'What am I supposed to say? Do? Feel?' I think to myself, nibbling on my nail. Then I catch myself. 'No,' I tell myself. 'Don't worry, or plan what should happen. It should be natural.' I wait outside the thick wood door for a second. Why am I so worried? A few days ago, I never let myself believe I'd see Peeta again; now, he's safe, and right through those doors. So why am I hesitating? I push the door open and take tiny, measured steps across the tiled floor. I'm soon looking down at Peeta's peaceful, sleeping face. I can tell that Boggs was right; he is starting to wake up. I hold my breath as I watch his long, golden eyelashes flutter open, revealing those big blue eyes I've spent countless hours lost in. The ones I thought I'd never look in again. I take another step forward and push a wave of hair off his fance. He grabs my hand, and squeezes it, pulls it closer to himself. It's as though he doesn't want to let me go. I don't want to let him go, either. We're so different, yet it seems that we'll always agree on that.I cup his face with my free hand; he feels warm, but looks paler than normal. "How do you feel?" I whisper, hoping I don't sound as anxious as I am. Peeta doesn't answer until our eyes are locked on each others. When he does speak, his voice is hoarse, like in our first Games. Even what he says reminds me of something said in our cave. "Much better, now that you're here."I notice that these word match my feelings, too. My feelings about our reunion. "Me, too," I reply. I then feel the pieces of my my shattered heart starting to heal.