Hi again :) Here's Chapter 3. I hope you guys like it. And sorry for the semi-cliffhanger ;). Also, thank you to the people who reviewed and followed! You guys really make my day. Enjoy and tell me your thoughts!

I don't know what to say. Peeta has been gone for so long, so distant, but now, he holds my frail hand in his strong, warm one as I lead him upstairs and finally let myself completely break down. It reminds me of our first Games together in the cave when he felt so close to me physically and emotionally after his gruesome leg wound healed and he held me in my sleep. I feel that way again as I lay there, soaking his shirt with tears and clutching him so tight my knuckles turn white. He radiates warmth and steadiness and the promise that everything's going to be okay. And I don't know how he does it. I know he must be ripped on the inside right now, struggling to keep it together, but his face portrays nothing but concern for me. I wish more than anything I could do what he's done for me over and over again. I wish I could be the strong one and comfort him; especially because I know he suffered so much and still suffers now. He's never told me how bad he's doing, what goes through his mind at night when although we both pretended to be fine, we both lied awake, paralyzed by our own minds. All I know is that he can't be completely fine. Although my friendship with Peeta has made me feel so thankful to still have someone, I can't call myself anywhere close to healed. There are still many more bad days than good and I still am deathly afraid of letting anyone in, loving when all the people from my old life that I loved died and slipped through the cracks. I don't know how Peeta feels about me, but I know we're friends, and that I need him here. So I don't think about anything else but our bodies entangled, his face pressed against my collarbone and buried in my hair, my hands wrapped around his neck. I can't ignore the goose bumps on my skin and the fire that seems to fester and crackle in the limited space between us. The still air of my bedroom magnifies everything; even though I'm still sniffling, I feel that hunger, so foreign yet so familiar, rise up in the pit of my stomach and clench my muscles. I don't know what it means and I'm so tired, so confused, too beaten down to make sense of it all. It's so hard to think about complicated things like Peeta and I's relationship. It's much easier to just feel, let his sincere and comforting words sink into my brain, soak into my heart.

When I have finally calmed down, I can see the relief in Peeta's eyes. But it still doesn't cloud the look of pure sadness on his face. In the dark, his face looks so heartbreaking that I finally find the words and whisper them, breathing life into this cramped, stale room that holds so many caged memories.

"I'm okay," I tell him, stroking his forehead with my fingers. "Don't worry about me." I feel so guilty that I have sat here, crying and benefiting from his kindness and friendship, while he battles his demons all by himself.

He is slightly trembling, and abruptly he looks so much younger, an innocent and terrified boy troubled from a terrible nightmare that is sadly a gruesome reality. I hate everything in this meddling world that has ever done anything to Peeta, my boy with the bread, to make him wear this expression. I automatically crush myself closer.

"Peeta," I whisper, my lips against his ear. "Tell me…. about it. If- if you want to. What are your nightmares about?"

His teeth automatically clench, and I'm worried I've said something wrong until he mumbles through strained lips, "You don't want to know, Katniss." He says it with no menace, just utter defeat, which makes it even worse. The moonlight slanting in from my window illuminates his face, and I think I see a single tear glinting on his cheek in the moonlight. My heart, dormant and empty so long of any real emotion besides grief, pangs with a complete new sense of heartbreak, disconnected from my sister and my old life. It's completely connected to Peeta.

"I do, though," I breathe. "I want to help you, Peeta. I want to know everything. I can take it."

He sighs and when those bright blue eyes lock with mine, I can see the internal war he's waging. He shifts in my bed and sits up, rubbing his forehead slowly. Finally, his shoulders bow forward and he begins in a barely audible rasp, his breath coming slow as he struggles to form words for the first time in a long time.

"I—I have flashbacks, Katniss. Of you. But they aren't good. I have dreams about my memories, but not the real ones. The confusing, scary memories the Capitol left with me. Every night, I see you, and I want to reach out to you, but my mind won't let me. I—I just can't seem to stop myself from hating you in those dreams. When I finally wake up, it takes me a few minutes to realize that it wasn't real and that you're here, safe, and that the Capitol's gone. And those few minutes, when I think I've lost me, lost you, those are the scariest for me. It's only a bit better when I finally realize that it's a dream. The flashbacks, they make me feel scared. Like I'm not myself or something. Like I'm just another-" he sucks in a sharp breath, "mutt of the Capitol."

He buries his face in his hands as I sit upright next to him. I'm not sure if I should touch him or if that will only makes thing worse. Finally I decide to just pat soothing circles on his back, leaving his hands pressed to his face. I shudder at the thought of his clouded, shiny memories of aching to kill me swirling in his unconscious dreams, but I hold myself together. I owe him this. I need to be strong. And even though I can never fully repay him in my lifetime for all that he's done, at least this is a start.

"It's okay, Peeta," I murmur, scooting closer to him and resting my head on his shoulder. "They aren't real."

"I know," he mumbles, face still in his hands. "I just—before we became friends again, it was so much worse. Now that I have you here and I can see you and touch you and know you're okay, it's a bit better."

I sit in silence for a few moments, processing his words. It makes me feel warm in an unexpected way to realize that before he came to find me that night, he still thought of me up in his bed as the nightmares threatened him. He's always been thinking of me, even then. I'm not sure if that should make me feel cared for or extremely guilty. I think it's a mixture of the two.

"Peeta…" I whisper, folding into his chest and gently moving his head out of his hands. "Don't worry about me, like I said. I'm here." And with his heart beat against my ear, thudding steady and reassuringly, I remind myself that he's here too.

At my touch, he relaxes his face nuzzling into my shoulder as I wrap my arms around his waist. This moment feels so right that I savor it, thinking of nothing else. Just me and Peeta. And despite all the obstacles that I have burdened and overcome to reach this point, I don't understand why I never realized sooner that it really has always been this way. Just me and him, no one else. Us two, fighting to somehow stay sane and keep the other one alive.

v

Our arrangement becomes one of routine. Every day, Peeta bakes and I go out into the woods, sometimes hunting. Greasy Sae doesn't arrive until dinner, sometimes with a slightly sober (or on bad days a very drunken) Haymitch in tow. She brings berries and Haymitch brings his sarcastic wittiness that even though sometimes rude, makes me feel more at home. Then, after they leave and Peeta opens the windows to let the summer breeze permeate the house and cool it down, he stays in my bed with me so that we both sleep free of nightmares. Although he doesn't sleep in his own home, I know he stops by it in the morning to change his clothes before heading to the new bakery in town. I always watch him from my window after he leaves, pleased when he wears a slight smile, and concerned when he seems to be having a particularly rough day. And honestly, I'm impressed that some mornings he can always muster a smile, even if the bad memories hit him after he walks out the house for the day. It takes me a great deal to find something funny enough to smile about, and on the rare occasion when I do, Peeta stares at me, smiling so widely it looks almost comical. Although we are both still broken, with time, we are healing. Peeta is much better at putting a brave face on and smiling through it all, whereas some days I still look stricken with loss. I know it kills Peeta to leave me on those days when an empty grief fills my eyes, but I force him out the door. Baking helps him, just like being in the woods helps me, so I will be the last person to keep him from it, even though he insists differently.

We are friends, but nothing more happens. We don't talk about how he feels about me, even though I idly wonder at night when he falls asleep before me if he still loves me the way he once did. I wouldn't blame him if he didn't, but the thought still gets my heart racing for some reason. Instead, we talk in muted whispers about the pain of watching Prim, strong little Prim, die before my eyes, my mother who still buries her grief in her work, and my father, the songs he would sing to the mockingjays and the things he would say to Peeta when he came to trade at the bakery. We talk about Peeta's memories. He still needs clarification on certain small ones. The material of our outfits in the first arena, the colors he mixed together to find sunlight on white fur, the first meal we ate on the train to the Capitol. The little things he has forgotten he still desperately wants to remember, so I help him. We talk about Peeta's family too. His older brothers, his loving father who gave me cookies the day of the reaping, and even his mother, who although cold-hearted and callous, "actually had a heart, believe it or not", according to Peeta. We don't think much of our sleeping situation, but Greasy Sae and Haymitch quickly catch on. One bright, summer morning, after Peeta has left for the bakery, I am slipping into my father's worn yet comforting and musky hunting jacket when Haymitch barges in, reeking of liquor. The sight of his hair falling into his eyes and his unbalanced stumble almost makes me laugh, which is a hard feat to accomplish.

"Mornin', sweetheart. Saw that boy leave your house. What the hell are you doing with him at night?" He sneers in a way that implies something more, and I automatically turn defensive.

"Take a bath, Haymitch," I toss at him, repeating the same thing I said the day the Victory Tour started.

He cackles and picks a bagel from the bakery off the counter before turning to leave. Just before he reaches the door, his eyes turn soft for one moment, even in his drunken state. "I'm glad, sweetheart."

His voice sounds sincere yet gruff; he's clearly embarrassed to be saying this. So to make his statement seem a little lighter, he calls out as he's leaving, "Don't worry, sweetheart! Effie would be lovin' it! Come to think of it, I can't wait to write Johanna and tell her what my neighbors are up to!" He guffaws, stepping out of my house and tripping down the porch stairs. I roll my eyes and smile, actually smile for the first time in weeks, at the thought of Effie's shocked face absorbing the news of what to her would seem a totally inappropriate situation. My light-hearted humor turns darker though as I remember Effie is changed, altered drastically from the organized, high-fashion Capitol escort I knew that wore pink wigs and golden eyelashes what feels like a lifetime ago. I only hope she can still think of me and Peeta with fondness. I know her opinion shouldn't matter, but it does somehow. Maybe it's because I've been through so much with her by my side. Or maybe it's just because I really don't want to lose one more person.

Either way, my mind is soon occupied with things other than Effie when I realize it has been half a year since I returned from the Capitol and the war, leaving my Mockingjay persona behind. In a strange way, even though no one was gladder to see me stripped of the attention-grabbing title than I myself, I mourn those people who my world used to revolve around. Annie, Johanna, Effie, even my crazy, pet-like prep team. But then again, there are always those people who are harder to think about, the ones who I can't see anymore, who used to mean so much to me. Finnick, my father, my old squad, Boggs, Rue, and… Prim. Just thinking her name makes my heart sting, eyes well with tears. See the fire of those parachutes, hear her desperate, silent cry, taste the ashes on my burnt tongue…

I shake my head, trying to steer my mind back to happier memories of my loved ones instead of the painful bits, like Dr. Aurelius suggested a few weeks ago. I am thoroughly surprised when one of his ideas as a coping mechanism has meaning for me again. As I think this, I resolve to write letters to the people that I still can talk to, people who know the worst and best parts of me.

I start with Johanna.

Johanna, I write, my hand shaking as I imagine her far off in District 7, rebuilding a life. I hope she's happy, but I know better than to think that things have fixed themselves that quickly.

It's me, Brainless. I wanted to write to see how you were. Crazy to think that after all of this we've somehow learned to care for each other, right? I can imagine it's hard, only because I'm going through the same thing. I'm sure Peeta says hi too. He's not here right now but I know he would probably love to talk to you. I'm still a little rocky, like he is, but we both somehow manage to make it through each day. How are you, really? And since it's you and me, I know you'll tell me the truth. I just want to hear from someone who really understands. I hope I can see you someday, because believe it or not, I miss you. Write back whenever you feel like it. Which might be never, but whatever. And because it's me, I'm not going to get mushy with words and details.. That's Peeta's thing. Just write whenever. Please.

Katniss

I laugh as I imagine her response, her smirk as she sees the old nickname appear in the first line. I hope she realizes I mean it when I say I miss her, because I really do.

Just as I'm sealing the envelope, Peeta walks in, his shirt thoroughly caked with flour and his hands red from scrubbing various ingredients off. He smiles when he sees me up and moving, and then reminds me he'll be back after he changes for dinner, even though it is routine by now and I expect him. Nevertheless, every night he reminds me he's coming back.

We have a quiet dinner with only Peeta, Greasy Sae, and me. Haymitch is probably too drunk to come over, but that is fine with me for tonight. The quiet is peaceful, reflective of my mood. When Greasy Sae leaves, I tell Peeta I am tired and we immediately head up to bed, wrapped in each other's embrace. After a while of lying there listlessly though, I realize I am restless.

Peeta's breathing hasn't relaxed into a steady rhythm yet, so I know he's awake. I whisper his name softly in the dark.

He turns to look at me, blue eyes glowing against the black. "Yeah?"

"Did you see the letter I wrote Johanna today?"

His eyes widen. "No, but that's great." He squeezes my shoulder supportively.

"Well, I was thinking about her, and the others. Effie, and Annie, with her baby Finnick. Do you think we'll ever see them again?"

"I'm sure we will, Katniss," Peeta reassures me. "They're like family."

"Okay," I mumble, satisfied with his answer. I can only hope he's right. I start to drift off until I feel Peeta's stare boring into my face and open my eyes tentatively to find his face inches away, his eyes enlightened with excitement.

"What?" I say, confused yet exhilarated at the same time. He's so close to me I can feel his warm breath on my face.

He smiles at my question but I can see that his face is serious. "Katniss, have you ever realized that not one part of our relationship has ever been normal?"

I laugh a little. "I remember you saying that. The day we started working in my father's book." My voice has turned a little grimmer by the end, remembering the words I had said to Peeta then silently that had needed no vocal expression. My rejection of him, my choice of Gale and the rebellion… I flinch, but he continues.

"How about we do something normal together? Tomorrow? I can skip the bakery, and we can do something fun." The word 'fun' sounds completely foreign.

"Fun?" I ask skeptically, my tongue lolling around the strange word.

He chuckles. "Yes. Fun. That's what friends do, remember? They have fun together."

"Okay," I say, willing enough. I'm trying to think of what we could possibly do for fun in District 12 when abruptly a place pops into my head. I almost smile at the thought. "I know where we can go."

Peeta's face lights up at my effort, and his bright eyes, alive with curiosity, melt my insides. And in that moment, I vow to do anything to see him that happy every single day.

"Where?" he asks, his voice curling with anticipation.

"Nope," I answer, shaking my head. "It's a surprise."

Peeta's eyebrows raise but then he just chuckles. "All right, Katniss. Impress me," he teases, ruffling my hair lightly. I roll my eyes.

Peeta laughs and rolls over, only to slightly shift his position when I cuddle into his back, longing for his warmth and that steady safety he brings. Within minutes, I'm asleep.

v

The next morning I wake up with Peeta's arms wrapped around me tightly. My arms are around his waist and my head is buried in his chest. He is everywhere, his warmth, that smell of cinnamon and dill…

I feel so utterly relaxed I can't imagine ever moving. His face looks so peaceful in sleep that I can barely remember he is the broken boy with the hazy flashbacks. I only see love and kindness and warmth and… goodness. Even after all he's been through, he's still truly good. Suddenly, without even thinking about it, I find myself longing for him. In what way, I don't know. I just want to wrap him up and make him happy. I want to see him smile and see him laugh. I just want my Peeta, who by some miracle, is still here with me right now. He has not been taken by the flashbacks. He is still mine.

Unthinkingly, I move my hand to his face to run my fingers across the smooth line of his cheekbone, the firm square of his jaw, the soft and tender shape of his lips. He's so warm it makes my insides feel spongy, and I instinctively lean closer. He stirs at my movement and I quickly put my hand down to twine it back around his waist. He smiles in his sleep and loosens his hold on me as he stretches himself awake. His bright blue eyes are radiant against the morning sunlight streaming in through the window, and he smiles at me. I can't help but smile in return.

"So where are we going?" he asks, his voice husky with sleep.

I smile, remembering our conversation last night and my idea. "You'll see." I twist out of his arms and rise, brushing through my hair with my fingers. Peeta's watching me, his eyes trained on my face. I stick out my tongue at him.

"What?" I demand.

He chuckles slightly. "Nothing," he mutters, shaking his head.

In the next hour, both Peeta and I have gotten dressed and eaten breakfast, so I start packing the picnic basket. He raises his eyebrows.

"You'll see," I remind him, laughing a little.

We start walking, our fingers twined in mutual trust and friendship. As we walk through town, everybody gapes again. I blush and consider loosening my fingers before I realize that this should be over. I no longer have to hide how I feel or worry about what others think of my public appearance. I can do what I want. So I grasp his fingers even tighter, smiling in spite of myself.

We make it to the edge of the woods and Peeta's eyes still look muddled. I lead him and he's as loud as ever. I can't stop laughing when he continuously walks over branches and makes about five rabbits in the surrounding area scurry off. The woods are so alive today, so vibrant, and they seem to absorb my happy mood. Today is one of rare good days, and I don't intend wasting it. It's only when we are a few minutes away that the nervousness sets in. Not because of Peeta, but because of what I'm about to share with him. For years, this has been my sanctuary, free of the world and a place for just my father and me. I've never felt so vulnerable, so open. Can I do this? Show him this part of me and let him in?

When I look over at his bright blue eyes, I find my answer.

They soak up my happiness and bask in it. A smile lights his face the entire time we walk, and I realize how much I trust him. I've trusted him with my life before, and so today, I think I can trust him with this delicate part of my heart.

I push through the last of the brush, taking a deep breath, and focus on nothing but Peeta's face as he absorbs my tiny safe haven. The lake.

His eyes widen and he glances over at me, awestruck. He steps farther into the little clearing and looks around, breathing in the bright blue sky and summer air swirling the glistening lake water in the gentle breeze. It is a perfect day. I close my eyes and do the same when his arms around me, clutching me close. I smile and wrap my arms around his neck, returning the embrace.

When he mumbles into my hair, it sounds as if he is near tears. "Thank you, Katniss."

"Mmmm…" is all I say.

I don't know how, but somehow he knows this place is more than just a random rendezvous I once found. He knows it's special to me, and that just enforces in my head and my heart how well he truly knows who I am. So I sit in the grass and lay back, mesmerized by the swaying trees and Peeta's eyes, alight with curiosity and a contagious glow. I haven't been this happy in such a long time that I savor it, let my head lean on Peeta's shoulder. Eventually, we eat our lunch, talking about that day on the roof when we had this same picnic. We talk about happy memories, though, never anything dark. The sky summer day dances around us, but all I can focus on is him. His laugh, his smile, his very presence… it captures me.

A little while later, we sit at the edge of the lake with our feet dipped in. Peeta's fingers are twined with mine, and he sits back, relaxing. Suddenly, I realize something.

'You don't know how to swim, do you?" I ask.

Peeta looks over at me with a smirk. "No. I never had the chance to learn. My father wasn't as much of a survivalist as yours."

"True," I say. "But that is just sad. I mean, you don't know how to swim, even after knowing me for almost three years. It doesn't seem right. I think I've failed as a friend."

He chuckles while still checking to make sure I'm serious. "You want to teach me how to swim?"

"I do," I say with conviction. "Now stand up."

"Katniss, I don't know…" his blue eyes look unsure. "You don't have to-"

I cut him off. "I want to."

He raises his eyebrows apprehensively but listens to me, heaving himself up on his good leg and brushing off his pants. "All right," he says determinedly. "Let's go."

I wade into the water, him right behind me, until it's too deep to stand any longer. "All right," I begin, "Now kick your legs like this." I show him the proper motions and he mimics them, struggling with his prosthetic leg. We both laugh when he flails around and loses his balance, having to clutch me. I support his weight easily in the water, but I can't stop laughing. He smirks, and even though I can tell he wants to scowl, he doesn't. He closes his eyes and listens to my buoyant laugh pierce the air around us. I know what he's thinking: I haven't laughed like that in such a long time.

To distract him, I take my hand and skid the water, splashing him in the face. His eyes open shock, and then he swims towards me in disbelief before splashing me. We swim around the lake, splashing each other and laughing so hard my stomach hurts. Eventually, Peeta's leg gives out and I have to tow him back to shore, his arm clutching mine.

We collapse on the strip of sand that circles the perimeter of the lake, and I'm laughing so hard I can barely breathe. I haul him up off the sand and when he loses his footing, we both fall, him on top of me. His warmth presses down on me from all sides, but it doesn't feel unwelcome. It feels good, actually.

Once I process this thought, that's all I'm aware of. His gentle laugh as he heaves himself off of me, how cold my body feels without him, how close I feel to him, how his lips are moving in perfect synchronization as he breathes through them. His wet hair, dripping down his back… To make things even more distracting, he has to peel off his wet shirt since his slippery hands won't position his prosthetic. His muscular arms flex as he moves, and I stare at the contours of him, wondering what I'm doing. I've seen Peeta like this so many times, in the arena, in sleep, almost every day for these past few years I've actually known him personally, not just known of him. I have seen his face, memorized those blue irises, and relished his ever-present scent that no one else I know inhabits the same way he does. Why am I just now being affected by it? Why can't I take my eyes off his as he gazes into mine, echoing every thought I've just conjured up in this past minute? Why do I want to lean closer, and put my hands on his shoulders? Why do I want to run my fingers through his hair, hear his lips whisper my name…?

Peeta finally breaks me out of my endless reverie by clearing his throat. I know he's felt it too. His eyes are gentle and soft, penetrating mine with an unfair force. I sit up a little straighter and comb my hair with my fingers.

"Are you ready to go?" he asks gently, pushing himself up and reaching his hand out.

"Yeah, I am," I concede. I haven't even noticed the sky has begun to darken, the fireflies awakening. He helps me up, and I feel fire in my hand. Suddenly, his touch feels radioactive. Intensified by the dark and his protective hand on the small of my back as we walk, he feels so close it's staggering. My mind is focused on the feeling of his hands against my skin, on my back. I try to shake my head to clear it, feeling stupid for being so preoccupied, but it doesn't help. Only when we reach town and people start to notice my dazed eyes boring into Peeta's do we straighten up and loosen our grasp on each other, only keeping our hands tangled. For some reason completely foreign and unknown to me, I don't like that we have to pull away.

When we reach my house, we amble inside and both take showers before just curling up on the couch. His arms feel so warm, that fire settling down into a simmer. I relax, resting my head against his chest and letting sleep take me. For the first time in such a long time, I don't think I will have nightmares tonight.

v

I'm wrong. The next thing I know I am awake, now in my bed, my palms freezing and head spinning. Where is Peeta? I grope the sheets until I find his warm body and curl into it. He stirs at my movement and rolls over to welcome me into his arms. He must realize the terror in my eyes because he sits up and scoots closer, rubbing my back and wrapping his arms around me so gently I begin to cry.

I remember my dream in sharp, aching detail…

Peeta was there. And so was Gale. I looked head on at those blue, gentle, loving eyes and told Peeta I didn't want him. I saw myself reject him and choose the rebellion. I saw him tortured for defending me, even when I pushed him away and used him so many nights I needed comfort without ever giving him any. I saw the past two years flash through my head, but for the first time, they aren't horrible memories of Prim or the arenas or my impending doom. They are memories of the heartbreak I caused Peeta, and now I want nothing more than to give what he wants.

I feel sick with myself, because even after everything I have done to him, he still sits here, comforting me and murmuring kind words. My sob breaks as I manage to whisper, "Don't, Peeta."

His eyes stare into mine, a mix of shock and confusion and just a tiny bit of hurt on his face. Nevertheless, he pulls away; always ready to give me what I want. That makes it hurt even more. He thinks I don't want him, that his touch bothers me, when all I really I want is him. My Peeta, my boy with the bread, who understands me and protects me and knows who I am. He can't see that, and it kills me. He sits next to me, giving me my space, deciding that is what I want, that I will never want him. I don't know how he feels about me, and I don't know what I feel about him, so I cry harder.

'Katniss…" Peeta's voice is alarmed, shaking with nerves. "It's okay… whatever it was, it's over now."

"It's not though," I choke out through my tears. "It's not over. I've hurt you so much, and I can't ever take it back. I ingrained it into your head, made you believe it, made myself believe it. And after everything I've done to you, you still sit here, comforting me. I've hurt you Peeta. I've done nothing but bad to you…. And I'm—I'm sorry…"

Peeta interrupts my meaningless rambling. I see understanding light his eyes, but they still look a little muddled, as if he doesn't understand why I'm dreaming about him. Of course he doesn't. He almost looks a little mad too. "Katniss," he says defiantly, gently taking my chin and tilting it up so I have to stare at him, "I am fine. I am here. You haven't hurt me. Everything I've done and that's happened to me hasn't been because of you. You've done much more good than bad. I'm alive because of you; I'm free from the Capitol because of you… You mean everything to me," he says, and his voice is abruptly softer. The quiet of the room is stifling, and I'm entranced by what he's just said, bad dream forgotten. "You've always been there, Katniss. Even when I was little and my father talked about he loved your mother. When I saw you on the first day of school and every bird I saw outside that window stopped singing. On reaping day, when you walked up to that stage, so determined to keep it together, I admired you. I… I loved you even. All I could think was, 'Not her'. I've felt the same way ever since that first day when I threw you that bread. And I lost myself for awhile too. I hurt you when I was hijacked. You can't blame yourself Katniss. Just don't. It makes me feel so sad to see you this way… Don't beat yourself up over me, please…" his voice is just a whisper by the end, begging.

I'm crying, and I think he is too. I can't form the words I want to say, and I've never been good with words. All I know is he still loves me, still cares about, wants me to happy. And that's all I've ever needed. So instead of using words, I do the only thing I can think of to let him know how much what he's just said means to me.

I kiss him.