Gale Is Mine. I Am His. Anything

"katniss?" He Drops My Hand And I Take A Step, As If To Catch My Balance. "it Was All For The Games," Peeta Says. "how You Acted." "not All Of It," I Say, Tightly Holding Onto My Flowers. "then How Much? No, Forget That. I Guess The Real Question Is What's Going To Be Left When We Get Home?" He Says. "i Don't Know. The Closer We Get To District Twelve, The More Confused I Get," I Say. He Waits, For Further Explanation, But None's Forthcoming. "well, Let Me Know When You Work It Out," He Says, And The Pain In His Voice Is Palpable.

‎what Is To Prevent, Say, An Uprising?

Of Course You Are. The Tributes Were Necessary To The Games, Too. Until They Weren't," I Say. "and Then We Were Very Disposable - Right, Plutarch?

Oh, Peeta, Don't Make Me Sorry I Restarted Your Heart.

You Would Think After All The Hours I’d Spent With Gale– Watching Him Talk And Laugh And Frown– That I Would Know All There Was To Know About His Lips. But I Hadn’t Imagined How Warm They Would Feel Pressed Against My Own. Or How Those Hands [...] Could Entrap Me… I Vaguely Remember My Fingers, Curled Tightly Closed, Resting On His Chest.