. Like a few days ago, the sun shines through the trees, speckling her with light. Her grey eyes catch the light as they flit around following different birds in the trees, making them look like stained glass windows.
She stays very silent as I paint. A few times I get nervous that she’s fallen asleep when I accidentally get too focused on detailing certain areas. But I just need to get her braid right. Her charcoal hair is neatly tucked in some places, but in others - like around her forehead - have come undone. There are also some silver hairs in a few spots. I have some too, they’re just very difficult to see.
I remind myself to not focus on details now, and make everything fairly simple for now. I can touch everything up later in the studio.
“What are your favorite parts about the woods?” I poke, “Do you have any favorite memories out here?” She ponders my questions for a moment. I dip my brush in the jar of water and slosh it around, peeking over the canvas at Katniss. She fiddles with the fletching of the arrow a bit more, smoothing her fingers over it in every which way before stopping to give me her answer.
“I think what I like most is the serenity. I can be alone for as long as I want out here, listening to the birds and doing things at my own pace,” she says, “But I’m glad I get to share it with you.” I get a bit flustered at the last part of her response, and avert my gaze as she too smiles and looks at me. I pick up the brush and continue to paint.
“I like it, too, for the same reason. Even if I’ve only been out here a few times. We always just do whatever.” A smile dashes across her face. I begin to think that her smiles aren’t as rare as I thought.
“What is your favorite thing about painting? Or baking?”
“Hm,” I hum a reply, “I think they both give me something to do. I can take my mind off of something pretty easily by kneading a hunk of dough or going outside and sketching something. If I get so focused on the details of a tree or a person, then I forget entirely what I wanted to forget.”
“I think painting is a fine hobby to have. I’m a bit jealous sometimes. You should show me your sketches more often,” she suggests, “I feel very bad looking over your shoulder so often.” I glance at her worriedly.
“You look over my shoulder?” I say nervously. Her arms fall to her sides and her bow clatters to the ground, falling in a mess of leaves.
“Should I not? I’m sorry… I-”
“No, no, it’s okay! Really!” I assure her, holding both my hands up, both covered in paints and one filled with different paint brushes. She leans down to pick up her bow and rests it back against her leg. “I just had no idea you were behind me.” I laugh quietly. She nods quietly, still a touch upset.
“I’ve also just messed up the pose…” she mumbles, attempting to get back exactly how she was before. Which I know won’t work.
“That’s okay, I’ve finished for now anyways. Now all that’s left is some details, but I’ll finish them back in the studio.” She nods without a word, still clearly a touch uncomfortable. She sheaths the arrow, and places her bow and quiver next to the blanket we’ve laid out on the bank of the lake. I place a few more brushstrokes on the canvas and begin to clean up my brushes. “Would you like to see what I’ve got?”
She turns to me carefully, and I pick up the canvas, turning it towards her so she can see. Katniss comes closer and kneels in front of me. She holds a hand out towards the painting, just shy of actually touching it. She points and moves her hand around, noticing different things about it.
“It’s already very detailed. There’s no way you have more to add,” she comments, giving me a smile and a silly look. I shrug.
“I like making it look realistic. Helps me remember moments. You know, with my memory and all,” I chuckle. She too lets out a breathy laugh and stands up, rustling my curls gently. I place the painting in its spot and finish cleaning up.
↟𖠰↟𖠰↟
By the time I get to the blanket after cleaning up, Katniss has drifted into a light sleep. One arm is splayed across her stomach, the other above her head. The temperature has warmed just a touch since we got out here this morning. Not too hot, not too cold. Comfortable enough to fall asleep in the woods for a while.
I maneuver myself into a sitting position as carefully and quietly as I can, but I manage to wake Katniss up. Her eyes open just slightly, and she grasps my upper arm gently, pulling my face closer to hers so she can lazily kiss my lips. I push some of the hair that had fallen out of her braid back over her head as we kiss more. We break for air every now and then, but every time she pulls me back for more. It’s not desperate, or needy, or fast at all. Just slow, sweet, and full of love. I can taste the orange on her from breakfast. Smell the pine in her hair.
I bring myself down to the ground fully, and our bodies naturally tangle together. Her legs intertwine with mine, and my arms surround her neck and head. We take turns whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears. Slowly, though, we stop and turn our heads to stare at the sky and the clouds it carries today. It’s quiet. A comfortable silence. I think Katniss is about to fall asleep again, so I quickly whisper a few more things in her ear. I make sure to save the best for last:
“I’ll show you my sketchbook more often.”