PURE ➳ everlark

Prologue

"I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you."
"Come on, then," I say, taking Peeta's hand in mine, pulling him into my room.

"I need to use the bathroom," Peeta announces, letting my hand go. I'm resistant for a second, not wanting to let go of his warmth, his steadiness. However, eventually, he disappears behind the door that leads to the bathroom. I walk over to the big closet in my room, picking out a silky, green nightgown. I slip on the gown, and look myself over quickly in the full-length mirror. The gown is short, and has a somewhat plunging neckline, the fabric only held up by two thin straps. Not that it really matters. I don't have any curves to fill the dress out anyway, and I honestly just feel like a small child who tried on her mother's clothes for fun.
The bathroom door opens, and Peeta comes out. He halts in his steps when he looks at me, and the way his eyes looks me up and down doesn't go unnoticed. I suddenly feel small under his stare, not understanding how he could even look at me like he does. How could he ever see anything else other than a girl with scars that tell the story of how she has killed people for her own survival? How could he actually find beauty in a body that's never been filled out to its full potential? How could he, in any way, find me anything else other than completely disgusting?

"I need to change," Peeta states, looking like he's pulling himself out of some sort of trance. I nod, moving past him to the bathroom, letting him change in peace. There's men's clothing in my closet, just like there's women's clothing in Peeta's. I guess the Capitol either assumes or knows that we have a habit of sharing a bed. It's mostly like the latter, though, seeing as we do not get to have the simple luxury of privacy.
I brush my teeth, unbraid my braid, just to redo it, fixing the messiness of it. When I walk out again, Peeta is sitting on the edge of the bed, clearly waiting for me. He reaches his hand out to me, and I walk over to take it. He backs up on the bed, now completely sitting on it, while one of his hands is in mine, and the other one placed gently on my waist, helping me sit down in front of him. I end up sitting between his legs, waiting for him to make any sort of movement, but he doesn't. Instead, he lingers for a long second, staring into my eyes. The thumb placed on my hip caresses me gently once, before he lets go of my hand, and grabs my other free one.

So here we are, our hands linked together, not saying anything, just staring at each other, like lovers saying goodbye for the last time. Which, in a way, is exactly what is happening. I know for a fact that I will not be the one to walk out of this arena.
That's when it hits me. This will be one of my last nights with Peeta. One of the last times I'll ever feel the luxury of sleeping in his arms. And by the way Peeta is looking at me, I know that he knows, too.

I'm not sure who initiated the kiss. It might have been me, but I think Peeta met me halfway. Not that it matters. What matters is that Peeta is kissing me, and I am kissing him. Away from the cameras, away from prying eyes, away from President Snow. It is only Peeta, me, and our lips. His lips are soft and warm and so comforting. It doesn't feel like the thousands of kisses we've ever shared before. It feels like something completely different. Something only for us.  It feels so good, so impossibly good that I never want it to end. Right now, it's everything I need. The steadiness and comfort he brings is something I realize I've been craving. Something that I've been starved for, even if I didn't know it until now. 
But eventually, it does end. Peeta pulls away, leaning his forehead against mine.
"Katniss." his voice is just a whisper, his breath warm and heavy against my lips.
"Don't. Just.. kiss me again."
In an instant, Peeta lets go of my hands, his own traveling up rest on my back, as he smashes his lips against mine, the weight of his body making me lean back. If he wasn't holding me, I would've fallen down on the bed.

This kiss isn't sweet and gentle like the one before. It's hungry, aggressive, eager. Peeta's tongue sweeps over my bottom lip, and like on command, my mouth falls open, letting him inside.
We've never kissed like this before. We're both clumsy and inexperienced, trying to figure out a rhythm. Our bodies have become flushed against each other, and my arms have encircled Peeta's neck.
We kiss for a long time. And when we stop, we begin again. And again. And again. We keep going, not wanting to stop. Because, if we leave this moment, we might never be able to get back into it. If we stop, we'll have to speak, or sleep, or suffer, all things that I do not want to experience. I do not want to have to explain why I suddenly need this so badly. I do not want to miss it. I do not want to drown in pain and misery and the feeling of Peeta not moving his lips against mine.