Author's Note: The song I mention here is "Witchcraft" by Steve Tyrell.
The heat is blistering in this early spring night. I am wearing nothing but Peeta's shirt, but I still feel like I am boiling. I sigh and climb out of bed. I'm not going to sleep anytime soon.
It was only half past seven when I had crashed into bed. I had hunted down a deer, and I was exhausted. Peeta wanted to take a walk, but I turned him down, wanting to sleep instead. But now, at eight, the heat has made my fatigue disappear.
I traipse downstairs, but I do not see Peeta. Suddenly, a cool breeze blows through, bringing relief to my scorched skin. Where is the wind coming from?
I realize the front door is open. I walk through it and see Peeta sitting on the porch, sketchpad in hand. It is much cooler out here than in the house.
"Hey," I say to Peeta, sitting down beside him.
He starts, then turns to face me. A smile spreads over his face. "You're wearing my shirt."
I scowl. "I was hot." His gaze lowers. I realize the lower hem of my shirt is hitched all the way up to my thighs. I glare at him, pointedly pulling the shirt down. He blushes and looks away.
A few fireflies play by the primroses, which are coming into full bloom. One flits in close, and I cup my hand around it, entrapping the insect. I hold it out to Peeta. "Look."
He looks at the light coming from my hands in wonder. "Whoa."
I laugh. "You've never done that before? As a kid?"
He shakes his head, his face still amazed. "No, I haven't. I never got to spend much time around plants and things. It was school, bake, sleep."
My eyebrows raise, but I don't dwell on it. I unclasp my hands, and the firefly flutters away. Suddenly, a mockingjay starts singing. Other join in, and soon, our front yard has become a full blown orchestra.
My feet tap along the beat. I recognize this tune. It's melodious, saucy, and perfect for the foxtrot. I remember weddings and festivities as a kid. This song would be played at least once, and all the couples would join in. I have a hazy memory of my mother and father dancing the foxtrot, my father laughing and my mother in a red dress. A rising sense of euphoria overtakes me.
I look at Peeta. His feet are tapping too, a look of joyful reminisce on his face. He recognizes it, too.
He turns to me, beaming, and I can't help but smile back. He stands up, offering me his hand. "May I have this dance?"
I raise an eyebrow. "What, now? Here?"
He shrugs. "Why not?"
No, of course not, should've been the first thing out of my mouth. But another cool breeze blows through, and in the musical, firefly lit night, a part of me says, The heck with it. I accept his hand, and he pulls me to my feet. "Yes, you may."
Peeta grins, putting a hand on my back, while I rest my hand on his shoulder. Our free hands intertwine together. As the mockingjays begin another rendition of the song, we start to dance.
Back, back, side close, back, back, side close, forward, forward and across, side turn.
For someone who hasn't done this in so long, I think I'm doing pretty well. Soon, I relax, and start to have fun. Peeta pulls me down in an unexpected dip, and I laugh. Peeta grins as we dance across the yard. How strange this will seem to someone who might see us. A girl in a boy's shirt, a boy with flour across his shorts, dancing in the moonlight to the mockingjays' song. The fireflies join in, twirling around us. We both laugh.
The song comes to an end, and Peeta finishes the dance by pulling me down in an a concluding dip. I laugh, and get up. "That was…interesting."
Peeta laughs, too. "You had fun, admit it."
"I did," I say.
Peeta leans down and kisses me on the forehead. "Let's go to bed."
I shake my head. "It's boiling up there."
Peeta waggles his eyebrows playfully. "Then maybe you should take your shirt off." He is rewarded with an elbow to the stomach. "Worth it," he proclaims.
My eyes are drooping with fatigue. If only it was as cool in our room as it is down here…
"Let's sleep here," I say without thinking.
Peeta raises his eyebrow. "What, now? Out here?"
Now that I think about it, it's not such a bad idea. I've slept outside before; I take naps all the time in the woods. I shrug. "Why not?"
Peeta pauses. "Was it just me that had a déjà vu moment?"
I roll my eyes. "I'm sleeping out here whether you want to or not." To make my point, I walk inside the house, and come out a split second later with a sheet. I lay it out on the grass, right beside the primroses. I lie down. The cool breeze and the hum of the fireflies lull me into sleep almost immediately.
Through a haze, I hear Peeta sigh. He settles down beside me, muttering, "You win." He shifts, turning his head this way and that, then sits up. "How can you find this comfortable?"
I pull him down beside me, using his arm as a pillow. "Like this."
As I settle into him, he remarks, "I'm not sure who wins, here."
"Shut up and go to sleep," I mumble, curling into him.
He sighs, stroking my hair. The last thing I hear before drifting off is, "She's still wearing my shirt."