"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
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
"What are you doing?" he sputters.
“You told me to wake you an hour before the cameras come,” I say.
“What?” he says.
“Your idea,” I insist.
He seems remember. “Why am I all wet?”
“I couldn’t shake you awake,” I say. “Look, if you wanted to be babied, you should have asked Peeta.”
“Asked me what?” Just the sound of his voice twists my stomach into a knot of unpleasant emotions like guilt, sadness, and fear. And longing. I might as well admit there’s some of that, too. Only it has too much competition to ever win out.
-Catching Fire p.14