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everlarkficexchange · 4 years

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A Taste of Rebellion

Prompt #68 (submitted by @oakfarmer12): Dark Coffee Shop AU- Capitol Peeta runs a coffee/pastry shop in the poshest part of the Capitol nearby President Snow’s mansion. Capitol Katniss is a frequent customer. Things in the Capitol begin to deteriorate as the rebellion drags on. Are they sympathetic to the rebel cause?

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the characters, and I do all my own editing. Thanks to oakfarmer12 for the amazing idea! I don’t know if this will be what you had in mind or live up to any expectations you had, but I hope you enjoy it as well as everyone else who reads!

If Katniss is a little OOC, it’s probably due to her altered situation, living in the Capitol. She’s still a bit hardened, but not as much maybe.

Special Thanks to evestedic and eiramrelyat for their feedback! And of course, thanks to oakfarmer12 for the awesome prompt! I’ve really enjoyed writing it!

Written By: @acpoe82 (JHsgf82 on A03 and fanfiction.net) Prompt By: oakfarmer12 Rated: T (possible rating change in later parts)

Prologue:

It all started with a spark as most great revolutions do. And that spark, Katniss Everdeen is sorry to say, she has inadvertently kindled. Without realizing or choosing, she’s joined a fight‒and she is fairly certain she’s on the wrong side…

Another unexpected complication of this whole mess is a man‒a man who couldn’t be more unlike her, nevertheless, one she’s fallen irrevocably in love with. He is the man she now feels tied to, whether she wants to be or not. She’s sure there’s no getting rid of him‒he’ll probably follow her to the ends of the earth for the strength of what binds them, but the problem is, she wants to stay right where she was. He is the one who wants to leave, and he’s insisting she go with him…

And this turn of events, which has spiraled so far out of her control, is all due to a chance meeting in a coffee shop with a blond stranger on Katniss’s worst of days.

Part I

It’s a fluke that Katniss first ends up at Capitol Coffee, or, to use its full name, Mellark & Sons Capitol Coffee. Then again, perhaps, it was predetermined. She might think so if she believed in fate or anything mystical like that, and she’s not sure that she does. All she knows is that it’s no accident she goes inside. It’s the dandelion that draws her in…

The significance of the dandelion for Katniss goes back a number of years. Dandelions remind her so much of her father because they used to pick them together in the woods. They’d add them to salads or munch on them for a snack. She even brought a large bouquet of them home to her sister, Primrose, one day, and the look on her face was priceless. Their mother, who was a nurse, pointed out the medicinal uses for them and proceeded to snatch a few, for medical purposes, she said, even though they had plenty of top-quality Capitol medical supplies on hand. And Katniss gave the rest to Prim. Prim went nuts over them. Grinning from ear to ear, she proceeded to place them everywhere, in vases all around the house, in her hair, in Katniss’s hair… Prim always could appreciate the simpler things in life; proof-positive, she’d take a plain weed over the most elegant and expensive floral arrangement any day.

Memories such as this one have been rising up all day like bile. Katniss supposes it��s because today is an anniversary, and not a pleasant one. This particular anniversary is one she would love to forget but knows will be burned into her brain until the day she dies…

Katniss has been standing outside the coffee shop for who knows how long considering going in for a drink when she glimpses the freestanding chalkboard on the sidewalk announcing the specials. The drinks and pastries are written in the fanciest, most beautiful handwriting she’s ever seen, but it’s the drawings that really catch her eye: A loaf of bread, a bird, a sunset in various hues of colorful chalk, and a dandelion. Her stormy eyes fix on the bright yellow weed-herb. It’s the most intricate representation of a dandelion she’s ever seen outside of a formal plant book. It’s as if the thing has sprung from the board and come to life. Whoever this person is who draws on the specials board has an artful hand and has truly missed their calling. Then again, maybe he or she only knows how to doodle.

Despite being a Capitol citizen from an esteemed family, Katniss doesn’t frequent Capitol hotspots. A simple girl at heart, she prefers nature to high-end boutiques, her father’s old hunting jacket and a simple bird necklace to furs and strings of jewels, a home-cooked meal to Haute cuisine, and the company of herself or a few close family members to lavish social gatherings. In fact, Katniss has always felt kind of like an outsider here in the Capitol, never truly believing she belongs in the lap of luxury. It’s just one of those things, she supposes, as if she was born in the wrong place, in the wrong century, even.

But that’s nonsense, and Katniss is practical. She knows it’s senseless to imagine things differently than they are, even though there is one particular thing she really wishes was different. Even so, it’s best she accepts the way things are. There’s no use complaining about what you do or don’t have, especially when you have much. And she does.

Katniss and her family have never wanted for anything; they have everything they could need or want, and even more since that fateful day, that is, save for one thing. But what-if thinking is as useless as gazing off into the distance, pretending you’re elsewhere, which consequently, she often does…

Katniss’s favorite place to be is the woods, the one place she feels utterly at peace and closest to him. Even her room is one giant simulation of a forest, and she’s been known to spend hours gazing at the walls, just staring at the greens and browns until they all blended together and she could practically hear the songs of the birds, the chatter of the small creatures, and the trickling of a nearby stream, until she’s been transported there fully in her mind.

But it’s not all from imagination. Katniss has actually visited the woods in reality many times, and she’d wanted to do so today, but with the Hunger Games impending, it would have been next to impossible…

***

If she could have, Katniss would have traveled north, across the border and into the lush forests of District 7 where her father used to take her as a child. There are an abundance of trees and animals there, and they would take their homemade bows and go hunting. It wasn’t that they needed food‒they had plenty‒they hunted for the sport of it. But that wasn’t to say they wasted the meat. Her father never believed in being wasteful, so everything they killed was either eaten or used in some way‒to make a pouch, a knife sheath, a utensil, even a purse for her mother or little sister. Her father said he got the idea from native peoples who long ago lived on this land and used every part of an animal.

As far as archery went, Katniss had enjoyed learning. It quickly became her favorite activity, and she got really good at it. Her father always insisted she never show her skill, though, even if it was being practiced in school. When she’d asked why, he told her: “You never know when a certain skill may come in handy, Katniss, and you might not want others knowing just how good you are at it.”

At the time, she didn’t understand. Didn’t most people want others to know when they were good at something? For the bragging rights. Well, not her, perhaps. She always preferred keeping a low profile, never craving the attention of others, save for her father. Having his praise was enough.

Alongside her father, Katniss had learned the thrill of the hunt, and with that, she’d discovered how much she enjoyed the taste of wild game. Somehow, it tasted even better than the delicacies of the Capitol, that is, all except for lamb stew, her favorite dish. Unfortunately, she’d never seen any lamb roaming about, so killing one and cooking it into a stew to see if it tasted different was out of the question. The Capitol must get them from somewhere, though.

Lamb stew aside, the meat Katniss and her father came home with tasted the best. Perhaps it was the natural flavor on her tongue, the lack of processing and additives, but she suspected it had more to do with the satisfaction of knowing she’d brought it home herself, through her own skill. She’d tracked and felled the beast, always doing her best to ensure a quick, clean kill, usually straight through the eye and into the brain or piercing a vital organ so as not to let the animal suffer as her father had taught her. She couldn’t explain it, but somehow, a meal she’d had to work for gave her far greater pleasure, each bite being synonymous with triumph.

Those were the happiest times of her life…

*** How Katniss wishes her father were here with her today. If he were, he’d be off work, so she’d ask him to take her to their favorite place. They’d leave just before sun-up when the world is dark and still, and most of the Capitolites, including her mother and sister, are sound asleep. They’d stealthily sneak out of the city and into the woods of District 7, but not because anyone would stop them‒at most, one of the Peacekeepers guarding the border might raise a brow or perhaps ask for identification, for what Capitol citizen would want to leave and go to the districts? But, no, they’d do it for the excitement of it all. For Katniss and her father, there was always something alluring about remaining invisible.

But there’s no use wishing or thinking about him at length, because he’s gone. Gone forever.

Katniss misses her father terribly; it’s an ever-present ache, but it’s especially difficult today, on the 10-year anniversary. Yes, it was exactly ten years ago to the day that her father was killed…

*** He had a fancy job in the Nut, the principal military facility supplying the Capitol. It was a rather long commute to District 2 by train, which resulted in him getting home later than her mother liked, but the job was good, so it made it worthwhile. He’d worked there ever since Katniss was a small child, and that’s where it happened…

Her father’s death was called a freak accident, but Katniss knew better. She knew that was just a cover-up. The excuse was far too flimsy; there were too many blanks left unfilled by the official who came to inform and compensate her family for their tremendous loss. And besides, she knew her father. He was beyond cautious in all he did, and he’d told her about how things worked in the Nut, secret things, even‒and those kinds of ‘accidents’ didn’t just happen.

No, it was the rebels; it had to be. Although nothing was ever confirmed or televised about it, there was speculation. And Katniss, for one, was certain. She knew it was those filthy, treacherous rebels who were responsible for taking her father away from her.

Everyone in the Capitol knew of the rebels. They’d been taught from a young age about the rebellion and the Treaty of Treason, about the ungratefulness of the district people and the despicable lengths to which they would go. They just couldn’t accept the class distinction or their lot in life, and they just had to come after those who had more than them.

One would think they’d have learned their lesson after the Dark Days. Wasn’t the annihilation of an entire district and the penalty of the Hunger Games enough for them to stay in line and live peacefully? Although, in Katniss’s mind, they’d gotten off easy, especially considering the generosity shown by the Capitol in allowing for a Victor each year, even more so in bestowing riches and food upon said Victor and his or her district. The Hunger Games were a punishment but also a gift of hope, and the districts should be grateful.

But there will always be those who desire more…

In the Capitol, they’d been told the rebels were no longer a threat, but Katniss could argue with that. Even if the alleged attack on the Nut was a feeble attempt at best, it had taken her father from her, and thus, she would forever despise the rebels. Not that her hatred could do a damn thing to bring her father back.

Their selfishness infuriated Katniss, honestly. Didn’t they think she knew about hard times and loss, too? Case in point, she’d been only 13, and her sister only 9, when they lost their father.

Losing a father at such a pivotal age was hard enough when not combined with having a mother who checked out afterward. When their father died, their mother went into a deep depression. She stopped working as a nurse in a Capitol hospital; she could hardly get out of bed and barely spoke, and she basically ignored her two daughters. They, fortunately, had plenty of money coming in from their father’s settlement, so putting food in their mouths wasn’t an issue; although, for a time, Katniss had to practically force-feed her mother. And with a mother who was basically useless, it fell to Katniss to buy and prepare the food, take care of their home, and raise Prim.

Prim helped her out as best she could, but for a barely teenaged girl just hitting puberty to be responsible for an entire family was absurd and unfair. In Katniss’s mind, there was no excuse for the way her mother reacted, and henceforth, she vowed never to ‘fall in love.’ It was ridiculous, after all, to feel so strongly for someone as to become a shell of the person you once were and neglect everything and everyone around you when they’re gone. Katniss refused to take a chance on becoming such a pitiful mess should something happen to her hypothetical lover. Thus, the teen years were somewhat lost on her. She didn’t really have many normal experiences that teens have, least of all those related to guys.

*** Katniss refocuses on the specials board outside Capitol Coffee. Now that she’s seen the dandelion, it’s decided‒she will go inside. She doesn’t care so much about meeting the artist, but it’s like a sign, or would be, if she believed in signs. Today is different, though; today she does… So, she quells lingering thoughts of sorrow and revenge, hardens her expression, and pushes through the door to the coffee shop. A little bell tinkles announcing her arrival.

Katniss immediately takes a look around. The coffee shop isn’t very large, but it has plenty of seating in the form of round, mahogany tables and chairs. There’s also a lounge area with plush armchairs and a sectional couch. The space is softly lit by pendant lights, and Katniss is transfixed for a moment because she swears the hanging lights almost look like dandelions in their white, puffy stage when they’re ready to spread their seeds. The decor is sparse, mostly paintings of settings and people. It’s eclectic, yet simple. Katniss isn’t sure how to describe it, but if she had to sum up with one word, she’d call it…homey. There’s almost a small-town atmosphere to it, and in a way, it reminds her of a den, an escape from the outside world. If she can’t be in the woods today, she supposes this is an acceptable alternative.

The people are scattered throughout the seating area and at the bar in the back, all dressed to the nines as most citizens of the Capitol do. Her fellow Capitolites keep well-caffeinated as a general rule, so coffee shops are popular, but it’s not exactly peak coffee hour. And right now, most people will be working important high-profile jobs, shopping, or indulging in whatever frivolous activity best suits them.

Katniss thoroughly surveys her surroundings as she’s been taught to do. “Always be aware of your surroundings,” her father used to say. He taught her to not only use her eyes but all of her senses, including a more elusive kind, a sixth sense. He said she had it, and he assured her that, although he hoped she’d never experience it, she’d know if she was ever in danger. He said she’d just feel it in her gut.

Katniss has never experienced real danger, and she certainly shouldn’t have anything to fear in a posh Capitol coffee shop not far from President Snow’s mansion, but she always takes precautions‒it was a lesson that stuck with her. The most she’s ever had to worry about was being ogled by strangers while walking the streets of the Capitol. This has happened several times, but there’s one particular time she recalls vividly…

*** It was a few years back. Katniss was heading to the store when she passed a man on the street, and she caught him watching her. Although she pretended to ignore it, she definitely didn’t like the look he had. His eyes seemed to burn into her like fire as he looked her up and down, undoubtedly appraising her body. Said man was an older man, probably in his forties, at least twenty years older than her or more.

She felt that sense of danger her father spoke of then; it was like the dread she imagined prey feels when it’s being stalked. But she wouldn’t give him the opportunity to pursue her. He did begin to follow, so she put the hood of her cloak up and headed away from the store and into a larger crowd, hoping to lose the creep. That’s when he called out to her.

“Hey, it’s me!” he shouted, pretending to know her. And then he suggested they go for a drink and catch up.

Of course, Katniss had never seen the man before in her life, and if he really knew her, he’d use her name. At that moment, she wished she’d brought her bow. Although she couldn’t just murder a man in the street, or even injure him, for the Peacekeepers would be on her instantly, she could at least scare him. And it would bring her a sense of peace to have her weapon. Of course, that wouldn’t bode well for her, either. Weapons weren’t allowed on the streets, only by Peacekeepers, but even if they were alone in some alley and she had her bow, she still didn’t think she could take a shot at him, as much as she might want to. It wasn’t like shooting an animal.

Fortunately, she was able to lose the man in the crowd, but it had frightened her. From then on, she always wore her hood up when she went out in public. And it worked out for the best, especially considering she didn’t enjoy idle conversation with random strangers.

*** Thinking back on it, Katniss secures her hood tighter around her face and makes her way to the long bar in the back, where she assumes they serve the drinks. There’s no stupid illuminated sign shouting out the obvious, which she actually finds refreshing. Instead, the bar is lit with more of those dandelion lights, smaller ones. Along the way, she passes a woman dressed in layers of multicolored furs and wearing a giant hat made of peacock feathers.

Katniss doesn’t buy into the latest Capitol fashions, especially not the color-changing skin. She doesn’t wear alluring or tight-fitting clothing, either‒she doesn’t have the breasts for it but wouldn’t even if she did‒so it’s strange that the man on the street took notice of her, let alone leered and so boldly pursued her. Today, Katniss is dressed as she usually is, in a long, asymmetrical tunic with chiffon edges, leggings, and boots. The tunic is green, as is a large portion of her clothing, and the leggings and boots are black. She wears a velvet cloak over her clothing, also green, which she usually keeps the hood of up‒to discourage people from talking to her.

In spite of that, the woman in fur and feathers glances up at her and smiles, probably out of politeness. Katniss merely gives a curt nod as her eyes quickly dart away, for even that was more social interaction than she typically likes. And today, of all days, she wants to be left alone; she just wants to have a drink and go.

She finds a seat at the end of the bar and slides onto the stool. Not long after, a man steps out of a back room and approaches the bar.

He’s approximately her age, dressed in a plain white, slightly snug t-shirt, and he has a white apron tied around his waist. He’s medium height, stocky build, and his hair is ashy-blond and falls in waves over his forehead. When he sees her, he stops dead in his tracks and does a double-take.

He resumes walking toward her, and she then catches sight of his eyes. Blue. The bluest of blue. So blue they look plucked straight out of the sky. She also notices that his face seems oddly familiar… Maybe it’s just the kind of face one feels like they know, but she’s never experienced such a thing before.

“Hello.” He stands before her now, smelling of cinnamon and dill and giving her the kind of smile she imagines he greets old friends with. “Welcome to…” He stumbles over his words as if he’s forgotten the name of the business he works at‒perhaps he hasn’t worked here long. “Capitol Coffee,” he quickly inserts, his pale cheeks growing rosy.

Katniss eyes him warily, and upon deciding she doesn’t get a bad feeling from him, she removes her hood. Revealed is her dark hair, falling in a double dutch braid down her back. She brushes back the ringlets framing her face, which have partially obscured her vision, and tucks them neatly behind her ears.

The man’s lips part, and he stares.

Katniss is trying to figure out why. She doesn’t think herself beautiful by any means; she’s not fashionable and her features are plain, and she isn’t into makeup. She does, however, wear a sweep of mascara and forest green eyeshadow, which perfectly matches her cloak‒it wasn’t her intention, but green just happens to be her favorite color. Prim had convinced her to try the makeup one time, and she even helped her select some that would complement her gray eyes and olive skin tone. And she ended up liking it, so she kept it up.

The man continues to stare.

His intense, focused gaze should unnerve her, but it only makes her curious. Maybe it’s because the delicate blue of his eyes is serene, or maybe it’s because he’s not looking at her in a lascivious manner. Or, maybe…maybe it’s because he’s nice to look at.

As for her looks, they’re wholly unimpressive, even though it’s not the first time she’s gotten such a reaction from a guy.

Katniss doesn’t like feeling on display, at all, but this man isn’t looking at her hungrily as other Capitolite men have, such as the one who chased her through the streets. Rather, he’s gazing upon her almost…reverently. There is more appreciation than desire in his eyes as if he’s looking at a piece of art in a museum. That thought makes her even more uncomfortable than if he were ogling her…

The man is still staring, and it begins to get to her. Her cheeks heat up, and she’s tempted to put her hood back up. She reaches for it, but then he blinks slowly, and she becomes distracted by the longest set of golden eyelashes she’s ever seen. She’s wondering if they’re real when his eyes flit shyly away.

“Sorry, uh…you just look…familiar,” he finally utters, rubbing the back of his neck.

She considers telling him he does, too, but that might come across as flirting, so she says nothing. In fact, neither of them speaks for at least several seconds longer than anyone should remain silent in a normal situation such as this.

The man looks directly at her again, his expression more subdued now. “So, anyway, what can I get for you?” he asks, giving her another friendly smile.

“Well, um, I…don’t know…” Her eyes dart from side to side. She isn’t an alcohol-drinker, though she’s tempted to ask him for something alcoholic, perhaps a drink with just a bit of alcohol added to it. For…comfort. It’s silly to think of drink or food as comforting, but she supposes it can be. This craving must be similar to the way Prim gets about holiday cookies and chocolates; she says they give her a warm feeling. Likewise, their aunt, her mother’s sister, who lives not far from here, is very fond of caviar, and when she eats it, she says she feels like the finest lady in all of the Capitol. Could alcohol bring about that same effect for her? Katniss wonders. But she doesn’t even know enough to know what to ask for, and that would be embarrassing.

The blond barista smiles warmly at her indecision and points to the specials board. “Take all the time you need,” he says genuinely.

Katniss glances up at the board on the wall, and she’s reminded of the chalkboard outside, the one that brought her in. There are more drawings on this board, and they are just as impressive as the ones outside‒Mr. or Ms. Artist has done it again. Her eyes flit across the doodles as she peruses the menu. No alcohol is listed. Perhaps it’s too early for that. But no, she thinks. This is the Capitol, where there’s no shortage of fine food and drink and no one ever needs an excuse for indulging to their heart’s content at any time of day.

But Katniss doesn’t know what to choose. Meanwhile, the barista is leaning his side into the counter, waiting and smiling.

“I, uh, like the drawings,” she stammers, pointing to the board. It’s her best attempt at stalling and breaking the tension, and she’s curious.

His eyes shift upward, then back down to her. “Thank you,” he replies.

She’s confused. Are they his, or is he just taking credit for them?

“They aren’t much, just something I scribbled in my spare time,” he answers her unspoken question.

“You’re the artist?”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d use the term ‘artist,’ but I do enjoy sketching and painting.”

Oh, the modest type…

“I only dabble in it,” he goes on to say, “and my skill level isn’t much, but I guess anyone who produces art can call themselves an artist.” He smooths down his wrinkled apron. “So yeah, I guess I am.”

Just accept the compliment, she demands with her eyes. She doesn’t give them often, after all.

“Well, I don’t know anything about art, but I think they’re good.”

“Why thank you.” He gives her that warm smile again, and this time it does something funny to her stomach. She lowers her eyes and stares at her hands.

And apparently, she’s broken some kind of seal because it doesn’t take long for the blond guy to show his true colors. Most notably, he’s not nearly as shy and awkward as she first thought.

In fact, since those initial awkward moments, he only becomes smoother and more confident in his speech and mannerisms with each passing minute. She can definitely tell he has a way with words and with people. He’s witty and charming, too charming.

Katniss lets him do most of the talking. It’s safer that way.

After a few, mostly one-way, verbal exchanges, he apologizes and asks politely if she’s decided on what she wants.

She hasn’t.

“May I suggest something?” he asks when she hesitates. She nods. “Do you like hot chocolate?”

“I don’t know. Never tried it.”

“You’ve never tried hot chocolate?” he says with an incredulous wrinkle of his brow. He looks so flabbergasted that she might as well have said she eats dog stew and spends her days frolicking through the woods picking berries.

She shakes her head at the ludicrous mental image.

“Well, then, it’s decided. You have to try it. And ours is the best, by the way. I promise you won’t regret it.”

The barista leaves for a few minutes and returns with a large, steaming mug. He places it in front of her, and her nose is immediately ambushed, in a pleasant way, by hot air and the scent of chocolate. It smells peaceful, somehow, like the way the house did that time Prim attempted those homemade chocolates. She tried to shape them like woodland creatures; they looked awful, though Katniss would never say that to her face. But the important thing was, they tasted good.

“Careful now,” the man says. “Blow on it first and test it. Don’t burn your tongue.”

Katniss scowls at him. She’s not a child; she knows how to drink a hot beverage. Regardless, he’s right, and she follows his advice before taking a cautious sip.

And she doesn’t regret it, not one bit. In fact, from the first sip, she knows she’s a goner. No other taste will ever live up to the sweet nectar caressing her tongue and gliding silkily down her throat, she’s absolutely certain. And she’s tasted a lot of fine food and drink. There’s just something about it…hot chocolate…it’s not just the sweetness but the warmth it creates in her belly, unlike any other hot beverage. It tastes like…comfort…home. It’s exactly what she needed today.

“Like it?” He asks.

She nods and eagerly takes another sip. And he’s clearly pleased.

“I can’t believe you’ve never had it.” The guy shakes his head, and his broad shoulders follow suit as he silently chuckles. “Where’ve you been living, under a rock?”

She scoffs. “Well, have you ever had venison?”

His look is part confusion, part disgust, though he tries to mask it. “Like, meat from deer?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, no. Can’t say that I have.”

“Didn’t think so,” she rebukes.

“Am I really missing out?” he teases. Obviously, he doesn’t think that sounds appealing. He’s clearly wondering why a person would eat something like that when, here in the Capitol, they have the finest foods in Panem at their fingertips.

“Yes. You are.”

“Well, bring me some next time,” he says. She’s sure he’s bluffing, but she plans to do it. She wants to wipe that grin off his lips. Or, maybe she’ll bring him a squirrel instead and force him to eat that.

Wait. What is this? Talking openly. Joking. Discussing bringing him meat and force-feeding him squirrel? And dare she say those shyly flirtatious little glances he’s been tossing her way. How has this man gotten her to lower her guard this much already? It makes her a bit uneasy, even though she still gets no sense of alarm from him.

What is alarming, however, is that she thinks she might like him already‒this guy whose name she doesn’t even know.

“Next time?” she questions.

“Yeah. You are going to come back, right? I mean, you liked the drink, so…” There’s a hopeful glint in those deep blue eyes which seem to change color when the light catches them just right.

Katniss presses her lips together. “I might.”

He smiles at her again‒he does that a little too often, but she thinks she likes it. Although she’s not crazy about the initial flip of her stomach, afterward, a nice warmth settles in; it’s almost like sitting by a roaring fire. She fiddles with the handle of her mug, then raises it. Her lips linger on the lip of the cup as she stares out into space for a bit before finally taking another drink.

Katniss continues sipping at her hot chocolate, and it’s nearly gone in a few minutes. She’d planned to take her time savoring it, but it’s just too good for that. After a while, she notices the barista has been watching her with a concerned look on his face.

“You know, nothing says comfort like hot chocolate,” he says. It feels like a leading remark.

Comfort. Yes. But how does he know that’s what she came looking for? He can’t possibly. It must just be something said about this particular drink, or…maybe this man is perceptive.

She’s beginning to change her mind about him, no longer feeling as though he’s completely harmless. In fact, he might be extremely cunning. He looks and acts sweet and innocent‒he’s practically the male equivalent of Prim‒but she suspects he’s trouble. Maybe even dangerous… For one, he’s managed to break down her immediate defenses and get her talking, even joking around with him.

“You know, if you want to talk about something, I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

And now he wants to know more… She’s sure this guy is just one of those kind, helpful types, probably full of plenty of unwanted advice, too. But no man, no one, is as pure as he seems…well, maybe Prim. Her alone.

Yet, there’s this seemingly genuine sweetness about him, and that face…those blue eyes, the dimples, the strong, square jaw, which she’s sure could be the undoing of many a woman, though not her. Yes, she’s convinced‒he’s definitely dangerous.

“Why do you assume I want to talk about something?” she asks skeptically.

“Just an instinct,” he replies.

Katniss tightens her lips. “Well, it’s wrong. And…even if I did, why would I tell my troubles to a perfect stranger?”

Something lights in his eyes then, and she can’t quite read his expression. It’s frustrating to not know what he’s thinking.

“But don’t you think sometimes that’s easier?” he finally speaks.

“What?”

“To unburden yourself to someone you don’t know well. They have no…,” he pauses, “connection to you, and you’ll probably never see them again.” After a tick, he adds, “Although, in this case, I hope that’s not true.”

He’s a smooth operator.

She doesn’t justify it with a response.

But maybe he’s right; maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to confide in someone once in a while. She’s so used to being the caregiver and the protector that she’s never thought about someone looking after her needs, be they physical or emotional. She doesn’t even really tell Prim her deepest thoughts.

But no, she knows nothing about this man. He could be trying to lure her into a false sense of security; for what reason, she doesn’t know, but it’s suspicious. She just can’t believe he’s as genuine as he seems.

“If you don’t want to talk, I understand, but I just don’t think there’s anything wrong with confiding in someone,” he persists. “Sometimes it’s best to get what’s bothering you out, so it doesn’t eat away at you.”

Why is he pressing this? Can’t he see she doesn’t want to talk about it? It’s frustrating her almost to the point of tears, and she doesn’t want to do something stupid like cry in front of him.

Abruptly, she stands and pulls up her hood.

“Oh, I’m-I’m sorry.” He holds up his hands in a placating manner. “Wait, please don’t go. We really don’t have to talk, at all. We can just sit here in silence.”

But it’s too late. The damage is done, and she just wants to get out of here as soon as possible.

“How much for the hot chocolate?” she asks curtly, digging into the pockets of her cloak.

“Uh, it’s…no charge,” he mutters.

“What?” Gray eyes lock on blue. “No. I don’t want you to get in trouble with your boss.”

“I won’t,” he says.

She shakes her head. “No, I have money.” After all, she doesn’t know his motivations, and she hates owing people. He tries to argue and makes up some crap about first-time customers being on the house, but the look on her face cuts him off.

He gives in and tells her the price, and she plunks the money down on the counter and walks out. She makes it about halfway to the door, fighting the urge to look back the entire time. She loses the battle and subtly glances back over her shoulder, and he’s watching her walk away.

*** Katniss’s decision to return only two days later is partly out of guilt and partly the desire to see him again‒because, like it or not, he’s been on her mind. She tells herself it’s because she behaved so badly when he was being so nice. Therefore, she needs to make amends. It’s the right thing to do; it’s what her father would tell her to do.

She doubts he’ll be thrilled to see her after she left so rudely in the middle of their conversation. And she understands. How was he to know what she was going through and that she didn’t want to talk about it? He was just trying to be nice.

But the point is moot because when she arrives, he doesn’t seem to be there. Katniss looks around, even cranes her neck, trying to get a peek through the ajar door to the back. No blond guy in sight. Instead, behind the counter is a dark-haired man wearing black clothing and gold eyeshadow, who looks strangely familiar.

“Looking for someone?” The man with the eyeshadow stealthily approaches her.

“No.” She shakes her head, but then hesitates. “Well, actually…last time I was here there was a blond man…”

“Ah, you must be talking about Peeta.”

“Peeta,” she nods, “yes.”

The man observes her, grinning faintly, waiting for her to go on.

Katniss releases a small breath. “Yes, well, Peeta knows how to make this drink I like.”

The man with the gold eyeshadow smiles knowingly. “I’m sorry, he’s not here, miss. But I can take a crack at that drink of yours. I’m sure I can handle it.”

“Oh. Um, yeah okay…” What else is she going to say? Her eyes flit to the doodles on the chalkboard, though she knows precisely what she wants. “Hot chocolate.”

“Ah, I see Peeta won you over.”

“What?”

“That’s his drink of choice, too. He’s always pushing it.”

The strangest thought pops into Katniss’s head then–she wonders how many women Peeta’s flirted with while taking their orders, like she thought he was with her. But maybe that’s just the way he is with everyone. In a way, it irritates her to think she’s one of the many or that he was just trying to sell her stuff. But she shakes it off.

The man with the eyeshadow goes to fetch her drink and returns not long after. He sets it down in front of her, and she taste-tests it. Although it’s very good, there’s something different about the one Peeta made. She doesn’t say so, however, and simply thanks the man. As she sips at her hot chocolate, it comes to her why this man looks so familiar.

“You were a stylist in the Games, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was. But I…,” he hesitates, “retired.”

He seems a bit young to retire, and Katniss isn’t sure she believes him. Whatever the cause, there’s definitely more to it than he’s letting on, but she’s not going to pry.

“I’m Cinna,” the former stylist says.

“Cinna.” That’s right. “Pleased to meet you. You were great in the Games.”

“Thank you. And you are?”

“Katniss Everdeen,” she tells him.

“Everdeen,” Cinna says her name slowly, thoughtfully.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. I just think I came across an Everdeen at one point.”

Katniss decides not to think too much about his comment, and instead, she enjoys her drink. She doesn’t stay as long as the last time, even with the abrupt leave, but she decides to go ahead and like Cinna. He’s down-to-earth and friendly, and he lets her be, unlike Peeta. It should be a relief to be served by Cinna rather than Peeta, but it’s not. She still has that gnawing feeling in her gut that she gets whenever she leaves something unfinished…

*** Katniss waits a few days, then goes back again to Capitol Coffee. She takes a seat in her usual spot and removes her hood; she looks around, but she doesn’t see Peeta. Inwardly, she groans. It’s foolish to come here a second time looking for him, probably to no avail, but still, she needs to apologize. She takes another look around and is prepared to leave before anyone sees her and comes over to take her order when she hears a small grunt. It comes from beneath the table. She places her hands on the bar and leans forward to take a look. And that’s when she sees a curly, blond mop poking out from the underside of the counter.

Katniss casually glances over the edge, and the corners of her lip reflexively curl up. Peeta is down there, bent over, fumbling with something, and he seems to really be struggling.

“Need some help?” she asks. And Peeta jumps up, barely missing knocking his head against the bar in the process.

He quickly stands up. This time, he’s dressed in black, stylish yet casual, and his curly hair has a messy bedhead look to it. He glances her direction, and when he locks eyes on her, she swears his face lights up.

Peeta approaches, smiling tentatively, his blue eyes twinkling. “Heyy,” he drawls. “You came back.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles, lowering her gaze to her hands. She wonders if Cinna told him she was here before.

“I’m glad.”

Her eyes dart up to his face. “You are?”

“Yeah.” He smiles widely, as if he can’t help it. “I am.”

They have a genuine, real moment before Katniss lowers her gaze, her cheeks warming.

She hates that Peeta has this effect on her every time‒it must be because he’s so free with his flattery and says things that can easily be misconstrued.

It’s then that she notices the weight of her necklace against her chest, but not the bare skin over her sternum as usual; it has popped out of its resting place. She takes the pendant in her hand, tracing the embellished wings of the bird and thinking of her father. The necklace is simple, gifted to her by her father many years ago, just because he loved her, he said. She assumes he chose a bird because it’s part of nature, and he knew she loved that. She stares down at the bird, still unsure which breed it is. She fiddles with it some more, finally tucking it back inside her shirt when she catches Peeta noticing it.

“Look,” she speaks up, deciding to get straight to the point. “I wanted to tell you that…I’m sorry about the way I acted last week,” she rushes the apology out of her mouth.

“Oh.” He blinks a few times, those long, golden eyelashes fluttering like tiny butterflies. “You don’t have to‒”

“No, I do. I was having a bad day. I’m not usually like that,” she blurts the last part out, though she doesn’t know why. It’s completely untrue. She’s always like that, and Prim would testify to it.

Peeta simply smiles, and Katniss instantly feels all is forgiven. But then again, Peeta is different. He seems not at all the type to hold a grudge, and his face backs it up. His eyes and lips seem to say there was no need for an apology in the first place. But she feels better now.

Now that that’s out of the way, the mood seems to lighten, and Peeta leans against the bar, smiling, of course. “So, what’ll it be, sweetheart?“

Sweetheart? She scowls at him, and he lets out a throaty chuckle.

“I take it you don’t like that.”

She keeps the scowl plastered on for confirmation.

“I’m sorry. I only call you that because you never said your name. You can’t expect me to just know it, can you?” He grins.

“You never asked, and you didn’t say yours, either,” she retorts, even though she’s already learned his name from Cinna.

“That’s true. Fair enough; I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“That’s okay,” Katniss says obstinately.

He does something unexpected then. He folds his arms and stares her down, his countenance determined. He’s going to make this difficult, of course.

“Shall I guess, then?” he finally says.

Katniss rolls her eyes. Even though it might be entertaining to have him try and guess her name, she’s not interested in games. She shakes her head. “No.” She pauses a moment before mumbling, “It’s Katniss. Katniss Everdeen.”

“Katniss Everdeen.” His blue eyes shoot skyward, and he strokes his dimpled chin. “I like it. It’s unique.” He looks back at her. “Do you want to know mine?”

“Not necessary,” she tersely replies. And she can’t tell whether the hurt in his expression is real or not. “And I’ll have hot chocolate, I guess.”

He recovers quickly. “Can’t get enough, eh? Had to come back for more.” He gives her a little wink, and she wants to pull up her hood and hide in it.

What happened to the shy guy she first met? Was that all an act?

Peeta seems to take the hint and tells her he’ll go and make her drink. He leaves for several minutes but returns empty-handed.

Seconds later, a tall, beautiful woman comes up behind him. Her hair is thick, platinum blonde, and crimped, undoubtedly a wig; she’s wearing black lipstick, pinkish-purple eyeshadow, a frilly minidress, black, translucent stockings and black high heels. Katniss is baffled by how she can walk in those things all day.

“Here you go, Peeta. You forgot this,” the woman says sweetly, handing him the steaming mug.

Peeta’s pale cheeks flush lightly. “Well, that’s embarrassing,” he says. A small smile graces Katniss’s lips. “Thanks, Portia.”

Portia? That’s right. She was also a stylist in the Games, like Cinna; in fact, she was his partner, Katniss recalls. She’d thought she looked familiar when she came out.

So, she works here, too. Had Cinna convinced Portia to go along with him when he left? And why? Why would a person give up a good job like Stylist in the Games? Maybe Cinna was lying and they were both fired, although that seems unlikely, considering they were the best ones. Their Tributes were always the best-dressed, at least in Katniss’s opinion.

“Sure thing, boss.” Portia winks at Peeta.

Boss?

When Portia’s gone and Katniss turns back to Peeta he has this look on his face like a child who’s just had his favorite toy taken away. It’s probably because Peeta thinks Portia ruined his fun by saying his name.

“So, it’s Peeta, huh?” Katniss says with mild interest, deciding to throw him a bone and play as if it’s the first time his name has been revealed.

“Yeah. Peeta Mellark.” He places the mug in front of her and comes a bit closer, extending his hand‒he smells even more strongly of spices today. Tentatively, Katniss accepts it, and he wraps his large hand around hers.

His hand is warm and a bit rough, but it’s not exactly unpleasant when his fingertips graze her wrist. As for his shake, it’s gentle but firm; he even adds an extra squeeze near the end. It lasts about 3 to 5 seconds, and oddly, Katniss is sorry to see Peeta let go.

After they’ve retracted their hands, Peeta steps back and motions for her to drink. She nods and takes hold of the thin handle, bringing it to her lips. At the last second, she remembers to test it and blows on it a few times.

“Mm” escapes her lips upon finishing her first cautious sip. She’s already missed this flavor.

“Good?” He raises a brow hopefully.

“Uh, yeah. Really good.” Katniss’s nose wrinkles up. And different. It’s not the same as the last time he made it.

“I added a little something to it,” Peeta says, noting her appraisal of it.

At that, Katniss’s eyes widen and shoot up to his. “What?”

“Don’t worry, Katniss.” Peeta chuckles. “I didn’t poison it or anything. Just added a little cinnamon.”

“Oh. Cinnamon.” She takes another sip and decides the flavors work well together. Still, he should ask her before he just goes and does something like that.

Partway into her cup, they strike up a conversation, and this time, Katniss joins in more.

“So, you’re the manager here,” she says.

“Owner, actually,” Peeta corrects, but not in an arrogant way.

“Aren’t you a little young to own your own business, Peeta Mellark?”

“Well, I am 25, Katniss Everdeen. “And I don’t do it alone.”

“Oh, yeah. You run this place with your father and brothers, right?” she says, recalling the sign outside; although she’s never seen anyone resembling Peeta working here.

“No,” he says, rather sullenly.

“Oh. Sorry. I saw the sign, so I just assumed.” It seems like she’s pried, so she’s prepared to let it go, but Peeta continues.

“It’s okay. It was supposed to be that way,” he says. “You see, my father…he died a few years back, just as we were preparing to open the coffee shop. He…got sick, and would you believe it, all the best medicines in the Capitol couldn’t do a thing for him.”

“Peeta…I’m so sorry.” She can relate, of course. She had no idea Peeta lost his father, too, and only someone who’s experienced that can truly understand.

“Yeah. Thanks.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I wanted to open the place anyway, in honor of my father. I was encouraged to name it something related to the Capitol, especially being so close to Snow’s mansion as it is. I know Capitol Coffee isn’t very original, but they were satisfied with that. I had the Capitol logo engraved on the sign, and they let me keep the Mellark & Sons sign up, too.”

Katniss puts on a faint smile. She wants to say she knows how he feels, but she isn’t quite sure how to get the words out, and she hates when people say that sort of thing, anyway, so she just listens as he continues.

“My brothers were supposed to help me out, and they did for a little while, but then they just stopped. They had lives and families and no time for it. So, I hired some outside help. I, uh, hear you met Cinna the other day.”

So, he knew she came in before…damn him.

“Well, Cinna is my partner in the business.”

Katniss simply nods, but she’s curious as to why Cinna gave up his position as Stylist to come co-run a coffee shop. She’s not normally one for gossip or digging for information about other people’s lives, but it’s just so unheard of. She decides to ask Peeta why Cinna left, but all Peeta gives her is the trademark ‘he wanted to pursue other endeavors.’ Does he not know, or is he keeping something?

Katniss shrugs it off, and they fall into a more casual conversation. She feels more at ease talking to him now, especially after his confession about losing his father. It’s a horrible thing to be connected over, but she does feel more connected to him now. Still, she doesn’t give him any information about her family, only tells him about her mangy furball of a cat (it’s actually Prim’s cat, but she’s certainly not going to mention Prim to a total stranger). After that, they stay on safe topics like the weather, food and drink, and hobbies. She finds out he does, indeed, enjoy hot chocolate, but he also likes tea. He takes it without sugar. And he’s a painter.

When she reveals that she hunts, Peeta guffaws and says, “So, that explains the venison.” The corner of her lip tilts. “Which, I’m still waiting for, by the way,” he teases.

Just for that, Peeta Mellark, you’re getting TWO big fat squirrels! She vehemently thinks at him. She plots tossing a rabbit in, too. She’ll fix the meat up real nice for him and only tell him what it is after he puts it in his mouth and chews it up some.

This makes her smile and puts her at ease, but she doesn’t reveal, this time, about her father.

***

Katniss continues to return to the coffee shop almost daily over the course of the next two weeks. She almost always has the hot chocolate, but occasionally she orders a different drink and sometimes a pastry. The cheese buns become her absolute favorite; she gets voracious over them. One time, Peeta gives her a vanilla latte, and he even makes a leaf out of foam in it. She stares down into the mug and smiles, thinking of the forest.

She and Peeta fall into an easy back-and-forth. She usually allows him to do the talking while she occasionally comments or asks a question. There’s some banter between them, which occasionally verges on flirtatious, but she’s growing accustomed to not letting it make her uncomfortable. Instead, she tries to relish the warm, fluttery feeling she gets in her stomach sometimes when he looks at her a certain way or compliments her. And Peeta is good. He’s good at making her feel good. He has just the right balance for making a girl feel special without taking it too far. At least, it must work wonders on most women‒and she wonders about that…does Peeta talk like this with other women? She’s a different story, of course, although, she’s been doing her best to just enjoy the attention she’s getting from a nice, attractive guy.

But eventually, Peeta wants to know something ‘real’ about her. And as soon as he says it, she tenses up. What does he want to know? She feels as though her muscles are almost paralyzed, and her mouth has gone dry.

It’s clear from Peeta’s face that he knows he may have crossed a line, probably because of the way she reacted the first day, but he doesn’t completely back down this time.

“Okay, how about we start out simple?” he says.

“Simple?”

“Yeah. You know, friends tell each other the deep stuff, right?”

Friends? Deep stuff? She keeps her cool. “The deep stuff? Uh oh. Like what?”

“Well, like…” Peeta thinks for a moment. He strokes his chin. “Hey, why don’t we make this interesting?”

Interesting? Oh no. What does that mean?

“Let’s play a little game.” She eyes him warily, and he just smiles.

“I don’t like games,” she protests.

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun!”

The game is called ‘Real or Not Real,’ and the objective is for them to say things they think they know about the other person or guess at them, and the other person will verify if it’s true (real) or false (not real). Peeta says it’ll be a fun way for them to get to know each other better.

Katniss doesn’t like the sound of it one bit, but Peeta’s so excited to play that she gives in.

He does, indeed, start simple.

“Green is your favorite color. Real or Not Real?” he says.

Katniss nearly laughs. Well, that certainly wasn’t a ‘deep’ question, sounded more like something a five-year-old would ask. But she answers. “Real. But that’s not tough to figure out.”

Peeta snickers. “No, I suppose not.” He glances at her attire, lots of forest green once again.

“Yours is…” She ponders a moment, considering his clothing choices. “Black?”

“Not Real.”

“White?”

“Not Real.”

She goes through almost the entire array of colors only to hear ‘Not Real’ every time. She’s already getting sick of Peeta’s little ‘Get to Know You’ game, but she keeps trying. Finally, she guesses orange, not really thinking it could be right, but she’s nearly out of colors, and it’s either that or pink.

“Real,” he says.

“You’re joking.”

“Not in the slightest. But not bright orange. Muted. Soft, like the sunset.”

Oh, he’s one of those guys…

They continue the game. Peeta’s enjoying it, and for Katniss, it’s tolerable, but she is considering cutting him off, or at least limiting how many questions he can ask her in a single encounter, she allows it.

“Next one.” This time, he leans across the bar. Instinctively, she backs up on her stool when he gets too close for her comfort. He smirks at her. “You like sweet, hot things. Real or Not Real?”

She nearly barks out a laugh at his phrasing, but she holds it in. Is he making a joke? Flirting badly? Or, is he just that cocky to be referring to himself? And if he wasn’t insinuating that, she just thought of him as a ‘sweet, hot thing.’ She cringes inwardly. Oh, of course, he must be referring to her drink of choice.

“Real. You must be a genius,” she jokes. He raises a brow. “The hot chocolate, right?”

“Yeah, that’s what I was referring to.” When he winks at her she wants to crawl into a cave.”

***

They play the Real or Not Real game a little bit each time she stops in. Usually, it’s pretty bland stuff, slowly growing more personal than the first colors question, but one day, he asks a question she’s not sure she wants to answer.

“That necklace you wear was a gift, Real or Not Real?” he asks, his expression more serious than she’s ever seen it. It’s almost as if he knows. Or, perhaps he thinks it’s from a guy.

“…Real,” she says softly after a pause, her eyes shifting to the counter. Her answer is followed by a tense silence, but after a moment, Katniss does something completely uncharacteristic‒she pulls out the necklace and lets him get a good look at it. “It was from my father.”

End of Part I

Author Note: Well, what did you think of Part I? The next part (s) will be a bit much more exciting, but I hope you enjoyed the initial buildup. This will either be two or three parts, btw, depending on how long it gets. The next part is mostly written, just needs some additions, tweaking/editing. So…stay with me?

Teaser: Katniss comes back to the coffee shop at night, finding the place completely transformed and Peeta in a different sort of attire. Peeta tells Katniss stories of Snow and of the Victors coming into the place. Later, Peeta and Katniss watch the Reaping and the Hunger Games together, and Katniss becomes invested in a certain young Tribute. Will Katniss have any role in his/her fate in the Hunger Games? Will Peeta and Katniss grow closer? Will some of the Victors we all know and love show up?

FYI: In this AU, if you didn’t notice, Katniss and Peeta are older than their would-be tributes. So, it still takes place surrounding the 74th Hunger Games, though Katniss and Peeta are not in them. And my apologies, but I couldn’t remember how Portia was described in the books. I tried to look it up, but I didn’t find much, so I kind of went with the movie version.

@oakfarmer12

#Springtime Edition 2020 #acpoe82 #oakfarmer12 #prompt 68 #submission

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