"Peeta, are we-" my sentence got cut short as I walked into the bedroom where me and Peeta slept together every night and I saw him clutching to the bed post, his knuckles white as a cloud, and that far-away look on his face, as if he was remembering something from long-ago.

"Peeta?" I whispered, knowing he probably wouldn't hear me either way.

Then his hold on the bed post lessened and he crumbled onto the bed. Immediately I ran to him, holding him in my hands, not letting go.

His breathing had fastened, and his heart beat was rapid. His skin was moist with sweat, and his eyes were still clutched together when he whispered in my ear "You love me. Real or Not Real?"

The question caught me off guard, since he hasn't brought up the game we came up with in the capitol since well, our times in the capitol. And the fact that he brought it up now, months from last time, I know this must have been one of the stronger memories they have implanted on him.

Even with the shock of the question, I immediately answer "Real."

Because I know that it is true, and that my heart belongs to him, and no one else. Even if I wasn't aware of it at the time, my heart has always belonged to him. From the day he threw that bread my way.