Dandelion

My eyes find a meaningless single point on the ceiling; the white, flat, large piece of concrete in parallel to my body, and I start watching this same spot for a long time without almost even blinking. There's nothing interesting or relevant to observe, but still I can't divert my eyes from this single point. I am lying down on the kitchen floor, hearing the crackling fire of the hearth by my left. The dark furry rug which I took so slovenly for mattress it's not even familiar with the house itself. I've no idea how I could possibly have acquired it, although I do smell the scent of a certain baker in the case.

I'm awake since dawn. I haven't passed out or anything of the kind so it's hard for me to explain why I remember so little of this morning. I woke up. Came downstairs lazily tripping over my own feet, probably trying to reach the living room, and somehow I ended up falling before the fireplace. But I don't remember very well and I don't even know why I don't remember. Truth is that I am not completely healed. Of course I am not. I think, before shaking my head against the rug. And I wouldn't expect me to be for at least a couple of years. Both psychologically and physically.

As far as I am concerned, it's winter already. I don't look outside but by the abnormal clarity invading the place, I know the daylight is reflecting the bright, almost dazzling, colour of the wide, thick blankets of snow right onto the walls and floor of the kitchen. I think I have closed the curtains last night before I headed to bed but I am guessing Peeta pulled them open by the morning.

Speaking of him... I can't stop thinking about him. He's the one who's preoccupying my mind the most. He has changed so much. Sometimes I can't seem to recognize him. His face is not the same, his eyes are not the same, his touch is not the same. There are very little familiar things now. Not even the way he addresses to me is familiar. Everything has changed. We have changed. Johanna Mason was right. The Hunger Games has changed us. And I'm afraid this is irreversible.

Peeta's transition from the warm, sweet boy with the bread to the serious but still tender man wasn't easy or even subtle. I have watched it through the years we've been together here in 12, since the end of the rebellion. I can see the heaviness of what he'd been through still burdening his handsome face. Indeed, it has been fading as time goes by but slowly... His shiny blue eyes are now deeply lost, even though I still can clearly notice the sweetness and care within it. When he smiles... Everything becomes brighter, just as before. But now I am not given the pleasure of seeing his smile too often like I used to. His grins have become more precious than ever; heart-warming, gentle, but rare. It's not the same. Nothing is the same anymore.

I stop thinking about it because I can no longer handle the guilty crushing my guts. The guilt and the yearning. I'm longing old Peeta like a child longs for its protective blanket in a cold winter day. They took his light from him and I wasn't able to bring it back or simply avoid it of being stolen. I should have been the one tortured and hijacked. Peeta didn't deserve this, even less the horrible memories and scars he carries with him since then. Snow knew the immensity of the damaged he caused him. And consequently how deeply it would affect me. Because I can't handle the fact he literally destroyed all the love Peeta had for me. It's almost unbearable.

I can feel my cheeks, eyes and nose burning hot, stinging; my waterlines aching from the upcoming tears that I strongly fought back to not let them roll over my face, nailing to the point of pain the furry rug, twisting my lips and gritting my teeth. Normally I wouldn't have to make so much effort to hold back my weeping but I was unprepared. And to be fair... It's quite apparent my uneasiness when the subject is Peeta Mellark.

When I hear the front door opening and then being closed again with a quiet, calm slam, I haven't even moved from my initial position. The invisible point on the ceiling hasn't become interesting out of nothing but I still have my eyes locked on it. A delightful smell of fresh bread invades my nostrils and although my stomach has shown interest on the matter, I don't feel like moving. By my peripheral vision I catch a glimpse of the male figure entering the kitchen, probably searching for me, with a relatively big white package on his hands.

Peeta stands still at the portal. I feel he's looking at me, perhaps waiting for me to return the glance but I don't. He stays there for a while and then calmly gives a few steps towards the table, depositing his package on top of it, locked eyes on me. He approaches a few more steps, struggling a little to sit down thanks to the artificial leg and then lies next to me, same position, spotting at the blank point on the ceiling as if following my sight; then I feel again his deep blue eyes burning my skin with its invisible sweet touch as he slowly slips his hand to touch mine, holding it firmly.

— Enjoying the new rug, I suppose? — He jokes, making my insides turn into water.

I tighten the grip of my fingers between his and I tilt my head slightly so I can finally find his glare. He has a soft expression and a half smile, as if he had just awoken from a good dream, even though the ever-present tension of the muscles of his face was noticeable. I just shrug and try to relax my own muscles.

— It's soft. —

My answer seems to amuse him and he allows himself to enlarge his silly smile, looking at the small hand he's holding onto his own big one as he pulls it towards his face to kiss the bare skin of it. I can't help but grin at the touch. It somehow reminds me of something the old Peeta would do. And at this very thought my face darkens again.

He seems to notice my discomfort because I can see his smile being extinguished of his face as he assumes his usual serious, neutral expression. No, come back... I think, almost saying it aloud.

— Is everything alright? — He says, still strongly grabbing my hand.

— Yes. — I lie. Of course he noticed my lying but as usual, he wouldn't insist on something I don't want to speak about. Instead, he just spent a quite long time staring at me, those blue orbs trying to figure out my blank expression, before asking:

— Mm... Why are you lying down here? — What was I thinking? It's Peeta Mellark. He would get the truth from me anyway, whatever is my answer. He's the one who can make nations like him because of his spontaneity and silly jokes. He's really good with words and I'm sure he manages to cause the effects he wants while doing his magic. I just sigh and lower my eyes until the level of my feet.

— Wouldn't say. I think I had a breakdown this morning. I can't remember quite well how I ended up here. — At least, this is true. I don't. — Where were you? — I ask, trying to avoid the upcoming conversation and yet satisfying my curiosity.

— I thought you would want to eat something better than soup this morning. I brought you cheese buns. — I force a smile but not because I wasn't happy. To be honest, the fact that Peeta still remembers the things I like and even bother to bring me my favorite food, it's rather wonderful. My forcing was due to my failure of keeping his mind off me.

Peeta keeps his staring at me and only divert his eyes from my face to put a few stubborn strands of hair behind my ear, preventing them of falling again over my cheek. He's not smiling but the soft, blank countenance is still visible.

— Still not telling me what's wrong? — He asks gently, eyes locked up on mine once again, making me feel ashamed for not trusting him. After a second thought, I realize it's not about trust. I guess I'm just afraid what my thinking will trigger inside him. I try hard to be very careful to not awake the hijacking effects, even when Peeta seemed to be in total control of it.

I roll my body over the rug to come closer to him and eventually I lay my head onto his chest. It's a lot easier to tell him things when his not burning my face with his terribly sweet eyes. With the tip of my finger I carefully draw imaginary circles on his covered chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the black shirt. He moves towards me a little more and embraces my shoulders with his strong arm; by the beating of his heart I can tell he liked the approaching more than he probably should.

— I've never said I'm sorry for what they'd done to you. — Bam. There it is. Now I shall wait for his shoving me aside while I get upset because of it and we fight.

Instead, I feel his muscles getting tenser and tenser under me and the unquiet movement of his arms and shoulders. I am not shoved aside or neither does he seems to be willing to do that. Peeta sighs heavily and tightens his grip around me, apparently annoyed but not enough to make him want to tear apart our hug.

— I thought we had talked about it already, Katniss. — He sounds dead serious but he's not wrong. We did. I'm the one who can't stop thinking about this and I keep bringing it up, knowing how much it hurts him. But I didn't want to talk about it, he insisted. It's his fault. The latter thought makes me feel like killing myself because this was so selfish of me.

— Sorry. — I say. I was referring to always be the one who worries too much about things that don't even exist anymore. I always do that. Like I keep reviving Prim's and the other tribute's deaths in my head. The desperate abandonment feeling I experienced when Peeta tried to strangle me back in 13. The single thought of him being tortured... And the ultimate one which makes me feel more miserable than ever: the fact that Peeta actually forgot he had loved me. I keep living it inside me even knowing how much it hurts.

When I try to put things in its places again, I suddenly stop my train of thoughts. Something is stirring deep inside my heart. I won't let it go. Then, I decide my apologies were not referring to how I always revive dead, hurtful things. I let a single, repressed tear fall over my face and I lift my head from Peeta's body, slowly dragging it until the support of his shoulder, in a way I was able to take a glance at his manlike face. Apparently, he was going to say something before I turned to him again but I guess the sight of my already rosy face and the wet trace the tear left on my cheek was enough to make him stop with his lips half-opened, still deciding what to do. I was already decided. I decided I was apologizing because of what Snow did to him.

— I'm sorry, Peeta. I'm so sorry. — I say in a low tone, my voice failing to complete the syllables as if was sobbing. He looks perplexed by the sudden change of events but he doesn't seem to be annoyed anymore. He is genuinely startled. I crawl a little more towards him until my forehead touches his hard jawbone and I allow myself to close my eyes at the craved skin closeness. — I'm not indifferent. I never was. — He seems to have given up because I can feel the long imprisoned breath being released as he exhales and pulls me closer to him, making my teary eyes meet his jawbone instead of my forehead. He passes his free arm over me, establishing our hug before holding me tighter than ever.

— When I saw you in the first interview with Caesar Flickerman... — I resumed my speaking, moved but trying to not revive my feelings in the occasion, while feeling the warmth of my own breath reflect on Peeta's neck and back to me. — I was so relieved. You looked so healthy, strong and... Handsome. — I hesitate at the last word but nothing stops me to keep going. I try to calm down a little more after continuing. Instead of a cracked, low voice, I try to speak almost normally, save for the notorious steadiness in my voice which clearly indicated I was putting up an enormous effort to not cry.

— But as time went by, you withered. Until the point I started withering with you. — He doesn't say a word. Just the vigorous grip on me is enough to make me feel protected. The way he always made me feel. — I would have done everything to avoid that. — I search for anything else to say but nothing occurs to me. I think I've hit the edge of my capacity of expressing myself when it dawns on me painfully.

— You saved us. You warned us about the incoming attack and I swear I lost my bearings when I saw your blood being spilled on... — I say, barely containing the pain.

— Stop, Katniss. — He interrupts me, obviously reviving the situation and I'm pretty sure he is more hurt than I am. I stop talking for the sake of Peeta and I grab his shirt with my fingers, pulling it against me although there was barely any room for moving with the stiffness of our hug. — Everything is ok. It's over. We're in peace. — He says, his voice bravely fighting against any sweeping emotion.

Now that the subject is brightly alive in my mind I have so much more to say. How I regretted greatly leaving his side that night in the arena. How I wished I was the one captured. How I, even though I'd never admitted, felt lost when I found out Snow had snatched off every bit of love he felt for me. How I yearned having him by my side to calm me down and to control me, the way only he can do. Instead, I just stay quiet, somewhat enjoying the moment while pondering my next words in my mind, to avoid any unnecessary comforting from him, when he's the one who's supposed to be comforted and not the other way around. I remember how annoying it was to have to comfort my prep team when I was the one about to get killed.

We just stay in silence for a long while and I like it.

After the great commotion I experienced, something is still unnerving me. I am calm now and Peeta has loosen his grip on me even though none of us want to break apart; so we are just lying down here in the same rug for hours, both of us submerged in our own thoughts. Reluctantly, I leave the darkness of my blind eyes from being so long glued to Peeta's skin and I take some time to regain my reflexes and to get used to the dazzling light of the kitchen again. He notices my movements but I don't think he's going to release me because he's pulling me down.

I grab his hands, as if trying to keep the contact even if I'm not lying with him, and lift my body until I'm finally seated by his side. His eyes are slightly puffy and I know he's been tearing silently while I was temporarily sightless. It nearly breaks my heart but I pretend I didn't notice anything, for his sake.

— Peeta. — I call out for him with the gentlest voice I can impersonate, and even so it's not that sweet. He slowly raised his upper body, only the necessary to support his weight on his elbows, and I gulp. I can catch a certain sadness and confusion in his slightly downwards eyebrows and the ever-present half-opened mouth.

— Yes? — He awaits me to talk but I seem to have lost my words. I almost break our intense staring but I can't. I'm stuck in his blue eyes.

— Do you remember when you asked me if my love for you was real or not? — I can see him gulping at my question. But he says nothing, he only nods, the confusion only growing bigger on his face. I hesitate before dropping him another question.

— What about yours? — I say shakily.

I reflexively have to raise my hand, implicitly asking him to wait me finish my sentence. But he doesn't seem eager to answer my question; not how I'm sure he would if, before the hijacking, his feelings for me were ever doubted. I feel a dent of fear in my heart of his response but I simply shove away the thought and just keep going. — I mean... The Capitol made you forget you loved me. They made you want to kill me. — I dramatically pause but nothing seems to occur to him. Either is he waiting for me to finish, as the good gentleman I know he is, or he doesn't feel like denying anything. — And even if you'd remembered... Does it feels the same? — I ask.

Now I'm done. I stop talking, shutting up my mouth for good, still staring at his face. It's hard to tell how much time he spent looking at me, silent, the same blue countenance in his face, but now his lips are practically glued together. I start getting nervous and almost sounding aggressive, it's my time to whisper at him: — Say something. — I wasn't expecting the answer to be almost immediate.

— No. It doesn't feel the same. — He shoots, making me feel inexplicably dizzy; my palms are now sweating and I try to release my hands from his but I just don't. I can't. — Katniss. — He calls me out, looking straight into my eyes with those neat orbs, making me feel more ashamed than I already am. I refuse to look down, I feel challenged to keep my sight locked on him. I know I'm not ready for what he says next.

— I don't love you like I used to. I remember everything. They may have poisoned my memories but they are still here. — He faintly points at his golden head. — To remember you love someone is entirely different than to actually feel you love someone. In the beginning, when I came back to live here, I was still getting used to see you every day and to not think of you as a threat. Time went by and I remembered how fiercely and unconditionally I loved you. I only remembered. — He sweetly frees one of his hands from mine and extends it in my direction, calmly caressing my face with its back. I want to close my eyes but I don't. I have to keep glancing at him. Or I will have another breakdown right here, right now. I quickly visualize Peeta walking away from me and I have to bite aggressively my teeth to not do something idiot. Instead, I let him finish just as he did to me.

— I don't love you the way I used to. Want to know why? — I almost forget I'm supposed to shake my head in response and it takes a few seconds for me to finish the movement. I can't believe this is happening. My face must be flushed in deep red shades and I can't hide it. — I can't love you how I used to, Katniss. I love you in an entirely different way. I fell in love with you all over again the moment I saw your face brighten up that day you saw me planting the primroses in your garden. I'm different, you are different now. And so is my love. But I don't think I love you less than I did once. — He finishes. I can't move.

Peeta seems to notice my stiffness and the mix of shame and anger on my face because he starts smiling. The smile turns into a wide, beautiful grin and then it all ends up with an amusing laughter. He's laughing hard. The way I was longing to see a few hours ago. But I'm too startled to even let his adorable guffaw affect me. And before I can be confused I understand what's going on here. I want to grab his head and bury it into the depths of the earth.

— Damn you, Peeta! — I storm. My voice is shrieking and I try to let go of his hands but I can't because his grip is way stronger than mine. He's still laughing at me, and the pleasant sound of it nearly makes me go soft again but I'm too furious to surrender like this. I can feel my cheeks burning and I'm sure the color of it is as hot as the feeling itself. I allow myself to look down, since I can't seem to be released from Peeta, and I fight really hard to not cry. I'm relieved. I truly am. I just won't give it to him.

— You scared me to death! Bastard! — While I shout obscenities at him, I keep struggling and contorting my fist to see if he gets tired of holding me but he doesn't. I seem to not have even made him any real effort. I am tired of moving hard myself, after so much time in a steady position, and I just end up losing my balance, falling onto the rug again, both my arms extended to Peeta's direction. And he is not done laughing.

— You had to see your face while I was talking. — He finally says and I just give him a disgusted glance, refusing talking. I feel his grip growing weaker on my hands and suddenly I'm free of him. I have no will to get up or do anything; I just stay lying down here, intensely blazing Peeta. If wasn't so angry and ashamed, I would be certainly enjoying his happy, sappy expression. I was craving that.

Peeta lies down beside me and before I can move away, he fiercely grabs my waist and pulls it closer to him, placing half of my body below his own and locking my legs with his, so any attempt of running away is denied. He finally stares at me with his eyes genuinely joyful and I know, somehow, he's gotten something in mind the whole time. He needed an answer earlier and I realize it had nothing to do with my welfare this morning. His elbows, each placed protectively at the outward sides of both my shoulders, are still supporting his weight so he won't fall over me completely. I try not to be moved but if I keep staring at his blue eyes, I will really go soft this time.

— Why did you do that? — I ask faintly, even though I'm being dead serious. He just grins, making my heart skips a beat.

— I wanted to see how real was that 'real'. — I don't answer. I drop my eyelids to the level it suggests I'm suspicious. Peeta just laughs quickly before approaching his healthy, hard face from mine. We stay like this for a long while; enough to make my muscles less tense and to make my fury be drained away. Peetas is less smiley as well and the gradual seriousness appearing on his face tells me he's not kidding anymore.

Then I realize how things happened here. This baker guy must be some kind of magician as well because I can't seem to find another explanation for what he just did. He walked into our house this morning and I was lying down in the rug, almost dead, as if I had nothing else to do. Peeta knew I was not ok even before he asked me that. Of course he did. He knew I was thinking about the past because he knows it is the only thing that can bring me down. The arena, Prim's death, the hijacking. He knows my weaknesses and hearing from me what was saddening me was only a confirmation. He knew I was worried because he's changed, because I had no certainty if his love was really true or if it was just something he had to fake, to spare me, even though I made no efforts to tell him my love for him in the first arena was only an act. He had to hear me revive in his mind everything he'd been through, he had to bear with his own sorrow to hear mine and he hadn't even complained about that. And yet he found a way to ease my preoccupations as if nothing else mattered. He found a way to show he can't be the same but he can love me anyway. To make me feel better.

Because I am. I am not even slightly angry with him anymore. This time, I truly feel like the happiest person in the world for having finding him near that river. I remember Haymitch's words and I can't agree more. You know, you could live a thousand lifetimes and still not deserve him. I was trying to get back to the old Peeta when the 'new' one was everything I could ask for. Old or new... Peeta is Peeta.

I stop fighting back to lose my eyes into his and I don't even care how I am looking like. I don't wait for him. I lift my head and in a second, my lips meets his warm ones. I don't know how to do things right. I'm silly. I'm idiot. I'm impulsive. But I won't lose him again. Peeta is the balance I need. The bright yellow. The dandelion.

I feel a sweet smile between my lips before my kiss was fairly corresponded; he passionately caresses my face with his free hands and now I wouldn't want anything else in my life. This is real, Peeta. More real than everything we've been through.