To xerxia, with lots of love on your special Day :)

My deepets thanks to burkygirl for the fantastic beta job, and to the awesome akai-echo on tumblr for the gorgeous banner :)

"How do you feel about kissing Tybalt?"

How do I feel about kissing my friend on stage ? Last I checked, the script says nothing about exchanging saliva with Tybalt. Well, technically with Peeta. My friend, who's playing Juliet's cousin in this musical he dragged me into.

"Uh-" is all I manage to say. I'm so eloquent, right? But what can I say? Maybe something like: Shouldn't we have discussed it more than three days before the premiere of the show? But that's how our director, Effie, is. Crazy. She has two thousand brilliant ideas just like this one on a bad day. Don't get me started on how many she has on a good day.

"Effie, it's not in the script?" Peeta chimes in, saving me - once again - from this dead-end I'm in. "She's supposed to be the last one that believes in him, and he pushes her away… so no?"

"So, yes!" Effie was throwing her hands in the air enthusiastically. " Don't you see it? She has to use everything she has to make him give up his crush on Juliet!" She adds, so animated her pink wigs teeters dangerously on her head, and the gaudy baubles hanging from her ears are swish back and forth. I swear, this woman lives on another planet. No, scratch that. She's from another galaxy. Or maybe another universe, far far away. Wherever she's from, even Peeta's intervention isn't changing her mind.

"Katniss, you have to kiss Peeta."

So, as the adult I am, I do the only thing that comes to my mind.

I run backstage, racing past props and discarded sets until I dive into the janitor's closet where I sit down, my back to the door and try to gather myself.

I can't face Peeta or Effie - or worse, both of them together - again until I've got control of my emotions because I'm pretty sure what I feel about kissing Tybalt is written all over my face.

Here, in the dark of a closet, I can admit it. I want to kiss Peeta. And I have for quite a long time. I've even pictured in my mind how it would happen and how soft his lips would feel on mine. I've wondered if his mouth would explore mine boldly or let me take the lead, if his hands would cup my cheeks …

I close my eyes. I can't take it anymore. I can't. I can't let my mind wander to thoughts of Peeta kissing me senseless because I know it will never happen.

So how do I feel about kissing Tybalt? I know, but I can't tell.

"Katniss, you there?"

Of course he wouldn't leave me alone when he knows I'm upset. He always seems to know how and where to find me. It would be disturbing if it weren't so sweet.

I freeze and hope he decides to look elsewhere.

"Katniss, come on, I know you're there. Your scarf is on the floor."

Damned fabric. It keeps falling when I sing or dance, and of course it had to fall just before I entered the closet.

"Katniss…."

He's persistant, my Peeta. Even though I know he isn't mine, or will never be. I stay silent. I'm pretty sure I cried, and I don't want the whole cast to see me like this.

I hear a muffled sound, pressure added against the door.

I'm pretty sure Peeta sits on the other side, waiting for me. That's confirmed when I hear his voice.

"What did I do, Katniss? Tell me so I can make it better…."

How can I tell him he did nothing wrong without explaining what's going on with me?

"What's going on with you, Katniss? Are you ill or something?"

Because of course I had to speak my mind out loud. I beat the back of my head against the door in frustration. I have to answer, I know I do. But what can I say ?

"I'll talk to Effie. You won't have to kiss me, don't worry." Peeta's voice seems so fragile, so .. tired?

I can hear noise, again. A groan. He's standing up. He's about to leave, thinking I want nothign to do with him - when it's actually the opposite.

A bang on the other side of the door causes it to shudder.. He must be getting up.- He's had trouble standing up since a wrestling accident tore his ACL apart years ago.

He's really going to leave me here.

Alone.

In this closet.

Without him.

That's a first.

Something constricts in my chest and then snaps like a wire in an icy wind.

I know exactly what just broke.

Hope.

And, deep down, I know that I'm the only one who can fix it.

I stand up as fast as I can and twist the door handle, throwing the door wide so I can stop Peeta from leaving me alone.

He's standing in front of me, hand extended, as if he were about to turn the knob himself.

"I was going to try to open this door one more time," he explains. "There's something I need to tell you before … before I go back on stage."

His right hand climbs to rest on his blonde curls, before his fingers start to comb through them. It's always been his way of sorting his thoughts when he's confused.

I've never wanted to be fingers more in my life than in this precise moment.

"I don't want to kiss you on stage either," he says, unaware of the sound my heart makes while it's breaking. But he's not finished. I can tell by the way he shifts on his feet. Go for the kill, Peeta, I'm already down. "Because …." He takes a deep breath before going on and l brace myself for the hit. "Because I don't want the first time I kiss you to be on a stage in front of people."

Wait, what ?

"Wait, what?" I repeat out loud. I grab his arm. I need some stability right now, in the tornado my life has just become. I can't believe he said what he, well, just said.

Because if he did say what I think he just said … His arm bends under my hand, derailing my train of thought. The muscles are like granite.

But he doesn't repeat himself or move. His eyes are fixed on my hand, the only thing preventing him from walking away.

From me.

But I'm sure, I don't want him to go away from me.

Ever.

The realization cascades over me, like a waterfall.

And I know there's only one thing I can do.

Step forward, lean into him, and taste his lips.

If he lets me.

The first touch is uncertain, before he takes control of the kiss. His lips are soft and hungry, kind and demanding. He smells like cinnamon and sweat. His body is so warm so close to mine, I think he tries to melt me.
I realize I don't care.

I want more. More of his tongue touching my lips, more of the rush he instigates in my heart, more of the warmth that builds within me, more of the butterflies that are now nesting in my belly, ready to fly away.

I want to discover all the detours of his lips, all the planes of his arms, I want to feel if his skin is still as smooth as when we were kids, want to learn what makes him moan, want to know if I can make him moan.

I realize I want him to know all of that about me, too.

I think I'm going to be addicted to his kisses.

He pulls away slightly; his nose and his forehead touching mine, his hands cupping my jaws, his thumbs caressing my cheeks.

I hope he's going to kiss me again. Instead, he speaks.

"No way Tybalt would have been pining after Juliet after a kiss like that," he whispers before leaning in again.

I have to agree with him.

I'm not letting Juliet near him anytime soon.

Tybalt's mine.