log: everlark WHO: Katniss Everdeen + Peeta Mellark WHEN: Evening, October 23 WHERE: Their room! WHAT: No one really feels married in District 12 until they do the Toasting. Katniss and Peeta opt not to marry in front of anyone, or even have an official legal ceremony, but they do set fire to a piece of bread.
__________
They had crossed the threshold of their room together multiple times, without even thinking about it much. Katniss hadn’t even given it much thought when Peeta had officially moved in, except to be relieved that he was there with her. That she didn’t have to sleep alone anymore, that they didn’t have to barricade the door of one of their rooms when they wanted time alone.
When she really thought about it, it was a little surprising how easily Peeta had slipped into her life -- how easily everything that was hers had become his as well. There were the tangible things, like the room, or the bed. And then there were intangible things. She felt like his claim on her had been imprinted on her heart and under her skin, overriding every instinct to defend herself against the myriad ways in which she’d always thought that love could harm her. She’d held herself back a long time out of uncertainty, but once that was gone, she’d ceded everything to him willingly, without a fight. It hadn’t even felt like conceding at all. It was as easy as if she had already belonged to him, and vice versa, but she’d just been too afraid and confused to see it. That wasn’t to say that she was never uncertain or afraid, but he was so steady and gentle and made her feel so safe that it was impossible to feel nervous for long.
Her nerves were jangling now, as they stood outside their room together. Once they crossed the threshold this time, the toasting would officially begin. Katniss looked at Peeta, and then reached for his hand, reassured by the warmth and strength of it in hers. It gave her the courage to lead him through the door, and close it behind them.
And then, still holding onto his hand, she began to sing. Traditionally, the song was for friends and family to sing to the newly wedded couple, but since they’d decided to do this alone, there wasn’t anyone to sing for them. Katniss thought she might have wanted to sing it herself, anyway. Since he’d fallen for her when he’d heard her sing, a long, long time ago, it felt appropriate.
Her voice was a little unsteady at first, but grew stronger as she continued. Her face was turned toward him, but she kept her gaze lowered, unfocused. She was fairly certain that if she actually met his eyes, her breath would stick in her throat and she wouldn’t be able to finish.
But she did, and when she stopped singing, the room felt very quiet. She looked up at him, finally, and indeed, it was enough to make her stop breathing for a moment. Her heart skipped and pounded in her ears, and when she managed to breathe again, she found that her mouth had gone very dry, making it impossible to speak.
--
Peeta closed the door behind them.
It was a ceremony that was silly to anyone else, something small and simple that people in District Twelve did as part of a wedding ceremony. The ceremony itself meant nothing in a legal sense, but it was the symbolism of it, the fact that it was something from their world, something they could do together to commit to one another -- that was all that mattered. No one needed to be here, no one needed to see it.
The room was far too quiet in the absence of Katniss's singing, and he almost wished that she'd sing it again. He wasn't sure where to go from here. It felt both nervewracking and too informal, like he didn't know whether he could make a joke to break the silence or if he had to be serious about all of this. --Because he wasn't serious. He was happy. He was exceptionally, overwhelmingly happy.
So he let out a breath and he just grinned, lacing his fingers with hers and giving her hand a squeeze. "You bring the song, I bring the bread, that was the deal?"
--
A smile spread over Katniss’ face in response to his grin. There was pure joy in his expression, and it made her feel warm all over. If she was making him that happy, then there was no reason to be nervous, no possible way this could go wrong.
She tightened her fingers around his and couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss him, briefly. It was barely a brush of her lips over his, only a hint at the way she really wanted to kiss him -- and would kiss him, later -- but it still made a little shiver go down her spine.
“That was the deal,” she said. “I also brought a candle, and... I made something, too.” She hadn’t been sure if the second thing was really as good an idea as it had seemed at first, but she had a feeling he’d appreciate it.
She only brought out the candle for now, though, and led him to the end of their bed, where they could sit down and lean against it. She knelt, and set about lighting the candle as she waited for him to settle in beside her. Once he was sitting down, she tucked herself up against his side. It was tempting to get up and turn out the lights, but it would be fairly dark with only one candle, and she wanted to be able to see his face. “What kind of bread did you make?”
--
It took Peeta a little while to sit down. He didn't really talk about the way his leg affected his life and movements. He certainly didn't discuss it with other people. Katniss slept beside him, she knew about the phantom pains that would wake him up at night, she knew that the way he moved now was far different from the way he used to move. The prosthetic limb he wore was expensive and highly functional, but it was still artificial. It still came off at night.
Getting down wasn't graceful, but he sighed heavily when he sat down, wrapping an arm around her and holding her close. He groped out with his other hand for a little bag he'd brought with him. "It's nothing special, just … bread. There's a little bit of cinnamon in there, but it's nothing complicated." He didn't want it to resemble a cake, or be so fancy that it didn't toast well. It was warm already from the oven, freshly made, and simple.
--
Katniss waited patiently for him to sit. The leg did bother her a little bit, whenever it bothered him; she still felt a little responsible for the fact that he had to wear it at all. Iif she’d been able to take better care of him in the arena, maybe he’d still have his leg. He deserved much better. He deserved to be whole, and she would have given up one of her own legs if it had meant that he could have his. But that wasn’t how it worked. All she could do was try to make him happy, despite everything that he’d been through on her account.
She smiled at him, wanting to make him smile back at her again. “I’m sure it’s perfect.”
And then, because it seemed the right moment for it, she reached into her pocket, and drew out her gift to him. It wasn’t anything extravagant: just two simple cords, the nicest, slimmest, and sturdiest rope that she’d been able to find. They were each knotted a couple of times, but not yet tied into circles. “I got really good at making this knot in Thirteen,” she explained. “When I was worrying about you. I thought… maybe we should have something to remember this, after. To… hold onto, if we need it.”
There were multiple reasons why that could happen. They could disappear, or get into danger, or -- well, sometimes Peeta was still not entirely himself. It didn’t happen nearly as often as before, and she half suspected that he managed to hide it from her sometimes, or that it happened while she wasn’t there. He always got through it, and she had no fear for her own safety. But she’d had him in mind when she’d thought to make the bracelets, because they also reminded her of the cuffs he’d worn on their mission to the Capitol, and the way he’d dug them into his skin to keep himself from hurting her. If he needed to do something similar with the bracelet, he probably could, though Katniss hoped that its simple presence on his wrist would be enough.
She reached for his hand, and carefully tied one of the cords around his wrist. Then she offered him the other, and held out her own wrist for him to put it on her. It didn’t matter if that meant the knot was different, it felt more important that he was the one to tie it.
--
Peeta watched her as she tied the knot around his wrist. He'd thought about something like this, he knew some people had traditions involving rings or tokens, but he didn't know what he could get her. And here she had a plan all along. It was simple, it wasn't expensive, but it was something he could always wear that wouldn't interfere with anything, wouldn't be showy. It meant something to them, private and beautiful.
He watched the way she tied it, but he wasn't nearly as well-versed in knots. "This isn't going to be all that pretty," he admitted, wrapping the cord around her wrist and fumbling to tie it. Not too loose, not too tight, and he was slow and meticulous, trying to find the best way to knot it. Something sturdy, something that would hold, and he settled on a looping square knot, simply because it was the only thing he knew to do apart from tying his shoes.
Finishing off the knot, he felt his breath hitch. It only seemed to hit him now that they were doing this and it hit him like a train. His eyes suddenly stung and started to water, and he lifted her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles. The alternative was to start crying.
--
“It’s okay,” Katniss said quietly, waiting patiently for him to tie it. If she’d wanted pretty, she would have chosen something else. He had already given her a pearl, which she hadn’t thought about in a while, but suddenly found herself missing it. She didn’t really need it, not the way she had before, now that she had the real Peeta to hold onto, and her new bracelet. But she smiled a little bit, watching his hands as he worked, and then at his face, with its look of concentration. “You already gave me a pearl.”
She was already looking at him, so she saw the moment that the emotion came over him. It made her own throat feel a little tight, and then her breath caught for an entirely different reason when he kissed her hand. She curled her fingers around his and pulled his hand closer to her, leaning in to kiss him properly. Guessing at the reason why he was tearing up, she murmured against his mouth, “I love you. I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out.”
--
Peeta kissed her hard in turn to keep from crying. He didn't let his emotions out very easily. He was private. He liked to keep his feelings to himself, sometimes to the detriment of others — he'd keep his feelings to himself and then be mad when someone didn't understand why he was upset. He didn't cry in front of people often. He was sincere, he was open, but he rarely let people see him as truly vulnerable as he felt.
She loved him.
She loved him enough to marry him, and he was overwhelmed. He kissed her again, reaching up to cradle her face. "I love you. I'm lucky enough that you like me back." He'd said it all before, how he'd always loved her, how he loved her more now because he knew her. He hadn't spoken too much about his doubts when it came to Katniss loving him in turn, but he knew it was real because she told him. And he trusted her.
He got lost in kissing her then, forgetting about the candle and the ceremony for a moment just to kiss and touch, his fingertips playing against the cord on her wrist.
--
The kiss took Katniss’ breath away. It was hardly the first time he’d done that, but it felt significant nonetheless. Like they were already married, even though they hadn’t broken the bread yet.
The truth was, though, every kiss here had felt different. At home there had always been something that had drawn her awareness away from him even just a little bit -- her senses trained on the arena around them, her cognizance of the eyes watching them on television-- but here, in a world where she was relatively anonymous, where they truly had privacy and some semblance of safety behind a locked door in a bunker, she was more aware of him than ever. The hunger she’d felt in the arena was only a fraction of the full effect he could have, when she let him. It was enough to make her wonder how she’d ever doubted for a moment that she wanted him.
She got lost in kissing him back, too, and it wasn’t until he touched the cord at her wrist that she started to come back to her senses. She still didn’t pull away, not immediately, letting the heat of the kiss slowly fade a little, lingering over it until her lips stilled against his. She became aware of the fact that her fingers had curled into his shirt, over his heart.
There was no rush, really, and yet she felt eager to finish the ceremony so that she could get back to kissing him. There had been a lot of things she’d considered saying to him, but she’d forgotten them all now, her mind preoccupied with the desire to kiss him again. But there was some part of it that also processed what he was saying, and wanted to argue with him, that luck had nothing to do with it. He was amazing, and he deserved much better than her, but he also deserved to get everything he wanted, and she wanted to spend the rest of her life making him happy.
But none of those words came out of her mouth. What she said was, “No. I’m the lucky one.”
--
Peeta blushed, looking down. He didn't think he was worth that. Maybe a couple of years ago, he might have considered himself someone good to be with. He'd grown up not feeling like much, his mother had more or less reinforced the idea that he wasn't anything special, but he'd had the wherewithal to consider himself kind and see that as a good thing. He didn't actively dislike himself, but he knew that following the war, after everything that happened, he was a mess — mentally, physically, emotionally.
But he was working through that. They were both working through that.
"I… um." He cleared his throat, chuckling a little to cover his awkward silence. It was a little funny, in a way that wasn't really so — he'd thought about this a lot, imagined this moment, but he'd considered it because he'd lied about it for the cameras. He'd already told people that they'd gotten married in secret, simply as a clever move to outrage the public about their second participation in the Games.
Now that he was here, it was different.
He wrapped an arm around her and kissed her hair. "Should we say something? Before I break out the bread?"
--
It had been difficult just to say that much, although completely worth it, to see him blush. “You’re the one that’s good with words,” Katniss said, smiling quietly. Wryly, she continued, “Which means I have to go first, or you might render me speechless and then I’ll never manage to say anything. Um.”
She cleared her throat, and tried to think of what she wanted to say. There were so many things. She’d said some of them already, that she loved him, that she was lucky to have him. Was there anything she hadn’t told him yet? This seemed like the moment for it, if there ever was going to be one. She couldn’t think of anything in particular that he really needed to know, but the more she tried to sort through her feelings for him, the more strongly she felt them, until finally the words started to come out of their own accord.
“You made me feel safe,” she said, in a rough voice, and she had to pause for a second to swallow. “I always thought… I wouldn’t be able to feel anything other than fear until I was safe. But even when everything was dangerous, I felt safe enough with you to… feel something else, even in the arena, in the cave. I just didn’t understand it then.” She drew in a deep breath. “You always make me feel safe, and warm, and hopeful, like… things might turn out okay, even when everything is horrible. You always have the right words to describe why things are wrong, you get through to me when no one else can. You… take nightmares, and make them into beautiful pictures. You’re… you…” She was losing the thread of what she was trying to say, her words getting dissolved by the sheer amount of feeling behind them. But she shook her head before he could say anything, to let him know that she wasn’t done. “I could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve you, but I only have one lifetime, and I want you in it.”
--
Peeta watched their hands while she spoke, running his fingertips over her palm. Katniss didn't often express herself this way, and sometimes he wasn't completely sure of how she felt. She was hardened on the outside, she was tough, and sometimes Peeta wondered if she loved him the way he loved her. Somehow, he made her feel safe, despite all of the broken pieces and all of the damage done, the times when his brain had been tampered with and he was hijacked into thinking she was a target to kill.
They were still broken, but that didn't mean they didn't get to be happy.
"I wish…" Peeta pressed his lips together, carefully considering his words. "I wish you'd stop saying you don't deserve me," he said. "Like I'm better than you, or like you're worthless. Because you're not. You're not, especially not to me."
--
“No, that’s not what I mean.” At least, it wasn’t entirely what she’d meant. She really didn’t feel like she was worth much of anything, after everything she’d done, but she knew Peeta loved her anyway. She certainly hadn’t meant to make him feel bad about it, when she was trying to tell him how much he was worth to her.
Katniss closed her eyes and tried to find the right words. “I don’t always feel like I deserve you, because… you’ve done everything for me, and I’ve hurt you, and you’ve gotten hurt because of me, and… I’ve caused you a lot more pain than happiness. That… you have more bad memories of me than good ones.” Even if that was only because so many of their good memories had been tainted. She still wasn’t entirely sure how it felt to him when he remembered the moments that had been tampered with. Taking his hand in both of hers, she toyed with his fingers, running her fingertips over them. “You make me feel like I could be happy, despite everything. Being with you here... I even feel like I am, and I never really thought that was possible. I want to make you happy, too.”
--
"You do," Peeta insisted. "You do make me happy." Things were complicated between them because of painful memories not wanting to go away, and they were damaged people, but Katniss made him happy. "I've hurt you, too. We've hurt each other. We've come out of this on the other side and we're better for it. And we're making new memories every day. And soon, the bad memories are going to be so outweighed by good ones…"
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers. "We're going to get through all of this. Together."
--
Katniss wanted to point out that he hadn’t really hurt her, not the real Peeta -- that other people had used him to hurt her, instead, and that wasn’t the same thing. But she had already accidentally made this a much more serious moment than she’d intended, so she kept that to herself. Maybe it was selfish, but she just wanted the warm, happy feeling back that they’d had a few moments before. Before she’d opened her mouth.
“Together,” she agreed, watching him. The touch of his lips against her fingers made her want to kiss him again, and because she’d brought down the mood somewhat, she didn’t resist the urge. Her hand curled around his and she leaned in, brushing a light kiss against his mouth. She wanted to kiss him harder, but there was still the rest of the ceremony to finish, and more to say, so she managed to maintain a little bit of restraint. Not enough to pull away, though; she stayed close, her forehead against his, her lips curving up into a small but genuine smile. Lightly, she added, “In case you missed the rest of what I said: I was trying to tell you that I’ve loved you for longer than I even knew myself. That I think you’re amazing. There aren’t many people that are as good and kind as you, and I’m really glad you’re mine.”
--
"I'm all yours. I always have been. I was in love with you when I was a kid, and it was … stupid. I didn't know who you were. And then I got to know you, and it was more complicated, but I never stopped. The way I loved you changed, but the fact that I loved you didn't. I never actually thought I'd be able to call you mine. I thought all of this would mean we never had a chance. But we do. And … I'm going to be the best man I can possibly be for you, Katniss. I promise you that." Peeta nipped lightly, playfully at her mouth, and he let himself grin. They didn't have to be serious all the time, and Peeta could have gotten lost in kissing her on what was going to be the beginning of the rest of their lives together.
And yet…
"We have some bread to toast," he said sheepishly, forcing himself to pull back.
--
Katniss had absolute faith that he would keep that promise. She didn’t think it would be difficult. It was impossible to imagine anyone better, for her or in general. But the feeling of his teeth had made her breath catch, and the sight of his grin made it feel like catching her breath might actually be a lost cause. She didn’t care.
“Yes,” she said, grinning back at him. She wanted to go through with the whole ceremony, so that it would be official (even if, technically, it wasn’t), but she also couldn’t wait for it to be already done. She wanted to know what it was going to feel like to kiss him afterward. She wanted to see the look on his face when it really sank in that they were married, for real. She hoped it would feel even better than he’d dreamed it would. “We do. We should do that.”
--
Peeta grinned, turning away and moving to get the loaf of bread. He took his time in breaking it, cracking the crust and tearing off a piece. "Let's try not to burn it."
It struck him now how apt this ceremony was for them, specifically. Peeta, the boy with the bread, and Katniss, the girl on fire. They were putting a piece of bread before a flame. It was so fitting that Peeta almost thought that somehow they were destined for this.
It was enough to make him sort of chuckle to himself with amusement.
--
“I almost feel like we should burn it,” Katniss said, amused. She was glad that he’d chuckled, too, because it was funny, really. “At least a little. Burning bread was probably the most romantic thing you ever did for me.”
She was teasing, really, because there were a million things he’d done for her that could be considered more romantic than that. And yet, that moment was so important and had been so integral to the way she felt about him. It was the reason she’d paid attention to him and actually talked to him and been able to pretend (or at least she’d thought she’d been pretending). Because she’d owed him, and because he’d given her hope.
She reached out to tear a piece of the bread, and held it to the flame. Close enough to warm it, and then, when it seemed somewhat toasted all over, she put a small corner of it into the flame and let it catch. She drew it back immediately and blew it out, smiling when she saw that it was just a little bit singed. Then, impulsively, she held it out to him. “Here.”
--
Peeta took the bread, laughing softly. He took a moment to blow on the corner where she'd burned it. She was right. It was appropriate, considering what he'd done.
He remembered that day clearly. It wasn't the first time he'd met Katniss, not when he'd been watching her for years. He hadn't known what to say to her. He just knew that he liked her singing voice, that he wanted to get to know her better -- but none of that, really, had had anything to do with the bread.
Katniss had grown up with nothing in a way that Peeta didn't understand. He'd grown up poor like anyone else in District Twelve, but as far as other residents were concerned Peeta's family were some of the wealthier residents. He might have lacked variety in food, but he never went truly hungry. At the very least, there was always stale bread at the end of the day.
He'd seen her struggling and he knew he had to do something. He'd burned the bread deliberately, holding it over the fire too long. It had earned him a few bruises from his mother, to say nothing of the way she made him feel worthless with her words. But he'd been able to sneak Katniss something, and that made it worth it.
He looked at the bread, at its singed corner, and he felt far more overwhelmed than he expected. The Toasting was a sweet ceremony where they were from, but it was different to be here, different for them specifically when bread had such meaning between them.
"From this day onward, we're doing this together," he said, looking up at her. "We're a team. Whatever happens, we're making it through together. You're always going to know you can count on me." That was just as important as love, as sex, as anything else.
--
As always, Peeta had the right words to say, the ones that could move a crowd, or perfectly capture what Katniss thought but couldn’t express. Right now, they filled her with warmth, and her heart ached with how fiercely she loved him. She didn’t want to imagine a future without him, without the steadiness and warmth and hope that he brought to everything. With him, she could get through anything.
There was absolutely no question in her mind that he could be counted on. He’d proved that, over and over again. She trusted him implicitly. It was the rest of the world she didn’t trust, to make things that easy for them to stick together. He had already disappeared once, and even if he came back, he’d have forgotten all of this. That was a heartbreaking thought.
There would probably never be a moment when she wouldn’t be terrified of losing him, even if there were times when she could forget about it. And moments, like now, when she could let herself believe what he was saying, that they would be together. That she’d always be able to count on him to be here, to go through everything with her. She wanted, hoped, with all of her being for that to be true.
“I love you,” she told him, her voice coming out rough. She hadn’t intended to say it right in this moment, but it was such an impossibly strong emotion that it wouldn’t go unspoken. “I’m in this with you. I’ll always have your back. I’d do anything for you.”
--
Peeta leaned in and kissed her, cradling her face in his hand and pulling her in close. He meant for it to be short, a small way to punctuate what she said. He meant to pull back and tell her that he loved her, too, but instead he kissed her again -- and again, and again, his lips pressing against hers and coaxing her lips to part. He kissed her until he was breathless, until his heart was pounding, until his hands wanted to wander and he wanted to push her back down onto the floor.
It was only then that he pulled back, catching himself and remembering he still had a slightly burnt piece of bread in one hand. He pulled back reluctantly and broke the piece in two, offering one piece up for her to eat.
"I love you, too."
--
Katniss made a little, involuntary sound against his mouth. The effect of his kisses was even stronger than the effect of his words, sending a now-familiar warmth through her body, making her heart pound, taking her breath away. She couldn’t have pulled away even if she’d wanted to, though she hardly cared about the rest of the ceremony at this point. She had broken the bread and burnt it; it could be eaten later. What she wanted was the taste of his mouth, the touch of his hands, and…
He pulled back, and she couldn’t help leaning forward, couldn’t stop the soft, breathless moan of longing that escaped her. But she managed to gather her wits enough to take the bread from him, and took a bite.
It was just regular bread, as he’d told her it was, but it was the best bread she’d ever tasted. Simple, a little bit sweet from the cinnamon, and perfect. She savored it, but not for long, because it was the symbolism of eating it that mattered more than the eating itself. One bite sufficed for that.
She let him take his own bite, and the moment he’d swallowed it, she leaned in and kissed him again.
--
Peeta let out a soft little noise, leaning back against the bed and pulling her to him. He didn't mean to rush through the end of the ceremony, but they didn't, really.
His hands came up to cup her face and then push back through her hair. There was an urgency in the way he touched her, a need that overcame him whenever they were alone together. He was perfectly capable sleeping beside her, wrapping his arm around her and comfortably drifting off, but he and Katniss found it difficult to be alone together without kissing like this, without ending up breathless and desperate.
He wanted her in bed, but that was harder to get to---so he ended up tackling her down onto the floor instead, his weight on his right leg as he crawled over her to kiss her again.
"I love you," he said again, murmuring it against her throat as he kissed along the underside of her jaw. He said it over and over again, a soft whisper punctuating each press of his lips.
--
Husband, Katniss found herself thinking, as he pulled her close. It was a strange word, but it had entered her mind and gotten stuck there, trying to assign itself to Peeta. He’s my husband. She’d never liked relationship words, because relationships themselves had always seemed frivolous and silly, and so did the words assigned to them. Her relationship with Peeta wasn’t frivolous. Just like the word boyfriend or even fiancé, it seemed completely inadequate to describe everything that he meant to her. This ceremony wasn’t about the words: husband, wife, marriage. It meant something to her beyond that, and she couldn’t have even begun to tell him in words what that was.
Thankfully, the time for words was over. She was grateful for the floor underneath her as he pressed her back, her limbs feeling warm and boneless. His mouth on her skin stole her breath and her ability to form words, even the three simple ones she could have said in return, but she could hear herself making little breathless sounds that she didn’t even have the grace to be embarrassed about.
Her hands and arms seemed to be working still, and she dragged his head up to hers with her fingers in his hair. Just before she kissed him, she had a flash of being able to see him so incredibly clearly, his handsome features and loving blue eyes, and the tenderness it inspired in her was almost physically painful. It mixed in with hunger and need, and she could only satisfy it by kissing him, pulling him closer.
Husband, wife, marriage. The words weren’t nearly enough, and yet, they meant something, probably more to him than to her. She wasn’t so much taking them for herself as allowing him to have them to use, if he wanted.
It felt even more impossible to assign the word wife to herself as it did to call him husband, but if what it meant was staying by his side, taking care of him, being with him through everything… then she supposed it fit well enough. And she would try to be the best wife she possibly could, for him.