A/N: Sorry this chapter has taken so long. Not only is going back to college after a nice summer completely draining, I felt that a buffer chapter between the previous and next ones was needed. It's a little long and a little (hemhem a lot) cathartic, but maybe you'll like it. Hopefully the wait hasn't driven away my wonderful reviewers (who will get a preview of chapter 5 if they review!)

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I slowly turn in Peeta's arms and look at him through my sleep-fogged eyes and the hazy morning light. His face is undeniably handsome even in my blurry vision, his golden curls slightly unruly from the pillow and the summer humidity; he likes to sleep with the window open, and despite the warmth it let in, the temperature in the room was perfect.

I sighed and nuzzled my nose into his chest, feeling utterly content between getting what I now realize as my first full, undisturbed night's sleep in over a year and waking up in Peeta's arms. The impact of how much I've missed this is sudden and hits me full force. Why had I not savored the simplicity and comfort of him while I could? Maybe it would have made all those months of sleepless nights and exhausted days easier to bear.

I was too busy thinking about holding someone else in my arms.

The familiar prickle behind my eyes is mostly annoying, but my dismantled soul welcomes them at the same time. Darkly, it tells me that I need to mourn her forever, that she deserves to be in my place with a sweet, attractive boy – or anyone, for that matter – to comfort her.

I can feel that subtle shift in my mind that warns me I'm on the verge of slipping into the black abyss again. My ears tune out the chirping of the birds that until now were pleasant background noise. My eyes focus on the empty whiteness of Peeta's shirt, and I no longer smell his clean, familiar scent. My ears ring, my eyes hurt from staring at one thing for too long, and I smell roses and blood. I'm drowning in my own thoughts. Prim is dead. Prim is gone. I want Prim here. I'll never see Prim again. Prim, Prim, Prim…

A lower sound registers in my eardrums, but it's faint. I shut my eyes tight and will it to go away, trying to replace it with the sound of her voice, of her giggles. There's pressure on my shoulder, on the back of my head, fingers wiping away wetness on my cheeks. There's a soft press to my lips but the tingling sensation it brings lasts only a heartbeat. I wonder if Prim had ever been kissed.

I will my muscles to roll on my opposite side so that I'm facing the wall. How did this happen? Was I not somewhat happy maybe three minutes ago? I don't know the answer. I only know that I can't do anything. I must lay here and think of her until… what? I don't know the answer to that either. An arm bands around my waist and pulls me against a warm wall of flesh. I used to hold Prim like this when she had a bad dream, or couldn't sleep. Unlike me, she thrived on human closeness and warm reassurances from those she loved and those who loved her.

That's exactly what I'm getting now from Peeta. It does nothing to ease my thoughts, but it does keep me from going off into that dark fantasy world where I imagine Prim to be alive, yet simultaneously know she's not really there. It's torture. This boy is keeping me grounded and somewhat sane, that I can tell. So I don't push him away. I don't kick him out. And he doesn't seem to be going anywhere himself, either.

I'm not entirely sure how long we lay there. All I have to go by is the color of the wall that my eyes never deviate from. By the time it turns orange, I am incredibly hungry, but I ignore it. I can't eat. Prim can't eat, so why should I? I feel the rumble of Peeta's stomach against my back, but he doesn't move. He just holds me.

I don't really realize I've fallen asleep until I wake up from an awful nightmare in which I was held down by mutts while Prim burned to death, screaming for my help. I cried and cried, flailing my arms and legs in an attempt to get to her, but this only resulted in claws or teeth sinking into my flesh. My inability to save her results in Prim melting to a puddle on the blackened ground.

"Katniss! Katniss, please wake up!" Peeta's loud, tortured voice jolts me into consciousness. I'm taking deep, shuddering breaths and I'm on the verge of hyperventilating. "It was just a dream Katniss, none of it was real, I promise."

He's almost completely on top of me and has my arms pinned to my sides to keep from injuring myself and him. The phantom pain is gone, but I can tell the precise amount of pressure of his fingers around my biceps. This is the only reassuring thing I can get out of the situation, because it means I can feel again. I can also feel his legs on mine where his pant legs have ridden up, the soft downy hair on his good leg and the warm metal of the other against the smoothness of my own skin. It's oddly comforting, or as close to comforting as I can feel at the moment.

My breathing slows down to almost normal before I attempt to move my arms. He lets go immediately, but now they go underneath me to pull me to his chest, and I reciprocate by wrapping my arms around his neck, holding him to me as tightly as possible. Peeta rolls us to the side, and we embrace each other even more by tangling our legs together.

"You scared the shit out of me, Katniss," he whispers, and his voice is pained. "What happened?"

I'm silent as we cling to each other so tightly I'm not sure where he begins and I end. "I can't," is all I manage. I'm not sure what that's supposed to convey. I can't say her name, because I'll fall into that mess all over again? I can't explain what happened? I can't do anything but hold him, is all I know.

"It was her," he says, again in that same tortured voice, but it's a whisper now, as if he can hardly talk about her as much as I can. "I know it was. You were screaming her name, for her to come to you." My hand fists into his soft curls and pull his face to my neck, where I can feel his breathing on my skin. I do the same to him, burying my nose into his warm flesh. "You're not alone in this, Katniss. I know nothing compares to watching your sister die, but I lost my father and brothers, too. And my mother…"

We're silent as I ponder this. Truthfully, I have forgotten that Peeta has lost his entire family as well. "Do you miss her?" I murmur pathetically. I sound like a four year old. I realize I'm crying.

Peeta doesn't answer right away, but I have no idea what to expect from him. "No," he finally gets out in a broken voice. "Does that make me a horrible person?"

"No," I tell him immediately. I remember his abusive mother with her boxy build and sourpuss face, so unlike her son. "What did she hit you with that day, Peeta?"

There's no need for clarification. "A marble rolling pin."

I feel wetness on my neck, and I realize he's crying. I lean back slightly from our embrace and kiss his cheek and eye on the spot where I remember the purple and black bruise that he'd had for nearly two weeks. I can taste the salt and pain of his tears, and I have an overwhelming need to console him. "She didn't deserve a son like you," I tell him, and he's sobbing now, and for once it's my turn to comfort him. I press more wet kisses over his face and in his hair, letting him get it all out. This is the second time I've seen him teary since I've known him, but this is the only time I've seen him cry.

Eventually his sobs reduce to sniffles. "I – I miss my father. He was always kind and gentle and caring, the opposite of her. He always stopped her from hurting us if she tried when he was around. He taught me a trade, how to bake; he bought me my first set of paints and a canvas when I was ten, after he sold a particularly big cake to a Peacekeeper. He taught me to be compassionate and giving." His voice is cracked and stuffy, and he pauses to take a deep breath and sniff. "I miss my brothers. They wrestled with me, and sometimes took the blame for something I did, just to protect me from whatever happened to be in our mother's hand. They taught me about girls. They were my best friends."

I can't stop crying. I feel guilty for being so self-centered, only thinking of Prim and not helping him with this cathartic talk that he obviously is in desperate need of, whether he realizes it or not. I feel sad, because I wish I had known his family better. I knew his father was one of the nicest men in our district, and always gave me the largest, freshest loaves of hearty bread in exchange for my squirrels. I feel sorry for Peeta, because I realize how fully he was telling the truth when he told me I'm all he has left. "But I don't miss her," he says in a whisper. "It's hard to miss your own mother if your only memories of her are of her never once saying that she loves you and of her beating you with a marble rolling pin."

I nod. The bitter tone in his voice is so unusual for him and reminds me of when he got back from the Capitol in nearly unnerves me.

"I don't miss my mother, either," I confess. He finally pulls his face away from my neck to look me in the eye. His frown deepens when he realizes how much I'm sobbing, and he reaches up to wipe away my tears. "I guess the feeling's mutual, because in the months that I've been back in Twelve, she hasn't called me once to see how I'm doing. It only reiterates why I've never forgiven her for shutting down like she did after my father died. I could maybe understand if it was just me, because I pretty much take care of myself. But Prim was so young and helpless and innocent. She deserved a mother. She deserved to be a mother one day; she would have been an amazing one."

"You will be too," Peeta says, and I can tell by the immediate look of stress in his eyes that he regrets saying it. We've made a lot of emotional progress tonight, and I think he thinks he's just erased some of it. To think this all started with a nightmare is all very strange. I think we're both too broken to care how we get through this, as long as it happens, even if we don't realize even that until it does occur.

A couple of tears cling to his thick lashes and I brush them away with my thumb. I still don't want children, and he seems to know that, but I don't have the heart to restate the fact to him tonight. I hold both of his cheeks in my hands and kiss him gently. The taste of our tears mingles on my lips when I pull away. I keep our foreheads touching, and our eyes remain closed. "I want to live for them, Peeta," I whisper, but my tone is clear and strong. "We don't have to live miserably, as long as we have each other."

Peeta pulls back a tiny bit and looks at me with wide eyes and nods. "It'll be hard sometimes," he says, "but we can do it. You'll be there for me when I have a flashback. And I'll be there for you when you think of her."

He took the words out of my mouth. "I love you, Peeta."

The sentiment is past my lips before I can stop it. My heart drops to my stomach when he just looks at me. This must have been how he felt all those times he told me the same words, only to get my ruthless stare. "If this is just a heat of the moment thing, Katniss, then please don't say that. I… I can't take that right now." He releases his arms from around my waist and takes my wrists in his hands. "Do you mean it?"

His voice is guarded and so un-Peeta, who usually wears his heart on his sleeve, that my eyes water all over again. "With all my heart, Peeta. You have to believe me. Please." I'm begging, but for him I will. Only him.

Our eyes stay connected for what feels like an eternity before he ducks his head to kiss me soundly, pushing his tongue between my lips, and I can't stop the tiny moan that comes out of my mouth. I pull my wrists out of his grasp and put them on the small of his back under his shirt, bringing his body to touch mine again.

His lips mesh with mine over and over again, his tongue swiping deftly against mine in kiss after passionate kiss. "I believe you." Kiss. "I love you too, Katniss. So much."

He gives me one more soft kiss before trailing his hand across my forehead, pushing back some of my hair.

"Peeta?"

"Yes?"

"I'm hungry."

He chuckles and sits us up. Telling him I love you for the first time seems to have excited him past his earlier exhaustion.

We head downstairs and fix ourselves some hot tea wolf down a couple of cheese buns. It's all we have the energy for no matter how hungry we are, but it's satisfying nonetheless.

When we're finished and ready for bed it's about two in the morning. Peeta whisks me off my feet when we reach the foot of the stairs and carries me up. I scowl at him when he does this and am about to reprimand him, but the feel of his chest and shoulders against my body is worth the sickeningly romantic gesture. I'm too worn out for that, also. Next time he tries it he'll get the earful.

He places me on the middle of the bed when we've made it there, and he immediately crawls next to me as soon as I'm down. His body curls around mine like it did last night, his right arm going around the top of my ribcage and his left under my head. I'm back to feeling sated and content, his easy sigh against my neck making me shudder slightly.

"I'm glad you told me all that, Katniss," he says quietly, and I can tell he's already halfway to unconsciousness. "It makes me feel better when I know what's going on in your head."

"You too," I say, and I mean it. "Thank you for telling me about your family."

"You're welcome."

I can't help but realize even in my lethargic state that Peeta has almost completely changed me in the course of a few weeks. Never before have I wanted someone to know what was going on in my head. And yet here I am pouring my heart out to him, crying in front of him, telling him that I love him.

One thing that hasn't changed is how good it makes me feel when I know I've made him happy. The last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep is him pressing soft kisses to the back of my head and neck, murmuring, "I love you, I love you," over and over again. He's definitely happy. I barely mange it back before I'm out.

The next morning I wake with the sun. Peeta is surprisingly still asleep, usually up way before now. We had a long night, though, and one day of no exercising and building and baking won't hurt him. He needs rest.

I get out of bed to use the bathroom and he groans a little bit, immediately reaching for me in the now empty spot on the bed. I almost feel guilty for leaving him, but I have other plans for today. I shower then dress, and when I reemerge from the bathroom braiding my wet hair, I'm a little surprised to see he's still conked out. I smile at how he's now splayed out on the bed, sleeping peacefully. I grab a notepad from the top of the dresser and scrawl out a quick note.

Gone hunting. I'll see you around 11. I love you

I leave it on my pillow and grab my bow, arrows, and game bag before heading out to the woods.

I arrive back home just when I said I would, a few minutes before eleven. I come in through the back door, and I see Peeta opening the oven and pulling out a loaf of bread I don't recognize. It smells amazing, though.

I can't help but smile at how cute he is, wearing a tank top that he's cut the arm holes halfway down his side, mesh shorts, no shoes, and oven mitts. I must have smiled more today than I have in months. I smiled this morning, almost the whole time in the woods, and now.

Hunting without Gale was undeniably hard at first. I missed his companionship, our comfortable silences and occasionally our playful banter. But Gale isn't a part of my life anymore, not really, anyways. I've forgiven him for the possibility that the bombs were his. Forgetting is almost harder than forgiving, though. I just know that whether I've forgiven him or not, however, we will never have what we did. It makes me even more thankful for Peeta.

"Got anything?" he asks, bringing me back to reality. He nudges his head at the bag slung over my shoulder.

I nod, heaving the bag onto the table. "A hen, some squirrels, and a couple of rabbits," I list, feeling rather proud of myself. All were clean kills, too.

"Well, you know my favorite," Peeta says, smiling and walking towards me for a kiss. I give him one, but I'm a little grimy and eager to change clothes.

"You're the chef. They're already skinned and gutted," I tell him.

I go change into jeans and a short sleeve shirt and come back down to find Peeta cutting up the squirrel for stew. It's just as well, as I had had a big breakfast of cheese buns and an apple.

"What did you bake?" I ask curiously, leaning down to sniff the bread that now has a thin white glaze on it and sits on a cooling rack.

"Pumpkin bread," he answers, throwing in some chopped vegetables with the broth and squirrel meat. "Try it. I'm thinking of selling it in the fall as a seasonal thing."

I cut me a slice of the warm bread and take a bite. It's heaven, sweet yet a little spicy. There are even raisins in it, which give it a tangy flavor as well. "It's so good, Peeta," I praise quietly, leaning into his side as I wolf down the rest. He puts one arm around me and stirs the pot with the other, lowering his head to kiss the top of my head. "I love you," he says.

"I love you."

And so begins our attempt at living.

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A/N: You like? I swear you'll get more sexy action next chapter. Review and you'll get a sneak peak at chapter 5!