Hello readers! Thank you for stumbling upon my humble story. I am TigerPrincessMononoke, TPM for short. I hope that you enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I must confess, it will be a little slow at first because I think that Katniss and Peeta need to be properly introduced and the mood needs to be set first, but it will get more exciting I promise! And of course, since this is a romance, it will get more emotional. Stick around, give me feedback if you can, and let me know if you love it, hate it, are "meh" with it, and I thank you for your time.

-TPM

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, nor do I own the cover image for this story.


I am startled out of my nightmare by the sound of a shovel. Having just escaped the horror of being buried alive by all the people whose deaths loom over my head, a cold shiver makes its way down my spine. I have half a mind to scream at the person who's responsible for such a haunting sound, when I stop short at my front door. There he is. His hair, his skin, his movements, his eyelashes. All of Peeta Mellark kneels before my house planting some sort of bush. His eyes, those clear blue pools of warmth, look straight at me, having heard my quick footsteps to the door.

"You're back." The rest of my words fail me. I quietly scold myself for saying something so obvious and stupid. I try again. "What are you doing?" It's not much of an improvement but at least it's a question.

"I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her," he is looking at me a little cautiously, as if he knows how delicate my sanity has been, how raw my emotions are. "I thought we could plant them here along the side of the house."

I finally tear my eyes away from his face, noting that the clouded look in his eyes is gone, if only momentarily, representing his improved state. In comparison I. . .

And then my eyes settle on the bushes again. I feel my blood start to freeze when the word 'rose' registers in my mind, and then I finish the name and realize I'm staring at evening primrose. Prim. I start to lose my grip as the various emotions this gesture rises in me threatens to overwhelm me. I manage a nod before closing my door and letting my mind race. I feel grief, overwhelming grief as my pain is renewed, but I also feel warmth in the pit of my stomach from the consideration that Peeta has given me yet again. To be able to recover enough to want to do something like this for my sake, I practically choke on the amount of gratitude and guilt I feel for this boy.

I suddenly feel restless, not wanting to think about these complicated and painful emotions any longer. I spend the next hour shedding off the lethargy that I have been soaking in for days. I burn the clothes I've been wearing since I first returned to this house, and I painstakingly comb my neglected hair out.

Greasy Sae comes shortly after, to feed me again. I start to look like my old self again as she fills me in on what's going on. I ask about Gale first. Hearing about him, living in District 2, a fancy official, important enough to be on television sometimes, I feel a sort of distance. I try to think of my best friend, as I knew him. Our silent pact to support each other in the woods, our trust, our first kiss, and the ones that followed, his embrace, the way he looked, and the way he thrived in District 13. The way he held his weapon when we stormed the capital, and the way he followed me, never doubting me. Instead of anger, hatred, or longing, I feel relief.

He was always destined for bigger things. I can't help but imagine what would have happened if his name ever was called at the reaping. I have no doubt he could've had a fair chance at winning, but I think about what kind of victor he would have become afterwards. Would he have returned to the seam, professed his love for me, and promised to take care of me? Would I have let him?

I push this train of thought away. It doesn't serve any purpose now since I was the one who went in the arena and survived. And now the games are over. That's that. I silently say my goodbye to Gale because it feels like our friendship, whatever pact we previously had to survive, clinging to our lives and our pride, is gone. Gale can finally reach his full potential, and I will slowly waste away as repentance.

After Greasy Sae leaves, I go to hunt, not because I need to, but because I feel like I've awoken from a really long drug-induced nap, and I need to feel my body move, to make sure I'm still alive.

Walking into town, the first person I come across is Thom, one of Gale's old crewmate, wearing a mask and gloves, gathering remains. I give my poor attempt and small talk before relieving him to return to his task. I take care to direct my eyes away from the back of the cart he rides in, and whatever else may remain on the grounds. At the meadow I have to brace myself for the change in landscape. A massive pit has been dug, a large grave for my lost people. My palms start to sweat and I hurry around the pit to the edge of the fence before ducking under it.

I expect to find relief in the woods, but it feels foreign without Gale.

That night, Buttercup, Prim's ugly cat returns.


It takes a little while for me to stop crying after that. When I do settle down, after crying with Buttercup, and once again with my mother over the phone, I feel a wave of fatigue like I've just run for the past couple of weeks. This is when Peeta shows up.

I smell the bread before I hear him coming, and then there he is. The morning light streams in and bathes him in a warm light as he walks into the kitchen. He doesn't say anything to me after seeing my face, my eyes red and swollen from crying. I am once again grateful for his mercy.

Greasy Sae is the next to come in. If she is surprised by Peeta's presence, she doesn't show it. We eat a quiet breakfast together. I steal glances in Peeta's direction, watching his jaw as he chews, his hand holding the fork, the eyelashes that brush his cheeks when he blinks. I look back across the table to see Greasy Sae is watching me.

Feeling like I've been caught doing something, I quickly lower my gaze and focus on my eggs. My cheeks feel warm and I suddenly feel fidgety. Suddenly Greasy Sae stands up and clears her plate, washing it, and picking up her things and leaving without a word. Peeta and I watch her go in silence.

"What are you doing today?" Peeta asks, not looking at me as he continues his breakfast. His tone is casual but slightly forced.

"You don't have to stay here if you don't want to. I'll be fine on my own." I say, willing him to leave me, but feeling a longing inside me, knowing I'll be crushed all over if he does leave.

Realizing my longing gives me a start. I quickly dismiss the thought and push the feeling away. I am not allowed to be happy. Surely the Capitol sent him here as part of my punishment.

"I was going to ask for your help with the rest of the planting." Peeta says ignoring my statement. He finishes his food and finally looks at me. Those blue eyes stare into my soul and my resolve to keep him at arms length starts to crumble.

Let me get changed." Is all I reply with. As I make my way upstairs, I hear the sound of plates in the sink, as Peeta does the dishes. When I come back down, he's drying off the silverware. I look at his back profile. He is thin, but his body seems sturdier than before. His shoulder blades poke through the fabric of his shirt. I am once again aware that he is not a boy. He is slowly becoming a man.

My thoughts are interrupted when Peeta turns around. The rest of the morning, we work in front of my house quietly. His hands exert strength as he digs a hole for the roots, and then become so gentle when he handles the bush, carefully placing it in the hole, making sure it isn't suffocated, and then supporting it by piling dirt around the base of the plant.

I end up not being much help as I am too busy watching his hands work, but we are finished by noon and suddenly I find myself trying to find words that will make him stay longer.

"I used to paint, real or not real?" The question startles me.

"Real." I think about the paintings Peeta showed me on the train during the Victor's Tour. It feels like ages ago.

"It's nice out today. Maybe I'll try and paint outside." He says this without looking at me, but I feel something unspoken lingering in the empty space. It takes a moment for me to understand, and when I do, I feel skepticism wash over me.

Can he be this healed? So calm, so comfortable, and so understanding for my sake. He knows my emotions better than I do. Or maybe I'm imagining things and he isn't inviting me, but rather giving me a warning to stay away from outside while he's there.

"I've been meaning to do some reading." I lie. It doesn't necessarily mean anything but I wait for his response.

"I can set up a chair outside." And our afternoon is planned.

Needless to say, I don't get any actual reading done. I picked a book at random from the study in my house and have been reading the same page for the past twenty minutes. My eyes keep gravitating towards Peeta, as if I'm afraid he's going to suddenly disappear or pull out a knife to slit my throat. I'm guarded. But every time I look, he's there, his left profile facing me. His eyes have that far away look again and his brow is slightly furrowed in concentration. Whatever brainwashing he's been through, Peeta is still good with his hands. He breathes life into the blank canvas in an abstract array of colors that warm you up just by looking at it.

I finally resign to my book, trying to actually make my day productive when I hear a clatter. I look up to see that Peeta dropped the brush he was holding. His mouth is clamped shut in concentration and I see a vein in the side of his forehead that pops out. He looks like he's struggling for air. His knuckles are white as he clutches the stool he's sitting on and he shuts his eyes shut. I start to lift a hand, reaching out for him but unsure of what I can do. Then he suddenly storms away, straight for his house without a word. I'm alarmed. I suddenly know what's happened.

Peeta's strength and mental fortitude seems to have crumbled as hallucinations struggle for control. Inside his house I heard something shatter like glass. I think about running to him, the way he has done for me countless times, but my body is frozen. Is this fear? Or is this selfishness? I am overcome by shame.

The thrashing sounds continue and I hear a scream from his house, but I still don't move. Finally, the door to Haymitch's house opens and he head peeks out.

"What in God's name is all that racket!" His words are slurred and his eyes don't find my face right away. I can tell he's sloshed. This manages to release my immobility. I close my unread book, quietly pack up Peeta's art supplies, place them on his doorstep quietly, and retreat to my own house. I feel Haymitch's lazy stare the whole time.

When I make it to my room, I let out uneven breaths, wiping my palms on my pants.

I sit there for a while. When my senses return, the angle of the light through the window is lower. I hear a knock at my front door. Slowly, I make my way downstairs to the door and cautiously open it. There is Peeta, his hair a mess and his body covered in sweat. He looks at me and I wait for his hands to close around my throat again, but they stay by his sides.

"I'm not better yet." He stands there before me, waiting for me to say something, but I don't know what to say. I was never good with words. Finally I step aside and let him in, without saying anything. I know I'm being reckless, letting an unstable person into my home who previously wanted to kill me, and almost did on several occasions. Peeta paces around my living room, as if waiting for the words to come to him. It is the first time I've truly seen him at a loss for words.

Time passes and I finally feel like I should say something to wake him up. His eyes are still a little clouded, distracted, dangerous. But finally he turns to me, abruptly and seriously.

"Real or not real, I used to love you?" He stares at me with such an intensity I feel his need to know. Without shame, I answer him.

"Real." I barely get the word out before asking his next question.

"Real or not real, you and I were friends." I pause. Were we ever friends? I think back to our conversation on the train when Peeta forgives me and offers to be friends during the Victor's Tour. But so much happened after that I'm not sure if it should really count.

"Real." I finally say. This time, Peeta studies my face for a while before asking another question. This time it isn't because of his need for clarity. this time it's direct.

"Do you think we can become friends again?" And before my mind can say otherwise, before logic can trap the word in my throat, before I can doubt myself, I answer based on my undeniable desire for the old Peeta to return. My Peeta. Not the Capitol's damaged Peeta.

"Yes."