Last year, alonglineofbread made an amazing Everlark gif, which inspired this short fic.

I do not own The Hunger Games, they belong to Suzanne Collins.

I find her down by the lake.

"Katniss?"

She nods, but otherwise doesn't move from her spot on the fence. I come up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and resting my chin on her shoulder. "I knew you'd probably be here."

She nods again, lets out a deep breath, and leans her head against mine.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.

She shakes her head.

I don't want to push, so I stand there, holding her. We listen to the birds singing and the soft breeze rustling the leaves. A few minutes pass, then she lifts up her head.

"Why, Peeta?"

I sigh and let go, moving to sit next to her on the fence.

"She fell in love, Katniss. It doesn't mean she's forgotten your father or that she's stopped loving him – she's just found someone new to share her life with. After everything she's lost, don't you think your mother deserves to be happy?"

She turns her head and looks at me, tears in her eyes.

"He would have liked you," she says softly.

I smile. "Really?" She nods. "And what, pray tell, would he have liked about me?"

She scrunches her nose in thought, a trait I've found just as endearing as her scowl. "He would have liked your baked goods."

I scoff. "That's a given – everyone likes my baked goods! What else?"

She smiles. "He would have admired your talent – how you can bring things to life on a piece of scrap paper or recall any image from your head and make it come alive on canvas."

"That's more like it," I say, placing my hand on top of hers. "Anything else?"

She turns her head and looks at the lake. "He could find beauty in pretty much anything. I see that in you, too."

With that, I scoot closer and she does the same. I bring my arm down around her waist and kiss her temple as she leans into me, taking a deep breath.

"He would have wanted her to be happy," she says quietly. "The same way you make me happy."

I nod, grinning like a fool and glad she doesn't see it.

We sit there until the sun sets. No words are spoken, but the silence speaks volumes. I picture a young Katniss hunting with her father. The girl with two braids who stole my heart with the first notes she sang. And as I climb down off the fence and help Katniss to her feet, it occurs to me that she learned to sing from her father – a fact that I'd never given much thought to, but it's true all the same.

It was her singing that made me fall.

It was her singing that sealed my fate.

So as we start to head home, I pause and look back at the lake, thinking one single thought.

Thank you.