I hear a knock at the front door. It seems out of place—the simple, common, friendly sound interrupting the constant nightmare that I haven't been able to escape since Prim died—since her name was drawn from that reaping bowl, really. I slowly approach the door, not believing anything or anyone good could possibly be on the other side. The only people who would visit me are Haymitch and Greasy Sae, and they would never bother knocking.

I inch the door open and see something that takes my breath away and makes me want to cry. It's Peeta, holding a cheese bun and a bouquet of dandelions. His hair is slicked back and he is wearing khakis and a short sleeved button up shirt. If not for the burn scars and freshly grafted skin, he could have stepped out of an old school photo, out of a time before the games, the war, the hijacking…everything.

But he didn't, I remember. All of those things did happen. So how can he be here now, on my doorstep?

"Hi," I say, hesitantly. My voice is hoarse from lack of use.

"Hi," He says simply. "Can I come in?"

I'm not entirely sure this is a good idea, but I still owe so much to him and miss his steady arms so much, how can I say no?

I open the door the rest of the way and allow him into the house that would be a disaster if Sae hadn't been coming in every day. I feel like it is lying to him somehow, portraying myself as more put together that I really am.

We sit down on opposite sides of the couch. The space seems much too small yet far too big. I haven't seen Peeta since he kept me from eating my suicide pill. I can't decide if I should be angry or grateful for that. Also hard to forget is the ferocity with which he wanted to kill me only a short time ago.

He is obviously aware of all of these concerns, so he gets right to the point.

"I'm doing a lot better," he says. "Just so you know."

"Good," I say, and I mean it.

"The flashbacks happen less and less, and I am getting better at distinguishing torture from reality."

"I'm so glad, Peeta," I say, wanting to reach for his hands, but unsure of the extent of his words.

"I miss you," he says, surprising me. "I know you must hate me, or at the very least are terrified by me, and I don't blame you. But I've noticed that having real, new memories of you-post hijacking-helps me distinguish the nightmares from the truth." Only now does he look up from his folded hands and into my eyes. I'm startled by his eyes, the look in them so intense yet so familiar. When I don't say anything he continues.

"...And...well, I was wondering if there would be any way for us to spend some time together, create some new memories, even if it was just a few minutes a day."

I consider this for a moment, conscious of his anxious gaze. It is more than I ever could have hoped for, yet it fills me with a sense of dread. I don't see how this could end well of either of us...after all, it never has before. But that was when Snow was alive, I remind myself. Why did I fight at all if not to live in a world where things could be different than they had been? I glance at Peeta and once again his very presence gives me hope.

"Of course, Peeta," I say, and I see him smile in relief. " I miss you, too. You don't know how much. I am—I was afraid I'd lost you forever."

"I'm not saying I'm completely healed," he says, reaching out and stroking my hand cautiously. I try to stay still, but my hands have been prone to trembling lately. He looks up at me again. "But, if you don't mind me saying, it doesn't look like you are, either."

I chuckle at how delicately he presents this understatement of a lifetime. He smiles before adding, "But that's what we do, isn't it?" He catches me gaze and holds it. "We protect each other."