Chapter Text
Peeta’s POV
I am standing still in the middle of the kitchen. My brain is totally numb from this day. The last hours I’ve spent walking back and forth, searching for words. Better—the right ones. They never came. And tomorrow is the Victor’s Tour.
I turn my head to check the clock again. I can barely see it in the dim light — I forgot to turn on the lamp. It seems to be a quarter past nine. In half an hour it will be too late. Damn it.
I need to talk to Katniss. It seems to be the last chance.
I can’t leave this—how does she call it? Strategy—as it is.
Or should I?
I come to the window.
It is freezing outside. I can feel the cold spreading from the thin glass. The sky has long since turned completely black.
Never thought I would be the one to end the engagement.
I dread that she will accept too easily. Or I’m nervous it could turn into a long argument instead.
Okay. Enough.
I move quickly to the hall and put my boots on. Straight to the door. It slams shut behind my back.
You should do it — I repeat to myself.
The wind is icy cold. Victor’s Village is deadly silent. I hear every sound my boots make on the gravel. I cross the dark yard between our houses. With every step my heart pounds louder.
I stop at her door and lift my hand.
I never saw that coming. At all.
I shake my head.
Pause.
I knock. My hand is strangely hot against the cold wood of the door.
I hear voices inside. Should be Prim. Then I hear Katniss: “I’ll get it.”
I am nervous to the point of mild nausea.
Hard sigh.
She opens the door slightly.
“Peeta?” She looks surprised. Which she should be, probably.
“Sorry. I know it’s late. But can we talk?”
She hesitates, studying me.
“Sure. You’re without a coat. Come inside.”
She opens the door wider and steps aside. I enter the hall.
“So. Talk?”
She is already in her nightclothes.
Katniss crosses her arms over her chest and stands a few feet away from me. How did we end up here? We are basically strangers now.
“Yeah. I won’t make this long. But we need to discuss…” I pause. “The engagement.”
Her face flushes instantly and she lowers her eyes. She looks uncomfortable.
“Okay,” she nods. “Let’s talk. Come with me.”
We walk toward the cabinet — the most distant room in the house. Good.
The tight, cold feeling in my chest grows deeper.
As we walk, I remember how we even got here.
A few days ago Haymitch asked us to come over. It was the first time Katniss and I had been in the same room for months. Strategy for the Victor’s Tour, Haymitch said. Six months were over. Time to get back to performing.
Districts are restless. Uprisings are whispering. Speculation about us outplaying the Capitol isn’t loud, but it still exists.
He started with:
“We need to show them something. Development. Progress. What half a year off cameras did to you. Feelings grow. The story has to be believable.”
He looked back and forth at us.
“Suggestions?”
I was trying to gather options in my head when I heard Katniss’s voice:
“We can get engaged to be married.”
My eyes flew to hers in a heartbeat.
Even now I don’t understand how that idea entered her mind. She never talked to me during that time. Not once.
But in shock—and something close to disbelief—I agreed.
It wasn’t until this morning that the weight of that decision crashed down on me.
In the cabinet she turns on all the lamps. The bright light feels aggressive and too exposing.
She takes the visitor’s chair and nods toward the main one.
“You can sit.”
I shake my head. “No. I’ll stand.”
She sits, waiting.
I swallow.
“So, Katniss. I’m not sure this marriage thing is a good idea.”
She looks at me, confused.
“But you said we can do it.”
“So I did.” I hold her gaze. “But it’s not an easy fix for the problem we have.”
She stays silent.
Damn. This will be hard.
I want to tell her I want the engagement. The problem is — we are not on the same page about what comes with it.
“If we get engaged, the Capitol will keep close eyes on us. They’ll push for the wedding. And you know what marriage is in Twelve. It’s a lifelong deal. Not easy to escape.”
I hesitate before the next line. My chest hums with the need to say it.
“And that part… isn’t really a problem on my side.”
Her eyes drop to the floor.
“So what are we talking about then?” she asks.
“We’re talking about how we survive this marriage. The way our relationship works right now… we live different lives. You need your freedom. You need to be with—”
I stop.
She tilts her head and says quietly, “Gale?”
The name lands.
“Yes,” I admit. “We might hook the Capitol. But we won’t survive it ourselves.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
My jaw tightens. I exhale.
Come on. Just say it. Final shot and then it's done.
“We play dating. We play being in love. And in a few years we grow apart,” I say.
Suddenly Katniss turns fully toward me.
Her expression shifts. Not confusion—something sharper. Anger?
I pause.
“Eventually it would set us free, Katniss.”
She breaks eye contact and starts folding a piece of paper on the table.
“And the other option?” - she asks.
The other option? I never really developed it in my head.
I look straight at her. Our eyes meet.
“I don’t have any other options, Katniss.”
“So you reject the idea?” she asks. “But Haymitch said we need to do it.”
That’s not nearly what Haymitch said—but a new argument isn’t likely to make things easier.
She looks at me sharply. So I continue:
”I could only imagine getting engaged… if it were just the two of us.”
The words feel raw. But i continue:
“Living like now and being married—it would be too hard to swallow. I don’t think I can…”
I want to add survive this, but it sounds too melodramatic. So I finish with:
“I’m sorry, Katniss.”
Silence. The words hang there.
I feel relief and something dangerously close to grief at the same time. I might have just ended it myself.
“I understand it’s last minute. The tour is tomorrow. But nothing is officially planned yet. We have time to readjust,” I say.
She looks so beautiful tonight. It doesn’t help at all.
“I understand if you need time to think,” I finish.
Suddenly Katniss turns toward me.
Her eyes lock on mine.
And it seems she’s about to answer.