Even though it gained her a couple thousand new followers and more notes than anything else she's ever posted, Katniss is starting to regret the series of fandom songs she posted starting two months ago. Usually, her blog is dedicated to her original attempts at songwriting and singing. But Madge recommended a book series about a group of teenagers in a post-apocalyptic future that bring down their government. At first, she'd been skeptical. Books like that were everywhere these days. Eventually, she gave in to Madge's pestering and read them.

Within the first few chapters, she'd been sucked into the world of Rivers Bend finishing all three books in a matter of days. It was a little scary how much she related to the heroine, Charise, a prickly but hilarious girl who initially joined the fight to save her sisters. She adored Charise's dynamic with her siblings; it reminded her a lot of her own relationship with Primrose. And then there was Aidan, Charise's counterpart and the most swoon-worthy character Katniss could remember reading. She'd fallen in love with them and their story, and well, afterwards she couldn't help herself. She'd just felt so inspired.

A few short weeks after finishing the series, she had written, recorded, and posted a song based on the books. A second song followed in quick order. Then, her blog exploded.

It's all been rather flattering, but also an awful lot of work to keep up. With trepidation, she sits down at her laptop and logs in to her dashboard.

…40 messages…60 new followers…

She slams her head on her desk. This is what she gets for avoiding tumblr for a full week.

Most of the messages are simple compliments on her songs or her voice. There's one anonymous hate message telling her that her "Craptastic music is completely unoriginal" and blah blah blah. She's fine with constructive criticism but comments like this give her nothing to work with. After she deletes that message, Katniss answers most of the others privately. She hates posting asks unless they're more for discussion than just praise.

About halfway through, she freezes, her face flushing with heat.

It's him again.

Well, she thinks he's a him. She supposes she could be a girl. Regardless of gender, this person's words never fail to make her blush. The language is simply stunning.

About once a week, she'll get an anonymous poem. Usually about birds or rivers, the beauty of a well-crafted song, or the peace of a spring morning. She briefly toyed with the idea of turning one of the poems into a song, but felt that would be wrong without asking permission first. This week, it's more of an epic poem, sent in five asks, centering on a woman with a devastatingly beautiful voice and the man whose heart she unwittingly captures.

Aha! She thinks. So it is a boy sending these to her. Or maybe she's reading too much into the poems. She starts biting her nails, debating how to respond this time.

The poems didn't start showing up until after she'd posted her fan songs. Which makes her pretty sure whoever this is followed her because of them. One night, she even spent a few hours trolling the Rivers fandom blogs looking for a potentially male user who wrote poetry, but to no avail. There were just so many. Also, she got distracted by some of the gorgeous fanart out there, and even though she swore she wouldn't follow fandom blogs, she ended up following about a dozen, sending polite messages to comment on how much she liked their artwork. That gained her a slew of new followers as well.

Almost immediately, she considered deleting the songs from tumblr, and leaving the fandom side. They were overwhelming. A little in-your-face with their joy and their obsessions and their…feels. Eventually, she chose to stay because so many of them didn't just like her Rivers Bend songs. They listened to and spread her original work as well. Overall, her new followers were incredibly supportive and insightful. Then the poems started showing up in her inbox.

Perhaps she should be freaked out by this poem, but she's more flattered than anything else. She quickly compiles the asks and adds an answer:

Dear Poet Anon, Once again, you have left me speechless. Your words are their own kind of music and I really want to turn one of these into a song. Please come off anon so I can talk to you about it.

#askthemockingjay #i'm serious #i've already got a melody drafted #anonymous

It's a little bold for her to do something like this. She blames it on Prim bugging her to stop hiding behind youtube and tumblr and start performing live again. This feels like a baby step she can take. Now she can tell Prim that she's collaborating with another artist.

Yeah, that sounds impressive.

With a smile, she finishes sorting through her asks and posts a quick text update on her latest song.

Should be done with the new song by Friday!

#my sister says I should start performing again #but I'm terrified #anyone know abernathy's suds and grub in nashville?

After a quick scroll through her dash and a few reblogs, Katniss logs out and heads to bed, a little later than planned.

That night, thoughts of performing on stage invade her dreams. As a little girl, she'd sing with her father, or in the middle of a choir whether at church or school. She's never liked the spotlight and so she never sought it. When her father died in a violent car wreck, she'd mourned through singing, healed through singing. She sang in the car, in the shower, while she washed dishes or brushed Prim's hair. She sang until her voice was raw and the broken sounds finally roused her mother out of bed and to seek a therapist. But still, her voice was for her and the ones she loved.

It wasn't that she wanted to be famous now. Somewhere along the line, she thought this might simply be who she was, a musician. She didn't want fame, just a steady following, enough to make a career of it with perhaps a side job. Still terrified of being the center of attention, she'd eased her way into the world through tumblr and yahoo, places she could post audio of her singing but no pictures or video of herself. She didn't tell anyone her name, preferring to remain anonymous behind the stage name Mockingjay.

Whenever she thought about singing solo in front of an audience, she'd start to feel nauseous, and then the nightmares came. They were twisted dreams that inexplicably linked her father's death to performing onstage. They only made her waking physical response worse. Tonight is no different, only something shifts in the dream. A faceless presence. A brief feeling of calm interrupts the terror and she's able to finish her song in peace.

For the next few days, Katniss obsessively checks her inbox. Between classes and work. While she's eating breakfast. When she should be studying. She's never been this attached to tumblr before.

"Put the phone down, Katniss," she chides herself one afternoon. It's getting ridiculous. She posted her new song on Friday, which was not a piece of fan appreciation, and gotten a very positive response to it. All of that was gratifying and almost enough to distract her from her anonymous poet. Almost.

It's late on Monday night when she finally gets the message she's been anticipating.

Singingmockingjay, I'm sorry I did not answer sooner. In truth, I was a little too stunned to at first. Those poems were written for you, and you are free to use them as song lyrics if you like. Just let me know when you sign a record deal and I'll send my real name then. J Please don't feel the need to follow me if you don't wish to, although I'd be flattered if you did. Always your humble fan.

The URL listed was riverofbreadandrhymes.

She hesitates for a moment, trying to remember if she's seen that URL in her notes. The problem is, she's given up keeping track. It became too much work after her follower count shot into the thousands. Finally, she clicks on the link to view his blog.

It's a simple theme that doesn't reveal much about the owner. She clicks on the sidebar link labeled "Poetry" and quickly scans his poems. The structure and flow feel familiar. They all roll off the tongue the way a song would. Her fingers start itching for her guitar strings. Before she gets involved putting his words to music, she decides to peruse those in depth later. Next she scrolls through his "Artwork" page.

"Ugh, he can draw beautifully, too. So unfair."

On the "Rivers Merge" page, she finds his art and poems inspired by the Rivers Bend trilogy. So she was right about what brought him to her blog. There's also a page dedicated entirely to pictures of baked goods, and based on his tags and text posts on that page, she guesses he actually is a baker, maybe for a living. The stuff looks mouth-wateringly good and her stomach growls noisily at her.

Finally she clicks on the "About Me" page. There isn't much listed beyond what she already knows from his pages and main blog except for a city. Memphis, Tennessee.

Only a few hours away. Before she can over think what she's doing, she clicks FOLLOW, then dishes out some ice cream for herself. Although, she'd rather try one of those cheese buns she saw pictured on his page.

Two days later, riverofbreadandrhymes posts one of those silly ask box memes. "Came for the _, stayed for the _." Deciding this could be fun, she sends him an ask that he posts within the hour.

Came for the poetry, stayed because I'm clearly a glutton for punishment and your baked goods pictures make me insanely hungry. –singingmockingjay

So I should keep posting bread porn? Consider your dash flooded with carbs. BTW, did you ever decide on that performance you mentioned? Because you should do it. You have an amazing voice.

#I know I was a goner after one song #everyone else go follow her #you won't regret it #was it the buns or the cakes that got you? #singingmockingjay

Definitely the cheese buns. Where can I get some of those? -singingmockingjay

Alas, those are one-of-a-kind. You have to come to Memphis to get some.

#my cheese buns bring all the gals to the yard #well the bakery #but that doesn't fit #singingmockingjay

They message each other a few times a week after that. She keeps getting poems in her inbox, not on anonymous, or sometimes he'll tag her and ask for her opinion on something he writes. They have heated discussions about Rivers Bend and she discovers that being in a fandom is fun. Others join in their discussions and guess what...she kinda likes all their feels. He makes her laugh and their conversations flow easily. She starts to wonder what he looks like, what his voice and laughter sound like, what his favorite color is, if he drinks hot tea like her or sweet tea, and the million or so other details that would make him feel more real. Some of those are easy to find out, all she has to do is message him.

Orange like the sunset. Yes! Hot tea with milk but no sugar. Has to have the window open to sleep. Swears the neighbor's dog howls more in tune than he can sing. Works in his family bakery with his dad and two brothers and is working on a bachelor's in English.

She's still working up the courage to ask him to post a picture. And at night, her nightmares turn to mildly unpleasant dreams, still linked to her father, but not to his death.

After three years of dreading the stage, I am performing tomorrow night at an open mic night.

#mockingjay leaving the cage #hopefully

Her heart is pounding and she's pretty sure her dinner is about to make a reappearance. She shouldn't have had seconds. Hiding in the bathroom, Katniss pulls out her phone, preparing to fire a text to Prim, to apologize for chickening out, but her hands are shaking and she accidentally hits the tumblr icon instead. She clicks through pages on autopilot, eventually ending up in her inbox where she has a handful of messages wishing her luck, including one in limerick form from him.

There once was a girl from the Nash

With a voice so much better than Cash

She conquered her fears

Sent the world into tears

And her albums made quite the splash

…This may be the worst poem I've ever written. Even worse than Floppity Boppity Rabbit in second grade. You're welcome. I don't know why you've been afraid of performing, but whatever it is, it better not be your abilities. Because that would be ridiculous. Good luck and let us know how it goes. -riverofbreadandrhymes

Her face breaks into a wide grin and she giggles, actually giggles. Then she reads through the message a half a dozen times before she notices that her stomach has calmed down and her hands have stopped shaking. With a deep breath and a quick look in the mirror, Katniss conquers her fears and heads back out to take the stage.

Sooo…how did it go? –riverofbreadandrhymes

Awful. They threw vegetables at me. I thought that was something that only happened in movies. Of course that might be because I recited the limerick you sent me…just kidding. It was AMAZING! EXHILARATING! I NEVER USE ALL CAPS WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!

#askthemockingjay #thanks for the terrible poem #it was exactly what I needed #riverofbreadandrhymes

Glad I could help. Knew you'd be fantastic. When's your next performance? –riverofbreadandrhymes

Only if you tell me your name. ngl I've been calling you bread boy in my head.

She sends her answer privately this time.

Bread boy, huh? Well this is awkward. My name is Peeta. And no, that is not a joke nor is it ironic. OK, maybe it is a little ironic. –riverofbreadandrhymes

I want you to know that I just refrained from at least a baker's dozen bread puns…except that one.

Next week at Sae's Supper Club. Do I get a haiku this time?

I will give you one terrible motivational haiku in exchange for your name. Seriously, I dare you to come up with a bread joke I haven't heard. Unlimited cheese buns whenever you're in Memphis if you actually manage it. –riverofbreadandrhymes

Oh, it's on! Prepare for a smorgasbord of bread puns! My name is Katniss, named after a plant. No cat jokes or I will unfollow you. I expect a haiku next Friday.

When Katniss climbs into bed that night, she dreams of music and poetry and sunsets. She's still smiling in the morning.

Their conversations pick up, and barely a day goes by that they don't send a message or comment on a post. He talks her into reading his favorite fanfiction, swearing that this particular writer characterizes Charise so well. She trusts him enough to give it a go, and before long, they're exchanging notes and recommendations on new fics.

Peeta delivers the haiku and she sings herself hoarse at Sae's. The owner books her for a return performance next month and she's floating on air. That night, in her submissions box, she finds a drawing of a katniss flower. And she'd thought the night couldn't get any better.

In response to his drawing, she writes a third song for Rivers Bend and leaves it in his submissions a few days later.

Wow. Just wow. That song is heart wrenching. How do you bring their pain to life in such detail? And please tell me I can post it. –riverofbreadandrhymes

The same way you do with your poems and drawings. And yes, you can post it. Thanks for the flower.

After two months of exchanges, to include an endless string of bread jokes, he shyly asks for her e-mail address so he can send messages longer than a couple hundred characters. She sends that and her g-chat handle. Just in case. Lengthy letters and rapid fire chats discussing, their childhoods and families, their hopes and dreams, fly across cyberspace.

Katniss: You submit any poems for publication this week?

Peeta: You send in any demo tapes?

Katniss: Yes actually I did :-p

Peeta: So did I :-)

Katniss: Any word back?

Peeta: No, but we just have to be persistent. Never give up. Never surrender!

Katniss: Is that a Galaxy Quest reference?

Peeta: No…no it is not

Katniss: THIS EPISODE WAS BADLY WRITTEN!

Peeta: I knew I liked you

She loves how he always manages to make her laugh in the face of whatever problem she's dealing with but when she's just venting, listens without comment beyond "That sucks. I'm here to listen whenever you need me."

Two months after they start e-mailing, she has a regular spot singing at Sae's and has enough songs to compile a decent album should that ever become her reality. For now, she's singing, working, taken a newfound interest in poetry, and saving her money to maybe one day produce that album on her own.

With everything that's transpired online, Katniss counts Peeta as one of her friends. So she shouldn't be surprised by his most recent e-mail.

Hey Katniss,

I'm going to be in Nashville next weekend visiting my cousins. Would you be okay with me stopping by Sae's to hear you sing? We wouldn't even have to actually meet. I could just be a random audience member to you.

Wow, that sounded a lot more stalker-ish than I meant. Not that I meant it to be stalker-ish at all. Crap. You know what. I've re-written this thing at least eight times now and it keeps getting worse, so I'm just gonna leave it.

I'd love to be there, though, if it's alright with you.

Peeta

His awkwardness makes her smile. Usually Peeta is so smooth, so good with his words, that this flustered message makes her blush and shift in her chair. It takes her two hours and a couple drafts of her own before she finally settles on short and simple.

Hey Peeta,

Okay. I'll allow it. Just bring cheese buns. I'm dying to try these things since you won't stop bragging about them.

Katniss

His response comes in the morning.

Really? Alright. Well, I'll see you then. And the cheese buns are on me.

-Peeta

Did I come up with an original bread pun?

-Katniss

Pssssh! No but the scope of the ones you submitted was impressive. Cheese buns for effort. Tell me. Do you prefer golf clapping, rock concert yelling (YEEEEAAAAHHH!), friendly heckling (Sing it girlfriend!), finger whistles, or air horns?

-Peeta

ANYTHING but finger whistling. That is the most obnoxious sound to ever obnoxious. And I think Sae might kick you out if you use an air horn inside her club.

-Katniss

Well look at you, using fangirl lingo and everything. You read that fic I recommended?

-Peeta

Yes and I'm going to haunt you in the afterlife. I can't unsee that and it's driving me mad.

-Katniss

Saturday night brings swooping butterflies and sweaty palms. She keeps licking her lips and scanning the crowd, wondering which one is him. Would he have brought his cousins? There's a cheerful group of mixed boys and girls right near the stage. Maybe one of them is him?

She has no idea what he looks like. She should have asked him to post a picture at some point in the past four months. When she catches herself biting her nails, she chastises herself. "You're being ridiculous, Katniss. It'd be worse if you knew which one was him before you got on the stage." Not certain she believes herself, she retreats to a back room in the club to warm up her voice.

Once she takes the stage and the music starts, the worries and fear fall away. He's already a fan. After all, he was composing poetry for her long before he knew her name. The reminder gives her strength, and she loses herself in the songs. Part way through the third song of her set, she locks eyes with a young man at a table just off the left of the stage. For a moment, she's trapped by his stare and although she keeps singing, she could have slipped into Itsy-Bitsy Spider and not know the difference. His gaze is just so intense. As though he already knows her soul and her secrets.

Tearing her eyes away from him, she focuses on another part of the audience, but she can't shake the blond man or the feeling of warmth that spreads through her at the thought that he's probably still watching her that way. As her set draws to a close, the butterflies kick up again. She's going to meet him. Peeta. Here. Now.

In a minute she'll know what color his eyes and hair are. Hear his laugh and his voice. Will he hug her? She's never been much of a hugger. Close personal contact like that freaks her out. But she thinks maybe she could make an exception for Peeta.

The song ends and she takes a bow to a decent amount of applause. A sharp whistle off to the left pierces her ear. Someone just finger whistled at her. When she looks over to find the source, the strange blond man is grinning guiltily, and for a moment, the air is sucked out of her lungs.

That's him. She's sure of it now.

Wiping her palms on her jeans, she leaves the stage and makes her way toward him, a smile starting to form on her face.

"Katniss? I uh, promised cheese buns," he says, holding out a box labeled Mellark's Bakery. She notes that his eyes are blue, his hair is an ash blond and a bit of a curly mess. And he's cute. Really cute. And saints above, that smile. "Not as fresh as I'd like, but they should still be unbelievable. And uh…I'm Peeta."

Her smile takes full form as she reaches out to take the box from him. Their fingers brush in the exchange, sending a thrill up through her skin and down to the soles of her feet.

"Well, Peeta, what'd you think? Better, worse, or the same in person?"

"Better," he says without hesitation. "Definitely better." And something tells her he's not just talking about her performance.