Moments.
Peeta is sat reading, and I am across the room, counting the seconds until he looks up and sees me. I've just had a shower, my hair falling down my back, dripping water across a shirt that used to be his. My only thoughts are of Peeta, his delicious smell, and the future.
When I let my brain process my thoughts, it registers that this is one of the first times that all that happened isn't haunting me. All I can see is endless versions of us, maybe even being old, able to look at the past, at Prim, Gale, my father and his parents as some kind of alternate reality. I want it to be a reality that made us who we are, but doesn't linger, terrorising us in shadows and on stormy nights.
As he begins to turn a page, his overlong hair falls into his eyes, and in the light it looks like it has a halo surrounding it. When I lower myself onto the large windowsill he finally looks up, at me, and smiles. Before the words can leave his mouth I whisper
"Real,"
Leaving his book on the sofa he comes to join me, and then brushes my hair to the side where it normally lives. I lean into him, and he kisses me on the forehead. The sun streams in through the window.