Prim and mother were out late last night treating a patient after an emergency at the mines, so when they returned home and went to bed they must have not noticed my absence. They notice me slipping back into the house in the morning, however. Despite me employing my stealthiest hunters tread, the creaking stairs sold me out. I suppose it is a surprise to see your reclusive almost house-bound daughter/sister return home from the night before, so the questions in their eyes were not unwarranted. It's not any of their business really though, and I certainly didn't feel like opening up to them about me and Peeta, so I carry on walking upstairs. Since I'd returned, the frosty relationship between Peeta and I has been the unexplained elephant in the room. Haymitch told me that Prim and mother had prodded him for answers but he didn't divulge anything. Say what you will about that drunkard, he knows how to keep his mouth shut.

The day is spent in the woods, in a solemn and calm quiet. When I return in the evening and Prim is home from school, I announce Peeta will be over for dinner before stalking off to have a shower. Neither of them says anything. My irrational temperament recently has turned out to be quite useful in making people too scared to pry. When I finish in the shower I comb out my hair, braid it, and throw on some pyjama shorts and a t-shirt. I stop and inspect my appearance in the fancy gilded mirror in my bedroom. I still have lingering Capitol remnants on me; my hair is still glossy and smooth, my eyebrows dark and groomed, my skin even and glowy. Objectively, it makes me look prettier, and I understand the appeal of 'beauty base zero' as the prep team calls my look. But it seems to me that the aim of these alterations is to smooth me out, shape me into something new. I miss the frizzy mess my hair would become after hunting, the freckles dotted on my cheeks and the scar above my right eyebrow. Stomping out the room, I berate myself for even caring. It's a sure sign of privilege and prosperity to be angry about being too pretty. I vow to avoid mirrors from now on.

Peeta is already downstairs when I come down, laughing at something Prim is saying. I walk past them and help mother finish dinner. When Peeta slips behind me to reach a glass and places a hand on my waist, I can feel my mother's eyes on us, scrutinising. I try my best to ignore him so as not to give her more material to analyse.

Later at the dinner table, Peeta is talking about how he brought some biscuits for pudding. He brandishes a tin full to the brim with cookies of just about any flavour you can imagine. I see there is a sugar cookie with a rose iced on top – a primrose – and I have to hide my smile at his thoughtfulness.

"Oh you must take some home again! There's really too many," my mother is saying, "We'll never finish them! Katniss isn't eating much at the moment and I certainly can't finish the whole tin."

"Hey!" Prim replies "What about me? I'm a growing girl with plenty of room for biscuits! Don't count me out."

My heart forgets to beat for a second and I feel Peetas hand on my knee. We are both thinking of another defiant little girl echoing those same words to Caesar Flickerman in the pre-Games interviews. If they can't catch me they can't kill me. So don't count me out. I have to close my eyes for a second. When I open them, Peeta is staring at me, and we share a look of quiet grief.

Mother and Prim are oblivious of the unfortunate phrasing so are watching the interaction between me and Peeta, wondering what happened. I feel as if this will be the new normal now, Peeta and I in one boat and everyone else in another. We've diverged so much from our family and friends that the dichotomy is unbreachable.

I plaster a smile.

"Save me the chocolate one Little Duck."

"I guess I should get going now" Peeta says.

We have been sitting around the fire drinking tea and listening to Prims chatter for a couple of hours, but Prim is nodding off now and I feel my eyes drooping. Nodding, I stand up to follow him to the door. My mother murmurs a goodbye, gently shakes Prim awake, and they both go upstairs. At the door, Peeta looks unsure.

"Tonight was nice Katniss. It was more than nice. I don't get to see my family often and it can get pretty quiet holed up in the house on my own. You're lucky you have them. I… let's do it again sometime?"

I roll my eyes at his hesitance.

"I'll see you at yours in a few minutes."

He gulps at my confirmation of what he was too afraid to ask, and a relieved smile floods his face before I shut the door.

Once mother is firmly in bed, I sneak out. I make it all the way to his porch before I hear a sharp peal of laughter behind me.

"You dirty stop out! Off for some midnight fun are we?" He looks like the cat that got the cream.

"Fuck off Haymitch." My face, I'm sure, is tomato red. I know this incident will become endless ammunition for our mentor; we'll probably never live it down.

He erupts in laughter again.

"It's not like I blame you! How else are too fit, healthy young adults supposed to pass their time? God knows Peeta deserves-"

I don't hear any more because I've entered Peeta's unlocked door and slammed it behind me.