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I feel her before I hear her. Even through my haze of sleep and dreams, I can always feel her. But when I reach out to her side of the bed, I'm not greeted by the languid form of Katniss curling against me. Instead, a cry of "Peeta," cascades through the safe haven of our room. The heft of her weight tumbles over me in a mess of limbs and lemon scented shampoo. Her elbow to my stomach immediately yanks me back to the land of the awake. Slowly, the scene begins to fill itself in.
The soft orange glow of a fire in the hearth. It's steady heat creeping into my bones, wrapping me in a warmth and peace I once never believed possible. The cushioned material of the sofa against my skin.
The sofa. Comfortable and easy, but not the cradling familiarity of our sheets. I fell asleep downstairs on the couch, I realize. And now Katniss is what? Trying to lay down with me? Why else would she be wrapping her arms around me?
She tugs at my torso with a groan.
"What are you doing?" I ask, instantly alert.
"Picking you up." She answers, casually.
"Katniss there’s no way you can pick me up!" I declare, refusing to move.
Exasperated, she tries a different tactic. Calloused archer's hands take my bakery burned ones to yank me up and sitting.
"Says who?" She calls.
"Says me!"
"You can pick me up!" She argues, putting her hands on her hips in a truly adorable attempt at intimidation.
"Yeah but you’re smaller than me? And as you’ve told me many times, I’m rather strong!" I stand from the couch of my own volition, stretching my stiff arms over my head.
"Oh stop that!" She marches into the kitchen. As always, I follow.
"I thought you liked my strength! You’ve waxed poetic about my strong arms once or twice!" I tease, picturing another night many months ago where I carried her up to bed.
"I have not!" She turns aghast.
"Yes you did! You might have had too much fruit wine at your birthday last year to remember but I definitely do!"
"Peeta!" She blushes.
"Don't worry, darling, I thought it was very cute." I lean in and place a quick kiss to her cheek. That pink flush shifts into magenta. It's such a beautiful color. Particular too, the way the shades blend with her olive tones. I've had the exact paint mix memorized for years now. But it wasn't until after the war that I finally got to revel in all the ways I could make it appear.
For my birthday this year, she's agreed to sit and let me paint her. I plan to spend quite a bit of that session trying to make her blush exactly like this. Such easy, simple, beauty deserves to be preserved.
I kiss her other cheek. "I like that I can carry you." Then her nose. "I like that you think I'm strong." Then her brow. "And I like that you like that I'm strong." Finally, I kiss her lips. She sinks into it immediately, momentarily forgetting her ire. But only for a moment.
She pulls back, and lightly taps my chest in determined annoyance. "I want to be able to carry you too!"
"You do!" I assure her. "At least…symbolically or emotionally, whichever you prefer."
"I can carry you non-symbolically too!" She declares.
My gazes traces her shamelessly. She's small, several inches shorter than me. Those years of malnourishment and starvation likely stunted her growth a little bit. Our few years of healthy food and post-war peace have done wonders for both of our healths, but came just a bit late for her to achieve those last few inches of height that she might have had in a kinder world.
Katniss is certainly not weak, has never been weak. She's one of the strongest people I've ever known, to lose so much — suffer so much — and still find ways to keep going. But, I'm not quite sure that resilience will translate to being able to physically carry me.
"Katniss." I start, gently. "I really don't think you can." I'm much denser than she's ever been, just as a start.
Her cheeks burn frustrated crimson. The color is just as adorable as the embarrassed pink, or the love-stained magenta. I should know better to suggest that she can't do something. But I can't lie, it's fun to see her reaction on the rare occasions I do. She smarts and stutters in this truly charming way, as she tries to prove me wrong.
"Well, I think I can! So come here and let me try!" She shouts, stomping her foot. Actually stomping her foot.
"Fine!" I agree. "Give it your best shot!" I hold my arms out, already bracing myself for my imminent fall to the unforgiving wood floors of our kitchen.
Katniss steels her face, that once permanent scowl making it's reappearance. She approaches slow, circling me like a huntress stalking its prey.
"Do you want any help?" I tease. "Any tips?"
"Oh, hush you." She tosses back. With astounding confidence she makes her move. Looping an arm around my back, the other reaches down to slip across the back of my knees. But unlike when I scoop her up in the same manner, she doesn't even manage to get me off the ground. That doesn't stop her though, and she strains as she tries again and again, nearly buckling and taking us both down.
"Katniss, you're going to hurt yourself." I say, done with this little game. It was funny for a minute but it's definitely not funny if she gets hurt in the process.
"I'm fine! Let me try." She argues.
"Katniss." I start, wrapping my arms around her and tucking her against my chest. "Really, this is silly. I wasn't kidding when I said you carry me too. The only reason I didn't drown in a haze of hijacking and hurt was because of you." I try to soothe her with the truth. "And when the memories get too heavy, you remind me of a reason to rise even with their weight on my shoulders. You make me believe I can carry it all, and when they do get too heavy you help me carry them. I promise that is more than enough."
She wraps her arms around my waist. "I still wish I could lift you too."
"Well we can work on that. We'll get your strength back up! I'll pull out some of our old training techniques from before the Quell!"
"Actually…" She muses.
"I was kidding, Katniss. Don't worry. I'm not going to make you drop and give me twenty push-ups or anything."
"I don't know…" Her voice trails off, burying her face in my t-shirt. "I wouldn't mind if Training Coach Peeta made a reappearance, at least not if it was in the right scenario."
"What do you mean by that, Katniss?" I ask, unsure if I caught her words quite right. I hope I did.
"I…I don't know. It's just…in retrospect…"
"Katniss." I lift her chin to make her meet my eyes. This time her blush dips towards a rich ruby, spreading out to her ears and across her nose. It's a blush I'm especially familiar with, though, I usually only see it when she's particularly flustered, or nearly entirely swept away. It's a blush saved almost exclusively for our bed…and the shower…and the couch…and one time the kitchen floor.
"Well, it was…I don't know. It was such a confusing few months for all of us, and we had no time for any of this then, and I definitely didn't fully understand what I was feeling at the time, but…" She rambles. "It just…I think I found it kind of…attractive…when you were all commanding and stuff."
"Really?" I squeeze her tighter against me, my hands drifting lower over her tailbone. "You liked it when I was commanding?"
"Maybe…" Katniss murmurs.
"Maybe?"
"Yeah, I guess, a little!" She confesses. "You were all intense and determined and…I don't know! I just…I thought you were…hot."
"You thought I was hot?" I say, failing to stop the laugh from falling from my lips. Too high on the thrill of getting confirmation of a theory I've long had.
"Hey! Stop teasing!" She demands.
"I'm not teasing! I'm just tucking this information away for a later date!"
"Peeta!" She groans, and I bite my tongue to not quip about the other situations I tend to hear my name like that from her mouth.
"I'm sorry! I'll stop! I'm just thinking about how seventeen-year-old Peeta would react to this entire conversation!"
Her only response is an annoyed 'harumph' that quickly gets lost in my t-shirt.
The steady ticking of the clock, the residual sparks and snaps of the fire as it dies out for the night, the rhythmic sound of Katniss's breathing, they all lull me into peace. The long days at the bakery must be catching up with me. It's always like this as the harvest nears, but I very rarely feel the need to fall asleep standing up. Tonight is the exception, and I let myself sink into her hold. Into the easy calm and natural bliss that sweeps me away whenever we have quiet moments like this. The feel of her safe in my arms, real and present and pressed against me. The feel of her holding me back in just the same manner.
Katniss squeezes me tighter and with a grunt she makes her last attempt to carry me: leaning back to lift me off my feet. I rise up on my toes to maintain my balance as she tries — and fails — with one final tug.
"I did it!" She calls, triumphantly. What? "I did it! I picked you up?"
Oh. The pieces fall into place, what's just happened. Specifically, what Katniss thinks has happened. When she threw me off balance and I caught myself, she mistook that for her somehow lifting me. I move to speak, to clear up her confusion, but she's just too adorable. Excitedly jumping around the kitchen, gray eyes proud, a cheeky smirk on her cheeks. Her beautifully blushing cheeks. One of my favorite colors. And well, I can't deny her anything — let alone her joy. So I keep my mouth shut for now, and just revel in the glee that radiates from her, filling our entire house with her light.