A/N: So it's been almost a year since I last posted, and I'm back on this website after reading a LOT of "Your Lie In April" fics. To keep this account alive, I'm posting my submissions for the seventh round of PiP (Dreamscape Week from last year). This is extremely overdue, but better than nothing, right? ^_^' Forgive me.

Upon rereading, these are pretty bad. You have been warned.

Here goes...

~ Day One: Cheeks ~

The Place Where I Love You

Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true…

I wake up to a sense of lightness and warmth and contentment. Still in a state of semiconsciousness, I savour the carefree, relaxing, floating sensation that is rare and blissful and almost long-forgotten. The kind I'm left with after a pleasant dream, or a night in which I don't have to revisit the horrors from the past.

Today is going to be a good day.

It's always the little things that make a day good or bad. Like the gentle smile Peeta gives me when I make my way down to the kitchen, deeply inhaling the heavenly scent of the cheese buns in the oven. Or the little laugh he makes when one of Haymitch's wandering geese quacks at him through the open window. Or the chaste but sweet kiss he plants on my cheek when I sidle over to his side.

In this moment, in Peeta's house in the Victor Village, it almost feels as if everything is okay again. As if we can begin anew.

Here in District 12, a place where children were once chosen to be killed, a place which was once destroyed to ashes, even the concept of peace is long-forgotten.

But Peeta believes it will be okay. And if he thinks so, it might be. The boy with the bread has given me hope since that dandelion I plucked from the grass all those years ago.

Deep down, I know I had accepted my love for him much sooner than I had realised. Maybe as early as the Quarter Quell. Maybe even as far back as those nights in the cave.

Suddenly, an idea strikes me.

"I have something planned for you today," I whisper into Peeta's ear.

"Sounds amazing," he murmurs back.

After devouring the delicious cheese buns, I take Peeta to the lake for a picnic.

He hasn't been here before. I feel myself smiling slightly as I watch him sweep his gaze over the place, taking in and remembering every detail to put onto paper later.

"My father used to bring me here," I say quietly, lowering my gaze.

Today, however, the thought of my father is more reminiscent than sentimental. I can almost hear his laugh echoing through the woods, the mockingjays falling silent as his voice rings through the trees.

Forgetting everything else around me, I begin to sing. Ironically, the song that first comes to mind is The Hanging Tree. But today, for some reason, it doesn't bring back the demons it usually does. Today it brings back my father.

When I finish, the last note lingers in the air for a little while. Then, as the mockingjays begin to sing, Peeta turns to me.

"Your voice is still as beautiful as I remember," he says softly.

I can't ignore the gentle flutter in my stomach as he cups my cheek with one hand and tenderly lowers his lips to mine. I wrap both my arms around his neck. It feels so good, so perfect, so right, that I don't know how I will ever be able to let go.

It's in this moment that I realise everything can be okay again. I know it. Together, we can live again.

After, he whispers "you love me. Real or not real?"

Here is the place where I love you.

I tell him, "real."