Safe and Sound
A/N I own nothing.
About two months after my return to District 12, Peeta returned. On his first day back, Peeta brought me some of Old Katniss's favorite cheese buns. I told him to get lost.
He came back every day, sometimes with food, sometimes just to talk, and other times he just sat across the room from me, studying me. It takes a whole month for me to stop telling him to leave when he comes.
One day, I awoke in my bed, Peeta sleeping beside me peacefully, the sun bouncing off his blonde hair. "No nightmares" He muttered. He was awake, his fingers found mine under the blanket. I nod. "No nightmares." I confirm.
After that night, Peeta slept over every night, coming over after dinner. Not even Haymitch makes a comment about this sleeping arrangement.
Another time, we found drunk on his front porch, knocked out. Peeta brought him back to his own house and fed him. A week later, Haymitch bought a flock of geese.
In May, nine months aftermy return to 12, I found myself in bed with Peeta again. My head on his chest, I could hear his heart beat. The moonlight streamed into the window as Peeta played with my hair, bringing back memories of that day on the rooftop in the Capitol. That seemed like ages ago- I was practically a different person. He suddenly stopped, and I was momentarily scared that he was having what Haymitch calls, "An Episode."
Instead, he whispers, his voice as quiet as the wind: "You love me, real or not real?"
I don't hesitate when I reply: "Real."
oooooooooooooooooooooo
"Pass me the butter," Peeta says. It's been a year and a half since my return and Peeta is having breakfast with me. I slide the butter across the table, snow swirling out of the window.
Peeta doesn't leave in the morning. He doesn't leave at all. He has no home. No, correction- his home is my home and my home is his. I watch him spread butter on his bread, the fireplace crackling behind him.
"Peeta," I say, looking at him carefully. A memory of him, before the 75th Games, at the interview with Caesar, telling him about the wedding traditions in 12, flashes through my mind.
"Katniss," He answers, he meets my gaze.
"Will you marry me?" I stand up and hold my hand out. He takes it, smiling.
He passes me a piece of bread which we toast in the fire together. We walk through the threshold of our home, hand in hand, linking our lives together forever.