a/n; don't be fooled by the genre. i can't write funny. but i wanted to try, because i like happy gale/katniss, even though happy is not my forte. and i miss writing ultra long pieces of them. so, happy reading!~

..:::there's this thing.

Fact: Gale likes Madge.

No, that's not right. Katniss erases the thought, then she narrows her eyes, looking out to the sunrise.

Fact: Gale wants to take Madge to the slag heap.

She winces at the image and shakes her head. The thought is so outlandish that she has to backtrack and erase the thought again.

Okay, so maybe she should start at the beginning: Gale is suddenly not as rude to Madge as he used to be.

And this is something quite pivotal. Gale doesn't change his mind with simple persuasion. He needs evidence and proof and a forceful change of heart. He didn't start trusting Katniss until months and months and months after they first met.

He's hated Madge since the dawn of time. There's never been a moment where he's gone out of his way to be civil toward her. He doesn't like her blonde curls or her rosy cheeks or doll like appearance. He just doesn't.

And now he does. Suddenly. Out of the blue. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am, and he gives Madge a smile. On her doorstep. As if he's done it a million times before.

It was June twenty-third when that happened. They were on their weekly trade route, making their round to their usual fare. Katniss remembers this day because they gave Madge a whole basket full of fresh, plump, gorgeous strawberries. The season was perfect for them, and they found a dozen bushes ripe and fat with them all over. Madge's father paid a pretty penny for them.

She doesn't remember this day just because Madge gave a cursory glance to Gale. Or that Gale gave her a less-than-disdainful look. Or that he smiled at her—astonishingly not as forced or as strained as it usually is to everyone else in the district.

But if she's honest, Katniss doesn't really care about those things. She and Gale respect each other enough to give each other the very important friend-space. He can do what he wants, as long as it doesn't interfere with being able to provide for their families, and vice versa for her. It's never been a question between them. It's never been an arguable thing between them. Besides, she remembers that day because the money from those strawberries turned out to stock their whole kitchen cabinet.

The only thing that bothers her is that she hadn't noticed the change as it happened. It must have been gradual. Gale doesn't start things or quit things cold turkey. When he gets an idea, he doesn't let it go. He holds onto it. It's just the same when he doesn't like something. He decides he isn't fond of it, and it takes a ridiculous amount of energy to even put a doubt in his mind that he might like it.

So she wonders how she could have missed this. They've become almost attached at the hip. When they aren't in school, they're almost always together except for the occasional day where Katniss has to do chores around the house or when she spends valuable time with Prim.

Was that enough time to miss out on Gale's changing feelings?

Not that they're considerably open when it comes to those touchy-feely feelings. Katniss doesn't have many of those. Gale might—she suddenly wonders if he does, and why they've never truly broached the topic if they're such good friends—but he's hasn't shown her any of those feelings. He doesn't touch her unless he's chasing her up a tree or nudges her with his shoulder after a joke or two, and he keeps a locked quiet about what he does intimately on his own time.

And sure, Katniss knows Gale's reputation. There are a few other guys like Gale, and everyone knows about it. Almost the whole school girl population, littered with raging hormones, wants to do something with them. The older female population looks at him differently, too, but both Gale and Katniss always use that to their advantage. Selling to them is like guaranteeing enough money to buy something special for Gale's siblings and Prim.

Katniss doesn't need to mention to anyone that her hormones don't rage. They've always been slightly dormant. Gale certainly didn't hold any sort of appeal to persuade her into wanting to jump on him and do whatever those girls did with him at the slag heap. And by whatever, Katniss has a pretty detailed idea. Not that she's imagined it more than necessary, but she is kind of curious.

They don't talk about what he does like all the girls in school do. And Katniss doesn't have any real girlfriends—not including Madge, who is as close to a friend that Katniss might ever have as a friend of the same gender—to talk to about boys and feelings and other vapid, unimportant things. Why talk about them when they won't last, anyway? District life has a deeper, darker tone about life than wondering if she'll get to make out with Joe Schmo tomorrow or next week or before the Reaping.

Still, that outlook on life is the reason why she can't make any friends.

"Hey, Catnip."

She jumps at his voice, glancing up to him. He stands beside her, looking amused and crossing his arms.

"You'd think it's been long enough to get used to me sneaking up on you," he says, taking a seat by her.

Oh, right, she thinks sarcastically. Maybe when I'm not thinking about you and Madge and slag heaps and hormones.

She gives him a shrug, scuffing her boot against the grass. It's early morning, just past dawn, and the dew on the blades of grass stain the rim of her ragged cargo pants.

"You're here early."

She shrugs again. She has to admit she hasn't beaten him in punctuality in the forest since who knows how long. She always blamed it on the fact that she lived further away from their meet up spot than he did. But she doesn't want to dwell on the fact that she couldn't sleep well because she was distracted by feelings. And curiosity. And confusion.

After a day or two, they'll surely be gone. Surely.

"Couldn't sleep," she allows, not daring to speak about any if her thoughts—which is an admitted first. She always tells him what's on her mind, if it bothers her enough. But she's definitely not going to let this bother her to the point where she has to talk about it.

Because as close as she is to Gale, it would be a desperately awkward conversation.

"Something bothering you?"

"Of course not," she answers quickly. Then she stands and commands that they start their morning hunt, before he's able to look at her too closely.

It takes a few days before Katniss realizes that she's unconsciously examining Madge every chance she gets. At first, the thoughts are innocent enough.

Madge is kind of pretty.

She has really, really green eyes.

How did she possibly make an A on that last test? Maybe because she's the Mayor's daughter.

Maybe she's smart.

Does Gale like his girls smart?

Does he like taking smart girls to the slag heap?

As soon as that last thought broke into her brain, she flinched, made a face at herself for wondering—and for not knowing—and for caring that she didn't know—and told herself to stop being stupid.

But then another day passes, and another, and it becomes harder and harder to keep her stupid thoughts at bay. They ravage all of her logical senses, and they become an itch that gets worse and worse and worse. She swears she contracts hives.

Madge's hair looks like spun gold today.

Her clothes are all pressed and clean.

Where does she get shoes like that?

Is that makeup?

Are her eyebrows naturally like that?

When Katniss starts to feel self-conscious about her appearance (going to the bathroom and checking herself out in the mirror is not something she does, on principle), she stops on her way back to her classroom, and she stands in the hallway, eyes widening.

This is not happening. She isn't becoming like all those other town girls. These aren't hormones. This isn't jealousy. This isn't anger. Then what the hell is it?

All she knows is that it's something that makes her care, and she really, truly doesn't want to care.

Nothing makes Katniss Everdeen care about what she looks like. Nothing.

...except for when something does make her care.

On the morning of one of their hunting days, Katniss can't help herself. Really. She can't. She lets her braid hang loosely, let's some of her shorter hair frame her face. She picks out her freshest hunting clothes.

And as much as she fights her motions and tells herself that she's going to get sweaty and dirty and gross anyway, just like every time they go hunting, she can't seem to make herself stop wanting to look a little bit...nicer.

"You sure took your time this morning," Gale says to her when she finally makes her way to their spot.

She feels an unwelcome heat flare up on her neck. She glares.

"I didn't take that long."

"Catnip, dawn was at least an hour ago."

It comes out like an accusation. She lifts her chin at him.

"If you wanted to start hunting so badly, why did you wait for me in the first place?"

He frowns at her anger. "I never start without you."

"Well maybe you should start!" she shouts, throwing up her hands and probably scaring away a few rabbits. "Since I take so long."

Gale gives her a funny look, before he crosses his arms at her.

"What's wrong with you this morning?"

She almost tells him it's not what's wrong with her, but what's better about her. Either way, under his hard stare, it doesn't seem like he sees any of the extra work she put into her appearance this morning, and she inwardly sighs.

It's not like she knows how to fix her hair besides putting it in a braid, and she doesn't have that makeup stuff to fix her face, and she can't afford to wear nice clothes when she's worried about starving.

So she says, "Nothing. I woke up late."

He doesn't look like he believes her, but he drops it, saying they should get started on their hunt.

Not once does he tell her that she looks nice, though she hates herself for hoping that he will. Why should he anyway? It's just another normal day out of all their others.

Expecting him to suddenly voice that he thinks she's pretty is outlandish and...oddly upsetting. And irrational and hugely silly.

She blames it on the fact that his sudden interest in Madge was just that. Sudden. And irrational. And, if she's honest, completely against his values of society.

But whatever. She'll get over it.

Katniss knows Madge isn't like all the other town girls. Even with being the Mayor's daughter, she doesn't squeal or squawk or make deliberate eyes at every boy that passes. She doesn't bullshit anyone, and she almost speaks less than Katniss. She even sits by her during the lunch hour, at times, even though not much is said between them—and if there is, it's Madge that starts the short conversations.

It's a week after the failed forest attempt when Madge sits with her again, at lunch, and it's half way over when she starts with a surprising topic.

"Do you know Peeta?" she asks her, tearing at the crust if her sandwich.

At the mention, Katniss' eyes automatically find Peeta's blond head, sitting at a bench with a few other kids, facing away from her.

"I know who he is."

Madge shifts a little, as if uncertain how to go about continuing.

"I know you don't care about these things—I hardly do. But he likes you."

She says it very bluntly. Katniss gives her a look.

"Likes me?"

"He has a crush on you," she clarifies. At Katniss' uninterested stare, she says, "I just wanted you to know, in case...well, just in case."

Katniss furrows her brow. "In case what?"

"In case, before the next Reaping. It's nice to have someone in this place."

At the words, Katniss stomach plummets to her toes. It's instantaneous. She just knows. Knows Madge is talking about Gale. Madge's got his comfort. And she's offering that Katniss can have Peeta's because…why? Because she feels sorry for her?

But Katniss doesn't need anyone's comfort. And she doesn't want it, most of all. Doesn't Madge know that? Unless she's turning into all those other girls who whisper about Gale in class. Maybe she is, if Gale uses...whatever it is that he uses on her.

Katniss stares at her meager lunch for a few minutes, before blurting out (because she was really only thinking about asking, before she asked), "Are you with Gale?"

Madge colors. "What?"

"Gale. Are you with him or not?"

"Shouldn't you know? You're always with him." Madge shifts, eyes close to challenging.

"We don't talk about those things," Katniss says, already getting angry. "So tell me."

Madge looks at her for a while before giving a small shrug. "I'm not with him. You know as well as I do that Gale's never with anyone."

Except me, Katniss hears her mind splutter. He's with me.

It's a possessive (but true, she tells herself) thought. He looks out for her. She looks out for him. It seems as if it's been that way forever.

But he's never asked her about feelings and she's never asked him about all those girls that act like they're in love with him.

She's not sure if that fact constitutes as cheating. Is their friendship only specific in the area of survival? Does he even care about her life outside of him and her family?

She bites her lip. She hasn't thought about them in that way before. They might only be friends out of convenience. If she wasn't good at the bow, he wouldn't have given her a second glance, and if she hadn't met him that day in the forest, she might have never met him at all. He'd be one of those rumors in the hallways, a name in a whisper, a dream.

When the lunch bell rings, Katniss stands and leaves without giving Madge another glance.

Katniss is not so clueless to be completely oblivious to Peeta's attentions. But she has to admit, he's subtle. He's careful in the way he hides it and the way he shows it. He's nice to her, at least, and that's almost strange enough in itself.

She doesn't dwell on it. Besides, the Reaping happens in another week. And the deal with Peeta has confused her ever since he showed compassion and threw her that burnt piece of bread.

...not that it's rocket science, but still. One package of emotions over a boy is more than she'd like to handle.

She sighs, walking through the Hob and glancing into all the open door and windows. She passes the usual scenery of trinkets, making a tally of the important items missing from their bare kitchen shelf. There's some grains, oils, Gale and Madge talking, blankets, unsharpened knives...

She jolts, then impulsively hurries past the building, behind a column, giving herself a minimal view of the side of Gale's face. If she cranes her neck around, she can glimpse Madge, but there's a high probability that Madge's eyes could dart and notice her, and she doesn't want to chance that.

Because spying on her best friend? Not exactly something she ever thought she'd do. But at the moment, does she care?

She thinks about it, trying to discern Gale's subtle movements toward Madge. She sees him slowly grin. Well, only half a grin that she can see, but a grin nonetheless. It crinkles his eyes. They sparkle.

Annnd...nope. There goes caring.

Because he's giving Madge her smile. Hers. Katniss'. An only-in-the-forest-smile, smile.

What could Madge have possibly said or done to get him to smile like that?

It's the makeup. The eyes. Or the curls that Gale doesn't care about.

She chances a peek around the edge of the column, just to get a look-see of Madge in all her glory, only to see her laughing with her head tilted back, and God, could she get any more pretty—

"Katniss!"

She makes a noise under her breath, spinning around haphazardly. She rubs down her shirt and hair on instinct, looking up to Darius with wide eyes.

"Oh, Darius. Hi."

He chuckles at her. "What, did I startle the best hunter of Twelve?"

She is so bad at being casual. And lying.

Doesn't keep her from trying. "Don't make me laugh, Darius." She tries for a light laugh, but it comes out nervous and fake, and she almost slaps herself.

He raises an eyebrow at her, his head moving to the side to see past the column. "It's always nice to try," he says before, "What caught your eye in there, anyway? Isn't like you to not go in and bar -"

"Nothing!" she squeaks too hurried. "I was just passing by. Actually, I think Sae needed you for something. I can't remember what it was, but she wanted you as soon as possible."

He gives her an even funnier look. "Sae? What would that old bird want with -"

"Yeah! Sae. You know what she's like when she's mad. I wouldn't take any chances."

Darius rubs at his chin for a moment, staring at her suspiciously. Katniss can swear she's sweating behind her neck. Darius isn't super perceptive, but he's smart enough, and if he tilts his head one more centimeter, he'll see Gale and Madge and he'll just know.

Everyone in this town thinks Katniss and Gale have a thing. A romantic thing. And they don't. But Katniss knows what this looks like, and everyone always seems to end up with the same, suggestive conclusions.

Why can't boys and girls just be friends?

"I guess you're right, goldie locks," Darius ends up with, sighing, and Katniss sags against the column in physical relief. "Sae's got a lot of nasty knives behind her counter."

Katniss gives him a strained smile in agreement as he says goodbye and turns in the opposite direction. She watches his back as he walks away and rubs at her forehead, rolling her eyes in extreme gratitude. Then she glances around, making sure no familiar persons are in the vicinity, before letting her eyes stray a mere inch last the column—

She makes a strangled noise and nearly falls backward. Gale reaches out quickly to grab one of her flailing arms.

"Catnip?" he laughs, getting her steady. Her cheeks flare uncontrollably as she avoids his gaze. She makes a furtive glance around him, but Madge is nowhere in sight.

"Gale," she manages. "...hi."

"You okay?" He looks at her, eyes amused.

She desperately tries to give out another laugh, before she realizes, oh yeah, this is Gale, and her strange behavior will be noticed in a millisecond. Lies don't work with him—at least, they never have before. She reaches out to the column for support, desperate, leaning against it.

"I'm—fine. I just, I didn't realize you were here. That's all."

Ugh, he's smiling at her. The smile that isn't solely hers anymore. She grimaces.

"I was...looking around," Gale shrugs, his eyes thoughtful on her. The kind of thoughtful that means he actually knows her secrets. She swallows.

"What were you doing?" he leans against the column too. "Being all jumpy. I've never scared you that bad before."

Katniss averts her eyes from him, discreetly stepping back from the column. "I was...um..." she thinks frantically, knowing whatever she pulls out of her ass won't be believed by him anyway, so why is she even trying –

Her eyes hit the sign of the shop just a few yards down the road. She doesn't think very hard about what she says until she says it.

"I was going to the bakery."

Gale's easy smile falls. "The bakery?"

Either she said the best thing by his sudden distraction from her weirdness, or she said the worst thing. The worst possible thing. She can't tell which. She doesn't like it when he looks at her that way.

"Yeah...the bakery." She clears her throat.

"Why?"

She stands a little straighter. "Why not?"

He blinks at her, taking in her stance.

"You never go there unless it's to give Mellark a squirrel or two."

She shrugs at him, trying not to seem too nervous. "I go there sometimes."

Gale's eyes flash. "When?"

And she's suddenly mad that he's suddenly mad, because he screws around with all kinds of girls, and she does something he doesn't know about (hypothetically, of course) and he gets all wound up and defensive?

Sure he's her friend, but he's never been this uptight about her doing something without him before.

"I don't know, Gale!" she says. "Does it matter? It's not like I'm obligated to be with you every time I come out of my house."

He crosses his arms, his stare still painstakingly thoughtful, though heated by...something. It's obvious that it's anger, but it's a specific anger. It's not the broad, I-hate-the-Capitol-anger, but it's something.

And no, she refuses to regard it as anything close to jealousy, because that's outrageous. Gale's never gotten jealous or led her to believe he'd be jealous about anything. Of all the things they've talked about, this is one of those touchy-feely ones they haven't.

Either way, the look makes her shrink enough to feel uncomfortable.

"It matters to me," he says, brusque.

She narrows her eyes, placing her hands on her hips. "Why? Why does it possibly matter?"

She can see his jaw tighten, can tell he doesn't think when he starts to say, "It matters because you're min—" Then he stops himself, eyes slightly wider than normal. He glances away from her, looking somewhere in between a rock and a hard place (Katniss knows because she feels the same exact way), and then sighs.

"It matters because you're my friend," he says, still looking toward the ground. "My best friend. And I…you can tell me when…"

He flounders on his words, and he quiets for a moment. Then he shakes his head, frustrated.

"Never mind," he mutters, going to walk around her. "Do what you want."

"Gale," she hears herself call out, but he doesn't turn back to her. And she's too perplexed to really try and stop him. She's not sure what she'd tell him.

She stands there long enough to watch him disappear. Once he does, she pushes off her heel and heads home, wondering if he finished saying what he was truly going to say…then maybe things would make more sense.

Or not.

She grumbles. Why does this feel like it's such a mess when it's not?

The day of the Reaping comes quick—quicker than usual. And it's the worst possible time, because she hasn't been able to gain enough courage to bring up the subject of—well—feelings to Gale. Though, being honest, he hasn't tried to bring anything up since she lied about going to the bakery.

In fact, he's been quieter than usual. They aren't the most talkative, but it's never strained. And the past few days, that's what it's felt like. Katniss hates it, and what's worse is that she doesn't know how to go about fixing it. They've never had a problem before. Gale acts like there isn't a problem when there so obviously is.

It isn't all in her head. Of this, she's certain. Positive. He wouldn't be so silently contemplative if it was. But maybe Gale's always been good at ignoring the important things—if he considers this important. He's a lot like her in that respect. Because if it feels important, it'll be taken away. It's always taken away.

They've all heard things about what the Capitol does to the important things in people's lives. And who knows if they realize they sneak out into the forest all the time. They probably do. They might even punish them in some sadistic way. Gale's always paranoid about those things—Katniss doesn't care about thinking of it, though it's hard to not get rubbed off on. But this place has never betrayed them before. And the only important things they're betraying now is themselves.

Katniss hasn't realized how much bravery it took to start a conversation about something that bothered her. It seems the closer her and Gale have gotten, the harder it is to speak.

It's never been truer than the morning of the Reaping, waiting for him to arrive with an arrow stuck through a gorgeous chunk of bread, her with Prim's goat cheese. They eat their breakfast like champions before playing off the Games like that's what they are—they make fun of Effie, then they'll make fun of Haymitch, and they'll ignore all that dread inside them because those feelings are important and annoying and always desperately clinging to the backs of their hearts.

She asks how many times he's in the potluck, and he tells her some freakish number, one she doesn't want to know. She's in there less than him, but she wishes she wasn't. He might leave her, and she doesn't want him to leave her, ever.

The thing with Madge seems somewhat obsolete now, because he's here with her, instead. And this means more than him giving Madge her smile or even doing things with Madge that he'd never consider doing with her.

"Wear something pretty," he tells her, in that sarcastic way, before walking off and she can't kept quiet.

"Gale," she says, stopping him. He glances over to her. And it's just like when she was outside in the lane of the Hob, watching him leave and hardly knowing what she actually wants to say.

He gives her a questioning glance when she says nothing, and all she can get out is, "I'll see you out there."

He must notice something, because he turns fully, a slight smile gracing his lips.

"Once the ceremony is over," he starts, putting his hands in his pockets. "Meet me down at the lake. When you can."

Her eyebrows pinch. "The lake? We haven't been out there since..."

"I know," he agrees. "But I'd like to go there, if we...well."

"There are going to be a lot of Peacekeepers, you know."

He shrugs easily. "So? Never stopped us before."

If Katniss is honest, she'd like to remember this moment forever—what it looks like and feels like. Gale being normal on the worst day of every year of their lives, giving her something to blindly look forward to.

She thinks this might be the reason she wanted to look nice for him, that one day, twenty-two days ago.

Even though he didn't notice. Not that she's not over that.

It's almost a miracle when Gale isn't called up onto the podium. Katniss sweats enough for him, and this place is never on their side. She tried to prepare herself for the lake to be a dream, if only because preparing for the worst is inevitable.

One girl goes up, followed by one boy, and they might as well be unlucky strangers. Katniss doesn't let herself think too hard about who they are, in case she remembers something about them. In case they make her feel guilty about celebrating that they're going to die and not her.

But she catches Gale's eyes across the way, and he gives her the smile and he only gives it to her. She's not sure where Madge is, but she can't care about that when she smiles back, feeling better about everything and anything.

She can't get to the lake fast enough. It's about three hours since the end of all the Capitol nonsense, but she isn't surprised when Gale isn't there yet. It's harder to get away from a family of four others. And Hazelle is a hawk. She'd never let him go out here today. All Katniss had to do was hug Prim and tell her she'd be back later. Her mom wasn't very forceful in her caution, but that's fine with Katniss. If she was, Katniss would question what was going on with her.

She takes off her boots and rolls up her pants, dipping her feet into the water. It's cool and refreshing against her toes, dark like a mouth, the black, blue depth a mystery. She sighs and sits back onto her hands, lolling her head back and relaxing, the light rays of the sun warm against her face.

She guesses she could get in the water and swim while she waits for him. Or she could just wait for him and then get in when he arrives, or...

Wait.

She opens her eyes, getting a great whiff of nerves. She didn't even think about having to undress to swim. Not that she should be nervous about it. She's never been nervous before. Not to mention that she's never consciously thought about being nervous in front of Gale.

She huffs and stands up, deciding she'd rather deal with nerves later than now, throwing off her clothes as fast as she can, stripping down to her underwear before jumping into the lake before much more time passes, beyond thankful when she comes up above water again to see that he wasn't standing there watching and laughing, just suddenly like he sometimes always happens to do.

In fact, he doesn't show up in the next five minutes. Or the next thirty. It's nearing an hour before the thought that maybe he won't show enters her mind, and the preposterousness of that notion is so crazy and...and...

And the past few weeks, Gale hasn't been acting the same. The change is definitely subtle, subtle enough to not worry about it. But after Madge, nothing is certain anymore.

That's what he's doing, isn't it? Madge. Because she wasn't reaped either. Better plant his seed and start a family with a girl before more of them die. Or whatever. She's never understood his fascination about creating a family when all of them will be born here. The worst district in the world.

She angrily gets out of the water, looking in between a prune and an eighty year old man, not caring that her clothes will get all wet as she shoves one of her legs into her pants.

"Catnip—" she hears somewhere behind her. She almost ignores him, but it's so light the way he says it, like he's happy, and her insides burn with enough force to get her to stop and turn around. She glares at him so hard that the smile he has quickly evaporates.

"Hey what—what's wrong?"

She's not on the verge of crying. Really. The fire in her stomach has erupted into her eyes, and she's unbelievably frustrated over nothing, and she...

She can be in denial if she wants to be, goddamnit.

"You," she points, holding up half her pants with the other hand. "Are late."

What she wanted to say was, Did you have fun with the line of remaining girls at the slag heap?

Or, get a nice fuck with the mayor's daughter?

Or, did she let you mess up her curls?

But all of those things are overly nasty, and she wasn't actually thinking he was doing any of those things. Well, maybe he was, but they never talk about that.

Ever.

He takes a few steps closer to her, frowning. "Sorry. I had to do something before coming here."

It's no big deal.

"It...took longer than expected."

Okay, so maybe the slag heap line was longer than normal.

"I didn't mean to keep you waiting," he continues, reaching out a hand that touches her cheek. She flinches at the contact because he never touches her like that. Ever.

"I didn't realize you'd be so upset."

"I'm not upset," she snaps, not noticing that she's crying until his hand reaches out again, persistent, wiping one tear trail away.

"I think you are, Catnip."

"Not about this!" she shouts, stepping away from him. "Not about...not about anything. I'm not upset."

He looks at her for longer than necessary, following her backpedalling by stepping forward.

"Okay," he says. "You're not upset."

She answers him with another glare before a slight breeze hits her and she realizes in a split second that she's almost naked.

Could this get any worse?

And it does, because he glances down at her—very, very briefly—before he asks, "I know you already swam, but...wanna swim with me?"

She opens her mouth, but he doesn't wait for her answer. He starts peeling off his clothes a mere three feet away, and whatever mean thing she was going to say dries up in a flash.

He is so unfairly defined for a boy turning eighteen in a few months. A lot of guys are still scrawny or twiggy, but if Gale ate decently, he'd probably have the broadest shoulders she'd ever see in her lifetime.

He glances at her as he pulls off his pants. "So?"

"So, what?" she says, and it comes out like a whisper. She clears her throat. "What?"

"Swim?"

She thinks about telling him no just to be spiteful, but—

But he pushes her in, laughs, and then takes a running leap into the middle of the lake.

Katniss comes up spluttering, not feeling nearly as amused as him, who comes up smiling, then after looking at her, starts laughing.

"Sorry," he says, not sorry at all. "Couldn't help it."

She tries to remind herself why she likes him.

She slaps water into his face, getting enough in his open mouth to make him choke. He does it back to her, and before she knows it, she's grabbing at his shoulders, trying to push him down below water level.

And it does nothing. He holds her up like she doesn't weigh anything, but she does, and his skin bristles underneath her hands and he's really warm and his arms are just as hard as they look and—yeah, this was probably her worst idea ever.

He's right in front of her, still smiling as if this is the funniest thing in the world, obviously not realizing all this taboo touching they're doing.

"You're way too skinny to try and drown me."

"I think you've forgotten who taught you how to swim."

He raises a playful brow. "You think?"

"I know," she says, giving his shoulders another hard, forceful push. She's able to get him to drop several inches, but not enough to get his whole head under. Sighing at his triumphant look, she lets her arms give, slipping back down into the water, and—

And this is her worst idea ever. She hadn't taken into account how close they were, her front sliding down his front, thin fabric thinner from the water. His hands reach out and grab at her waist, keeping her from slipping down any further.

"Oh," she whispers, anger and frustration disappearing from all this sudden touching. His playful smiling disappears, too, replaced with a different kind of look.

A new look. One she can't place if she's ever seen from him, but one her heart knows—it's automatic, like common knowledge. It gets her cheeks flaring, her blood hot.

It's also automatic when she jerks away, because he is obviously not thinking clearly, not when they're so close, and definitely not when he isn't letting her go.

At first she thinks he's going to kiss her and she panics (though she's taken aback when she realizes she's panicking because she might, might, maybe wonders what it would be like), but he only ends up placing his forehead on hers, closing his eyes and breathing out a sigh, keeping them locked together.

"I'm glad it wasn't you," he says, voice a delicate tremor against her face.

She almost starts crying again and she doesn't have a clue why.

She's not like this. Ever.

She can't seem to answer him back, even though she wishes she could. He might wait for her to speak, but after a minute crawls by, he leans away enough to eye her, his glance still holding that thing in them.

Her skin seems to itch from it. She doesn't like what it makes her feel, because in all honesty, this is not them. Not really. She doesn't want it to be.

At least, she's pretty sure…

She feels herself back away from him, losing his warmth to the coolness of the water. She looks away from him for a second, and when she senses him moving toward her, everything in her begs the question, pleads for it—because either she's crazy now, or she really wants to know how Madge gets her hair to be so curly.

"Why didn't you tell me about Madge?"

He halts his movements. His face quirks at her. "Madge?"

She rolls her eyes. "Don't act stupid."

"I'm not," he says. "What are you talking about?"

"You know!" she snipes back, voice rising slightly. "The mayor's daughter? The one you're supposed to hate? That one?"

His look turns into a glare, and she suddenly can't tell if she likes it more than the other look he was giving her a second ago.

"What about her?" He wades closer. "I've talked to her maybe twice."

"But I saw you!" she says, pointing at him. "At the Hob. She was laughing and you were smiling and…"

His glare turns bemused before it turns violently curious.

"So that's what you were doing there."

"That's not the point," she hurries to say. "I know something's going on between you two. She likes you."

Not that she has a lot of evidence to base that last accusation on, but Madge did blush at his name, and Madge blushes as often as Katniss does. Meaning, never.

"You think she likes me?" Gale says, eyebrows rising, lips curving into this strange smile. He holds up a hand, as if counting, and once his second finger goes up, he nods and says, "Oh, right, that was our second time talking. I bet she's head over heels."

She whips water into his face. "I'm serious."

He shrugs. "So am I."

She stares at him for a while, watching him float on his back. The water makes him glisten.

"How was the slag heap?"

He turns his head toward her, cutting her with his eyes. She can tell he thinks about it.

"How was the bakery?"

Well, she wasn't expecting that.

She thinks about lying for a split second. But just a split second.

"I…didn't go."

He makes a noise. "I bet that Mellark kid was devastated."

She purses her lips. "You didn't answer my question."

He turns his body off his back, sinking into the water before coming back up, pushing his hair out of his face.

"Well, Catnip, why don't you go with me and you'll find out firsthand how the slag heap is."

Her skin itches furiously at the remark. But it's derailed by his tone of voice, which seems to come off a bit rough.

The implication sticks in her mind like glue. She fidgets, but her slow anger wins.

"Just tell me. Do you like Madge or not?"

"Do you like Mellark?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" she says, arms hitting the surface of the water as she throws them around.

"Probably as much as Madge has anything to do with anything," he answers back.

Katniss frowns in a frustrated befuddlement. She groans, then gives in.

"I hardly know Peeta."

She doesn't miss the slight quirk of his lips. "I hardly know Madge."

"Then why have you two been…looking at each other?"

He gives her a funny glance. "Looking at each other?"

Why did she even say anything?

"Like this?" he says, coming up to her, obnoxiously making a weird face at her.

She pushes at him.

"You know what I mean."

"Oh," he emphasizes with large exaggeration. "Like this."

He's more than likely trying to get her to smile, but it only makes her strangely mad. She pushes at him again.

"Stop."

"Or maybe like this."

She almost doesn't look at him, but inevitably does. Her skin starts to itch again. A deep, unreachable itch. She's not sure if he wants to make her smile this time.

She backs away from him, but she's already at the bank of the lake.

"Gale."

It seems once he gets her to stop moving, he's not sure what to do. But his look doesn't change, and it's a little intimidating.

"I was…" he exhales through his nose and deflates a little. "I was at the Hob with Madge because…here."

He moves around her just enough to think and panic that he's going to do something. Instead, he pulls himself out of the lake, going over to his discarded clothes. He pulls something out of his pants pocket, though Katniss can't make out what it is.

"It was supposed to be…I didn't know what you'd…" he sighs before sitting on the edge of the bank, motioning for her to turn around. She's suspicious, but she complies, because he's really struggling with his words, and he only struggles when it's important.

He comes closer, letting his legs dangle in the water. Then she sees something dangling on a chain as his arms come around her, the cold shock of the metal hitting her skin as he clasps it behind her neck.

"I'm no good at…I don't really call it jewelry. But I guess it's a necklace."

Katniss reaches at it, tugging it up enough so she can see it. She blinks at it, the needle behind it indicating that it can be a pin, too, if she wanted. But it's a beautiful yellow, almost like it's gold, shaped into what looks like a mockingjay—

"Is this gold?"

He shrugs. "Probably not. I don't know how the Hob could have it if it was."

Katniss isn't so sure. He might be playing it off like no big deal, but if he spent his own earnings on this when it could have gone toward food—he's so stupid.

"How much was this? This is—I don't need this. You need to buy for your family and your family only, Gale, you know that. How could you—"

"Calm down, Catnip," he says, voice annoyed. "I've been saving for it. Besides, today was my last Reaping. I'll have all the time in the world to earn money from mining, now."

She turns fully around to look at him, holding the pin in her hand. "You have to sell it back, Gale."

"What?" he says, incredulous, eyes flashing. "The hell I'm taking it back. It's your birthday present."

She blinks again. "My birthday present?"

He looks away from her. "Yeah. You know. I was going to give it to you next week on your actual birthday, but you kind of forced me—"

"I didn't force you."

He shakes his head. "Madge helped. That's why I've been trying to get on her good side. I figure, since she might be your only other friend, she might know what you like."

She frowns, but she might have to admit to herself that she's oddly, extremely, relieved. "You know what I like. And I don't like jewelry."

He looks back at her, and she can see the strained muscle in his jaw. "Fine. If you want me to take it back so badly, I will."

Then a thought flies through her mind, that day on Madge's doorstep, him smiling, their pockets jangling with a killer bounty. Her hand clasps around it tighter. "No. I like it."

He growls a sigh. "Make up your damn mind, Katniss."

She doesn't recoil from his tone. Instead, it makes her smile. She glances down at the pin, admiring the way it glints from the mid-afternoon light.

"I can't believe you saved up to buy this."

He glances down to the ground, ripping at a few blades of grass. "It wasn't much."

"Don't lie. I know it was."

"I haven't been saving for that long. Besides," he says. "You have one less Reaping to get through."

The thought gives her little appeasement, though knowing Gale doesn't have to go through with it anymore makes the stress lessen. She thinks the weight of the necklace helps.

"That's why you bought it?"

He leans back on the palms of his hands. "We never get each other anything for our birthdays. I mean, things that aren't food."

"So? I like food."

"Something to keep, then," he says. "Concrete."

There's something he's not saying. She can tell. It's in the way he closes his jaw, as if words are pushing at the back of his teeth. She's not sure if she'll be able to get him to say them—since she's scared of what they might be.

Not that…she thinks he'll say something about them. It's just strange and oddly flattering how he bought her something. It's something precious. It's something beyond value.

"Thank you, Gale," is what she decides to say. There isn't anything else she can say.

He quirks a smile at her. "Don't thank me."

"No," she shakes her head. "Really. For the longest time, I thought you and Madge were…" her skin itches and prickles again, and it's only then that she realizes the sensation is a blush. She's horrified to the point of not speaking.

He raises his eyebrows at her. "That Madge and I were what? Hooking up?" He laughs.

She blushes harder, sinking further into the water.

"You're one to talk," she says after a minute of recuperation. "You thought I was going after Peeta, even though you know I don't care about any of that stuff."

Gale sighs, pushing himself back into the lake. He emerges beside her. He hesitates before saying, "I thought you were finally letting your curiosity win, for once."

She makes a face at him. "Not with…not with anyone here."

He grimaces. "Here is our world, indefinitely. Are you saying you won't even try it?"

"Try what?" she challenges. "Kissing? Things you do at the slag heap? No, thanks."

He leans forward, staring at her. "You can't tell me you've never thought about it."

She leans back. "What's the point in thinking about it?"

"Because it gets boring here, after a while. Don't you want to know what everything is like before Snow decides to kill us?"

It's Katniss' turn to stare at him. Of course she's thought about it. Who wouldn't think about it? To try to find all the pleasures in life when the chance of living past your teen years is much slimmer than it should be. So, yes, she's thought about it. She's thought about dangerous things, and she included Gale in some of those things, but only because he's her only friend, and he's male, and then his interest started to swing toward someone she couldn't compete with—okay, so she'll admit that she might like to satisfy curiosities with him. But that doesn't mean she wants to start something with him.

Because everyone is so pro-girls-and-boys-can't-be-only-friends. It seems so daunting to challenge the idea.

"Maybe a little," she allows, wishing her voice had more conviction.

Gale grins just slightly, enough for her to see the tips of his teeth under his lip.

"I didn't think you'd admit it."

Yeah, me either, she thinks.

"You made it hard not to."

At this, he really grins.

"Now all you have to do is go to the slag heap with me," he says.

She thinks it might be her face that pulls out the, "I'm just kidding," from him, even though she isn't certain if he is kidding. Not with the new way he looks at her.

And she's...totally okay with that.

"Does it only have to be at the slag heap?"

She blames the new necklace he had given her for saying that. Not that she'd take it back, now. Not after watching his face, jaw going slack.

"What?"

She smiles. "I'm just kidding."

She goes to swim past him, but he grips at her arm.

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want."

"When'd you get so sassy?"

It's the necklace! her mind screams.

Or it's the way his hand feels, her heart screams.

She floats back toward him from the pull he gives her arm.

"I've always been like this."

"No," he says. "You've been acting funny lately. And I've been so stupid to not realize why."

She blinks, and her smile starts to fall. "Me? You're the one that was acting funny…"

"Really?" he says, and she's right up against his chest now, fingers curled around her wrist like steel. "Because I smiled once at Madge?"

When he says it like that, it does sound slightly ridiculous.

"But…"

"Now I know why. You were jealous."

The hair raises on her back like Buttercup's does when she scares him. "Jealous? What are you saying?"

"You don't think so? Then prove it," he smirks. "Explain why you've been so weird this past month."

Her mind flits to June twenty-third, the day she watched in utter confusion and agony as Gale smiled at Madge. She remembers what she felt that day, as if it was a needle, but it wasn't jealousy. It couldn't have been jealousy. She refuses to think it might have been jealousy, because…

"Because you're mine," she mumbles under her breath, her thoughts tumbling out of her mouth. Gale's eyebrows furrow at her, before his mouth opens for him to speak.

But she suddenly can't take all this touching and talking about feelings that they never talk about.

She leans forward, lips hitting their mark, meshing against his and his teeth before he reacts, his palm slipping away from her wrist to her waist.

She reaches up and pushes against the top of his shoulders, pulling him closer and giving herself added height, though in the back of her mind, she's not completely sure what she's doing or if she's doing it right—

But Gale holds her up, anyway, not acting like she's doing something wrong, not correcting her at all—and she's just a little proud of herself. Then a little more when she realizes she's flush against Gale's chest and how he's not producing any indication that he's going to let her go.

Maybe all those daydreams helped—not that she thought about them enough to help. But she always did wonder what his hair felt like, in between her hands.

The sensation gets him growling. "Catnip," he breathes. "I was right."

The remark is enough for her to stop kissing him, but she backs away only an inch. "Shut up."

He smiles. "You know it's true."

"Does it matter?"

There's a beat of silence from him. "Yes."

She rolls her eyes. "Cherish it. This is the only time you'll be right."

"You were curious, too."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"You won't," he says, smug. "You like it too much."

She raises an eyebrow. "If this is what all those girls were talking so much about, I still don't understand why—"

He cuts her off by kissing her again, fingers digging into her wet skin. "We've barely started," he says against her mouth.

She says something unintelligible. Then she thinks about what she's daydreamed about, and she swears the water around her feels like it'll start to boil.

Gale gives her a small smile at her face, kissing her again, tilting his head and doing something funny with his tongue. The feeling pulls at her stomach, twisting it into knots.

She pushes past the sudden haziness, trying to mimic him. One of his hands starts to mess with a piece of her loose clothing, though he does nothing else. She wonders for a moment if she wants him to do something else, to do all the things she hasn't done.

But the thought leaves her breathless (or maybe it's just kissing). He breaks free from her a moment later, as if sensing her thought process, giving her that look.

That's all it takes to make her think that she might know why those girls were so crazy about this, now.

"Okay," she gives in, lips moving abruptly. "I like it."

His smugness notches up a hundred watts. "Remind me to get you presents more often."

She goes to knuckle-punch him in his chest, but he stops her, his palm catching around her wrist. She glares, and he smiles, and he halts her glaring by kissing her neck.

"Gale," she forces herself to say. "This isn't...this isn't going to change my mind."

He stops, but only briefly.

"I know. It's not going to make me stop trying."

Katniss' toes twinge. All she can do is nod, his lips traveling from her ear to her shoulder.

And she absently thinks that maybe Madge is a decent gal, after all.

That, and she's even happier that Gale didn't get Reaped.

She turns and kisses him hard, biting at his bottom lip. He grips her forcefully, almost dragging them underwater.

She's got this insatiable feeling that they'll be doing this much more often.

She's totally okay with that.