I lay on my back listening to the soft calls of the mockingjays, humming the tune of the morning.

"Katniss," the name slips out of my lips in the lazy morning haze. This is your choir.

I try to stir my legs, but I recoil in pain as they tense under the exertion. This is what I get for overworking myself. I start to rub out the stiffness in my biceps and as I regain feeling in my upper torso, I slowly sit up. I look out the window, out to the Victor's Village. I still haven't quite gotten used to it. Haymitch has been living here for years, but it's still difficult to call home, especially with the approach of the Quarter Quell.

I was more dumbstruck than frightened when Snow made the announcement. Should I have expected anything less than cruel from a man who enforces the slaughter of twenty-three children yearly? More jarring was the reaction from Katniss.

"Katniss." That name again. My pretend romance. My platonic wife. She was almost hysterical that night. There was only so much I could say before Haymitch had to restrain her. Sometimes words aren't enough.

My legs still won't respond, so I punch one side with the opposite arm, only to retract it with a clang. I always forget that's my dummy leg. I carefully coax the other awake and make my way toward the stairs, shuffling every other step. Capitol medicine may be more advanced than what could be found in District 12, but by no means was it perfect.

Sitting on the counter is a lone loaf of bread I'd baked days prior. I rip off a piece and stuff the entirety of it into my mouth. The kitchen is equipped with knives, but I'd grown so accustomed to eating with my bare hands back when I lived with my family that the use of Capitol equipment seems almost foreign.

I flick on the television but quickly turn it off before the news anchors can queue the exposé about the Quarter Quell. I've made a habit of this. Every morning I approach the television, looking for something cheerful, but have my hopes dashed within seconds. Call me an optimist.

A crash at the front door and in stomps a ruddy Haymitch, already sufficiently boozed up for the morning.

"Training time!" he shouts at me, then staggers out the way he came.

Today's training focuses on stamina, my weakest point. We line up for a five mile jog around the town with me holding up the rear. We're barely at mile two and I can't even keep up with Haymitch.

"Hurry up, kid!" he barely turns his head to acknowledge me. He knows I'm better than this.

It's grueling, but we make it back to the village within the half hour. We're all panting, even Katniss, but it's hard to hold it against her. It's been so long since any of us had undergone physical training since the Games. I wouldn't be surprised if Haymitch hadn't run since his Games a quarter-century ago.

We do some mild yoga before we call it a day. All of us are sore and starving, so we retire to our respective homes. I rip off another piece of bread and open a can of soup. I pour it into a pot and light the stove as I dig my teeth into the crust in my hand. I turn toward the television again when I falter at an unexpected face.

"Gale," I say. His prescence takes me aback. I hardly ever see Gale, let alone talk to him. Even then, it'd be the occasional nod or a grunt of disapproval while eyeing Katniss. I brought him a loaf of bread while he recovered from his lashing in the town square. He thanked me and I left. So to see him here is a surprise.

"Hey," his voice is gruff, as if he hadn't spoken in a few days. "You left the door open. I hope this is ok."

"Sure." I'm a little terse, without intending to be. But do I really need to be nice to this guy? We've never had an issue with each other, but we'd never really been friends, either. He ran with a different crowd. "Can I offer you some soup?"

"No, thanks." His eyes shift to the floor. Something isn't right about his behavior.

"Does Katniss know you're here?"

"She's gone hunting," he answers with a pause. There's longing in his voice.

"Oh. Well, I'll let her know you stopped by. I assume that's why you came." I turn to face the stove, but am stopped, mid-swivel.

"Actually, I'm here to see you." I turn back to see his eyes trained on mine.

"Oh," I repeat myself, not sure what to say.

"I've been thinking a lot about the Quarter Quell," he says.

"Yeah, who hasn't?" I shrug, acting indifferent.

"Well, I can't help but worry."

"There's no need. She knows how to protect herself, you know. Katniss-" I'm cut short.

"No!" his arm reaches out helplessly, but he retracts it quickly. He speaks a little more hushed, "It's not Katniss I'm worried about."

The words hang in the air for about a minute. Gale is starting to sweat and I stare at him, at a loss for words.

Finally, I say with as much resolution as I can muster, "You're worried about me?"

"Yes." Gale's adam's apple begins to wobble. I can see the tears forming in his eyes before the words escape his lips, "I love you, Peeta. I love you more than anything. And I don't care if you love me back. I don't care. You and Katniss can get married, that's fine. But I just can't live with this anymore."

His legs are beginning to tremble and I grab Gale by the chest for fear he'll topple over and I won't be able to get him up. His heart is pounding through the thin, sweat-soaked white fabric that makes up his shirt. Slowly, I lead him over to the couch near the television and sit him down. He seems to go limp as I gently lower him into place. I take a seat across from him and watch as he raises his hands to his flowing brown hair and grips his scalp tightly while beginning to sob. I watch him for a moment, but can't help but feel moved. I scoot over next to him and place an arm around his shoulder.

"Gale, it's going to be alright," I say, patting his shoulder, slightly.

"No, it's not!" a muffled sob can be heard through the tears as Gale tries to lift his head. His eyes are red and puffy, his nose dripping, "Because you're going to die and there's nothing I can do to stop it!"

He embraces me with a strength I didn't think possible. It takes some force to remain sitting upright as Gale starts to sob into my shoulder. My arms, caught underneath his, flail about uselessly until I place them on his back, hoping to reassure him.

"How long have you been feeling this way?" I ask, only now realizing my heart is racing too.

"Since I kissed Katniss in the forest." Gale retracts from the embrace and begins to wipe away the snot from his nose, "I always thought it was Catnip I feared for in the arena. But I kissed her and it didn't feel right. I realized," he falters, "I realized it was you I cared about all along."

An alarm sounds and I look around frantically until I notice smoke rising from the stove.

"The soup!" I yell as I go hurdling across the living room, into the kitchen to turn off the stove. In a panic, I grab the pot, whisk it across the kitchen and throw it in the sink, already filled with water, soaking other pans. I reach across the sink to turn on the cold water spout, but not before I graze the side of my arm on the steaming pot. I yelp and stumble back, about to fall down when I collapse into the warm embrace of Gale, now on his feet.

"Here," he tenderly grabs my arm and kisses the burn wound. It stings on contact, but feels cool once he releases his lips.

I turn to face him, stumbling on my bad leg and falling cheekfirst into his chest, a hard landing zone. I grasp for Gale's shoulder, but he's one step ahead of me. He hoists me up from under my arms until I'm standing upright. He pulls me close to him, my arms still around his neck. Slowly, he leans down, but I turn my head away. He pecks my cheek once, then again, then snakes his head around until our foreheads are pressed against each other's. He pushes forward, driving us into the nearby wall, never letting go of me. He rotates the position of his forehead and leans in again for a kiss.

I try to wrestle away from him, but my body is locked between him and the wall of plaster. I squirm in his arms, wrestling my head away from him. I can't let him kiss me. I've never felt anything romantic toward a man before and my father had always counted on me to find a girl. And it's not fair to Katniss. She depends on me to survive the wrath of the Capitol. How can I keep the act up convincingly if I'm pulled in another direction?

And that's when it hit me: this is the same predicament she's in. A struggle to decide between her co-victor and childhood friend. My frustration at her indecision has left me feeling lifeless in the past few weeks, but now I channel it into my aggression.

I stop squirming, stand resolute, lock my knees and pull Gale into my body, locking lips. We hold the embrace until we need to come up for air then dive back in. The kiss is as intense as it is long. Gale takes his hands off the wall and places them on my cheeks and down my neck. He holds me there for a moment, then unlocks his lips and looks into my eyes.

The sad quality I had noted in his eyes are now gone and the puffiness around his eyelids seems to highlight his flushed face. We stare at each other for a long moment before he reaches down, crosses his arms and peels off his shirt in one fluid motion.

There he stands, shirtless with the sun streaming into the living room. His body is chiseled in a way that I have never seen before. A tuft of hair between his pectoral muscles gleam with sweat. His nipples are taught. His stomach toned, almost swirling to a fine point into his belly button. A strange sensation washes over me as I stare at this man. It feels like a shiver, first in my lower torso, which then travels up through my stomach into my chest and buzzing in my head. Gale's eyes shift down and I follow them between my legs, where a slight protuberance shows through my pants. I am erect as I slowly walk toward Gale, removing my shirt to flaunt my pale skin and toned figure.

He aggressively reaches down and up, grabbing my crotch. He feels me within his hand before bringing his other hand in to unzip my pants. He pulls my pants down until I am bare, save a heap of clothing around my ankles. He grabs my cock by the base in one hand and places his lips around the head. I am caught off guard. The air escapes my lungs in a sharp noise. I had pleasured myself in the past, but never before received sexual favors from anyone.

Gale moves his head down the shaft, swirling his tongue around my now fully erect penis. I gasp as he moves his head up and down, delivering new waves of pleasure with each head bob, each sucking motion, until my whole pelvic region feels like it has been enveloped by a warm flame. The sensation is wonderful and it builds.

I grasp for something behind me but only find air. My hands clench in tight fists as my penis seems to vibrate. My arms shake feverishly as the vein on the bottom of my being pulsates, pumping out liquid kerosene that fuels the fire to a burning heat that lights up the tube connecting my body to Gale's.

As the sensation recedes, I realize I have not been breathing and choke in mouthfuls of air. Gale wipes the side of his mouth with his palm and smiles, seeing the shocked look on my face. "My turn," he says.

Gale comes tearing at me and I barely have time to rest my hands on his hips before his mouth is on mine. I wrestle with him, fighting to get away from his lips long enough to remove his pants. He finally relents, letting the trousers fall to the floor as he steps out of them. We are both stark naked, standing on the wood floor.

Gale spits into his hand and rubs it along his handsome and muscular eight-inch cock. He salivates slightly over his two forefingers and pulls me close with the other hand. He brings his lubricated hand around to my rear and gently massages it for a moment, before retracting it and pushing me into a nearby wall. He presses my chest into an upright position before he grabs my legs from underneath my kneecaps and hoists them above his shoulders. He steadies my body with his left hand and cradles his dick in the other. Before I know it, a shooting sensation comes flying through my rectum and I howl. It is not what I had expected. I feel complete.

Now holding up both my legs with his broad shoulders, the veins in his arms shoot out and a mark on his furrowed brow shows blue. I try to take stock of more before Gale retracts his pelvis slightly and thrusts more deeply into me. I moan once again and as he starts to shove harder, faster, I let my sounds escape me involuntarily, throwing my head back and accepting the blows. This is what it must feel like for girls, I wonder. But how could I ever know? I've never been with one.

In, out, in, out. Gale has a good pace going and soon I realize I'm begging him to go faster. Words fly from my lips, encouraging him, provoking him, bringing out a fierce nature in his pupils. This is unlike any hunt Gale has undergone before. He is aiming to kill.

Gale's head goes flying back and sweat splatters on the hardwood. He is approaching it now. The climax. I can feel the moment growing inside of me. Soon he will let loose and all of his virility will be carried inside my body. A grunt, then a series of noises.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah."

Gale pulls out of me. I feel the cool whisk of air surround the hole as he slides me along the wall to the ground. He takes a moment to assess, as do I. I am glistening, but not as covered in sweat as Gale. It trickles down between his chest, between his legs and off the tip of his erect penis. He sits with his legs bent upward, then scoots over to the wall next to me. We are both panting. Together in perfect harmony one inhales while the other exhales.

Gale turns his head toward me and grins, "That's love, Peeta."

I turn to look at him and can't help but beam, "And we've still got our soup."