Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Shit. I can’t believe it’s raining so hard right now. I mean, I can, because it rains in this city all the time. But it started pouring a few minutes ago, just as everyone was released from their last classes for the week and campus closed. In the heart of campus, far from my on-campus apartment, I’m grateful I wore my rain jacket (I didn’t have the sense of mind to check the weather app, I just thought it went with my outfit today). I curse a little as I pull the hood over my head and zip it up, keeping my phone in my pocket but turning up the music playing in my earbuds.

I cast a look at my red-haired classmate next to me, “Bye Annie. I’ll see you Monday.”

“Bye Katniss! Have a nice weekend. Drive safe!” she calls over the rain. Then we part ways, her heading toward the library.

Looking around, I notice most everyone else has run into the nearest building, waiting out the worst of the storm in the Student Union or the dining hall. I’m the only one getting my tennishoes and bare legs soaked as I trek to my car. I usually love walking in the rain, so long as it’s not suffocating like it is right now, but today it’s not as if I have a choice. I have to drive an hour east to New Orleans to dog sit for the weekend. I said I’d be there for 6:00 and it’s a quarter to five, and this weather won’t help me get there on time. 

Living in the state with the most rainfall (tied with Hawaii), you’d think I’d have learned my lesson by now and would’ve started keeping an umbrella in my backpack. But I can’t fit one in the pockets and the water bottle holder is always occupied with, well, my water bottle. I always convince myself I’ll be fine. Besides, if I need an umbrella, I can just grab it from my car.

Of course, that’s never helpful. Why would I need an umbrella when I get to my car? I need an umbrella to get to my car!

It’s fine, I tell myself. I’ll suffer through the drive with wet hair, legs, and shoes until I make it to the house in NOLA and can take a shower. My car is already packed with my stuff for the weekend so I just have to power through, I remind myself as I cross the street.

And as soon as I think that, Moves by Suki Waterhouse cuts off. I hurriedly take my phone out of my pocket, trying to shadow it under my face so it doesn’t get wet, to no avail.

It’s dead. I groan. I’ve been out all day and didn’t bring a charger because I packed it in my duffel bag already. Whatever. Just another ten or so minutes and I’ll reach Dandelion, my beautiful white Mazda hatchback, and my best friend.

Music usually helps me block out the rest of the world since I hate walking around campus by myself. In the daytime, that is. At night when nobody is out and about I actually find it relaxing. But when campus is busy, the worst of my social anxiety always pops up. I fear everyone is always watching me, which is, of course, super ridiculous because I know I’m not that important and none of these people care about me. But for the first eighteen years of my life, I was sickly skinny, covered in acne, and had a rat’s nest of hair, and that attracted a lot of attention. Around middle and high school, after my dad left and puberty hit, I didn’t have the capacity to care about my body or being attractive. I was more preoccupied with putting food on the table for my sister, Prim, since our mother checked out of our lives shortly afterward due to a broken heart.

In middle school, kids were stupid mean and would make fun of me for the dots on my face and my flat chest and butt, calling me a boy. In high school, people were nicer, not caring enough to bully other kids, although I did hear a few whispers about me, joking about my wild hair and chapped lips, and even once David Marvel asked me out as a joke.

Good thing my romanticism disappeared along with my dad.

Now at nineteen, with a full ride to the university of my hometown, complete with included student housing and a meal plan, I’m a much different person. Prim is in high school, living with Mom, taking care of her, working hard so she can get a scholarship just like me. (I didn’t want to leave her, but she insisted I take up the opportunities offered to me. Besides, I’m only fifteen minutes away from the house.) I work a waitressing job and dog-sit on the side to pay for my car insurance and groceries for Prim.

But the change of setting made a difference. I miss Prim desperately, and I would give anything to have her at college with me, but the rest of my old life, I don’t miss. I haven’t spoken to anyone from high school since I graduated a year and a half ago – not that I had any friends, and not that anyone would recognize me if they did see me now.

Really, I look different. The meal plan did wonders for me. I can get up to two meals a day at the buffet-style dining hall, and they have a range of options. At first, it was a little overwhelming, having all this food at my fingertips, free to take, when I’d been half to starvation the entirety of my pubescent years, trying to sacrifice as much food as possible for Prim. But eventually, I got used to my appetite, after suppressing it for years, and learned what foods I like and don’t. I also drink more water and sweet tea, never needing to hydrate so much, but now that I walk all over campus all day, I make sure to keep my thirst… “quenched.”

My body spent the past year making up for what I lacked during middle and high school, and soon I gained lots of healthy weight, my breasts and tummy filling out. Even my butt is rather… plump now. Since I’m not as stressed about providing for my family, as Prim is old enough to have a part-time job alongside me, and I eat here and often bring to-go meals to Mom and her, my acne eventually cleared up, revealing high cheekbones and full lips and brows that were never noticeable before. I still have a prominent nose with a tiny ridge along the bridge, which I think is a little too big for my face, but my roommates have assured me it’s not as noticeable as I think it is. They also tell me I’m hot now.

I’ve never had the time for romance. But I can’t deny that it hurt when dad left us. As I had to step up as the head of the house, I never had the luxury of worrying about my trauma and opportunity to heal. But college has given me the time, the space, the resources. And I’ve realized I hate my dad. I’ve also realized, after getting asked out after one class last spring and feeling some warmth right in the pit of my tummy, that I don’t completely hate it when guys look at me. When guys are attracted to me.

It's nice to feel wanted.

I’m sure there’s some stupid underlining to be said about daddy issues and wanting to fulfill some childhood trauma, needing male validation. Honestly, I couldn’t care less what it means. I’m sure it’s all true for me.

That feeling of warmth had spread through the void my dad left in me, where I felt unwanted and worthless, and made me want to chase that feeling ever since. That was the feeling that had me spend an hour in front of the mirror in March, staring at my wild and wavy hair. The humidity attacked it daily, and that is something I will never be able to change, living in this hot and wet state. But walking around campus all my days had lightened my dark brown hair slightly, and seemed to brighten and open up my face more. I brushed it out and gave myself my first real trim in years, ridding it of all its dead ends. I retaught myself how to braid, pulling it away from my face and deciding it made me look more desirable than my usual ponytail. Then I learned how to use a straightener.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I moved my eyes over my curves and edges. I took off all of my clothes, focusing on my hourglass figure, the shape of my face, the dark thatch of hair down there that I trimmed as necessary. My breasts, which were heavier, pushing a C cup, weren’t as perky as I’d like. But I could make do. Turning around, I admired my bum, which had a newly seductive curve to  it. Now that my hair wasn’t so loud and distracting, sleek and smooth looking, even, I could admit it: I was attractive. I wasn’t pretty. I definitely wasn't beautiful. But like my roommates said, I was hot. And I wanted to hear it from other people.

I asked my roommates, Madge, Delly, and Johanna, to teach me how to do my makeup, to which they happily obliged. And then they insisted on dressing me up in colorful leggings and a cropped baby tee, shooting some tequila, and dragging me to a club near the university.

That night, something weird happened. A guy with red hair and a cheeky grin hit on me. Darius, I think his name was. It had me sparking with heat, my face filling with a blush as he pushed a piece of hair behind my ear. It felt good, him taking me to the dance floor, grinding against each other in the blinding lights, lost in the crowd with everyone else. Especially when he grabbed my waist, absentmindedly whispering in my ear, “God, you’re so hot.”

That feeling came back again, and I eagerly chased it, feeling emboldened enough to turn around and grind my ass against him, taking his hands from my waist and pulling them down to my hips, allowing him to guide our movements. The boldness of my actions was new, but not unwelcome as it brought me closer to feeling sexy, powerful, in control.

It was when I felt what could only be his boner against my ass cheeks that I was brought back to reality, internally panicking. Sensing my tension, Darion decided to shoot his shot, asking, “Wanna come back to my place?”

I froze on the spot, not knowing what to do. Moreso, feeling dumb for not expecting that. Turning slightly, not looking directly at him, I said uncertainly, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

And then I left, dragging my girls back to the apartment, drunkenly laughing the whole way back to our apartment on the east side of campus. When they asked me what happened, I told them, way too comfortable in my drunkenness, not thinking much of it as I said Daniel’s boner terrified me.

They froze as we passed the parking lot, almost to our building. “Pause,” Johanna said.

“Katniss,” Delly asked gently, “have you never-“

“You’ve never touched a dick?”

“Johanna,” Delly scolded, but Madge giggled under her breath.

My face heated, this time out of embarrassment, and I shrugged.

“Oh my god,” Johanna breathed. “You’re a virgin!” she said, way too loudly.

“Would you shut it?” I said, the same time that Madge and Delly both offered a flustered, “Johanna!” trying to shush her.

Still, Jo just cocked her head at me, eyebrows furrowed. “Are you gay or something?”

I shook my head furiously, my face turning even redder thanks to the alcohol, “I- no, I-I mean, I don’t think so?”

“What do you mean you don’t think so?” Madge and Delly said at the same time, looks of amusement on their faces.

“I mean-“ I stopped, and started over, closing my eyes and taking a breath. “I’m not gay. I do like guys. Seriously!” I said at their looks of Really? “I just… haven’t had the chance, to try anything out. But I’m straight. I mean, not that I’m against that, you know, but I’ve just never wanted to kiss a girl. Or anything.”

Johanna regarded me curiously. “And you’ve wanted to kiss guys? Have you kissed guys?”

My brows furrowed as I realized, no, I haven’t. “No,” I said slowly. “I’ve never kissed a guy. Oh my god.” My eyes widened. “Am I gay?”

Laughing at me, all of my roommates vowed to never let me live this down, and then ensured me that no, most people know when they’re gay. After a while, Johanna asked me if I thought I was maybe asexual.

My face contorted in confusion. “Like, I’m not sexually attracted to anyone at all?” She nodded, and we started making our way down through the parking lot again. I shrugged eventually, mumbling an I don’t know.

“Well, do you like to touch yourself?”

Madge and Delly seemed like they wanted to scold Johanna again, but I spoke first, saying, “No. I don’t know.”

All eyes turned to me. They all spurted out different versions of, “You’ve never masturbated?” to which I just stared back, horrified.

“Oh my god,” Johanna said. “No wonder you got scared of a penis! You’ve never had an orgasm!”

After an embarrassing conversation, lots of giggling, and Delly’s and Jo’s gross retellings of their first times, we eventually stumbled back into our apartment. Before we went to bed, Madge said proudly, and drunkenly, “B-T-dubs, I’m also a virgin. I’m saving myself for marriage.” After a second, seeming to contemplate something, she said, “But I have done anal.”

They bought me my first vibrator two months later on my nineteenth birthday. I remember being skeptical, not expecting to feel anything good, being scared something was wrong with me.

I was so, so wrong.

Fortunately, I managed to keep my vibrator off my clit long enough get through finals week that month, then I worked all throughout the summer, unwilling to stop exploring everything from different settings, to pinching my nipples, to fingering myself, to watching various kinds of porn. It still didn’t feel like enough. It got me off, but I craved more, feeling like there was a spot deep within me that needed to be filled, making my masturbatory efforts feel rather mediocre after a few months.

That didn’t stop me from doing it though. And often. And after Johanna helped me pick out a dildo, and I eventually worked through the uncomfortable feeling of being stretched, I started to find pleasure in that, too.

A car drives past me, and I jump, being spurred back into reality so as not to get splashed by the wall of water it shot up.

See, this is why I need to listen to music when I walk. Otherwise, I start dilly-dallying and reminiscing.

Besides, I’m still a virgin. It’s August, and I’m trying to get through the beginning of the semester, much to Johanna’s dismay, before I focus on entering my “slut era.”

The rain is still heavy as I spot my car. I jog over, wanting to get dry and warm as soon as possible, and mildly panic once I remember my laptop is in my sopping wet backpack, hoping it’s okay. I mutter, “Hey, Danny,” as I dig my car keys out of some hidden pocket in my backpack and unlock it. Trying to keep the drivers’ side door from getting too wet, I throw my bag in the passenger seat, over papers and clothes and various pieces of trash. I’m not the cleanest. Then I run to the truck where I keep my umbrella. 

Umbrellas. Plural. I would give loads of money to anyone who could explain to me why I had three umbrellas in my trunk, but none in my room or my backpack. Sighing, I grab my favorite umbrella that I've had since I was a kid, green with pop-up frog eyes on top, and move around the car to get inside.

My jacket hood covers most of my face, obscuring my vision, but I look up when I hear splashing a few feet away. Passing on the sidewalk in front of my car is a tall figure in gray sweats and a black hoodie, backpack on and head down as he hurries through the rain, heading toward campus. He’s soaked.

“Hey,” I say loudly, trying to be heard over the pounding of the rain.

He looks up confused, but then spots me under his hood as I give a small wave. He offers me nothing but a confused look, and I understand. I’d be pissed if a stranger stopped me in the middle of a storm to have a conversation, too.

Swallowing, not really sure what even compelled me to reach out to him in the first place, I quickly say, “Do you want an umbrella?”

He says something, and I can’t hear him, so I shake my head, but then we both move forward at the same time. Closer, still muffled by the rain, he says, “No thanks, I don’t have any money.”

Shaking my head again, I tell him, “No, I have extra.”

I can’t see his face very well under his hoodie, but I can tell his eyebrows raise in surprise. “You want me to have it?”

I bite my lip. I didn’t really think this through, I was just trying to be nice. But I realize we’re both drenched, and the rain is only coming down harder, if possible. I open the frog umbrella, meaning to hold it over just him, or maybe just me, but I settle for an awkward position between the two of us, so it shields us both. But he’s taller and he ducks to get under, moving closer to me so we stand together, protected from the rain. My hand grips the handle at the bottom, and he grabs it further up the stem, steadying it over his head, so we’re both holding it, together. Looking at him, I ask, “Do you live on campus?”

He nods. As he speaks, his breath puffs out against the freshly cold air. “I’m an RA at Merchant Hall.”

A dorm on the other side of campus. Likely where he’s heading right now. “Okay.” I pause, contemplating. “I’ll be out of town for the weekend. I can just pick it up when I get back. Or you can leave it at my apartment. It’s in the East Seam.”

He seems to think it over, then nods. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Can I give you my number?”

I seem to realize the implication of that sentence the same time he does, because his eyes look up to reach mine, widening slightly, and my cheeks warm. “I-I meant, like, so I can text you when I can pick it up. Or – sorry – I can give you my apartment number and you can drop it off, or-“

“No, that’s fine,” he says, seemingly feeling a little awkward. Or flustered. I can’t tell. “Number’s okay.”

I nod quickly, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “Oh, shit. My phone died, I totally forgot.” I look at him, but before I can say anything he shakes his head, pulling his own phone from his hoodie pocket with his free hand, showing me a black screen.

“Mine’s a brick right now. Dead too.”

I sigh, feeling defeated and frustrated. What time is it? I really need to start heading to New Orleans as soon as –

“It’s fine, really,” he says, and begins to take a step back, but I panic, reaching out and wrapping my hand around his on the stem of the umbrella to keep him anchored. It was a frustrating week; I already have an exam next week, and I have an essay due at midnight tonight. I’ve worked hard and I’m trying to do one nice thing, determined to not let this go so easily.

I groan, still holding onto him. “No.” I peer at my car window, getting an idea. “Stay right here.” And I let go to grab his other hand and wrap it around the base of the handle, replacing mine with his. I let go and immediately miss the warmth of his skin in this weather that is getting chillier by the minute. Opening the driver’s side door, I lean inside and grab one of the papers that are thrown around my car. It ends up being a receipt, and then I zip open my backpack and haphazardly dig out a Sharpie. I’m on my knees now, and I’m sure the inside of my door is soaked, but I’m too much of a mess right now to care. Somewhere along the way, I vaguely realize I’m wearing Prim’s track and field shorts, which are tight and show off my butt, and I feel embarrassed.

Hurrying out of the car, the top of my head rubs against the ceiling of the car, somehow pulling down my hood, but then I’m back under the umbrella. His eyes are cast down, and I realize he’s looking at my legs, until he brings his gaze back up, and he seems to focus on my long braid and my exposed face. His mouth parts, and I realize he didn’t know what I looked like. Suddenly self-conscious about my face, like I always am, I swallow and hold up the paper.

“Number?”

He returns his eyes to mine. My cheeks flush under his gaze, and I make a mental note his eyes are blue. “512-508-0914,” he says slowly.

I nod, copying down the number. “Okay,” I start, eager to leave, “well, uh-“

“Don’t you want my name, too?” I look up, and his brow is cocked in amusement.

I raise the paper with a huff, as if to say, Okay, hurry on with it.

He smiles a little. “P-E-E-T-A,” he spells.

I write it out, then pause. “Your name is Peeta?” He nods with a sort of pained expression. “Like the bread?”

He sighs, and my eyes drop down to his mouth, mesmerized by how his pink lips move around his words. They’re slightly chapped, undoubtedly from the chilly air. “Yeah. My parents own a bakery. Guess they thought it was funny.” He offers a little laugh, and I realize I am still staring at his mouth. I look back up at him as my cheeks turn pink. I hope he thinks that’s also because of the weather.

“Cool,” I force out, tensing my jaw. “Well, I really have to go, so.” I wonder what the rest of his face and his hair looks like. I take a look at what I can see, his broad shoulders and wet sweatpants that cling to him and show the outline of his muscular thighs. I swallow as I pass over his groin area on my way back up to meet his eyes. He’s looking at me with a confused or curious expression, I can’t tell. I force out, “Stay dry.” And then I break eye contact and nearly a leg trying to get into my car as fast as possible.

I close the door, starting my car with a brake and a button, tossing the receipt and the Sharpie somewhere on the passenger side. I go to turn on the heat, taking immense measures not to look out the window to seek out the guy- Peeta, but I hear a knock on my window anyway.

Suppressing a sigh, I turn and roll it down. “Hi,” I squint up at him.

“Thank you,” he says, sort of unsure. “And what’s your name?”

I raise my brows. I did forget to tell him that. “Katniss.”

He nods for a second. “Like the plant.”

I’m faintly surprised, as most people don’t know that. My dad decided to name me after the plant. I’m not exactly proud of it, as it connects me to him.

I slowly nod, and he accepts this as a goodbye. “Drive safe.”

I watch him walk away, still making splashes in the puddles with his heavy footsteps, and I faintly register a clicking sound in time with his steps. He’s looking a little silly with the frog eyes popping up off the top of the green webbing of the umbrella, and I allow myself one more second to watch him, then force myself to focus. I roll up the window, turn on the heat, plug in my phone. And when I make it to New Orleans, I realize I never put on any music.

***

Knee deep in the passenger seat of my car, trash bag in hand, I grab paper plates and empty to-go boxes, cups and plastic water bottles. It’s a mess in here, and after I lost that guy’s number from two weeks ago, and my frog umbrella along with it, I reluctantly admitted it’s time for a deep clean.

When I grab pieces of paper, especially receipts, I slow down, turning them around, checking to see if there’s anything written on them, to no avail. I sigh when the passenger side is completely cleared out, and move onto the backseat.

After lugging an embarrassingly large trash bag out of my car, I spot Johanna smoking outside the apartment building. Tossing the trash bag in the dumpster, I walk over to her with a wave.

“Hey, Blue Moon,” she starts. I roll my eyes. She started calling me that as soon as she found out I’ve never had sex. I tell myself I hate the nickname because she’s poking fun at my virginity, but I think I really hate it because I have no clue what it means. “No luck with Umbrella Boy?”

I do, however, think their nickname for Peeta is funny. We’ve coined him ‘Umbrella Boy,’ because we are nothing if not creative. I shake my head, sitting down on the curb next to her. “It’s not a big deal. I have a million umbrellas.” I sit for a moment, and then decide, “It’s whatever.”

Johanna observes me. “And you’re sure you don’t remember his name?”

I think back to when I got back from my weekend in New Orleans, walking into the living room with a frustrated look on my face. My roommates looked at me with bemused expressions, asking What happened?

“Nothing,” I muttered, but then changed my mind. With a sigh, I said, “I let someone borrow my frog umbrella, but now I have no way of getting in contact with that person, and I’ve lost my green umbrella forever.”

“No!” Delly whined. “That was the cutest umbrella ever.”

I nodded solemnly, agreeing with her.

Madge’s eyebrows furrowed in consternation. “What do you mean you can’t contact them?  They don’t have socials?”

I shrugged, a little embarrassed to admit my supposed ‘good deed.’ “It was a stranger.”

At this, Delly and Madge made puppy dog eyes at me, saying Aww. Johanna just cackled from her spot on the couch. “Of course you would do that,” she said in between laughs.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She cocked her head at me, observant. But before she opened her mouth, Delly chimed in, seeming to know that her words would be kinder than Johanna’s. “Katniss, you’re just cute. And… well, pure. It’s adorable.”

I huffed out a laugh. “I am not.”

“You so are,” Johanna agreed. Madge nodded.

Feeling flustered and a little embarrassed, I tried to redirect the topic. “Whatever. You’re all sluts,” I joked, and they giggled. I also smiled a little, putting down my duffel bag and beginning to unpack my bathroom supplies. “Besides, I’m not stupid. I got his contact info, but both of our phones were dead, so I wrote it down, but I lost the paper in my car, because it’s a wreck in there –“ I stopped talking at the sound of Delly’s screeching.

“Oh my god! It was a guy?” Delly asked.

“Was he a student?” Madge.

“Was he hot?” I’m sure you can guess who said that.

I stood up, eyeing them like they were crazy. “Pfft. I don’t know,” I lied. Shrugging, I went on, “It was a guy. He’s in a dorm on the other side of campus. I couldn’t see his face because of his hoodie, so I have no idea if he’s hot or what he looks like.” But I had a feeling he would have been very attractive.

“What dorm is he in?” Johanna asked.

I leveled a look at her. “I’m not going to his dorm just to find him.”

“Do you know his name?”

“No,” I lied again.

“Katnisssss,” Delly whined. “You can’t give up. Can’t you see? This was a meet-cute! You guys are meant to be together!”

“I don’t know about that,” Johanna added. “But you could definitely fuck.”

I laughed a little. I never thought I’d be able to joke so much about sex, but these girls make it easy, like it’s a light-hearted topic. Like it’s normal, and not a big deal. It makes me more comfortable with the idea of sex, if anything. But I’d never admit the influence Johanna has had on helping with that.

I hopped up, sitting on the counter of the kitchen island in front of the living room. “I definitely don’t think we were meant to be. Otherwise I wouldn’t have lost his number.”

Delly stood up, hands on her hips, leveling me with her eyes. “Katniss Willow Everdeen. Go turn your car upside down and find that boy’s number. Or so help me I will threaten you with… something gross.”

I raised my brows in amusement. And I was pure? Delly was adorable. “Like what?”

She thought for a second, “I don’t know, actually, but Johanna could come up with something.”

“I could,” she agreed.

I huffed, eyeing my duffel and wanting to unpack. Also wanting to get reacquainted with my vibrator. I hated house sitting now, solely because it keeps me away from my emotional support sex toys, which usually get a lot of use.

“Whatever,” I hopped down, grabbing my stuff and escaping into my room. “I’ll think about it,” I called noncommittedly.

I glance at Johanna next to me on the curb, as she puffs on her cigarette and releases the smoke. “No, I don’t remember his name.”

She waits a second, then nods. “Well. Wanna get laid before midterms?”

***

We’re at the Raising Cane’s just outside of the South Gates of campus, a place we nicknamed ‘The Hob’ because the building is ancient and it always overheats. Johanna and Delly are holding my phone, laughing and occasionally sharing something funny with me and Madge on the other side of the booth, making us giggle, too.

Because they’re trying to set up a Tinder account for me.

I was reluctant at first, and I still am, but mostly because there are undoubtedly people on this app, who I went to middle and high school with, and I’m terrified of any of them finding my profile.

But then I remember that I’m supposed to be hot now, and the thought of making any of the girls jealous or the guys eat their words makes me relax back into my booth, a little smug.

Of course, I have nothing to worry about anyway because we can’t get past the picture part of my profile.

“Oh my god. Blue Moon, why don’t you have any pictures of yourself?”

I shrug, taking a break from the coleslaw I stole from Delly to sip her sweet tea. “I just don’t take any. I never really do anything that resembles the need to take pictures. Especially ones I look hot in.” And that’s true. All I have are selfies of me and Prim and funny images my roommates or Annie and I have taken of each other. They’re closer to being Facebook worthy, not exactly something I’d put on a hook up app.

Rolling her eyes, Johanna relents, “Whatever. We’re going out this weekend, and I’m dressing you up like a whore. If you can’t find someone at the bar who’ll bed you, we’ll at least take some pictures of you looking hot and put it on your profile.”

Madge and I laugh a little, and I try not to show how nervous I am about showing off my body. I already do that all the time, in a casual way, anyway. As I gained weight, and the weather got hotter, I eventually needed to buy new clothes. I settled for a collection of graphic tees, tank tops, and crop tops, and athletic shorts, jeans, and leggings. That’s really all I wear. But I tend to lean more toward something that shows off my midriff and butt, and that’s usually my go-to outfit. Like now, I’m wearing my purple Nike shorts, tennishoes, and a white crop top that cuts off below my breasts.

Unfortunately, I am not the kind of beauty that can wear jeans and a tee and be attractive. If anything, I think I’d still be noticed in that setting, but for being plain. My body only really looks attractive if I wear suggestive or revealing clothing. And it makes me feel good when people notice my waist or my bum. Especially because I feel like it distracts from my face, or at least makes up for the lack of beauty going on there. Anything to take away from my nose. And it works, as every now and then I’ll catch someone’s eyes linger on the curve of my ass, or my long legs, or my slim waist. It’s still very new to me, showing off my body like this, and sometimes I’ll feel a little bad putting myself out there, especially because I used to look at girls like me and wonder why I didn’t look like that.

But then I remember all the shit I’ve been through, and I can’t help but think I deserve this.

When I drive us back to our apartment, in my freshly cleaned car might I add, we sing to the Frozen soundtrack (Johanna’s favorite movie, and she’s not afraid to admit it) with the windows down. As I finally find a spot in the packed parking lot, some ways away from our apartment building, Madge lets out a gasp from the seat next to me.

I check my mirrors, making sure I’m in the lines, then I ask, “What?” turning to her.

In her hands is a crumpled receipt with smeared marker on it. And on my face is the biggest grin they’ve ever seen.

Thank god I wrote it in Sharpie.

***

First Name: Umbrella Boy

Last Name: (Peeta)

Number: (512) 508-0914

Notes: RA Merchant Hall

10:02 PM

Me: Hey Peeta, it’s Katniss

My roommates and I giggle, and I put my phone down on the counter, trying to pretend I’m not as excited as I am. Jo pulled the tequila out of the freezer when we got back and we all shot some to celebrate the finding of the receipt. I might have taken it for my own reasons, like loosening myself up so I have the courage to talk to him.

Two shots in and a few minutes later, I do panic a little bit at his lack of response. It’s a Saturday night. Is he already in bed?

Is he with a girl?

Not that I’d care or anything.

The tequila makes me feel all warm and giddy, inadvertently also causing my anxiety to spike. I double text him.

10:10 PM

Me: Sorry to text you so late, lol. I thought I lost the paper with your number on it but my roommate found it tonight

“What did he say?” Madge leans in.

“Nothing yet,” I admit.

“What were you wearing when you met him?” Jo asks.

I pretend to think for a second. “Um, my white tank, booty shorts, and a rain jacket. But my jacket was zipped up because it was raining. And my hair was braided back.” I know exactly what I was wearing, because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Did he think I looked okay? Did he think my face was ugly? I wish my jacket wasn’t zipped. Maybe he’d have liked my breasts.

Johanna nods, accepting my answer. “He’ll text back.”

I furrow my brows. “What makes you say that?”

She gives me a look like Come on. “Because you’re hot, Everdeen.”

I’ve been hearing this a lot. All summer from the male customers at my waitressing job. At the few clubs I’ve gone to with Jo. I’ve gotten cat-called on the street, which makes me feel unsafe and uneasy, and then I want to crawl inside my own skin and hide.

The only problem is when I look in the mirror, I only ever think of how I can make myself more attractive. If only my hair were lighter. If my waist was smaller. Is my ribcage too big? I stare and stare and stare at my figure, trying to figure out how to use my body in a way that will make me feel wanted. And although I’m smart enough to realize I’m “hot” because of what other people say about me and to me, I never would have come to that conclusion on my own. More than that, I know deep down I will be good for sex, but not a relationship. I’m attractive in a sexual way, but not in a romantic way where someone would want to build a life with me or anything like that. And that’s fine. I only want sex, too. It’s not as if I’m brimming with emotional availability and time for a relationship.

Instead of blushing like I usually do, because I’m used to hearing this by now, I just shrug and pour another shot. And that gives me the courage, or the stupidity, to say out loud, “My face isn’t very pretty.”

My gaze is still pointed down at the kitchen counter, and I look up at them just in time to see Johanna scoff and Delly adopt a hurt look on her face. “I think you’re very pretty, Katniss!”

“My nose is kind of big,” I say after a second.

Jo rolls her eyes, “Your nose isn’t big. It fits your face. If it were any smaller it’d look weird.”

Madge chimes in, “I wish I had your eyebrows. They’re so thick and full.”

Delly adds, “And have you seen how thin my lips are?” With a laugh, she adds, “Really, I’d do anything to look like you.”

As much as I’d hope that would make me feel better, it does the opposite. Knowing my roommates might share insecurities too, despite me thinking they’re all beautiful, leaves me with a hollow feeling in my stomach. But before I can protest, or apologize, or say something, my phone pings, and the girls shriek in excitement, forgetting the heavy feeling that just occupied us.

“What did he say?” Delly is jumping, barely keeping herself contained.

“Hold on a sec,” I bite my lip, trying to unlock my phone, but the third shot chooses this moment to reach my brain and I’m suddenly a little clumsy.

10:14 PM

Umbrella Boy: Hey Katniss :) Thanks for texting

My girls are leaning over my shoulders, reading the screen.

“A smiley face,” I hear Madge say to my right.

“He’s in love with you,” swoons Delly. Delusional.

“What do I say?” I panic a little, but my sheer excitement is outweighing it, shining on my face.

Suddenly the phone is snatched away from me, and it takes me too long to process what’s happening as I see Johanna tapping at my screen.

“Jo, don’t text him!” I scramble toward her, giggling, reaching for it, but she just holds it out of my grasp.

“I’m not texting him,” she says with a smug expression.

Before I can figure out what she means, I hear it.

Rinnng. Rinnng. Rinnng.

“Johanna!” We all screech, trying to get it away from her. Delly is jumping, Madge is trying to tackle her from the waist, but amidst the struggle, we all freeze as we hear a voice.

“Hello?”

Johanna, still smiling, just places the phone against my ear. I’m staring at her in mortification, barely processing what’s happening as I hold the phone there. It’s when I hear another, more confused Hello? that I snap back to reality. Well, as much as I can. Three shots of tequila.

“Um, hi.” I clear my throat. Madge and Delly giggle loudly and I shoot them a look that tells them to shush it. “Is this Peeta?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice gruff, like he hasn’t spoken in a few hours. “Is this Katniss?”

“Yeah, um, yes,” I say, then snort at Johanna’s look of amusement.

He chuckles on the other line, and I feel the deep sound all the way to my core, warming a feeling in me that I’ve only been able to get from porn so far. But he seems to not know what to say next, and that makes two of us, because I don’t think I would be much help with this conversation even if I was sober.

“Do you want your umbrella back?”

“What?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“Your umbrella,” he responds. “Isn’t that why you called?”

“Oh, uh, yes. That’s why I – why I called. Um, when can I, uh, get it from you?”

“Well, I’m studying in my dorm. I’ll be up for a few more hours if you want to drive over tonight. Or we can meet on campus tomorrow.”

The wheels aren’t turning in my brain, because nothing he’s saying is making sense. But I glance up, and Madge is mouthing Tonight! Yes! And the other two are just nodding excitedly.

“Tonight,” I say, brainless. “I can walk over,” I figure out.

“What? No,” he starts. And I realize, yeah, that sounds stupid, a girl walking alone around campus at night. I once read somewhere that this city has the fifth highest crime rates in all of America, and after living here my whole life, that checks out. “You shouldn’t  – we can do it tomorrow.”

“No, tonight’s fine,” I say, wanting to ride my alcohol high as long as I can. “I’m gonna walk over with some people, so we won’t get kidnapped. Or anything.”

He seems to contemplate for a second, then sighs. I wonder what his breath would feel like on my neck. “Okay. It’s Merchant Hall, by the North side dining hall.” And I nod, then realize he can’t see me.

“Okay. I’m about to leave,” I tell him.

“Okay, uh. Just text me when you get here.”

I nod again, because I’m an idiot. “Yeah. I’ll text you.”

“Bye, Katniss.”

I wait a second, biting my lip. “Bye.” And I hang up.

***

We make our way across campus, past the Student Union and towards the parade grounds, and simultaneously realize that a bunch of idiots left out tents and chairs and whatnot from tailgating for the morning home football game played at our stadium today. Obviously, all of these people were hoping to pick up their stuff in the morning, and we mutter about how stupid and careless it is to leave their expensive things out in the open, unwatched.

It's when we pass a particularly expensive looking wagon that we all meet eyes, seeming to decide on the same thing.

“I mean, I hate having to lug all my groceries from two parking lots away to our building,” Delly says as she and Madge grab the wagon, nodding in agreement.

Johanna is looking through their boxes, muttering about how the people who tailgate are usually rich, and can probably afford the loss, while I look around, too. “Hey, there’s a cooler,” I say absentmindedly.

Opening it, I find a huge bottle of Tito’s Vodka (like seriously, it’s bigger than two gallons), and only halfway empty. We celebrate as Johanna steals some crackers and Doritos, then load it into the wagon and continue on our way.

We giggle and crack jokes, and everything seems to be funnier after that fourth shot we all took together. Someone across the street passes us, and although we can’t see him very well, he’s seemingly tall with dark hair. That’s when Madge decides to start the game of Smash or Pass.

She says, “Smash,” as he walks by, making sure to keep her voice to a giggled whisper, and we burst out into hysterics, continuing the game. There’s hardly anyone on campus, as everyone is at the bars after the football game, so we play it with anything we can find.

Passing a bronze statue of the founder of the university, Delly cocks her head, contemplating. “Smash,” she finally decides.

When we pass the flagpole, Johanna hangs her head and sighs, “Smash.”

We’re all laughing now, and I manage out, “How would that even-?”

“I’d make it work,” she jokes. I hope.

We carry on, doing it with everything we can find. I say I’d smash the coffee shop in the library, I’m a sucker for caramel drizzle. Madge and Jo say our school mascot is looking at them ‘some kind of way’ when we pass its habitat, but I screw up my nose, saying I’d pass on that. Delly passes a bike with a particularly high seat, laughing and saying, “Pass, but only because it’d hurt.” Nothing we are saying is making any sense, and it only fuels our sense of humor.

When we reach Merchant Hall, I am feeling giddy and excited from laughing with my friends, and I almost forgot what we’re doing out walking. Madge tells me to text Peeta, so I open my phone.  

10:50 PM

Me: We r outside (Umbrella Boy liked this message.)

He gives my message a thumbs up, and we wait outside for another minute. Johanna is sitting in the wagon now, holding our vodka to her chest while chewing on some chips, and that is how Peeta finds us.

“Hey,” I hear from a few feet behind me.

Turning around, I barely register who is walking toward me, only that it must be him, and I smile a big, goofy grin, almost jogging toward him. “Peeta!” I say, and then I throw my arms around his neck, briefly registering that he stumbled on his feet slightly, but when he catches his balance, one arm loops around my back.

He smells like warmth.

I pull back, looking him in the eyes, still smiling. He has curly blonde hair sticking up everywhere and falling over his forehead, and his blue eyes are shining with surprise. He’s taller than me, my eyes meeting at around his chin, and he has a straight nose that fits his face. My eyes drop as his throat bobs with a swallow.

I look down further, noticing my umbrella clenched in his other hand, and grab it from him. “Oh my god, thank you so much.” My face feels hot, probably red from the alcohol and the chilly night.

“Of course,” he says. His face looks flushed. He looks around, noticing my roommates and our wagon full of Johanna and her vodka, and gives a wave, raising his eyebrows.

I can hear them giggle behind me, Madge saying something like Hi, nice to meet you, but it’s Delly’s voice that says, “We’ve heard so much about you,” that makes me snort and bite my lip.

Looking back at Peeta, still smiling (why is everything so funny right now?) I tell him, “Well, we’re gonna head home. Just had to steal some vodka and grab this.” I hold up the umbrella.

He nods, and his eyes search around my face, seemingly trying to memorize what I look like, or decide on something. Two of my brain cells decide to collide at that second, and I register a memory of Jo asking if he’s hot.

Tilting my head at him, I decide, yeah, he is actually. Really hot. I scan him from up to down, like I did in the rain, allowing my eyes to linger on his hips and his form, which is clearer since he’s wearing just a tee now. Then I bring my eyes back up to him, where he seems to be torn between watching my face and eyeing my own figure. I give him something between a giddy smile and a smirk. “Bye, Peeta.”

I turn around as he nods again, offering me a, “Goodnight,” and a wave. As I walk the short distance back to my roommates, I make sure to swing my hips in what I think is a sensual manner. They’re making goo-goo eyes at me, wiggling their eyebrows and biting their lips to keep from giggling.

Standing in front of them, in a haze, I tilt my head, pretending to think hard. Then I nod in approval of Peeta, saying, “Smash.”

We all burst out into laughter for the umpteenth time that night, and I faintly realize Madge is eyeing something behind me, as if wanting to explain but not having air in her lungs.

I look back just in time to see Peeta glancing back at me, cheeks red as we lock eyes. We both turn back around, but I can hear an awkward chuckle from where he stands, and the opening and closing of his building door.

Calmer now, Madge smirks at me, “He totally heard you.”

***

Thirty minutes later, we arrive at our apartment, Delly saying she’s going to stay at her boyfriend’s tonight and Madge is leaving to take a shower. Jo just passes out on her bed with the door open.

I go to the kitchen and grab my water bottle from the counter, taking big, gulping sips. It soothes the parts of my lips and throat where I could feel the lingering effects of the tequila. After a few minutes, my head clears slightly, and I make my way into my bedroom, a little loopy still but wide awake.

My room is horribly tiny, as all of ours are in our student apartment, but I’m proud of myself for making it work. There’s not much in here, as can be expected, but I did fit my dresser under my bed, which allowed room for a tiny loveseat to sit by my nightstand, on the opposite wall of my desk. It’s important to me that I have a place to lounge that isn’t my bed. It keeps me productive. And my couch is my favorite thing about my room - I spend most of my time in my room on that couch. 

Ignoring that exact testament, I climb up the ladder and hop onto my twin bed, immediately burrowing under the covers. It’s nearing midnight now, and I know I should be getting to sleep soon. After alcohol wears off, I typically get some surges of anxiety that I generally like to avoid.

I close my eyes, but my mind wanders to Peeta’s face, and I struggle to keep the image in my mind due to the tequila. Instead, I imagine his shoulders, his calloused fingers around the umbrella.

What it would feel like to run my nails along his back. What it would feel like to have his fingers inside me.

Heat sparks between my legs, and I clench my thighs together in a futile attempt to find relief. I open the top drawer of my dresser under my bed and grab my vibrator.

Normally, I would plug in an earbud and load some porn, get off to the sound of moaning. Instead, I just shimmy out of my shorts and panties and keep my eyes closed. I turn on the vibrator to a low setting and jerk as it touches my clit.

My head fall back and I sigh through my nose at the relief it brings, which eventually builds into a slow burning sensation in my core as I move it in circles.

I imagine what it would be like to touch my mouth against his lips. I imagine making him grunt with pleasure as I push my tongue into his mouth. Rocking against his lap as I tug my fingers through his hair. His hands would move from my waist to my ass as he forces me even harder against him.

I grab my dildo, too.

No need for lube as I’ve been wet for a few minutes now, and I remove my vibrator to tease my entrance with the silicone toy. I angle my hips to make it easier, then I push it all the way in, grunting as it slips against my walls. I move it in and out in even movements with my right hand, then add the vibrator with my left.

I would kiss down his neck, sucking on his pulse point. My hands would explore under his shirt, across his firm chest. I’d kneel in front of him, making quick work of his jean zipper, releasing his hard cock. He’d look at me with surprise, wanting to be a gentleman and insisting I don’t have to blow him, but his lust would outweigh it as I lick his slit, tasting the precum.

I wonder what his would taste like. Johanna says it’s salty.

I’d take him into my mouth, rolling my lips around my teeth, and swirl the saliva around his head. He’d moan, absentmindedly saying my name under his breath. When I take him deeper, I wrap my hand around his shaft and grip him a little harder, using my saliva to pump him up and down. I let him hit the back of my throat and do it again. His hands clench and unclench around nothing, and I grab one and put it on my head, to which he grunts again and thrusts up a little into my mouth.

The fire from my motions is building in my core, and I chase it, but it’s just out of reach. In the back of my mind, I think about how the alcohol is probably making it harder to orgasm, and I huff out of frustration. I can’t help but think Peeta would be able to get me off right now. If he were moving inside me. Thrusting into me harder and harder, forcing himself to hold out because it feels so good.

My hands move of their own accord. I let go of the dildo, reaching for my phone.

I wish he were here.

Is it too late to invite him over?

In a haze of lust and alcohol, I barely register what I’m saying as I tap out a text to him.

12:08 AM

Me: Hey, let me know if you ever want to hook up some time or anything.

I press send before I can think better of it, and before I can feel any kind of regret I reach for my dildo again, chasing my euphoria, pumping in harder and faster. Like Peeta would.

He’d be on top of me, his face contorted in pleasure, his heavy breathing fanning across where I hold his head against my shoulder. My nails would scratch along his back, causing him to inhale sharply, and he’d punish me for it, thrusting in harder. I’d moan his name, using my walls to clench around him, making him feel as good as possible. He’d talk about how hot I was, how tight I was, how much he wanted this.

My orgasm crashes over me, and I cry out with a gasp. I can barely manage to make little motions with my dildo and I spasm as my vibrator continues to stimulate me. I lower the setting, slowly turning it off as I return from my high. I take out my dildo, too, which is slick with my arousal now, and I know I have to get up and clean it. But still, I allow myself a minute to lay in my bed, enjoying the post-orgasm euphoria, now a little sleepy.

It's when my phone pings that my eyes snap open and I am also afforded post-orgasm clarity.

The memory of what I did a few minutes ago is an embarrassing one, and I slowly turn my head on the pillow, staring in horror at my phone, which is face-down next to me.

I swallow, reminding myself of a few things. He doesn’t know my last name, or where I live, or my major. This is a huge campus, with over thirty-five thousand students, and I will most likely never see him again. If he rejected me, I can just block him. And my roommates will never have to know.

I force myself to just look at the message and deal with the consequences.

A second later, I stare at the screen, mouth hanging open.

12:14 AM

Umbrella Boy: Lol will do, I'll let you know

12:16 AM

Umbrella Boy: Goodnight, Katniss

***

“So, he really never texted you after that?”

“No,” I say again, shrugging. “It’s fine. I mean, I came on too strong.” I don’t want her to know I’m secretly embarrassed.

Annie eyes me for a second, trying to read my mind, then takes another bite of her egg roll, shrugging as well. “I don’t know. Most guys would be into that. And with you, no less.”

I clench my jaw reflexively, hearing her words embedded into my head along with everyone else’s.

You have such a nice body.

You have such curvy hips.

Your butt looks great.

You’re so hot. I wish I looked like you.

Well, I did it. I took all of their words as truth, and I came onto a guy. And he ghosted me.

“It’s only been a week,” Annie adds, seeing me tense.

“It’s been nine days,” I correct. Not that I’m counting or anything. And my roommates took me to a club this weekend, something I was wholly unenthusiastic for, dressing me up like a doll and taking pictures of me. I Ubered back to the apartment early, but not before they finished making my Tinder account, swiping on my profile and rating my matches on a scale of one to ten. I didn't really have the desire to answer any messages, though. Or open the app at all. 

My statement makes Annie laugh lightly, and she gives me a pat on the shoulder, finishing her last bite and standing up from our table at the Student Union. “Well,” she says around a mouth full of eggroll. “I’ve got to get out of here, but have fun studying without me.” Swallow. “Sorry again I had to bail on our study date tonight.”

“It’s fine,” I smirk. “Have fun on your real date.”

“Not a date,” she says, but blushes. “I love you. Hasta luego.” She waves me goodbye.

I laugh, grabbing my own things to head to the library. “Te amo. See you later, Annie.”

I grab my usual order from the CC’s in the library, an Espresso 22 with caramel added, and make my way to the fourth floor. I find my favorite spot toward the back corner, which is a cluster of desk cubbies that each have their own sort of wooden privacy walls. It’s me and Annie’s spot, and we both have our names graffitied onto our favorite desks. After setting my things down and getting comfortable, I find and play a piano homework playlist I made and put that on through my earbuds. That must be why I don’t hear the person saying my name, which leads them to tap me on the shoulder.

Jumping a little at their touch out of surprise, I pull out an earbud and look up.

It’s Peeta.

“Katniss, hey.” He is giving me an honest-to-god grin.

I don’t buy it for a second.

My guard is up as I hesitantly say, “Hey.” There’s no warmth in my tone.

His smile falters for a brief second, but he fixes it, and I force my shoulders to try and relax. He places his hand on the seat of the cubby neighboring mine, the one that's not Annie's, as if to pull it out. “Can I sit here?”

I shrug, not sure what he wants me to say. Do I want him to sit with me? Not particularly. Can I tell him I want to be alone? Not really. It’s a quiet floor anyway, so we wouldn’t be able to talk even if he wanted to, and there are little walls between the desks so we won’t be able to see each other as we work, either. “It’s a public library,” I say anyway.

He rolls his lips inward for a second, seeming to hesitate, perhaps deciding if he should just leave anyway, but then pulls out the chair and unloads his backpack.

I watch him as he does, confused on his motives and general attitude. I know I should just focus back on my Mastering Biology assignment, but instead I ask, “How did you know I’d be here?”

He turns to me, a little surprised, as if he thought I’d be back studying by now, and yeah, I should be. “I, uh, I didn’t. I was looking for a spot here because my usual go-to on the third floor has water damage and is closed for repairs. And then you passed me, and I thought I’d say hi.”

I search his face, knowing I should feel more embarrassed by blatantly staring at him, but I’ve already laid myself bare for him and really, there’s nothing more to lose. I just nod and put back my earbud, resuming my music and my homework. My music is turned up, but I end up lowering the volume in case he says something.

I am a little distracted at first, especially when he takes out a pair of black-framed glasses and places them on his face (that’s really hot). I chastise myself for noticing his scent, once again reminding me of the feeling of being warm. And also the way his muscles bunch and stretch under his T-shirt. And I notice he bounces one of his legs, out of what I can only assume is nervousness or a need to fidget.

I sigh through my nose, a little angry and frustrated with not only him but my inability to read him. Not that it matters. Nothing’s going to happen between us anyway.

The next hour passes in silence, Peeta typing on his calculator for what must be chemistry homework, and me moving from biology to my project on plant conservation, which I have to do for one of my major-specific classes.

When he begins to pack up his calculator and notebook, I’m unprepared for the flash of sadness I feel, thinking he’s about to leave. I have no idea what to say to him after our text exchange last week, but I was enjoying being around him, even if it meant we were just sitting in silence. It’s kind of nice, someone sitting next to me just for the sake of being next to me, and not having an ulterior motive. I mean, I assume he doesn’t have one. I offered to give him my body and he didn’t want it. There’s nothing else I really have that could be of any value to him.

“Have you done the biology homework yet?”

I’m leaned back in my chair, and my eyes pop up to his when I process what he’s said. I furrow my brows, “What?”

He digs his laptop out of his backpack. So, not leaving just yet. “The Mastering Biology assignment, for Collins’ 1202 class. It’s due tonight.”

“I know that. Why do you know that?”

He chuckles a little gruffly. “We’re in the same class, Katniss.”

My face smooths out and my jaw drops a little. This is a nightmare. All week I’ve been offended, trying to avoid him. And already four times since my come-on, I’ve unknowingly been in the same room as him.

Noticing my shocked or appalled expression, I have no idea which, he says, “I’m guessing you didn’t know that.”

I face forward again, trying to make sense of my thoughts. “No.”

“I thought that’s why you gave me the umbrella. Because you recognized me.”

I shake my head. I wish I could even explain why I did that. Not meeting his eyes, I ask, “So, you’re in second-year bio?”

“Yep. Except I just take it as an extracurricular. I’m a business major.”

I nod.

With a light laugh, he goes on, “This is the part where you tell me your major.”

I shoot him a look, but answer anyway. I typically keep to myself, especially when I was in high school, but becoming friends with my roommates and Annie has opened me up a little bit. Doesn’t mean I appreciate this man who’s basically a stranger acting like I owe him information about who I am. “I’m in conservation biology.”

“Plants and stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Makes sense.” I assume he means because of my name.

Rolling my eyes, looking back down at my laptop and pretending to be scrolling through something, I respond, “Yeah, okay. And I assume you’re in business to take over the bakery?”

I mean it as a jab, but he doesn’t respond immediately and so I look at him, noticing his look of confusion. “You remember that?”

I shrug. “Kind of hard to forget.”

Nodding his head with a small smile, he says, “Maybe I should thank my parents after all.”

“For the name ‘Peeta Bread?’”

“I prefer the name ‘Bread Boy.’ Rolls off the tongue better.”

I laugh lightly, “My roommates and I just called you ‘Umbrella Boy.’ But obviously that’s what I’d remember you by.”

His face stretches into a big grin. “That’s adorable. I like that much more.”

My face heats.

He goes on, “I remember you by your hair.”

I tilt my head, “What do you mean?”

“Well, and I’m sure you don’t remember this either, but we had biology 1201 together last fall, too.”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no. I see where this is going.

“And your hair, I mean, it’s long now, but it was much longer last year. And it was a big class, but you’d walk in and take a seat in the front corner, and I always noticed you because it was down to your waist or up in a ponytail. No matter how you wore it, it seemed to make a statement.”

Ah. My wild, out of control hair. Well, that’s fantastic. The first guy I ever hit on, who I thought I’d lose my virginity to, saw me at my worst – not just because of my hair, but I also looked like a 2 x 4 and was covered in acne.

My eyes find their way to a spot on the floor, and I examine it for a second before I feel a tug on my braid. I watch him as he twists it between his fingers and brings it over my shoulder, laying it there.  

“But it looks great like this, too.”

Our eyes meet, and I can feel something like a current charge between us, but then we both look away and it’s gone.

I find the tail of my braid, just as he did, twirling it around. “I looked much different back then.”

He shrugs. “I really think I’d have noticed you anyway.”

I’d have noticed you now, too, now that you look like this, is what I think he means. I noticed you because you were ugly, and I’d notice you now, anyway, because you’re attractive. But if he does think I’m attractive now, why didn’t he ever reach out to me? And even then, I feel strangely hollow at his acknowledgment of my looks.

“Wait a minute,” I realize. “If we’re in the same class, and I am so distinct and noticeable,” I joke, “why didn’t you just give me my umbrella there?”

He smiles a little sheepishly. “Well, I figured since you hadn’t texted, that was your way of maybe telling me you didn’t want to see me. Besides, I wanted you to text me. I wanted you to have my number.”

My face screws up in consternation. That doesn’t make sense. “Why?”

He, in turn, raises his eyebrows. “What do you mean ‘why?’”

I search his face a moment before speaking, slowly. “You say that like you… liked me. But I texted you. And you rejected me.”

He recoils a little, seemingly shocked. He speaks a little too loudly, “Rejected you?”

“Shh!” I wave my hand at him, looking around. We’re still on a quiet floor, and though there’s most nobody up here, I’m anxious at the thought of getting bitched out by someone.

Peeta continues on though, quieter now but just as confused. “I – when did I do that?”

My face flushes in embarrassment, and I begin feeling foolish at the prospect of reading too far into things. “You never texted me after that.”

He sighs, laughing a little awkwardly, moving his hand through his hair. “Katniss,” (I like the way he says my name), “honestly, I didn’t know what to say after that.”

“A ‘hello,’ would have been nice, for starters.” My voice is small.

He closes his eyes in what must be regret, but goes on, his voice close to a whisper, “I mean, I’m not really good at booty calls. I don’t even know where to begin on how to open a text like that.” He thinks for a moment. “I mean, I’ve never really had a booty to call, so.”

I cringe at his use of words, but my surprise outweighs everything else I may feel. “How?”

He examines me. “How what?”

“How have you not – I mean…” You don’t have girls crawling over you all the time? “You’re so…” I gesture to his chest.

“Smashable?” He offers.

I groan, my face finding a way into my hands. “I was drinking. Please, spare me.” His deep laugh reverberates in front of me.

“Don’t worry about it. I thought it was kind of sweet. I’ve never been hit on before.”

I level a look at him that says, Yeah, right.

“Really,” he admits, humor written on his face as he raises his hands in a surrender. “It’s just never happened for me before. But I am from a small town in Texas, and this is only my second year in college… and I don’t get out much, so I guess it’s not that surprising. But even from my other guy friends, I hear that girls don’t really chat them up and make the first move hardly ever.”

I cock an eyebrow in amusement. “And did you think my confidence was charming?”

He smiles. “A little bit, yeah.”

I shake my head and drop my gaze to my lap. Probably to distract him from my smile.

***

After another hour of talking in the library, we realized we not only weren’t getting any work done but were having a lengthy conversation on the quiet floor. So, we quickly packed up our things and made our way downstairs, where Peeta completed his bio homework, refusing to use my answers and insisting he’d do the work himself. After he was done (which took a while still, we were laughing the whole time and he had trouble focusing), we continued talking about whatever came up. It’s surprisingly easy to chat with him. He makes me feel warm.

I don’t even remember when I put up my earbuds.

He tells me about how he’ll take over the bakery when he’s older, but he’s minoring in graphic design, hoping to do art on the side or even get a job in illustration and just manage the bakery part-time. I tell him about how it would be fun to be a park ranger, but I’d have to move away from my family. And even then I wouldn’t get paid much, so I’m aiming for something like an ecological technician job. A lab science job, something for when I graduate until I land on my feet.

He talks about the small town in Texas he grew up in, which he explains is closest to Austin. He had lots of friends there, but they were mostly surface-level and he couldn’t wait to get away to a new place and learn new things. I tell him I grew up going to a school that’s fifteen minutes away, and I would love for nothing more than to be anywhere else, although I do like this university.

“Do you often see people around campus that you went to school with?” he asks.

My face scrunches up at the idea. “No, but I try to keep my distance and make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“You didn’t get along with many of them?”

I laugh a little, “No. I’m not exactly a social butterfly.”

“Could’ve had me fooled.”

I toss around the thought in my head. “Yeah, I guess you would say that. You’ve only ever seen me with my roommates when I’m drunk or when it’s pouring rain and there’s no time to talk.”

“And you gave me an umbrella in the rain.” I really wish he would stop mentioning that. “Besides, you’re sober now and you’re talking fine.” He looks over at me, raising his brows with a quirked smile. “Or do you have something to tell me?”

That makes me chuckle, “No, I’m sober. No tequila for me on a Monday night.” I pause for a minute, thinking. “It’s hard for me to talk to people. Or make friends. Most everyone who likes me has been stuck with me, like my roommates or my sister.” I meet his eyes, “But not you. You make it easy to talk, to share. To… be a nice person.”

He swallows a little, picking at a thread on his sweatpants, then shrugs. “I mean, it’s okay if you’re an asshole to everyone else. That just means I get more of you to myself.”

I shoot him a glare, pretending to be offended at his labeling of me as an asshole, but then laugh at his smirk anyway.

Now, pushing midnight, as we walk side by side after he insisted on “escorting” me home (I didn’t put up a fight at that), I find myself looking up at the oak trees like I always do. A bird chirps, and I imagine what kind it might be. I think of the time last year when I got to participate in a bird-tagging lab and took a picture holding a yellow-bellied sapsucker.

“…and it was really funny, my big brother Graham, he…” I hear Peeta trail off after a second.

I drop my eyes from the trees and look at him, wondering what caught his attention. But he’s looking at me already, mouth parted, staring almost. The thought of him focusing on my face causes a surge of anxiety, and I nervously try to laugh it off, looking away and gesturing to the oaks. “Sorry, I…”

“No, it’s fine,” he clears his throat, looking to the ground. “I just got distracted,” I hear him mutter.

I glance over at where his eyes are pointed, at his feet, and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind in a desperate attempt to change the subject. “Can I ask why you have a limp?”

His eyes shoot to mine, wide in panic, and I apologize profusely, “I mean – I – sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

He huffs out a gruff laugh, running a hand through his hair. “No, it’s fine. Uh, I guess I’m just a little embarrassed. Here, I thought I was hiding it so well.”

“You are!” I rush to reassure him. Even though I noticed a while ago. “I just – I’m sure I’m paying more attention to you than most people. Don’t worry about that.”

With that comment, my face heats and I focus forward, not failing to notice his small smile. “It’s fine. Well, I guess you would have found out sooner or later. All my friends know, too. I have a prosthetic leg.”

My head snaps in his direction. “What?”

“I have a prosthetic leg,” he repeats.

“Oh,” I say, even though I heard him the first time, too. “Okay.” I face forward.

Peeta laughs. “It’s okay, Katniss. We can talk about it, I don’t mind.”

“Okay,” I say slowly. “How… how did that happen?”

“It was a birth defect. The umbilical cord had wrapped around my shin and cut off the blood supply. When I was delivered, the limb was already dead, and there was no saving it.”

“Oh, Peeta,” I sigh.

He shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. I mean, I’ve never known what it’s like to have two legs, you know?” He smiles at me, trying to lighten the mood. “So there’s not much to miss.”

“Still, I couldn’t imagine… That’s a lot. To grow up and have to be put through that. I’m sorry.”

“Please, Katniss, don’t apologize. I don’t want you to start looking at me like I’m wounded.”

But I don’t know what to say that’s not an I’m sorry, so I just roll my lips and keep quiet.

“I guess that’s another reason why, um,” he works through a swallow, “why I didn’t reach out.” I keep my eyes forward, sensing that he needs space to be as vulnerable as he wants. “You know. I didn’t know if you’d, uh… well, I felt like you should know about that, before you decided if you wanted to…” He cuts off and throws out a gesture with his arm.

“Has that happened before? A girl rejecting you because of your leg?”

He shrugs. “Not really. I mean, not that I have much experience to speak from.”

“What do you mean?”

His cheeks tinge pink. “I mean, I went to my homecomings and winter formals and proms all with dates, but they were always loose friends with nothing romantic between us. Mostly our parents or mutual friends wanted us to go together, and it was convenient. But besides that, I’ve never really… been on a date. Or done anything like that.”

“Really?”

“I know,” he laughs. “So smashable, and all.”

I roll my eyes at him. Another thing I’m never going to live down. “I mean… is it like a confidence thing? Or you just never had any time to date?” I don’t know why I’m asking. It’s not like I’m looking for a relationship now. And I don’t know when I started feeling comfortable enough with him to ask these things.

"Nothing like that. I was never really scared of it.” He throws me a sidelong glance, then looks forward again. “I guess it’s just that nobody had caught my eye yet.”

Right. I’m the girl who caught Peeta Mellark’s eye. Once because I was ugly. And then again because I got hot.

I force myself to smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes.

The conversation gets lighter, and we talk more about his prosthetic and what it was like growing up for him. He got a free pass for most P.E. exercises, but he still liked to wrestle with his two older brothers when he could. Even with his prosthetic, he makes it sound like he was pretty good at it, but he explains that his parents, more specifically his mom, wouldn’t let him join the team because they feared he’d be bullied or compared to the other kids. Not to mention they would have trouble fitting him into the right weight class since he was missing everything below his left knee.

I tell him what I can, which isn’t much. I did hardly anything in high school, except Archery Club and Key Club, and even that was because I knew I’d need extracurriculars for a scholarship. He asks me if I’m good at archery, and I tell him my coach said I was one of the best. He asks where I learned, and I shrug, saying I just had a natural skill. I don’t want to tell him my dad taught me.

When we get to my apartment, I stop in front of the door, the overhead light shining down on us. “Well, this is me.” The air is chilly still, and I mentally chastise myself for only wearing gray sweatpants and a cardigan over my cropped tee. A chill goes through my spine, and I can tell Peeta notices. Before he can voice his thoughts, I tell him, “I had a good time tonight. Studying and talking with you, I mean.”

His eyes move over my face. “Yeah, me too, Katniss.”

We stand there for a second, both of us awkward college virgins who don’t know what to do. Then, I give in to temptation and lean up into him for a hug, wrapping my arms around his neck. He meets me immediately with strong arms around my waist, and we stay like that for a minute, just breathing in and out. I can feel his breath on my neck. I’m not surprised to find that I’m not cold at all in his arms.

When I lean back, he regretfully loosens his grip and we meet eyes just inches away from each other. I try to fight the urge but eventually cave and look down at his lips. They’re plump and pink and a little chapped from the cold, but that just makes me want to touch them more. When I look back up, his eyes are a bit darker, and it’s a little intimidating, it makes me swallow in anticipation. And I already knew I wanted to kiss him, but right now I want him in other ways, too. I want to make him want me, I want to prove it to myself. I tell myself all the signs are there. He must be attracted to me. He must want this.

I chant in my head, he wants this, he wants this, he wants this, trying to make myself believe it as I lean forward and put my lips on his before I can second guess myself. He’s frozen for a millisecond, as if realizing that yes, I am kissing him, and then his grip on me tightens and he pulls me tightly against him, our chests flush and our lips firm against the other’s mouth.

For another second we just stand there, holding each other, mouths pressed together, sighing through our noses. Then hesitantly, I slant my head and open myself up to him a little more. He groans, and we slowly move through the kiss, working our way around each other’s lips, eventually sucking and licking, too.

We begin to breathe more heavily, and my left hand stays behind his nape, running through his hair and tugging at it, while my right goes to cup his jaw, swiping my thumb along his cheekbone. Eventually, our tongues want more, and when they accidentally touch at the same time in what was supposed to be a teasing motion, we chase it. Then we are sloppy, both inexperienced, nineteen years’ worth of daydreams and romantic notions poured into how we move against each other.

The taste of his tongue and the way we’re trying to crawl inside of each other runs straight to my core, and pretty soon I feel a burning sensation in the pit of my tummy, my clit throbbing for release. I somehow get backed up against the wall outside my apartment, and with an instinct I didn’t know I had, I roll my hips against his, causing us both to gasp. One of his thighs is positioned in between my legs, and I slowly rock against it, trying to find some relief, inadvertently moving one of my thighs against his area, too, which makes him thrust against me. The whole thing is ridiculously hot.

This goes on for a while longer, what in reality must have been maybe twenty seconds, until Peeta pulls back, breathing hard, eyes closed, swallowing. He leans his forehead against mine, “Katniss.” He gazes at me, tucking an errant strand of hair behind my ear.

 “Do you want to come in?” My voice is husky, I don’t recognize it.

“I –“ he cuts off, “Wait – what time is it?”

I furrow my brows, still trying to recover from our midnight make out sesh. “I’m not sure. Why?”

He awkwardly grabs his phone from his pocket, and I’m still pressed against the wall, and he’s still pushed against me. “Shit. 12:30.” He closes his eyes in what seems to be frustration, and I prepare myself for what I know is coming this time – a real rejection. Looking at me, he explains, “I promised my friend I’d pick him up from a bar before 1:00. I’m his designated driver tonight.”

I raise an eyebrow, sliding my hands away from his neck and onto his shoulders. Trying to tell him to get off of me, because I’m embarrassed at being rejected. Again. “He’s drinking on a Monday night in the middle of the semester?”

Peeta’s answering smile is apologetic. “Monday’s are $1 shot night at the Capitol.” He moves off of me, hands still on my waist, and I immediately miss his warmth, but tell myself this is for the best.

I nod, patting his chest. “Well, you’d better get out of here, then.” Wouldn’t want to disappoint your friend, I almost add. But I don’t want to get laid just because I’m bitter.

He raises his hand to my face, cupping my jaw like I did to him earlier. “Katniss,” he says, “don’t think for a second that I don’t want to follow you inside.”

I slowly nod, and his eyes search around my face as he caresses me. Again, it surges in me a feeling of anxiety, but it also introduces something else, a new feeling – tingling. In my chest.

It feels like butterflies.

I panic a little, scared at what he’s done to me, and to keep him from looking at me longer I just lean in for another kiss. It’s soft and sweet and quick, and I pull away after a second. His eyes are still closed.

“Goodnight, Peeta.” He looks at me then and smiles, letting me go so I can grab my keycard. “Do me a favor, will you? Text me when you get back home so I know you haven’t been killed?”

“Will do. Goodnight, Katniss.”

I let myself inside and hurry to my room, holding a hand against my heated cheeks and wondering what the hell just happened.

When I collapse on my bed that night, all I can think of is how I’ve made all the first moves.

I gave him the umbrella.

I texted him.

I kissed him.

The ball is in his court now.

***

Wednesday morning I find my way to my usual seat in biology, the class I apparently share with Peeta, who hasn’t texted me since letting me know he made it home safe Monday night. This is also the second class I share with Annie, and she is in her usual seat in the front corner, next to me.

“Hey, Kat.”

“Morning, Annie.”

Much like my roommates, Annie and I started out as a friendship of convenience. She was in all of my biology and chemistry classes last year, but we first met in Spanish 1000. On the first day she asked for help finding the library, so I gave her directions. (See? I do nice things sometimes.) Then we kept sitting by the only familiar face we had in that class of three hundred, which happened to be each other. Pretty soon we went to the library together, had inside jokes, had each other’s coffee order memorized.

I love Madge, Delly, and Johanna, but they can be a little intimidating at times, so Annie’s the only one I’ve opened up to about my childhood. She’s struggled with her mental health in the past, and we’ve been able to relate to each other in more ways than one. I don’t even remember when we started saying I love you. But she really is my best friend. I didn’t question it when she asked if we could schedule our classes together for this year, too.

I lean over, whispering close to her ear, “I have news for you.”

She looks away from her computer with wide eyes. “Umbrella Boy texted back?”

I can’t help from smiling a little at our girl talk. But soon my frustration comes to the forefront of my mind again, and I huff out a breath. “No. Well, yes and no. We ran into each other in the library on Monday, and then we made out a little. But he had to leave for something and hasn’t texted me since, except to let me know he got home that night.”

Annie’s jaw is dropped and she’s staring at me.

“What?”

“You had your first kiss and you didn’t immediately text me?” Her words are angry but she’s smiling at me.

And she’s right. Despite our closeness, I’m still getting used to having a girl best friend. And I’ve never had boy stuff to talk about before. The newness of it is a little scary.

I shrug, “I kind of panicked. I was worried it wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.”

Her brows furrow, “And he never texted you after?”

“No.”

“Did he say he would?”

I think. “No, uh, he didn’t, actually.” She slumps a little in her seat. “But I found out he does have this class with us, so – I don’t know. That’s something, I guess.”

And just as I speak that, it’s like I summon him.

“Hey, Katniss.” I know that voice.

I go to turn around, a hello already panicked onto my tongue, but I hear Annie before I can speak. “Peeta?”

I look at her.

“Oh, Annie, hey!”

I look at him.

“You two know each other?” I ask.

Peeta sits down on the other side of me and nods, “Yeah, we-“

“Peeta had to drive me home from the Cap Monday night.” She rolls her eyes.

Okay, now I really am confused. “You went to the Capitol for your date?”

“It wasn’t a date, Katniss,” her cheeks tinge pink. “And yes. It was this big, buff guy with a stupid name like Brute or whatever. But once he was plastered enough to realize I wasn’t going to sleep with him he took off with some other chick, and I had no way of getting home.” She waves a hand in the air as if to say, It’s fine.

I tilt my head, “Annie, you could have called me.”

“My phone died, actually. But I ran into Peeta’s friend, Finnick, and he was nice enough to offer me a ride home, saying his ride was on the way.” So this Finnick was the friend Peeta was picking up. She looks down at her computer, and now I’m thinking her blush might be for a different reason.

The whole thing makes me feel gratitude for Peeta instead of awkwardness or frustration at his not reaching out (although the change of feelings might only be temporary). I decide to tease Annie about her new friend later, and instead turn to him. “Peeta, thank you for taking such good care of my idiot friend who doesn’t charge her phone.” Annie snorts next to me.

He smiles at me, “I feel like I should thank her instead, for putting up with Finnick – he’s a handful.”

I say, “Well, I-”

“Wait,” Annie says, “how do you know each other?” She points between the two of us.

It’s my turn to blush. “I, um, I met Peeta last month. I let him borrow something of mine.”

She gawks at him, “You’re Umbrella Boy?”

“Shh!” I hush her. Class doesn’t start for another three minutes, but can she maybe not embarrass me in front of everyone? And can she not let Peeta know that I’ve talked about him to everyone I’m friends with?

Peeta just chuckles beside me. “This is actually only the second time I’ve heard of my new nickname.” He reaches out to shake Annie’s hand. “My real name is Peeta Mellark. Nice to meet you Annie.”

She shakes his hand back, giggling. My face is in my hands and I’m groaning.

“So nice to meet your new friend, Katniss,” I hear her say.

I take a calming breath and unpack my computer. I am never going to live this down.

***

10:12 PM

Me: Just got home from work. OK if I head over now?

10:12 PM

Umbrella Boy: Of course, text me when you’re here

10:47 PM

Me: I’m outside the lobby when you’re ready

It’s later that evening and I’m getting major déjà vu as I stand outside of Merchant Hall at almost 11:00 tonight. Sae asked me if I could come in for an extra shift this afternoon, and I relented because I owed her a favor after she gave Prim some free leftovers last week.

I mentioned to Peeta in passing during class today that I have a project I need to finish, and knowing the library closes at midnight and that I’d be late at work, he offered for me to come to his dorm and study there.

So I am currently at his dorm.

I’m here to study.

Now, I do have a project I need to complete tonight. That doesn’t mean I didn’t come prepared for what might occur after I finish it.

I am freshly waxed, wearing shorts and my skimpiest tank top. I took off my makeup after my shift, but my hair is still smooth and straightened down my back. I don’t have any matching underwear, but I am wearing a black lace bra and a pair of pink lace panties with hearts on them. I didn’t realize until I got here that I grabbed my rain jacket to wear (the same one I was wearing when we met a month ago), and I nervously zip and unzip it while I wait for him to open the lobby door for me.

I pretend not to see him coming as I stare out at the street, but when the door clicks open, I look over and meet his eyes, feeling a now-familiar blush form on my cheeks.

“Katniss, hey. Come in.”

I brush past him, finally noticing how cold I was outside once the heating of the lobby hits me.

He notices my chill, too. “You drove here?”

“Uh, no,” I admit. “I walked, actually.” He sighs a little, but I cut him off with a light laugh. “I’m fine, really. Everyone I know has my location and gets notified when I reach my destination. Or when I get kidnapped, I guess.”

He laughs a little, shaking his head as he presses the button for the elevator.

“Besides, I really wanted to walk,” I go on. “Walking at night has always calmed me down, and I had some stuff to think about.”

“Like what?”

“School,” I lie. I was really thinking about him. Is this a hook up? Is it a friends-with-benefits situation? Will he keep sitting with us in class after this? Will we be on speaking terms?

He nods as the elevator goes up. “I can understand that. I know you have that project due tomorrow.”

I nod, grateful he doesn’t push it. “Yeah. Thanks for letting me come over.”

“Yeah, of course. I mean, I have a whole dorm room to myself, since I’m an RA. It’d be a shame to not share sometimes.”

We go down the hallway of the second floor, and I laugh as we pass a display he set up for the residents on his floor. It says, ‘Meet your RA: Peeta!’ with lots of pictures and fun facts about him. “Now this is really adorable.”

“Ahh, yeah. They make all of us do something like that. It’s part of the job.” His cheeks are a little pink when I catch his eyes. “You should see Finnick’s. He’s the RA for the fourth floor.”

“You’ll have to send me a picture of it for Annie,” I joke.

When we make it into his room, I realize he wasn’t kidding. There really are two of everything. Two desks, two wardrobes, two beds that are pushed together against the wall to make a huge king bed. But there is one bathroom, and he explains it’s a handicap-accessible bathroom that he doesn’t have to share with any suitemates as it only connects to his dorm.  

“Wow,” I say upon seeing all the furniture.

“Yeah. Every RA gets a whole dorm room to themselves, and the furniture only comes in twos, so we just try to make the most of it.” He motions to the two desks next to each other. “So you get to have your own study space in here.”

I shake my head with a smile as I unpack my things. He says he has to study, too, but I catch him reading a comic book on his computer instead. He has his glasses on again, and I scold myself for sneaking looks at him every now and then. The next hour passes, and when I’m finished citing my sources onto my PowerPoint I close my laptop. Peeta suggests that we watch a movie and, even though it’s past midnight and I have a morning class tomorrow, I happily agree. He pulls out a miniature projector and we settle on the bed while he sets up the film. He projects it onto the wall, and it’s some dystopian romance-action thing, but I’m not paying attention because now we’re sitting together, on his bed. Side by side.

I took off my rain jacket earlier when I finished my project, and I could tell he noticed my black lace bra through my thin tank by the way he swallowed and looked away. Now, since our shoulders brush every now and then and our legs are sharing the same blanket, I realize just how much his body warmth travels. Five minutes into the movie, the awkwardness and silence (and tension, if I’m being hopeful) has finally gotten to me, and I ask him, “How are you always so warm?”

He turns to me, and I can feel something between us, like a string holding us together when his eyes meet mine. Also a fluttering in the pit of my chest. We’re inches apart, but I force myself to keep my eyes off his lips. “I don’t know. But my mom was pretty hot-headed so maybe that runs in the family,” he jokes.

Yeah, right. Peeta, hot-headed. I huff out a small laugh, looking down, but his small plea of, “Katniss,” has me looking back up at him, searching his face.

He cups my cheek, and even his fingers are hot. His eyes go from mine to my lips, like he can’t decide which to land on. But then he swallows, and we lean in at the same time.

It’s not slow, and it’s not gentle. We kiss in a mess of lips and tongues and love bites, his hands on my face and mine tangling through his hair, remembering that he grunts when I tug on it. Somewhere along the way, I get tired of the awkward side-by-side angle and pull away, making him breathe hard and adopt a quick look of confusion. But he doesn’t protest as I swing my leg over his lap and straddle him.

“God, Katniss,” he says in awe, slowly bringing his hands to my waist.

I realize too late that this might be hurting him because of his leg. “Is this okay?”

He nods quickly, hands now firm on my waist, as if daring me to try and move off of him. “Yes. God, yes.”

His words make me feel powerful, but more than that they make me feel nervous. I have to remind myself that it’s not that hard for girls to be good at sex, as most anything feels good for a guy, especially for a virgin, which I assume Peeta is.

I wish I could tell you that making out and dry humping exceeded my wildest fantasies, but the truth is, I can’t even remember any of my fantasies right now because what we’re doing feels too good. While we kiss, heated and sloppily, his hands roam around my back and under my shirt until I put him out of his misery and take it off, revealing the bra he’s already somewhat acquainted with. I tug on the bottom of his tee in a question. “Can I take this off?”

His eyes snap from my breasts to my face, and he nods, helping me whip it off his torso. It gets added to the pile on the floor. Instead of kissing him immediately, I hesitantly touch my fingers to his chest, making his breath hitch. I push away my nervousness, my false confidence, and all of my anxiety, and I let myself enjoy this one thing, slowly. I rake my hands over and around him, feeling his firm abdomen and the darker hairs that lead below his sweats, before I move them to the back of his shoulders and begin kissing him deeply again.

Somewhere along the way, I rock against him and gasp as his hard cock meets my clit through our too-many layers of clothing. He tenses his jaw and instinctively thrusts up against me, making me gasp. “Peeta,” I sigh, close to his ear.

I reach behind my back and unclasp my bra, sliding it off my arms and losing it somewhere. I begin rocking against him again, although he’s more preoccupied with staring open-mouthed at my newly exposed breasts, hands still glued to my waist. But I’m scared he’ll realize how wrong they look on me, with darkened areolas and a general lack of perkiness, so I press my core harder against his. He closes his eyes, seemingly trying to gather himself, and I take the opportunity to take his hands and put them on my boobs, which snaps him back to reality.

I don’t want to beg, but I will if I have to. “Peeta, touch me,” I tell him as I squeeze my hands over his, inviting him to take over, which he immediately accepts. He experimentally but enthusiastically massages my breasts, making me sigh, and slowly rolls my nipples, making me moan and tip back my head. I gasp in surprise and pleasure when I feel his wet tongue lick one of them, and I find myself holding his head there so he doesn’t stop. And he doesn’t disappoint, sucking and gently nipping one nipple, then repeating the motions to the other.

It’s when he drops his head in the valley between my breasts and tenses that I slow my rocking motions, taking the hint and not wanting him to come too soon. I shimmy down his body, going to tug his sweatpants and boxers off, and he helps, lifting his hips so they both come down to his thighs in one motion. He goes to take them all the way off, but stops when I grab him with my right hand, lowering my face so I’m now hovering over his dick.

“Katniss, you don’t have to – “

“I want to.” As far as penises go, and I’ve never seen one in person before, his has got to surpass any expectations I might have had. I furrow my brows in concentration and intrigue, experimentally pumping my fist around him, finding the skin very soft, despite him being rock-hard. He’s slightly bigger than my dildo, which I thought was above-average anyway, but I’ll worry about how I’ll fit it inside me later. The tip is a little pink, and there’s what must be precum leaking from it. I don’t look at his balls just yet, not wanting to get intimidated, but it’s a far step from last semester when I was completely scared of dicks. “Is that okay with you?” I ask him.

He stares at me for a second, then closes his eyes and swallows, giving me one nod. And that’s all I need.

I can’t deny I’m excited for this. Maybe more excited than the actual sex part. I lean down and lick the tip, gathering the precum, making him jerk. (I register that it does taste salty, but I don’t notice anything other than that.) Then I lick along the underside of the shaft, all the way up, where I gently suck on the head.

“Katniss,” he says with clenched teeth, throwing his head back but quickly raising it again to watch me as I blow him.

I spit a little and gather it around his length to use as lube, and before I can psych myself out, I roll my lips and take him into my mouth. I faintly recognize that he’s groaning and breathing heavier as I do this, but mainly I’m focused on trying not to mess it up, especially making sure not to scrape him with my teeth. I think about that one time over the summer I practiced a little with a cucumber (and I will take that to my grave), but the real thing is much more difficult. I try to gather my saliva in my mouth and swish it around his head, but it’s harder than I thought it would be and I abandon that technique to try out a sucking motion. I notice that has a strong effect on him, so I rotate between pumping him while bobbing up and down on his length and hollowing my cheeks, sucking.

When I get the hang of things after a minute, I peer up at him from under my lashes and notice his flushed look and the way his hands are clenched around his bed sheets. In a brilliant moment of clarity, I take his hand and place it on my head, earning me a gasp from him. But then I immediately panic, realizing I can’t take him as deep as I was hoping I could, and if he goes too far to the back of my throat I will gag, and with enough gags I will throw up. But he just takes it as an opportunity to gather my hair from around my neck and face, holding it to the back of my scalp like a ponytail, caressing my scalp with sweet pets.

A few seconds later he tugs on my hair, which I assume means he’s close, and of course he can’t come yet because I’m going to have sex tonight. With him.

When I come up for air, gently stroking him but not nearly as firm, he tries to explain, “I want to – uh, when we – if, if we –“

He keeps stuttering even when I jump off the bed, but he finally shuts his mouth when I yank down my shorts ungracefully, then rip off my socks. “Do you want to have sex?” I ask him.

He trails his eyesight over my body, then laughs a little, throwing an arm over his face. I try not to let my line-of-sight drift back to his dick. “Always so blunt with it aren’t you, Katniss?”

“You said my confidence was charming, Mellark.” False confidence, but still. “Is that a yes?”

He swallows again, and my heart is beating frantically at the thought of me getting here, making out with him, giving him a blowjob, then leaving because he rejected me. But he just opens his eyes, darkened and hooded with lust, and nods. “Yeah, of course. Obviously.”

I laugh, then gesture to his pants still halfway on. “Get naked,” I tell him, then drop my own panties with a confidence I do not possess.

I know men have every reason to be self-conscious about their dicks. Length, girth, color, I guess. Having a small dick is used as an insult even though the size of their dongs are purely genetic. If it’s too big, you’re oversexualized, and from what I’ve heard those typically aren’t the most comfortable for girls during sex. It’s not talked about as much, but I’ve seen some things online about guys or other girls making fun of vaginas, too, saying stupid stuff like how these specific girls smell like fish or looks like roast beef… yeah.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m very hygienic. And from what I can tell, mine looks… “normal” and doesn’t have an odor. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m terrified I will taste bad or look weird and Peeta will of course be too nice to tell me. And then he’ll tell all his friends when this has run its course and I’ll be a joke.

Standing here, I feel totally exposed. And he stares now that I’m completely naked, eyes roaming all over my body while he absentmindedly tugs off the rest of his sweatpants.

It’s when the pants get caught around a plastic part of his prosthesis that both of us snap our eyes to that instead.

“Oh,” Peeta says, and I can tell he’s a little embarrassed. I walk up and sit on the bed, thankful his eyes aren’t on me. It only takes a second for him to unhook the fabric from the prosthesis, and I realize a second later that I’m staring at it.

I look at him. “Sorry, I-“

“No, it’s fine,” he shrugs, and offers me a soft smile, but it’s clear it makes him nervous. “Take a look.”

So I do. It’s exactly what you’d expect, honestly. His leg is amputated a few inches below his left knee, and there’s a liner and then the spot where the socket attaches to the actual prosthesis.

So I googled stuff about prosthetic limbs the other day in careful preparation for an occasion like this. So what?

I meet his eyes, wanting to ask what he thinks might be most comfortable for him during sex, but instead I find hesitancy and maybe a… fear? In his eyes? And I realize he might have my same insecurity, being scared of baring the most vulnerable part of himself and being rejected for it. He thinks I might change my mind after seeing his prosthetic.

So I ask him anyway. “Do you think you’d be more comfortable having sex with it on or off?”

I can see the surprise and relief in his features, but then he thinks for a second. “Probably on. At least for the first time, until I get my bearings. I mean, not that I’m assuming that we’d – you know, multiple times, I mean –“

I shut him up with a kiss, not wanting him to see my smile at his words, and lay my body on top of his along the bed. After we kiss for a little while, me on top of him, just holding each other, he turns us so I lay on my back and he has me caged in between where his forearms support his weight.

I thought this position would instill a fear in me and make me panic, but with Peeta I just feel a sense of warmth in my chest. And it is also wildly erotic.

He settles his weight on his knees for a second, then looks at me with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I just figured since you’re doing so much for me, I might as well return the favor.”

And there’s the panic, flaring up a little bit, but soon he’s cupping my face, kissing me deep and long and sweet. And so I let him leave kisses down my neck, down my breasts, sucking on them and fondling them gently, giving every part of my body love, something that I wasn’t really ready for. Somehow, my hands end up in his hair again, encouraging him instead of stopping him. He begins leaving open mouthed kisses down my abdomen, and when it’s clear that he has the intention of tasting me, I bite my lip and cross my legs.

He looks up at me, laying his cheek on my hip. “Katniss?”

“Mmhmm?” My hands are holding tight to his hair.

“Everything okay?” He rubs his hand over my other hip.

“Yes. I mean, no. Well, yes, everything’s fine-“ I’m stuttering now, bad. So much for my charming confidence. “I just don’t want you to, uh, do that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t want me to eat you out?”

I close my eyes and swallow. “Yeah.”

A moment passes. “Is there a reason for that?”

I sigh, looking down at him with earnest eyes. I’m surprised to find the words come easily, and somewhere deep within me I know he won’t push it. “I’m just not ready for that yet. I’d rather not do that… tonight. Is that okay?”

He looks at me a moment longer, then offers me a small smile. “Of course that’s okay. Is there something else you’re okay with me doing?”

“Like what?”

“Like… fingering?”

“Oh.” That would work, I guess. Not sure I’d get off to that, but it can’t hurt. “Yeah, that – that would be fine. Thank you.”

He crawls back up my body, kissing me tenderly. “Katniss,” he says against my lips.

“Mmhmm?”

“You’re actually gonna have to relax and uncross your legs so I can touch you.”

My mouth parts, and then I work on a swallow. I try to keep eye contact with him, wanting to have some control, but as soon as my legs part I bury my face in his neck and hold him against me so he can’t look watch me so intently. But he doesn’t complain, rubbing my hip and then slowly trailing his hand across the skin to my mound. I can tell he’s trying to go slow, and not long after that I feel his warm, calloused fingers slip through my folds.

He groans, his own head hitting the crook of my neck. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

His husky voice greets my ear, and I instinctively open myself up a little more, inviting him closer.

His fingers massage against my arousal again, and after a moment he slowly slides one inside, making me gasp. I literally use a dildo at home. I’ve hardly ever been able to get myself off with only my own fingers. But Peeta’s finger, inside of me, warm and rubbing against my G-spot, is doing so much more for me than my sex toys ever could.

“That feel good?” His voice is gruff, husky.

“Yeah, deeper,” I say breathily.

When he goes in farther, I begin rocking against him, slowly riding his finger. He curses again and then he puts in a second finger. And I realize I like it when he curses.

The feeling of his two fingers inside of me is entirely erotic and I’m surprised to find that I feel a little stretched at just that part of him. I try to relax, but then he presses the heel of his palm against my clit, and I cry out in pleasure. He pulls back, concerned, but I hold him tighter, chasing the feeling. “No! Don’t stop, don’t stop –“

He takes the cue and massages my G-spot firmer, coupling it with the pressure of his hand, and I ride him senselessly, uncaring about how I look or sound.

“Yes, god, yes –“ I breathe.

The fire is building rapidly, burning inside of me, but I tell myself not to get my hopes up because there’s no way I could come from just this, but I might as well just enjoy the sens-

I gasp, “Peeta-”

As I’m pushed over the precipice, a loud moan slips out from my mouth and I pulse around his fingers. I dig my nails into his back to keep my grip on reality, but he gently suckles my neck and draws out my orgasm as long as he can with the motions of his hand. He does this for a minute until my clit gets too sensitive, and I start giggling and wiggling around, telling him it’s enough.

He apologizes against my mouth, then kisses me slowly after removing his hand from between my legs. After another minute of kissing, I’m feeling surprisingly awake, and I absentmindedly wonder how he cleaned his hand free of my slickness. Did he wipe it on the sheets? Did he –

I break our kiss to look down and see him stroking myself, coating his dick in my juices left over from his hand.

That’s gotta be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

He stops his motions, worried he’s offended me in some way. “Uh, we don’t have to, uh, have sex tonight if you don’t want to. Or ever, if you –“

“Peeta,” I cut him off. “Do you have condoms?” His eyes widen in recognition. “If you don’t, I have an extra in my backpack.” A condom that Johanna gave to me a few months ago, saying I’d need it eventually. I can’t believe she was right about something.

“Uh, yeah, I do, let me grab them.” He leans over me to reach for one of his drawers near the low-rise bed. When he pulls out the box, I’m happy to see the box is unopened, and surprised to find I don’t like the idea of him having slept with other women. He smiles sheepishly, “It’s a jumbo box from my older brother. It was kind of a gag gift.”

I nod, taking a prophylactic from him and reaching down to lightly stroke his cock. He groans as his face falls into my neck, and I stop stroking him so he can answer my question. “Can I ask you something?”

His eyes are hooded when he looks at me, and he nods.

“Would you mind if I was on top? At least, at first, so we can –“

It’s his turn to cut me off with a kiss, and then he smiles as he leans away, collapsing in the spot next to me.

I climb over him, holding the gold foil but taking a minute to rub his bare shaft along my lips, coating him in even more of my juices. Purely for his pleasure. Or torture, because his jaw is clenched and his eyes are closed. His hands grip my thighs as I tear open the condom and throw the foil somewhere.

Now, if only I could remember how to do this correctly… how hard could it be?

I take his shaft in hand and roll the condom down his cock, just like Madge told me to. And then I pinch the tip to make sure there’s “room for the cum.” Like Johanna told me to.

I am thinking way too much about my annoying roommates during my first time. I banish them from my mind for the rest of the night, and focus on Peeta.

I raise my hips over his length, positioning him to enter. I’m incredibly nervous, but I tell myself I’ve done this a million times, and it really shouldn’t hurt that badly. “Ready?” I ask him.

His hands move up to my waist, as if to slow me down. “Uh, Katniss, I just wanted you to know,” he swallows, “well, I’m sure you guessed as much, but I’m a virgin. If that wasn’t clear.”

I nod. “Me, too.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Wait, what?”

“I’ve never had sex before.”

“But you-?”

I sink down on him completely before he can finish his sentence, and his grip on my waist is now punishing. “Oh, Christ, Katniss.” I try to breathe slowly, but he’s a little bigger than I’m used to, and the stretching sensation is one I haven’t had to feel in a while. It’s painful, but nice. It makes me feel full. But right now, I’m just uncomfortable, stuck in a soreness from the intrusion. I go to move up and down, rock my hips, something to help me adjust, but Peeta keeps his grip on my waist. “God – you’re so tight, I – nope, not gonna think about how tight you are. Say something, Katniss. Distract me.” His eyes are shut tightly, and he’s speaking through clenched teeth.

“Uh…” I’m not good at saying something, and I can feel perspiration dot my forehead from the struggle to keep still. “Like what?”

“Like, um, what’s your favorite color?”

“My favorite color?” I try to laugh, but it comes out strained, pained.

“Yes. Mine’s orange.”

“Green,” I tell him.

“Why?” He’s still tense.

“Nature,” I answer shortly. I can’t do much more than that currently. “You?”

“Sunset,” he says, then takes a long, deep breath and relaxes his grip on me slightly. “Okay,” he says. “You can move, but take it easy on me.”

Instead of answering, I just raise my hips all the way to his tip, then drop back down, making us both grunt. I do that slowly, a few more times, and it’s only after that that I can feel my walls adjust, stretching completely to accommodate him. It’s then that I can enjoy the way he slides into me, rubbing right against that sweet spot he hit earlier using his fingers, but much deeper this time.

I move against him, planting my hands on his chest and swiveling my hips in what I think is the right motion, rocking against him to feel him as deep as possible. I switch between up and down and figure-eights, but I soon notice that my shins are burning, and that I find some relief when I bend down, hovering over Peeta’s chest, moving against him using just my bottom half this time.

The new angle changes something for both me and him as we moan at the same time. After moving a few more times, I realize too that my clitoris can be stimulated by rubbing against his pubic bone. Although I know I probably can’t come again, all of the sensations are so much, melting something inside of me and making me completely collapse against Peeta.

“Peeta, you can move my hips. And thrust up into me.”

He does, raising his hips and pushing me down by my waist to ride his dick in motion with him. And if I thought that just a real penis felt great, this feels even better: a real penis moving according to someone else’s movements. Someone who is trying to pleasure themself while also trying to read you and work their way into your body in a way that will make you come undone.

As he moves up into me, I meet him in a sloppy, wet kiss and then break apart, just breathing against each other’s mouths in time with the movements. It’s then that I meet his eyes, and the look in them is so tender, so much, that I drop my head against his shoulder and lightly nip at it to avoid his looking at me.

Pretty soon I get lost in the feeling of everything, and I’m sure I sound like some cheap porn star as I moan and gasp and repeat his name, but I can’t bring myself to care. And he doesn’t seem to mind, his thrusts getting sloppier, his words more jumbled. “Katniss,” “You feel so good,” “God.”

I can tell he’s close, trying to hold off for me, and although it feels great, I’m not going to get there for a second time tonight. So I whisper in his ear, “Peeta, you feel so good.” Thrust, thrust, thrust. “God, you’re so big, you make me feel so full.” Thrust, thrust, thrust.

“Katniss, I can’t – for much longer –“

“I’ve been thinking of you like this since the day we met.” Thrust, thrust – “You’re better than anything I could’ve imagined.”

He comes with another thrust or two and a strangled groan, and I use my last remaining energy to clench tighter around him, milking him of his orgasm.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to –“  he starts.

“No, I wanted you to. I wanted to feel it.”

We sit like that for a minute, breathing heavily, until I feel his hands brush away the hair from my shoulder and I take the hint and move off of him. And even then, we lay side by side, foreheads touching, trying to calm our racing hearts. The movie that once played has been long since forgotten, and the projector timed out and powered off a short while ago after the credits rolled.

“Was that good for you?”

I open my eyes a little lazily. “The sex?” He nods, and it makes me laugh. “Yes, Peeta, the sex was really good.”

He seems to contemplate my answer for a moment. “But you didn’t, um, finish. When we had sex.”

I’m very sleepy after everything, but the conversation we’re having makes me wake up a little. “No, I didn’t,” I tell him, “But I can’t usually come more than once in such a short period of time. And I finished before, when you were using your fingers. And besides, just because I didn’t climax doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it. It felt really good.” His chin is still down, as if he’s thinking, and I plant a kiss on his lips, bringing his attention back to me. “I guess you’ll just have to make me come next time we sleep together.”

A slow smile spreads along his face at the promise of more sex. “So… this was your first time?”

I shrug. “I took my virginity myself a long time ago if we’re counting the specifics. But yes, you’re the only guy I’ve been with.”

He raises his eyebrows, “Does that mean you’ve been with girls?”

“No,” I laugh, thinking of a similar conversation me and my roommates had months ago.

“So, you’ve never…”

“Sucked dick before?” I guess.

He closes his eyes in regret, laughing lightly, and nods.

“No, I haven’t. Was it that bad?”

“No!” he rushes to reassure me. “No, it was good.” At my look, he goes on, “It’s a little concerning how good it was, for your first time, that’s all I was getting at.”

I snort at that. “My roommates are disgusting, and each of them have insisted on telling me all their tips and tricks. Besides,” I add, “you’ve never gotten a blowjob before?” His cheeks tinge pink and he shakes his head. “Well, I’m pretty sure any head would feel good for someone who’s never experienced it before.”

At this, he nods, his eyes roaming around my face. “Maybe.”

I let a moment pass. “And you, you’ve never – fingered a girl before? Or anything?”

He chuckles gruffly, his breath fanning across my face. “No, Katniss, I’ve never fingered or kissed or fucked a girl besides you.”

My answering blush is embarrassing and I hide my smile by turning my face into his pillow, but I think he sees it anyway.

Eventually I get up to pee quickly, (something Delly drilled in my brain – pee after sex), and the bathroom is clean and organized, with a walk-in shower that has a built-in bench.

After I come back, he gets up to dispose of the condom (something I completely forgot about) in his bathroom, and I wait on his bed, wondering if he wants me to pack up and leave or stay the night or what. But after a few minutes pass while he’s in the bathroom, I start to wonder if he’s trying to hide out while waiting for me to leave. That’s usually what Johanna does when she finishes with a one-night stand or a friends-with-benefits.

Suddenly embarrassed, I hop off the bed and begin gathering my clothes. Before I can pull my panties on though, Peeta comes out of the bathroom on a crutch. “Katniss? What are you doing?”

It takes me a minute to respond, because his prosthetic is gone and his “stump” is showing, and the sight isn’t disturbing at all, just surprising, and it catches me off guard. I look at him, still brain farting from processing his leg and also the fact that we are both so naked right now. I say the first thing that pops into my mind, which is the truth. “I thought you were hiding in the bathroom, waiting for me to leave.”

His brows furrow, but he laughs lightly after a second. “No, I was taking off my prosthetic. Why – do you not wanna stay the night?”

“I – I do,” I say without thinking, again. But I realize I do. If not for the fact that I don’t want to walk back to the apartment so late when I am so tired, maybe just for the fact that I enjoy Peeta’s company and don’t want this night to end.

“Okay,” he says kindly, then notices my attention drifts back to his leg. “Sorry, is this okay? I can’t sleep with my prosthetic on.”

“Of course!” I hurry to answer. “I was just – surprised is all.”

He laughs a little. “Yeah, guess I should have given you a heads up.” We make our way into the bed and under the sheets. “But you should know, I listen to white noise when I sleep.”

I furrow my brows as he reaches for his phone on the nearby dresser. “White noise? Why?”

“When I was younger, I couldn’t sleep when it was really quiet so I would leave my window open at night and listen to whatever I could hear, usually birds and the wind and things like that.” He starts an audio on a quiet volume and turns back to me. He doesn’t hesitate before taking me in his arms, and under the haze of sleep and sex, I allow it, laying my head on his bare chest. “Now, I’m older, and these stupid dorm windows don’t open because it’s a safety hazard, so I settled for the next best thing.”

I yawn, my busy day and the exertion from sex finally catching up with me, and I know sleep is coming soon. “Goodnight, Peeta,” I tell him. “Thank you for letting me stay over,” I say, quieter, almost asleep.

His answering response is a word I don’t quite catch, already being pulled under.                                                                                                                           

***

In the morning, I wake up early so I can head back to my apartment before my morning class at 8:30. I slip out of his arms, cringing when the springs of the mattress groan, and quietly get dressed and grab my backpack. I totally forgot to charge my computer last night, and I’ll pay for that later.

When I try to shake him awake, I find he’s a surprisingly heavy sleeper.

“Peeta,” I whisper.

“Mmphmm,” he mumbles groggily, making me giggle. At the sound of my laugh, he cracks open his eyes a little.

“Hey,” I tell him.

“Katniss,” he says, still halfway asleep.

“I have to go. I have to change and shower before class.” He manages a nod, eyes slipping shut, and I don’t even realize what I’m doing until I brush back his hair and kiss his forehead lightly. “Go back to sleep.”

He nods again at this, pulling the covers tighter. Before I leave, I realize his white noise is turned off and wonder if I should restart it. But he seems to be asleep already, so I just let myself out.