#i just feel a little lonely and weird tonight and i need more vitamin d and also to remember to take my meds

[peetabreadgirl]

Writer’s Block 4.237

I intended to get this churned out in little blocks and post every 2k words. This is actually 3k, so consider the extra 1,000 words my apology. It seems even a little bit takes two weeks these days! But it’s getting closer. This is all cheese and fluff. And unedited! Please don’t point out my mistakes :) lol. I will crawl into a hole and die! 4.1 is here and you can find the first 3 here. 

I’m warm, and comfortable. And flat on my stomach with my face in the mattress. The sun is peeking through the tiny slits in the blinds over my bed. There’s a soft snore next to me and I open one eye, letting a slow smile take over my face. Blonde bed hair sticks up from beneath arms as Peeta lays face down with his head buried in a pillow, elbows jutting out from underneath it. I normally enjoy sleeping alone, but that’s obviously because I have no idea what I’m missing.

 Oddly, I’m not alarmed in the slightest by his presence on my couch - bed. I’m also not ready to remove myself from this scenario, so I roll towards him and lift his arm, burrowing into him. He releases a soft groan and repositions himself on his side so we fit together better, then tightens his hold on me. I don’t want to disturb our peace, so I say nothing. Neither does he.

 I must fall back asleep because I’m jolted awake by a surprised Peeta sitting straight up, and I almost tumble off the side of the bed and onto the floor. He grabs my waist and when we lock eyes my stomach falls. His eyes are wide and wild, like he doesn’t know where he is. I hope it’s not regret I see there.

“Wh-what time is it?” he asks, pushing his hair back with his hands before glancing at the watch on his wrist. “Shit,” he mutters, climbing from the bed and grabbing his things. I sit up slowly, unsure of what I should say. I was content just moments ago, but now I’m beginning to wish he hadn’t stayed last night, even though we did nothing but sleep.

 “Can I use your bathroom real quick?” he asks. I nod and point, unable to find my voice even for such a simple word as ‘yes’.

 While he’s in the restroom I quickly plait my hair into a side braid, then start a cup of coffee in a to-go cup. Moments later he emerges from the small space, hair tidier-looking, eyes less groggy. His clothes are rumpled but he’s still handsome as ever. We stand still, staring at each other awkwardly, both of us clearly struggling for something to say.

 “I hope you don’t mind. I, um, borrowed some toothpaste,” he says first.

 “Uh, no. No that’s fine,” I tell him. The coffee maker gurgles and spits behind me, signaling that it’s finished. As I look at it I get an idea to give it to him, hoping it might erase some of this weirdness between us. Surely he could use a pick me up, and I have time to make another cup anyway. I reach for it and turn back towards him, extending my meager offering. If anyone would have told me that my senior year of college I’d fall for Peeta Mellark and be begging the universe not to let things get strange between us, I would have laughed in their face. And then spit on their shoes. But here I am.

 “Coffee?” I meet his eyes every few seconds, relieved when an easy smile lifts his lips. Our fingers brush when he accepts it, but instead of retreating he steps closer to me.

 “Thank you.” My breathing halts as he reaches up and runs his fingers over my hair, down my braid that curls around my neck and ends just above my left breast. He leans in slowly and I’m rooted in place as he brushes his lips across mine. It’s the faintest touch, but the desire it flares inside me is unmistakable. “I’ll see you in class?” His whisper tingles against my lips.

 My senses are so skewed I can barely afford him a nod. He lays his forehead against mine and sighs. “If I didn’t have class in ten minutes…” he trails off, leaving me guessing as to how he would have finished that sentence. I want to ask him, but before I can he kisses me. Just a press of lips together, nothing that should feel as intriguing as it does. It’s innocent and pure, yet the feeling it elicits in me is anything but.

 “See you soon,” he says, releasing me. And then he’s closing my door with a soft click, leaving me alone. Something I used to appreciate but at the moment I have a distinct disdain for.

 I collapse back on the bed and groan into the emptiness. When I roll over I can smell him on my pillow. If I wrap an arm around it, close my eyes I can almost pretend it’s him. Almost. If it weren’t for the downy fluff where Peeta is solid, and the cooling material no substitute for the warmth he provides.

 I have two hours until my first class so instead of wishing he would come back, which will do nothing but make my day drag on, I pull out my laptop and begin to write. The words are sweeter than I’ve managed before, flowing straight from the experience I’ve recently had. There’s nothing sexual and everything sensual about the scene with Julia and Adam as they fall asleep together. The affection he shows is comforting to her and the feelings surrounding this part of the story are pulling her into a game she’s never played before. A game with rules she’s not familiar with. I feel her butterflies as acutely as if we are sharing the same stomach, and for the first time, I’m excited to see what happens with these two.

 I slip into class a little late, which is still early compared to most people’s definition of being on time. The room is already filling up with students. I try not to find Peeta with my eyes  but it’s futile. He’s there, planted in the seat next to mine with his laptop already out and his bag on the desk I always sit at, saving my place.

 His smile lights up the room as I near and he reaches for his bag so I can sit down.

 “Hi,” I say, proud that I spoke first. Or that I was able to speak at all with him looking at me like that. The sunshine pouring out of him that once caused me misery now beckons me like a seedling breaking the Earth’s surface for the first time, desperately in need of vitamin D.

 “Hey.”

 We share a few glances at each other and an awkward smile, or at least mine feels awkward. Peeta looks like he could be a smile model. Straight white teeth, pink lips and a dimple that punctuates the joviality he always seems to exude. But before we can have any kind of conversation Effie greets the class and begins the day’s lecture.

 Our laptops are open and my fingers are flying across the keyboard, trying to keep up with Effie’s speaking pace. when the tab of my open story doc starts blinking. Curious, I switch screens and see a message from Peeta in the chat box.

 This is shaping up really nice. ;)

 A quick glance at his screen shows he’s taking notes as well, but I can see several open tabs there. He must have been reading while I was taking notes. I reply ‘thanks’ and send it, staring at the lonely word that conveys very little of what I’m feeling. I may be the one putting the words down, but he’s been a fundamental part of the tone and the direction, not to mention some of the experience I’ve been given. Just thinking about it warms my cheeks, so I touch them with cool hands, stopping short of fanning myself lest Peeta look over and read my face for the open book it seems to be.

 I’m about to go back to writing notes when three dots begin to dance in the corner of the chat, signaling Peeta typing.

 What are you doing tonight? is the message he sends through. I reply that I’m going to write the date scene.

 P - I have plans to help with that…

 K - Don’t you have to work on your art project?

 P - It can wait a few hours.

 It warms me to know that he’s not just leaving me to write the rest of our project, that he cares enough to put his other project on hold, even if I am willing to finish it on my own.

 K - Cool. Your place or mine?

 P - We’ll start at your place. ;) I’ll be there at 6.

 His icon closes out and he’s gone, leaving me to wonder what he’s planning. Start at my place?

 I spend the rest of class unable to pay attention to the lecture, and more than a little annoyed that Peeta can have that effect on me. What is happening? I used to be so focused on school and my goals. Now all my senses seem to be sharpened in his direction.

 We’re finally dismissed and I gather my things, ignoring Peeta as he packs up beside me. I’m determined to get my wandering mind and eyes back under control.

 “So I’ll see you tonight?” he asks.

 “Sure,” I answer. Even though I’m avoiding his gaze I can feel the warm smile radiating from him.

 Don’t look.

 I can see his jean-covered legs out of the corner of my eye. As I’m bent over my backpack I realize I’m eye level with his… that. A barrage of words describing it come to mind thanks to my recent project research. I’m glad for my embarrassment, even though he can’t read my thoughts - I hope - because now nothing can make me look him in the eyes. Though I’m no less distracted than if I were looking at him.

 I throw my pack over my shoulder and start to walk towards the exit. I can feel Peeta behind me, his hand hovering at my lower back, but he doesn’t touch me. His scent wraps around me as we move with the crowd. It’s mildly sweet and extremely intoxicating. At one point, the students in front of me stop abruptly, bottlenecked into the doorway and Peeta is so close he bumps into me, throwing me off balance. But his arms are there to steady me, coiling around my waist and he doesn’t let go. It reminds me of last night and this morning, and I’m tempted to lay my head back on his shoulder, but the crowd surges forward again and Peeta’s arms fall away. I’m wondering how I can get us back into a crowded area when he stops me.

 “I’m this way,” he says, angling his head in the direction opposite of my next class.

 “Okay. Bye, Peeta.” It’s a lame reply, but it’s all I’ve got. Everything he does or says catches me off guard. I should be getting used to it by now. Able to formulate a response in the face of utter charm and those beguiling grins of his. I can’t tell if the blinders fell away when our mutual animosity faded, or if they’ve just been replaced by rose colored goggles, but I know I’ve never looked at Peeta Mellark this way in the entire time I’ve known him.

 He smiles again and waves, then takes off. I glance at my watch and sigh as I mentally calculate the time between now and 6:00 PM. It’s going to be a long afternoon.

  I’m lounging in my room doing some literary research for the sex scene while I wait for Peeta to come over. I changed from jeans to yoga pants back to jeans before I made myself stop and do something that would actually help our story along. I shouldn’t care what he or anyone else thinks of how I look. I never have before.

 The kissing is turning to petting when a knock startles me and I shove the trashy novel underneath my pillow and hop from the bed like I’ve been caught. It take a few seconds for my breath to even out, but then I swing open the door to see Peeta on the other side holding a handful of wildflowers and the slow excitement that was building in me moments ago while reading the sensual words goes to warp speed. He’s so handsome it physically hurts. The red checkered button down he’s wearing is a stark, but beautiful contrast to his blue eyes and his dark wash jeans mold to his thighs perfectly.

 “For you,” he says, holding out the flowers. I stare at them too long without taking them and he pulls them back. “You don’t like them?”

 I realize my mistake too late, but I reach for them anyway. “No, that’s not it. I just, no one has ever brought me flowers before.” My voice trails off at the end with embarrassment. The girls in high school used to get them on Valentine’s and birthdays. I always rolled my eyes and told myself it was frivolous and stupid, but the way my stomach is dipping and soaring is a study in contrast to those beliefs.

 “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” I tell him, mostly because an awkward silence has fallen between us.

 “I wanted to,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Pretty girls should be given flowers.” He blushes and it seems as contagious as if he’d yawned. I feel my own heating up.

 “Are you coming in?” I ask and stand aside. He stays put and shakes his head.

 “No can do. I’ve got a hot date.” My bottom jaw is suddenly so heavy I can’t stop it from dropping open and my gut seizes up with dread. A date? He got a date since mid-morning when he promised to help me with our story?

 “Oh,” is all I can croak out. I’m frozen. I want to slam the door in his face and throw myself on the bed - couch! - but my appendages don’t seem capable of receiving communication from my brain right now.

 “Well, okay,” I force out before I burst into tears as it dawns on me that I’ve been fooled by my nemesis. A flash of anger hits me like lightning, and I know I won’t be able to stand being in his presence. Ever again. “You know, I bet I can finish up this story while you concentrate on art. No need for us to meet up again.” Like a horror movie set in a cemetery, the bitterness I thought I’d buried suddenly rises from the dead and before I can stop myself I bite out, “Tell your date I say hello.”

 The door is almost closed when a booted foot wedges between it and the frame. I’m growing agitated and swing it back open growling “What?” at him.

 He has the nerve to smile. That cocky, lopsided smile that makes his eyes twinkle and forms a stupid dimple in his left cheek. A dimple I feel like poking hard with my finger. I begin smacking the weeds against my thigh and envision the satisfaction I’ll feel when I drop them into the wastebasket.

 “Hello.”

 “You mean goodbye?” I say, growing more impatient for his absence. His grin widens and he  fucking laughs! I should probably tell him to leave because I’m two seconds from losing all self control and he has no idea the danger he’s in.

 “You said to tell my date ‘hello’, so I did.”

 Wait, what? His eyes search my face and he clamps his lips together, which still turn up in a grin despite his efforts.

 “You’re my date, Katniss,” he explains, clearly clued into my confusion by the look I’m wearing. “And if I weren’t convinced that you’d deck me right now, I’d kiss that scowl off your face.” His pulls his hands out of his pockets and pushed his sleeves up, revealing his forearms. Have they always been so muscular? And why am I so easily distracted by that?

 “We’re going on a…”

 “Date,” he finishes for me. “Come on, I’m starved.” He winks and extends a hand to me, which is like a magnet for my own as it joins his without hesitation. His touch is like a balm that soothes away the anxiety of the last few minutes and I instantly feel like I can breathe again.

 I look at the flowers in my hand, a little less full than they were when he handed them to me, but still pretty enough to salvage, and tell him to wait before he can pull me out of the apartment. My hand screams it’s disapproval as he releases me and I scurry to set the flowers in a plastic cup I use to rinse my mouth when I brush my teeth, then grab the key to my room. My legs can’t seem to carry me back to his side fast enough. I only hope I don’t seem as anxious as I feel.

I can’t help it, though. Peeta Mellark is taking me on my first date.