When I'm gone too long he's taken to coming to find me. At the fence, in the woods, by the lake, at the remains of what once was. I don't always make it easy for him, but he never says anything about it.
He simply holds out a cookie, some bread, something of what he is and tells me he thought I might be hungry. That he made something new and wanted to know if it was any good. That he knows how much I like cheese buns and wanted to make sure I got one while they were still warm.
I never have the heart to turn him away or admit that this time I tried harder to make it so he couldn't find me. I think he already knows anyway. He's the only one who comes looking. He knows that he's the only one I have to hide from. So he gives me some space then comes to drag me from my dark mood.
Every time.
I rarely say anything, just take what he offers. His bread, his heart, his understanding and silence. The shoulder he always has ready for me. I don't deserve him, but he doesn't seem to mind.
Winter is fast approaching, the chill already heralding the onset of what is certain to be a bitter year. Snow just around the corner, the crisp orange leaves crunch underfoot. Nature grieving for what is lost. Today is one of those days where it's hard to see what was won in the shadow of the past. I left home early to hunt, the sound of my arrows piercing the silent woods, an action so familiar it soothes.
Dusk is already starting to descend by the time Peeta finds me, I know he's been looking for awhile. It's written in the tired way he almost stumbles, his leg clearly bothering him. But he says nothing of it, meets me with a grin and a cheese bun, long cold.
"Thank you," I offer and scoot over so he can sit on the rock next to me.
"I thought you might be getting hungry," he murmurs and I smile. He knows I'm on to him, I can tell by the way his cheeks brighten just slightly in the brisk fall air.
I pull apart the bun and give him half, watch as he falters a moment. I don't usually share my cheese buns, he knows this too. I'm sure he has another one in his pocket for himself, but he doesn't object as he takes my offering. I think he knows it's my limited way of reciprocating his gesture.
Our fingers brush, his are warm against my cold ones and I can see him fight back his urge to take my hands between his and chide me about not taking care of myself. I almost wish that he would. I feel like we are stuck here, dancing around what is really happening.
Instead I watch him out of the corner of my eye as we both nibble on our bread. He shifts, readjusts his leg and I know he must be uncomfortable. I feel bad for making him come after me. I feel bad for making him do all the work.
"I bet we have snow within the week," I surprise him by breaking the rules and our silence.
"Sooner," Peeta answers and points at the sky, pretending I didn't just totally knock him over when I set my hand on his thigh.
I look up and sure enough there are little white flakes just starting to drift toward the ground. He looks down at my hand and closes his eyes.
I want to tell him I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. For ruining his life with a handful of berries. For being so cold and distant. For being unable to help him every time he has a particularly ugly episode. For being the reason things are the way they are. For making him traipse through the woods on a regular basis just to make sure I'm still alive.
I want to thank him too, for not giving up on me. Us.
Instead I curl my fingers around his as he places his hand over mine. Instead I let my head rest against his shoulder as we watch the snow in silence. These little moments let me know I'm still alive, that we're going to be okay eventually.
I'm finding out that maybe these little moments do more than keep me going. That maybe these little moments give me something to live for. Something to cherish and protect. Something to survive and fight for.
Before the games, I used to think that love was something big and loud. That it was desperate and needy and burned so brightly everyone could see it.
Now I think maybe it's more.
Maybe it's the quiet way two people find comfort in holding hands, fingers locked together. Or maybe it's the way Peeta stumbles through the woods for hours to bring me a simple piece of bread. Maybe it's a smile and a familiarity that makes words unnecessary. Maybe it's just knowing that you're stronger with him than you could ever be alone and somehow not being afraid of it.
Before the games, when I looked at my future it was not really a happy place. It was full of fear, of hoping and pleading every year that Prim wouldn't be sent to the games. That I could catch enough to keep my family fed. That I could maintain. Survive.
Now, despite all the loss, there is something almost pleasant about the future. Something hopeful that never existed before. Something I wish I could share with them, but know they wouldn't want me to turn it away in remembrance of their loss.
"You're going to turn into a snowman if we stay here all night," Peeta whispers as he brushes a few flakes from my knee.
"No, but you might," I tease and kiss his frosty cheek. Peeta has never been great in the cold.
"You're probably right, these woods are your home," he sighs and disappears in his head as he turns his face away.
I reach up and catch his jaw, halting his movement then forcing his eyes back to mine.
He's wrong.
Maybe that's what love is. Knowing that all those places that used to fit don't.
Not without him.
"No. You are," I smile and he grins so loudly I think everyone in the next five districts can hear it. If grins could be heard anyway. Somehow he's rewritten the rules about what is and what isn't real, which isn't really all that surprising I guess.
"Well..." he starts and stops, gathering his words like he's so flustered they're slipping away from his control. The boy who was so good at charming and I've left him speechless.
"Well..." I smirk.
He kisses my nose.
"This home is freezing," he states seriously, but I can see the joy in his perfect blue eyes. I can feel it in the way he squeezes my hand and runs his fingers across my cheek.
"Is it now?" he nods and I kiss his cheek once more, just above his lips.
"You coming?" he asks as I hover near his mouth. Something burns in the pit of my stomach and I feel that feeling again. That hunger of what seems almost a lifetime ago on a sandy beach with the world crashing down around us.
"Always," I whisper then hop up and pull him to his feet.
He crashes into me, our bodies flush, the cold forgotten as his stupid contagious grin infects me. He's always doing that, making me light up when the corners of his stupid mouth turn up.
His hands land on my hips and he moves them away quickly, like he's afraid I'll burn him. Or maybe he's just afraid he'll startle me and have to chase after me through the woods. The image makes me chuckle, Peeta crashing through the overgrowth, cheese bun in hand. Or maybe he'd try to set some kind of snare to catch me, like a rabbit.
"What?" he frowns and I laugh harder. I can't help myself as I picture him on his knees holding out a pastry and calling to me in calm soothing tones meant to assure me he won't bite.
He steps back and puts his hands on his hips, his head tilted to the side slightly as if he's trying to figure out if I've finally lost it.
"It's nothing really," I try to assure him but he's not buying it. "It's just that sometimes..." I drift off, not quite sure how to tell him without sounding like I have in fact gone mad. Instead, I step up to him and place my hands on his shoulders.
"Thank you," I say then place a chaste kiss on his lips.
Cause the thing is, even if the image of him chasing me through the forest is slightly comical, it's not altogether untrue. And though I know he's never going to be a great hunter, he's always going to find me. And somehow... well it makes everything alright, and I'm grateful.
He places his hands on my hips and holds me for a minute, because he knows what I mean.
I love him, I think standing there in the snow while it melts against our skin in freezing little drops that turn to rivers. It's not the first time I've realized this and it won't be the last time. But maybe it's the first time in a long time that I see it in his eyes too. Or maybe it's not, maybe it's just the first time I'm willing to admit that it's there again. Maybe it's the first time I'm willing to believe that it's finally time.
Peeta and I have never been great with timing. First he loved me, did everything in his power to save me from the games, the Capitol, myself. Then I loved him and they took him and broke him because of it. When he came back to me he was not my boy with the bread. When he came back to me it near shattered me. He gave up for a little while. I gave up for longer. But somehow we've come back to each other, neither one of us whole, but somehow together we've found a way to make up for our deficiencies.
Somehow we've both stumbled back onto the same page, and for the first time I'm not afraid of what comes next.
"Let's go home," he whispers.
I nod and follow him blindly. He knows where we're going, he's been there before, and while I've looked in the window at it I've never been brave enough to cross the threshold. So, I let him take my hand and guide me.
AN: Rating this as M because I'm not entirely sure how far it's going to go. The rating may change. However it's pretty certain this fic will earn it's M rating and I'd rather rate it highly in the beginning so that people who aren't interested in reading that don't start and then get disappointed when some more adult situations pop up. Thanks and check out my tumblr (phoebsfan) or twitter (0phoebsfan0) for more updates and randomness.