It started out with a kiss. Ever the gentleman, I place it on her cheek bone, as far from her lips as I can get. I'm not trying to seduce her or turn her on or get anything in return. Its just that she's shaking so hard tonight and I can't get her to stop, no matter how hard my arms squeeze around her. It was selfish of me, really. Seeing her this traumatized pains me more than my own inner turmoil, so I do everything in my power to help her. This explains my incredibly rash and unreasonable actions tonight. I'm an insomniac, but I always have been. Its nothing like her situation, really. Not that two televised death matches, the loss of a limb, physical torture, sever mental conditioning, and a war helped my sleeping patterns at all, but her nightmares have always been worse than mine. And that was before the war. Now, with so many more deaths on her mind, I can only imagine the things that keep her up at night. Since I've been home in Twelve, I've been able to see her, talk to her, even, without having a flashback. But I'm afraid to get too close, to talk too long, to touch her at all. What's more, she shows little to no interest in me at all, and I won't push her into any interactions aside from our morning encounters. The routine is good for both of us, I think. I bring over bread when Sae is at Katniss' to make sure she eats breakfast. Sae just started setting a place for me at the table, so every morning, I eat breakfast with them. Hardly any words pass between the three of us, but this is just the way it is now. Every night, I hear her screams, her pleas, her cries for help. The fact that I refuse to go to bed with my windows closed does not help to block out the noise. She doesn't wake me, because that would require me being asleep first, but she drives me to insanity, sometimes quite literally. The first night that she screamed my name in her sleep, I had a flashback so intense that I woke up in my living room with no idea how I got there, only that there was a trail of glass and broken objects leading from my room downstairs, a couple of holes in the dry wall, and bruises all over my knuckles. The treading of the boots in my head continued well into the next day after that particular incident. The next night she cried out my name, I didn't have a flashback, but I sobbed until my face and chest were drenched in tears and my eyes simply refused to produce any more water. I ended up with my arms wrapped around my middle, refusing to move for fear of falling apart. I was eventually forced into motion by a wave of nausea, only to find that I could do nothing but dry heave when I got to the toilet. Some nights, when I heard my name ring out from her house, I would experience varying degrees of these reactions. Some nights, I just closed my eyes and forced myself to stay calm. I've gotten better at handling the noise of her night terrors, and its something that I actually take pride in, however small and mundane it seems, but I still don't trust myself around her. My flashbacks are too frequent. I'm too unstable. I practically have to chain myself to my bedpost every night to stop from rushing over there to comfort her. Tonight, when I saw her wander out onto the porch, it all became too much. I heard her screams as usual, and I was close to forcing my eyes shut when I noticed movement in front of her house. Sure enough, as I rose to walk to my window, Katniss shut the door behind her and deposited herself on her stoop. She was clad in nothing except an oversized t-shirt with our old school logo that she must have gotten at game, where they hand them out for free, and a pair of skimpy shorts. I stared. After a while, she started to shiver. I stared. When I had convinced myself that I could actually hear her teeth chatter, I steeled myself against the tracker jacker venom and walked outside, barefoot and wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants.

"Katniss?" I called from a safe distance.

Nothing. I walked closer, but did not touch her.

"Katniss can you hear me?"

She sighed.

"Hi, Peeta."

She sounded detached, like she wasn't really there, sitting in front of me, right under my nose.

"Are you… um… are you cold?"

She nodded.

"Do you… want a blanket? Or I can take you back inside?"

"Take me inside."

"O… okay."

I moved to open her door when I felt her tug on the leg of my pants like a little child.

"Not there."

She barely whispered the words before breaking down in tears and shaking violently. I stood there, fighting with myself in my head, but eventually, I just scooped her up in my arms and carried her into my bed. Somewhere along the way, her arms wound around my neck and I went rigid, but I managed to deposit her on my bed safely. I started to leave, wanting to give her privacy and space, but I heard her cracked voice from my bed before I could even make it into the hallway.

"Stay with me?"

So, obviously, I got back in bed, promising,

"Always."

I scolded myself while she trembled next to me, still apparently lost in her nightmarish thoughts. I was putting her in danger. I shouldn't be so close to her. I could lose control. I could hurt her. I promised myself that I'd leave at least a foot of space in between us. When she started gasping for air, I pulled her onto my lap and she buried her head in my chest. So much for that. We held on to each other for dear life, but nothing was helping. We're both way further gone than we were all those nights on the train, so many lifetimes ago. The thought terrifies me, so, I plant the kiss on her cheek. She stops shaking. I kiss her again. I kiss her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her eyelids, but never her lips. She goes still in my arms.

"Oh, Peeta," she whispers.

My name sounds so different when she isn't screaming it in terror, I think.

Then, the impossible happens. She turns around so that she's straddling my waist, face so close to mine that I would be able to kiss her lips without even stretching my neck. She places her hands on my cheeks, and I burn under her touch. Oh no, I think. Stop her, I think. I'm so weak. She touches her lips to mine, chaste at first, but then with a type of hunger she never displays at mealtimes. I don't react at first. I'm so scared. I'm scared I'll hurt her. But, I just can't resist. My hands find the small of her back and I pull her as close to me as I can manage. I return the kiss with an equal amount of fervor, hardly able to believe that this is happening. Her hands find purchase in my hair and she tugs at the roots. I moan with pleasure, not with pain, and I suck her bottom lip between my teeth, eliciting a similar noise from her. I mutter her name into the crisp night air as she kisses along my jaw. I never want this moment to end. I want to kiss her until the end of time. But, like all good things, it has to come to an end. And it does, just not in the most ideal way. I can't feel her kissing me anymore. Then, her figure blurs in front of me until all I'm seeing are shapes and colors. My eyes go wide, and I can almost feel my pupils dilating until the blue irises disappear completely.

"Katniss," I say.

It's not enough. She doesn't get it.

"KATNISS," I yell this time, through gritted teeth.

I think she stops kissing me. I hear her voice, but I can't make out words. I try to listen to her, to hold on to reality, but eventually, all I hear are terrible screeches coming from the inhumane part of my mind, and I'm forced to shut my eyes. I see black. Until I don't.

I'm in the bakery, frosting a cake with the concentration I dedicate only to my art, and to Katniss. Katniss, her name like a hiss in my ear. And then, as if by magic, she appears at the door with dead squirrels hanging from her belt, trading with my father. She catches a glimpse of me around my father's form and flashes a wicked grin. Then, she blows a kiss and is out the door.

No, that's not right, Katniss would never do that. Back in reality for just a second, I realize she's still here with me.

"Katniss."

My breathing is labored.

"You have to leave."

I see her lips form my name for a split second before I'm dragged back into the hallucination.

I watch forlornly as she leaves the bakery. She runs across the square where I see her embrace a tall man who wraps his arms around her in return. Gale. Then, they're kissing passionately, right there in front of everyone. I just can't look, it's killing me.

This isn't right either. I know Katniss well enough to realize that none of these actions match up with her personality. Despite kissing me time and time again in front of a camera crew for the whole country to see, she's never been a fan of public displays of affection. Also, I'm aware of how unnatural it is for me to be able to see all the way across the square from my position behind the bakery counter. A thought dances across my head.

The bakery is gone.

Sadness rips me out of the flashback this time, but only long enough to let out some strangled rendition of her name and another short plea for her to get out of here and save herself.

Mine. She's mine. He has no right to touch her like that. She has no right to let him. I have to stop this. Before I can blink, I'm there, looking into Katniss' smug face. She detaches from Gale long enough to sneer at me over his shoulder. Stupid bitch. I take the opportunity to hurl myself at Gale, knocking him away from her. I throw punches at his face, his neck, his gut. She's mine. He deserves this. All of a sudden I'm ripped off of him by Katniss. She's trying to attack me. She wants to hurt me. I have to protect myself. I turn my attention away form Gale and lunge at her, but strangely enough, she doesn't fight. Then, I hear her voice. Pleading with me. Begging me to come back to her. Come back to her? I'm confused for a second and I look around, blinking my eyes rapidly. The town square shines to the point of sparkling. Everything is pristine, like it's covered in glitter. But, all that glitters is not gold. This isn't real.

The image dissolves before me and I'm back in the real District 12, in my house, in my room, in Katniss' arms. Despite being almost too weak to support the weight of my own head, I gently push her away from me. I can't look at her. I had to have hurt her. I know it.

"Katniss, I'm so sorry. Please go home, okay?"

"I'm not leaving you."

"I'm fine."

"How many times has this happened since you've been home?"

"I've been doing just fine, Katniss," I lie.

She reaches out and takes my hand, but I recoil like a wounded animal, accidentally making eye contact. One of her eyes is already slightly bruised, and her nose is dripping blood. I have the overwhelming urge to take her face in my hands, to press kisses all over it, to clean her nose and hold ice to her eye, but I know that I can't touch her. I scoot away until my back hits the foot of my bed, mumbling apologies the whole way. She comes closer. She has me cornered.

"It was my fault, Peeta. You weren't ready. I pushed you. I'm the one who should be sorry. I don't know how I could have been so stupid."

My body starts to shake, and I'm not sure if it's from her proximity to me or if it's the after effects of the flashback kicking in. It's probably just general weakness. I couldn't hold it in. I am weak.

"Look what I did to you, Katniss. I did this, not you."

"It wasn't you, Peeta."

I know what she means, but I can't accept it.

I'm breathing so heavily now that I can't even reply. I can't move her away. I can't tell her to go home and never come back, that she can't be around me, that I'm too unstable. I can hardly move my arms. When the headache becomes too painful and I can't focus on anything else, I just put my head in my hands and squeeze my eyes shut, praying that this one passes fast. In one final moment of weakness, I take her hand in mine before losing consciousness.

When I come to, there's a pillow under my head and a blanket over my body. I push myself into a standing position, and there's Katniss, perched at the top of my bed, staring back at me through one swollen eye.

"I'm…"

"Don't you dare apologize to me, Peeta Mellark."

"I…"

"No. Come here."

I hesitate.

"Sit with me, Peeta. Just do it."

I obey.

"How many times has this happened since you've been home."

I'm too tired to lie to her.

"A lot."

"How many times a day?"

"Once. Sometimes twice. There was this one day when it happened three times, but I slept the entire day after, so I didn't have any episodes until…"

She's hugging me and my words get caught in my throat.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I was just trying to help. And then we were kissing. And I don't know, we hadn't touched in so long. For a while I couldn't even look at you without wanting to kill you."

"Peeta, I'm fine. Really I am. I've sustained worse injuries."

"It could have been avoided. I shouldn't have…"

"Stop it. I am not leaving you. Never again. Stop trying to protect me or whatever it is you're trying to do, because I'm not going anywhere."

I decide to give up. If Katniss is anything, it's stubborn.

"Do you want a glass of water?"

She doesn't give me a chance to reply.

"I'm going to get you one."

"I thought you weren't going anywhere."

She rolls her eye and I crack a weak smile.

I follow her downstairs and sit on the couch, still drained from last night. She hands me the glass and I thank her, taking a sip and then placing it on the coffee table. We lapse into a comfortable silence, and I allow myself to appreciate her presence at the opposite end of my couch. She's here. She wants to be here. She wants to help me. She kissed me. She cares about me.

"C'mere," I say.

She scoots across the couch and leans her head into my shoulder.

"I missed you," she tells me quietly.

"Thank you for staying with me last night."

"Always."

She looks up at me from under her eyelids and I get that stupid, overwhelming urge to kiss her again.

"Don't be scared, Peeta. It was only a kiss. No big deal. It's me. I don't want to hurt you. I want to kiss you."

She wants to kiss me. My heart soars.

"It was only a kiss," I repeat, reassuring myself.

I can do this. I can kiss her. So, I do. I take her face in my hands carefully and press my lips to hers. She kisses me back, opening her mouth just enough to allow my tongue access. I deepen the kiss, and when she starts playing with my hair, I smile. She feels it and smiles back, and I laugh, breaking the kiss and wrapping my arm around her waist to pull her against my side. She looks up at me.

"Your eyes are so pretty," she says.

I know the implications.

I smile from the corner of my mouth, happy that I have her, happy that I can kiss her without losing my mind. Yesterday, I wouldn't even have touched her. Now, she's cuddled up to me on my couch, looking more peaceful and content than she has in a long time. Last night's flashback seems like years ago. I know I might never be completely free from the hijacking, but it's just the price I pay. She trusts me to be around her, to control the flashbacks, to overcome the hijacking, so I have more faith in myself than I've ever had before. Really, it's a small price to pay for Katniss. I tell her so.

"The eternal optimist," she says with one of her rare smiles. "Always Mr. Brightside."