It was the winter after the rebellion had overthrown the Capitol, bitterly cold but easier to manage with regular food supplies and indoor heating. Annie had just phoned me to tell me the baby was a boy, and he'll be called Finnick, of course. She cried for a moment at the mention of his name, and then drifted out of this world, and I was screaming down the phone at her before she came back, as if nothing had happened. We'd been calling at least once a week, all of the victors, to keep in touch because after what we'd been through, you didn't want to forget your allies. After I put the phone down I pottered about the empty house. Countless times Peeta had asked to move in with me, but I kept saying no, that I needed my space. He would still arrive everyday at seven to sleep next to me, to kiss me and cuddle me and love me in ways no man had ever done before. But the snow drifts outside were getting bigger, and I made the decision to call him and tell him to stay at home. I made some toast and slathered on butter. Eating every mouthful slowly, I stared at the phone. Waiting until I had finished the toast, I pulled the receiver to my ear, and was about to dial his number when there was a pain in my heart and my head, an ache that had never happened to me before, at least not to this extent. Loneliness crippled me, and I bunched up on the floor cradling my broken body. All this time I had wanted Peeta, more than anything, but this was something more. I needed him. Not to just wake me from my nightmares and soothe me, but to just be there, all the time not just when I felt like it. I knew then how Annie and Finnick felt. I knew then how Peeta felt about me. Every second apart was another pinprick in the heart, too many and it'll break.
When my resolve had been set, the pain went quick enough, and I was on the phone to him ranting and raving and rambling about my revelation. I asked him to get over here, to bring his suitcase and never leave me, never part from my side again. He didn't say anything. Another thing to love about him. He knew when to talk, and when to say nothing because his silence had spoken every word that was needed. In three minutes, he had packed his stuff and was pushing open the door to my house. We didn't speak, he put down his suitcase and brushed the snow off his coat and hat. All the time he milled about I just stared at him, my arms folded tightly holding me together, standing on my tiptoes so I could see every inch of him. Then he looked at me, smiling that soft, gentle and true smile, his eyes shining. We embraced, and our bodies intertwined until there was nothing but each other.
"Stay with me," I said, my voice so quiet I thought I had imagined it.
"Always."