#(fuck u ontario driving laws)

[everlarkbirthdaydrabbles]

Our absolutely amazing pal and fellow smutketeer @peetabreadgirl has a birthday on February 23rd. @xerxia31 and I were wondering if you'd be willing to accept a submission from us in her honoUr?

Happy Birthday @peetabreadgirl! By special request, Here’s a birthday drabble crafted just for you!

Biggest Fan

AN – Happy Birthday PBG! This is part 1 of 2 because your birthday is too special to cram all into one day!

Mesdames et messieurs, votre attention s’il vous plaît. Les passagers de la vol Air Canada 8637 arrivent à la gare vingt-quatre.

Peeta Mellark bobs up on the balls of his feet, eager to see around the crowd of tired commuters coming in on the flight from Montreal to Quebec city. Just a few more minutes and he’ll finally lay eyes on the infamous KatsEye, the best beta in the Avengers fandom.

And his best friend. Possibly the love of his life, but hey, he figures he probably should lay eyes on her in real life before he declares his undying devotion.

The crowd is thinning a bit now as the business crowd moves toward the airport doors, a sea of suits and muttered French. He checks his phone. Her text had said she was near the back of the plane. Surely she’ll be out soon.

KatI’m wearing an orange sweater.

When he looks up again, he sees her coming through the gate. Her aviator glasses are perched on her head and her hair is tied up in a side braid that spills over her shoulder onto the gorgeous coral sweater she’s wearing. It causes her olive skin to glow even though he can tell she’s not wearing a stitch of makeup.

His artistic sensibilities practically giggle at the idea that she’d consider the shade to be orange. It’s softer, more muted; kind of like a sunset at the end of a sultry summer’s day.

Regardless, it’s his new favourite colour.

When he notices her scowling as she scans the crowd for him, he uses his free hand to hold up the little sign he made: KATNISS EVERDEEN. It’s her real name, what her friends and family back in Texas call her. Frankly, it’s what what everyone who isn’t an Avengers fan calls her, but in his mind, she’s always Kat.

Her frown vanishes when she spots his sign and she moves toward him, offering a nervous smile. “Cap? Is that you?“ Her southern drawl lilting over his pseudonym delights him.

“Hi Kat.” He offers her a smile that he knows will never convey just how happy he is to see her. “Welcome to Canada.” Her cheeks pinken.

Damn. He knew she was pretty, but that little one centimetre by one centimetre picture on her Google Docs avatar wasn’t big enough to tell him the whole truth. His Kat is beautiful. More than that, really. She’s fucking radiant.

He reaches out to hug her and realizes halfway there that he’s a strange man in a strange place and a hug might not be a welcome gesture. Instead his arm dangles awkwardly in mid air. “Can I, uh, take your bag?”

She clutches the strap of her carry-on and insists that she’s got it.

“Oh. Um, I wasn’t sure if you’d have warm gear, so my sister-in-law loaned me her Canada Goose coat.” He passes over the bright red parka with the fur trimmed hood and she accepts it solemnly with a whispered “Thanks.”

“They’re down-filled,” he explains, “Those coats, I mean. It should keep you nice and warm when we’re at le Carnaval tomorrow.”

Katniss strokes the fur on the parka’s hood and just nods.

They settle into an awkward silence and he does his best to hold his disappointment at bay. He’s never met a woman who has captured his attention quite the way Kat has. His day is not complete until they’ve hashed out the latest fandom drama and she’s stolen all of this extra words or scolded him for using the passive voice. But, they’re of one mind more often than not. He trusts her exclusively with the inner-workings of his imagination. He offers her his soul, naked and raw on the page, and she heals it, clothes it and sends it out to the world. How is it that now that they’re face to face, they can’t even string ten words together to make a sentence?

The luggage carousel jerks into gear and they move toward it in unison. A tired sigh slips through Katniss’s lips. She’s been travelling since sun-up and changed planes three times just to get there. The journey made Peeta’s eight-hour drive from Toronto today, including the harrowing trip through the tunnel in Montreal, seem like a stroll in the park.

Before long, her suitcase comes into view and when she moves to pick it up, Peeta snatches it off the conveyer belt and tugs out the handle. He resists the urge to apologize.

“Your hands are full already. Let’s go find the car,” and he drags the rolling bag behind him. As they stroll toward the parkade that is connected to the airport, Peeta alternates between trying navigate the crowd and admiring Katniss’s profile. He thinks it may have been sculpted by fairies. Her cheekbones are high and delicate; her nose, straight and slightly turned up, and her jaw slopes gently downward into a chin that’s just soft enough to prevent it from being labelled as pointed. When his thoughts start to trend toward how his lips would cruise along that jaw to the hollow of her throat, he reverts his attention forward.

“You should probably put the coat on,” he recommends at the door and when it opens, allowing in a gust of winter air, Katniss shivers and drops her bag, quickly tucking herself into the coat. Once she’s bundled up, they pass through the sliding glass doors and continue on their way.

“It’s over here on the left,” he directs, wishing he’d thought to take her hand as they left the terminal. He fumbles in his pocket for the key fob, finally managing to unlock the trunk of his father’s crossover.

“A BMW,” Katniss observes, her eyes wide.

“My dad’s,” he explains, hefting her suitcase into the trunk beside his dufflebag. “It’s better on gas than my Jeep.”

The trunk door lowers automatically and Peeta follows Katniss around to the passenger’s side, reaching around her to hold the door. Her expression is the picture of surprise, but she says nothing and slides into her seat. He closes the door behind her and circles back around to the driver’s side. When he presses the button to start the car, he notices Katniss stroking the leather of her seat and admiring the stitching on the leader dash.

“A big step up from my shitty Corolla,” she mutters.

He grins at her as he backs the car out of its spot and aims it for the exit. “My folks bought me my Jeep in high school. It’s kind of a beast now, but it still gets me around, so I’m not ready to part with the old girl.”

Katniss’s lips press together and he wonders what’s going through her mind. “You work for your father,” she recalls. “I’m sure you told me that.”

Peeta nods, piloting the car onto the Autoroute that will take them into the old city and the two-bedroom apartment they’d booked. “We own a chain of bakeries throughout southern Ontario. Dad runs the head office. I work there. My brother Rye is in charge of operations at the biggest bakery, the one in Toronto. My other brother, Bran, has human resources.”

Katniss’s eyes flick over to him. “I thought you were a baker, not an executive.”

He laughs. “I am. I bake all day. I’m in charge of the company’s concept kitchen.” He slows the vehicle as they move further into busy downtown traffic on their way to the old city. “I’ve been experimenting with cheese buns lately. I’ve got this recipe with a hint of rosemary that…” He looks over at Katniss to find her observing him strangely. “What?”

“I’ve never seen anyone get so excited about bread.” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she tries not to laugh. Her head falls back against the headrest. “Okay, so I’ve been travelling for the last 10 hours. Tell me what’s been going on in our little corner of the Internet.”

He’s grateful for an easy topic to fill the thirty minute drive with. They chat about the fandom all of the time, it’s familiar. “Remarkably, our absence has not been noted,” he says with a laugh. “Let me think. Um, mega-buckylover published the prologue of a new wip.

“Blackwidowdoesnotfollowback just posted a new chapter of that college au she’s working on. Something about Cap and Peggy and a pool table.”

Kat hums beside him. “Next chapter is even hotter,” she confides.

“Right,“ he concedes. “Almost forgot she’s my primary competition for access to the best beta in our fandom.”

She rolls her eyes. “Careful, CaptainAmellarka, or I’ll be forced to steal your U’s again.”

He snorts. “Paws off my superfluous U’s. Oh – Glimmer and Clove are at it again.”

Katniss shakes her head. “They’re going to divide the fandom if they don’t cut it out.”

Glimmer, whose actual handle was @peggywithmoresparkle, and Clove, who used @therealpepperpotts, were in a constant battle over whose fave was the true leader of the fandom. Sick of typing out their names, while they made snarky remarks about their diva-like behaviour, Peeta and Kat had renamed them, Glimmer – because Peggy Carter was too cool to need bling; and Clove – because pepper is a perfectly useful spice and cloves are one only useful about once a year.

Katniss leans forward, captivated, as they start to move into Vieux Quebec where the snow-covered 400-year-old stone walls and cobblestone streets leave every visitor entranced. “My God, it looks like something out of Beauty and the Beast,” she marvels.

“Surprised?”

She snorts. “No more surprised than when I discovered CaptainAmellarka, my favourite fanfic author in the entire fandom, was a Canadian.”

“Hey,” he defends, “They didn’t make Dudley Do-Right an Avenger, so what’s an earnest, well-meaning Canadian boy supposed to do?”

That gets a laugh out of her. “You know, I haven’t seen a single moose or a mountie anywhere.”

“Only in every souvenir shop.” Peeta replies with a grin. He turns up a small side street and parks in front of a three story building built of stone. Quaint blue shutters frame each window and matching boxes sit primly underneath, primed to overflow with flowers in summer. For now, they are filled with twinkle lights and greenery.

“Here we are,” he announces cheerfully, popping out of the car. Together, they approach the house and Peeta raps smartly on the door.

“Oui?” A woman with spiky black hair answers the door. Her makeup is perfect, but her matte red lips are twisted into a frown.

“Madame Johanna?”

“Oui, monsieur.”

“Bonjour madame. Je m’appelle Peeta Mellark. Nous avons loué votre appartement pour la fin de semaine.”

Her frown deepens and turns into a scowl. “Hein? Non, non, non. Impossible!” Madame Johanna’s hands fly into the air. Peeta feels Katniss take a step back, overwhelmed by their animated hostess. “Mes visiteurs pour cette fin de semaine sont déjà arrivés.”

“Peeta, what’s wrong?”

“There’s some sort of mix-up,” he translates. “She wasn’t expecting us. There’s someone else in the apartment.”

He turns back to the little French fireball guarding the entrance to their rooms and tries to turn on the charm. “Madame, pourriez-vous vérifier encore, s’il vous plaît?”

“Tabernacle!” The door slams in their faces. Peeta turns to Katniss and sees her face etched in concern.

“She’s going to check,” he explains. The door whips open again.

“Vous êtes booké pour la semaine prochaine.”

Booked in for next week? Shit. He’d been so careful when he made the online booking. “Est-ce que-”

“Non,” she interrupts. Their would-be hostess seems to have had enough. “Etes-vous fou? C'est le Carnaval! Vous auriez de la chance si vous trouvez quelque chose dans la ville!”

He is truly fucked. Kat is exhausted and now they have nowhere to stay. Johanna must see the look on his face, because she relents slightly.

“Mon amie, Effie, est la gérante à l'Hôtel vieux Québec. Peut-être elle aura quelque chose. Mais à la dernière minute, ses chambres sont coûteuses.”

Peeta nods grimly. “Merci madame.” The door again slams in their faces. He turns slowly to Katniss, whose eyes are wide and wary. “So,” he starts, running his free hand through his hair. “How do you feel about a little adventure?”

She scowls, but says nothing as he leads them back to his father’s SUV.

He explains the situation to Katniss while simultaneously scrolling through his phone to look up the hotel Madame Johanna recommended. “I’ve heard of the place she mentioned,” he says. “It’s nice, I think. If nothing else, we can be sure the bathroom will be super clean.” He can hear Kat’s little huffs of frustration, but he tries to paint it for her as a good thing, even if he’s worried sick himself. Hundreds of thousands of tourists descend on Québec for Carnaval every year, finding a room anywhere is a longshot at best. Effie’s hotel might be their only chance.

Google says L’Hôtel vieux Québec is only a dozen blocks from Madame Johanna’s apartment, but the drive feels like it takes forever. A tense silence fills the car, and Peeta gets more and more anxious. He’s been looking forward to this trip for months, and already he’s screwed it up.

Thankfully, he needs all of his concentration to navigate the narrow, twisting streets of the old city. And trying to parallel park the Beemer next to the massive snowbanks makes him wish he’d brought his Jeep after all.

By the time they walk the couple of blocks from the street parking spot Peeta found to the hotel, Katniss is visibly shivering, in spite of the thick coat she’s wrapped in. He rushes her down the final few feet, a gentle hand on the small of her back.

The hotel looms above them, red brick and charmingly old like so much of the city, but obviously well-kept. The walkway has been cleared of ice and snow, and the awnings over the large front windows glow red in the setting sun.

When Peeta pulls the door open for Katniss, he can’t help but hold his breath. He really has no idea what he’ll do if this doesn’t pan out. He could take her back to Toronto for the weekend, but the prospect of another eight hours travelling might just make her decide to hop back on a plane for the warmth of Texas instead.

Katniss’s wide-eyed reaction to the lobby relaxes him just a little. In contrast to the exterior, the inside is bright and modern, with lots of stone and natural wood surfaces, and gorgeous local art on the walls. “Why don’t you sit down and warm up a little,” he says, pointing her towards the small lounge just off the lobby. “I’ll get us a couple of rooms.” Or at least, he hopes he will.

The concierge raises a brow askance when Peeta asks for two rooms and admits he has no reservations. “Mais monsieur,” he says. “Certainement vous savez que c'est Carnaval?” Yes, Peeta knows well that it’s Carnaval, and everyone in the city booked a place to stay months ago. He booked the apartment where they were supposed to be staying months ago himself. He still can’t figure out how he managed to mess up the dates when this weekend has been circled in red in his calendar since the moment he suggested it.

“Please,” Peeta says quietly, aware of Katniss sitting just on the other side of the large glass doors, her gaze flitting back and forth between the fireplace and the counter where he stands begging. The whole pathetic story spills out, the hours of travel, the wrong reservations, his desperation to salvage what he can of the weekend. “Madame Johanna,” he says, in a last-ditch effort, “Elle nous a dit que madame Effie pourrait nous aider?”

Recognition lights the attendant’s face. “Un moment, monsieur,” he says, then walks through a  door behind the counter.

When the door swings open again, Peeta does a double-take. The woman approaching him, talking a mile a minute as she does, is nothing like the elegantly modern man with whom he’d been speaking. With her scary white grin, pinkish hair, and spring green suit, she looks like she’s from another planet. He sneaks a peek over at Katniss and can see her hiding a grin behind her hand.

The woman - Madame Effie Trinkett he thinks she says her name is - speaks in such rapidfire French that Peeta has trouble keeping up. His high school French is sufficient for getting by as a tourist, but it’s not strong enough to keep pace with the effervescent whirlwind in front of him, pink curls bobbing. “Un peu plus lentement s'il vous plaît,” he implores. Instead, she switches to heavily accented English.

“My dear friend Johanna telephoned me, told me of your situation tragique, truly star-crossed,” she says, and Peeta struggles not to roll his eyes. “I think we can help you, non? Flavius?” she trills, and the concierge reappears.

Ten minutes - and four hundred and eighty-eight dollars - later, Peeta is clutching a keycard and breathing normally for the first time all day. They have a place to stay. One room, the only room left, but Flavius assured him the room has both a bed and something Effie called a petit divan. He thinks that’s a couch. Peeta is more than happy to sleep there, if it means saving the weekend with Kat. The weekend he’s been dreaming about since, while they were brainstorming winter soldier AU plotlines, he tentatively suggested setting their story in Canada, at le Carnaval d’hiver du Québec, the largest winter festival in the world.

He walks over to Katniss and flashes the keycard. She grins, and his heart soars.

His relief lasts only as long as it takes to climb the stairs to room twelve, their assigned space. The room, while beautiful, opulent really, is tiny. And the couch is little more than an oversized chair.

Peeta can’t look at Katniss, can’t stand to see her disappointment. Or worse, her anger. “I’ll, uh. I’ll go get our bags,” he says, then bolts back out of the room and onto the street.

Stupid, stupid, stupid echos through his head, a litany. He’s so pissed off about the lodging situation, so damned mad that their original plan got fucked up when he’s certain he booked the right weekend that he has half a mind to storm back to Madame Johanna’s.

Peeta pouts the block-and-a-half to his car and the block-and-a-half back. Everything is so completely messed up. Sharing a room was certainly not in their plans. Regardless of how he feels about Katniss, he’s a gentleman. But how’s it going to look to her when she trusted him to make all of the reservations, to deal with all of the people in a language she doesn’t even understand? Of course she’s going to think he’s an idiot, or worse, that he’s lured her here only to take advantage of her. He’s blown his chance with Katniss, and he’s probably also lost himself one of his best friends in the world.

It’s with trepidation that he pushes the room door open. But he finds the room empty, the door to the ensuite shut tightly, the faint sound of water running behind it.

He leaves her suitcase next to the bed, beside her carry on, and tucks his own beside the petit divan - that means loveseat, he remembers, not couch. Of-fucking-course. Now that he’s not running away, he can appreciate how cool, if small, the room really is. Hardwood flooring, exposed brick, and a gas fireplace across from the bed. He flips that on, thinking that Katniss will appreciate the little bit of extra heat.

The fire is crackling merrily when the bathroom door opens and Katniss treads back into the bedroom. Her eyes are swollen and red-rimmed and he feels like the worst kind of heel.

“Kat? What’s wrong?”

She shrugs and then sniffs. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” She shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I’m just tired I think.”

“Of course I’m going to worry about it. Look, I’m so sorry about the screw up at the apartment, alright? I don’t know how it happened. I swear I checked the date three times before I booked. I won’t fit on the loveseat, but I’ll sleep on the floor in front of the fireplace or the bathtub or something. And you can-”

“Cap.” She holds up her hand to stop him. “You paid a fortune for this room, I saw the bill when we came upstairs. I can fit on the loveseat. You shouldn’t have to give up the bed, not for someone you don’t particularly like.”

There have been few times in Peeta Mellark’s life when he’s been struck nearly speechless, but this is one of them. “You, you think… what?” he sputters. “Kat, you have no idea. “I’ve been waiting for this day for months! And now you’re finally here. And you’re just so amazing.”

She looks doubtful, confused, the redness of her eyes only enhancing their stunning silver colour. She’s unlike anyone he’s ever met, and that he’s somehow made her believe otherwise guts him.

“It’s true,” he insists. “Although why you haven’t run away screaming back to Texas after all the ways I’ve screwed up is beyond me.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know why you think you’ve screwed up.”

Maybe it would be easier if he ticks them off for her one by one. “Lemme see. There’s whatever happened with the reservations-”

“That bitch was double-booked! On purpose!” Katniss bursts out. “She totally lied to you and you were incredibly polite. Ick. It was so Canadian of you. I wanted to shoot her in the eye with one of my arrows.”

Wait. She shoots? He wonders at that a bit and then continues. “I couldn’t get us a room with two beds.”

“You got us the last room in the city, paid a fortune for it, and now you’re refusing to sleep in the bed.”

He ignores that one. “Then there was that moment at the airport when I tried to hug you and you clearly didn’t want me to.”

“What if I did want you to!” she bursts out, her eyes shining. Realizing what she’s said, Katniss flushes and stares at her toes. “I’m not good at this people thing, Cap.”

“Peeta,” he corrects gently. “Please, Kat… Katniss, I mean. Call me Peeta.”

“Peeta.” The way her accent lingers over the vowel sounds in his name causes him to slip even deeper into love with her. “When you reached out to hug me I just froze. I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

For the first time since she stepped off the airplane almost two hours ago, Peeta feels a bit of hope bloom in his heart, as warm and gentle as a Texas spring night. “Could we start again, maybe?”

Katniss laughs a little hysterically and nods, even as she swipes at her eyes before wiping her hands on her jeans.

“Hi Katniss. I’m Peeta. I’m a big goof, clearly-” She chuckles. “But I am so happy you’re here. Thank you for being brave enough to come all the way up here to meet me.”

The smile he receives is more blinding than any dawn, more beautiful than any sunset.“ Hi Peeta,” she answers, and holds out her arms to him. He scoops her up, clasping her tiny frame against his broad chest and spinning her around, just once. A laugh bubbles from within her. She squeezes back and smiles up at him. “I was glad to make the trip. I wanted to get to know you for real.”

It feels so impossibly good to hold Katniss in his arms, Peeta knows he won’t be the first to let go. But eventually, she steps back and he releases her. “So what now?“ she asks, and her stomach growls.

“Sounds like it’s time to find something to eat.” 

Katniss nods, looking lighter than she has all evening. “I haven’t eaten since my layover at O’Hare,” she admits. “But, do you think maybe…” she starts, then shrugs and looks down shyly.

“Anything,” Peeta says. “Tell me, this is your vacation after all.”

“Well I wasn’t kidding about being tired. I left my house at five this morning.” Katniss glances at the clock beside the bed. “That’s nearly fourteen hours ago.”

“Thirteen,” Peeta snickers. “You’re not in the cactus timezone anymore. This is igloo time here.” Katniss rewards his teasing with a smile, a real smile, and it leaves him breathless. He can barely tear his eyes away. “How do you feel about pizza?”

Though he could order cardboard pizza from any one of the hundreds of shops in the old city, Peeta figures food is his chance to really impress Katniss. He leaves her to rest and freshen up while he makes the ten minute drive to La Boîte à Pain, home to the absolute best pizza in the entire province. He already knows what she likes; mushrooms, pepperoni and bacon.

It takes a little longer, but her groan of delight when he hands her the pizza box is worth it. “This smells incredible,” Katniss says from her perch, sitting cross-legged on the bed.

She’s changed clothing, the gorgeous coral sweater and slim jeans have been swapped out for yoga pants, and a t-shirt that clings to her slight curves. She almost looks happy. Peeta starts to move over to the loveseat, but she shakes her head. “Sit up here with me. We’ll have a picnic.”Peeta sets out the paper plates, napkins and bottles of water that came with their pizza before toeing off his shoes to join her. He grins as he watches her paw through the other bag he’s brought back. “What in God’s name is this?” she asks, waving a container. She flips back the styrofoam lid and sniffs cautiously

“That, my American friend, is poutine, practically the official food of la belle province du Quebec.” Peeta hands her a fork, but she doesn’t take it, continuing to stare. “It’s french fries, gravy and cheese curds.”

Her nose wrinkles adorably. “You eat this stuff? It looks like dog food.”

“I don’t just eat it, I love it,” Peeta says, laughing.

“Well there’s no accounting for taste.”

Peeta spears a serving of poutine onto his fork and takes a big bite. The fries are perfectly cooked; the rich, savoury gravy still warm. The salty curds have begun to melt, but they still make a satisfying squeak as he chews.  “This is possibly the best poutine I’ve ever had,” he enthuses.

Katniss takes a healthy bite of her pizza. “It’s all yours, big guy.”

“That’s what she said!”

Katniss groans.

“Seriously Katniss, this is a Canadian tradition. Don’t knock it until you try it.” He waves a dripping forkful under her nose until she relents. The sight of her wrapping those lush peach lips around his fork is so unintentionally erotic that he can’t blink. But then her face screws up in revulsion.

“Oh my God, that’s nasty,” she says, reaching for her water bottle. Peeta laughs hard enough to shake the entire bed. “Y’all really eat that? You’re not just pranking me?”

Peeta tries to affect an affronted expression, but he can’t stop giggling. Katniss laughs too, and they fall into the comfortable banter that they’ve always enjoyed, only now it’s face to face. And it’s incredible. Seeing her expressions - how her face lights up like dawn breaking when she’s excited, the little crease that appears between her eyes when she’s skeptical. The way she chews on her bottom lip when she’s pensive. He’d already been falling in love, but having her here now, live and three-dimensional and real… he’s a goner.

The pizza box lays empty, except for crusts and stray bits of mushroom, and they both lean against the headboard, chatting. But Katniss’s eyes are heavy from her long trip, and Peeta too is feeling the effects of the drive and excitement and stress of the day. “We, ah. We should probably get some sleep if we want to make an early start tomorrow.” Katniss nods, and Peeta thinks she looks just a little reluctant to end their evening. It reminds him off all of the nights they’d spent instant messaging while he’d been lying in bed, so exhausted he’d continually drop his phone on his face, and yet still not want to sign off.

Peeta takes the remnants of their meal out of the room and down the hall to the recycling station. When he returns, Katniss has started making up the petit divan. “Katniss, no,” he says. “You can’t sleep there, you’d be all twisted like a pretzel and I’m not going to be responsible for wrecking your back.” He tries for levity, tries to push back that anxiety about having screwed up so much, but he thinks she hears it anyway by the little line that again appears between her stunning silver eyes. “Please,” he says softly, tugging a pillow from her hands and tossing it onto the floor in front of the fireplace. “Take the bed. Don’t make me beg.”

Something flares in her eyes before she simply nods.

But when Peeta emerges from the bathroom, teeth brushed and curls still damp, Katniss is tucked into bed and all of the bedding is gone from the floor. She meets his confused expression with something that looks like defiance. “Look C- Peeta, it’s ridiculous for either of us to sleep on the floor after what you paid for this room. And this bed is huge.” He’d argue that queen-sized isn’t exactly massive, though she certainly looks tiny nestled in the crisp white sheets. “We can share.”

“Are you sure?” Peeta winces at the words, the girl of his dreams has just invited him to share a bed with her - however platonically - and still he feels compelled to be a gentleman and try to dissuade her. But if there’s anything he’s learned about KatsEye; passionate fangirl, smutketeer and ass-kicking beta extraordinaire, it’s that she never does anything she doesn’t want to. She’s strong and loyal, she’s the peanut butter in their friendship sandwich, the glue that keeps them together.

“Get in, goof,” Katniss grins, throwing back the corner of the comforter.

Though there’s a full twelve inches between them as they lie facing each other in the darkness, Peeta is struck by her immediacy, her presence. The sound of her soft breaths in the hush of the small room is soothing, comforting. It feels like such a luxury, drifting to sleep with Katniss right there, right beside him.

Katniss shifts, then Peeta feels her small, cool hand grasp his own under the sheets, their fingers entwine almost automatically. “I’m so glad you’re here, Katniss,” he whispers sleepily.

“Me too.”