He's got her backed against the bar, right up in her personal space, and even from here I can see the wild, panicked look in her eyes.

I finish the rest of my beer before I saunter over. There's no real rush. He's not a serial killer. And she's not in any danger. No, Katniss Everdeen, my best friend of more than a decade, can handle any threats to her physical safety just fine.

What she can't handle is being flirted with.

Even if the redhead smiling down at her with stars in his eyes is completely harmless, the minute someone gives Katniss any indication that they're an iota interested in her beyond friendship, she balks. If Red hadn't bracketed her in, she'd have run off like a bat out of-

"Hello, Sweetheart," I say, having reached Katniss and her erstwhile paramour by now. "I wondered where you'd gotten off to." I slide myself neatly between them, curling an arm around her waist. Her eyes soften and her lips turn up in a little smirk.

"I was waiting for you, of course," she breathes, low and husky. My dick twitches a little at her words, even if I know she doesn't mean them.

See, I've been in love with Katniss nearly half my life. But I've never told her. I've seen her deer-in-the-headlights response far too often to ever risk having it aimed at me. Nope, I content myself with just being her best friend. Loving her from afar. I know someday she'll find a man who won't make her want to run away. And that day will likely break me.

But I can't change how I feel. Lord knows I've tried.

"Hey, uh," Red starts behind me, and I roll my eyes. Katniss smirks again, her eyes glittering with mischief. She stands up on her toes, looping her arms around my neck, pressing her face into the hollow of my throat. Warmth radiates from where her lips just graze my skin. And I can't help it; I clutch her tightly to me, one hand snaking up to tangle in the raven cloud of her hair. I love it when she wears it down like this.

There's a little grunt of annoyance from behind me, and the sound of steps shuffling away. But I don't release Katniss. And she continues to cling to me.

It's moments like these that feed my daydreams.

She sighs, lifts her head just enough to meet my eyes. "Thanks, Peeta," she says. Her fingers absently toy with my hair and it takes all of my restraint not to groan.

"No problem," I murmur, making to step away. But her arms tighten. Her soft breasts press against my chest, her pine-sweet breath ghosts over my chin, caresses my lips. Blunt fingernails drag along the back of my scalp.

She has no idea, the effect she has. But if I don't pull away soon she's going to get a strong indication…

She frowns when I remove her hands from around my neck; I kiss each softly to lessen the sting.

Her frown deepens and she steps away, pulling her hands from mine and wrapping her arms around herself protectively. I recognize her annoyance, though I'm not certain what I've done to cause it.

I glance around the bar. Red is chatting up a woman with spiky hair and facial piercings now. I elbow Katniss gently and tip my head in his direction. "Guess he's not too broken up," I joke, hoping to ease the odd tension between us. She cracks a half smile. "Will you call another fake-boyfriend to intervene if I buy you a drink?" I tease.

At that she laughs. "You know you're my one and only, Mellark." I wrap my arm around her shoulder and ignore the pang in my chest.

We order a round, and then another, and then another. All the while, she kicks my ass at darts. "All right, all right, I give up!" I laugh, dragging Katniss away to let someone else take over the board. She pouts; I want to bite that lip so badly I can feel it in my gut.

"Will you walk me home?" she asks. Like I'd ever say no.

We head out into the summer night hand in hand. We laugh and chat, and when she shivers a little I wrap my arm around her, tucking her into the warmth of my body. She fits perfectly against me.

Her apartment is a third floor walk up. Technically, she has a roommate, but I haven't seen Madge in months, she's all but living with her boyfriend. Tonight is no exception, everything is dark and quiet. "Stay awhile," she implores.

We have another drink, lounge on her sofa. She leans on my shoulder, I play with her hair. I never feel more content than I do when I'm with Katniss.

But then the conversation turns to tonight's cast-off suitor wannabe. "He seemed nice, we were talking about the Rangers, and then all of a sudden he was asking me to come back to his place." I chuckle at her description; I watched them for more than half an hour before I intervened. He was about as subtle as a brick. But Katniss was, as always, completely clueless.

I point that out to her, remind her that it happens nearly every single time we go out together. She scowls. "That's not true," she insists.

"Katniss," I groan. "All of those guys practically fell all over themselves to get your attention. You are just completely oblivious!" I scrub my hand across my face in frustration. She snorts derisively.

"Hello, Pot. I'm Kettle," she mocks.

I drop my hands and glance over at her in confusion. "Are you seriously calling me oblivious, Katniss? Seriously?" I can't even be pissed about it, it's just so ridiculous."

"If the shoe fits," she challenges, climbing off the couch to stand in front of me, staring me down.

"What are you even talking about? I'm oblivious? How do you think I always know when you need rescuing from those guys, Katniss? I see everything!"

"Okay, first off, I don't need rescuing, Peeta," she snaps, her voice rising in irritation. I beg to differ on that point, but I hold my tongue. "And second? No, you don't. You don't see what's been in front of your face for years!" As soon as she says it, before I've even comprehended the words, she blanches.

"What do you mean," I ask, standing slowly. But she's already backing away, that familiar cornered wild animal look in her mercury eyes.

"Nothing," she grumbles. "Forget about it. I'm going to bed." She turns, but I jump up, grabbing her arm before she can flee.

"No." My heart is hammering so hard it feels like it's going to burst right out of my chest. I twist her around to face me, she keeps her eyes stubbornly averted, staring at my chest. But she's trembling. "Please," I say much more softly. "Please Katniss."

I pull her into my arms and she doesn't resist, her fingers curling in my shirt, right over my heart. But she still won't look at me. I tilt her face up. She's chewing on her bottom lip, liquid silver eyes flashing with uncertainty. "What did you mean, Katniss?" I stroke her cheek as I wait. Her eyes close, thick black lashes brush against flushed cheeks. She leans into my hand just enough to make me sure.

All of those little touches, all of the times she held me just a bit too long. All of the things I brushed off, backed away from because I was too afraid to see them for what they were. My breath escapes in a little half laugh. "Fine," I tell her. "I'll start. I have been in love with you almost as long as I've known you." Her hands tighten, clutching my shirt. "And I've been too chicken shit to tell you."

She doesn't say anything, only looks at me with eyes wide and wary, waiting. I lean in, stopping just a hair's breadth from her lips.

She closes the gap.

In more than a decade of friendship, I thought I'd learned pretty much everything there is to know about Katniss. I know she loves walking in the woods, mushrooms on her pizza and stealing my t-shirts to use as pyjamas. I know her favourite colour, how much she adores her sister and that she cries at movies and even sometimes over commercials. She's tough as nails on the outside, tender on the inside. But until this moment, I had no idea how incredible her lips would feel against my own.

At the first tentative swipe of my tongue her lips part, inviting me to explore. She mewls and whimpers, her hands again find their way into my hair. This time I don't pull back. As I kiss her I let her feel the full force of my desire for her, pressing against her soft belly. She responds by biting my lip and I reflexively rut against her.

She pulls back so quickly it startles me, but then she's tugging me to the couch, pulling me down until she's lying underneath me.

So many times, so many times I've dreamed about this moment. Fantasized about having Katniss squirming and mewling underneath me, looking up at me with those mercury eyes. I almost can't believe it's real. But she arches up, kissing me furiously, wrapping her arms around me like a vice, and I'm surrounded by her. The softness of her skin under my wandering fingers as I edge her shirt slowly up. The way her lean calves grip my thighs tightly, pressing us together. The evocative scent of her; shampoo and gin and arousal. My name in her voice, flowing through my head, banishing any form of inhibition.

Until her hand slides between us, stroking my erection through my jeans.

For a moment, for one blissful moment, I simply enjoy the sensation. But then the part of me who loves Katniss, the part that avoided telling her for years in fear that if I did I would lose her, that part of me rears his cautious head. Everything is moving too fast; we've both had a lot to drink, and I can't be Katniss Everdeen's drunken mistake. "Katniss," I groan, nearly rendered speechless by the pressure of her small hand on my aching cock, even through my jeans. Nearly sidetracked by imagining how incredible it would feel without the denim between our flesh.

But I need to know. "Stop, please," I beg, pulling at her hand. Lust chokes my voice, making it nearly unrecognizable. But she understands, stiffening underneath me.

"I thought," she whispers, and then she's shoving me, trying to run. But there's no way I'm going to let that happen. I know her too well.

"Katniss." My voice is soft, a plea. She stills, looking at me with confusion in those incredible eyes. "Please, I.. we need to slow down. I don't want to fuck this up." A hint of a smile teases her lips.

"I'm not going to change my mind, Peeta," she murmurs. She knows me so well. And those words, fuck, my self control is hanging on by a thread.

I lean in and kiss her, just lightly. A promise. "I want you so much," I admit, resting my forehead against hers. "But… can I take you on a date first?"

Her arms slide back around my neck, her eyes flit back and forth, searching mine. Silence hangs between us. "Breakfast," she says.

"What?"

"You can take me out for breakfast." She smiles, like dawn breaking, banishing the shadows of uncertainty. "That place on Arena, with the chocolate fondue." And I laugh.

She leans in to kiss me again, languidly. We kiss and touch, chastely, fingers on napes and cheeks, tangled in hair. Making out with my best friend, my favourite person in the world.

Finally she eases away, climbing off the couch and offering me a hand. "Let's go to bed," she sighs. I stiffen, but before I can argue she clarifies. "Just to sleep." She looks at me, her expression one I never thought I'd see. She squeezes my hand. "I'm not ready to let you go just yet," she admits.

"I'm not going anywhere," I say, following her to the bedroom. And we crawl into her bed together, fully clothed.

Her head settles on my chest, right over my heart. I stroke her hair, her shoulders, the sinuous curve of her spine. We've slept together before, inadvertently. On her couch after a movie night. On teenaged camping trips. Even on Finnick's dorm bed once. But this is different. This is intentional. Intimate. Incredible.

I can feel her drifting to sleep, and I'm desperate to follow. But first I need to be sure.

"Katniss?" I whisper. "You love me, real or not real?" She lifts her head, resting her chin against my sternum, soft silver eyes locking onto mine.

"Real," she smiles. "My one and only."