This is something I wrote well over a year ago and then for some reason forgot about. Maybe I thought I would post it around the time it's set and by that time I didn't remember I had it at all. In any case, I found it again the other day and decided I might as well post it. It's going to be two or three parts depending on how I edit it, and each chapter won't be all that long, but hopefully interesting nonetheless.

I can't seem to make up my mind about Peeta's age since in "the Project" I have him born the year before Katniss (making them both sixteen during the events of THG) and in this story I have them born the same year, making him fifteen when he was reaped. Don't know if that matters, really. I can't recall if Suzanne Collins ever said his exact age. I, again, used the date IMDB has listed as his birthday, though I still have no idea where they got that information.

And with that I'm done babbling, on to the story!

She is really excited when she first brings it up, which makes one of us. It's September and my birthday is only a month away. Katniss wants to celebrate it. I really don't.

Birthdays are a bit of a fascinating topic. People tend to either love their own date of birth and see it as an opportunity to celebrate and be at the centre of attention and get lots of gifts, or they see it as a grim reminder that they are getting older. Katniss falls more in the first category, not necessarily because she loves getting gifts and attention but because her parents used to make sure it was a special day when she was younger. I fall into the second category, though not because I personally mind aging. Birthdays were never a happy occasion in my home when I grew up and I've carried that with me into adulthood.

I was fifteen when I went into the first arena, my sixteenth birthday happening during the fall after the Games. At that point in time Katniss and I weren't getting along too well and I let the day go by without making a fuss about it. She hadn't asked me when I was born and at that time I assumed she could care less. I turned seventeen while I was in District 13 and spent the day chained to a bed fighting the demons in my head, which is all I remember about that particular day. The year after the war, when she and I had become a real couple, I didn't tell her about my birthday either. Not until we were celebrating her nineteenth birthday and she demanded to know when my day was and how come we had been together for ten months at that time and she hadn't heard a word about it. When she found out she had missed my latest birthday by seven months she was pretty angry.

I have tried to explain to her that I simply don't like calling attention to that day and that I prefer to just let it go by. Several years I have attempted to not even realize I had turned a year older until after the fact but annoyingly enough I always do become aware that the date is approaching. Katniss can't see why I'm so adamant to ignore it but it's difficult to explain it to her. My mother never liked birthdays. When I was little I saw my friends' families making a big deal out of each such day but my mother thought they were out of their minds. Every year on the days I and my brothers had been born she would lament that we were now one year closer to the Reaping and how she wished we would just stop aging all-together. She said it was pointless and irresponsible to throw away money at food, gifts and cake on a day that wasn't a celebration anyway but merely one step closer to having our names in the reaping balls. It made me dislike that day and I still dislike it to this day but Katniss doesn't understand. I haven't told her about my mother's role in my disinterest because I know how that will go over. Katniss hates my mother. I don't want to give her any further ammunition. Yes it's true that my mother hit me sometimes, ruined the concepts of birthdays for us and was generally dislikeable on a few occasions but I still love her. She's still my mother and now that I'm older I understand her better. A lot of her negative behaviour was rooted in fear that she wouldn't be able to feed her sons and that one of them might end up a tribute. Katniss would tell me that it's no excuse for the way she treated me and my brothers but I can see the love and care that was the foundation of it all. I was also privy to a lot of tender moments on her part, times she held and comforted me, times when she snuck me a rusk or a cracker when I hadn't had enough to eat. I don't defend her actions but I can't see her as a wicked witch either and I don't like hearing Katniss talk her down.

When I turned nineteen Katniss wanted to make a big deal out of the day but I made her promise not to. When I turned twenty she grudgingly let the day go by without acknowledgement, save for a whispered "happy birthday" when she curled up in my arms to go to sleep that night. This year she seems to feel she's let me have my way enough.

"It's your birthday and it should be celebrated," she said while we were sipping our morning tea a few weeks ago.

"Why?" I answered, flipping through the pages of our morning newspaper.

"Because it's an important landmark."

"It's the twenty-first anniversary of my birth," I remarked, looking up at her over the paper. "What's landmark about it? Age is just a number and I've passed all significant ones. I turned twelve and got to have my name in the reaping balls. I turned nineteen and became a legal adult. If I live to be a hundred we can celebrate then but my twenty-first birthday is extremely uninteresting."

"No, it's not," she argued. "It's important to me. My life would have been entirely different if the events of that day had not occurred."

I rolled my eyes and focused on the paper.

"Just let it go," I told her.

"Oh no you don't. I've let you have your way for years now. This year you're going to stop being selfish and let me celebrate you."

The logic of that statement made me roll my eyes again.

"I say that I'm the one having the birthday so I'm the one who gets to decide how to spend it," I retorted. "And I decide that we're not going to call any attention to it."

"You will celebrate your birthday," she countered in a tone that was not to be argued with. "It's about time you started to like that day of the year. This year I'm going to change your mind about birthdays."

I told her no and figured that would be the end of the discussion. A stupid conclusion, given how well I know the woman I live with. She wouldn't stop talking about it for several days, excitement shining in her eyes when she tried to convince me to let her make a big deal of my birthday. Finally I caved, reluctantly. I have a hard time denying her anything that makes her light up like that and the excited smile and hot kiss she gave me when I decided to let her have her way almost made me happy to have agreed.

Just a few days later something happened that took her mind entirely off of my upcoming birthday. Gale Hawthorne came back to the district. She was in a very bad mood about it at first but gradually came around. He hadn't come here for pleasure or for a vacation but rather on business which meant him and Katniss have ended up spending a lot of time together. We have been experiencing problems this year with some of Katniss' fellow hunters, some of whom are using methods that aren't considered publically safe. With the oppression of the Capitol no longer weighing down on us people have begun to expand their horizons and venture past the fences, spending time in the woods and sometimes even going as far out as the lake. One or more hunters, who have yet to be identified, have begun using unsafe traps to catch their prey, like metal bear traps, wires that trigger poisoned darts and nets that can capture a person and put them in danger of starving to death, dying of exposure or being killed by wild animals if they aren't found in time. Gale and a handful of others have been sent by President Paylor to deal with the problem. With Katniss being an expert on the subject of District 12 hunting and its woodlands she has been asked to sit in on their meetings and help them out. This has so far meant spending a lot of time out of the house and a lot of time with Gale, though so far they haven't been alone together, to my knowledge.

I've tried not to say anything about it. I know she is passionate about solving this problem and I think it's good that she's found something tied to official governing to be involved in. Hopefully it will cure at least some of her disdain and mistrust for politicians and the whole system. At first I even thought it was good that she was forced to spend time with Gale. She never talks about their lost friendship but I know it makes her sad to think about and I would like for her to at least be able to make peace with him for real.

What bothers me is that I hardly ever see her anymore. She leaves early in the morning and oftentimes comes home late. Normally she comes home around three in the afternoon and we have a lot of time to spend together. We have dinner around five every evening and then we do whatever we feel like doing until around eight o'clock when we tend to go to bed. Lately she has been coming home around six or seven, having eaten dinner with the other people in the commission. Sometimes she comes home after nine. Once she came home after midnight and that time she had me worried sick and I gave her a hard time about it when she got in. Her response was to chew me out for not trusting her to be able to take care of herself. She called me a nag. I won't lie, that hurt. After that I haven't dared to say much, despite my misgivings. She's tired and spent but seems to enjoy her time with the committee, finding she has a lot in common with them as many are hunters themselves, which makes it difficult to begrudge her the experience but I can't stop myself from feeling displeased. I miss her and I miss spending time with her. I miss having a conversation that's not about the commission. We haven't even had sex in weeks since she gets in late every evening and is never in the mood.

Oddly enough this has made me look forward to my birthday. A week ago when she crawled into bed about half an hour after me I brought up the topic and made a request. If she wants to celebrate my birthday then what I would like is a nice, romantic dinner together followed by quality time by the fireplace or in the bathtub. She said it was a great idea, before yawning big and curling into me, sound asleep less than five minutes later. Since that evening I've been excited about the day in question, knowing it will give me some much needed time alone together when all her attention is focused on me.

Now it's the evening before my birthday and I've spent the day making some preparations. Nothing particularly grand, just making sure we have fresh vegetables and candles at home, thoroughly cleaned up the place and I've baked a cake. This is really out of character for me for my own birthday, and frankly I felt stupid making it, but it's just a small one and it's mostly for Katniss. She loves cake and any excuse to feast on one is good enough in her book. So now the top shelf in our refrigerator hosts a small pear-cream cake with a chocolate coating, a combination I know she's crazy about.

A glance at the clock above the kitchen door tells me it's almost eight o'clock. Katniss isn't home yet. I'm irritated but at the same time I can feel a bit calm about it since I know that the committee is only going to be in the district for about another week and tomorrow she will be all mine anyway. With a small smile on my face I turn off most of the lights downstairs and walk upstairs to take a long, hot shower before I go to bed.

I wake up the next morning and reflexively reach out my hand to Katniss' side of the bed, finding it empty. With a tired groan I lift myself up on my elbows and open my groggy eyes, confirming that there's nobody in bed but me. Turning my head to the other side I note that the alarm clock says 07:32 which means Katniss is probably out hunting. The woods tend to be the only thing that can rouse her out of bed before eight in the morning. I allow myself a moment to think of the times when I bring her breakfast in bed before I yawn big and toss the comforter to the side.

Half-dressed I saunter down the stairs, still yawning a little and stretching to try and wake up. Sleeping to this hour is rather uncommon for me as well, usually I get up earlier than this to bake for breakfast but last night I didn't prepare any dough. There wasn't room in the refrigerator and besides, we've got bread left over from earlier this week. I cut a slice of bread from a large loaf sitting on the counter and stick the slice in the electric toaster Effie gave Katniss for her last birthday. Katniss thinks it's nearly an abomination to use electricity to toast bread but I can't say I mind it much. It takes less time and it's convenient to get the toast in the kitchen.

Working my way through breakfast I open the door and let the cat in, trying not to get frustrated when three minutes later he jumps up to lie on the newspaper I'm trying to read. For whatever reason Buttercup loves to lie on something you're reading, drawing or generally paying attention to. He protests when I grab a hold of him and put him down on the floor again but he doesn't try to jump back up.

"Know your place, kitty," I say between bites of toast. "The floor is your domain. I don't care what Prim allowed you to get away with; in my house animals who lick themselves and wander around in the wild are not permitted on surfaces where food is prepared or eaten. Don't meow at me, you know the rules."

The cat leaves, tail swishing from side to side, and I finish my own breakfast, wiping the table clear of breadcrumbs before I head back upstairs to finish dressing. I've got a few things to take care of today but I should have ample time to get it all done. I'm not sure if Katniss has any meetings today or if she's just out in the woods but either way I doubt she'll be home before three o'clock. That gives me time to go to the butcher shop and buy some meat, clean the house some more and make preparations for dinner.

I decide to go to the butcher shop first. We live mostly off of the game Katniss brings home but there are only so many kinds of animals you can find and kill in the forests of District 12. If you want salmon or lamb or beef you have to visit the tiny fish booth at the marketplace or the butcher shop. Today I'm out to get some pork. We kept pigs when I was little, mostly as a side-income, but it happened a few times that my parents decided to slaughter one for our own use. I remember the meat being a delicacy, especially since we often only got to eat it after we'd been going hungry for weeks. Since the war Katniss and I have had pork meat only twice and I'm longing for it today. I remember a dish I ate in the Capitol where the meat was seasoned with fresh herbs and cooked in the oven and I'm planning on trying my hand at something similar tonight. We have wild rice and fresh vegetables at home which will go well with the meat and my mouth has been watering for three days at the thought of it.

The butcher shop is empty when I step inside, the bell above the door alerting the owner to my presence. His name is Grossman, which I find hilarious and Katniss finds stupid and ironic, and he runs the shop by himself, though his fiancée will probably start helping out once they are married. He's a little old to be getting married by Panem standards, well into his forties and, for someone who grew up in the not-so-well-off District Ten, fairly corpulent with a large, dark moustache giving him a grim look that frightens some of the smaller children. He's happy and friendly though and he loves Katniss, Haymitch and me for being, in his own words, liberators of Panem. Also, probably, for being reliable customers with decent finances, therefore able to afford more expensive fish and meat. He loves to talk and I'd only known him for about three minutes when he told me that the reason why he never got married is that he didn't want to have children in the Reaping. The next time I came in to buy something from him he gave me the happy news of his engagement to a woman from District Five. Sometimes I think I know more about his personal life than I do about Johanna Mason's.

"Peeta!" Grossman roars when he comes out from the back room and sees me. "What a pleasure! Since your lady isn't with you I take it you've come to buy, not sell."

I smile. Sometimes when Katniss brings home more game than we can use she'll sell it to Grossman, who never minds having what he calls "regional specialties" to sell. I, on the other hand, only come in here when I want to buy something.

"Right you are, Grossman," I say, wondering if the one thing I don't know about him is his first name.

"What can I interest you in today?" asks Grossman, placing his hands on his waist and grinning widely. "We have no fresh lamb but we have a whole new speciality, well, new for the district."

"Oh, that's okay," I say. "I already know what I want to get."

"You can get that, and our new speciality," he grins.

"And what speciality might that be?" I ask, mostly just to make conversation.

"Horse! Those folks in District One eat it all the time."

"Good for them," I say, not sure I'm interested in trying. "I'm looking for some pork today, though, and I think that will be it."

"You got it," nods Grossman. "How much will you need?"

I tell him how much meat I want and let my eyes wander around the store while he gets my order ready. It's surprising how much you can make a butcher shop look like, well, a shop. In my parents' bakery we used to have our selection displayed around the shop but the butcher has to keep all the meat in one place since he only has one cold display case. The rest of the store is made up of pictures of animals showing which parts of the animal turns into what kinds of meat, the price-range and, with some animals, which time of year you can get your hands on it. I smile when I see pictures that show animals I know he gets only from Katniss and her fellow hunters.

"Is there some special occasion?" asks Grossman, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"Huh?" I say, turning to face him. "Uhm, no. Why?"

"Since you're here buying butcher meat, I mean," shrugs Grossman. "I saw Katniss heading out to the woods this morning together with… her cousin? That tall, dark-haired one who now works for the government."

I want to ask if it was just the two of them but I don't. It might be interpreted the wrong way. I actually take it as a good sign that she went hunting with Gale because that means she's not working with the committee, and hopefully won't be later today.

"I just felt we could use a change in diet," I say instead, giving him a smile as he hands me the meat. "I'll tell her to stop by here and sell you anything we won't be using, if she doesn't do it herself before getting home."

Grossman grins and thanks me. I thank him in return and put the pork in my bag, heading back out to the street to run the rest of my errands.

My stomach growls as I open the oven and take out the cooked pork, setting the dish down on the stovetop before closing the oven door. I take a deep breath, revelling in the smell. It doesn't smell exactly like the dish I had in the Capitol but close enough. Since I skipped lunch due to having an additional breakfast with Haymitch when I got back from town I am now starving and dying to get a taste of the dinner I've made. It's not completely finished yet, the rice still needs to boil for a few more minutes, but that's okay. It gives me time to put the finishing touches to the setting of the table. I've brought out our fine china, the one that came with the house when Katniss moved in, and the expensive silverware we hardly ever use. A white tablecloth covers our table and I've set out wine glasses and two tall silver candlesticks to go along with the china and the silverware. All that's left is to put the salad, the bread and the main course on the table.

That, and for Katniss to come home. I look over at the clock above the door and note that it's only a few minutes past five and she will probably be here any minute. Regardless of which hour she has gotten home she knows that dinner time in this house hasn't changed and that food will be on the table at five o'clock. She hasn't called or sent any other message to tell me that she will run late so I have no reason to think she won't be here in time for dinner.

I set the glass bowl filled with fresh salad on the table and I steal a cherry tomato, chewing on it while I finish up with the rice. I light the candles and take a look around, making sure the place is clean and nice and that the mood is right for a romantic dinner. I'm excited, for the first time in my life on this particular day, and I can't wait for her to get home. I've longed for some alone time with her and it's going to be the best birthday present I could imagine to get to sit opposite her at the table, sharing a good meal over candlelight and then move on to things that require a lot less clothing. I think I want us to make love in front of the fireplace tonight. We haven't done that in a while, in fact not since winter, and I love seeing the light the fire casts on her skin and her hair.

Buttercup comes strolling in to the room, his tail lifted high in greeting, and he sniffs the air as if to determine if I'm serving anything a cat might enjoy. I already gave him a small bit of meat earlier and I decide I don't want the cat around to bother us tonight. I open the kitchen door, feeling how the air has gotten a bit colder in the evenings now, and usher Buttercup outside. He grunts but doesn't seem to mind too much. He's a nocturnal hunter anyway and trots off in the direction of Haymitch's house. I close the door behind him and go to take a seat, casting another glance at the clock. Ten minutes past five.

Two hours later I haven't moved. I'm still sitting in my chair, looking absentmindedly at one of the burning candles, noting to myself that about half of it has burned by now. The food is long since gone cold, probably approaching the point of being spoilt. Still no sign of Katniss. Not as much as a phone call.

I take a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. The worst part is I'm not surprised. I'm certainly not worried. She's been out this late, and later still, most nights since that damn committee came to the district. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what has happened. She went hunting with Gale and then she went to another meeting and forgot all about how tonight is my birthday and the night she insisted that we celebrate. Instead of celebrating I'm sitting here all by myself, a ruined dinner that I spent a lot of time and effort on taking up space at the table, practically mocking me in its untouched state. I sure damn hope she's with the committee. I can't shake the feeling that she's with Gale and nobody else. I hate myself for thinking that. Even if it were the truth I don't want to be mad about it. I don't want to be that guy. If she has male friends then what business is that of mine?

Then again, if she has male friends she spends one-on-one time with at this hour on my birthday then I probably do have reason to be pretty damn pissed. But I don't know for sure that she is alone with him, just that she went out with him into the woods this morning, and I'm having an awful enough day as it is so I try not to think about it.

Needless to say my previous excitement is gone, and frankly I feel like a damn fool for having felt that way in the first place. Of course it was going to end like this. I've never enjoyed my birthday so why should this year be different? Katniss has made the committee her priority over the last few weeks, why should today be any different? I'm not at all sure she even remembers that it's my birthday today. I've never made a big deal out of this particular date so I should forgive her if she hasn't committed it to memory either.

Except she was the one who insisted that we make a big deal out of it. When I suggested a romantic dinner she said she thought it was a great idea. She knew I would be making something special for us and that I would be waiting for her at five o'clock. Yet it's almost half past seven and no sight of her.

I feel a lump in my throat and an ache in my chest. After this fiasco I am never, ever going to try and celebrate this particular day again. What's the point? It's nothing but disappointment. I'm lonely and I feel like I hardly see my girlfriend at all anymore and what bothers me the most, what I keep coming back to time and time again, is that she was the one who insisted that I celebrate this day, it was for her sake that I went against my own wishes and now she's stood me up.

I sit there as if paralyzed, staring at the flame and listening to the ticking of the clock. I twirl my fork between my fingers, resisting the urge to press the pointy edges against my fingertip. I can't seem to make myself move. Not until the clock turns eight and the grandfather clock in the study can be heard chiming eight times. That brings me out of my lethargy. Suddenly I hate the display of food and cutlery and the damn flower I got and put in a vase on the table. It all feels like a reminder of how she didn't care enough to come home when she knew I was waiting, or she forgot all about it despite being the instigator. I don't even know which option hurts more. What I do know is that I feel utterly humiliated and that the only way I can preserve some amount of dignity and ward off the hurt even a tiny bit is by removing every trace of the effort I went to.

All of a sudden I feel I'm in a hurry. Katniss is running late but she could be home at any minute now and I don't want her to walk through that door until I've cleared everything away. Working fast I get up and snuff out the candles, pulling them up from the candlesticks and tossing them on one of the plates together with the flower. The candlesticks and the vase go back in their places in the cabinet. Without hesitation I then take the food and toss all of it in the trash, feeling nothing but hurt and anger when I see the pork tenderloin go in the bin followed by the rice and the salad. I open the refrigerator and take out the cake, sending it in the bin along with everything else. So much for birthday cakes. Good thing I never cared for them anyway. I close the trash bag with a knot and carry it outside, throwing it in the large plastic bin on the corner of the house, feeling some of my anger and disappointment get an outlet when I slam the lid shut.

Back inside I gather all the dishes and make quick work of cleaning them and drying them off with a towel. I put everything back in its place, including the tablecloth. I've turned on all the lights by now and instead of the soft glow of candlelight the room is now lit by cold artificial light. With my hands on my hips I take a look around, trying to see if there's any further evidence of my failed attempt at a romantic dinner with my girlfriend. Satisfied that there's nothing I go up the stairs and change out of the fine clothes I'm wearing, one of the last outfits made by Portia that I still have, and into my regular clothes. I run a hand through my hair to un-style my curls, feeling only angrier as I work on cleansing myself and the house from this night, rather than more at ease as I thought I would. I'm tempted to head to bed almost right away but my stomach is still growling and even though I have no appetite I still have to eat something.

Back down in the kitchen I grab some oatmeal and make myself some porridge. I can hear Buttercup scratching on the kitchen door and I let him back in without a word. I then eat my porridge standing by the kitchen counter and once it's gone I resist the urge to wash the dishes and leave them on the dish rack for Katniss to see when she gets home. It would be mildly satisfactory to remind her of what she missed tonight but it's too childish, even for my current frame of mind. I wash the dishes, dry them off, put them back in the cabinet and head upstairs to go to bed.

Once underneath the covers I try to calm down but it's anything but easy. I can't believe Katniss did this. I try to ignore that voice inside of me that came to life with the hijacking, the one that's telling me now that this just shows how low I rank on her scale of priorities. I'm not going to have an attack tonight, not if I can help it, but the voice can be there sometimes anyway and now I can't get it to shut up. It does indeed seem like I'm not a priority to her. Instead of being here with me on my birthday she is with her committee until the late hours of the evening, or worse, she is alone with Gale Hawthorne. It's true that I did insist that we shouldn't make a big deal out of the day and that I don't care that it's my birthday but we made plans in the end and I did all the work and she stood me up.

I groan when I think about tomorrow and how I will no doubt run into Haymitch at some point. He knows about the plans we had made for tonight and he knows that I've actually been looking forward to it. He's bound to ask me how it all went and what do I tell him? That she didn't come home? That I threw our dinner in the trash after waiting for her for three hours? It's humiliating and I don't want to tell him what really happened. I can't lie to him either because he loves to tease Katniss when he knows we've done something romantic, knowing she gets uncomfortable being badgered on the subject. Once he mentions it to her he's going to hear the truth and then I will look even more foolish. I suppose I'll have to try and answer him as vaguely as possible.

When I finally hear the front door open downstairs I glance at the alarm clock and learn that it's close to midnight. I close my eyes and decide to pretend I'm asleep. I can't deal with Katniss saying she's sorry and giving me some excuse as to why she never showed up and I can't deal with her acting like nothing's wrong, proving she forgot. I just want to be left alone now and hold off on deciding how to handle this until morning.

She moves around a bit downstairs, mumbles something to the cat and then begins to climb the stairs. Normally I can't hear her footsteps but the house is so quiet tonight and I have nothing else to listen for. The bedroom door creaks a little when she opens it and I hear her soft footsteps moving across the room and into the bathroom, without pause. The water runs for a few minutes, the toilet flushes. Eventually she comes back out and makes her way to the bed. I can feel the mattress dip when she gets under the covers and I try not to stiffen. For once I hope she won't seek me out under the covers and wrap an arm around me. I'm lying on my stomach with my face to the window rather than the bedroom door, wanting to avoid her but to do it discreetly. If I was on my side facing away from her she might suspect something's wrong because I never go to bed that way unless she is already in bed with me, wrapping her body around mine from behind.

I wait to see what she will do. I hear and feel her move around a bit to find a comfortable position. Then she sighs tiredly and seems to go to sleep. I'm relieved, and at the same time I'm frustrated and hurt. The previous nights when she's come home after I've gone to bed she's woken me up but not tonight.

Knowing it will be difficult to go to sleep tonight I hold back a sigh and try to fight the unpleasant feelings inside me. I can't remember the last time I felt this alone on my birthday, not even my sixteenth birthday which I spent in my house here in the Victors' Village with only a brief visit from my family to break the boredom.

I think this is the first time since we became a real couple that I have felt truly alone, and Katniss sleeping beside me is doing nothing to change that.

Yeah, Peeta's a bit… melodramatic, I guess, towards the end. But, I figure he has the right to be, every once in a while. The next chapter is from Katniss' POV.

I'd love to hear your comments! Thanks for reading.