Six Months Later

…

"Shit." I mutter

The snow was coming down heavier, actually pilling up on the ground now. It was heavier than I would have liked it to be. Yet, with no control over it, I hop off the Harley, tucking my hands into my jacket pockets in the process and quickly making my way across the street to the bakery. Yes, the bakery, the bakery owned by the Mellarks, one of those Mellarks being Peeta.

Why was I going there, the place I had been avoiding since months ago?

Because of Haymitch.

Fucking Haymitch wanted bagels. And not any bagels, no, of course not. He wanted a specific kind, not the bagels from the store or the diner or the nice café I stopped by in the city before riding down here, but he wanted fresh bagels from the bakery, the bakery.

So across the street and up the steps, I stomp the snow off my boots before pulling the door up. I slip inside quickly, the customer awareness bell ringing as I do. Inside, the place was dead, I had expected it to be this way, no one in this town would be in their right mind to drive out in this weather in fear of finding themselves on the side of the road. Only me, I was the only person that was sane enough as well as stupid enough to go out and get a dozen bagels.

And just as I am thinking of my senselessness, Rye appears behind the counter. His face breaks into a board smile at the sight of me and I give him a small one in return, walking over to the counter.

"Our love letters and secret midnight calls weren't enough for you, Sinclair? Was it really so bad that you had to come see me in person?"

I smile. Since graduation, since I found Rye waiting for me at the gate where I was to board my plane to Greece we've been in contact. We'd email or call or whatever at least once a week most time. I talked about my travels and the publishing deal Cinna was helping me with. He talked about the bakery and his internship he was doing for his final credits. And of course, we talked about Peeta. I didn't ask much and Rye didn't say much, but on some level we talked about him.

"I just couldn't bare it anymore," I tell him, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

He laughs, "What did the old guy send you out for?"

"Bagels."

He shakes his head, letting out a breath.

"What?"

"We ran out a few hours ago, a family came in and cleared us out. There's a batch though in the ovens now if you want to wait a few minutes."

I shrug my shoulders, "Sure, I guess."

He nods. "What kind?"

"A dozen of egg."

He nods and we fall silent.

We stay like that for a while, in silence. Rye leaning against the wall behind the counter, tapping his fingers on his thigh and I slowly swaying back and forth in front of the counter, waiting for the timer in the back to buzz and Rye to go retrieve a dozen egg bagels so I can go.

"Have you talked to him since," he asks abruptly after a few minutes of dead silence.

I shake my head.

"No calls?"

I shake my head.

"No emails?"

I shake my head again.

"No messenger doves?"

I let out a soft laugh, yet still shaking my head.

He lets out a breath, leaning back so his head rest against the wall. "Remember at the Christmas dinner party thing you came over for with Haymitch?"

I nod.

"I told you he was a fragile kid and how he was in deep and not to fuck with him, and what did you do?"

"I didn't - I didn't fuck with him," I pause, "I sent him ahh - I sent him a package little less than two weeks ago."

He looks at me confused. "What do you mean, you sent him a package? Like a care package? A "I hope I didn't screw you up too badly" cupcake?"

I shake my head.

"What was it, Katniss?"

"After I signed the deal and all, I sent him the original copy."

He looks at me wide-eyed. "You sent him your marble notebook, the original copy of the "coming soon" book you wrote as a journal and used to ace Cinna's "What is life" project about all crap that happened to you in the last year or so and shit, that involves a lot of thought, your personal thought, about Peeta, my brother Peeta?"

I nod.

"Why?"

"You told me love deserves a second chance. And I know it took me a long time to figure it out, but I did. And then I didn't know what to do, I felt like I was in one of those cliché romance movies. Then during one of our talks in October you said he still had the right to know, that everyone has the right to know, and so when the deal went through I thought, "He does" and so I sent him it."

He nods his head, "You know I probably pulled that out of one of those teen magazines they keep in doctor offices."

"Rye."

And just before he can open his mouth, the buzzer goes off.

"Give me a minute."

I nod and he turns, pushing through the door into the back.

Minutes go by. I sit up on the counter, leaning back on my palms, the fresh smell of baked bread overcoming my senses. In this time I assume Rye unloads the ovens of bagels and whatever other baked goods he had made before my arrivals.

At some point, the aroma of baked bread becomes too much and I slide over to the other side of the counter so I stand behind the display cases. I hear the backdoor slam and feet shuffle in the back as I open the display case and grab a croissant from the third shelf.

"Rye, I'm taking a croissant!" I yell as the door opens behind me.

And as I turn I come face to face with a face I didn't expect.

Peeta Mellark.

He looks good, like Peeta. His eyes are still the same shade of crystal blue and skin beige. His jaw is still and most likely will forever look to be sculpted. His cheeks are flushed from the cold breeze outside and his freshly cut blond hair is spectacled with snowflakes. And even through the fleece he wears, I can still tell he has kept up with his workouts, like the ones he did for football and wrestling.

He, Peeta, being right there in front of me seems to alter everything in the moment. My motion shifts and breaths halt. The croissant slips from and I feel my jaw drops the slightest bit. And in return Peeta's eyes widen at me.

There's a long silence.

Long.

And then, his shoulder shift and he stands tall, taller than I remember him being.

"I got your notebook," he says abruptly, as if the words had just come rushing.

I look down at his hand to see it in his grasp. My marble notebook. The original copy.

"My RA gave this to me yesterday while I was packing form home. I read it last night."

I continue to stare at it.

"I took the first train out this morning. I just got back an hour or so ago maybe."

I look up at him now. The rush, could that be why his cheeks were flushed.

"I called Haymitch when I got back."

What did Haymitch have to do with this?

"He told me you were here, in town, at the bakery possibly."

He pauses, looking from me to the book and then back to me.

"We need to - I need to talk. Can we - I talk?"

I nod.

He looks at where we stand, behind the display case, a croissant separating us.

"Was it real? What you wrote? All of it?"

I nod.

"About your dad? The stars?"

I nod.

"Your mom? And her - her ordeal?"

I nod.

"And your sister? Prim?"

I nod.

"Her letter, too? Her mention of me in it? All of it?"

I nod.

"And about the guys? All the guys after?"

He pauses, sucking in a deep breath and adjusting his grip on the notebook.

"Gale? Finn? Cato? Gloss? R - Rye? All of them?"

I nod.

"The parties and all that?"

I nod.

"Me?"

I nod.

"It was all true? All of it about me?"

I nod.

"Did I really mean that much? That amount of - of significance?"

I nod.

"And still? It's all the same?"

I nod.

"And this is going to be a book?"

I nod.

"For the whole world?"

I nod.

"Every possible person will have access to this? They'll all know, what you thought, what happened, how you felt, the effects of it all?"

I nod.

He sucks in a deep breath, his chest puffing out and then contracting. He does this again, deeply breathing, this time running his free hand through his hair. He repeats, taking a moment to himself, processing everything I had thrown at him.

Coming down from a deep breath, he ruffles his hair one last time before his hands falls to the back of his neck.

"I have one more question."

I look to him, ready.

"Do you love me?"

I nod.

"No," he shakes his head. "No, no motions, Katniss. I need words. Not written or whatever, I need you to say it. I need to know this isn't some big "fuck you." I need to know this is real."

I look to him, knowing he's right. Yet, when I open my nothing comes out.

"Katniss." He pleads.

And I don't know what happens, but it does, it all comes out.

"Yes, I love you. I love you and it took me too long to figure it out. And I don't know how I feel about it still, it's good and then it's bad and then it's good again and it's just confusing. I don't know what this is and I don't know how this goes. I'm sorry it took me so long and I'm sorry I don't know how this goes-"

His smile cuts me off.

"What?"

He smiles, "I don't care."

"You don't care," I ask confused.

"I don't care about the rest," he nods. "You love me."

I let out a short laugh, smiling myself. "You were always one to look on the bright side."

"There's always a bright side."

I laugh and he leans forward, resting his forehead against mine.

"So that's it, the ending? You see me at gradation and walking away?"

"I was letting you go."

"And now?"

"Maybe I'll email the publisher and say there was a missing chapter?"

He smiles. "Then is this the ending?"

I shrug. "For today."

"And tomorrow?"

"There'll be another."

He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me close and I don't oblige.

"I like that." He smiles. "More than one ending, makes for a happier story."

…

Note:

This is the last chapter.

Thank you for reading.