First and foremost, I do not own any amount of The Hunger Games. Now that we got that out of the way, this is my first Hunger Games fan fiction and I dedicate it to catOTPeeta. They have inspired me! Don't expect any lovey-dovey stuff in the first few chapter, either. You don't just randomly fall in love at first sight. But anyways, I hope you enjoy my story, and thank you so much for reviewing!

The Lion and the Mouse

It's early morning in tiny, neglected District 12. The sun is already far deep in the sky, shining its gleaming rays upon the district's grim atmosphere.

A particular bakery, the only one in the district, lazily goes about the morning routine. Although being open for just two hours, it will close soon, along with all the other shops in the district. It's the reaping day, and all must attend.

Inside the bakery, three family members mill around completing the daily tasks. Strung on the ceiling, the light bulbs, which are miraculously functional, cast a fuzzy glow. And on top of that, flour covers the floors and surfaces in soft splotches, giving everything a grainy look and texture.

The youngest of the family, a soft-spoken, golden-haired boy, wipes the bakery's sandy counter with a small cloth, deep in thought. The soft light reflects brilliantly from his blonde hair, almost incandescent. A surly woman, his mother, walks into the room from the kitchen. Her cynical eyes catch him absentmindedly swiping the counter, his sight trained on nothing in particular.

"Peeta Mellark!" She shouts at the innocent boy, catching him off guard and causing him to jump in surprise.

"Y—yes, mother…?" He apprehensively asks, his thoughts cut off.

"What are you doing still wiping the counter?" Her shrill voice makes him flinch and shut his eyes momentarily, and then he tentatively opens them to peek into his mother's fiery ones. "You should be getting ready for the reaping!" She screeches at him, clutching his ear and yanking him through the swinging door and into the dimly lit kitchen.

Inside, she manhandles him all the way to the stairs that lead to the rooms the family members sleep in, crossing Peeta's father who had his back turned away from them, tending to the malfunctioning oven.

"Go up there, and get ready in no more than five minutes!" She warns, a scolding finger held close to his face, her eyes ablaze with fury.

"Y—yes, mother." Peeta whimpers, his hand nursing his ear, eyes slightly teary.

"Go!" She shrieks, her swollen hands at her waist are balled into fists. "Before I get out the rolling pin!" She menacingly says. This makes Peeta scurry up the stairs frightened. The last time she got out the rolling pin, he had that mark for a week…

Within the safety of the warm room he shares with his brothers, they are at the coal mines and will meet their family at the reaping, Peeta picks out the reaping clothes he's been wearing for the past few years. They're hand-me-downs from his father, a pair of rough pants and a wrinkled, white collared shirt. Peeta overhears his parents talking while changing into his reaping clothes.

"Ruthanne," He hears his father's muffled voice from in front of the oven calmly get his wife's attention. Peeta strains his ears to hear her wiping her floury hands on her apron furiously.

"What is it, Henry?" She rudely snaps at him, grouchy. The bakery's kitchen can heat up to the 90s, and it being a quite sultry day, no wonder she's irritable.

Henry lightly sighs and continues tenderly speaking. "You could've been a bit…softer with the boy. He's a kid and it's the reaping day, he probably has a lot on his mind."

Peeta could almost feel the fierce look of incredulity his mother gave to the man. He could almost feel the sharp, prickly sensation of her eyes narrowing in distaste.

"A bit softer?" She raises her voice, now their conversation comes as clear as day to Peeta as he pulls his reaping shirt on. "That boy deserves no softness from me!" She yells. "The good-for-nothing can't do a single thing right!" The sound of a metal whisk rattling against a counter as his mother bangs her fist onto something startles Peeta.

"Now, Ruthanne, would you please calm down." The baker attempts to mollify the furious woman.

"Henry, that boy needs to be taught a lesson. Do you honestly think being 'softer' is going to help?" She says, pointing a hand towards the room Peeta is in.

"What I think is beating him for everything isn't going to make him feel any better, that's all." Henry says defensively.

Peeta could actually sense the heat emanating from his mother at this comment.

"That boy needs some discipline!" She yells, her ire growing rapidly. "He's a lazy, worthless loafer and you know it!"

"That boy is our son!" Henry's voice escalates, only adding fuel to his wife's blazing inferno. "And you cannot 'discipline' him to tears!" He shouts. Ruthanne's eyes are wide with shock, her fists in balls, she's going to snap. Peeta's father continues, "Three days ago, you made him bleed with that rolling pin of yours for burning bread!" His voice now reverberates through Peeta's room, forcing him to shield his ears from his parents' quarrel with no luck. He sits on the ground, his knees too his chest.

"I-did-no-such-thing!" His mother screams back with infuriated eyes, emphasizing every single syllable.

"Do you even look at your boy with anything other than dislike?" He yells at her.

"Don't you talk to me that way, Henry!" She yells back menacingly, but it does nothing to frighten her husband. Peeta hears through his hands his father stepping a foot closer to her. He hears the scraping of the same metal whisk against the counter, as if someone has picked it up. He hears a bump against the kitchen counter as if somebody has pushed themself into it, backing away from something.

"Don't come an inch closer, Henry!" He hears his mother says fiercely, but there is desperation evident in her voice.

The whisk shakes in Ruthanne's hands, her eyes are now are filled with fear. "I don't know what has possessed you, but you need to stop!" She yelps, her voice faltering. The blazing inferno inside her withering away. "Stop it now!"

Peeta is at the brink of tears, but he's learned how to fight them back. This isn't the first brawl his parents have gotten into.

His father lets out an exasperated sigh, pained and drawn out. His mother lowers the whisk, the once irate fire within her doused, and Henry lets his body slacken. The room falls unnervingly quiet. Peeta feels the tense atmosphere in the kitchen finally loosen somewhat, although it doesn't completely relax. It still feels strained, in a way.

The boy, grasping the opportunity, shakily opens the door of his room at the head of the stairs and speechlessly walks down the wooden steps. He's met with a blank stare from his parents; his father is feet away from his mother, who is backed up to the counter, a whisk at her side. A few moments pass without a word, the air tangibly getting tenser and tenser with every second.

"…Are you ready, Peeta?" His father gently asks him, breaking the thick silence. The young boy indiscernibly nods while looking down at the ground, if you haven't been training your eyes upon him for centuries, as it seems his father has, you would have never noticed it.

"Okay…just let your mother and I get dressed and we'll meet you outside." His father says to him.

He noiselessly walks away from his parents, who awkwardly watch him leave.

Outside, Peeta wearily sighs, tired. The sun beats its rays on the citizens of District 12, radiating an intense heat that harshly gleams from every soot-covered surface of the district. Peeta observes a large amount of people are walking down the street he sees. They're walking towards the middle of the plaza, the town square. He sits down on the doorsteps to the bakery.

People of all sizes amble along the cobblestone path, all wearing decent clothes they wouldn't wear in any other occasion. There walks by Gale Hawthorne with his brothers and mom. They all seem so inseparable. So…close. A family.

The blonde boy couldn't help but yearn for a family like that. For a place where he's welcome, where he belongs…

His mother opens the door, strangely quiet, his father following. Henry switches the "open" sign hung on the door backwards to the "closed" portion then gestures for Peeta and Ruthanne to move.

They comply and walk steadily towards the center of gravitation, where all the citizens of District 12 seem to be pulled into by some eerie force.

As they walk, Peeta couldn't help but think about how many times his name would be in the drawing. He's sixteen, and if your name gets put in first when you're twelve and it accumulates every year, then his name would at least have to be put in five times. But there was that time a few years ago he put his name in twice or thrice deliberately, to get some needed tesserae. The bakery would have gone bankrupt without it.

So what was it? Seven? Eight? What does it even matter? His name is at most eight out of thousands of other people to be reaped. He felt more anxiety for his brothers. Their names has been put in for tesserae Peeta doesn't even remember anymore how many times.

The town square slowly fills with District 12's denizens. Soon, at around what the square's clock says to be two, the area reaches its capacity, and people start to crowd around each other, filling every gap possible. The space, or whatever is left it, becomes claustrophobic and sultry from the combined body heats in the mid-afternoon sun. With the square becomes packed, the event takes place. Peeta is separated from his parents to be put in the section for the kids that will be reaped. Or a more appropriate name is: the section for the kids that will be sent for their death.

Sandwiched between his brothers, who have just arrived, Peeta feels overheated. He desperately pulls up his shirt sleeves and loosens his collar, sweat glistening off his forehead.

"God, it's hot out here." His second brother says over the mayor's lengthy speech, picking at his shirt buttons as well.

The stage set in front of the justice building in the square is large and takes up too much space for just a few people, Peeta thinks. There's only Mayor Undersee, who stands at the microphone giving his languishing speech; the only victor of the Hunger Games alive to this day in District 12, Haymitch Abernathy; and a quite distractingly colorful decorative object beside the chairs put out for the two tributes. Wait, no. Peeta reexamines the tasteless object and notices a flashy grin and two eager eyes.

It's Effie Trinket…sporting a new look. Again.

For this year, her hair is dyed a harsh tint of pink. The harshest imaginable. And the clothes she wears reflect upon her uncannily earnest expression. A vivid spring green.

Although his eyes ache after a few moments of looking at her, Peeta couldn't pry them away from the brightly contrasting colors. Perplexed on the Capitol's citizens' strange traditions, he wonders if it's a fashion statement, or a trick to keep people's eyes upon them for as long as possible. It's probably both.

Before the lost-in-thought boy could even tell the mayor ended his speech, the iridescent figure his eyes were so distracted upon stands up and fervently files to the microphone, her pearly grin shining through to space and most likely blinding a few people in the square.

"Welcome, citizens!" She avidly says, her smile contrasting starkly against the grim faces that look at her bold outline. "Welcome to another reaping day that signifies the beginning of the Annual Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

As she gives her drawn-out prologue of the Games, most people are too distracted by the bright light she gives off than what she has to say. Some are tending to their already tired eyes. Peeta can't help but inwardly giggle at the bizarre figure giving her speech so enthusiastically.

"…And that's how the Games started." She finishes "Let's find out who the odds are in favor for this year!" She says while happily cantering over to the girls' bowl in her stiletto heels. They make such an annoying sound every time they click and clack.

"Okay…" She draws out the word as her hand hovers unnervingly close to the slips of paper. Okay, Peeta repeats Effie's words in his mind. Let's find out which one of my friends is going to die this year… His assumptions of who it is going to be are cut short when she abruptly pulls a slip out of the bowl, and marches back to the microphone, her heels making that unpleasant beat again.

She unfurls the paper in front of her terrifyingly eager face. Ironically, the whole world falls silent now to hear the name that is about to unfortunately fall out of her intensely painted lips. No one breaths, the wind even desists its natural motion. But even though the eerie silence, their ears strain to the brink, needing to hear the name, and then they are met with it.

"Primrose Everdeen." She calls out to the crowd, as if the little girl has won an award. But no. All she has won is a death sentence.

Peeta's seen her before. She's this girl's younger twelve-year old sister, fragile and innocent; she would kill herself before killing anything in the arena.

Murmurs start to run through the crowd. Peeta hears the quiet chatter escalating.

"It's her first year." He hears a boy say to someone else and is dumbfounded. It's the tiny girl's first time in the drawing. How many tesserae did she have to add her name for to get picked?

"And she hasn't even signed up for any tesserae?" He hears a girl to the side ask incredulously, as if to answer his question. This can't be true. Her name was in once. One, singular slip of paper in that bowl. How could one out of thousands fall in between Effie's wickedly painted fingers?

He had no time to answer his own question as he sees a group of people separate; she's most likely walking through them. Walking straight to her death.

When she hesitantly paces into the open land in front of the stage, Peeta can actually see her. He can actually see the horror instilled within her deeply expressive eyes, walking over to a grinning Effie who's extending a tender, colorful hand from atop the stage, as if the terrified girl is going to launch herself into a loving embrace with her for that feigned gesture.

But she only reaches the first step to the stage when someone yells her name.

"Prim!" A desperate cry from somewhere to Peeta's left sounds out. More people clear a way for that familiar voice. "No! Prim!"

It's Katniss that runs for her little sister and clutches her in a frenzied manner.

"I volunteer!" She gasps "I, Katniss Everdeen, volunteer as tribute!" Her breaths are frantic and her forehead has a glistening sheath of sweat.

A hush falls over the crowd as these words make it to every ear in the district and Panem itself. Effie is dumbfounded at the sudden act, her mouth agape, attempting to spew words like it naturally did.

"Uh-well," She begins, stuttering "Then I presume we have a different tribute!" She uncertainly says, albeit happily. "Let's give a warm round of applause to Katniss Everdeen!" She smiles expectantly at the crowd.

Dead silence. Only dead silence comes from them, including Peeta.

No, instead of that, they give the most respectful gesture possible at the moment. They take the three middle fingers from their left hand touching their lips with them and then point it out to her. It means respect and gratitude. It means reverence. And it also means good-bye…

Obviously taken aback, Effie tries to bring back the attention to the Games. "Um-well then," She begins, flustered. "Let's see who will be the male tribute!" She suddenly says, satisfied for getting their attention back.

She almost scampers towards the bowl on the other end of the stage after giving Katniss her proper seat; her heels seem to crack the surface of the stage she walks upon.

When she gets to the ominous bowl, filled with so many slips, she cruelly picks a name at a snail's pace, taking her time to get everyone's undivided attention.

That's when thoughts rush in to Peeta's mind.

What if it's one of my friend's names that gets picked? What if it's one of my brother's? No, the chances of that are slim. But then again, Peeta recalls the one in six thousand chance of Prim's name getting drawn. It doesn't seem the odds are in his brothers' favor when Effie brings a slip to her face in front of the microphone and speaks.

"And the male tribute for District 12 is…" She agonizingly lengthens her words.

"Peeta Mellark." She grins and looks out to the crowd, her prying eyes searching for someone that looks like a "Peeta". The true Peeta is dumbfounded, stunned. He can't move, Effie calling his name still bouncing around in his head. His brothers look at him grimly, he's still lost and Effie is getting impatient.

"That's you, Peeta!" His mother screams at him from the far end of the square. It yanks him back into reality. He gasps, startled at the awareness of what has just occurred.

"C'mon Peeta…" His brothers nudge him forward, although sadly. Effie eagerly awaits the arrival of her male tribute, tapping the tip of her shoes on the stage. "You wouldn't want to keep that human parrot waiting, would you…?" Peeta's older brother says to him, failing miserably at trying to lighten the mood.

But nothing could lighten the mood as Peeta walked towards the stage, oblivious that his muscles are actually moving; his expression is that of a lost person's.

"Ah, there you are." Effie looks down at him when he walks up the steps; everything still seems like a blur. When he finally gets to her, she faces the crowd raising a defiant eyebrow. "No volunteers?" She indirectly challenges her brothers. Neither of them takes her up on that challenge. "That settles it." She triumphantly trills.

"Why don't you two brave souls shake hands?" Her voice almost seems muffled to dazed Peeta. Katniss begins the handshake with a stolidly extended arm. He doesn't understand for a few seconds, but finally releases his balled-up fists. With an absent face, he meets the girl halfway with shaky hands. Her serious expression bores into him as her strong hands hold on to Peeta's clammy ones in a vice. And before he knows it, the shake is over, leaving an achy feeling.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Effie chirps, immediately back to her happy-go-lucky mood. "Thank you so much for joining us here today at the reaping for the 74th Annual Hunger Games!" She booms into the microphone, her fervently elated tone reassembled as the tributes somberly follow her back into the Justice Building.