I roll over in my bed - mid afternoon - I don't sleep, sleep will only pull me under to a wretched nightmare that will worsen my current mood. Today is another bad day. I can't get them out of my mind, all of them. Prim, Rue, Finnick, everyone else who died with their blood on my hands. Of course, Peeta knows this. He knows that on days like this I prefer not to talk, or do much of anything, really. He made me breakfast this morning, told me to rest in bed. He's downstairs in the study, painting. He won't go home, he won't leave me in the house myself, not when I'm feeling like this.

Every so often, Peeta comes upstairs to check on me. Asks me if I'm okay, not replying is an answer in itself. It's hard to say how long it is before I hear him padding upstairs again on his prosthetic leg, but when he does he has a massive smile on his face. It's all an act, though. He's trying to make things seem alright, when they're not. He's a very good actor, but when it comes to smiling it isn't working. His eyes aren't smiling with him. He carries a tray of hot soup and a glass of water. He sits it on my bedside table, before sitting on the edge of my bed. His smile fades. "You should eat something," he says. "starving yourself won't do no good." Then a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, a genuine one, I think. Then he leaves the room again.

My legs and my back start to ache from laying down for so long. I wander around the room, trying to relieve the cramp. I stare in the mirror by the corner of the room. My hair has grown longer, it's down past my shoulders now. My burn scars have faded slightly since the war, but they will forever mark my body. I've gained weight since Peeta has been around, you can no longer see my ribs, my cheekbones aren't as prominent, my face not as sunken. I walk away from the mirror and for some reason I'm drawn towards my bedside drawer. I pull it open - the family plant book sits inside, I almost forgot about that.

With lost ones faces playing in my mind, the plant book now in my hand - an idea comes to me. What if we created a similar book, only instead of plants, we could remember the lost ones. Their traits, their skills, and a drawing of them, if Peeta would oblige. They will not be forgotten, not to me, never to me. Suddenly I want to run downstairs and tell Peeta my idea, ask him to help me, when I see it. Sitting behind the plant book, is the pearl, the one that Peeta gave me in the Quarter Quell.

I carefully pick it up as though it will crumble beneath my fingers, I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's because it seems so precious. I run it over my palm and then over my lips, cool and smooth, like a gentle kiss. It's only then that I become aware of him standing behind me. "You alright?" Peeta asks. I stuff the pearl back in the drawer and close it firmly behind me, I hope he didn't see me. I turn around to face him. "Yeah, I'm alright," I mutter.

"So you're talking now?" He smiles sheepishly.

"I guess." Is all I say. He begins to walk towards me, closer, closer. What is he doing? Closer. Is he going to kiss me? His chest is barely touching mine when he reaches behind me and picks up the bowl of soup. I let out a raggedy breath at the realisation of his true actions. "You haven't eaten?" He frowns, "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah I'm sure." I say, "Can I talk to you?"I sit down on the bed and pat the space beside me. He looks concerned but he obeys unquestioningly.

I take the plant book out of the drawer again, trying carefully to avoid the pearl and Peeta's locket, which also hides in there. "Remember this?" I ask. He nods, puzzled. "Well, I've been thinking, we could make another book. Only instead of plants we could dedicate it to the lost ones. Everyone who died, in The Hunger Games, or in the war." He considers this for a moment and then he starts to nod his head.

"Yeah," He starts. "Yeah, that's a great idea, Haymitch might know a few people to put in it."

"I'll need to have some paper shipped in from the Capitol, but we can start on it soon." I say.

"Sounds good." He runs his fingers through his mop of blonde hair, his eyes flicker down to the ground. I stare at him for longer than I should. His eyes climb up to meet mine. Usually when I'm caught staring, I blush or drop my gaze. But when he stares back, I just smile. And he smiles too. We stare, and we stare, and it's so comfortable. Nothing is ever awkward with Peeta, not now. His eyes dart to my lips and I'm so tired of being in this situation and not having the guts to kiss him. So tired, but I don't do anything about it. As I stare at his mouth I think of all the possible scenarios, before I stop thinking all together.

"Well, I'll get on with my painting. Want to help?" I try to bring up conversation, before I can no longer resist the urge to kiss her, I'm not sure what her reaction to that would be, if she would even kiss me back. Her eyes dart up to meet mine once more. "Help you? How could I help you? I'm rubbish at painting. I don't have the patience for it." She's right about that.

"Come one, it'll be fun. Cheer you up a bit. You don't have to take it seriously." She nods, I take her hand, helping her up from the bed.

In the study I've already started on a painting, I hide it behind the wooden desk in the corner. I don't want Katniss to see it. I set up a new canvas, by the window. Katniss stares at it bewilderedly. "I have no idea where to start." She says.

"Well, first off, you need to decide what it is you want to paint." I say. She shakes her head, she doesn't know. "How about something you like? Um, how about Buttercup?" I joke.

"Ugh. No," She laughs. "I think I want to paint a sunset, like the one at the lake."

"Yeah, that was pretty beautiful." I hand her a paint brush and a pallet of warm colours. We stand in front of the canvas, she is just about to put her brush to paper, when she speaks. "Will you help me start it?" She asks. I take her hand and guide the paint brush across the canvas. We start with large streaks of orange and gradually add reds and yellows. She takes over, managing on her own, while I watch. She takes on a look of concentration, the same one she uses when she shoots. I study her intently. Everything about her warms my heart. "You're actually pretty good at this." I say, and it's true. As I talk, Katniss looses focus and the paintbrush skids slightly.

"Hey! You made me smudge it!" She laughs. She turns around to face me. "I need to tell you something," she says. "Come here," I step closer to her. Slyly, she paints an orange streak right across my face.

*****

I stand up to look over my painting. Its nothing compared to Peeta's paintings, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't quite proud of it. "I'm just gonna get a glass of water," I announce, "want one?" I ask Peeta who sits on the desk behind me, with a large orange streak across his face. "No, thanks," I slip away out of the room.

In the kitchen I allow the tap to run cold before I place the cup under. As I do I hear a loud thumping noise coming from the study. I ignore it until his scream pierces the air.

"Peeta!" I yell, running to the study. He's not there. "Peeta?" I run around the house searching for him. "Peeta!" I call. Suddenly I feel like I'm in the games again, fearing for his life. I start to panic, my heart rate increases until the beat is all I can hear. I start to cry. "Peeta?" I call, weakly. Eventually I stumble into my bedroom. "Peeta?" I breathe a sigh of relief when I see him, until his condition sets in. He lays curled in a ball on the floor, trembling. He's having a venom attack. He says he has them a couple of times a week, but I've never been there to witness one, he likes to stay away if he feels one coming on. I cautiously approach his curled up state on my hands and knees. "Hey, Peeta?" I gently place my hand on his shoulder, he flinches at my touch. "It's okay, you're here with me." I whisper. "It's me, it's Katniss. Calm down, you're here with me," I repeat soothing words over and over. He doesn't respond. "Peeta? It's me, you're alright." I try and comfort him, but all that's running through my mind is I did this to him. I have to try and bring him back.

Gently, I take his head in my hands and bring it onto my lap. It's a level of intimacy we're not quite comfortable with yet, but I don't know what else to do. I stroke his hair back from his face and kiss his forehead lightly. Peeta's eyes flicker open very slowly, his body stops trembling and his eyes look up at me. "You alright?" I ask.

"Now I am," he says, weakly. "I'm sorry you had to see me like this."

"Don't be sorry," a single tear runs down my cheek. "It's not your fault, it's mine. I should never have left you in the clock arena. None of this would have happened to you," I cry.

"No. Don't say that. Either way would've been bad. If you hadn't left we both might have ended up dead. You can't turn back time. We can live like this, Katniss. It's not like we've not lived with sorrow before." He says.

"Never sorrow like this," I whisper, running my fingers through his hair.

"We have each other, that's all we need. Okay?" His voice is gentle, but insistent.

"Okay." I say.

Silence passes and Peeta and I are in no hurry to move. It feels nice having him here, so close to me, because I know, that in this moment, nothing can take him away. Moments pass before he speaks. "Katniss? The day I wrote you that letter-" he begins. I know immediately what he's referring too. The letter he wrote me asking for friendship, the day after the night I confessed my feelings for him by his bedside. " I could have sworn that the night before, that you were with me. I'm not sure how, but I felt it. I heard you, by my bedside." He gets out. Oh, I think. I'm not sure what to say. He knows. Somehow I was praying that he didn't. I'm not very good with feelings, I'm not sure how to initiate them into actions. "You were really there, real or not real?" He asks. There is only one answer to his question. Real, I have to tell him real. The idea of him knowing how I feel, how his kisses feel, terrifies me more that I can say, but I can't lie to him.

"Real,"

💞