Chapter Text
I.
Peeta’s still sleeping when I shift over and curl up into him. He’s shoved the blankets down to his waist, exposing his bare chest, and I nestle closer, feeding off his warmth as I drape my arm over his torso and curve my hips over his. The pre-dawn chill cuts through the air in our bedroom; the window’s wide open again, even though I swear I’d closed it in the middle of the night when I woke up shivering and covered in goose bumps. Peeta must have thrown it open again sometime after I’d fallen back asleep, though—there’s still a thin sheen of sweat over his skin, as though he’d woken up drenched, his hair clinging to his forehead.
A blizzard could be raging outside and he’d still insist on keeping the window open. It’s the only way he can fall asleep.
That was the first thing that came back to him after the hijacking.
He stirs after a few minutes, and it’s only then that I notice I’ve been running my fingertips up and down his arm, just grazing over it, with my fingernails barely making contact with his skin. He keeps his eyes closed at first when he turns his head in my direction, his mouth forming one of those dreamy smiles.
“Mmm… that feels nice.”
Just to tease him, I stop the motion, then wait for his eyes to open so I can hover over him with a grin. My hair’s starting to come out of my braid and loose tendrils fall forward, brushing over his jaw line. He reaches up to capture one of the wayward locks between his thumb and forefinger, then runs down it and winds it around his finger, watching it curl and uncurl.
“What time is it?”
“A little after 5.”
He groans, then lifts his head to look at the clock on the nightstand, as though to see it for himself, then falls back onto the pillow and slides his arm under his head.
“Even on my day off, I can’t seem to sleep in.”
I lay back down and settle over his breastbone. The slow, steady drumbeat of his heart hums against my cheek. “Now you’ve got me awake,” I say. A long, drawn-out yawn swallows the tail end of my sentence. “That’s what I get for falling in love with a baker.”
The hand that had been drawing tiny circles on my waist suddenly stops. I don’t notice it at first, until I feel the stillness of his chest, as though he’s holding his breath. I angle my chin upwards to look up at him, and find him staring up into the ceiling. It’s like he’s trying to make out the shapes the shadows are making, or watching the play of fading moonlight on the smooth plaster. But he’s not saying anything, and I know all the words are just building up in his brain, like water filling up a bucket.
He looks down at me without moving his head, the briefest of glances before he takes his eyes back up to the ceiling again, where the weak glow of the emerging sun is casting light.
“When did you know?” he says.
“Know what?”
I watch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. As usual, he’s choosing his words carefully.
“That you were in love with me.”
My fingers trace the curve of his ribs, feel the rise and fall of his chest.
“I don’t know,” I say. But that’s not entirely true. There were moments early on when I knew it, but just didn’t know I knew it—but I don’t really know how to explain this to him when I don’t think I can even explain it to myself. “It wasn’t like the way it was with you. Like when you heard me sing and you just… knew.”
“That’s not when I knew.”
“What?”
He looks down at me. “I noticed you then, that’s true. And I knew you had me from that moment on, but… that’s not when I knew I was in love with you. Not truly.”
“Oh.”
He reaches down to my chin, tilts it upwards.
“In the Capitol, underground… when I was losing it and I just wanted it all to end… when I wanted you to end it for me… You didn’t. You kissed me instead.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I remember.”
“That’s when I knew.”
My throat closes, struggles to force the words past the lump that’s now lodged itself there. I break the eye contact because it’s too intense—too much for me to sustain.
I take in a shaky drag of air, then finally, find my voice.
“When they took you from me,” I say. “When you looked at me and you looked past me—and I thought you were gone for good… I realized it then.”
I can barely get the last words out without my voice cracking. I know he hears this, because his hand closes over mine.
“Do you think this would have happened anyway?” he says. “Even if the Capitol hadn’t…”
“Yes.”
I lever myself up on my elbow, lock my eyes with his as I say it again.
“Yes.”
He reaches up to brush the hair off my forehead, traces the scar that still runs over my eye.
“You wouldn’t change a single thing about how it all happened. Real or not real?”
I smile and turn my head to bring his hand to my lips.
“Real.”