The Boy In Love // THG Peeta's POV

The Handshake

I am in a trance as I climb the steps up to the stage and stand beside Effie. I tried to make eye contact with Katniss, but she seemed lost in her thoughts. I don't blame her. I am screaming in my mind. How am I supposed to protect her when my life means her death?! As if from a million miles away, I hear the muted voice of Effie Trinket asking for volunteers.

I know that no one will step up. Family devotion only goes so far, what Katniss did was the radical thing. Lucas and James will mourn me, but they will not give up their lives for mine.

The mayor begins to read the long, dull Treaty of Treason as he does every year at this point — it's required — but I'm not listening to a word. I can almost see the thoughts racing through Katniss' mind. She is staring at the ground intensely, apparently trying to bore a hole in the stage with her glare.

I wonder what she is thinking about. Her family, perhaps. Or maybe she is longing for Gale. Or maybe, just maybe, she is thinking about me. I remember my first real interaction with Katniss Everdeen vividly, even though it was years ago.

I was 12, still short and scrawny, and my blonde hair was still shaggy, so it fell in my eyes constantly. I was in the oven room, checking on the loaves when I saw her. I ran to the window and pressed my face against the glass in wonderment.

She seemed to be swaying in the downpour; her pale green tunic top was stained with mud. I was transfixed by her beauty. Katniss' raven hair was in a pair of braids, and her expression was dreamy as if she wasn't really there. I couldn't take my eyes off her. Suddenly, her swaying turned dramatic, and she dropped to the ground and splashed into a puddle.

I jumped back from the window in shock, dropping the loaf I had been holding. What was wrong with her!? Did she faint!? Then I remembered what had happened only a few months earlier: her father's death. I noticed a thousand other details that I had missed. Her vacant expression, her gaunt cheeks, her cracked lips. The way she walked, shoulders hunched, swaying on her feet as if she was dizzy.

I heard my mother's footsteps, so I snatched up the loaf and raced back to the oven, my hands shaking. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Katniss head for the trash bin, which I had just emptied. My mother ignored me and walked outside to scold Katniss for digging through the trash. I saw her back away in fear and slump against a tree, defeated, starving, and half dead.

At that moment, my heart broke for her. The poor girl was only trying to live, to survive. I felt a pang in my stomach as if her hunger were my own. So I dropped the two loaves I was holding into the flames of the oven. They blackened almost instantly.

I snatched them from the flames, took a deep breath, and turned around, prepared to face my mother's wrath. The second she saw the burnt bread in my hands she began to shout.

"You stupid boy!" she yelled, smacking me across the face with a rolling pin. I didn't stagger back. I didn't even cry out. I was used to the blows, to the yelling, to the abuse. "You insolent fool! What am I suppose to do will you, huh? You're absolutely useless! Feed it to the pigs. And join them in the mud while you're at it! You might as well! You're just as smart as they are, you'll fit right in, you idiot! Go! I don't want to see your face."

I ducked my head and dashed out the door with the loaves tucked under my arms. I could feel my cheek welling up as I sprinted out the door towards the pigs and Katniss. I began to tear off chunks from the burned parts and toss them into the trough when the front bakery bell rang, and my mother disappeared to help a customer.

I knew what I had to do now. I could feel Katniss' eyes on me, on the bread, on the mark from the rolling pin on my cheek. Suddenly I felt self-conscious. I had liked her for so long, but I had never spoken to her. I lost my nerve. After checking to see if the coast was clear, I threw the bread at her.

The second I threw it, I regretted it. Why didn't I just walk out to her? What was wrong with me? I felt disgusting, the lowest of the low.

I saw her the very next day at school. The weather was perfect, fluffy clouds and blue skies. I was staring at her from across the school yard, once again enthralled by her smile. Katniss was walking with her sister, and she was the happiest I'd ever seen her. She looked radiant.

I was trying to work up the confidence to talk to her when she looked up and met my eyes. I chickened out and turned away from her, suddenly shy. That was the last real interaction we ever had, aside from glances in passing. Well, aside from that one interaction that I swore never to mention.

My attention was once again drawn to the reaping ceremony as the mayor finished the treaty of treason. He nodded to Katniss and I, motioning for us to shake hands. I turned to face her and stared right into her eyes.

I could see slight hints of tears resting on the thick lashes that framed her warm eyes. The deep green of her irises was flecked with copper, something I had never noticed before. I took her hand in mine and was amazed at how the callouses on our hands fit together, hers from hunting, mine from baking.

But they weren't just our callouses. They were also our scars, our trials, our hardships. They matched in a way that made me feel as if I would never be complete without her. As if I could just hold onto her hand until the end of time and everything would be okay.

I have her hand a squeeze, trying to be reassuring, but from her expression, I could tell she thought it was a muscle spasm.

Then Katniss pulled her hand from mine for the national anthem. Instantly, I felt incomplete. I wanted to pull her back into my arms and never release her, but she didn't even look at me. I sighed and stared out at the crowd.

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Hi readers! Again, sorry about all the exposition. I promise it will get more interesting soon. Thank you for reading my story. Please vote and comment!

-Siren Song