DISClAIMER! I do not own The Hunger Games Trilogy, nor any of its characters.

. . .

"So, Peeta, Katniss," says Ceasar Flickerman, going into his next question. "What are your plans for the future?"

This is it. This is the moment I've been preparing for all my life. I slide off the love seat and go down to both my knees, shaking so hard I can't even position myself on one. "Katniss Everdeen," I say. "Ever since we were five years old I have loved you with all my heart and soul. I knew you were the only one I would ever grow to love so much I cannot contain the feeling within myself. I have seen your face and it sets my soul afire with it's beauty, no matter what you may say on the contrary. You have rescued me from death even though it almost certainly meant the same for you, and I will never repay that. Always, to you, I have been the boy with the bread. Now, I wish to be something more. Katniss Everdeen, will you marry me?"

The crowd goes absolutely bonkers at this profession of love from me. I can't even hear myself think, much less what she says in answer. But I still pay rapt attention as Katniss smiles that absolutely incredible smile she's always had and graciously accepts, cheeks the most perfect pink blush. Under all the make-up and glamor, she's still my Katniss, my love. She says the words of the moment I've been preparing for all my life.

And it doesn't count.

Her yes is hollow and false, exactly like every kiss from her I've tried to treasure. Except one, but she barely knew what was going on from her head wound. To her, this is just another part of the Games. Scripted. Premeditated. Already done before I'd slid off the couch. All of it has been fake for her, and I know that, although she tries not to show it. But whether that's for the cameras or for my sake, I don't know. It doesn't make a difference anyway.

And my words have, once again, been wasted on her. She doesn't know the truth that rang in every syllable. She doesn't understand the burning in my blood for her, the need for her to return something of what I've given. She tries, I know she does, and I can't put her at fault. How could I? Gale is a much more suitable match for her anyway. Why would she want me?

Ceasar Flickerman congratulates me as President Snow speaks with Katniss. Suddenly, the President turns and addresses the crowd.

"Wouldn't it be grand if we had their wedding here at the Capital?" he calls.

There is an explosion of noise in assent. "Do you have a date in mind?" asks Ceasar.

"That can be arranged later." says the President, and that's when I know. He's who I hate the most. For throwing us together, for forcing Katniss to pretend she loves me in return for sponsorship. For making her continue to give me hope just to tear it away. Everything we can never have is being shoved at us from all sides in the form of cameras and jewels, and it's his fault. If he hadn't intervened, I wouldn't have gotten this close. It'll only be harder to get away from it. I don't want to end up like Haymitch, drinking away all my problems and ending up so useless that future District Twelve tributes that I must train will be giving me baths while I'm half conscious. Struggling before they even reach the Games.

Because that's all this is. A game. A fun way for people to watch as I slowly disintegrate into nothingness while my love pretends to love me back. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to do all I can to protect her from the President's wrath. He'll surely want to harm her, after the berry stunt and all. I will not let that happen. Even if that means risking myself. I'll do whatever it takes to keep her alive. She's needed more than I am anyway.

I look over at her smile, and I swear it's a hundred times more confident than it was a moment ago. I wish I could say it is because she is getting married, but she has another reason in mind. I wish with all my heart that just once, she realize that she maybe does love me back.