Marry Me (An Everlark One-Shot)

Part One: The Question

It was a grey day; one of those days where dark clouds loomed over my head and encased me in what felt like a sea of blackness.  I didn't want to get out of bed that morning.  I had hardly slept; I hadn't asked Peeta to stay with me that night – because I had felt fine, but waking from a nightmare of blood and murder hadn't helped that at all.  Even the simple task of running a brush through my hair had seemed too difficult to manage.  So, I didn't.  I lied there, until I was forced against my will to rise and be part of the world again. 

    That had happened sometime in the afternoon, when Peeta had finally decided to coax me out of bed.  It had taken quite some time, given the foul mood I was in, but, even still, he managed to get me up and dressed.  He made me eat, and then dragged me out of the house before I could even think about getting back into bed. 

    Silently, I trudged along beside him, my hands shoved in my coat pockets to protect them against the oncoming winter's cold.  He didn't say anything as we walked, nor did I, but it was clear there was something on his mind. 

    When we were nearing town, I finally worked up the strength to speak.  "Is something wrong?"  I asked him, my question pertaining to his distant comportment. 

    He gave me a half smile.  "I believe I should be asking you the same question." 

    Evasion, nice.  So, he was going to play that game.  "I don't know," I gave it to him straight.  "I think it's just this cloudy day; I feel like it's going to swallow me up.  Your turn." 

    He emitted a breathy laugh and then fell silent.  Since he wasn't in the mood to talk, and I wasn't in the mood to press, we kept walking without any more words exchanged between us.  We didn't need conversation at this point; we had been with each other long enough to coexist comfortably in complete silence.

He still seemed rather removed by the time we found ourselves in the town square.  We were surrounded by people bustling amongst each other, coming in and out of bright, jovial shops, but nothing seemed to stir either of us to acknowledgement.  Everyone and everything seemed grey. 

    When I was gazing into the window of a dress shop, only half admiring the miscellany of different colours, he finally decided to respond.  "Nothing's necessarily wrong.  I just need your help with something," he said. 

    I turned my head to look at him, giving him my full attention.  "And what's that?" 

    A small smile grabbed hold of his lips at the thought.  "There's this girl – this beautiful, smart...fiery girl – and I've been trying to figure out how to ask her something." 

    I scoffed at his words, an amused smile playing on my lips.  I hadn't known what we were at that point; the lines had been quite blurry – but, in that moment, I knew for certain that we weren't lovers.  Clearly, we were just friends, who kissed occasionally, enjoyed each other's company, and shared a bed some nights.  I told myself I could live with that, as long as he was still in my life.  "Well, I'm not good with romantic stuff, but I could try.  Who is she?" 

    His smile grew wider and warmer as he thought of her.  "I think you know her; stubborn; brown hair; likes cheese buns." 

    He was talking about me!

A genuine smile broke through my stony demeanour, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.  I found myself pondering how he could make me smile when I didn't think it was possible.  I had thought he was referring to someone else.  I had thought that he wanted my help in asking another girl out.  So that brought me back to: what on earth are we, then?  Friends or Lovers?  Thinking about it exhausted me. 

"What do you want to ask her?" 

    He paused for a moment, almost searching my eyes for something.  Then, he did something I had never expected him to do.  The smile faded from my face, and every bit of warmth in my body was extinguished, as he dropped to the ground on one knee, pulling a ring from his coat pocket.  "I wanted to ask her if – after putting up with me for seven years – she'd like to marry me." 

A/N: This is continuous (four parts).

What do you think so far? (Comments, opinions, predictions, and feedback are greatly appreciated!)