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“Damn it Peeta” I groan into the pillow as the clatter from a floor below reaches a decibel sure to wake Willow from her nap.
“Shit” I hear him curse under his breath as I’m coming down the stairs to berate him properly. The kitchen floor is barely visible under the array of muffin and cookie sheets that have clearly been disturbed from the cupboard.
“What in the world?” I sigh in exasperation.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” He says stepping over a particularly large muffin tray to plant a kiss on my cheek and give me an apologetic shrug. His blue eyes wide and full of apprehension that I can’t help but find enduring.
“You remember we have a tiny baby upstairs, yes?” I try to keep my gaze and tone stern, though I can already feel my frustrations melting away in his sights. “A tiny baby you desperately wanted. A tiny baby who has not slept for more than 40 minutes in three days?”
Peeta must be the clumsiest, loudest person on the planet - and it drives me insane.
His curly hair is longer, the lines around his eyes and forehead more pronounced as he stares at me pleadingly, and - despite my annoyance I can’t help but notice - his body is broader, stronger and sturdier than the starving boy from our first arena, but I can still see the teenage boy who scared off every rabbit in a 10 mile radius with his heavy tread. So much had changed since then, one of those heavy feet replaced with a metal one, so many tragedies - it was almost comforting that this would always be the same. Peeta’s absolute inability to be quiet, to have an ounce of stealth or grace.
“Tell me, did you actually burn that bread on purpose or was it one of your accidents that ended up saving my life?”
He feigns shock and I have to stifle a laugh again, fixing my face into a scowl.
“I said sorry!” He backs away from me, stepping on the muffin tin again with his prosthetic foot and causing another clash of metal on tile.
I purse my lips and try to breathe while turning away from him. Looking at his sheepish posture won’t help me now, determined as I am to stay angry. Willow lets out a cry from her room upstairs. “Out, Peeta!”
“Katniss! Come on - I can go get her - I said I’m sorry!”
“Now. Please. Out!”
I hear him sigh in defeat and the back door closes behind him.
After nursing and dressing Willow, we come downstairs to the house in perfect stillness, the afternoon light shining through the front window, everything gentle and quiet…and I hate it.
“Come on little one” I coo to my blue eyed girl “lets go find daddy…”
Before I know it we are strolling through the alley - I never can get used to going in the bakery front door, even though technically I’m a co-owner now - Willow wrapped tightly against my chest. When I hear his deep voice through the open door, I have to stop to wipe the ridiculous grin off my face.
“Oh! let’s throw in some of those chocolate croissants” he says. “Did you get the green basket?”
“Sure did, Boss!” Says Peeta’s delivery man, Nick.
“Good. The cheese buns are almost ready to come out and I want to get them right home while they’re warm”
“In the dog house, huh boss?” Nick says and I can hear the wry smile in his voice.
“Just a little…” he replies good naturedly.
I could burst in now and save him the trouble - but if I know him, he’d rather surprise me, so we quickly turn and hurry back home.
I only just get in the door and am half way through a diaper change when I hear the door gently shut behind him. He’s trying to be extra quiet but his prosthetic foot still taps oddly as he tiptoes across the entryway. I can hear him put his basket down in the kitchen before he thumps up the stairs, upsetting one of the paintings along the wall and swearing quietly under his breath as it crashes to the ground.
“Uh…sorry. Again.” He calls before peeking into Willow’s room and giving me that same sheepish look. “Am I allowed back in the house yet?”
“That depends…” I say, securing the diaper and leaving Willow to coo on the floor at a stuffed toy.
“Well, why don’t you go down and relax in the kitchen and I’ll put her down for a cat nap…I might have found a little something for supper…”
“Oh, you have!” I say, trying to give my best puzzled expression.
“Yes. You’re off the clock. It’s super loud daddy to the rescue” he jokes, scooping up Willow and swinging up over his head before nestling her into the crook of his arm.
“Alright - see you soon…” I say, trailing my fingers along his arm as I leave the room.
On the table, I’m delighted to find the fresh cheese buns and a hot pot of Greasy Sae’s soup.
The food is dished up and waiting when he emerges from the stairs, still looking a bit apprehensive, but I think I’ve probably tortured him enough and jump up to give him a kiss and say “missed you”
“Oh - you did eh?” He goes for another kiss. It seems the feeling was mutual.
I don’t want him to stop, but he pulls away and pulls out my chair, “we should eat while it’s hot and the baby is sleeping.” He says sensibly.
“Right” I say, my disappointment evaporating as I taste the stew and buns.
“So,” I say after soaking the last dregs of stew from my bowl with the corner of my bun “what’s for dessert?”
I begin to reach for the final bag, knowing I’ll find those delectable chocolate croissants that have become a strong contender for my favourite thing on the pastry menu.
“Ah, ah, ah” says Peeta. Knocking my hand away.
“I have another idea for dessert…” and suddenly with the stealth and prowess of a hunter in pursuit, he’s scooped me up and is deftly carrying me up the stairs to our bedroom. The one time Peeta isn’t clumsy is when he’s got me in his arms - like his center of gravity is only right when he’s carrying me.
“Oh now you’re quiet” I whisper as we pass the baby’s room.
“Yup, I think it’s your turn to be loud…” he whispers back, wiggling his eyebrows and hurrying us through the door.
— — —
He has been very careful, very careful, never to say it out loud for the audience, not to give them that as well.
He had felt it, truly felt it, from the moment she kissed him. A schoolboy crush suddenly bursting into something real and full and overwhelming.
He had shown it, he was sure. The few clips he’d seen playing on repeat on television clearly displayed the look in his eyes that was only for her, the set look he had when he defended her or volunteered in their second games, the words he had allowed himself to use during the fake proposal on Ceasar Flickerman’s stage.
But he had never said those three words - I. Love. You. - until they were finally alone. Until he was finally sure it wouldn’t add to the pressure weighing on her shoulders. Until he couldn’t hold it back anymore.
The first time he had said it, she hadn’t heard him. He had whispered it into her hair after waking from a nightmare, finding her beside him deep in sleep, her face perfect in total peace despite the pain she had endured that day working through her grief, struggling to survive it all. But next to him now, finally at rest - she was exactly who she was meant to be, her features both beautiful and strong in the dawn light, and he had been overwhelmed by it again, leaning in close he finally whispered the words - I love you….
The first time she heard it, it was after she had kissed him for the first time, not for the cameras, not out of obligation or fear. She had leaned in to him - Wanting to be close, wanting to feel their lips together again. Her eyes had filled with tears, the ghost of a smile flitting at the corner of her lips, and she had thrown herself into his arms and refused to let go.
When she had finally pulled away, wiping her hands nervously on her shorts - she stuttered “I, Peeta…I hope you know - I really do…” she trails off, closing her eyes and shaking her head in frustration.
I tried to hold back laughter at her stumbling. This beautiful, confident and powerful woman, always so tongue tied and clumsy with her words when it had to do with anything emotional. My old insecurities that may have flared up as a result of this small flaw have been banished now. I wasn’t saying it to hear her say it back, all pressure is off now and I won’t be the one to put it back on. Plus, I know her now. I know these things are harder for her, the loss of her family, the way every emotion she’s had for the last three years has been exploited and perverted, it has left her at a disadvantage when it comes to letting people in, to being vulnerable at all. It’s not about me, not even about us. It’s just another thing on the list we will heal together.
I kiss her again and change the subject with a smile. She looks up at me gratefully and we move on.
Despite my commitment not to pressure her though, it becomes harder and harder not to want to hear her say the words - I can see it on the tip of her tongue at the oddest times. After I wash the dishes once we’ve shared a hearty stew she made, when I come home from the construction site, sweating and exhausted and collapse on the coach, after a fit of laughter at one of Plutarch’s ridiculous talent competition shows. Those grey eyes look into mine, her breathing catches and I know what she wants to say.
“Peeta I was…” and then she falters.
“You’re so…” but it trails away.
“I need to say something and, oh I don’t know why I just can’t…” she actually stomps her foot a little and storms off.
Then one night, after coming in from our evening walk, she has that burning look in her eye. I smile, thinking this is it - she looks up at me with so much affection I feel like I may collapse under the weight of that gaze. “Peeta…” she says softly. “I…”
But then she’s kissing me instead, wildly, passionately, fully giving herself to her desire.
And I lose all sense of reality as I’m engulfed in the moment, my body taking over and taking the lead, pulling her to the couch, meeting her desire. She is the only real thing, my hands touching her everywhere, her sighs of delight, and finally - we are one, fully vulnerable, fully together at last and it’s as perfect as I always dreamed it would be.
As our bodies relax, and we hold each other close side by side, I know what I must do. A baby step.
“Katniss..” I say, my voice still rough from the evenings events. “You love me, real or not real”
She lets a half sigh, half chuckle out against my chest, and when she rises to look me in the eyes - I’ve never seen her look more beautiful, flushed and disheveled but wholly Katniss. She smirks gratefully at me, before her look turns serious again. Her eyes bore into mine before she breathes “real” with a smile so wide and bright I can’t help but lean up again to capture it with my lips. “I love you too…”