Every day was the same for them. She'd wake up in his bed, practically crawl back to her own house to shower and make herself somewhat presentable for the world. She'd be in the woods ready to hunt just as the sun was up. How she managed to do that day after day he'd never know. He'd manage to make his way into the shower sometime around noon, right when she'd bring her latest kill into the kitchen. He would put on somewhat clean clothes, only because she would complain if he didn't, and help her finish cooking their meal for the day. Victors or not, they both hated wasting food in the district. It was basically a crime in 12 to waste food.
Peeta would make his way over to the house just as they were sitting down at the table. She would be ignored as the boy with the bread attempted to be as polite as he could manage, discussing the latest district happenings and asking if they had heard anything more about the upcoming victory tour. He'd insist on helping clean up afterwards and leave as soon as the last glass was dry. The two of them would retreat into the comforting cave of the living room, turning on the projector that was their only link to the outside world and open a bottle of something. Anything, really. Rum, vodka, the strange mixture she'd sometimes bring home from the Hob that was basically just pure alcohol. They'd pass it back and forth, uncaring of shared saliva or whatnot. They had both experienced far worse.
The sun would set and the room would darken. Lights seemed to be a waste of time. The bottle would run dry and they'd head to bed. Arms would wrap around each other, trying to maintain some semblance of safety. They would stare into the dark, silently discussing where their lives would go from there. If they would ever find something more to live for other than the knowledge that they had to continue their existence for some god forsaken reason. In time, they knew that they would have to find something relevant within their lives, something other than simply taking care of the other. They needed each other; that was absolutely certain. But how could they possibly go from existing to living after all that they had been through. They fall into a surprisingly peaceful sleep, taking comfort from the knife under the pillow and the bow in the corner. There they would stay, until the sun would rise and they would have to do it all over again.