Hi all. Here is another super long (and mushy!) chapter - sorry it has been so long coming. My work life is pretty hectic at the moment, and will be for a few weeks, but I will try to fit in writing whenever I can. I just can't promise to update too frequently, at least for the next two weeks. Sorry!

HUGE thanks must go to ahundreddoves for her constant support, encouragement and critique. SO much appreciated.

And MASSIVE thanks to curious12, who gives me ideas and inspiration, and is a great sounding board. I am so appreciative.

And to all of you who have reviewed or PMed me about this story. I am just so grateful. Please keep the feedback coming - it all keeps me writing! xo

Because it's been a little while, let's pick it up at the end of chapter 8...

His voice drops to a whisper as his eyes find the floor. "All I ever did was love you."

Without warning, I fling myself across the room and into his arms. He stumbles backwards, not expecting my weight, but then settles and steadies me. I bury my face in the crook his neck, clinging on tight and feeling his strength as wave after wave of relief and joy wash through me at his words.

"You're back," I whisper into his chest, my eyes filling. "Thank goodness." I lift my head to see him, his beautiful face blurring through my tears. "You're back," I repeat, louder this time. "Oh Peeta, I've missed you."

And I lean softly towards him, allowing my lips find his. Finally, he is back.


After the rollercoaster of heightened emotion of the last few hours, everything in the world slows and stills as our lips meet. His lips aren't stiff with shock when mine hit them, they are soft and they welcome me willingly into his embrace. The embers in my stomach flare and flames burst out to the tip of every finger and every toe. He sets me alight. We bring all of our emotions to one another, our anger, our grief, our longing, and then every one of them ebbs away until there is nothing but him and I, joining together as one entity.

His arms wrap protectively around me, drawing me closer as his strong hands settle on my back. I rise up onto my toes to get closer still and wrap my arms around the back of his neck, while my heart pounds steadily in my chest. There is nothing but him, nothing but us.

I reluctantly pull my lips away and rest my forehead gently against his. Gazing into his eyes, questioning him, urging him, I bring my hands forward to gently wipe the tears that still lie on his cheeks. He isn't crying now. His bright blue eyes are clear; they glow with joy and a hint of childlike excitement. My heart leaps at the sight of them but then my own eyelids shut as I exhale. This is amazing. I have waited so long for this moment.

I slide my hands around to the back of his head and lean in to meet him once more...

This next kiss is like none that we have ever shared. Like our last, and the passionate plea in the firelight all those weeks ago, it is just for us - not for anyone else - but this one asks no questions. It isn't searching for answers. It is filled with certainty.

This kiss is so gentle, so perfect, that it almost pains me to pull away. I finally do, though, my feet flattening on the floor and my hands coming forward to rest on the sides of his neck, running over the planes of his strong, smooth jaw. For so many months I have longed to do this; longed for his permission and even for my own. Now that I know, now that I'm here with him, touching him, the lightness of my heart spreads out and I feel it cross my face in a grin as I look up at into his eyes. I don't want to say anything. I don't want the perfection of this moment to end.

I watch the corner of his mouth lift in the crooked smile that he has always reserved for me and I reach down to thread my fingers through his. He breaks the silence, keeping his eyes on me and his hand steadily in mine. "We should cook," he says simply. His gaze drops down to where are fingers are entwined. "Together?" He lifts our hands slightly, asking a million questions with that one simple word.

I nod. "Together," I agree softly, before bringing my lips down to brush a kiss gently on his scarred knuckles. The softness of the moment warms me as we both reach for the food that he was preparing before I came in, before everything changed forever.


Hours later, under the downy warmth of the quilt, I open my eyes, expecting to see bright sunlight. Instead, silver glow of the moon streams in through the open window. I have been in a blissful, dreamless sleep but something has startled me awake. I glance around the room, my eyes adjusting to the light, but see nothing out of place that could have woken me. I let out the breath that I didn't realise I was holding. Everything is right.

Turning my head slightly so that I can see Peeta in the moonlight, it is hard to stop myself from reaching out and touching his sleeping form. Instead, I smile and snuggle deeper into the covers, feeling contentment wash warmly over my skin as I remember the night's events.

Surprisingly there was very little awkwardness after the magic that we shared. I'll be honest, I was a little bit uncomfortable about what I had done, about how I launched myself into his arms after all of those words came bursting from my mouth. But Peeta was...well...Peeta. He smoothed over any discomfort with a few well-chosen phrases, and we went about cooking a simple supper. After we ate I went outside to deal with the squirrels that Rory and I caught only hours before, while he got started on the vegetables for the stew and the bread to accompany it. Somehow, in the wake of the waterfall of words that fell earlier that night, we silently decided what we were going to do, and then worked in comfortable, companionable quiet.

It still amazes me how well we work in the kitchen. He will know the exact right time to light the stove and warm the pan in preparation for the meat that I am dicing. I will step to the side a mere moment before he needs to reach into a cupboard for a chopping block. Even when we were still so broken we were synchronised in this way and tonight it seemed to accentuate the beauty of our new-found closeness.

We didn't talk about the kiss or what it meant. We didn't talk about the future or even where we have been before. We simply danced in sync around the kitchen, creating a wholesome and hearty meal to feed the people rebuilding our District. And whenever our hips or hands brushed together we glanced at one another and smiled, the heat between us simmering gently. Once, in front of the stove, he reached his arm around my waist and squeezed me close, pressing a soft kiss to my temple before moving on to the refrigerator. We talked quietly together about my day hunting, and he was pleased to hear about Rory's success, but I didn't mention the conversation about Gale. Tonight was just about us; about Peeta and me. There will be plenty of time for that later.

While the stew was simmering on the stove we retired to the lounge, still saying very little. After stoking the fire he sat on the couch and opened his arms to me, a beacon of warmth which I willingly entered. Then we sat there, my head leaning back on his chest, my fingers tracing the streaks of paint on his forearms, and his lips frequently reaching forward to kiss my hair as if they couldn't quite believe they had permission to do so.

We simply sat and stared into the fire for hours, watching the flicks of blue amid the waves of orange. We were quiet. We were peaceful. After years of tumultuous emotions we finally had the chance to be together and to be still. For the first time, our moment of peace wasn't tinged with fear.

And then, once the stew was cooked, we climbed the stairs, pulled back the covers and fell asleep tangled in each other's arms.

Looking at him now, in the soft glow of the moonlight, my affection for this boy is overwhelming. His golden eyelashes flicker gently as if he is dreaming, and his muscles remain relaxed so I'm not concerned. His dreams look peaceful tonight, and he deserves no less.

I really need to go back to sleep so I shift my weight to my side as I roll over, my back now to him. The mattress shifting beneath me causes him to stir slightly, and his usual waking sound escapes from deep in his throat. I hold my breath, hoping that he will fall back into sleep.

Suddenly I feel his fingers on my skin. His hand has snaked out to find my waist, and now he pulls me closer to him, enfolding me in his embrace. My body fits perfectly into his, his legs bent behind mine and his chest pressing closely against my back. His hand is splayed across my hip, wide and warm, and his head moves slightly to accommodate mine.

I wait, eyes wide, until his breathing evens out once more. He is still asleep.

I let out a breath, and my heart pounds at the feeling of him so closely pressed against me. But it is not really excitement I feel this time. I have never felt quite like this before, this feeling of certainty, of true peace and stillness with another person.

I've only seen this once before, firsthand. I know now that what my mother and father had was like this, but I was too young when my father died to properly grasp what was between them. No. The certainty and strength of feelings that I can still so clearly picture was much more recent, and now my mind leaps back to a moment in time that is so foreign to this one; a day that was ripe with uncertainty, commotion and fear.

It was the day that Peeta, Annie and Johanna were extracted from the Capitol. As I raced desperately through the hallways to see Peeta I found myself remembering our kisses on the beach; kisses filled with passion and fire. Kisses that I hadn't allowed myself to think of until then. In that moment, for the first time in months, I felt a flicker of hope for the future.

My mind was a whirlwind of emotions, each one pounding through my veins as I sought him out so desperately. I was so relieved that he was alive; I couldn't bear the thought of losing him and I was growing increasingly aware that I would not cope if he died. I had come to realize that I that would be irreparably damaged if he was killed.

And then, finally, he was close. So tantalizingly close. As I followed Haymitch through the halls I was so focussed, so intent on finding Peeta that I barely took in anything else. I vaguely remember passing Johanna's emaciated form, but then I simply pushed the image from my mind as I concentrated on reaching him as quickly as possible.

One image that I couldn't ignore, however, was the reunion of Finnick and Annie. Even now, more than a year later, I can still hear their voices echoing in the hallway as they cried out to one another. It was as if their lives had light again, had purpose again. They were each complete again.

Now, my heart thuds at the memory, and at the grief that I still feel for Finnick. But I can still so clearly see their bodies crushing together, their lips entwining effortlessly.

I vividly remember the envy that I felt in that moment. It was not because they were together, I certainly wasn't interested in Finnick in that way, but just because they were so sure of their feelings. They were so in love, and they were so safe and certain inside of that. They had each other and that was all that they needed. Me? I was lost beneath a curtain of fear and confusion and pain. Yet even in the midst of war they were firmly ensconsed in one another, and in their complete faith and certainty of their relationship.

Lying here in the semidarkness my heart aches for Finnick and the man that he was. For all that he did for us. For the times he kept Peeta alive. For the times he kept me alive, without even realising it. And at the memory so clearly recreated in my mind, my heart breaks for Annie and everything that she has lost.

But through the dark mist of grief, I can't help but feel a certain sense of peace settle over me. For here, in this place, with this boy... I feel truly safe for the first time since my father's death. I feel certain that I am in the right place, and with the right person. I never allowed myself to even dream that this feeling would be possible for me, even before the Games. I told myself that I didn't want it, that I didn't need it. And yet here I am, filled with this feeling that is so foreign but so wonderful. And I know, no matter what happens from here, I will always cherish this moment.

I will always cherish the hard press of muscle against my back, and the wide hand splayed possessively across my hip. And I will always remember the warm lightness in my heart as I drift back to a steady, certain sleep.


The feeling of the mattress moving and shifting beneath me eases me into consciousness a few hours later. I blink, my eyes slowly adjusting to the morning light and I see Peeta's strong, warm hand reach across to tuck a stray hair behind my ear. His thumb rests gently on my cheek for a moment, and he softly strokes it. As I blink the sleep away my eyes focus on the finer details: his blonde lashes, his bright blue eyes, his crimson lips.

"Hi," he says softly, those lips curving up into a smile.

"Hi," I respond almost shyly, as all the memories of the night before come rushing back. He pulls his hand back and shifts his weight until he is lying on his side, facing me. I'm not sure how to act this morning, when things have changed so completely since this time yesterday. I must focus on what I know. Behind him on the side table sits a plate holding two cheese buns, and two steaming mugs. "You've been up already?"

"Yeah. I thought I should get the bread going if we want to get that stew into town today." He reaches out again, this time to stroke my arm, clearly having no trouble transitioning to our new relationship. "But I wanted to get back up here as quickly as possible. You sleep okay?"

"Yeah, no nightmares at all," I respond, taking his lead and allowing myself to smile back at him. Trying to wake up, I lift my arms above my head to stretch the sleep from my limbs. His eyes darken as they slowly roam down my stretching form, taking in every inch. Suddenly I feel exposed in my singlet and little sleep shorts, and I drop my arms to pull the blanket up around my shoulders.

He raises one eyebrow, the fire in his eyes still evident, and he quickly closes the space between us. It is like he is unable to wait a moment longer, and as his lips claim mine a wave of need momentarily knocks the wind out of me. I run my hands up his sides and I still can't believe that we can do this, that I am allowed to touch him like this. These thoughts hastily flee from my mind as I succumb to his heady kisses.

His arms wrap around me as he pulls me closer, his lips parting mine to deepen the kiss. The flame licks through my body – a familiar sensation now – and I can feel the muscles on his shoulders through his t-shirt. It isn't enough. I reach down his back, lifting the edge of his shirt up and snaking my fingers up to touch his skin. He lets out a low moan into my mouth as my fingers find his silken waist, and I can't get enough of it. I smooth my palms across the plane of his back, feeling the sinews of every muscle and loving every inch of it.

His mouth never leaving mine, he uses his strength to gently turn us so that my back is flat against the mattress as he leans up above me. My hands leave his back and move up to his hair, feeling those silky strands massage my fingers once more. Every piece of me seems to fit so perfectly with him. We don't need to gasp for air because what we are doing is so natural and comfortable; we fit together so perfectly. After all these months of long looks and accidental touches this is like a feast for my senses, as I breathe in his scent and feel every inch of him pressed atop me. I can't help but wonder, Is it like this for everyone? It just feels so good, so incredibly good, that surely we are creating something new and special in this moment.

He reluctantly releases my lips from his and I let out a whimper of protest as I look up at him. He smiles down at me, his blue eyes drawing me into his spell even further, and once again he gently brushes the loose strands of hair behind my ear. But what he does next surprises me.

He bends towards me again, but this time he places his soft lips on my neck, just below my earlobe. I gasp in pleasure, stunned that such a simple action could feel so, amazingly, good. He pulls away to look at me, questions in his eyes, but in answer I just pull him back to me, urging his lips to resume their work. He gently kisses down my neck to my collarbone, flitting and nibbling their way. The fire is roaring through me now, consuming every part of my body. I can't keep still. It isn't enough but I don't know how to satiate this need that fills me.

I gently lift his head and bring his lips back to mine, knowing no other way to properly show him the depth of how he is making me feel. I brush my tongue softly against his and nibble gently on his lower lip, causing him to moan again. My heart leaps in my chest. I love knowing what this does to him.

Softly and slowly though, I feel his hands lift to my face. He slows the kiss, gently stroking my cheeks and cupping my jaw before pulling his lips sweetly away from mine. He is still above me, his weight suspended mostly on his elbows. We stare into each other's eyes, breathing heavily, our legs still entangled with each other.

"Wow," he breathes into me, his hands lifting slightly to stroke my hair, "that was..."

"Unexpected?" I ask, a mischievous smile sneaking onto my lips.

"Amazing," he supplies. And he's right. It was amazing. Beautifully, fantastically, unexpectedly amazing. The perfect way to start the day.

But, as wonderful as it was, I'm glad he's dragged himself back from me. This is all so new for us, and I felt myself being pulled too quickly into the spell we were weaving together. Again, he knew what was best for me, and for us. We can't afford to go too far, too soon. There is too much at stake.

He shifts his weight to be lying beside me again, and then pulls me back towards him. I rest my head firmly on his chest, hearing the steady pounding of his heart, the few soft curls he has tickling my cheek. He leans forward and presses his lips firmly against my forehead.

I love when he does this. He has always done it: in the cave, in the train, on the rooftop in the Capitol...even once we were back here in 12 he would press his lips just above my brow to calm me, to let me know he was there when I awoke screaming. Before, I saw it as simply a gesture of comfort and gesture of friendship, but now I know that he is telling me how he feels. He always was. Even before, when he wasn't using words, he used his lips to tell me. I just wasn't listening.

He loosens his grip and gently moves me off him before rolling onto his back. I am distracted just by looking at him. His arms look amazing, his muscles flexing with each movement underneath the short sleeve of his t-shirt. Suddenly I am struck by the fact that I only had my realization only yesterday. I can't believe that for months I managed to push every moment like this as far out of my mind as I could. A few short days ago I would have pushed aside the thud of my heart and told myself that I was simply grateful for him being here; I would have convinced myself it meant nothing. Now, it seems to mean everything, he suddenly means everything. Huh. What a difference a day makes.

Oblivious to my staring, he pulls himself up, shifting his pillows before reaching over to grab one of the mugs. "Tea, Miss Everdeen?"

I drag my eyes from his biceps and laugh at his mocking tone before lifting myself up and leaning back against the pillows to accept the mug gratefully. "Why thank you, Mr Mellark," I respond in kind. "You are quite the gentleman."

He lips widen in that beautiful grin, distracting me again, before grabbing his own mug and bringing his lips to the rim. Then he lifts the plate and places it between us.

And as we sit in the early sunshine sipping tea, nibbling on the fresh rolls, planning for the day ahead, the sense of peace that we felt last night settles once more.

It really is the perfect morning.


Despite the warm sunshine, the outside air is cool and crisp. It nips and my cheeks and bites at my fingertips as I stand on the porch, gazing out at the yard. Peeta is taking his time inside, as usual, so I take a few deep breaths and watch the steam escape from my mouth. Yesterday's warmer air feels like a distant memory, although the sunshine still smiles a hint of spring in my direction.

Setting the basket of bread on the floorboards by my feet, I try in vain to rub some warmth back into the tips of my icy fingers and grin as I puff white clouds out into the frosty air. Suddenly I am transported, remembering Prim's laughter when we would do this together while walking to school on mornings just like this. My smile quickly fades as I realise that I won't ever hear that laugh again.

No. As quickly as the thought occurs to me I push it from my mind. Prim loved mornings like this, where everything seemed clearer and brighter in the sharp sunlight, and she would want me to enjoy this one. I won't allow myself to dwell on sadness today. Not today.

I hear Peeta's heavy footsteps treading down the hallway behind me, made slightly uneven by his prosthesis, and the smile works its way back to my lips. As the sound nears me I wait to hear the door click shut so that we can be on our way. Instead, I feel strong, muscular arms wrap around my waist, cocooning me, and suddenly my feet fly as I am swung up in the air.

"Peeta!" I cry out in surprise as we spin around, our bodies pressed together. "Stop it! Put me down!" But I'm laughing; the grin on my face is enormous as I hit his arms and insist on being returned to the ground.

He lowers me, allowing my feet to rest on the floorboards once more, but keeps his arms wrapped firmly around me. He turns his head and presses his lips firmly against my temple while we stand there for a moment, as close as we can be, and just look out into the day ahead. He finally pulls away. "I'd better grab the stew. Hang on a sec, I'll be back."

"Are you kidding me? What have you been doing in there all this time?" I call after his retreating form with a laugh. Ever since we came back to 12 it has amazed me how long it takes him to get ready in the morning. We rarely left together but sometimes he would go into town or to see Haymitch, and I would frown at his slow movements. Everything needs to be just right before he will leave.

It isn't too bad this time. Obviously the stew was all ready to go because he is back quickly. He raises his eyebrows and smirks at me, knowing that my complaining is all for nothing. I can't help but grin back.

We walk down the few steps to the wagon that Thom made us a couple of months ago. I think he felt bad for us, trying to pile everything into the old wheelbarrow to push into town, so he built us a simple wooden wagon with four wheels. Peeta's eyes lit up when he saw it. It is a simple little thing, but he was like a boy with a new toy, examining the wheels and the joints in the wood. And we both appreciate the gesture. It is like the workers are thanking us for bringing them the food. But they don't seem to realize that we are actually thanking them by bringing it for them. Thanking them for rebuilding our District, for helping the town move past the horrors that we started.

Once all of the food and utensils are placed securely in the wagon's tray, I bend to pick up its handle and start across the lawn to the street. Peeta gives me a pointed look before reaching over and trying to take the handle from my hand. He's ever the gentleman, but I am quite capable of pulling it myself. And I don't give up so easily.

I walk faster now, tightening my grip around the small wooden handle. Grinning, he speeds up to match my pace before gently bumping my hip with his, throwing me off balance just enough for him to gain control of the little cart. My fingers fall free and an exasperated frown crosses my face as I hear him laugh softly.

Right. So he thinks he has won does he? Katniss Everdeen does not give up so easily. I know what to do.

Creeping up behind him I catch sight of the warm skin of the back of his neck. Only a small slice is exposed above his collar, as his hair is getting overgrown, but it is enough me. I reach up silently, and hastily press my icy fingertips to the small patch of warmth. He lets out a yelp of indignation and leaps to the side, momentarily forgetting the cart's handle as it falls on the grass. I smirk a winner's smirk.

He swivels to face me, his sparkling, laughing eyes betraying the scowl he fights hard to keep on his lips. "That was awfully sneaky, Miss Everdeen," he tries to grumble, but I simply smile up at him.

"I don't know what you are talking about," I reply smoothly, a picture of innocence in the sunlight. Keeping my eyes trained on his, and the gloating grin firmly on my lips, I bend over to claim the handle that is rightfully mine.

Wrong. Just as I start to bend at the waist I am stopped by a large, strong hand. He pulls me forward, closing all of the space between us, and brings his lips down on mine without warning.

I want to fight him, really I do, but the soft, supple skin of his lips, the sweet, intoxicating scent of him...it overpowers me, and I can't help but succumb. As his lips glide effortlessly over mine, not meeting even the slightest hint of resistance, the embers inside me glow and I am filled with warmth once more. Leaning into him I instinctively lift my arms and wrap them around his neck, all thoughts of our little battle forgotten. His other arm is around me now, pulling me closer, and I feel dizzy, breathless. Out in the bright, exposing, light of day this kiss feels like a renewal, like a statement. But not a forceful, commanding statement, simply one of togetherness and joy. One of new beginnings.

He releases me and we pull away, gentle laughter bubbling from both of us. I roll my eyes at him, laughter still bouncing off my lips. "And you think I'm sneaky? Ha!"

But as he bends to pick up the handle once more I give in. And when he takes his free arm and wraps it firmly around my waist I simply lean into him and we fall easily into stride together, grinning like school children as we make our way into town together.


Taking in the buildings around me I realise that it has been a few weeks since I have been to this part of the town, but obviously Peeta has spent a lot of time here. We drop the food in to the workers who are rebuilding the school's main building, and promise to return to help once they've all eaten. Then Peeta grabs my hand and leads me excitedly outside, back in the direction from where we came. As I fall into step behind him I can't help but notice the sly smirks between the workers, the nudges of elbows into sides. Clearly the change in our relationship hasn't gone unnoticed by them. I know that they will talk about us the second we leave. It feels odd. I can't decide whether I mind or not.

As we stand together a few streets over, and Peeta wraps his arms around my waist from behind once more, my heart is filled with light. Of course I don't mind. We're not doing anything wrong. For once, our happiness will affect only us, it cannot harm anyone. I refuse to let the whispers of others bother me.

He's talking. I really should listen, as difficult as it is to focus when I am wrapped so comfortably in him, inhaling the scent that is completely, intoxicatingly, him. But then his arms grip me tighter, like he needs an anchor, which forces me to listen and take in his words.

"...I know it's in a different place, in a completely different part of town, even, but I think I'm okay with it," he's saying gently. "It's like this time it will be mine, to run how I please."

Feeling a stab of guilt for not listening I realise the importance of the concrete slab that lies in front of us and what it means. I turn quickly around to face him. "You didn't like how the old bakery was run?" I ask gently, lifting my hand to his smooth cheek.

"It's not that, not really," he replies. His blue eyes are radiating with hurt now, his voice thick with pain and loss. "I didn't like the way that my mother did some things, sure, but it is more that this place will be new. Completely new, and completely mine. It isn't built in the remains of something else. It's not a replacement." His eyes drop from mine. "The old bakery was where I grew up; it wasn't perfect but nothing is. It was where I learnt everything I know. It was where I first interacted with you. It was where my brothers and I would play cards with our father while we waited for the bread to finish. It is where we would argue and laugh and wrestle.

"But it is where they all died. The memories, the laughter...the people. My family all died there. I don't think that I could go there every day and be reminded of them, and be plagued by the thoughts of how they couldn't get out in time." His voice is so deep now, it is dripping with sadness and grief. He doesn't cry, but his eyes won't leave the ground.

"Hey," I say gently, reaching up and tilting his chin, angling his face towards mine. "I understand completely." I reach forward and brush my lips gently on his, all thoughts and worries of what other people think completely banished from my mind. He is in pain, and that alone hurts me. Some thoughts are so consuming that they threaten to drown us and we need help to make our way back to the surface. I reach out to him. "Show me. Show me your new bakery."

He looks up at me, eyes still glistening slightly, but he takes my lead gratefully. We need to remember, we always will, but sometimes it is just a little too hard. He grabs on to my offer and allows the ghost of a smile to wash his lips. "Well, for starters, it will be a lot bigger than the old one, as you can see." He gestures broadly at the slab before taking my hand again, and leading me to it.

As we step up onto the concrete, I watch a transformation take place before my eyes. Gone is the grieving brother and son of a few moments ago. Gone is the young boy, inconceivably wounded by experiences none should ever encounter...in his place is a young man with purpose. As he leads me around the site, showing me where the store front will be, and where the huge industrial ovens will stand, his eyes glow with life. He must have been planning and working on this for months. He knows every detail. And now he is so excited to finally share it with me, to show off what will be a big part of his healing and of our future.

His enthusiasm is contagious, and I feel myself being swept up in his excitement. His arms and hands shape out everything he describes and he paints a picture so clearly with his words. I can vividly imagine the glass fronted display cases, the benches lining the windows with cushy stools beneath them. I can see the beautiful cakes, frosted with his careful artist's hands, and almost smell the cinnamon and raisin loaf baking in the ovens.

Watching him speak with such passion, I feel joy ripple through me. He is truly back now. He is filled so full with hope for the future that we will share together that it spills over and into me. Finally, our future seems certain, and for the first time I allow myself to believe in it.

Just yesterday, I was so afraid that he would never break his silence. I thought it was something else that the Capitol had senselessly ripped from him - from us - but now...here he is. He stands before me; his cheeks pink, his golden hair glistening in the sunlight and his eyes bright with excitement as he fills the air with his words. As he fills our future with his joy.

He has never looked so beautiful.