A big thank you to Cat and Red (a.k.a TheAfterShock) for beta-ing this chapter and supporting/helping me with it.

Notes:

#1 for those of you who are already following me, I promise I haven't forgotten about the one-shot. I still intend on finishing what I have started, but I couldn't really wait anymore. The beginning of this story had been ready since the end of July and I'm very curious to see what you think of it. Besides, I think I've been hiding for long enough ;)

#2 Modern Day, seven chapters, AU (I have practically messed with everyone's ages. If there are any questions or things you need me to clear out, don't hesitate to ask.)

#3 feedback—positive or negative—is highly appreciated. Also, if you leave a comment, but don't wish to see a preview of the next chapter, let me know! (Review=sneak peek/spoilers for part 2)

#4 the characters will often be a bit off, even though I'm still trying not to cross a specific line. Take into account the different circumstances and background (you will find more about the characters' past in future chapters, so having questions is neither unusual nor unexpected).

Words: 9,263(Normal word limits: 8,000-14,000)

Disclaimer:Credit to multiple authors (from multiple fandoms) for coming up with the title "Roommates" and giving me the idea of a plot to work on and—of course—Suzanne Collins for her intriguing characters.

Update: 15.09.2012

One: December and January

She's cold. It is barely the first week of December and she's freezing. She rubs her gloved hands together, hoping to warm herself by creating as much friction as possible, but she feels like the desperate action is futile anyway. She watches the faint fumes of her unsteady breathing in the darkness as she lifts a trembling, clenched fist to knock on the massive brown door in front of her. The lamp hanging on the doorframe illuminates the threshold she's standing on at the moment, soothing her uneasiness even for just a few moments. She knows where she is, she sees where she's going.

Familiar footsteps are heard from inside the house almost immediately after Katniss's hand connects with the surface of the wood. She prays for the door to swing open seconds before it actually does, revealing the flushed face of her best friend, a wide grin spreads across her pale, rosy lips. Katniss has absolutely no idea how she can be so cheery on a moment like that. She knows they've both had much better days.

Madge is still smiling like a fool.

"Do you plan on letting me in?" she asks after a couple of seconds, her teeth involuntarily gritting together, a violent shiver running down her already trembling spine.

"Oh, right, sorry," the girl mumbles and steps aside, allowing access to Katniss. Madge rushes to close the door after her friend is in, in fear of getting cold herself.

"This had better be good, Madge," Katniss grumbles. She doesn't wait for permission as she kicks her boots off her feet right beside the first piece of furniture she comes across in the hallway, where she always does. Madge doesn't wait for her to finish her ritual. Instead, she walks away from her, disappearing into the place Katniss knows to be the kitchen of the large house. Being the mayor's daughter in this town has given Madge many privileges—more than she'd ever wish to gain.

It doesn't take long for Katniss to be in the same room as Madge, observing her while she moves around it. She turns around and gives her another smile, which manages to make Katniss even more suspicious than before. Madge never smiles so much without a serious reason. She's not like the rest of Katniss's former classmates in high school, and this is why they both prefer each other's company to anyone else's.

"Hot chocolate?" Madge offers. Katniss usually declines kindly by saying a "no, thank you" or "maybe another time", but she wants to have a hot chocolate at the moment. She needs it. She slowly bobs her head.

"Enjoying your day off?" the blonde-haired girl asks. There is no sarcasm—Madge's intentions are not bad. Katniss's face falls at the question, anyway. She leans forward, her elbow touching the table, her cheek firmly pressed against her palm.

"It's not a day off," she whines pathetically. "I got fired." She emphasizes the last word, making sure she is heard.

"Remind me…," Madge starts. Her back is turned on Katniss, but the brunette can imagine the thoughtful expression that must be plastered on her face right now. "What was the reason again?"

Katniss scoffs in disbelief. "You do remember," she points out, narrowing her eyes at Madge. "I arrived one hour and thirty-two minutes late at work." Her boss made sure she heard her mistake multiple times.

"One hour and thirty-two minutes late at work. If I were them, I'd give you a second chance," Madge murmurs.

"You're not them, though," Katniss grumbles. "They had every right to get rid of me. To tell you the truth, I always felt like Mr. Snow secretly hated me for just working there." There were also those times she wondered why he had hired her as an employee in the first place. After every single time she followed his orders word for word, she would be rewarded with the oddest stare—a stare that looked more like a glare—she had ever seen. It was as if he was expecting her to fall in a trap, make a mistake, be as imperfect as possible. It was as if he was anticipating for the moment to literally kick her out—and that's what he did. He called her an irresponsible, reckless young girl. Young is nothing but an insult, a terrible flaw to him, Katniss realized.

"I never liked your boss." Madge has now occupied the stool right beside her friend's. "Manipulative. Tightfisted. He thought of himself oh-so highly."

"He wasn't so bad at business," Katniss remarks. As a result, Madge narrows her eyes at her, the silent warning in her blue irises never to be spoken.

"You're defending him," she accuses. Katniss isn't sure how to reply. Thus, she simply chooses not to.

"Business?" Madge snorts in the process of repeating the word Katniss had used to describe Coriolanus Snow's activities. "He owns a grocery shop, for God's sake."

"A grocery shop that ensured Prim and me money." Katniss lets a long, audible sigh slide from her lips. She'd prefer not to talk about her misfortune, but she knows she has no choice—not really. All she has in mind is helping her twin sister complete her medical education in college. It is what their mother did when she was still a student. (Before she became a nurse, she was just a healer in their village, District Twelve. There was no profit from this job other than the simple satisfaction of being an active member in the small society there, but there were also more important reasons for her to stay. Falling in love with Katniss's father, despite any kind of objections and against all odds, was definitely among them.) And now it's what Primrose aspires to do.

"You've already given up on so many things." Katniss is aware of the fact. She doesn't need to be reminded and she surely isn't in the mood at the moment. Madge seems to have other plans, though. She continues. "For one, you sold your house in Twelve."

"Don't even mention it. That was years ago, when my parents were…" alive. "…responsible for us. It was sad to know I wouldn't live there again, but it's over now."

Madge sidesteps Katniss's comments.

"You also refused to go to college, so Prim's fees will be taken care of. Furthermore, you are the one taking care of them."

"You refused to go to college, too."

"That's different. I chose not to go because I don't want to." Because I don't need to, Katniss interprets in her head, even if the meaning of Madge's words is entirely different. There are times like these, when she wants to actually dislike her best friend, but can't. Even though Madge will have anything she asks for on a silver platter without much effort, Katniss neither envies her (how could she? She doesn't need a big house to lose herself in. She doesn't need a mentally ill mother to take care of. She doesn't need a busy father who won't even sit down and talk to her. She doesn't need piles of gold—she wants to believe her father and keep in mind that money doesn't bring happiness in life, no matter what) nor despises her. Madge has a way of being so clever, yet so innocent. She is responsible for nothing bad that has happened to Katniss. No, quite the opposite.

"Prim isn't selfish. She appreciates what I'm doing." She has absolutely no idea where the urge to defend her sister is coming from. There was nothing implied—her friend makes sure to confirm the fact.

"Of course she does. Anyone would appreciate you, Katniss." She smiles again. "I just might want to help you. I might have a solution for you."

Katniss shakes her head furiously. "No." There is no way she's allowing that. "You're not helping me." She realizes the look in Madge's eyes is the one of hurt. She flinches slightly, but adds another sentence after her first one, anyway. "You're not giving me anything." She wants to put emphasis on the last part so badly, though, it would sound too cruel. Katniss can be too cruel sometimes. She doesn't necessarily wish for it, especially when the person—Madge, in this particular case—doesn't deserve this kind of treatment.

A spark of recognition flashes in the blonde's eyes.

"No, no, I wasn't…" She exhales. "I wasn't talking about offering you anything. I know you're not fond of being confronted this way." I know you're not fond of being pitied.

"Right," Katniss mumbles. You're being rude again, she tells herself. "Remember there's not that much you can do, Madge," she says, then her expression sorrowful.

"You want to save money," Madge declares.

"I do."

"And you want to find a way to work, so that you can keep having income." She does. Katniss shoots her a bewildered glance. "But you want to know how to save money first."

"You've lost me," Katniss confesses and takes a large sip of her chocolate, missing the burning sensation of the liquid on her tongue (and down her throat) already. It is starting to get cold.

"Great." The sarcasm dripping off Madge's voice doesn't go unnoticed. "There really is no easy way of me saying it, is there?"

Katniss shrugs, knowing this is the best she can do for now.

"We'll start from the beginning," the mayor's daughter announces. "Forget about your job. Forget about Snow, Prim, college, fees—everything." Katniss parts her lips to protest. She is interrupted. "Forget it all just for a single minute." She nods in defeat.

"Okay," she whispers, her voice hoarse.

"I have a cousin."

Katniss cocks an eyebrow. "You have many cousins."

"Let's talk about this cousin. He's almost half a year older than us. He turned nineteen just a month ago. He has a house in Twelve."

"He does?" Katniss asks indifferently. She really doesn't know what this cousin of Madge's has to do with her problems. She is, however, about to find out. "What about college?"

Madge shakes her head. "No," she says. "He owns the bakery there. He had enough qualifications—he used to get straight A's."

"Like Prim," Katniss says proudly. So much for forgetting about her…

"Like Prim," Madge agrees.

"What happened, then?"

Madge sighs. "A lot of things happened. He has no problem with finances. In fact, he's truly well-off. He has already helped two of his classmates from his village—well, your village."

Katniss had figured this one out by herself. He did have a house in Twelve, after all, as Madge said earlier.

"He has…," Madge hesitates. She clears her throat. "…He has shared his house with one of them. They were roommates," she explains.

"Alright."

"But he has sworn off cohabiting with people he knows will take advantage of him. He did everything on his own—housework, bills, and such—as long as he lived with that moron whose name I don't even remember." Madge is indeed pretty talkative today.

Katniss decides to take another sip of her drink the moment her girl friend speaks. "He might have not admitted it yet, but I'm sure he's also sworn off living with boys in general. They're all…"

She keeps talking, but Katniss has stopped listening. She looks at her, the cup still pressed in-between her upper and bottom lip, making it impossible for her to bite on anything but the clay utensil. She doesn't like where this conversation is going.

"Katniss." Her name is pronounced so strangely that curiosity gets the better of her and she has no other choice but to acknowledge Madge. "Have you ever thought of having a roommate?"

She doesn't like where this conversation is going at all.

She swallows carefully, before she slowly places the cup back on the huge kitchen table. She shifts on her seat until she is sure Madge will have the chance to face her fully. She prays the girl is not implying what she thinks she is. The rhetorical thought echoes almost immediately inside her head; when did prayers ever ease her problems?

"No," is her truthful response. She hasn't thought of having a roommate, and she wants to claim she won't dare to think of it in the near future. "I haven't," she adds. It is simple as that.

"Katniss—"

"—I don't know your cousin."

"But he's waiting for an answer," Madge reasons.

"My answer is no. I can't live in somebody else's home without knowing them. I can't be a burden. I just can't," Katniss replies confidently, hoping she will finally be understood.

"You can agree on paying rent. You will have half of his house and we'll help you find a job in the village. It's much easier than in town," she insists.

Katniss taps her fingertips on the surface of the table, her eyes still shooting daggers at it. Her name is called.

"Please, don't be mad at me. This is just a solution I've come up with. I hadn't spoken with my cousin in months. I only did it for you," Madge lets her know.

"I'm not mad at you." Although she mutters the phrase under her breath, Madge manages to hear her. She looks relieved when her gaze connects with Katniss's. The latter doesn't know why she is constantly so worried and interested in offering her assistance. Owing is out of the question. Miss Undersee would never owe anyone.

"I need to go," Katniss says. She stands from her chair and Madge doesn't do anything to stop her. She only watches her as she gathers her things (there is nothing other than her coat, gloves and shoes) and follows her until they reach the doorstep.

Just before Katniss turns on her heel and starts walking in the cold once more, she catches her friend's sad, yet knowing look. She lets out the breath she didn't know she had been holding. She can't believe she's doing it when she says, "I'll think about it."

December, Week Two

Things turn out to be entirely different from what Katniss originally expected. She hadn't thought she would eventually agree with Madge on her completely absurd idea—maybe what she really needed to hear to change her mind was just her sister's voice that happened to provide her with thousands of logical arguments, stronger and more convincing than hers. She asked herself what happened to her as she took into account the fact that she has always been the practical one. Primrose normally isn't as timid as her when it comes to living her life like she means it.

She had also thought that Madge wasn't serious when she said she and her cousin would find her a job before she moved in that house. She would be working on a farm (she adores farms, even though she hasn't stepped foot on one in almost seven years) two days after she meets her roommate. She really doesn't feel like getting to know more people than she already does. However, there is no other option for her to take, right?

Madge presses her index finger on the doorbell for no more than two seconds and takes a step back, nudging Katniss's side with her elbow.

Right.

"Come on. Smile a little. You're going to be fine."

Katniss clenches and unclenches her fists, mentally preparing herself for what "fine" is supposed to mean in her case. She isn't exactly nervous—she couldn't possibly care less for what the boy thinks of her appearance or strange habits—but she is worried. How long will it take for her to realize whether the final choice she has made is right or wrong? She prefers realizing it sooner than later, since she knows she can't run away now.

The door opens and she still can't see anything—or rather anyone. The only thing that isn't out of her eyesight is the beige-colored wall from inside the house. She wonders whether the rest of it is painted in the same dull color, when the owner steps forward.

She watches the nineteen-year-old boy approach his cousin—his looks are identical to Madge's, which is not a big surprise—and welcome her in a brief hug. This and the small exchange of words between the relatives last only some moments, but Katniss can hear nothing. The only sound reaching her ears is her blood. She can feel it as it runs in her veins, her wrists, her throat, her cheeks.

They're looking at her. She wishes she could flee this place right now.

"Good morning," he greets her. Why him?

She tries to respond with a "good morning" like him or a simple "'morning", but no.

"You," she says instead, narrowing her gray eyes at him. He shifts from his one foot to the other, in an attempt to find a more comfortable position while standing. His uneasiness has apparently nothing to do with something he's doing at the moment, but something he has already done.

He remembers her like she remembers him—or maybe in an entirely different way. (He knows her as the girl who sang in front of everyone in the music assembly at the age of fourteen. Better yet, he knows her voice, the one that made every single bird stop to listen. She knows him as the reason she got into a huge fight and was almost expelled at the same age.) He had been hesitant when he heard who Madge's friend really is, but couldn't really go back on his word after promising to help Katniss.

He pretends not to hear her and extends his hand towards her, a kind smile on his face. "Peeta Mellark."

"I know," she says silently enough, only for him to hear. He pretends not to hear that, either. For Madge's sake, Katniss eventually notes.

He invites them inside. His polite voice irks Katniss even more than before. He is a hypocrite. She is sure he is one of the people who seek for attention just because they have whatever they want whenever they want it. But then again, she doesn't know him.

Although it would be a lie if she ever said she isn't biased, she will act as her parents taught her to. She will not judge him by the first time she sees him or the first time she talks to him—at least, she will try not to.

This doesn't mean his smile doesn't annoy her anymore.

"Katniss Everdeen," she spits as she walks past him, even when she knows any kind of introduction is futile.

She follows Madge's footsteps. She wouldn't be able to find the courage to go further in the house, if it weren't for her best friend who's looking back at her every once in a while. She is thankful she's not completely alone in this.

Mellark's place is far from dull and boring-looking. It is unique in its own way. The objects and décor in it are neither too modern nor too outmoded. Katniss doesn't really notice those things, but she can't say she isn't fascinated by the way everything seems to be placed neatly exactly where it is supposed to be.

The living room is spacious—this is where they soon make themselves comfortable—but Katniss shrinks in the corner of the couch she and Madge are sitting on. Suddenly, she feels so terrifyingly little, she doesn't know if she can stand it for too long. She hopes this awkwardness among the three of them ends soon. What she wants to do is get this all over with.

From what Madge has told her, there is also a library on the second floor. Under different circumstances she wouldn't be only intrigued, but also overjoyed. She loves books—she could just sit and read for hours until her mind would be forced to shut off completely. Despite these facts, she knows she shouldn't take advantage of the liberties in this house like she shouldn't take advantage of Mellark. (Isn't this what he shows disdain for?)

She is snapped out of her reverie when she notices the person she is supposed to live with is not chatting with Madge anymore. Her eyes quickly land on his back and she grabs the opportunity to study him while he isn't looking at her. His shoulders are relatively broad in contrast to other mens' whose shoulders she has noticed before—even her father's. Thinking he and Madge look alike must have been one of her thousands of tiny mistakes. His hair is an ashy kind of blonde, unlike Madge's strawberry blonde hair. Mellark isn't very tall, but he isn't short, either. She bets his height still outdoes hers.

He is back within a few seconds, his fist wrapped around a small piece of paper. Before she knows it, he's standing in front of her, offering it to her. She looks at Madge, who nods for confirmation, and slowly takes it from his hand. She examines it. There are two phone numbers written on it. The ink of the pen looks fresh, so she is careful not to touch it.

"What are these?" she asks curiously.

"The first one is the house's number. The second one is mine," he replies. Katniss is grateful his annoying smile isn't directed at her anymore—if there is something she doesn't like, it's people faking who they really are. Thus, she isn't too surprised by the next words escaping her mouth.

"Why would I need your number?" She thinks she can see Madge shaking her head out of the corner of her eye.

The effect her question has on him isn't as expected. He offers a small shrug and tells her that if anything happens and she needs him, this is how she can find him.

I won't need you.

She keeps those words to herself and makes a mental note to remember not to memorize his number in the future. She needs no one—he can't tell her that she will depend on him just because she will be living in a part of his property. Or can he?

Madge suggests Katniss give her number to Peeta, too. If looks could kill, Madge would have been a dead a million times by now. Katniss reluctantly obliges.

"And this," he says and digs his hand in his one pocket, fishing another object. She would have rolled her eyes, if she wasn't so attracted by it. "This is the key of the house. It's my last one, so you might want to take care of it." And with that, the smile is back on his face.

This time, it's different. It's not a polite, unreal smile. It looks like a genuine one, which confuses Katniss. She would never let herself form this kind of—pleasant—grimace in front of a stranger without any significant reason. Truth to be told, she cannot share such an intimate moment with just anyone. There has to be something significant, something worthy of her time beforehand. Isn't this how everyone should work?

Well, there is also her sister who is quite generous concerning offering simple gestures of kindness, but Prim often does what she shouldn't and doesn't do what she should. There are no rules.

"I can show you your room whenever you feel like it," Mellark tells her.

.

.

His blue eyes are wide open as she grabs the collar of his blue shirt in her fists, effectively pulling him closer to her. A grimace of anger is plastered on her face as she growls, her white teeth glistening, threatening him, inviting him for a fight.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she shouts at him. She can feel the prying eyes of everyone in the school hallway are on her, but she still doesn't give a single damn about it. They can stay there and watch. If someone is going to be humiliated, then it's him.

"P-Peeta Mellark," he stammers. His body almost immediately collides with the wall with a loud thud.

"Well, stop playing it clever, Mellark."

"I-I didn't…I don't…" Katniss's pursed lips press even more tightly together. For some reason, the possibility of who she knows as the wrestling team's leader attacking her vanishes from her mind. Instead of being terrified by the idea, she is encouraged to continue what has been in her head all along.

"You think I didn't hear you in front of class?"

"Wha—"

"—you really didn't think so?" She can hear a group of boys laughing their heads off from behind them. For all she knows, they could be his stupid friends.

"Listen, I—"

"—no, you listen. I don't care who you really are, but if I ever hear any similar kind of comments about my sister coming out of your mouth, I'll make sure it stays shut for as long as it needs to stay shut."

The roaring laughter is soon accompanied by the sound of the history teacher's voice. She knows she has to stop, but she doesn't. She won't stop unless she tells him what she has to say.

She is forcefully pulled back and takes in the sight in front of her. The boy seems to be more stunned than scared of her.

"Miss Everdeen, please," the man's voice comes from beside her.

"You're wrong, you know. I have nothing to do with it."

She struggles against her teacher's grasp, but his hold tightens around her forearm, becoming nearly too painful for her to bear.

"I will remember you. Someday, you will pay for what you dared to say."

"Miss Everdeen, the principal's office. Right this instant."

There was something she did recognize in Peeta Mellark's eyes. He wasn't mad at her. He wasn't furious or annoyed by her behavior—not in the least. He seemed to pity her. And she hated him for it.

Her mother was the one to pick her and Prim up from school that day. Katniss guessed the teachers had called her to inform her about her daughters' progress in the new environment. Her assumptions were quickly confirmed as her mother began with her usual lecture.

"They insulted Prim! They insulted our family!" fourteen-year-old Katniss argued, but that didn't stop either her mother's words or her sister's look of disapproval—Prim claimed sometimes Katniss acted as if she was superior. She could do nothing but cross her arms over her chest. She muttered how she hated the "townies" over and over again and promised to hate them for the rest of her life. Once she realized the effect these kind of words could have on her father's job in town—this is why they had moved from the village—she learned how to control her rage. She preferred a hurt ego to a starved family.

Little did she know Peeta Mellark was never a townie and never considered himself one.

Someday, you will pay for what you dared to say.

She is afraid this day will never come. She has to admit she has grown up a little since then. There is no place for revenge or hatred, even if she wants to make room for them.

She caresses the duvet covering the soft mattress she's sitting on. She realizes the bright yellow is particularly calming for her nerves. She hasn't lied down yet, but she already knows getting up in the morning will be difficult. She hopes her room isn't too cold at winter nights, since she doesn't seem to be able to find an easy way out of this situation any time soon.

What her roommate gave her is securely kept inside her other palm. There is something special about the old-fashioned key, something that draws Katniss's attention, something she can't quite place. After a long mental debate with herself, she finally comes to a decent conclusion.

You might want to take care of it.

There is only one way for Katniss to take care of it.

Her breathing is labored as her hands reach behind her neck. She pushes the curtain of hair aside (she undid her braid moments before she lost herself in thought) and finds it; the end of the silver chain. She unclasps it and brings it to the waist of her uncomfortable jeans, studying it in the process.

She stares. The locket her father had given her (he had also given Prim a large, matching ring), the one resting on her lap, belonged to her grandmother. Old things always seemed appealing to her, this item is not an exception.

She stares more. They key slides easily through the silver chain. She struggles to put it around her neck one more time—it appears to be a more difficult task than the one of taking it off, as usual.

For now, the chain as well as what it carries are hidden by the woven sweaters Katniss chooses to wear every day—she refuses to give in to the cold. For now, her father's locket and this house's key can rest over her heart and she can remain unbothered. She's taking care of them.

December, End Of Week Two

She honestly has no idea where this farm she'll be working in is supposed to be, so she has no other choice than to wait for Madge. Her friend arrives almost ten minutes late at Mellark's house—she still can't say herhouse, since it really isn't—and volunteers to drive her to her new job. She still seems too eager to help and Katniss is nearly convinced they both might be enjoying spending some time together after being together for three whole years in high school.

Mellark storms out of the house as if someone is chasing him, his blonde hair a perfect mess as he hurriedly locks the door, another pair of keys caught in between his teeth. It takes him a while to realize Katniss and Madge are both staring at him strangely, almost waiting to hear an explanation for his actions.

He takes the keys out of his mouth.

"You're taking her to Sae's, then?" he asks Madge. His cousin bobs her head in confirmation. She speaks, just for good measure.

"Sure. You have the bakery, don't worry about us."

"Yeah, I'm pretty late actually. Vick's already there, but something came up and I have to get there as soon as possible." Madge shoots him a questioning glance, urging him to continue. "A wrong delivery, according to a customer. Vick freaked out." He lets them know, chuckling to himself.

Gale's brother is only fifteen, yet he has taken his job for Saturday mornings very much to heart. Peeta feels guilty for leaving the poor child alone—the bakery is his responsibility, after all.

"Do you want me to drive you there?" Madge inquires. Peeta shakes his head and shakes his keys in front of her.

"Bike," he reminds her.

Katniss scowls. "You have a bike?" she asks him. She knows her tone shouldn't be as demanding as it is, but this doesn't seem to affect Mellark, regardless.

"Yes," he says proudly. Her scowl deepens.

"I don't like bikes."

She makes her way to Madge's car and sits inside, signalling the conversation is over for her. She can already hear Madge's complaints in her head. There is no way she's not going to be asked about her stay in the house. She'll say it's good—she won't lie—but she still feels as if she lives in a hotel.

Peeta's shocked eyes follow her until she takes the front seat and hugs her arms, probably waiting for Madge to get in with her and turn the heat on. His expression soon turns into one of irritation. He feels insulted.

"Well, nobody asked you," he grunts towards Katniss's direction, even though she can't hear him from where she is.

Madge pokes him. "Be nice," she warns.

He rolls her eyes. "Now that your friend is here I'm going to have to bear your company more often, aren't I?"

She opens her mouth, unsure of what she ought to say after this.

He laughs at her frown and pinches her cheek ever so slightly. "I think she might be worse than you," he teases. He makes a small movement with his head, gesturing to his roommate. He receives a small punch on his shoulder.

.

.

"An Everdeen, huh?"

Greasy Sae, as Katniss heard Mellark call her for some reason, is a short, slim woman in her mid-fifties. Her gray hair is covered in a practical headscarf that prevents her from finding serious difficulties while working—or at least this is what Katniss supposes.

She's not sure why, though, the woman looks at her as if she already likes her and Katniss wonders whether she's one of those people she can also like without much effort. No, she's nothing like Prim who wins everyone's hearts with her mesmerizing smile and beautiful words. She seems to be, however, a humble person. Modesty is what Katniss appreciates the most.

An Everdeen, huh?

She can't help forming thousands of questions inside her head, after this specific statement. She recognizes the fondness in the woman's voice and feels more comfortable than she could ever be during the first day at work.

The first day at work, if Mrs. Mason considers you capable, she reminds herself.

"You don't remember me, child?" she suddenly asks.

Katniss shakes her head, confused. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't."

"Your parents used to bring you and your sister here since you were four. You'd both cause havoc once you were inside the hennery."

Why doesn't she remember this? She smiles at the woman's words.

"Your father was a worker here once," Mrs. Mason says. "My husband needed to fire lotta' men and he was among them." She shakes her head disapprovingly. "A terrible mistake. He has such a good heart."

He had such a good heart.

"Yeah," Katniss agrees weakly.

"How's the family?"

She hesitates. Her stomach clenches at the thought of answering honestly.

"Prim is doing great. She's studying to become a doctor." There. That is not a lie. She's satisfied by her reply and, for now, so is Greasy Sae.

"We could use a pair of extra hands for the fields."

Katniss's eyes grow wide. Is that it? Doesn't she need to prove she can make it? Does the woman trust her so much?

"When would ya' like to start, girl?"

"I'm ready when you are, Mrs. Mason," Katniss rushes to reply, in fear of being eventually declined.

"Sae," the owner of the farm says with a crooked smile. "Call me Sae. That ol' name died when my husband did."

December, Week Three

Peeta's grin couldn't possibly be any wider than it is at this very moment. Madge chews on her bottom lip to keep the brief laugh from escaping her.

"I was right," Peeta states as he steps aside, allowing Madge entrance in the house.

"About?"

"Your visits. They're way too frequent."

"Yeah, yeah, now that my friend is here you're going to have to bear my company more often," she repeats his words from some time ago.

"She's not here, though. You should have known. Sundays are my days off. Hers are Wednesdays," he tells her. He looks puzzled and somehow has a bad feeling about Madge's visit on a day like that. She used to come here on Sundays, but this was a long time ago. It was when his family still lived here with him. It was before they abandoned him without an invitation to follow them to town.

He shakes his head as if to clear it from any kind of unwanted thoughts. Even if there had been an invitation, he wouldn't have taken it. Honoring the memory of his father goes against forgetting everything and leaving it behind. Even if it is in his power to sell the bakery or give the enormous house to someone who really needs it, he wants to consider himself incapable of acting this way.

"I didn't come for Katniss, Peeta," she confesses, her voice silent, her look is as if it is pleading with him to listen. But it is his day off; he's not going anywhere.

"Really?"

She nods. "Well, in a way I did come for her."

His eyebrows knit together. "Come in the kitchen. I haven't cooked anything yet."

"Does Katniss eat when you cook?" she asks him suspiciously.

"Wha—are you serious?" She raises an eyebrow as if saying do I look like I'm kidding? "I don't know." And this is the truth. The food portions are always larger so that Katniss will have the chance to eat, too, but he hasn't really noticed.

"You should," Madge scolds. "Sometimes, she's too stubborn for her own good." She might be too stubborn to touch anything you make, as well.

"And that's my fault…how?"

"This!" She points at his chest. His eyes travel lower, landing on his shirt in utter bewilderment. Then, he realizes she's pointing at him, not his clothes. "This is what I've wanted to talk to you about," Madge adds.

"Okay," he says, his tone slightly questioning.

"Where do you know each other from?" she demands.

"Nowhere?" He blinks at her.

"Nice try, Peeta. Spill the beans now. Every time I ask Katniss she changes the topic," she exclaims and exhales tiredly.

"Ouch." He covers his ears. "Slow it down." She glares at him. "You've come all the way from town. Eat with me," he suggests.

Her gaze softens for a second. "Alright."

"Any preferences?"

"Spaghetti," she answers confidently, unconsciously moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue.

He chuckles. "Of all the things you could have chosen, you asked for spaghetti," he says in disbelief. She rolls her eyes. "Which will take me no more than ten minutes." He sits across from her.

Madge parts her lips, already feeling as if Peeta is following Katniss's example, avoiding the main issue of the conversation, but he is the one to speak first. Her mouth is closed one more time.

"She might not want to talk to you about it."

"But—"

"—my second year of high school was in town." He pauses, making soon the information sinks in. "I attended the same school as Katniss."

"And?" She sees his reluctant expression. "Oh, come on. There must be something else."

"Why so nosy, Miss Undersee?"

"Because someone has to make sure you don't kill each other."

He leans back to his chair surprised. "I think you're exaggerating a bit." He cracks the knuckles of his hands one by one, before he allows himself to sigh, relaxing on his seat. "Katniss and I are doing great."

"Do you believe what you're saying?" She clearly doubts him.

"I do," he says. "She has her space and I have mine. She's helping me by occupying half of the house and taking care of it and I'm helping her by—" He stops for a moment. "I don't know. I want to think I'm somehow returning the favor."

"According to her, you are."

"Then, what's the problem?"

"You would have tried to get along with a person like Katniss two years ago. I mean…she's not that bad, if you get to know her."

What bothers Peeta has nothing to do with Madge asking from him to make the first move. What bothers him is this "two years ago". She can't play with words like these, not when he has struggled to create a shield for the others not to really see what is going on in his head, not when he has finally managed to say he's okay. He can't let her.

"There's not much you can do about it," he says.

"But you can, right?"

"Don't search for something that's already gone. Life changes people." He plays with his fingers. "And sometimes those people don't wish to go back to the way they once were. They refuse to allow others to own them." They refuse to allow their mothers and brothers own them, to use them and profit from them. "They want to belong to themselves."

"What happens when they belong to themselves?" He looks up, meeting her eyes. She has obviously decided to play his game. "Do they forget what caring about friends, relatives, or even old classmates is like?"

"They shouldn't." They shouldn't. It is a much safer answer than they don't.

"Do they accept themselves after they change?"

"They learn to do so. It's not easy, but they do."

"Do they do it because they like the way they are or because they have no other choice?"

Peeta sighs. "Latter," he mumbles.

"Then, they haven't really accepted themselves. I hope they do realize we're still talking in third person," she points out.

He gasps furiously. "I'm not in the mood for a fight."

"I'm not looking for a fight, Peeta. I just care about you." She gives him a weak smile.

"Please, don't. You can't—you can't do that now. When you called me after all that time…you didn't do it to see how I was. Okay, I was fine; I understand why you wouldn't need to do it. But you asking for me to share my home with a girl I barely knew had nothing to do with how much you care about me. The favor was for her."

He breathes in and out, waiting for her response, watching her stare back at him, expecting to hear her deny what he accused her of.

"I'm sorry," she says instead.

"Hey," he breathes. "I still love you, you know. You're my little cousin."

"You're barely a year older than me," she complains.

"You will always be my favorite, little cousin." Needless to say, she's his father's niece. The cousins from his mother's side are an entirely different story.

"Try her," Madge urges.

"What?"

"Katniss. Make sure she understands you consider her a person. Show her you trust her. Try her and she'll come around." He nods.

"I should go in a minute," she tells him. He panics a little at the thought of her leaving. He doesn't want to let her go yet.

"You can stay. I haven't even made you your spaghetti."

"It's okay. I can cook when I get home. I'm not that hungry." She stands from the stool. He panics a little more. Human interaction feels better than he can recall. (It's not like he doesn't talk to his customers or employees every day, but this is different. She knows what he has been through, even though at the same time she really doesn't.)

"Stay," he nearly begs. "I'm all alone. I have nothing better to do."

He can see in her eyes that she feels bad for him. He does, too.

.

.

Katniss moans in frustration. She runs her one hand through her tangled hair and proceeds to open one more drawer. She wants to kick the first thing she will find in front of her.

The only thing she needs to do with the freaking spoon is stir her milk. Why can't she remember where Mellark keeps his spoons? How can that be possible after a week and a half of living in this house? And why are there so many drawers?

She just wants to sleep again. Maybe she can do that, if she finds what she's looking for. She is aware a simple object like a spoon can't exactly chase away her nightmares, but if she loses hope, everything will be a lot worse.

Her dreams always start with a car. She's in it, her hands glued to the steering wheel, her feet unable to feel the brake under them. She drives and drives and drives and doesn't know how to stop. Sometimes, she even sees her parents in it. She's not inside, she's not talking to them, but she always finds a way to follow them until the vehicle disappears from her sight or breaks into a million pieces in front of her very eyes.

"Try the third one." His voice catches her off guard, making her jump as she instinctively turns around. She holds a hand to her chest until her breathing becomes less frantic and her heartbeat calms inside her.

How long had he been watching her?

She whispers his name—not the first one that seems too familiar for her to bear—and spots him leaning against the door-frame of the kitchen. She must have been making too much noise, since she would have normally heard him approach. His footsteps are heavy and easily recognizable.

"I…I didn't know. You're usually not here and—I'm just surprised. That's all."

He nods. "Okay."

She doesn't know what else to say. What the heck is wrong with her?

"The third drawer," he says again.

"Right," she mutters. But wait. Which one of the three third drawers? (What does the boy keep in all twelve of them?)

"The other side," he advises when he notices where she's looking at. She follows his instructions and finds what she needs along with several knives and forks.

"Thanks," she says. "I added honey. I need to…" She trails off, but makes a repetitive circular motion with her hand, hoping to enlighten him about what she might be doing fifteen minutes past midnight.

"Stir it," he finishes for her.

"It will only take a minute," she promises, quickly averting her gaze from his, before the spoon sinks in the lukewarm water.

"You don't have to leave." She freezes. There is no wonder she's not okay. She thinks she just heard him say, "You don't have to leave because of me. The house is yours, too."

"I was going anyway. I'll give you time to do—whatever." She risks stealing a glance at him. He looks amused, which makes her feel even more humiliated than before.

"Couldn't sleep?" he guesses.

"No," she admits. She considers adding something else, but soon realizes she is not obliged to offer any kind of explanations. She usually likes to talk about her nightmares, though, the only person she really dares to say everything to is her sister, Prim. She is the only one who truly understands her. The words of comfort after a nightmare have nothing to do with sympathy, but pain. Primrose is hurt, too.

"Do you want to talk?" he offers. She snaps her head to her right. To you? About what?

"Not really," she answers honestly.

"Madge thinks our distance is not normal," he blurts out. It looks like he has different plans than Katniss, regardless her opinion.

"I know," she tells him. "She told me."

"Oh," is the only thing he says in return.

"I beg to differ. Don't you set the rules in your life? Don't youknow what you want to consider normal and what not?"

"Yeah, but…" She takes the steaming cup in her hand. She walks closer to him—or rather closer to the outlet. She should be out of here. "Katniss," he calls.

"Mellark," she mimics his tone, raising both of her eyebrows.

"I've thought about what she said."

"You didn't need to. It doesn't change anything." She shrugs. Once she notices his troubled expression, however, she is tempted to stay for a little longer, just to see what all this is about.

"Well…" He grimaces slightly, nervously rubbing the back of his neck with his one hand. "I kind of wanted to make a start. We can be—"

"—friends?" she completes his sentence incredulously.

"I was going to say on talking terms. But anything would be fine." He drops his hand back to his one side and tries to smile. (He fails.)

She sighs. They're not even on first name basis—he still calls her Katniss, but she can't call him Peeta. It's too friendly. How the heck are they going to be talking buddies?

"Talking terms sounds…" She hesitates. Good? Fine? Okay? "…acceptable," she finishes. He nods. "Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight." She heads for the doorframe he had been supporting his weight on earlier and keeps walking until she reaches the darkness out of the kitchen.

That was…weird, but also pretty interesting.

"Hey, Katniss?" She turns around to look at him. She's sure he can't see her very well from where he's standing, since the light of the room barely illuminates her slim form, but she's still thankful for it.

"Yeah?"

"That day in high school…" He is going too far.

"Forget it. Maybe some other day, but I can't talk about it now."

"Some other day, then."

"Thanks." She has thanked him twice in less than ten minutes.

"I'll cook lunch tomorrow. I'll be in the bakery when you come back from work, but I'll have food for you, too." He pauses. "Okay?"

Huh?

"Okay." She's sure she can figure it out tomorrow.

December, Week Four

The house in Twelve is empty on Christmas Eve.

After getting used to spending her holidays with her whole family, Katniss refuses to stay there all alone. Peeta had made sure to inform her he would be absent on the twenty-fifth of December and the day before that—she remembers him engaging her into a brief conversation about one of his employees, Vick.

She can already feel this year will be much different. Prim's break has started and, for some reason, Katniss believes inviting her in her new home is not one of the greatest ideas. Instead, the sisters end up staying at Madge's, much to the girl's pleasure.

Prim's persistence to decorate the place isn't utterly neglected. (She and her mother used to do that every single year until now, as Katniss preferred to just watch them.) Madge eventually has no choice but to give in, while Katniss agrees for no other reason than to keep her hands as busy as possible.

They find themselves in Madge's bedroom (they would have to dedicate hours to take care of every room, so they don't bother to focus on anywhere else) at around seven in the evening, listening to Primrose as she chatters about how the Christmas spirit is gone and how they have to bring it back, somehow. (If Katniss didn't already adore her sister, she would consider her attitude not only bizarre, but also nearly unbearable. But she knows. She knows that, unlike her, Prim doesn't get completely and utterly lost in work. She doesn't try to be perfect—she accepts herself even when her cons sometimes outweigh her pros. She understands her parents wouldn't want their daughters to mourn them, not anymore. All this is what Katniss can't always fully comprehend. Though, her sister's happy words are probably what she needs to hear right now.)

They carry an average-sized green tree, the smallest one in the house, before they spend a good couple of hours searching for what to use to decorate it as well as the rest of the room. Katniss notices how each one of them deliberately lingers on the most meaningless details. She notices how Prim's fingers tangle with the golden ribbons in her lap or how Madge mutters several incoherent phrases to herself, insisting on keeping the colourful lights all over her small balcony. At some point, when her sister argues that in reality the mistletoe should be yellow instead of red, Katniss joins the conversation as well.

She learns about Prim's stay at her dormitory in college and realizes that when she's asked about her opinion on the matter "Peeta Mellark", her words are nothing but a combination of mumbled complaints and rushed explanations. Prim of course remembers the kind, outgoing boy from their first grade of high school—Katniss has to hear about how nice he was for ten excruciatingly long minutes from both her and her best friend—and giggles. The sound of her small laugh still hasn't changed. The brunette is almost jealous of her—she wishes she could laugh, too.

Katniss is also pretty surprised at the news of Prim sharing a desk with a boy. Madge smiles knowingly every time she hears Rory did this and Rory did that and Rory said he's from Twelve and Rory keeps Rue and me company after classes.

They barely sleep that night. (Madge offers them a room and they share the bed like they used to do when they were little.) It is the only time of the day when Prim lets Katniss—and only Katniss—see how much her parents' car accident has affected her. It's been five whole months since then, but her death grip on Katniss's hand betrays her fears.

Her blue eyes glister in the darkness.

Don't leave like they did.

Katniss squeezes her fingers in reassurance.

I won't.

"Once you get home and the time for my second break comes, expect a visit from me," Prim says in the end. "I really want to meet your roommate."

Katniss can hear the smile in her voice. She rolls her eyes and lets out a snort. This is what only Prim would say.

She can only imagine Christmas will be as quiet as today was.

January, Week Two

She and Mellark soon develop an unusual, yet particularly comfortable routine. They take turns when it comes to cooking, cleaning, as well as taking care of the rest of the house chores. Katniss already knows the quality of the food can be really awful on Wednesdays (this and some Sundays are the only days of the week she's not working at Sae's farm), but Peeta doesn't utter a single word about her atrocious cooking skills nevertheless. They never eat together. He informs her every time he leaves or gets in the house and she starts working on actually greeting him in the mornings. (They both have to be early risers whether they want it or not. He has the bakery, she has Sae.)

One day, however—Sunday to be exact—, the convenient, safe routine is broken. Katniss descends the stairs as she thinks of how much she wants to spend the rest of her day in the library, the sound of her feet echoing in the silence of the hallway as she jumps on the thick carpet.

She stands still for a moment. She almost thinks she can hear—yes, this is what she hears; laughter.

She has never heard Peeta laugh before. It is not like she can't understand him—there has been nothing important enough for him to laugh at so far.

She enters the living room, just to stop dead on her tracks moments later. She flinches. She doesn't like seeing new faces when they look back at her. And this is exactly what the tall—unknown to her—boy is doing at the moment. His skin is tanned in contrast to Peeta's, his hair a dark brown color—almost black.

Her eyes grow wide as if she is caught doing something she shouldn't have been doing, while nothing is heard anymore.

"Hey," Peeta greets her.

"Hi," she greets back shyly. She tries her best not to let her gaze focus on the stranger, even though she can feel his piercing stare on her.

An unfamiliar silence stretches out and Katniss is soon threatened to be overcome by the fear of being engulfed in it. Moments later, though, she realizes she would have preferred the lack of words to having the opportunity to hear Peeta's visitor talk.

"You should have told me you had company," he says to Peeta. Katniss finally risks another glance at them, knowing the conversation is between the two of them. She's wrong.

"Gale," Mellark starts. She guesses this his friend's—is he a friend?—name. "Have you been paying attention to anything I may have told you? This is Katniss."

Gale's moves are quick. He approaches her before she has the chance to take any steps backwards.

"Gale Hawthorne," he introduces himself and extends a hand for her to take and, consequently, shake. She scowls at it, already aware of the fact that the simple gesture will change nothing but the stranger's opinion for her. Better yet, it will help him form one—Katniss anticipates the moment when he realizes she's not worthy of either his time or his attention.

To her utter surprise, he smirks. He doesn't move from right in front of her, which does nothing but increase her new-found desire to flee the room as soon as possible.

"She's different, isn't she? Catnip's nothing like the Glitter girl," he states, the amusement clear in his hazel eyes.

"It's Katniss," she corrects him. She can't comprehend Mellark's look of uneasiness. What's wrong with her being compared to this Glitter girl? (She doesn't like being compared to anyone, but she still doesn't understand why Mellark would care so much.)

"Uh…Gale, that's my roommate. I've had a roommate for over a month, remember?" He huffs. "Of course you don't."

"Hey, can you blame me?" Hawthorne instantly appears to be defensive. He eventually moves away from Katniss. "You wouldn't answer your darn phone."

"I've had a roommate before," Peeta points out. "It's not a big deal."

The whole acting-like-Katniss-is-not-in-the-room thing has started to unnerve her. She crosses her arms in front of her chest and taps her foot on the floor. She is not taken aback when she hears no sound from this move of hers—the soft thump of her sock against the floor is nearly inaudible.

The two friends keep bickering like old ladies until she decides she has better things to do than standing there and watching them.

"Don't forget it's your turn to clean the house today," she reminds Mellark.

'The house' consists of the first floor and the library, since they have agreed to share the second floor's chores. She takes the one half of it and he takes the other half—each one's bedroom and bathroom included

"What? This week is yours!" he protests.

"But I cleaned it last week," she counters.

"You volunteered to clean it last week."

"That makes no difference. It's your turn."

"I have company."

"I can call Madge. Then, I'll have company, too."

"I have an idea," Gale announces. They turn to look at him. "Why don't you clean it together?" he says. They sneer at both him and his ridiculous suggestion. They are clearly on talking terms. Hanging around with each other is an entirely different story for Katniss. She wants to hope Mellark won't be asking much from her, either.

"No, thanks, Hawthorne."

"It's Gale," he corrects her, mimicking her tone from before. "And I'm also sorry to tell you that you will have to clean the house by yourself. He—" he points at Peeta, "—has agreed to let me beat him at basketball."

"We'll see about that."

"We'll see about that indeed, Mellark," Katniss says.

He frowns. "Will it hurt you to call me by my first name?"

"Maybe," she says in mock seriousness. "I'm calling, Madge." Just for good measure.

"Wait a minute," he asks. She does. "Do you play basketball?"

She hesitates. "Yeah," she admits. "Why?"

He looks satisfied. "Call Madge. I have an idea." He looks confident.

.

.

He was a little too confident, Katniss realizes. He underestimated her and his friend—even though she and Gale were forced to become a team, she thinks she can get used to his careless spirit and forwardness—and ended up with a familiar grimace on his face.

Peeta Mellark rarely lets anyone see this grimace, but when he does, Katniss has to admit she feels as if she appreciates it. It makes him human and real. The careful glances and half-smiles he has been giving her since they agreed to talk like proper roommates seemed all strange, forced and fake. He is too polite for her taste—why can't he just fight her so she can fight back?—, too good to be the fifteen-year-old boy she remembers from high school. But then again, is what she remembers correct?

The faint rays of the sun are soothing against her skin, yet the soft breeze doesn't cease to make her shudder. She can feel beads of sweat collecting on her forehead, under the layers of clothes, on the back of her neck. She's cold from just standing on the backyard's small basketball court and hot by running nonstop.

Mellark groans in his hands. His head is bowed, buried in his palms, while his back is firmly pressed against the column of the basketball net.

"It looks like Catnip's not so bad, huh?"

Katniss ignores the fact that Hawthorne deliberately got her name wrong again. "You're not so bad yourself." This, coming out of her mouth, is supposed to be a huge compliment.

"I hate basketball," Madge declares. "I bet Peeta does now, too."

He lifts his gaze, letting his hands fall back down and gives her a look full of query. Katniss wonders whether he has forgotten the whole of this game already. But he couldn't possibly have. He was the one to suggest it. He was the one to take Madge in his team. He was the one who lost.

Katniss feels as if she has accomplished something important. She knows she has ensured herself a quiet day in the library and that's enough for now—after he cleans that room, of course.

She grins at him widely, triumphantly.

"I guess we know who has to do the chores now," she says, her tone slightly provoking him, challenging him. She expects to hear a clever, almost cruel repartee.

What she gets in return has nothing to do with her expectations, though. It's a smile; boyish, welcoming, heartwarming. She decides that if she appreciates his frowns, then she likes his smiles. The real ones.