Sunlight, halting at first, creeps in through my bedroom window, turning everything in the room the color of gold. I stretch, just a little, because I'm comfortable and don't want to move too much. My eyes, which were drowsy with sleep just two seconds before, shoot open when my finger makes contract with another human body. I sit straight up in the bed, which isn't mine, I realize, but Peeta's. I whip my head to the sides, looking around the room frantically. Should I leave? Should I stay? Should I even have come here last night?

I see a piece of small white paper on the nightstand, so I lean over and pick it up. When I lift it up to read it, I see that it's written in straight, bold handwriting that has to be Peeta's:

Katniss:

I know you're going to panic and question everything that happened last night. But please don't, because I couldn't stand it if you left me again. Remember, even though I love you (endlessly, to the moon and back, like a little boy), I'm not putting any pressure on you. You said we could take it slow and that's exactly what I intend to do. So whenever you wake up, don't leave. Please.

-Peeta

A small smile turns up the corners of my mouth and I clutch the note to my chest. I feel lighter. Yesterday, the day before, and all the months that preceded them, I felt heavy with guilt. Longing. Millions of other feelings I couldn't name and was too scared to think about.

I look down at Peeta, lying on his back with his arms crossed above him. His hair is a little damp, and there's color in his face. His lower lip juts out just a little bit. I find myself studying his face, taking in the little things that I couldn't in the Games because, well, we were in the Games. And I didn't want to stare at him for too long. But now that he's asleep, I can look at him for as long as I want. His eyelashes are light brown, and so long I don't know how they don't get tangled up. There's a small freckle under his left eye and a white scar on his chin. I've never noticed how high his cheekbones were before, or how perfectly shaped his nose was. And his mouth. I reach out a hesitant hand, brushing the damp hair off his forehead, running my thumb over the corner of his mouth. A long sigh escapes him, and I think he's about to wake up. But I don't tear my eyes or my hand away. I just brush my thumb over his jawline, feeling my chest swell with something unfamiliar. My thumb has made its way back to his mouth when his eyelids flutter open. He looks disoriented for a moment, but when he sees me, he's awake.

"Katniss," he says in a voice that's hoarse and heavy with sleep.

"Hmm?" I murmur, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

"You stayed," he whispers.

"You knew me well enough to leave a note telling me not to panic," I say back. I meet his eyes, a little scared of what I'll see. But I see his steadfast blue eyes, telling me he has no indecision about me. Telling me just to give him a little bit of myself. So I smile. "I've missed you." My voice comes out sounding like my mother's.

He smiles at me, and brushes a stray piece of hair away from my face. "Missed you too. Are you hungry? I think we have a few hours before the prep teams get here."

I groan and fall back into the bed. I had completely forgotten, yet again, about the Victory Tour. "Damn this Tour. Why can't they just take you and leave me? You're the eloquent one," I complain. Peeta rolls his eyes at me and pulls me out of bed.

"Because I wouldn't be eloquent without you by my side," he says, and while I laugh as he pulls me by my ankles out of the bed, like a sack of potatoes, my heart beats just a little bit faster.