DISCLAIMER: All of the characters, plots, places, and everything else Hunger Games-related belongs to Suzanne Collins. I own none of it, and I am in no way associated with the Hunger Games franchise. No copyright infringement intended.

Peeta

I heard the timer beeping, signaling that the bread was done. After slipping on a pair of oven mitts, I pulled out the two loaves. I stood there for a moment, inhaling the sweet aroma. Other than painting, baking was one of the only things that brought me pleasure.

There was little else to do. I didn't have to go to school anymore or work in the bakery. It was every kid's dream come true, in theory. However, it wasn't a dream come true to me. Without school or work, I was left with too much time to think.

Katniss hadn't been back to see me yet, but I believed her when she said she would. I don't know why I believed her. I still didn't know what to make of our… friendship. That's what she had called it. However, I had my doubts that the term "friends" accurately described our relationship. It was better than anything I could come up with though.

My musings were interrupted by a noise coming from the front of the house. It took me a minute to place it. When I finally did, my heart skipped a beat. I practically sprinted to the door, leaving the cooling bread sitting in the kitchen. When I opened it, though, Katniss was not standing there.

"What's with the look? Were you expecting someone else?" Haymitch smirked.

I was, even though I shouldn't have been. Haymitch always came over on Saturday mornings. It was the only sober interaction we had. I think he still felt obligated to check on me, even though he technically wasn't my mentor anymore. I had to admit I enjoyed the company, even if it was mostly small talk. Still, my disappointment must have been obvious.

"Hello, Haymitch. Of course not, who else would it be?"

He gave me a questioning look, letting me know that he didn't buy my innocent response. I took a step back to let him in.

"What are you baking?"

"Just finished two loaves of bread. You can take one with you when you leave."

"You have no idea how much I love having a neighbor who can cook."

We both took our usual places in the living room, me in the recliner and Haymitch on the smaller couch. I thought about what Haymitch had said. It wasn't the first time he had joked about finally having a good neighbor. What I hadn't realized before, though, was that I was the only neighbor he had ever had. At least since he won the Hunger Games at age sixteen. I tried to imagine what his life had been like up until this point. Alone, living with guilt for those who were killed by his hand, fighting off nightmares every night, mentoring two new kids every year who he knew would most likely die… Most of it wasn't hard to imagine, because it was my life too. But knowing that he was completely alone? The thought made me shudder. I suddenly found it easy to understand why he stayed drunk.

Before I could stop myself, I asked, "How do you do it, Haymitch?"

"Do what?"

"How have you kept living all these years?"

He looked at me with a serious and almost sympathetic look I had never seen him wear. The way he was staring at me reminded me of the way my father used to look at me when I asked him a difficult question.

Almost as quickly as I had picked up on the emotion his face displayed, he returned back to his sarcastic self. He gruffly said, "No one ever really survives the Games, do they? I turned to alcohol to keep going. In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best decision I could have made."

"Probably not, but at least you have a way to escape everything." I mumbled.

His voice became serious. "Alcohol doesn't let me escape from anything, Peeta. It only makes everything worse. The guilt, the anger, the nightmares… they are only amplified with every bottle I drink."

"Then why do you do it?"

He sighed, "Because I don't know how to live any other way."

I didn't know how to respond. I felt the instinct to comfort him, to try and make it better. But I knew nothing would make it better. Was this the life I was destined to live too?

When Haymitch spoke again, it was as if he had read my thoughts. "You don't have to end up like me, Peeta."

I didn't respond, so he continued. "I don't know what it is, but there's something about you that is just… good. I could see it the first time I met you. Resigning yourself to a life alone just isn't who you are. Even though you've been dealt a crappy hand, you don't have to give up on life."

I couldn't believe what he was saying. Maybe the person he was describing had existed before, but I didn't know who I was anymore.

"Just promise me that you will try. Find a reason not to give up because your life doesn't have to be over."

Even though I was skeptical, I wanted to believe Haymitch. The thought of something more than my current state waiting for me up ahead was enough to make me want it badly. So I said, "I promise."

When someone knocked on the door again, Haymitch got up and answered it. I peeked around him to see Katniss standing there. She smiled when she saw me. Haymitch patted me on the shoulder before picking up the loaf of bread I promised him and leaving. I stepped aside for Katniss to come in and shut the door behind her. When I turned around, I couldn't help but be in awe of her. The dark braid hanging down her back, her olive colored skin. Those were the traits that marked her as a Seam kid, but something about her demeanor made them all her own. She was beautiful, not in the flashy Capitol way, but in a real way.

"What?"

I realized I had been staring. Instead of being embarrassed, however, there was a warm sensation in my chest. I smiled. Maybe there was a reason to keep going after all.

Katniss

It had been two weeks since my last visit. I felt bad for not coming back sooner, but the only real chance I had was on the weekend. Last weekend, my mother and Prim had been unusually overwhelmed with patients. As soon as I got back from hunting, I had spent the rest of the day tending to the other chores.

Of course, there was also the fact that Peeta had asked about the one thing I did not want to talk about: the day in the bakery. I know it wasn't fair to ignore his questions when he was so open with me, but I didn't want to talk about it. When I thought about what happened just two years ago, the only thing I could feel was resentment. That's not what I wanted to feel toward Peeta. Not when he was so hurt. No, hurt would have been better. He was despondent. He paused awkwardly when he spoke, and I don't think he even noticed how much he stuttered. It wasn't until I cut him off that I saw any kind of real emotion, and then he was angry.

Just in the two weeks since I had seen him last, however, there was a remarkable change in his disposition. He let me in without saying a word. When I turned around to face him, he was looking at me and smiling. It confused me, so I asked, "What?"

He just shrugged and walked into the kitchen. "I just finished baking some bread. Would you like some?"

Normally I would have refused when someone offered me something that I couldn't repay, but something about his warm mood made me feel lighter too.

I said, "Yes, I would."

I sat down at the wooden table and ran my fingers across the surface. It was not rough or dark like our table that my father had built. It was smooth and polished. Everything about his new house was much more elegant than anything else in our district.

I brought my attention back to Peeta as he sat a large piece of bread in front of me. Suddenly, I was taken back to the eleven-year-old boy who had saved my life by doing the very same thing: giving me bread. It was then that I realized why I was here with him, even though I hadn't been able to explain it to myself before. I wanted to save the broken boy in front of me, just like he had saved me. Not only did I want to, I owed it to him.

I didn't know how to go about helping him, but being his friend seemed to be a good place to start. I noticed him picking at his bread absentmindedly, so I tried to bring him back into the present.

"I noticed Haymitch was here. He wasn't causing you too much trouble, was he?"

He grinned at my lame attempt at a joke. "Not at all. For someone who stays drunk most of the time, he's actually a really great guy."

I raised my eyebrows. He could see the skepticism in my look.

"People aren't always what you think, Katniss. He's not too bad to have around."

I highly doubted that Haymitch was a model neighbor, but Peeta had a way of seeing the best in people. I still didn't know what he saw in me, for instance. But the thought of Peeta being here alone with only Haymitch to talk to was disturbing.

"What do you do around here?"

"I bake and paint and…" his sentence trailed off.

He really needed to get out of the house. Being trapped inside all the time couldn't have been helping him. Suddenly I had an idea. "Come with me, Peeta!"

He looked startled by my enthusiasm. "Wh-where are we going?"

I smiled, already walking to the door. "It's a surprise!"

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