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100 Days and 100 Nights

By @titaniasfics

Written for @norbertsmom, my Secret Santa, hosted by @loveinpanem

In-Panem Canon AU, no Games, no Reaping, just a whole lot of pining.

A/N at the end

“The sunlight claps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea: what are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?”

― Percy Bysshe Shelley

Peeta glanced down at the floor of the kitchen as he slid the empty bread trays under the counter. The dollops of dried dough indicated the floor needed a good sweeping. This was Rye’s chore this week, but he had gone to deliver a last minute order, leaving Peeta alone in the shop. Peeta wasn’t interested in hearing his mother complain about the matter when she returned from her errands, so he took advantage of the lull in customers and swept the debris into the dustbin.

While he worked, he heard a rapping at the back door. He set the broom in the corner, his chest growing tight because he knew who would most likely be there. As he passed the chrome refrigerator, he checked his face in the reflection, relieved that he didn’t have flour in his hair or dough on his cheek.

With a steadying breath, he opened the door.

“Hello Katniss,” he said, smiling his usual, how-can-I-help-you smile, the one he used to greet all his customers, even though his excitement was through the roof. It was automatic. Safe. Even though he’d been in love with Katniss Everdeen ever since they were kindergartners in District 12’s only elementary school, he made sure to never let a hint of his affections for the aloof huntress from the Seam escape him.

“Got some squirrel to trade,” she said. Unlike him, there was a slight smudge of dirt on her cheek and her hair was matted at the hairline with sweat. The humidity was thick in the air outside, the smell of rain filling the alley where Katniss stood.

“Come in,” he stepped aside to give her space to enter. He noticed with relief that her giant lug of a hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne, wasn’t glued to her side today.

She nodded once, her eyes flickering over him as she moved past, wary as the wild animals she hunted.

“How many do you have?” Peeta asked, absorbing, as he was in the habit of doing, every aspect of her appearance in one glance - her braid which hung over the left shoulder, her boyish shirt and pants which were patched in the strangest places, probably from being snagged in the trees and branches as she hunted. He made other observations, quicker ones that struck him in a flash, the ones he spent hours going over after she left each time - the luster of her black hair, the smooth, uninterrupted texture of her olive skin, the slant of her large, almond-shaped gray eyes, the pillowy-softness of her bottom lip, now sucked into a thin line of impatience.

“Four,” she answered, taking them out of her hunting sack and laying them on the table. “I had three times that but Greasy Sae bought most of them. I told her to leave these for your father.”

It was the most Katniss Everdeen had ever spoken all at once, and the husky sound of her voice struck him low and deep in his belly. “That’s kind of you. You know how much my father loves wild squirrel,” he answered. “How about a loaf of nut bread?”

Katniss’s eyes went wide. “That’s too much! Your father usually gives me a roll for each one. I won’t be cheating my customers.”

Peeta quaked, not because he was scared but because he didn’t want her to disapprove of him. “I know, but it’s a day old,” he lied. “And my mother was already going to discount it. It’s worth the same as fresh rolls and…”, he nearly lost his courage but continued, “I know how much you like the nut bread.”

She chewed her bottom lip, thinking. She didn’t know the bread had been baked that very morning, and his mother would certainly have a fit if she discovered he’d given away such a prized loaf. But she wanted the bread - he knew she did. It was her favorite. And he desperately wanted to give it to her. Give her anything her heart desired. But she was stubborn and would not take a gift from anyone.

He considered mentioning her mother and sister, for whom she cared and would do anything, but she finally acquiesced. “I’ll take the trade.”

Peeta, satisfied with himself, took the loaf from the shelf and wrapped it in paper, handing it to her with care. The smell of nuts, raisins and spices wafted from it, making his mouth water. He imagined Katniss eating it, making all manner of small moans of pleasure as she bit into the hard crust to savor the tender, aromatic center. He bit his lip to keep from panting.

“Thanks,” she said as she took the package and made for the door, opening it. Peeta desperately wanted to keep her for a little while longer but couldn’t find anything to say to her.

“Weather’s nice today,” he blurted out.

Katniss turned, raising an eyebrow. “Have you been outside today?”

Peeta glanced past her. The air now entering through the open door had become drenched in humidity and storm clouds swirled overhead. People were moving quickly through the center to get to shelter before the sky dropped its heavy rains on their heads.

“Oh,” he said, feeling like an idiot.

She shrugged. “I’ve got to get home. Thanks again.” She skipped down the steps and raced away even as fat droplets began to land on the ground.

He watched her leave, just as he always did, and stayed in that spot long after she’d disappeared from his sight.

XXXXX

After Peeta’s shift ended, he slipped upstairs to the apartment he shared with his parents and two older brothers. They were more well off than most so he could afford the large sketchbook he kept beneath the floorboard of his bedroom. He rolled the corner of the throw rug and pulled up the plank of wood. Inside was the black, faux-leather bound volume filled with fine sheets of drawing paper. He could also afford the pencils in the metal box he stored with the book. He lifted both up and set them at the small writing table. Opening the book, he scanned the pictures he’d already drawn - sketches of the birds that flew in from the surrounding woods, the snowy tops of distant mountains visible from his second story home in the Merchant quarter, where his family’s bakery was located. Drawings of his brothers, one each of his parents.

And Katniss. Ten, fifteen, thirty sketches of her over the years, engaged in different activities. He passed her face turned in adoration towards her little sister Prim, or one in which she’s scowling at something in displeasure. He’d drawn her with her bow and arrow, though he’d never actually seen her hunt. He’d sketched her standing at his backdoor, with the sun behind her as if she were a magical creature. And sometimes, when he was blind with a need so powerful, he thought it might surely burn him from the inside, he drew her in ways he’d never seen but could only dream of - smiling, soft, open, naked, inviting him close. Those pictures were folded away, saved for only the most desperate moments when he could find no other relief from his wanting.

Today, he was not aflame in that way, so he drew the moment he gave her the loaf, the joy of getting something she so badly wanted but was too proud to ask for. He was completely enraptured, each line he drew as if it were another moment he spent with her. After half an hour, he stared at the final product. It would require some editing, he knew, but it was good enough. It had to be good enough, because these furtive drawings were as close as he would ever get to her.

XXXXX

Later that week, Peeta approached the Hob, a makeshift market at the edge of District 12. It was part oversized shack, part canvas tent, its shape given by piecemeal metal construction, where Seam residents came to trade or find oddities that could not be found in more respectable quarters. Most of the Merchant class stayed away from the Hob, but Peeta had come out of a quiet desperation, hoping to catch a glimpse of Katniss. Each time she came to make a trade, the pressure for another encounter built up more quickly, until lately, it seemed he could not get from one day to the next without at least a glimpse of her. He didn’t care about the strange looks he received - he searched the entire interior, despondent to realize she was not there. Something quivered, brittle and aching in his heart, an ache which bore the name of Katniss Everdeen.

Outside the entrance of the market was Haymitch Abernathy, the old drunk from the Seam, perched on a table as worn as he was, a bottle of white liquor at his side. Haymitch had come into a great deal of money when he was younger, when he was a soldier and fighting wars in far off lands for Panem. It was rumored that he’d made a deal with the government that resulted in him being given a generous stipend for the rest of his life, though no one had a clue what the nature of that arrangement was. A mysterious figure, he piqued the interest of the young people of District 12, who often followed him around, hoping to hear an anecdote about his time beyond the borders of their small country.

Haymitch was surrounded by a small group of people, all awaiting his tale. The old man looked up, clear grey eyes so like Katniss’s and others of the Seam, and captured Peeta’s gaze where he stood at the back, leaning on a gnarled apple tree that had long since ceased yielding fruit. It was as if Haymitch spoke directly to him.

“Once upon a time a king gave a feast and there were all the most beautiful princesses of the realm. One of the guards saw the king's daughter: she was the most beautiful one of all. And he immediately fell in love with her.

“But who is a poor soldier when compared to a king's daughter? One day he managed to meet her and tell her he couldn't live without her. The princess was so struck by the depth of his feeling that she said to the soldier, 'If you will wait a hundred days and a hundred nights beneath my balcony, then in the end I'll be yours.'

“The soldier immediately took up a place beneath her balcony and waited. One day, two days, ten, twenty...Every night she looked out of her window, but he never budged. Come rain, wind, or snow, he never moved from his spot. After ninety nights he was gaunt and pale and tears streamed from his eyes but he couldn't hold them back. He didn't even have the strength to sleep any more. The princess still watched.

And on the ninety-ninth night, the soldier got up, picked up his chair and left.”

Several moments passed before the group came to realize that Haymitch had finished his story. “That’s it?” one man, a young Peacekeeper named Darius, called out. “What kind of ending is that?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Haymitch groused. “That’s just how the story goes.”

The group wandered away, exasperated, muttering under their breath, though they would be back again the next time Haymitch set himself up on the bench to tell his stories. Peeta made his way towards him as he took a swig of the white liquor bottle.

“Why would the soldier give up just as he is about to get what he wants? After all of that effort?” Peeta mused.

Haymitch set down his bottle, eyeing him carefully. “I don’t know. I’ve never wanted anyone that much.”

Peeta frowned. “That’s actually sad.”

The old man shrugged, getting off the table and clutching the bottle to him. He stared at it instead of Peeta. “It is. But I bet you’ll tell me what it means soon enough.”

At that, Haymitch walked away, remarkably composed for a man who had just swallowed half a bottle of powerful drink. As Peeta watched him leave, he caught sight of Katniss approaching the Hob with a silent tread. She had learned from many years of hunting how to move like a shadow and just as silently, slipped inside.

Her unexpected appearance brought a surge of happiness to Peeta’s heart, prompting him to follow her without conscious volition. Her arrival, like the flickering of a star through a cloud-covered night sky, lit up his mood and inspired a powerful sense of possibility, and risk.

She weaved her way through the tables to the back, approaching Rooba, the butcher. Katniss spoke with the older woman, emptying the contents of her bulging hunting bag onto the counter.

Peeta moved as quietly as he could, dodging the tarps and canvases that hung from the roof of the haphazard structure before stepping behind one that hung just adjacent to where Rooba’s was set up, peeking in through a tear in the worn fabric. From his vantage point, he listened to Katniss become more insistent as she negotiated for her meat. He hung back, listening to snatches of her conversation with Rooba until she packed up what remained of her unsold meat and stepped away from Rooba’s table.

Peeta was prepared to move and follow her again but she surprised him by setting her things down on a bench directly in front of where he stood. He was so close, he could see the part of her thick, dark hair. Her braid was neater than it had been when she’d last come to the bakery, perhaps because the day was not as rainy and humid.

A powerful desire to touch her welled up inside of him, and that fragile thing that quivered at the thought of her wailed, threatening to shatter if he did not, at that very instant, do something to satisfy it. His heart beat wildly and his palms were damp with sweat but he gave in, calling Katniss’s name from where he stood.

“Who’s there?” Katniss said, looking around her.

“Sssh,” he said, poking his head through the partition in the canvas. “Just pretend everything's normal. It’s me, Peeta.”

Katniss’s eyes popped open in amazement. “I know who you are.” She glanced around her, and he wondered if she was waiting for Gale. “Peeta, the Hob’s no place for you. What are you doing here?”

“Forgive me, Katniss. I know it’s stupid of me. But I had to talk to you.”

She looked up at him and her eyes were even more beautiful in the dim light of the Hob’s interior.

This time Peeta found the courage to speak to her. Unlike his stammering heart and ragged breath, he was filled with determination. That curtain helped him, allowing him to only partially be seen.

“You're so beautiful...That's what I wanted to tell you.”

Katniss stared, dumbfounded but he pushed on. “When I speak to you, I can't put two words together because...you make me tremble. I don't know what people do in these situations, or what I’m supposed to say. But I think I'm in love with you.”

Katniss leaned into the partition, staring at his face, as if that flood of passion bewildered her. At that moment, an older woman stopped to ask about a trade. Without looking, Katniss snapped at her and told she had nothing left. The woman insisted, pointing at her full hunting bag but Katniss fairly growled that all her haul was accounted for and returned her concentration to Peeta.

Peeta chuckled, provoking a tiny answering smile from Katniss. It overwhelmed him to see her face so transformed. “When you smile, you're even more beautiful.”

Katniss swayed on her legs, as if under a spell but pulled back and fixed a stern, but not cruel look on her face.

“Peeta, that’s really...kind...of you---”

“I promise you, it’s not kindness that I feel,” he interjected.

“Okay,” she said, disconcerted but pushing on. “I like you. But...I'm not...in love with you.”

It was as if a knife had been plunged directly into his heart. He held her luminous gaze, unyielding. He had come this far.

“Is it because of Gale Hawthorne?”

Katniss scowled. “He has...intentions.”

“But you’re undecided,” Peeta insisted, hope springing inside of him, becoming stronger when she refused to answer his question.

“I don’t care about Gale Hawthorne’s intentions,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

“For what?” Katniss asked.

“For you to fall in love with me too.”

She shook her head, beginning to protest but he rushed to explain before he lost his chance. “Listen. Every night, when I get off work, I'll come and wait beneath your window. Every night. When you change your mind, open your window. That's all you have to do. I'll understand…”

He smiled at her, trying to disarm her with his sincerity. Her eyes narrowed briefly in response, as if undecided or unbelieving. “You’re out of your mind. You’re Merchant. I’m Seam. You can’t just walk into my neighborhood and park yourself outside my window.”

Peeta smiled again, this time full of the courage of his certainty. “I am out of my mind with love for you.” He leaned his head from the rift in the canvas. “Don’t forget - your mother was Merchant and your father, Seam. And as for sitting under your window, it’s the smallest price I would pay to have you.” He pulled back again, so that he knew she could not see him, only hear the susurring of his voice. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He slipped out between the tarps that hung low, himself a shadow between the canvas. As he escaped, he saw Gale arrive, his eyes sweeping the interior of the market, no doubt also seeking Katniss.

Even with the presence of his greatest rival, Peeta was filled with hope. He felt powerful and optimistic and did not mind Gale Hawthorne very much at all.

XXXXX

Peeta did exactly as he promised, waiting patiently outside Katniss’s window. He was careful to select a spot where her mother could not see him. Katniss’s house was the very last one in the Seam, next to the fence that was used to keep the animals of the forest from roaming the streets of District 12 at night. He slipped in each night just after sun down and stayed until the lights of the small house went dark. During the hours of his vigil, which were not so many, he watched for Katniss’s silhouette, sometimes hearing her voice. But in those first autumn weeks, she ghosted near her windows, the only evidence of her curiosity was the corner that was gently pulled back to spy on him, but dropped in haste, in fear of being discovered.

He marked the passing days on a wall calendar in his room, each X building like the relics he’d read about in some book or other, each a testament of his devotion, each one pushing him toward the next one. Katniss still came to trade, at times with Gale but many more times, without. She said nothing of Peeta’s escapades - his visits to her house, regardless of the rain that pelted down or the cold that gnawed him to the bone. The courage with which he confronted this challenge waxed and waned, sometimes strengthened by an odd look she gave him when she accepted his trades, or the passing of his body close to hers when he held opened the door to let her in the bakery. Her breath caught, her eyes fluttered, and he knew as sure as his name that she’d felt something in response to him.

But there were other days, days when she walked the dirt roads of her neighborhoods as they wound towards the pavements of the center, in the company of Gale, pretending not to know Peeta - those were the days that sapped his optimism, making him question why he had ever thought someone like Katniss could care for someone as plain as Peeta.

Each night, her window remained closed. There were only a handful of moments when Peeta was sure her resolution wavered, moments when a curtain was pushed aside, a tremulous hand reaching for the handle, only to pull back. Those nights crushed him and sent him with a heavy heart back to his home, where his family eyed his strange, late night expeditions with curiosity and concern.

The nights became longer as autumn brought cold winds and leaves the color of singed metals. It also brought the Harvest Festival with its jocular lights crisscrossing the square, tables of food and drink set up around the center. The entrance to Town Hall was converted into a stage, before which an area which had been cleared for both the young and old to dance the frigid night away. Peeta, like all young men, both Merchant and Seam, prepared himself, with autumn wreath in hand and romantic dreams in the heart in the hopes of persuading the girl he most desired.

He smoothed out the new, green, button-up shirt he’d chosen for the evening and dress pants so typical of District 12. He pulled on a thick sweater which set off his shirt with colors of browns, greens and his favorite autumn orange, which appeared to have been borrowed from a candle flame. His artist’s eye was satisfied with the way it augmented his blue eyes and ashy-blonde hair. When his brothers called for him, he left his room, pulling on his formal coat, and slipped out of the houses towards the center.

They found the square already filled with young people. Groups of parents and older citizens clustered together, Seam at one corner of the plaza and Merchants on the other. There was some mingling between groups, most notably Haymitch and Prim, Katniss’s affable and universally loved younger sister.

Peeta pretended to carry on a conversation with Dillon Cartwright, the son of the shoemaker, while his eyes searched the crowds for Katniss. He greeted the children of other Merchant families, their parents all friends or business associates of his parents. It was second nature for Peeta to be so effortlessly charming.

An hour into the Harvest Festival Concert, where men and women played the local music of the season in makeshift groups, Peeta found Katniss. She wore an intricate weave of beautiful braids, typical of District 12. In fact, many of the girls had their hair swept up in braids like hers, but to Peeta’s eyes, no one wore them better. Under a pale, cream-colored wool shawl, she wore a pastel-orange dress which showed off her figure to lovely effect, to the extent that other boys noticed her as she walked by. But no matter what clothes she wore, no one had the courage to approach her.

Peeta glanced around the square with its decorated tables, twinkling lamplights and festive music and set one foot before the other, moving towards her. She pretended not to notice him but slowed her pace, allowing him to reach her. He fell into step next to her, ignoring the way a group of girls from his former school days watched them and whispered furiously.

“Hello, Katniss,” he said in a low, steady voice.

“Peeta,” she answered, her face impassive but without her usual scowl.

The music started, making it difficult to speak, but he did anyway. “Did you just arrive?”

She shrugged. “I was late in getting here.” Her eyes flickered quickly over him before she looked away.

“I…” he swallowed hard, wishing he’d rehearsed something before he approached her. “I was wondering if you’d like to dance.”

She tilted her head to look at him, eyebrows furrowed. “You dance? I’ve never seen you do it.”

Peeta smiled nervously, trying to hold her gaze and failing miserably. “I don’t usually dance in public.”

“Hmm,” she said, stopping in front of him. “Alright.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “You will? I mean, you’ll dance with me?”

“That’s what I said.” She put out her hand, inviting him to take it. “Do you know the steps?”

He nodded, not believing his luck. He tried not to make too much of the humorous twinkle in her eyes, tried not to read too much in her acquiescence. He took her hand and led her to the dance line, where people were arranging themselves. With her hand firmly held in his, he listened to the beat of the music, and when the dancers moved he led her through the steps of the jaunty song.

Peeta moved awkwardly at first, fearing to tread on Katniss’s toes or commit some other misstep. But when he spun her around and pulled her towards him for several beats, she whispered, “Relax, you’re doing fine.” This had an instantaneous effect on him and he fell into step with more ease. The clapping and stomping of the other dancers made him euphoric. But what lifted his heart, more than anything else, was the way Katniss’s eyes brightened with excitement, laughter bubbling from her like the ale fizzling in a cold glass. Her happiness captivated him and he found within himself an endless desire to always see her that way.

They danced until they were breathless. When the music stopped, Katniss collapsed against his chest, her smile wide and bright. He hugged her to him, pleased that she let him before leading her away from the center.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, indicating the table of ale.

Katniss nodded, catching her breath. “Yes, please.”

Peeta squeezed her hand before leaving her at an empty bench and made his way to the table where Mr. Undersee, the Mayor of District 12, was serving drinks. Peeta’s heart was full to the brim with happiness - he had been able to hold Katniss close to him and she had not only let him, but appeared to welcome his company.

“Two cups of ale, please,” he asked when he reached the front of the line.

“Peeta!” Mr. Undersee smiled, shaking his hand in greeting. “You were dancing up quite a storm out there.” He ladled the drinks into paper cups and handed them to Peeta.

“I’m only really just learning,” Peeta said, almost bashful.

“Well, you have quite the teacher. Enjoy the rest of your night, son.”

Peeta smiled, all benevolence and joy as he weaved through the crowd, which had lined up behind him. He glimpsed Katniss near the table where he’d left her and approached, eager to spend the evening with her, calculating which stands he could take her to, what gifts he could buy her.

But when he emerged from the crowd, he instantly deflated. Katniss was not alone. Towering next to her in clothes that were better than what he usually wore for hunting, was Gale Hawthorne. He stood close to Katniss, speaking to her in low tones. Peeta approached, holding the two cups in his hand, handing one to Katniss, who avoided his gaze by staring resolutely at the drink, a scowl fixed on her face. He offered his free hand to Gale, gritting his teeth as the tall man shook his hand in response.

“Are you enjoying the festival?” Peeta asked, calling forth every ounce of politeness.

Gale shrugged, eyeing the crowd with his usual dour expression. “It’s been fun so far. I was just coming to get Katniss. Her mother’s looking for her.”

“She can wait,” Katniss grumbled, taking a quick sip of her drink.

“It sounds important,” Gale said. It was then Peeta sensed the tension in the air between them, which made him uneasy.

“I can walk you over, if you like,” Peeta offered gently.

Katniss glanced up at him with a grateful look. “It’s okay. I might as well get it over with.” She paused, sipping from her cup again, ignoring the impatience in Gale’s stance. “Thank you for the dance. I’m going squirrel hunting tomorrow.”

Peeta nodded. “My father will be happy to hear it.”

With that, she turned, allowing Gale to lead her away. She cast a last glance over her shoulder before melting into the crowd. Peeta knew he would not see her again that evening. He left soon after, his mind filled with images of her that he would replay and draw for days to come.

XXXXX

After the Harvest Festival, the cold, busy days of preparation for Yuletide raced by. It was a busy period for Peeta and his family, and he worked without pause, filling endless cake and cookie orders in preparation for the upcoming festivities. The weather was icy cold, the ground covered in frost each night Peeta took his excursion to Katniss’s house. Now she made no effort to hide her face when she peeked through the curtains, but still the window remained closed.

The hard work, the frozen nights, the hope that was dashed each time Katniss shut her lights off at the end of Peeta’s vigil at once drove him forward and wore him down. At last, without knowing how, ninety nine days and ninety nine nights had passed beneath her sealed window, that resolute glass and shaded curtain chipping away at the certainty that had brought him to commit to this path to begin with.

Peeta stood at his post, beneath the giant evergreen tree. Few people came this far to the edge of the Seam, unless they required some medical assistance from Katniss’s mother and sister. So it was with some surprise that he saw Gale arrive with a giant package. He watched as Katniss opened the door and welcomed him inside with the easy familiarity of a friend - or lover.

Peeta did not wait for the night to end before turning on his heel and returning home.

XXXXX

The hundredth day coincided with Yuletide’s Eve and the festival of the longest night of the year. All the houses of District 12 were filled with evergreen boughs and holly branches. Fires crackled, warm and fragrant, while cakes and cookies for those who could afford the fine flour and sugar abounded on tables that often remained empty of desserts the other nights of the year.

Peeta woke that morning emptier than he’d ever been in the previous three months. He barrelled through the day, working hard so he wouldn’t have to think of his withering heart. In the evening, he perused the treasure beneath his floorboard, the one sketchbook that had grown into two, and turned first one page, then another, each one a different version of Katniss. He had derived so much joy from the expectation of catching a glimpse of her, the hope he carried each night that one day he would arrive and find her window open. But now that he’d come to this point, he found the energy that had driven him forward all these months was now depleted.

Katniss would never open her window, never feel the way he felt for her. She had Gale and there was nothing more Peeta could do.

He slammed his sketchbooks shut and shoved them deep under the floorboard, as deep as they would go, and fitted the wood slab in place again, lowering the edge of the rug resolutely over it. When he glanced out the window, he saw Haymitch idling in the town square. Peeta grabbed his coat, putting it on as he took to the stairs and quickly found himself before the old, drunk storyteller.

“Now I understand why the soldier went away just before the end,” he blurted out, full of misery. “Just one more night and the princess would have been his. But she might not have kept her promise. And...that would have been terrible, he would have died from it. So instead, for ninety-nine nights, at least he had lived with the illusion that she was there waiting for him…”

Haymitch hung his head, scraping at the snow on the ground. “So the soldier’s dreams were more real to him than reality.”

Peeta followed the design Haymitch etched into the ice. Around him, the light of the afternoon was fading quickly, becoming darker and darker. It would be Yuletide soon, his family would sit around their dinner table, carving the winter fowl, slicing the warm, freshly baked bread, wondering where he was. He himself would not know where he would be until he found himself there, for his heart had exhausted his store of hope, and like the weather-beaten soldier, with chair firmly in hand, Peeta was ready to take his illusions with him.

Haymitch’s gravelly voice interrupted his thoughts. “Boy, go home. Eat well. Tomorrow will bring more fables and tales. Maybe you will find another dream to dream.”

The old man clapped his hand on Peeta’s shoulder, not waiting for him to return the greeting before turning to walk toward Greasy Sae’s, where he traditionally had his Yuletide dinner. Peeta looked to the path he’d taken so many times in the last months, the one that had led him each time to his place beneath Katniss’s window. The pull was weak but it was still there, beckoning him forward to try one more time, to live in his dream for one last night.

He let his gaze linger, his heart filled with a love he would bury for the rest if his life, turned around and walked back to the bakery.

XXXXX

Dinner was agony. His mother had invited their aunts and uncles and myriad of cousins to dine with them. Peeta made a half-hearted effort to appear happy, forcing himself to eat and socialize, all the while making every effort to push each tortuous thought of Katniss from his mind. He was in a bad way by the time dessert was served and only just made it through the end of toasting the meal when he slipped out of his apartment and snuck downstairs to take fresh air outside the bakery.

He didn’t bother to turn on the light in the shop as he unlocked the back door, making sure to leave it unlocked as he stepped out into the alley. There were a handful of people milling around, walking off the meals they’d just shared with their friends and family. Peeta’s stared out at the lamps that were hung with wreaths and holly, fixated on the flickering stars beyond. So he did not hear the shuffling of boots on snow until a voice startled him from his thoughts.

“I opened my window and you were gone.”

Peeta turned and saw Katniss as if in a dream. His heart gave one, resolute thud inside his chest and faltered before picking up speed, beating wildly.

“I thought…” he began, but the look on her face was nothing like he’d ever seen before - wonderful, sweet, the look of somebody who understands she is loved and now realizes at last that she is in love too. Her single braid was gone, replaced with an elaborate array of smaller braids arranged high on her head, revealing the endless, smooth column of her neck. She wore a powder-blue dress, fur-lined snow boots and her father’s hunting jacket, damp with fallen snow. She had never looked more beautiful.

“What about Gale?” he asked, praying that she was not a figment of his overheated imagination.

“Gale?” she answered, taking a step forward. “I got into the habit of having him around. But he’s not what I want.”

Her words overwhelmed him, making the moment almost unbearable. To be met, not with a scowl, but with an invitation. He opened his arms with a timid restraint, as if this was a reality he could not believe. But she stepped inside, without hesitation, and pressed her strong body against him.

“Am I what you want?”

She clutched the material of his sweater, balling it into her fist. “Yes.”

They held onto each other awhile longer, her small body swallowed in his arms. Peeta was filled with both happiness and the fear of letting go. Then, without warning, he lifted her up and brought her into the warmth of the bakery. His action elicited a squeal of surprise from her, which became laughter when he spun her around and around in wide circles. She buried her face in the crook of his neck until they landed, dizzy, against a wall.

They exchanged an intense look. Peeta didn’t know who started but with eyes locked on each other, they kissed, at first timid, almost clumsy, and then with more determination. Katniss’s lips gave way to him, and he kissed her hungrily, heady with the taste of her. They only broke apart when the bell of the town hall chimed midnight, but instead of ending their rapture, it was magnified a thousand times, reflected in Katniss’s glassy eyes and swollen lips.

Peeta was speechless but felt Katniss’s fingers twine through the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer. “Kiss me again, once for each night you waited for me.”

“A hundred kisses,” he whispered, pressing his lips against hers, wanting to get lost in the wet warmth of her mouth.

She pulled back before they became entangled again.“Were they really one hundred nights?”

“One hundred days and one hundred nights,” he answered, dizzy with want.

She shook her head, smiling up at him, a smile so full of love, he thought he might be blinded by it. “Then kiss me again until you lose count.”

XXXXX

Based on a series of scenes from the movie, Cinema Paradiso. Some lines of this story were taken directly from the script. If you get a chance to watch this movie, it’s lovely.

@norbertsmom - I was so happy to get you as my Secret Santa! I’ve enjoyed doing this with you. I wanted to write you more stories but it was not in the cards this time, so I decided to write a longer story for the great reveal instead. Searching for things to put on our blog was a lot of fun for me. Hope you have a wonderful holiday! I got so much out of it. Thanks for being a friend and a supporter over the years.

Betaed by the incomparable @eala-musings and @akai-echo. Happy holidays to my friends :).

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