Spring nights have the most unusual blue when the sun falls. Peeta said once it was his favorite time of day, if he couldn't have orange sunsets.

I open the stiff window of my train car and let the breeze, cool and forceful, numb my face. I think of how the windows are small so the Tributes can't jump (whether that's correct or not) and feel guilt deep in my belly - for Prim, for Gale, and for Peeta. The thoughts may have stopped there if this were a year ago, on the first train to almost-certain death when fighting for my life seemed possible. But almost-certain death is not something you dodge twice, so I let the dark thoughts linger some time longer. Self-pity feels good and they can't take that away from me too.

I think of what Peeta would say standing next to me now, and the shame nearly buckles my knees to the floor. A few minutes later when I knock on his train compartment, a stern voice answers "yes?".

I want to open it right away but I know it's too familiar. Lovers and close friends don't need to wait, but Peeta and I are neither.

"It's Katniss," I say.

Peeta says nothing for several moments, then - "you can come in."

His window is half open and I hear the white noise of whirring countryside and the train gliding over its rails. Peeta props himself up on his elbows in bed, us looking blankly at each other in a stand-off of who dares to speak first. It should be me giving another thousand apologies, but he is kinder.

"I can't sleep either," he says, and we stay frozen in staring.

Taking from him is the only thing I know how to do.

"Can I sleep in your bed?" I ask.

Peeta slides his feet out from the covers to get up and I immediately say "stop." He does, mid-movement.

"With you, I mean," I say. "Please."

He says nothing then rolls back underneath, and I crawl in next to him. I make our bare feet touch for heat and he looks at the ceiling while my head's on the pillow, facing him. He doesn't look at me as he talks.

"I thought I'd be scared to go back to the Games, but I don't feel anything. Do you know what completely hollow feels like?" he asks.

The answer is obvious, but I say, "tell me."

Peeta turns to face me.

"There's so little time left. I don't want to die feeling nothing," he says.

I lift his arm and move myself under it to tuck against him below the covers. I lift his t-shirt from his waist and reach farther around to rub his back. His clothed chest presses against mine, and I move my hips to match. Peeta's lap is hardened and he breathes against my shoulder. I lift his chin and put my lips against his, this time really meaning it.

He holds my face in one hand and kisses me greedily for just a moment before pulling away.

"You don't- if you don't want thi-" he says, and I cut him off.

"So little time," I whisper against his lips, and he kisses me back.

We are hungry for each other now, and Peeta pulls me on top of him. I take off my shirt and glow in the darkness of the train; Peeta gently sucks on each breast in his mouth, a tenderness to his touch. We wiggle out of our clothes and burn hot against each other's bare skin. He's sturdy and muscled under my hands, and I grip at one limb after the other.

I grind my bare crotch on his thighs to take in their size and strength, and feel the urgency of his throbbing without needing to touch it. Peeta yanks me forward and I hover at the hard tip of his erection. I slide it inside me as I lower myself with all of him in. There is sharp pain and I wince, but I move us up and down together. We become the Star-Crossed Lovers from District 12 they think we are, but just for one night.

"Katniss," he says, fingers kneading into my sides.

Peeta makes me less alone, and I want him to feel something.