Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4311441.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Hunger_Games_Trilogy_-_Suzanne_Collins, Hunger_Games_Series_-_All_Media
      Types
  Relationship:
      Katniss_Everdeen/Peeta_Mellark
  Character:
      Katniss_Everdeen, Peeta_Mellark, Delly_Cartwright, Gale_Hawthorne, Madge
      Undersee
  Additional Tags:
      Age_Difference, Alternate_Universe_-_Modern_Setting, Teacher-Student
      Relationship, Oral_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-10 Completed: 2015-07-18 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 14041
****** Performance Anxiety ******
by Meadowlark27
Summary
     Katniss hates everything about her high school's arts requirement.
     That is, until she gets cozy with the drama teacher.
Notes
     Originally, this was only supposed to be a quick Tumblr drabble, but
     I couldn't stay away from this universe.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
Katniss loved chemical formulas and qualitative analyses and mitochondria,
while Delly loved hairspray and cute boys with dimples, the latter of which was
the reason for their enrollment in Intro to Drama I first semester of their
junior year.
“I heard there’s going to be a new teacher,” Delly had giggled as they waited
in line for registration that previous April. “And—” The blonde leaned in, her
lips inches from Katniss’s ear. “—I heard he’s cute.”
Katniss had shrugged, because unlike her friend, she fully respected the
parameters of authority. “And legally above the age of consent.”
Delly had rolled her eyes, nudging her friend’s hip with her own. “Can’t
appreciate a little eye candy?”
“Not when that eye candy is at least ten years older than us, and probably
ridiculously self-absorbed.”
Well, much to her alarm, the new drama teacher was anything but. She’d
eventually been persuaded by Delly to sign up together – Katniss needed to fill
the arts requirement before graduation, so why not do so with her friend? – and
had fully anticipated sitting in the back of the class and putting in the least
amount of effort that’d still maintain her perfect 4.0. She hadn’t anticipated
that walking in six minutes before the bell would bring her immediately into
the spotlight.
She was the first to enter the room on the initial day of classes, slightly
intrigued but not at all enamored with the broad shoulders flexing and
tightening the baby blue dress shirt as the blonde-haired man scrawled his name
on the board.
Mr. Mellark.
Katniss was about to slip into the seat in the back corner when the teacher
turned around, his eyes immediately falling on her.
Katniss’s feet sealed themselves to the floor. Her face boiled as he looked her
over with a friendly grin, and she hated him, hated him, because he must’ve
worn that color on purpose just to make his eyes pop, and how dare he.
“Hello,” he greeted, and her throat synched and cracked as he made his way
toward her. Wasn’t he supposed to go plop his unfortunately-cute butt in his
swivel chair and ignore her until the bell rang?
“H-hi,” she stammered, flustered, pathetically grabbing his hand when he
offered it to her. His palm was warm, large, slightly callused. He had a bit of
a baby face, with round, pink cheeks, the cutting jawline the only proof that
he wasn’t still a teenager. Jesus. He couldn’t have been much older than
twenty-two, twenty-three. Probably fresh out of college.
“I’m Mr. Mellark.” He grinned at her, and she wanted it to be cocky and
complacent, but it was nothing but vibrantly warm. She briefly considered
hiding under a desk.
“Katniss,” she offered back with a mumble.
He let go of her hand. “Nice to meet you, Katniss. And welcome to Intro to
Drama. Have any grand acting ambitions?”
“Just an ambition to fulfill my arts requirement,” she said. Katniss and
Honesty had been best pals since elementary school, which was a bond that
couldn’t be broken by even an unfairly attractive teacher. Teacher. Teacher,
she reminded herself, rather forcefully.
To her surprise, Mr. Mellark actually chuckled, briefly looking over his
shoulder as a pair of students filed in. “I appreciate the candor. But if I do
my job well, hopefully I’ll be able to change that.”
She gave him a weak smile as he left her to go welcome the other students, but
surprised herself by ambling to the front of the room, making herself
comfortable in the second row.
When Delly walked in right before the bell rang, sliding into the seat beside
her friend, she leaned over and whispered, “I was sure I’d find you in the
back.”
Katniss shrugged. “Weren’t any open seats,” she mumbled, hoping Delly wouldn’t
notice the color flowering in her cheeks.
===============================================================================
The jagged surface of the brick wall carved into Katniss’s spine as she tucked
her knees into her chest, hiding her face in her thighs. This was going to be
awful. Awful.
“You alright?”
His voice was the last voice she wanted to hear, so gentle and satiny
andconcerned, heaven forbid. She looked up from her spot on the floor to see
Mr. Mellark hovering over her, his folder tucked in the crook of his arm, a
stray curl falling over his crinkled brow.
She gave him a quick nod, swallowing the dizzying swirls of anxiety that had
put her here in the first place. “Yeah. Just dandy.”
He surprised her by staying, running his hands through his hair. “Stage fright,
I’m guessing?”
No shit, Sherlock. Katniss was immune to test anxiety – she was the pop-quiz-
slaying queen of the entire institution – but the idea of standing in front of
a crowd of her (judgmental) peers instantly french-braided her intestines. She
was nearly positive she was about to vomit.
Her classmates were filing into the auditorium, throwing her and Mr. Mellark
curious glances, but only Delly stopped to stand a few feet back, waiting for
their teacher to leave before swooping in.
But he remained.
“You aren’t the first person to be nervous about performing, and you certainly
won’t be the last.” His voice was soft and encouraging, but it did nothing to
her knotted stomach. “You’ll get through this assignment in one piece. You
might even do okay.”
He grinned at her, which made the corner of her mouth twitch unintentionally.
“Look, the monologue is a necessary part of your grade, so it’s something
you’ll have to do, regardless of how terrifying it is. And I’ve got faith that
you’ll rise to the occasion.” He lowered his hand to her. Her eyes flickering
from his palm to his relaxed face, she waited for a few seconds before grasping
it, allowing him to pull her up.
“But, in the case that you don’t,” he continued as he corralled her into the
auditorium, Delly awkwardly drifting behind them. A jolt of raw electricity
shredded Katniss’s nervous system as she felt his fingers ghost over the small
of her back, probably inadvertently. “You can make up the grade somehow. You’re
a good student, Ms. Everdeen.”
“And a terrible actress,” she grumbled.
“Well, that’s for me to decide,” he chuckled. “But I’m sure you’ll do great.”
===============================================================================
She didn’t do great.
She didn’t physically face-plant, or projectile vomit over the stage, but
whatever meager excuse of a monologue she gave wasn’t much better than either
of those alternatives. She forgot half of her lines and swayed on her feet like
an arrhythmic pendulum, and ended up crying over the bathroom sink afterward.
“If you want to make up the points, you can write me a four-page paper
overStreetcar Named Desire by next Friday,” he told her when she came to him
after school, his tone laced with sympathetic apology. She hoped her eyes
weren’t still red. They felt like they were, though, with the relentless
stinging.
“I’ll do it.” She wiped her nose. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mellark.”
It was the first time she’d performed for him in the two months that they’d had
class. In the three months that remained, she decided she’d do anything to win
back his respect. She didn’t know why she wanted it so badly – she’d been so
intent on hating him at the beginning of the semester. But she couldn’t hate
him now. Not with those puppy eyes.
He planted his elbows on his desk, leaning forward as he stared up at her.
“Hey, we all give bad performances. I’m not giving up on you yet.”
===============================================================================
Clearly, he wasn’t about to go back on his word.
When she turned in her paper, he seemed floored with her response.
“You’ve got quite an eye, you know.”
“What?”
“For themes. Symbolism. Character development. I had no idea someone so young
could be as perceptive as you,” he complimented, eyes twinkling. “Your
examination of light-versus-dark, about the imagery… Katniss, it was
incredible. I don’t think I could’ve written this caliber of analysis until I
was at least a junior in college.”
Billows of pink swirled in her cheeks, and she self-consciously looked at her
toes. “Oh.”
“Maybe acting isn’t your thing, but I refuse to believe you’re a lost cause in
the drama department. You’re a bright girl, you know.”
She knew she was, in some respects. She’d aced Chem with a 98%, received a 5 on
her AP Stats exam as a sophomore, and managed to reach a 34 on her ACT the year
before. But plays? Literary analyses? She’d always assumed they were far beyond
her realm of expertise.
All she managed to respond with was a pathetic blush as she self-consciously
grinded her molars together.
“Have you ever thought about working tech?”
Katniss’s eyes snapped up to his as she arched a brow. “For the play?”
“I mean, it’s too late for the fall production, but auditions for the winter
musical start up in mid-November. But you wouldn’t have to be onstage. You
could work the light board. Or sound.”
“Mr. Mellark—”
“I mean, I know you’re busy with other academics, but this would…” He sighed,
leaning back in his chair. “This would really round you out, Katniss. Not only
could you do it well, but from a college résumé standpoint, working in the
theatre andthe lab will make you twice as marketable.”
She could see the strained lines in his jaw, the tightened muscles in his
chest, and she knew it was hard for him to say that. But, he knew how to get to
her. He knew she wasn’t here for the course material; she was here out of
necessity. What he didn’t know, but must’ve at least presumed – to some degree
– was that Katniss’s single mother could hardly put food on the table, so
unless she managed to rack up an arsenal of killer scholarships, higher
education wasn’t in the cards for her.
Maybe this would be her golden ticket.
She sighed, shifting on the balls of her feet.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll sign up.”
===============================================================================
The winter musical was  Phantom of the Opera , which was probably a little too
ambitious for a school that barely sported 500 students, but Mr. Mellark was
nothing if not an envelope-pusher. Besides, the roles of the Phantom and
Christine were practically predestined by the gods themselves; a tall, broody,
handsome boy by the name of Gale – who couldn’t exactly sing  opera , per se,
but he had a nice enough voice and rocked his role as the lead in the fall play
– was the obvious choice for the Phantom, and Clove, who unfortunately had the
personality of a bottle of hot sauce, would have to be Christine, since she
actually could  sing opera. Granted, the role was a  tad  bit out of her range,
since Clove was a Soprano 2, but Katniss was sure Mr. Mellark could change the
key signature if necessary. Or work around it in other ways.
Katniss refused to audition for a role in the play, willing to take on whatever
techie position Mr. Mellark needed. Whether that be light board operator, or
chief of sound, or even makeup… she’d do it. For her résumé, she’d do anything.
And for Mr. Mellark, that held true, too. It was something she hated to admit,
but somewhere along the way, he’d managed to fill the role of her favorite
teacher. His class was the worst thing to happen to her – she barely had an A –
but he, on the other hand, had transformed into quite the mentor. He was kind,
encouraging, and surprisingly directed a subtle favoritism her way that only
Delly seemed to notice.
“You’re obviously his favorite student,” Delly had said a few weeks prior, her
eyes sparkling with an insinuation that made Katniss’s stomach coil up.
Katniss didn’t think that was true, but if it was, the thought had grown into
something that made her skin prickle with warmth instead of disgusting her.
During auditions, Katniss was working in one of the practice rooms, prompting
students with lines if they needed help, when a flustered Mr. Mellark slipped
in.
“Katniss, can I ask a huge favor of you?”
Ignoring the student who was just about to start her rehearsal monologue,
Katniss stood up immediately, meeting him by the door as he held out a small
packet toward her.
“We ran out of copies of the score for the auditions. Think you can make me
thirty?”
“Sure,” she offered, and he led her out, motioning toward the music office as
he hurried back toward the audition room.
She hadn’t worked a copy machine before, but the one in the music office was
fairly self-explanatory. It only took a few moments of awkwardly nudging
buttons and shifting papers around before the thing whirred to life, the
mechanical screaming drowning out the rest of the sounds in the room. Without
thinking much of it, her lungs filled with air, and she began singing the
beginning of Think of Me, which had been stuck in her head for the entire week,
as the entire music wing was filled with wannabe-Christines tone-deafly belting
out its lyrics. She liked the song enough – when it wasn’t being sung by a girl
who sounded like a toucan – but hadn’t really allowed herself to give it a spin
until now.
It came naturally, though. The sound resonated well in the back of her throat.
She was a true soprano, too, so the high notes arced nicely, her body tingling
with relief. Singing was something she used to do with her father before he
passed away. Rarely did she allow herself to indulge in music much anymore, but
in this moment, it felt right.
She continued on even after the motorized whine of the copy machine died out,
her fingers rifling through the warm mountain of sheet music. As she sorted
through the papers and put them in order, she repeated the song a second time,
loving the way it tasted in her mouth. God, she really did miss singing.
When the packets were in order, she turned around to seek out a stapler, when
all the heat and color immediately drained from her face.
There stood Mr. Mellark, cautiously, his face pale and woven with shock.
Katniss startled, stepping back. “M-Mr. M—” Her muscles started to tremble.
“How long have you been there?”
He didn’t answer her question, his palm flying to his forehead. “I’m sorry, I
just—I wanted to see how the copies were coming along, and—”
He must’ve come in several minutes before, when the copy machine would’ve
drowned out the sound of a door opening.
Oh god. Oh god. He heard it all, then. Her voice. Everything. Oh god.
“I—”
“Katniss, that was…” He shook his head, a disbelieving smile creasing at the
corners of his lips. “You’ve got an incredible voice. You know that, right?”
Yes, she did, she supposed. She had her father’s voice. But that wasn’t the
issue.
“Pretend you didn’t hear me,” she commanded, almost gruffly. Her voice wasn’t
his to hear. It wasn’t anyone’s to hear, except for her little sister, and the
birds in the wood by her house, and the patch of dandelions freckled over her
father’s grave.
His eyes bugged out a little, and his chest heaved. “What?” And then: “I—I
can’t, Katniss. You—”
“Mr. Mellark—” Don’t say it, she wanted to snarl.
He inhaled. “—should be Christine. You’d be the perfect Christine.”
And, there it was.
She winced, striding over to him and dumping the copies in his hands. “I can’t
act. You know that.”
“You’ve done one monologue, one that tanked because you had no faith in
yourself. If we worked on the whole stage-fright thing—”
“No.”
“Katniss—”
She refused to listen any longer, shouldering her way past him and storming out
of the music office.
===============================================================================
She didn’t know how he found her here, or even why he did – had he gone looking
for her after the auditions were over? – but somehow, he managed to scout her
out on the bleachers edging the soccer field, her hood popped over her braid,
her palms flattened against her burning cheeks.
He slid onto the metal bench beside her.
“I’m sorry, Katniss.”
She didn’t know why he was doing this. He was her teacher. He shouldn’t care.
So, she didn’t say anything, watching the branches of the bare trees lining the
fields tremble in the breeze.
“Look, you don’t want to do the musical. As your teacher, and a decent human
being, I need to respect that. I wanted to apologize for making you feel
pressured or uncomfortable.”
She dared herself to look at him, knowing full-well she’d instantly regret it.
Which, of course, she did; his hair was slightly wind-swept, curls wild from a
long day of auditions, cheeks tinged pink from the cold, lips pursed, eyes
apologetic. Dimples. Dimples, dimples, dimples.
And he was so close.
She instantly looked away, as if his image physically burned her retinas, her
eyes pinning back on the trees across the soccer field.
“I’m not—I wasn’t upset that you asked me to act, Mr. Mellark.”
“You have every right to be, though. Pressuring you into that position was both
inconsiderate and unprofessional.”
She sighed, her teeth worrying the inside of her cheek, her toes crinkling
inside her boots.
“I—I just don’t sing for people.”
She could hear his breath hitch. He paused.
And finally: “Why?”
Her shoulders bowed in a little, her chest hurting at the thought of explaining
it to him. It wasn’t something she’d ever considered announcing before, but
there was something about Mr. Mellark – potentially the fact that he was a
teacher, and couldn’t tell anyone, or maybe it was because she simply trusted
him not to be judgmental, and something inside her told her that he might,
somehow, understand – that made her walls disintegrate.
“My dad used to sing for me. I’d sing back to him. We used to sing together,
all the time.” Her nails dug into her palms, so she pulled the worn edges of
her jacket over her hands. “He passed away when I was eleven. Singing was his
thing, you know? Or our thing, really. It isn’t fair for me to do this without
him.”
She refused to steal a glance at him this time, knowing it’d melt her insides
or do something else revolting.
There was a long stretch of silence before he murmured, “If he were alive, what
would he want you to do?”
She’d expected the typical, pitying “I’m sorry,” or the even more
disrespectful, “How’d he die?” But she should’ve known better, because Mr.
Mellark wasn’t like that, not at all.
So, this question shocked her, even though she should’ve anticipated it. Her
heart shriveled, her tongue drying and swelling between her teeth. She knew
what her father would want. Exactly.
But instead of admitting it, she steeled her expression, tensing her jaw.
“It doesn’t matter what he’d want. He’s not here to want it.”
===============================================================================
Karma finally caught up to Clove right before Christmas break. Her calc
professor caught her cheating on an exam, which would’ve been entertaining to
Katniss, had it not meant Clove was suspended and officially out of the play.
So, they had no Christine.
She knew exactly what this meant.
After finals, she went to speak to Mr. Mellark, finding him hunched over his
desk with his hands knotted in his curls.
“I don’t know what to do,” he told her when she sat down across from him.
“There’s no one.”
He’d assigned Katniss the role of co-stage manager, alongside Madge Undersee,
who was twice as enthusiastic as her but only half as organized. The two made a
good team.
But, Madge could do this on her own, as much as Katniss hated to admit. What
she hated even more was what she knew she had to do. Not for herself, but for
Mr. Mellark. It was his first musical, and considering the fact that he was her
favorite teacher, she at least felt some moral obligation to guarantee his show
wouldn’t crash and burn.
“I’ll do it,” she blurted, the words burning like acid on her tongue. But this
was the right thing. Hopefully.
His gaze snapped up, eyes shocked but minutely skeptical.
“You’ll play Christine?”
She shrugged. “I mean, I know the music. I sort of know her lines. If there’s
no one else—”
“There is no one else.”
Her toes tapped against the carpet, chest tingling. Jesus, she already
regretted this.
The smile she gave him was weak, but even in its uncertainty, it was still
genuine.
“You’ve got your work cut out for you, Mr. Mellark,” she teased.
===============================================================================
It was a disaster.
She was fine on her own – her reflection in the mirror was a phenomenal actress
– but as soon as she had actual eyes for an audience, her confidence crumbled,
and so did her memory.
Mr. Mellark had to feed her lines like pureed carrots to a baby.
The musical was set to debut in February, and by mid-January, she decided the
show would be better if they let her sister’s grouchy cat play Christine.
“I’m awful,” she sputtered in Mr. Mellark’s office after practice one day,
bidding the tears to soak back into her eyes.
“You’re not,” he assured, although it must’ve been a lie. “You’re just psyching
yourself out.”
“Why did you let me do this?”
To her surprise, he chuckled, chuckled, as if she wasn’t about to single-
handedly shred his first musical into tiny, pathetic shards of failure.
“Look. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned. But I trust you, okay?”
“How can you trust me? I don’t even trust myself!”
He leaned in. “Let’s practice your scenes with just you and Gale, alright?
It’ll be only the three of us.”
Well, two viewers was more reassuring than the entire damn cast.
She swallowed hard.
“Yeah, okay. I guess we can give that a shot.”
===============================================================================
To her surprise – and Mr. Mellark’s, and Gale’s – her performance was
significantly better the following rehearsal, when the auditorium was empty.
Mr. Mellark was perched at the edge of the stage, watching Katniss and Gale
volley their lines back and forth. When the time for their duet arose, Katniss
was relaxed enough that she actually managed to sing, which was a first. Up
until now, her voice always fizzled out on the first word, sending her choking
and sputtering.
When the rehearsal was over, Katniss sat outside with Gale on the curb.
“We were all so wrong about you, Katniss,” the boy said, offering her one of
his rare smiles.
Her fingers plucked at the end of her braid. “Well, just wait until the rest of
the cast comes back. Then I’ll go back to being a certified mute.”
He startled her by scooching a little closer. “You’ll do fine, I’m sure.”
She swallowed. “Uh… thanks.”
The wind was bitter, numbing her nose and sending her fingers retracting into
her coat sleeves. Gale was watching her, as if he was expecting something.
Suddenly: “Hey, so you know, we have that kissing scene—”
Katniss choked. “Didn’t Mr. Mellark say we could just hug?”
He had. He’d told her that if it made her more comfortable, they could just
embrace instead. It was a small school play, after all. It wasn’t like they had
any grand expectations bearing down on their shoulders.
Yet, she found Gale shrugging, looking at her sheepishly. “Yeah, well… I mean,
wouldn’t it be more… authentic if we, uh… if we kissed?”
“I guess, but—”
“It would make the play a lot better…”
“Yeah, but—”
“And don’t you want to make it as good as possible?”
Katniss blinked, lips pursing in preparation to reject him, yet her voice met
its dissolution in her throat.
===============================================================================
Gale’s shoulders were broadened, his tongue darting over his lips as she slowly
waded up to him. The music score in the background grew, reaching a crescendo
as she neared, her heart thrumming like a timpani against her ribcage as she
anticipated what came next.
She felt the rest of the cast and crew’s eyes on her, and she knew what they
were expecting. She was afraid to do this, but Gale had assured her it would be
alright, that it would make the scene more powerful. As much as it frightened
her to admit it, he wasn’t wrong.
The lyrics swelled in her mouth as she ghosted closer – God give me courage to
show you you are not alone – and she took a deep breath, watching as Gale’s
eyes pinned on her lips. She eliminated the space between them, stretching on
her tip-toes as her hands cupped the back of his neck, weaving in his dark
hair.
Her lips sealed underneath his, and she heard a few startled gasps from the
viewers, but she disregarded them. All her energy was drilling into this kiss –
it was her first, and she wasn’t so sure what she was doing. Gale was, however,
taking the lead and swiping his tongue across her lip. She wanted to shrink
away – were kisses supposed to be this wet? And taste like Cheetos? – but she
refused, finishing out the measure in the score before breaking away.
Gale’s chest was heaving, and behind him she saw Madge and Delly peeking from
around the curtain, shock screwed into their features.
“Cut!”
The music died out, and her head whipped to the edge of the stage where Mr.
Mellark was propped, his jaw slackened in shock. Immediately, heat trickled
into her cheeks, and she tried to tear her eyes away, but she couldn’t.
All she could do was wipe her now-soggy mouth with the back of her hand.
“That was, uh… powerful, guys,” Mr. Mellark began, his voice slow with caution.
“But you know you don’t have to do that, if you’re not comfortable.”
He was speaking to both of them, but his gaze was fixed on Katniss. The lights
were pinned on her and Gale, which left her director’s body swathed in shadows,
but she could still make out his expression. Mostly shock was planted on his
features, but there was something else, too. Confusion, maybe? She wouldn’t go
as far to say anger, too, but whatever it was, it wasn’t very far off.
What was going on? Why was he upset?
Something flitted over her elbow, and she jumped a little when she realized it
was Gale’s hand. His palm cupped the back of her arm, almost possessively.
“It’s okay,” he said, his voice a little sharper than anticipated. “We’re
comfortable with it.”
Mr. Mellark’s eyebrows arched, but then his jaw hardened. “Oh. Well, alright.”
Still, his gaze was pinned on her, drawing out the heat in her cheeks and
making her heart hammer. “If that’s what you both want.”
The way he drew out the word both confused her, and also made her body tingle.
She had no idea what was going on. Why he was acting like that. Why Gale was
acting like that.
She shook her head to clear the fog there, pivoting back into her position so
they could go through the scene again.
===============================================================================
After rehearsal was over, Delly and Madge yanked Katniss backstage with them.
“Oh my god,” Delly panted, her eyes shimmering in the poor lighting.
“What?”
“That was one hell of a stand-off,” Madge said, grinning.
Katniss frowned. What the hell were they talking about?
Seemingly reading her mind, Delly giggled, “It looks like you have two
suitors.”
“Suitors?” Katniss hissed.
“Gale and Mr. Mellark.”
Katniss’s entire digestive system erupted into flames.
“Mr. Mellark?” she screeched, and then slapped her palm over her mouth,
mortified with her volume.
“He totally has a thing for you,” Madge said. “I mean, when you and Gale
started playing tonsil-hockey up there, he looked like he was about to have an
aneurism.”
“We weren’t—he wasn’t—you’re both being—tonsil hockey?”
Delly giggled, nudging Madge. “And then when Gale grabbed your arm—”
“—I mean, Delly and I were so sure they were about to start facing off—”
“—like, do some weird mating ritual thing, you know?” Delly laughed. “Duel for
your hand and all.”
Katniss considered whether lying face-down on the floor or slapping her friends
would be more appropriate.
Instead, she settled on snarling, “You two are absolutely insane.”
“I think it’s cute,” Delly said with a shrug. “I mean, Mr. Mellark’s young. And
really, really handsome.”
“Yeah, well, so is Gale,” Madge countered. And then, she aimed a sympathetic
smile Katniss’s way. “And you can legally date Gale.”
“I don’t want to date Gale!”
“What about Mr. Mellark?” Delly asked.
Jesus, these two were insufferable. Katniss wanted to roll herself up in the
velvet curtains to the point of asphyxiation. “Look. I’m not interested in
Gale or Mr. Mellark. Alright? Gale’s too broody, and Mr. Mellark is my
professor. So let it go.”
Both Delly and Madge opened their mouths, potentially to continue their ribbing
of their already-flustered friend, but Katniss refused to allow herself to fall
victim, shouldering past them and making her way to the exit.
===============================================================================
Trembles wracked through Katniss’s body as she sat at the piano in the practice
room, her index finger aimlessly dipping at the keys. This was the only quiet
place she could find; the dressing rooms were brimming with squealing girls who
were, like her, on edge about the show, but at least their anxiety was more of
a nervous excitement, whereas Katniss’s was undiluted panic.
It was opening night.
Katniss knew her lines. She knew her lyrics. In dress rehearsal the night
before, things had actually gone smoothly. Too smoothly. She could feel trouble
lurking in the corner, waiting to pounce when she least expected it. She was
going to fail – there was no doubt in her mind. And then Mr. Mellark would hate
her.
Although, maybe he already did. For the past few weeks, he’d been awfully
distant. Not rude or cold, just unbecomingly withdrawn; she’d tried to speak
with him, and he’d let her engage him, but he didn’t smile the same, and he
didn’t lean in when she spoke, and his cheeks weren’t that same, innocent shade
of pink, and his jaw was always, always flexed.
She hunched over the piano, her nerves doing the cha-cha inside her quaking
veins.
She tried to sing a little, to warm up her voice, but the sound crackled like a
malfunctioning firework in the back of her throat. She felt like she was going
to vomit.
And then, there was a quiet knock on the door.
“Come in,” she said weakly.
She could feel him before she saw him; he had a presence that was nearly
palpable, or maybe it was just the scent of cinnamon. Either way, the hair on
the back of her neck prickled as the door to the practice room clicked shut.
“I was looking everywhere for you,” Mr. Mellark said.
She, per usual, refused to look directly at him, in the same way one would
refuse to look directly at the sun. She was afraid of what it would do to her.
And of what she’d see.
When she said nothing, she heard him sigh.
“Mind if I sit?”
While keeping to her code of silence, she conceded, scooting over on the bench
and letting him slide in beside her.
His fingers ghosted over the keys, not playing anything in particular, just a
peppering of high notes and minor chords.
“You’re panicking.” It wasn’t a question.
She swallowed hard, letting her trembling hands fall into her lap. When her
head lowered, the ridiculously-voluminous ringlets that Madge had crafted with
her curling iron fell in front of her face.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when Mr. Mellark lifted his hand, his fingers
tucking them back over her shoulder so he could look at her. It startled her,
but not as much as the fact that it made her stomach burn in an almost-pleasant
way. He wasn’t supposed to make her feel like this, whatever this was.
“I haven’t been as encouraging as of late,” he admitted, his tone ringing with
apology.
She shrugged. “You’ve been stressed about the musical. Rightfully. I’m going to
crash and burn.”
“If you keep telling yourself that, you will.” She tried not to focus on the
burning sensation she felt where his thigh touched hers. “But you slayed that
dress rehearsal, Katniss. So I know you’re capable of greatness.”
She’d rub her eyes, if only she didn’t have an entire tube-worth of mascara
framing each lash.
“I’m just scared, you know?”
“I know. I don’t think I was ever not scared when I performed.”
Her tenacity crumbled, and she found herself finally looking at him, his
sympathetic smile dotting dimples into his blushing cheeks. Mr. Mellark was
back. The old Mr. Mellark, the one she trusted and relied on, and the one who
made her feel safe. She felt heat sparking in her core, alongside a little
peppering of confidence.
“Really?”
His smile widened. “I’m scared every day I teach, Katniss. I’m always afraid of
messing things up. But you learn to harness it. Which, might I add, you are
fully able to do. You did it yesterday.”
“Yeah, well, that was when every single cast member’s parents weren’t watching
me act. Or sing.” She gulped. “Or make out with Gale Hawthorne.”
That was what she was least excited about.
Something in her words or tone made Mr. Mellark stiffen at her side. His
fingers splayed out on the keys as he looked to the wooden paneling of the
piano, avoiding her eyes.
“Then don’t.”
“I already told him I would,” she said. They’d been practicing that way for
three weeks. She couldn’t just pull the rug out from under him now.
“If you’re not comfortable with it, you don’t have to do it.” His jaw went
rigid, his cheekbones popping out from the strain. “That’s why I initially told
you a hug would suffice.”
A sudden flicker of boldness ignited in her core, and her mouth opened.
“Is that why?” She swallowed hard. “That’s it?”
The moment the words left her mouth, she wanted to rein the back in, and
screech at the voices of Delly and Madge in her head which had been the ones to
prompt this outburst. The thoughts floating in her head weren’t hers. They
weretheirs. Katniss knew Mr. Mellark’s intentions were good – her friends were
just misguided, and they’ve since poisoned her.
So she anticipated his rebuff to happen immediately. A gruff “yes” would’ve
suited her just fine.
Thus, the responding silence that flattened them instead only frightened her.
After what could’ve been years, she heard something of a tortured sound burst
in the back of his throat, and he pressed his forearm against the paneling of
the piano, leaning his forehead against his fist.
“Mr. Mellark—” she whispered, intending for it to sound like a question, but it
came out more as a gasp, as a plea. But for what, she was afraid to know.
“You’re my student, Katniss.”
“I know that. Believe me, I do.”
“This isn’t okay.”
Her throat tightened, her fists clenching. “What isn’t okay?”
She knew full-well what he meant. But, in her gruesome depravity, she wanted
him to say it.
He inhaled, and exhaled, and squeezed his eyes shut. She watched as he leaned
back, rubbing his face until it was painted with angry red marks.
Finally, finally, he turned his head to look at her. There was something
tormented there, mixed with apology.
“Since the moment I heard you sing for the first time, I haven’t been able to
get your voice out of my head. And I don’t want to. It was so—so beautiful. And
pure, and—and I respect you so much, as a student, and as a person, and I don’t
want to overstep any boundaries, or do anything stupid that could put either
one of us in danger, but I think—Jesus, I think this is just a very roundabout
way for me to tell you that even though it’s wrong, and sick, and twisted, and
totally not something I want, I think… I think I’m in love with you, Katniss.”
She let the admission hang there in the atmosphere between them, thickening the
air and making it nearly unbreathable. It wasn’t something she thought she
could believe, or thought she wanted to believe, but as it soaked through her
burning skin, it awoke something inside of her she’d been trying to sedate for
months.
Allowing her inhibitions to melt away, she unclenched her fists, letting her
hands reach up to his neck, cupping the heated flesh there, feeling his pulse
underneath her fingertips. His gulp resonated against her palms, and he licked
his lips, his eyes trained on her own mouth, and she knew where this was
heading, and she knew it was exactly where she wanted it to go.
Denying her feelings was so futile at this point.
She’d only ever tasted Gale’s lips before, slightly slobbery and always
tingling with a different aftertaste. All she wanted was to know what Mr.
Mellark’s were like.
She needed to find out.
So, she strained from her seat on the bench, using her hands on his neck as
leverage as she lifted herself closer, her lips just inches from his.
And suddenly, a rush of cold air ripped across her flesh. He tore away,
stumbling from the bench, his own hands flying to his mouth.
“Oh god. God. Katniss, I’m so, so sorry.”
Her heart wrenched. “Mr. Mellark—”
“No, we shouldn’t do this. I’m—” His hand was on the door handle, which made
her entire body jolt. She tried to stand, tried to object.
“Please,” she begged, her voice a weak cry. “Please, stay with me.”
But he was already slipping through the door.
“I can’t,” was the last thing he said.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     I may or may not have edited this on two hours of sleep, so please
     forgive me for the unforgivable amount of typos.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Never could Katniss have predicted that washing her hands of the drama
department would be so painful. As soon as the curtains fell following the
final showing of Phantom of the Opera, she shed her costume, make-up, and any
tie to the program. In theory, the act was liberating. In practice, it felt
like buffalo trampling on all her vital organs.
While the self-extraction did leave her sore and miserable, it wasn’t all that
difficult. Since it was the spring semester, she no longer had class with Mr.
Mellark. Thus, she had absolutely no reason to cross paths with him ever, ever,
ever again.
Granted, their school was pathetically small, meaning she saw him approximately
eight times the following week: five times in the hallway, twice during his
shift of lunch supervision, and once out in the parking lot. No matter how
quickly she ducked into a locker cove or behind a stalled car to avoid him, his
eyes would always manage to find her first. Even if they locked with hers for
just a moment, the overwhelming apology and desperation she found there was
suffocating.
But he knew better than to approach her. If anything, he was terrified of her,
which would’ve given her a small inkling of satisfaction had the situation not
left her chest carved out, aching and hollow.
Two weeks after the musical’s final curtain call, Delly leaned over their lunch
table, motioning to her friend with a half-eaten Pringle.
“Auditions for the spring play start Monday. Want to rehearse over the
weekend?”
Katniss almost choked on her pear. “W-what?”
“You heard me.” She waved the jagged chip in front of Katniss’s nose. “You
absolutely slayed Christine.” (By some divine miracle, Katniss wanted to add.)
“I’m sure Mr. Mellark would cast you in a heartbeat.”
The sound of his name alone knotted up her muscles, and she looked down to her
lunch tray, damning the violent flurry of color in her cheeks. “I don’t really
want to audition.”
“What?” Delly whined. “No, Katniss—don’t do this again. I know you get self-
conscious, but you were great.”
But this wasn’t about Katniss’s performance anxiety, although in any other
situation, that would’ve surely influenced her decision. What Katniss couldn’t
tell Delly was that she refused to audition for the spring play in fear of
finally confronting Mr. Mellark, a.k.a. The Teacher Who Was Six Years Older
Than Her And Had Rightfully Rejected Her When She Tried To Kiss Him. What
happened between him and Katniss remained locked away in that practice room,
and not once had Katniss considered letting even her closest friend in on the
secret – however, its upshots still dusted everything she did and everything
she thought. It was a weight she couldn’t shake, no matter how hard she
thrashed.
After a long pause, Katniss slumped in her chair.
“I’m just… I’m busy.”
It was a pathetic excuse wrapped in an even more pathetic tone, but Delly knew
better than to push it.
===============================================================================
After the final bell on Monday, Katniss darted quickly to the parking lot,
dutifully avoiding all her friends who crowded toward the auditorium. During
the final period, Delly had made a last-ditch effort to guilt Katniss into
joining the play, or at least the crew, by offering her half her bag of
Skittles.
“While that’s a generous offer,” Katniss had said sarcastically, “No amount of
empty carbs could possibly convince me.”
As soon as she made it home, Katniss flopped on their moth-eaten sofa with her
history textbook, eagerly diving into the pages. Her drive to finish all her
assignments was even stronger than usual, so by dinnertime, she’d completed
everything scheduled for that night, as well as the next.
After the dishes were cleaned in the sink and propped in the drying rack,
Katniss announced to her sister and barely-listening mother that she was going
to the grocery store. She needed something to do, something to keep her busy.
And also, she really needed some ice cream to drown her woes.
Their town had a small convenience store and a run-down Sun Mart, and because
the supermarket was farther across town, she decided on the former. It was a
five-minute walk from her house, which felt like ten in the nippy wind, so by
the time she huddled through the front door, her face felt like shattered
plaster. She padded to the freezer section, heading straight for the shelf with
the overpriced ice cream tubs. After settling on rocky road (only because the
mint chocolate chip was sold out), she rounded the corner of the aisle on her
way to the checkout.
Even with the frost-dusted carton cradled against her chest, her body still
managed to blaze at the sight of the man who was ducking through the front
door. Despite the shadows slanted under his baseball cap, Katniss could
pinpoint the heavy exhaustion in his eyes, and then the shock as their gazes
aligned.
Her nails dug into the side of the ice cream tub. Her feet refused to move.
He was able to gather his bearings first, slowly crossing the tiles until he
was standing just a foot away, his mouth quirked in a nervous grin. He held up
his hand in greeting, and also in an implicit truce.
“Hi, Katniss.”
She couldn’t bring herself to respond.
As the silence webbed between them, his smile faltered. She watched his
expression grow too cloudy as his eyes darted away from her. “I—I was hoping to
see you at auditions,” he said quietly.
She swallowed hard. “I, uh… don’t think theater is exactly my calling.”
“No?” He gave her a regretful smile. “I’m sorry if I had any bearing on that.”
“I’ve got the talent of a rock,” she grumbled. “This doesn’t have to do with…”
The shame from what they did and the weight of all they didn’t do suddenly
barreled into her chest, and her lungs clenched painfully as she looked him
over. He was still so beautiful, she thought, with his yellow curls peeking out
from under the ball cap, his eyes so impossibly blue even in their exhaustion.
She still wanted him. Badly. And that was the most painful revelation of all.
Even though she’d prefer he forget her name, she couldn’t help but wonder if he
still wanted her, too. If he was still in love with her, as he’d claimed in the
practice room.
When her eyes flickered back to his, she found the same depth of disgrace
pooled there, and that was all it took for her to know: Yes. Yes, he still felt
exactly the same.
It was him who first spoke again.
“I’m sorry, Katniss,” he whispered. “I made such a huge mistake.”
“That makes two of us.”
She watched him flush, studying the regret sitting heavily in his features, its
edges fringed in embarrassment. As if he was the one who’d humiliated himself,
and not her.
He began shaking his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I—” Her throat stuck as she stepped back, looking him over. Was he serious? “I
tried to—you know—”
“Look, everything that happened there was my fault,” he said. “I roped you into
this when I should’ve just respected your limits. I mean, you know I didn’t
want to feel that way about you, but…” He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“People feel things they shouldn’t feel. That’s life. But as your teacher, and
an adult, and a generally decent human, it was my responsibility to keep you
out of that and not make you feel pressured into doing anything you didn’t want
to do—”
Some animalistic sound burst from her throat, which cut him off.
“Are you being real right now?” she hissed. “You think I tried to—to do
that—because you guilted me into it?”
She couldn’t tell if he was more startled by her guttural tone or her actual
words, but either way, his face was blooming red in mortification. “What else
am I supposed to think?”
He was ridiculous. Ridiculous. She hated him for entirely blaming himself, and
for seeing her as nothing but a victim. But, above all, she hated him because
she still couldn’t keep herself from loving him, even with his self-deprecating
delusions.
She stepped closer to him, the toe of her shoes nearly brushing his over the
tiling. Like this, she could smell him, all cinnamon and Old Spice and Mr.
Mellark.
“You keep treating me like a child, Mr. Mellark,” she snarled. “And while I
might not be an adult yet, I’m very capable of determining my own feelings.
Don’t you dare try to tell me that I only wanted you because you manipulated
me. You don’t even know the half of it.”
Never being gifted with articulation, she was just as stunned as he seemed to
be by her declaration, but had no doubts of its sincerity. She was angry at him
for rejecting her, and angry at herself for falling for him in the first place,
but never had she once thought her feelings were his fault. She was almost
seventeen, god dammit. She might not have always understood her feelings – in
fact, more often than not, they left her disoriented – but she wasn’t some
immature little fledgling, powerless against the bend of Big Scary Adults. She
didn’t love Mr. Mellark because he was interested in her. She loved Mr. Mellark
because of who he was, and how he made her feel.
Although she didn’t say this much, she wondered if he could read it in her
expression, the unspoken words streaming from her rapidly softening glare. He
must’ve understood a small part of it, at least, because he blinked down at
her, his lips going slack, his eyes dazed.
Not waiting for a response – partially out of impatience, and partially out of
fear of what he might say – she shoved her way past him and toward the
checkout, leaving him frozen in the middle of the aisle.
===============================================================================
She’d charted Mr. Mellark’s routes through the school and kept track of the
days he supervised the lunch hour, meaning she was able to avoid him more
successfully than usual as the week passed.
She wondered how long she’d have to do this. With her stubborn determination,
she was confident she could keep up the evasion forever, if necessary.
And it was going so well. At least, until Delly showed up after her sixth hour,
dancing at Katniss’s side like a two-year-old in desperate need of a bathroom.
“The cast list comes out after school today,” she gasped, clutching at
Katniss’s fingers. “You need to come look at it with me.”
Katniss blanched. “What?”
Going within a thirty-foot radius of the auditorium automatically meant putting
herself in high risk of crossing paths with him. That simply wouldn’t do.
“Well,” Delly wailed, “I can’t look at it by myself, silly! That’s just bad
luck!”
“Your superstitions are stupid.”
“Please?” She squeezed Katniss’s palm. “For your best friend?”
Katniss gaped at her, unsure of how she could possibly decline without Delly
breaking down into a fit of melodramatic sobs. There were no good excuses left,
so instead of forging something pathetic, she sighed and reluctantly agreed.
===============================================================================
The cast and crew lists were taped to the auditorium doors by the time the
final bell rang, immediately heralding flocks of anxious theater kids and poor
wingmen like Katniss. Mildly irritated, she waited a safe ten feet away,
refusing to subject herself to the violent moshing as Delly squeezed to the
front.
In under a minute, her friend returned with tears pouring from the corners of
her eyes. Katniss was preparing herself for consolation when Delly blubbered,
“I’m Elaine.”
“Is that… bad?”
“I got a part,” she sobbed, burying her head in Katniss’s collar. Terrified by
any display of emotions, Katniss stiffened at her friend’s touchy, exaggerated
mode of celebration, but managed to pat her on the head.
“I—I’m happy for you,” she said, cringing at the flowering wetness on her
collar. Jesus, Delly.
When Delly finally pulled herself together, and the horde had dispersed,
Katniss caved into her curiosity and padded over to the list. The names
blinking back at her weren’t big surprises – Gale Hawthorne was at the top, as
were Finnick Odair and Johanna Mason; even Clove made an appearance toward the
bottom. Pride swelled in her chest at the sight of her best friend’s name
sandwiched in the middle.
But as she perused the tech assignments, her stomach twisted. While Madge was
(rightfully) listed as stage manager, the position of chief of lights had been
assigned to a girl by the name of Octavia Griffin. Instantly, heat began
prickling under Katniss’s skin. Octavia may have been a nice girl, but she was
also dumber than a sack of potatoes and knew as much about stage lighting as
Katniss knew about eyeliner application.
Fuming, and refusing to think twice about what she was about to do, she bid
Delly a terse goodbye and stalked down the hallway.
Most drama teachers before him were intelligent enough to lock their doors upon
the release of the cast list, but Mr. Mellark must’ve had a death wish, because
he left his wide open. She found him perched in his swivel chair, hunched over
a thin stack of what she presumed to be half-graded analyses, but his head
snapped up the moment she cut through the door. Flinching at her wild demeanor,
he dropped his pen on the floor.
“Katniss?”
“What were you thinking? Letting Octavia take over lights? Might as well just
do your whole damn show in the dark!”
He flushed pink as she slapped her palms on the desk in front of him.
“I was banking on Cressida wanting to do it again,” he managed to sputter, “but
AP testing season is coming up, and she wanted to focus on that instead.”
“That’s—that’s stupid.”
He held up open palms. “I didn’t have a choice, Katniss. It was Octavia or an
empty light booth.”
Even though he was clearly flustered by her presence, he still remained more
composed than she was, which further infuriated her. “There should—there must
be other options.”
“Well,” he murmured, “my ‘other option’ isn’t willing to work with me right
now.”
With the way his eyes carved into her, she expected to hear some degree of
accusation in his voice, but there was nothing. Not one ounce. If anything, his
tone was colored with disappointment, possibly a touch of self-resentment, but
it was too clear that he wasn’t upset with her.
Fuck him, she thought.Fuck his humility, his purity, his damn perfect eyes that
still make me feel things.
As she stood across from him in silence, measuring the shifts in his expression
as he measured the shifts in hers, the reality of her situation suddenly bore
down on her.
She wasn’t here because she was angry at him, even if her frustration was
genuine. She was here because she wanted to see him, wanted a reason to talk to
him again; she was so damn tired of avoiding him. Because fury was her sole
excuse for confronting him, it was what she’d chosen. If she were stronger, she
would’ve been able to swallow her pride and admit this much to him. Somewhere,
she truly did want to apologize for being such a brat.
But, when it came to Mr. Mellark, she didn’t trust herself with sentimentality.
If she stripped herself of her armor, and softened for him, she’d end up no
less heartbroken and humiliated than she had in the aftermath of their practice
room confrontation.
So she folded her arms, keeping her jaw set.
“Fine,” she muttered. “I guess… I’ll help Octavia.”
“I’m not trying to force you into this.” There was a dusting of hurt in his
expression, one that socked her straight in the gut.
“You need me,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t realize that she needed him, too.
Maybe even more.
This statement made him stiffen, though, and he leaned back in his chair, his
eyes hardening.
“Look. As valuable as you are, I can’t—I won’t bring in someone who’ll just
butt heads with me. You aren’t obligated to tech, Katniss. I’ll only take you
if you really want to help.”
She was startled by his inflexibility; he’d always stricken her as the overly
naïve type to assume he could get his best work from his students if her were
to be unconditionally kind. However, while this attitude of his threw her for a
loop, she was almost… proud.
So, softly, she told him, “I wantto, Mr. Mellark.”
===============================================================================
She hadn’t lied about her desire to help, but she may have misled him into
believing that things between them would be buttery-smooth if he let her come
aboard. The awkwardness was still palpable, the tension thick and unforgiving
as steel cables at each rehearsal. Half of her wished she could just swallow
her pride and be kind to him again – she missed their old dynamic, in which
they were both relaxed around each other, where things were easy, or fun, even
– but she refused to put herself in any position of vulnerability again. She
was convinced that if she remained stringent in her treatment of him, he
wouldn’t be able to make her feel things, or, more importantly, he wouldn’t
have any idea when he did.
It seemed to upset him, however. Mr. Mellark was incapable of sustaining
anything in the neighborhood of anger for more than an hour at a time – it was
one of the things she always liked about him, because she was fiery enough on
her own and didn’t need him to upstage her in that department. But she didn’t
like that so much now. Although his authority over her was unquestionable, he
looked too much like a kicked puppy whenever she iced him out, and it made her
chest ache. How was she supposed to keep up the pretense of disinterest when he
looked so hurt by her?
Midway through March, she was convinced she was nearing her breaking point. She
was a diligent worker, which they both knew, so he’d never had any reason to
give Octavia her full reign over lights back, but her presence alone seemed to
stress him out to the point where he couldn’t even look at her. And she wanted
him to look at her. She wanted things to be good between them, even if she
wasn’t willing to meet him halfway.
She had half a mind to just apologize, and she almost did after one rehearsal.
Someone had accidentally slathered two of the colored filters in spirit gum the
day before, and regardless of how carefully Katniss cleaned the slides, they
were ruined. She realized this was a perfect excuse to confront Mr. Mellark,
who’d retreated to the department office a few moments before as the cast and
crew were packing up their bags for the night.
Filters in hand, she padded to his office, her heart hammering at the sight of
his open door. She rarely came in here alone – usually, Octavia served as an
adequate buffer. But this was something she’d have to do by herself.
So she slipped through doorway, knocking quietly on the door to signal her
arrival. Mr. Mellark was hunched over a mound of scores, but his head lifted at
her entrance, eyes going wide.
“Katniss?”
“The filters,” she said weakly, holding them up for him to see. “They keep
sticking to the lights.”
“Oh.” His brow crinkled. “Well, come in.”
She shut the door behind her, carefully making her way to his desk. He was
measuring her every move, as if she’d pounce were he to let his guard down. Was
he really that afraid of her?
“They’ve got spirit gum on them. Hell if I know how.” She laid them out on his
desk, pointing at the damage. “I tried washing them off, but I think they’re
ruined.”
“I suppose I could put in an order for more,” he said, leaning back in his
chair with his hands behind his head. The way his arms bowed out made his
shoulders and biceps strain under the fabric of his shirt, the contours of his
muscles painfully obvious and also painfully beautiful. Jesus.
She didn’t know what else to say on the matter, so she stood there awkwardly
for a few moments, calculating how to segue neatly into her half-prepared
apology. So, Mr. Mellark, I haven’t been very gracious as of late, and I wanted
to apologize. I know how hard you’re working, and it isn’t fair for me to be so
rude to you—
“Is there something you wanted to talk about?” he began slowly, breaking her
train of thought.
She blinked at him a few times, blood sprouting under her cheeks. “I, uh—”
He crooked an eyebrow at her. He was so handsome, so composed that it made her
chest throb.
Clenching her fists, she opened her mouth and waited for the apology to tumble
out. But instead, she heard herself say, “No, that was all.”
She quickly turned away, but not before seeing his face fall in disappointment,
which perfectly mirrored the hollowed pit in her stomach.
===============================================================================
Octavia was out sick for the day, which made virtually no difference to
Katniss’s workload; it just meant she’d have to man the light booth by herself.
Which was far from a burden. Not only was Octavia agonizingly inefficient, but
she was also unfamiliar with the concept of peace and quiet.
So, without her co-chief, Katniss was able to sit back in the chair, one hand
prepped on the light board and the other reverently fishing through her bag of
carrot sticks.
During their fifteen-minute break, Katniss remained in the booth, even though
she knew Delly would probably want to talk to her about something
inconsequential. She was just too busy enjoying her solitude, of which she
didn’t get enough.
That was, until she heard a light knock on the door. With a carrot stick poised
between her teeth, she groaned. “What do you need?”
She anticipated the company of Delly, or maybe even Madge, who’d tell her she
missed an earlier cue. But instead, a head of golden curls poked through the
door. Her heart plunked into her stomach.
“Oh,” she said dumbly.
He smiled at her. “Mind if I come in?”
All she could manage was a weak nod.
He shut the door behind him, sealing them off from the light-flooded hallway.
The booth was small, meant for only two people; there was little space between
them, just enough so that she couldn’t feel his breath, but enough for his warm
scent to drown her.
“How are you holding up in here alone?” he asked conversationally, taking the
chair beside her.
“There’s literally no difference. Except, for the first rehearsal, I don’t have
a migraine.”
He leaned back in his chair, smiling as he shook his head. “I’m not getting rid
of Octavia, you know.”
She loved how relaxed he seemed. In the relationship they had, it was a rarity,
and so she refused to take it for granted.
“Just don’t make me work with her for the next play.” She bit down on her
carrot stick. “I won’t survive through it.”
When she glanced over at him, she noticed he was looking at her strangely, his
eyes twinkling. “The next play?” he said.
She was thankful for the booth’s gloom, dampening the evidence of her blush.
“I—well, I don’t know,” she stammered. “Since I’m here for another year, I
might as well help out.”
The expression of sheer elation that stitched over his features made her
stomach warm – when was the last time he looked at her like that? She hadn’t
made him happy in so long.
“What happened to the girl who just wanted to pad her résumé?”
Katniss shrugged. “I’m not sure,” she mumbled. But when her eyes locked with
his, she felt a surge of confidence. She swallowed. “I guess she really likes
working with her drama teacher.”
She normally would’ve shied away from his stare then, but there was something
so compelling in the way his gaze wrapped around hers, his eyes filled with
both shock and wonder. They watched each other for what could’ve been ten
seconds or ten minutes; she didn’t know, and she guessed that neither did he.
She wasn’t sure what possessed her to say it now, when she’d wanted to say it
the week before in the department office, but it spilled from her lips of its
own volition, no less certain even in its spontaneity.
“I’m sorry,” she told him.
He had the audacity to look confused. “For what?”
“For—for everything, really.” Her gaze fell to her lap. “I’ve been such a
dick.”
“Not exactly the word I would’ve chosen,” he said with a small laugh, which was
accompanied by the sound of his chair’s wheels thundering across the tile
floor, his knees just brushing hers. “You’ve been… cold, I guess. But, as
difficult as it’s been to stomach, I can’t blame you. Things between you and I
are… well, put simply, they’re weird, Katniss. I’m not sure how to behave, so I
can’t hold you accountable for that, either.”
“At least you’ve tried to be nice to me.” She touched her braid. “There’s no
way around it. I’ve been a royal asshole.”
“You’ve been upset with me, which I deserve,” he said, and then he let out a
long sigh, leaning back in his chair. “First, I put you in an awkward position,
and then I trivialized your emotions. I just—Katniss, you have to understand
that I never wanted to hurt you. I’ve just been so focused on myself – how
disgusted I am with my behavior, how I’m putting both of us at risk – that I
didn’t put enough energy into thinking about what all this meant for you. But
I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately.”
Her cheeks burned. “You have?”
“Well,” he continued hesitantly, “I’ve been trying to figure out the best way
to make you comfortable again. I reckoned that treating you the way I used to…
you know, before all that happened…” He rubbed his temple. “That seems like the
best course of action. We got along so well, and I really appreciated the type
of relationship we had.”
“I did, too,” she said softly.
When she stole a glance at him, she found him beaming her way.
“So, what do you say we try to do that?”
“Do what?”
“You know, just… go back to the way things were?”
Her tongue curled behind her teeth, eager to agree. She supposed she’d like
that. But her bones were aching for something else, tingling and humming in
their plea for more.
She liked Mr. Mellark. A lot. Now that she was faced with the option of erasing
that, returning to a semi-healthy student-teacher relationship, she finally
realized it was something she couldn’t let go of.
That fire in her belly, the one that’d propelled her forward on the piano
bench, urging her to kiss him – she felt it again, smoldering in the bottom of
her stomach, just itching to flare.
She wanted him. Holy hell, she wanted him.
Boldly unashamed, she stared at him through the gloom, leaning forward slightly
in her seat.
“I don’t think that’s what I want,” she whispered.
Confusion warped his expression, tinged with a little pinch of hurt, but she
soon amended that by crawling out of her chair and onto his lap, her legs
splaying on either side of his waist. His distress was immediately replaced
with shock, his lips parting as she braced her hands on his shoulders.
“Katniss, what—”
She’d never been so brave before. But he made her feel free, wild, and alive.
Holding his jaw with her palms so that he couldn’t tear away this time, she
slanted her lips over his.
Underneath her mouth, she heard a small sound of surprise burst in the back of
his throat, but it didn’t deter her. She ran her thumb along the sharp cut of
his jaw in an implicit prayer for him to join her. His palms flattened against
her thighs, in what she assumed was preparation to push her away, but after a
few moments of her sighing against his mouth, his fingers curved into her skin,
holding her against him.
Finally, finally, she had him.
Much to her pleasure, kissing Mr. Mellark was far different from kissing Gale.
Mr. Mellark’s kiss wasn’t so wet and didn’t taste at all like lingering
Cheetos; instead, it was more measured, careful, gentle. Patient, even, despite
the fact that someone could come knocking on the booth’s door at any moment. He
pulled her bottom lip between his as he tightened his grip on her thighs,
pulling her closer. The feeling of his erection pressing insistently on her
center through his slacks emboldened her, prompting her to deepen the kiss,
even though she really had no idea what she was doing. But Mr. Mellark just
made it too easy.
“This is so wrong,” he sighed against her lips, but he didn’t stop kissing her.
One of his hands slid up over her waist and ribs, moving to cup her cheek, his
palm warm and inviting against her jaw. She moved her own hands back to tangle
in his hair, reveling in the soft feel of it; she’d wanted to do this for so
long, so long, so that the jubilation of finally achieving it was almost
suffocating.
And so, when he pulled back with a loud pop of their lips, the distance was
even more crushing. It ended too soon – she wanted more, more, more.
Even in the dark, his flush was obvious, his lips slightly swollen and his
pupils fat. His hand didn’t release its hold on her thigh, the touch of it
sending fronds of electricity straight to her center. She throbbed for him, so
badly, and was about to pull his lips back to hers when he brushed her cheek
with his thumb.
“We can’t do this now,” he whispered. The tenderness in his voice proved he
wasn’t wholly rejecting her, calming her manic nerves. “We need to be careful.”
“I know.”
“Nobody can know.”
“I know.”
“And you have to tell me, please, if you don’t feel safe. I know—I understand
how dangerous this is. And I won’t let you get hurt. The moment you want this
to end—”
“I won’t want that,” she said, more insistently this time. “I want you.”
His eyes smoldered, inky and deep, as he caressed her cheek. “I want you too,
Katniss. So much. So, so much more than I should.”
For good measure, and for some self-satisfying claim of entitlement, she
pressed her lips to his forehead, the heat of his skin swirling with the heat
of her own. Subconsciously, Mr. Mellark’s grip tightened on her thighs one
final time before letting go. She couldn’t wait for his hands to find her
again, whenever that would be.
===============================================================================
Neither had suggested he return after rehearsal, but she lingered in the booth
for several moments after he dismissed the cast and crew, craving his company.
Of course, Mr. Mellark wouldn’t let her down; five minutes after she watched
the stage clear, the metal handle jiggled.
As soon as the door was shut behind him, the lock clicked into its socket, she
rose from her seat.
“Long time no see,” she joked.
Even in its shyness, his responding smile was thick with need, making heat
flutter in her veins. He scratched the back of his neck. “I, uh—I guess I have
little self-control.”
“I’m not complaining.” She flitted up to him, flattening her palms against his
chest. Through his shirt, skin, and muscle, she could feel the torrential
strokes of his heart against her hands. She wanted to find his pulse in his
neck and kiss it.
In response to her touch, Mr. Mellark’s own hands moved to grip her waist, his
index fingers brushing the thin strip of skin between her t-shirt and her
jeans. Where their skin connected, she blazed.
She wanted to know what his hands felt like elsewhere.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he whispered, his nose nuzzling hers.
Katniss couldn’t remember the last time she was so sure about anything, so she
nodded.
Tentatively, he touched his lips to hers, but only once before drawing back
again. Hesitantly soft, he whispered, “I thought you hated me.”
“I wanted to,” she admitted. His fingers flexed against her sides. “And I was
really pissed off, partially because you didn’t want me, and partially because
I couldn’t hate you for it. I’m just really good at holding grudges, Mr.
Mellark.”
“You’re good at a lot of things.” Dragging his bottom lip between his teeth, he
lifted a hand to trace his index along the lines of her cheekbone and jaw,
charting her features for memorization. “But I hope you know that I did want
you. I just—I couldn’t, Katniss.”
“What made you change your mind?”
Iridescent and bright as ice crystals, his eyes burrowed into hers, his thumb
edging the curve of her lips.
“I think you know,” he whispered.
Tired of talking, she dug her fingers into his shirt’s fabric, yanking him
against her body. His mouth crashed dazedly against hers, fumbling for a moment
before he cradled her face, steadying the kiss. She was afraid he’d soon
realize how horribly inexperienced she was, or that he’d already realized, but
if he did, he didn’t let on. He just kissed her more fully, holding and
supporting her frame on his.
With her fingers greedily tangling in his hair, and his palms moving from her
cheeks to her back, gliding warmly over the ridges of her spine, he walked her
backward, until the harsh edge of the counter that held the light equipment
cleaved into the small of her back. Air grated her throat as she gasped
desperately to the feel of him hoisting her up, propping her on the worktop’s
lip.
In what Katniss assumed was a final bid for nobility, Mr. Mellark left a few
inches of space between them as he continued to ravage her lips. But she
wouldn’t stand for the distance. She’d wanted him, and been deprived of such
relief, for too long; there was no time for decency, and certainly not for
patience. So, none too timidly, Katniss kicked out her legs on either side of
his hips, wrapping them around his waist to pull him closer. He sighed into her
mouth as their bodies met, and she couldn’t help but gasp at the feeling of his
erection, large and insistent, against the inseam of her jeans.
Katniss had never fallen for anyone before, and perhaps this was why she
absolutely plummeted head-over-heels for Mr. Mellark. But it made sense to her.
She needed him in a way she’d never needed anyone, and she wanted him to know
this – or, she wanted him to take advantage of this. Not take advantage of her,
no; he couldn’t, considering she was a willing participant. Possibly more
willing than him, although by the way his fingers plotted and lionized her
body, she guessed he might want her just as much.
So, one of her hands glanced down the curve of his pectorals, down the flat of
his stomach, relishing in the way his abdominal muscles clenched under her
movements. But she didn’t stop there. Still kissing him, she tasted the way his
breath caught in his throat as her fingers skated along the top of his belt,
toying slightly with the silver buckle.
It was this that compelled him to pull back, his eyes searching hers.
“What do you want?” he whispered. With the way the thick gruffness of his tone
glazed each word, she was convinced he’d be willing to give her the sun and the
moon, were she to ask for them.
Emboldened, she slid her hand down to cup him over his slacks. His eyes
fluttered closed at her touch.
“Fuck me,” he groaned.
Katniss smiled deviously. “Exactly.”
But his eyes widened at her implication, his palms moving back to her face.
Shivers trickled down her spine as he brushed the hollows of her cheeks with
his thumbs, tenderly cupping her jaw.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said.
She frowned, heat flowering where his palms met her skin. “Seriously?”
“I mean, I don’t want to hurt you—”
“You’re rejecting me again?”
His jaw slackened, brow furrowing. “Rejec—what? Katniss, no. I’m not refusing
you. I just—I don’t think it’s very smart of us to… to… do that quite yet. I
mean, I don’t even have a condom—”
His pacification techniques didn’t have their desired effect, and she slapped
her palms on her thighs, trying not to lose it. “What, are you worried about me
being clean?” she snarled.
He flinched, shock lacing its way over his features, but he didn’t let her go.
“No. No. Katniss, I just—I want to be safe with you. And I want you to be
comfortable. Especially if—” His throat bobbed. “Would this be your, uh… your
first time?”
Heat stung her forehead. Still incensed, but now semi-humiliated as well, she
could only bring herself to nod.
She expected this to change things, and anticipated his patronization. But he
only leaned forward to kiss her forehead, then her nose, then her reluctant
lips.
“Katniss, I’m not going to allow your first time to happen in a muggy light
booth.” He tucked back her hair as he sat down in the chair, just off the
counter’s edge, his chest now in between her splayed legs. From his new
position, he peered up at her as his palms caressed her hips. “Look. When I
told you I was falling in love with you… I wasn’t lying. Just like I wasn’t
lying when I told you I was scared. This relationship – what we have –
shouldn’t be happening, but I think neither of us want to follow convention any
longer. But that doesn’t mean I can start being reckless with you. If anything,
it means we have to be more careful. I—” He looked away from her, rubbing the
cut of his jaw. “I don’t want to lose you, Katniss,” he said quietly. “I’m
scared that if I’m careless with you, I will before I can even blink. That
thought terrifies me.”
The raw warmth in his voice softened her, making her muscles uncoil. She
slumped on the counter, moving to flatten her palms over the backs of his
hands, which cupped her waist. She pried them away, lacing her fingers in with
his, feeling the energy in his palms snarling beautifully with hers.
She squeezed.
“And I’m terrified that you’ll realize you don’t want me,” she told him,
finding that with him, honesty was oddly easy.
He pegged her with a sad smile. “I’ve wanted you since I first heard you sing,
and I’ve been unable to stop in every day that followed, no matter how hard I
tried. I don’t think a little patience is going to destroy how I feel about
you.”
“But something else will,” she whispered, feeling her throat thicken. “Maybe
you’ll realize I’m boring, or you’ll get tired of my temper, or you’ll meet
someone you can actually be with, oryou’ll decide I’m not special enough for—”
To silence her, he pressed his lips to the inside of her knee, the warmth of
his mouth bleeding through the fabric.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised.
And then he nudged his chair closer, so that his ribs were pressed against the
lip of the counter, his hands gripping at her shirt to gently lift it over her
abdomen. His mouth was hot but tender on her stomach as he worshipped the skin
there, and she gripped his shoulders, relishing the hard curve of his biceps.
When his jaw brushed the hem of her jeans, she felt him hesitate, although she
didn’t know why he was. At least, not until he pulled back, the pads of his
index and thumb dancing around the rim of the button.
“Let me at least do this for you,” he murmured, his eyes imploring her, as if
she’d have any desire to refuse him. But she didn’t, and she knew she never
would. So she eagerly nodded and helped him with her jeans.
He peeled them from her legs, discarding them on the floor beside his chair;
then he began mapping the skin of her inner thighs with patient fingers, making
her tremble. After removing her own shirt for good measure, she gripped the
counter behind her for something to hold onto, accidentally nudging a few of
the light board controls out of place; she’d have to reorient them tomorrow.
She simply didn’t have time to care about that now, though.
Her throat bobbed as she watched him watch her, his palms igniting her flesh.
He kissed the inside of her thigh, so close to their juncture. She wondered if
he could tell how wet she was even with the thin layer of her cotton underwear
between them.
She swallowed down a moan when he dipped his head in, barely pressing his lips
to her covered center. Even through the fabric, the contact electrified her;
she didn’t think she’d survive his touch if he were to actually remove her
underwear.
Sensing her trail of thought, Mr. Mellark curled his fingers underneath the hem
of her panties, pulling gently. She lifted her hips to aid him, one hand
planted on the counter for leverage, the other palming her sternum, feeling the
arrhythmic flutter underneath. Her whole body felt flushed as he snaked his
arms around her legs, his hands holding her legs open by her inner thighs so he
could look at her. She’d never been looked atbefore, at least not like this;
her heartbeat sped into a wild chase, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
“Katniss,” he murmured, his voice tangibly warm, his breath curling against her
center.Oh god oh god oh god. “Has anyone ever touched you before?”
She swallowed and shook her head, still too afraid to look at him. As a
preordained victim to teenage hormones, she’d been driven to touch herself on
occasion, but he was the first to ever get this far. And this terrified her.
What if she wasn’t good enough?
Evidently attuned to her distress, Mr. Mellark swept his thumbs along her
flesh, perhaps in attempt to soothe her. It worked partially, at least enough
to coax her eyes open; she chanced a look down at him to find him gazing up at
her from between her legs, his eyes hooded and his smile soft.
“I’m the luckiest guy alive,” he told her.
And then his head dipped in, his tongue sweeping along her heated flesh.
She was grateful he was holding onto her, because had he not been, she probably
would’ve plummeted off the side of the counter. But he anchored Katniss as he
tasted her with measured strokes of his tongue, luring choppy breaths and soft
moans from her throat.
“Mr. Mellark,” she sighed, singing out as she tangled her fingers in his hair.
He responded by drawing his focus upward, gently suckling on the point where
all her pleasure began and ended, making pale lights flood her vision.
He’d told her, many times, that he loved her voice when she sang; by the way he
eagerly returned her melodic sighs and honeyed moans with deeper, more reverent
strokes, she couldn’t help but wonder if he liked thisside of her voice even
more.
She encouraged him whenever he did something that felt good, although judging
by the confidence in his calculated determination, she knew that he knew what
he was doing. He stroked the inside of her thigh as his mouth praised her
flesh, stringing her up on a high she’d never quite experienced. After all, her
own fingers weren’t anywhere near as exquisite as Mr. Mellark’s practiced lips.
She felt her muscles tremble, her veins singed deliciously as her blood rushed
to her center. It was all happening too soon, but with the way he made love to
her with his mouth, she couldn’t bring herself to hold out. Everything was too
intense, too warm and soft and charged around the edges, electricity throbbing
through her entire body. She let her head fall back, a lyrical moan pouring
from her throat as he kissed her to her climax, her fingers braided in his
roots, holding him too close but still not close enough. And there she was,
elevated into a vibrant oblivion, singing out her devotion to the golden man
with the golden tongue.
When it was over, her whole body shaking and numbed from her release, he pulled
her down to his lap, twining his arms around her. She felt like pudding in his
hold, but she couldn’t bring herself to care; the only thing she could focus on
was the way his fingers gently tucked her sweaty hair from her face and moved
to trace sweet nothings along her spine.
Looping her arms around his shoulders, she pressed her lips to the spot on his
neck where his pulse throbbed, falling in love with the way it sped for her.
She thanked him, and he told her it was his pleasure, even though she was
fairly certain it was, in fact, hers.
She didn’t know how long they remained there, cooped up in the too-small light
booth, clinging to each other. Even though she was functionally naked and he
wasn’t, and she was sweaty and boneless while he remained solid and steady, the
moment was so implausibly intimate, and she dreaded the moment she’d have to
let go, have to go back to pretending he was just the drama teacher, and she
was just a student, and there was nothing between them, even though they really
had everything.
But this time, when she asked him to stay with her, he laid a gentle kiss to
her nose and promised, “Always.”
Chapter End Notes
     Come give me love at the-peeta-pocket.tumblr.com.
End Notes
     As this is posted, part two is currently being written. Fingers
     crossed that I'll be able to get it up within 24 hours, but no
     promises.
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