"Are we suppose to hold hands this year?" I ask.
"I guess they’ve left it up to us," says Peeta.
I look up into those blue eyes that no amount of dramatic makeup can make truly deadly and remember how, just a year ago, I was prepared to kill him. Convinced he was trying to kill me. Now everything is reversed. I’m determined to keep him alive, knowing the cost will be my own life, but the part of me that is not so brave as I could wish is glad that it’s Peeta, not Haymitch, beside me. Our hands find each other without further discussion. Of course we will go into this as one.
-Catching Fire p.212
"Later, there’s a lot of kissing. Didn’t seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?" He asks.
“Sometimes,” I admit. “You know people are watching us now?”
“I know. What about Gale?” he continues.
My anger’s returning. I don’t care about his recovery- this isn’t the business of the people behind the glass. “He’s not a bad kisser either,” I say shortly.
“And it was okay with both of us? You kissing the other?” he asks.
“No. It wasn’t okay with either of you. But I wasn’t asking your permission,” I tell him.
Peeta laughs again, coldly, dismissively. “Well, you’re a piece of work, aren’t you?”
By the time we reach the town square, afternoon’s sinking into evening. I take Cressida to the rubble of the bakery and ask her to film something. The only emotion I can muster is exhaustion. “Peeta, this is your home. None of your family has been heard if since the bombing. Twelve is gone. And you’re calling for a cease-fire?” I look across the emptiness. “There’s no one left to hear you.”
I go forward, wondering about Finnick, who saved old Mags but will let her eat strange nuts. Who Haymitch has stamped with his seal of approval. Who brought Peeta back from the dead. Why didn’t he just let him die? He would have been blameless. I never would have guessed it was in his power to revive him. Why could he possible have wanted to save Peeta? And why was he so determined to team up with me? Willing to kill me, too, if it comes to that. But leaving the choice of if we fight to me.
- Catching Fire p.285-286
No, not deranged, I remind myself. Hijacked.
It’s a long shot, it’s suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta fill on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. “Don’t let him take you from me.”
Peeta’s panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. “No, I don’t want to…”
I clench his hands to the point of pain. “Stay with me.”
His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. “Always,” he murmurs.
friendly reminder that Peeta remembered Katniss’ favorite color and not his own.
It takes a long time before I get to the bottom of why I’m so upset. When I do, it’s almost too mortifying to admit. All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly.
And I hate him for it.
- Mockingjay p.232
"I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off."
Peeta smiles. “Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying.”
-The Hunger Games p.252