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for setsthetrap

Rubble still remains, pockets of ash among the new buildings constructed. Not all of District 12 has been rebuilt and refurbished in the past year. Ground has been broken for a new pharmaceutical plant, fields plowed, business slowly coming back to life. It's not the same place it was a year ago when she had returned, broken and defeated. A shell of the girl she used to be. Nor is it the place she remembers growing up in. It's something different now. Something new that arose in the ashes.

And maybe it's much the same for her, too. Though she holds the pain of her sister's death close to her heart and the horrors of the Hunger Games visit her nightly in her dreams, she no longer lets them swallow her alive. Some days are better than others. Some nights, more capable of sleeping through. But since spring's arrival a couple of weeks ago, she's made certain to get out to the woods every morning. While Peeta bakes, she hunts. Their afternoons are sometimes spent together, sometimes spent alone as they do their own small parts to help with the District's rebuilding.

It's a routine. A fairly regular routine that's helped her get from day to day, week to week. Sometimes it's tedious. Sometimes she wants nothing more than the curl into a ball and die. Find that death she deserves, that should have claimed her instead of Prim. Other days, she's almost thankful to be still alive.

Today's oddly become one of the latter days. What started out as a disappointing hunt in drizzly April weather had since turned into a successful trip. She carries with her two ducks as she makes her way from the woods towards the Hawthorne residence. Even if it still hurts to think of him from time to time, she's made certain to help Mrs. Hawthorne out these past few months. Whenever she has a little extra meat from her hunt, or Peeta bakes more bread than he can sell, she makes certain to stop by.

But she never expects to see him. Because she always pictures him in District 2 with his fancy job, kissing another pair of lips. Forgetting her entirely. And maybe it's better that way. Maybe it's better for both of them to keep apart and heal alone.

It's not how she ever expected they'd end up.

Pushing stray thoughts aside, she knocks on the door before pushing it open. It's mid-afternoon and the children should be in school. But it's easier some days not to deal with their smiles and their questions. Like it is today.

"Mrs. Hawthorne?" She walks towards the kitchen, knowing the route by heart. "Are you home?"

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It's the sudden clang of a pot falling, slipping from his grip, that answers Katniss' call.

Gale hasn't heard that voice in a little over a year, never thought he would again - save for the recorded footage they have of her that plays on the television every now and then. Katniss Everdeen: the Mockingjay, their saviour, their hero. It's not a voice he can take easily, not without that stirring stab of guilt nestling itself deep in the pit of his stomach like a barb. But it's better now. It's faded into a dull ache with time.

He was only going to stay until his siblings got home; and even that took a fair amount of persuasion from his mother. Something about this place makes him feel like a coward now, almost scared, like the entire District might crumble over his shoulders and bury him and everyone else alive.

Maybe it's not about District 12 at all, but about the girl behind him, calling for his mother.

He turns to face her, his heart leaping into his throat. He swallows, shifts to lean against the counter by the sink, ignoring the sound of blood pounding in his ears.

"She left to run an errand," he says, his voice coming out calmer than he feels. "Hi, Catni - Katniss."

She hears the pot fall and the sound echoes through the empty house. It's loud and disruptive and completely out of place in the peaceful house. For a second, her mind flashes back to the bombs falling on top of District 13 as they hid in the underground bunkers. But she's not there. She hasn't been there for a long time now.

Still, her heart skips a beat. She gasps and automatically reaches for an arrow. Just in case, just in case the bombs fell again. It's like a safety blanket for her. A way to stay safe.

With her bow ready to fire, she walks to the kitchen. Her hands remain steady as she moves with quick, assured steps. There's a stranger in the kitchen. A man that she thinks shouldn't be there. Katniss starts to pull back string, only stopping when the man turns around. He's another year older but she'd recognize him anywhere.

Recognize his voice anywhere.

Her grip fumbles and she points the arrow at the floor as she begins to unnotch, using the moment to blink away the sudden round of tears that fill her vision. It shouldn't hurt to see him again but it does. It hurts so much. Because she's seeing Prim dying. She's seeing herself shouting for Gale to kill her after Coin's assassination.

And here he is, all these days and weeks and months later, standing in front of her.

Finally, she looks up at him. "Gale."

The look on Katniss' face versus the one a part of him had been desperately hoping for, should the two of them ever face each other in person again, are two completely different things.

But what did he expect? Gale left District 12 those many months ago, decided he'd start a new life in District 2 for this very reason. Because seeing that expression whenever he accidentally runs into her on the street, or in a shop, or some political assembly - it'll tear him apart eventually, break him more than he'd already been broken the moment he realized what he'd done.

He could leave now, disappear again for both their sakes. It'd be easier, maybe. Healthier. Still, he'd given his mother his word that he'd stick around for at least another hour or two, so he swallows his fear and his guilt and nods his head towards the bow in Katniss' hands.

"You still carry that around, huh?"

Quietly, she rests the bow against the wall. It's Gale. The day she needs to defend herself against Gale... It's a day long and far from here, she hopes. A day that'll never come. She continues to avoid his gaze, hating herself for being such a coward. Even more so, hating that this twisted sorrow ever came between them. She carefully unties one of the ducks from her belt and holds it up so he can see.

It's then that she steals a look at him. He looks good. Polished. Very much the Gale she remembered and very much someone altogether different. A resident of District 2, caught up in more important circles than she finds herself in these days. She wonders if he has a girlfriend. If he has anyone out there with him.

"I went hunting this morning," she explains, reaching for an empty plate to put the duck on. "I needed it."

The answer sounds lame to her ears. But she's not certain what else she could say right now.

Gale shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers to hide the fact that he's got them clenched so hard they could hurt.

His gaze shifts from Katniss' face to the duck before he settles on watching her instead. Watching how she moves, remembering those small, seemingly insignificant motions that used to be something he took for granted because he'd see her every single day. (Well, every day until the Reaping and the Games.) The two of them hunting, sorting out their kills, leaving some for their families, selling the rest at the Markets. That feels like ages upon ages ago; so much has happened since.

It's a new Panem they live in now, and they're different people for it. (Aren't they?)

"Still get good game around here?" he asks conversationally.

She glances down at the movement, watching as his hands dig deep inside his pockets. He's done it before. For all the time they've spent apart, there's still so much about him she recognizes. He's still Gale. But he's not her Gale anymore.

He'll never be again.

The expressions are written all over her face. Sorrow, regret, pain. She still doesn't know how to mask them. Katniss fiddles with the plate for a moment, looking uncertain and uncomfortable. She hates this. So much.

Just speak.

"There is." She forces her lips into a slight grin. "A lot of the game has come back."

"That's good," Gale says. Quieter, he repeats it. "That's good."

It means there's more for everyone. Sure, the Capitol isn't controlling the District's rations anymore, but they're still far from prosperous. Rebuilding takes time - a lot of time; Gale would know, being a part of that rebuilding process - and the beginning is always tough.

"And my family? They're ... okay?"

He hasn't seen his siblings yet.

His mother looked better, he can say that much.

She's surprised that he's asking about his family, especially standing in their home. But, she realizes a second or two later, she doesn't know when he made it to District 12. He easily could have missed everyone today. And no matter how much Gale might have changed, she wants to believe that his family is still important to him. That he won't leave until he sees them all.

It's why she makes sure to stop by at least once a week.

"I've been keeping an eye on them. Peeta..." Katniss begins, unable to keep the smile off her face at the mention of his name. "Peeta'll bring them bread when there's excess at the bakery. Which there usually is. I'll bring them meat."

She shrugs a little, taking sudden interest in the corner of the kitchen beyond Gale. "I figured... you took care of my family once."

As per usual, Katniss' power of deduction is pretty accurate - even if it does make him feel a little like the most worthless son and brother, not really knowing the state of his family, or how much his siblings have grown since he'd left District 12.

Family is the most important thing to him, but keeping in constant communication with them had proven to be difficult. And the fact that Peeta ... Peeta has been taking better care of his family than him ...

Gale can't rid himself fully of the crushing guilt and mild irritation he has for Mellark - even now, even after everything. Even after seeing how much Peeta had suffered during the rebellion ...

"I never did it out of obligation," he manages to say, contrary to the thoughts that stew in his mind. "Taking care of your family, I mean. I love them.

"Loved them.

"But thank you for taking care of mine."

There's nothing much of her family left. Not really. Her mother is in District 4 with Annie Cresta, starting a new life. One that probably have little to do with Katniss anymore. She's barely spoken to her mother since returning to District 12. There's nothing to talk about. Whatever love might have been there between a mother and her daughter just... didn't seem like enough anymore.

But Gale's family? They stayed. They accepted her even. And Peeta, too, which was more than she ever expected.

"It's not obligation either." Maybe it had started out as such. But it was good for both her and Peeta to be around others sometimes. "We love them. They're good people. They deserve any help they need."

Gale nods, long fingers finding the side of the kitchen counter as though it might hold him up, an absent-minded gesture that he stops as soon as he's aware of it.

He crosses his arms instead, suddenly feeling a little awkward and out of place, like he's too big for this house, or maybe it - and everything else about District 12 - is trying to force him out.

He never thought he'd live to see the day when District 12 really, truly no longer feels like home. (But then ... does District 2 even feel like it?)

And his family ... well, his feelings for his family will never change, no matter what happens or where he ends up, and while he's aware he's been a pretty crappy son and brother, he maintains his eternal gratitude to Katniss for keeping them fed and safe.

It's more than he could ever, ever ask of her, so he's grateful he never had to.

"And you?" he asks, finally. He's been wanting to ask her this since he first saw her, but if he's going to be completely honest with himself, he's afraid of the answer. "Are ... are you okay?"

Are you okay?

The question echoes in the air between them. There are a million answers she wants to give. No, she's not okay. She's never going to be okay again. She lives in a District that's as much a stranger to her as it is home. It's not the place where they grew up, went to school, spent so many mornings and afternoons in the woods. It's not the place where their friendship had once bloomed, only to be snuffed out by the same dark and twisted fate that haunts her today.

She misses Prim. She misses him. She can't hear from Annie without feeling guilty over Finnick and every time Peeta has an episode, slips back into his hijacked personality, she fears that she might have lost him for good. They play real or not real so often, she knows for certain that she'll never be through with games. Some days are okay. Some days are almost good. And other days?

"Trying," she mumbles. She wants to lie to him. She wants to tell Gale that she is okay. She's okay without him here, she's okay with living with memories that hurt so much. She survived and that's all that matters, right? That she survived?

But tears prick her eyes and she hates herself for them. For being weak in front of him. She still hates him for the role he played in Prim's death but... but she had been just as much to fault. She can't blame him, not as much as she used to.

"I'm trying."

It's a better answer than Gale could ever hope for, a better one than he suspects he deserves for all the guilt and blame he still carries over Prim's death and the eventual falling out between himself and the girl before him, the girl he knows he'll always love in some way, even if it might not be the same as it once was.

(Nothing will ever be the same as it once was.)

And he's glad that, even now, even after all of this time and distance, she doesn't lie. She's trying, she says, and that's better than 'I'm doing great'. Not because he wants her to be unhappy but because, with this small admission of truth, maybe not all hope is lost.

Gale nods.

"I'm trying, too."

She can't lie to him. She's never been good at lying in general. Not to anyone or about anything. It's something that nearly cost the uprising when they tried to place her in front of the camera, only to watch her deliver a shell of a performance. But that's all beside the point. All in the past. There's no one she has to lie to anymore. Nobody she has to convince to believe in a romance that's only now the most real it's ever been. There's nobody she has to convince to follow her.

There are other words she wants to say, especially when he responds. She wants to ask how his fancy new job is. If he's met anyone knew. If life in District 2 can compare at all to the life they once had here. If he missed her, even a little.

Maybe it's selfish to want him to miss her. But she can't help it. He had been hers for so long. And unlike Prim, unlike Madge, he's still here. Still alive.

It had been her choice in the end. She needed to heal and she knew, still knows, she couldn't with Gale around. But right now, in this moment, all she wants is for things to be just like they used to be. For her to be that boy she depended so much upon. And for her to still be the center of his world.

Something old. Something normal. Something familiar.

She can't bring herself to smile in response. Only nod and very lamely reply with, "Oh."

It seems almost stupid how hard it is to just get the words out, the ones he actually wants to say, along with all the questions he wants to ask and the answers he wishes he'd get from her. But they're stuck in his throat and while he's a better liar than Katniss, he could never do that to her.

And he's not going to play niceties either, resorting to discussing the weather or something menial and insignificant, even if that might (his heart sinks at the thought) be the only thing left between them now.

It can't be, right?

It can't.

Gale lets out a breath that is half a laugh and half an exasperated sigh. And then he pushes a hand through his dark hair, which he's kept shorter than he had when he was still living here. It remains longer than most young men his age, but it's become quite the fashionable trend.

"Oh," he echoes. There's the slightest edge of frustration when he continues, "Is that all we have left to say to each other now?"

Ow.

His words hurt as much as any burn, maybe even more so. Never had she imagined that they'd wind up like this. Almost strangers, despite everything they from their shared past. She never thought that she'd see this day. In losing Prim, she managed to lose lo much more. A chapter of her life had closed, a level of security and belonging that she'd never, ever get back.

It's hard to meet his eyes. So hard. But she makes herself do just that. Because of the memories. Because girls like her don't deserve easy, don't deserve a happy ending.

She shrugs, and for a brief second, the flicker of a smile crosses her face. A ghost of a smile that she would once give him. "I've never been much of a talker."

There's a small exhale - and with it, some of the frustration and tension in Gale's shoulders leaves him. He shakes his head now, strands of hair falling into his face as he averts his gaze to his feet for a moment, maybe to regain his composure.

When he looks back up at Katniss again, there's an echo of her smile reflected in the slight upturn of his lips.

"Yeah," he says. "You're right. You always were a girl of few words."

There's a pause and then a small huff of a laugh.

"I think you must have said maybe five words to me total, the first couple times we met up to hunt."

"More like three."

Communication on her part had been in silent stares and glares, a questioning raise of an eyebrow when she didn't understand something. If she didn't have to actually vocalize a thought for Gale to understand it, she remained silent. That they'd scare any animals away had just been an excuse. She hadn't trusted him then. Even if she had recognized Gale as one of the other kids who had lost their father in the same mining accident, why would his motives be anything but selfish?

Somewhere along the way, that changed. She started talking. They started talking. And he had become her best friend.

"Usually when you did something dumb."

This is how some friendships are made. This is how friendships in District 12 seem to be made, anyway. Either way, Gale has no problem talking to people if he has to ... but making friends is another story.

People generally consider Gale Hawthorne to be something of an enigma. It's part of his allure. He keeps to himself, doesn't talk a whole lot, says only what he thinks is necessary, comes and goes as he pleases. He's respectful, he's punctual, and he does the work required of him at school or at home. He's loyal and he's genuine, but none of these things means he's got to be approachable and charismatic on top of all that.

He's the kind of guy you want to get to know but you're not even sure how to get started. He'd built walls up too; they're just not as obvious to people as Katniss' are. But maybe that's what attracted him to Katniss and vice versa. Just two people with very tall, very fortified walls, who found the one chink in it that allowed them to see what was on the other side.

Gale's laugh this time is louder, more solid.

"Hey, and that wasn't a whole lot either."

How long has it been since she last heard that laughter? Too long. Far, far too long. She had forgotten how nice a sound it could be. How much she used to love hearing it when she was younger. There was never much to laugh at growing up in District 12, not much to take joy in. And yet, when she had been around Gale, it had been a different sort of life. One that made her smile and laugh, too. In a way that only Prim could ever achieve prior.

She hadn't realized how much she missed those days until now. They'll never have that easy friendship again, will they?

Not with all of this between them. Prim's death. The Hunger Games. Peeta. How are they ever supposed to move forward?

The smile that appears on her face is genuine and real, something that she can't keep off her face when he laughs. Maybe this is how. By letting go of the past that still ties them down.

"How are you? Really?"

And how much has Gale missed that smile?

Not the fake one she throws around in the Games, or in public, or in her series of propos, but this one, the one that isn't perfect and pretty but true; reveals the little dimple in her cheek, the crinkles in her eyes. It used to be the kind of smile that could light up his whole world and make it come crashing down around him all at once.

Now it comes to him as a relief that he hadn't remembered it incorrectly, that maybe there's a part of Katniss that he'll always know, a piece of her that's just for him even if it's never going to be the way she is with Mellark.

That's all in the past anyway, but that doesn't mean it still doesn't hurt sometimes.

Gale's shrug is light, easy.

"I guess, for the first time in my life, I can honestly say I can't complain."

It's not perfect by any means, it's not even good, but it's a hell of a lot better than anything he's ever had here in all of his life.

Even if ...

"But I do miss it here sometimes. The familiarity."

He gestures to their surroundings.

"My family."

You.

She wants to run up to him. Even as it hurts, even as Prim's memory lingers like a ghost between them, she wants to run up to him and hug him and tell him it'll all be okay. She doesn't want to kiss him, not like she would've a year ago. Her kisses are reserved for Peeta now and Peeta alone. But he had been right, hadn't he? The last time they stood in District 12 together. How she always pays attention to him when he's in pain.

And she sees it now. Even as he doesn't say anything aloud, she sees it. He's missed her. He's missed their past, what they had. And for a second there, she feels almost smug. For all those other lips, all those other girls in District 12, none of them were her. None of them could compete, could they?

It's not fair. It's not fair to Finnick and it's not fair to Peeta to think like that.

But she still runs to him, acting instead of thinking, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tight.

He's in pain. He needs her. She doesn't know what else to do.

For a fraction of a second, Gale's initial response is to detach Katniss from him, tell her that it's okay, he's okay, this isn't necessary, that he doesn't want it because the memory of this moment is only going to burn into his brain for the next however long he'll be gone - back to District 2, back to his new job, his new life.

But he doesn't.

He can't.

He's never been particularly strong-willed where Katniss is concerned, and her friendship right now means everything to him. It means more to him than that ache that still (still) lingers somewhere behind all of the months of healing, the ache that reminds him that Katniss is with Mellark now, and that's the way it's going to be.

So it is with slow yet deliberate movements that he shifts to wrap his arms around her too. Clings to her in a way that he wishes he could let her know that he's sorry, he'll always be sorry, he wishes this could have gone differently, but he misses her.

He misses her, and he'll do anything he can to get her friendship back.

Her breath is caught in her throat and it's not until after his arms close around her that she realizes she's been holding her breath. Terrified that he might reject her. Gale ought to push her away (as he has every right to do) and tell her to get out of his house. She doesn't deserve anything less after accusing him of being responsible for Prim's death. He shouldn't feel anything for her.

She's not worth it, even in the slightest.

But he's hugging her back and she has to remind herself to breathe. A part of her still thinks that the slightest movement, the slightest noise, and she'll scare him away. She can't lose him. She's not sure she can say goodbye to him again. It doesn't matter that she loves Peeta. She loves Gale too. Not in the same way, maybe more like she loved Finnick and loved Cinna. But she lost those two.

Quietly, and without breaking the hug, "You don't have to go right away, do you?"

Katniss' question is enough to ignite the small, nearly (now) nonexistent little candle he still holds for her, somewhere in the deepest, darkest part of him, the part he'd done well to bury because he didn't think a reconnection was possible after what happened following the 76th Hunger Games.

He lets out a breath, hitched and short, surprised.

And then he shakes his head, heart beating a little quicker as he makes a decision.

"No," he answers, voice quiet. "No, I don't. I made arrangements that allowed me a couple extra days to be with my family if I wanted."

He hadn't planned on using them, of course. And being the hardworker that he is, he'd planned on being on the first train back to District 2 by tomorrow morning at the latest.

A number of thoughts run through her head in response to his words. If he's already made those arrangements, he can use them can't he? Go hunting with her or... No, no dinner with her and Peeta would be a bad idea. But Peeta would understand if she came over here for a night, wouldn't he? To have dinner with all the Hawthornes, the only family outside of Peeta and Haymitch that she has left in this District?

He'd understand by now, wouldn't he? That in the end, she loves Peeta. She needs him in her life, needs that reminder of the dandelion in the spring to tame her own fire. He has nothing to be jealous about now. Not when it comes to Gale.

She takes a breath and takes a step back so she can look at him again. It's ridiculous how shy she suddenly feels, and how fearful. Can she look at him without thinking about Prim? Without wondering if he knew about the parachute bombs in the Capitol? She wants to, but she knows it won't be easy. Not that anything in her life has ever been easy.

Quietly, "You should stay."

Gale isn't sure he's heard her correctly at first, that so quiet a request with those words could actually be uttered.

How many times had he imagined her saying something like that? Maybe not exactly those words, maybe not in this context, or in this way, but the feeling there ... the importance placed on him in her life ... it's been long enough now that the words mean a hell of a lot more than they ever used to.

It's with that tiniest flicker of hope he'd been denying himself that he nods.

'Okay,' he doesn't say.

Maybe he's afraid she'll change her mind and retreat into herself again if he allows himself to agree out loud. He knows Katniss; he might be one of two people who know her better than she knows herself sometimes (and he's vain enough to admit it).

But it's almost tragic how much doubt he has in what the two of them used to share ever since Prim died. Like he's walking along the thinnest line of wire over a cavernous pit and the faintest breath let out wrong could send him toppling to his end.

Still. This is something, the longest they've spent alone together in a room without resentment and anger and a burning need to see that other person off. He isn't going to waste this chance.

He doesn't say anything at first and Katniss wonders if she spoke too soon. Things aren't the best between them. They hadn't necessarily been before Prim's death and after... After, it had been horrible. Even now, she's not entirely sure she can continue to look at him without thinking of Prim. But she's trying. She's trying the best she possibly can.

And then she sees it. It's not a verbal affirmation but it's not an absently placed nod, either. Maybe it's him considering her request. That alone is still more than she expects or thinks that she deserves. She hasn't exactly been nice to him. Hate, it turns out, is so much easier to deal with than hurt.

She should say something but the hesitation to do so remains. If she says something aloud, if she breaks the silence in this room, will these moments turn into nothing but a facade that'll shatter along with the silence? Will they wind up at each other's throats with the same anger and unspoken accusations as before?

Already, she's retreating back inside her own head. She can't help it.

Say something. Say something.

"Dinner?"

So long as she remembers to let Peeta know she won't be home, she doesn't think he'll mind.

It's so simple a suggestion, consisting of one word, one activity that encompasses something that has always meant so much to them. Maybe not to Katniss and Gale in particular, but Gale has always had fond memories of family dinners, of arriving at the Everdeens with game, or vice versa. Gale's mother would often ask the Everdeens to join them for a meal, Gale's brothers and sister playing with Prim while he and Katniss sat side by side talking very little but sharing so much.

Dinner, food, conversation, company, a feeling of closeness to break bread with someone you cared about.

He doesn't miss the importance of her invitation, so he nods again.

"Dinner." And then, "Maybe we should get something special."

His mother would like that, he knows.

It's not all that different now. At least, not for Katniss. It took a few unsuccessful dinners, a few times where Katniss looked at Hazelle and Gale's siblings and could only think of Gale and then of Prim and practically bolted out of the house, leaving Peeta to make the excuses for her. But now, she can separate things a bit better. She and Peeta have regular dinners with the Hawthornes. Rich dinners involving freshly caught game and sweets from Peeta's bakery.

She feels a twinge of guilt when he suggests getting something special. Mostly because she knows that something special lately (especially in Rory's eyes) has been whenever Peeta brings over cake. Would Gale think that they're replacing him in his own family? It hadn't ever been her intention. Katniss had missed being a part of a family, her own dead or scattered. And she still leans on Peeta for support more often than not.

"I have the duck," she points out. It had been her whole reason for visiting the Hawthornes to begin with. "Normally," she starts and then hesitates. But she needs to be honest. She has to. Otherwise how will they ever mend this rift? If that's even possible. "Normally, Peeta will bring something from the bakery."

"The bakery," Gale repeats, voice quieting. It's still a hard thing to be reminded of, that District 12 has begun to heal again, and his family with it, maybe even moving on without him because of his own choices - but Gale and Katniss have had a fair amount of time now, months since the rebellion and the war, and for him to continue holding this grudge ...

He'd reminded himself time and again that he couldn't do that anymore. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. It was only going to slow the healing process between him and his best friend. He might not like Peeta Mellark, never had, but that isn't his fault. It's the residual burn of an old wound that he can't quite let go of, a boyish insecurity that became so wholly a part of him that it's hard to see where it began in the first place. Back when things were so simple.

He nods.

"All right." And then a breath. "Duck is good. It used to be Posy's favourite. Is it still?"

Katniss nods awkwardly even as she wonders if she overstepped. Should she not have mentioned Peeta after all? Should she have stayed quiet about the bakery and about Peeta. It's not as if he's trying to take Gale's place in any way. It's just that Peeta has become such an intrinsic part of her life that it had seemed natural to bring him with her after a while. She can't help that. She can't help the way she feels about Peeta.

"Yeah," she murmurs, playing with the end of her braid for a few seconds. She's a horrible person. Of that, she never had any doubt. This just seems to confirm it. Especially with the words that seem to slip out next. "It is. She's also become really fond of vanilla cupcakes."

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late as hell

pffft