A/N: Okay, so I found some extra time to write. Here's an update for you guys. Hope it's better than the previous one.

After that day, I decide to spend the rest of my cursed life curled up in my blanket, trying to recreate the heat only he could bring, but failing every day. I don't eat. I don't move. Sae must think I'm dead. Everybody must think I'm dead. And that's good. Because in a way, I am.

I don't sleep either. When I do, they come. They're harder to deal with now. Now that he's gone. No one's there to tell me things are okay, because they aren't. What kept me sane during those nights was him. Only him.

My stomach rumbles from hunger, but I don't care. Death is a very welcome guest.

In fact, I'm just waiting for it.

Numbness has taken over my whole body, and though I wished for the pain to not be felt, I realize that feeling is better than not. At least when you feel—when you hurt, love, laugh, cry, shout—you feel alive.

The last time I felt alive was a week ago.

Sae finds me on a Wednesday, still on my bed drowning in my own misery, throat aching from the screams I let out before I woke. She forces me to eat some bread—bread for Christ's sake. When I refuse, she understands what has happened, giving me a hug as a form of consolation. She leaves me to attend to her granddaughter, Mia.

They come over every day, and it marks the beginning of a new routine, one that doesn't involve him. It's funny how I've divided my life into moments spent with and without him.

As we're eating our breakfast, it dawns on me that I became exactly like my mother—the version of her that I despised. This train of thought inevitably leads to him. For once, anger does not bubble up in me. Maybe I've accepted it, that we were, at some point, made for one another, but as life goes by, things change. Even those things you didn't want to.

I have accepted that.

All of the progress I've made on forgetting him vanishes when I see him walking towards his house, looking perfectly fine without me. He doesn't see me staring at him from my living room window. Resentment flows through every vein in me, and it terrifies me. Because for there to be so much hate, there should have been so much love first.

Today is another bad day.

A day without him.

I hate how weak he makes me. I hate how dependent I am on him. I hate how he made me feel so important, how he treated me like I'm the only person who matters in this world. I hate how he believed that so much he thought it's better for us to separate. I hate how even after he's played with my feelings, reached into my heart, tore it out and stepped on it—all of those because he loves me too much—I still love him.

A phone call with my mom didn't help. At all. It started off casually, asking about life and such, and stayed casual until she asked about him. I confide in her, having no one really left to turn to.

"We… separated, Mom."

"What? Why? When did this happen, dear?"

"He had a flashback and he hurt me a little, when he saw what he's done he got scared of what he might do in the future. He said it's better if he stayed away from me. I tried to convince him otherwise, but no luck."

"When was this?"

"Two months ago, I think. I lost count," I lie. It's exactly two months and four days since.

"Are you okay with this?"

"At first, I wasn't. But I'm moving on, Mom. I'm trying."

"I… don't think that's what's best for the both of you."

"You should tell that to him, not me." I jokingly reply.

"You know what, I should,' she says, then the line goes blank.

What?

I don't understand what it meant then it hits me. My eyes widen in fear. Holy shit. Without thinking it through, I dash out the front door and head straight for his house. The door's open so I let myself in, almost falling head first to the floor. "Peeta, whatever happens, do not answer your phone!" I yell. I whip my head around to see where he is, and turns out, he's right in front of me. And he's already holding the phone.

The atmosphere suddenly turns tense. We're standing so close to each other (compared to the previous months), yet he feels so far. He has his eyes on me, his jaw slack from what emotion, I don't know.

"Y-yeah, it's her," he says to the phone. I hear a muffled reply from the speaker. "Yes, I will. T-thank you, Mrs. Everdeen."

Do you know that feeling when you see something and then your emotions hit you all at once, confusing you, because they're so contradicting? You're delighted to see that person, but you're also angered at what they've done. Because they abandoned you and you hate yourself for even feeling happy when you see them again. And it's like you just want to run away and wallow in your tears but you don't want to let that moment with them to pass so you're just glued to your spot. Not moving. Just breathing and taking the sight of them in. You're so intoxicated by their presence you forget how to move your limbs. You forget how to listen, to speak. You just feel.

His mouth moves as he whispers something but in all the frenzy my brain is currently in, I don't hear it. He repeats it, and I think it's my name. He says it again, and I wonder when it ever sounded so beautiful.

"Yeah?"

"Um, d-do you want some uh, tea, maybe?"

What am I doing in here? And why is he offering me tea?

"Uh, no thanks," I decline. "I still need to fix up some stuff."

"I… made cheese buns."

"That's very tempting, but I really have to go." I really have to go before I embarrass myself by doing something crazy like hug you or tell you how much I miss you or kiss you.

"Oh, okay. See you around then."

I go back to my house, nothing that has happened in the past ten minutes of my life making sense.

We do see each other around since I start going out again. I hunt. He bakes. Haymitch still drinks. Every day I wake up with a loaf of bread sitting on my kitchen counter. Okay, so you leave me hanging then you're going to act like we're friends again?

I try not to be mad at him.

In return, I leave some of my haul on his doorstep, usually with a couple of leaves from the woods or an apple or acorn so he has something to paint. I know he started painting again because I once saw him walking through town with a smear of orange paint on the back of his forearm.

Months pass, and it's like we're rebuilding whatever we had again. This infuriates me because we were doing so well, our life was so normal. Until life decides to remind us that no, we aren't destined to be normal.

Sometimes I wish we were never reaped for the Games. There is a very high possibility of Peeta never getting hijacked. But I'm also troubled of this scenario—of not being tributes—because I don't know if he would still have chosen me.

No, that isn't the problem, idiot.

The problem is I don't know if I would have loved him. When Gale asked, I told him that if it weren't for Peeta, I would never have been open to the idea of loving someone. I saw it solely as a weakness, an added part of you that the Capitol can use against yourself.

When I was with Peeta, I realized that though it is a weakness, it's worth it. Love is worth it. Seeing him at the end of each day, coming home to the feeling of his arms wrapped around me, his lips to make me feel that there is at least one person in the world who sees me as his world… it's so worth it.

So when Peeta starts leaving notes on my counter, saying things like 'This is a new recipe.' Or 'Nuts and raisins,' I do the same.

I'm going to risk it again. Nobody ever told us we can only try twice.

During the course of our note-leaving, he starts to ask questions. I answer them, and our simple notes turn into longer ones, until we have an ongoing conversation between the two of us.

'Hope you still like these.'

'Still do. My taste hasn't changed much, you know.'

'I think that's a great thing for me. Do you have other favorites? Just in case we get to a point you grow out of your love for cheese buns.'

'I do enjoy some blueberry muffins.'

'I don't have fresh blueberries, maybe something else? I'll keep that in mind though.'

The next day I pick enough blueberries to last him a month. I leave the pail on his doorstep beside two squirrels. 'Now, you do. Something else, huh? I don't know, maybe some of those crescent shaped rolls that I like?'

His note arrives with a basketful of muffins and the rolls I requested. 'I put some chocolate inside, you like them, right?'

'The half of the basket is gone. I'm starting to think I have more than enough appetite for bread. I saw a doe today, she looked so at peace.'

'We were made to be neighbors. Well, I burnt myself yesterday. Hahaha. Even with practice, accidents still happen.'

'We weren't made to be fucking neighbors, Peeta. You're supposed to be living under the same roof with me!'

'I left some ointment here, and some cream to help with the scar. I still have much.'

'I ran out already. How in the world do you still have much? Are you applying them regularly like we're supposed to?'

I don't write a note in reply.

'I think the wind blew your note away before I got it inside. Anyway, any request for tomorrow?'

'I miss cinnamon. I watched the sunset on my way back again today. It was lovely.'

'Cimnamon, it is. That's great. I miss the woods, unfortunately, I'm not brave enough to venture on my own.' This note comes with a loaf of cinnamon bread.

'Do you wanna go? I can take you next Wednesday.'

I realize what I just said, minutes later after I dropped the game. I go to check if it's still there, maybe I can take it back and write a new one. Peeking out my window, hoping he hasn't got it yet, I see that today, I'm in luck. But before I can move from my spot from the small window in my kitchen, I watch as he emerges from his house, reads the note, and smiles.

We still leave notes after that, each day closer to Wednesday. Tuesday morning his note says, 'Are we pushing through with the trip? I'm okay with not going if you've changed your mind.'

I tell him yes, my decision mainly influenced by the fact that I don't want to let him down again. Besides, he looked happy when I offered.

Also partly because I miss him.

Tuesday evening I ask my mom if she ever got into a fight with dad, before they were married and even when they already were. Fights and misunderstandings are normal, she said. But that's not what matters. What's important is how the both of you work together to get through that argument. It shouldn't come between the two of you, especially if you feel and know that the other person is the best thing that has happened to you. You don't give up on the people you love, even when they do. You have to fight for it, to keep whatever you have alive, because once it dies, a part of you is going to die with it. It's unavoidable. In my case, I have very little left to let die.

I tell her about our trip tomorrow, and she makes me promise I won't chicken out. I think my mom fully supports the idea of me being with him. She says it's because she can't be here with me, to take care of me, and Peeta's the only person she trusts and is certain can look after me. And the only person who loves me with his whole self.

I don't doubt her.

The sun shines, and with this day comes a nightmare. My eyes are puffy from crying, leaving me no choice but to face him looking like a mess. I find that he has already left me a note downstairs. It says, 'Just ring me up if you change your mind. Otherwise knock on my door if we're good to go. Thanks. :)'

I shower and dress with today in mind. I pack a small bag with a blanket and some bottles of water. Braiding my hair, I talk myself through going on with this trip. I must look crazy doing this. Doesn't matter, I've been branded mentally unstable before and had a tag to show for it.

Taking a deep breath, I walk slowly out of my house and cross the road, my feet taking me to his doorstep. At the last minute, my head screams at me to run back, to leave him a note here to cancel the trip.I don't listen to it. Willing myself to find my confidence again, I knock on the door—once, twice—and prepare myself for the seemingly long and tense day ahead.

A/N: I know it's inconsistent, it's supposed to be like that. I'll explain stuff the next time I update, don't worry.