A/N: I had to scrap and restart this second THG story like, three times and I was starting to worry, because I didn't have an ending in my head and I experienced a bit of a writer's block. I refuse to continue writing if I couldn't piece the story together and have a proper ending.

Set after Mockingjay, many many years later.

Disclaimer: TGH is not mine blah blah blah.

Wild mushroom soup is one of my favourites. I decided to indulge tonight for dinner, gathering special mushrooms I recently discovered in the deeper end of the woods, chopping them up, and serving it in soup. I used this new type of spice I found in the market, a bit on expensive side. I think it's delicious. I made sure to keep some leftovers for Peeta.

The rest of my dining table is covered with elementary books and notepads, disorganized pens and pencils, and my students' test papers I still have to mark. I found a job half a year ago that requires me to come in to two different elementary schools to teach Science. My first day as a teacher, as I can recall, did not go as smoothly. I stood in front of the class, tongue tied and sweating. The little girls reminded me so much of Prim. There were little blonde merchant girls and dark haired seam girls. I thought it was nerve wrecking. I had to duck out the door before the rest of my sadness hit me, hand over my mouth so no one could hear me weep in the hallway.

I pick up my tea and saunter off to the living room to turn off the TV. I saved enough money to buy a medium sized one, and it's not as bulky as the older models. I quickly felt detached from it weeks after I purchased it. I didn't realize I only like to keep it on so the noise could fill the house. I dislike when my house gets deathly quiet. In a blink of an eye I trip over one of Peeta's shoes before I could reach the TV. There goes my tea. And there goes my TV. I grab the nearest dry thing on the floor in a desperate attempt to wipe the splattered, warm liquid off the screen, and realize I've picked up Peeta's shirt. I have to take care of my TV. These things cost a lot of money.

And Peeta really needs to organize his stuff in my house.

It started off with his spare toothbrush and razor blade in my bathroom cupboard. Then, three shirts, a pair of shorts, and a couple of underwear housed in a drawer next to mine. The more I pretended to not notice, the more Peeta belongings shift into the house. So I made a comment one day that I was running out of drawer space. Since then, he has always asked for permission before he brings in another one of his things.

This week he has brought in a sports magazine from Capitol. He seems to be very intrigued by this newly introduced sport; it's called "football". On the cover is the poster team of Panem, these big men, carefully selected to embody the Capitol's strongest. They look very intimidating. The Capitol has encouraged the rest of Panem to arrange teams together to represent their own districts. Peeta, along with his rowdy District 13 friends, are ecstatic. They want to try out for the District 12 team. I, on the other hand, am ecstatic as well. Just like Peeta, I am also intrigued, but with the kind uniform they have to wear. I can definitely imagine his chest in that uniform. And his broad shoulders. And his ass.

All the racket in his house across mine catches my attention as I pass by the window. His two District 13 friends are over, and they seem to be hollering and talking over each other in front of his TV. I close off the curtain by the window and dump my empty bowl and tea mug carelessly in the sink. I don't feel like doing dishes tonight. I also neglect my notebooks and lesson plan unfinished. I can complete them tomorrow before my first class at 11:00 am. I will probably wake up at 6 anyway, as per routine. By 6:30 I'll be out the door and venturing out into the woods. My woods, half-guarded by its worn down, once electric, killer fence.

I still hunt during my free time. My old bow had reached the end of its lifespan many years ago and I had to build a new one. And I'm proud to say it is as good as how my father would've created it. I target bigger game now, such as deer and wild pigs, mostly seen early in the morning. They don't come around every day, and when they do, they generate me big money. I have become more aggressive when it comes to trading and selling. Besides meat, I'm looking towards vegetation now to sell such as mushrooms and different assortment of roots. There has been a small spike in number of hunters in the woods, mostly men, but they don't bother me. There is only one other best hunter in this district, and it was Gale. He left, right after the war was over, restarted his life in District Two.

I walk through the unlit hallway and retreat to my bedroom. I am very tired. I find nostalgia tiring.

I settle in bed, not bothering to untie my hair. My bones and muscles refuse to move now that I have curled myself into my favourite sleep position. The moonlight is streaming through my window and it illuminates my face, and I find comfort in it. Sleep is starting to claim me as the phone on the end table rings incessantly. I hesitate at first, and then I stretch my arm across the bed to pick it up.

"Hey," Peeta greets me. I glance at the clock on my wall and it's only 9:30 pm.

"Hi. Great bonding time with the boys?" I ask.

"Yeah! You heard them leave my house didn't you? I swear they leave trails of noises everywhere they go. It's like a procession," he says, then falls silent for a moment. He continues.

"You didn't visit the gravesite again today."

Peeta and I have this somewhat new arrangement of visiting our families' burial sites tucked away in the north eastern part of the district once a week. I would bring in the flowers, and he was responsible for the candles. Sooner or later I've grown tired of it and lost the inclination of seeing my father and my sister's tombstones that would normally last for two hours, so I had not shown up in our meeting place in a month or maybe more, which probably irritated him.

"There are so many things that need my attention in a day, you know, Peeta? I've been occupied helping the students get ready for the finals," I say, trying to make him understand, and could almost hear him scoff inwardly at my excuse.

"No need to explain, Katniss. The only thing here is that you should've just told me you weren't up for our weekly cemetery visits anymore."

"It's not that I don't want to pay respects, I just don't have the time at all with…, with the school and my hunting…"

This one is a lie. I simply do not want to deal with the hurt anymore. Feeling hurt is so tiring. I do not want to see my baby sister's name etched in a rock. Instead, I should keep being angry about her death. It is easier being angry than being sad about something I can never revert or change. But as much as I want to hail all negativity towards me, I can't. I can't feel any anger; I think I may have run out of it. So there is nowhere else to go but the middle ground. Indifference.

"Katniss, it's fine, I'm not mad. I run the bakery alone full time. But I'm still going to the site as usual to see my family. And I know they're just makeshift tombstones and their remains are actually not laying there beneath the ground, but that's all I got and that's the closest I have to a family. Feel free to come."

There's something very tragic and depressing in that, I find. I know we have each other, for company, or as confidants, as friends by the marketplace and as lovers in bed. But there are times that I unintentionally make him feel alone. But instead of shriveling in a corner, he manages to bounce back at life. And the way he has freely accepted all the misgivings and unfairness of the world, is beyond me. My heart constricts. But I file this feeling away under the category of hurt.

He tells me goodnight and I say goodnight too, and he hangs up the phone.

The strong and gentle Peeta. He's always been so kind to me. I don't know why he still wants to hang around me. I should be more appreciative and grateful I have someone who cares for me as much as him. I do dread the day it all stops. But what more can I give? I have none for myself. I am a hollow, empty shell, constantly making endless itineraries and forming new hobbies so I don't have to deal with my own thoughts.

I am Katniss Everdeen. I am twenty-seven years old. I live in 3411 Blue River St, Victor's Village, District 12. I lost my father and my sister. My mother has abandoned me. I survived two Hunger Games, and a war. And I watched this district revive from the ashes of destruction. Although, I can't say the same about my life.

My second class of the day is over, and I see Peeta standing by the classroom door waiting for me, subconsciously fidgeting with his hands deep in his pockets, watching the little children stuff their notebooks enthusiastically into their bags, eager to go home. He doesn't realize he's smiling at them.

They create an outbound line towards the door and brighten at the sight of Peeta.

"Hi Mister Peeta," a blonde little boy greets him. Peeta nods and smiles.

Two little girls approach him shyly, whispering to each other. They look up to him in unison, "Hi Miss Everdeen's….boyfriend!" the girls shriek at him and giggle uncontrollably, as if they're being tickled, and run through the door almost trampling over Peeta's feet.

Students continue to file out, acknowledging his presence at the door, and although Peeta doesn't interact much at all, the little children seem to have some type of affinity towards him.

"Hi. What's that on your face?" a curly haired girl asks him as she points at him.

"This," his hand flies up to massage his chin, "…this is stubbles. Or 'stubbies'." Peeta aims to get a nod of approval from me and doesn't get any.

"Erm…facial hair?" Peeta tries again and glances at me. I slightly shake my head.

The curly haired girl has a confused look on her face. "My grandpa calls his hair "beard". Are you a grandpa too?"

I finally step in and shoo the little girl out of the classroom and she hops away. I shoot Peeta a wide smile, whom has not moved an inch, his hand seems to have been glued to his chin.

"They love you," I tell him as I try to adjust the bag on my shoulder, only to be snatched away by Peeta as we turn off the lights and leave the room.

"I don't know about that." He's kicking imaginary dirt with his shoe.

We stop by the market to buy some tea leaves and peanut butter jars. I showed him where I purchased the spice I used for the wild mushroom soup, which he loved, by the way. He also needed a bag of yeast and semi-sweet chocolate bars for his baking. And as per routine, we reach the Victor's Village by sunset.

He drops my bag on my couch and stretches his leg over the coffee table while he watches a little bit of TV. He does this one all the time. By this point I can predict his movements around my house. Once a commercial goes on, he will get up off the couch, go to my kitchen and grab some snacks.

As per tradition, I watch him float around my living space using my pre-calculated assumptions. It doesn't take long until he turns to me and says, "Alright, I know you have to start your lesson plan for next week. I'm going back to the bakery."

"No."

I almost dart my eyes around, curious as to where the sound came from, and I am surprised at the realization that it's my own voice. He looks as curious as me, as he stands between the door and the TV glaring at me, unsure of his next steps.

"I'm sorry?" he asks.

"I…," my voice shakes and my legs seem to suddenly have a mind of their own and they're making me pace back and forth. "I can't keep living like this. This…," my finger points at the air between us, "this routine we have, every single day doing the same things over and over…"

Before I know it Peeta is inches from my face and has both his hands on my arms, his blue eyes drilling into mine, extremely worried.

"Katniss, is there anything I could do? What would you have been doing differently?" he asks.

My head falls to the side, avoiding his gaze. My body is suddenly drained out of energy.

"I want to escape the mundane. I feel my childhood was stolen from me, Peeta. I grew up way too fast, and saw and experienced too much, and now I'm just surviving to get by." On a normal day, I'd have this kind of thought caged in the back of my head, never to be released. Today, I feel a piece of my wall break down, and I slowly let him in. I almost feel embarrassed of myself.

He lifts my chin up so he could look into my eyes. "Tell me what you want, anything to make you happy."

I want to hang out on a tree the whole day. I want to eat luxurious Capitol food. I want a puppy. I want to receive lots of flowers. I want to relax and eat candied apples. I want to learn how to knit. I want to see Gale again and laugh in the woods. I want to watch the moon at night. I want to plant trees, lots of trees. I want to skinny dip. I want to be giddy and love struck, and bask in the thrills of being a teenager, and all sorts of frivolousness that comes with it.

I want to live.