Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.

We get used to being together. I hunt alone, and Peeta bakes in the mornings, but other than that he's almost always at my house. We devote pages of the memory book to everyone who we miss. Whenever I wake up screaming, from nightmares about mutts or the ones we've lost, his arms are there to comfort me. They find their way around me a lot during our days together, too.

This morning, something is different. At first I can't put my finger on what it is. I'm aware of Peeta's chest beneath my head, and his warm embrace, as I slowly regain consciousness. I realize that I actually feel good and that's when it hits me. I'm not waking up from a nightmare or with the memory of one. I try to think. Is it possible that there were no nightmares last night? I can't remember any.

I unintentionally start to shift around and stretch a little. I haven't felt this well rested in a long time. I slowly open my eyes and blink a couple of times while they adjust to the daylight in the room. I feel Peeta's hand move from my shoulder up to the crown of my head and know he's woken now, too. I lift my head and look into his heavy-lidded blue eyes. He smiles and I lean in closer, hiding my face against his neck. His arms move to my waist and tighten when I shift so that I'm lying on top of him.

"Good morning," he says softly. I can feel his lips against my hair.

"Good morning," I whisper. I'm so glad he's here. He's helped me get a good night's sleep and now… I'd forgotten it was possible to feel this good. His warm hands are traveling up and down my back and into my hair and I don't ever want this moment to end. I'm reminded of that morning when I woke up in the Quell, with a delicious feeling of happiness, after our night of kissing on the beach. Only this is better, because I'm not planning to die and he's here with me. I want to hold on to this feeling as long as I can. I know it will fade and be replaced by the sorrow that never goes away for long, but I'm trying to be happy. I'm trying to focus only on Peeta.

"Will you always stay?" I ask quietly.

"As long as you'll have me," he says, giving my waist a squeeze. His response makes me smile, and softly press my lips to his cheek.

We stay like this until we hear Sae clattering around downstairs in the kitchen. That's when Peeta gently rolls us over and pulls away from me. He gives me a final kiss on the forehead and then walks to the door. "Wait," I say impulsively, disappointed at the sudden lack of contact with him.

He turns back and smiles. "I'm just going to take a shower, I'll see you downstairs." It must be obvious that I'm not consoled by this, because he adds, "We'll come back here tonight."

I bite my lip and realize he's right. We can hardly stay in bed all day, much as I want to. I'm afraid that if I leave this room I'll start to feel sad again, but I have to accept that. In fact, the sadness is returning already. I nod, and then he leaves. I grab some clean clothes and head to the downstairs bathroom. While I stand at the sink, brushing my teeth, I hear the water running above my head and realize that Peeta must be in the shower right now. For a second, I can't help picturing him, but I immediately feel foolish and try to banish such thoughts. It's not as if I even know what to picture, exactly. I've seen most of him, but…

I shake my head, to clear it, and then take a quick shower. It's nice, how easy washing my hair has become. I towel off, get dressed and then make my way to the kitchen, reaching it a few minutes before Peeta. Today, he sits in the chair next to mine and takes my hand. Somehow, this little gesture makes me feel good again. Not as carefree as I did when we first woke up, but not far off. When he looks at me, I return his smile. There's a nagging voice inside of me telling me that I have no reason or right to feel happy, but I'm doing my best to ignore it. I tell myself that, in this moment, nothing is wrong. My memories are what really plague me and memories aren't real. Not real the way Peeta is. The light in his eyes, the warmth of his hand. This is real.

At the end of breakfast I stand up, reluctantly pulling my hand away, collect our dishes and take them to the sink, where I start to wash them. Once I've placed one of the plates in the dish drainer, I realize that this is the first time I've done the dishes since we got back here. Sae did them at first, and then when Peeta started coming over for meals, he would do them, because I still couldn't be bothered to. I realize that I should be the one to do them, really. Peeta's my guest, and I'm sure if my mother were here she would remind me that letting one's guests clean up is impolite.

I actually make myself smirk at the thought of this. It seems like such a trivial thing to even consider. But, I remind myself, I can think of things like this now. I can have a relatively normal life again. I know the nightmares will return, but I'm going to have a good day today, at least.

I feel Peeta's hands on my waist, as I'm placing the second plate in the drainer, and I turn around into his arms. After a few seconds, we make our way into the living room, hand in hand, and then I get out the box of papers. I'm interested to see all the work we've done, so I lay the pages out on the coffee table. Peeta sits on the couch, glancing at each of the papers as I set them down. Everyone's here - Prim, my father, Peeta's family, Finnick, Cinna, Madge, Rue…

I sit down and let my eyes travel over the pages. Peeta's drawings are lovely and I'm happy with the things I've written about everyone. It will be even nicer when we've bound them together.

I remember in the kitchen just now, when I was so quick to tell myself that I have no right to feel happy. But where does feeling miserable get me? Everyone featured on these papers (with the exception of my father) is dead because of me, and of course I feel incredibly guilty. I can't help it, any more than I can help feeling sad so much of the time. But I also can't deny that it is useless to feel guilty. We all wanted a better life, a better world to live in and it's here, for now at least. I may as well try to let it make me happy; that was the whole point of the war. To get rid of the suffering and misery. I make a silent promise to everyone who Peeta has drawn, a promise to live a good life so that their deaths will count for something.

"Who's next?" Peeta asks, glancing at me with a smile.

I keep looking over the pictures. "I don't know," I say. "Maybe we could do something else today."

"What do you want to do?"

He's always asking me this, but today I have a new answer for him. "Whatever you want," I say, looking over and into his eyes.

He seems to think for a moment, then asks, "Do you want to watch the tapes of the Quell?"

I'm surprised that this is what he would say, and feel a little bad about not being able to agree to it. "Oh," I say, shifting my gaze away from him, "um, I guess I'm not ready for that yet." I do want to watch them at some point, but the Games footage was a lot to take in and I need a longer break before we watch more.

"That's fine," he says. Then there's silence and it drags on until I start to feel uncomfortable. Is he always so preoccupied with wanting to make me happy that he can't think of a single thing to say when asked what he wants? I try to think. We walked into town yesterday and I've already said that I don't want to watch the Quell tapes or work on the book. We both slept in later than usual, and I don't feel much like hunting at this time of day. There's one other thing to do, I suppose.

"I could watch you bake," I suggest.

Peeta smiles and takes one of my hands in his. "You won't get bored?"

I shake my head quickly. Of course I won't get bored. I never feel bored when I'm with Peeta. We talk plenty; about memories, my hunts, sometimes nothing in particular. But when we don't talk, I don't mind at all. Even if we're just sitting together silently, it's nice being with him.

"Great," he says, leaning in to kiss my cheek. I stack the papers up and put them away and then we walk over to Peeta's house. I sit on a stool at the kitchen counter, while he gets out the ingredients. I watch as he fills a bowl with water from the tap, after sticking his hand under the faucet and adjusting the temperature a couple of times.

"Does it matter what temperature the water is?" I ask, when he sets the bowl in front of me.

He nods, pushing the bowl toward me. "Feel."

I dab my index finger into the water and feel that it's warm, then push the bowl back toward Peeta. He quickly starts throwing things into it: flour, yeast, salt; without bothering to measure a thing. He lets it sit for a few minutes, then adds more flour and takes the dough from the bowl, setting it on the floured counter.

I expected that he would be able to throw bread together with his eyes closed, but can't help being surprised at how easy he makes it look, how precise and unwavering each of his actions are. "I guess you've done this before," I say

He smiles, kindly pretending to be amused by my attempt at a joke. "Since I could toddle."

I can't help picturing a little boy, with blond curls and big blue eyes, standing on a stool and squeezing some dough. It makes me smile.

"You can help anytime you feel like it," says Peeta.

I shift my gaze from his hands up to his face and see that he's still smiling. "I don't want to ruin it," I say.

"You won't."

I hesitate a little longer, then go to the sink and wash my hands before joining him on his side of the counter. He abruptly takes his hands off the dough ball and steps aside, making room for me. I search his face for…I don't know what. But all I see is an encouraging smile, so I reach down and softly start to squeeze at the dough. He made it look so easy but I can't help thinking I'm doing it wrong.

I feel Peeta's warm, floury hands on the backs of mine, guiding my squeezing motions and making them more firm. My confidence grows and he removes his hands. When the dough doesn't seem to be changing consistency anymore, I ask him, "Is it done?"

Peeta shrugs, still smiling. "It could use a couple more minutes, and you need the practice." I keep playing with the dough, trying to recreate what Peeta did with it. "Fun, right?" he asks.

"Sure," I say flatly. It's fun enough, and I'd meant for my reply to sound more sincere than it did. I don't want him to think I don't like being with him. I do. I am having fun, just because it seems like he is.

Peeta doesn't seem bothered by my apparent lack of sincerity. He gives me a kiss on the forehead, the leans back against the counter while I keep working on the dough. He glances down at it, then at me. "For a while, I thought this would never happen," he says.

I'm startled by his words, but I'm not exactly sure what it is about them that's so disconcerting. I know he's wanted to be with me for a long time, so of course he would have pictured what a life together might be like. And it only makes sense that this scene would feature in his imagined future for us. Maybe I feel sad that he had to spend so long thinking we'd never spend time together like this: willingly, contentedly. Maybe I'm startled by what his words imply. That we're really together now, in a way we've never been before.

"Me too" is all I can think of to say. Because for a while, he hated me.

He reaches out and takes the dough from me. I wash my hands at the sink and Peeta tells me that I can go the living room if I want, because we have to wait for the dough to rise now. I take a seat on the couch and he soon joins me. I can't help noticing the tapes sitting next to the television. Peeta told he that he watches them sometimes, and I wonder if he's watched the clip of us on the beach. Before I can second guess myself, I blurt out the words, "Do you remember that night on the beach, in the Quell? I mean, before…" the capture?

He stares down and a crease forms between his brows. "When we were sitting next to each other? I was watching the jungle and you were watching the water?"

"Right," I say. When his eyes raise to mine again, I look away and wonder why I brought this up.

"What about it?" he prompts.

"Oh," I say. I don't really know how to answer him, if he doesn't understand. "It's just…it was the last time…"

"The last time we kissed before the hijacking?"

Basically. I think I gave him one quick kiss right before Johanna and I left, but that hardly compared to those other kisses. I nod my head and press my lips together tightly.

"Katniss," he says, placing a hand under my chin.

I can feel his eyes boring into me. I take a deep breath and look into them.

Peeta smiles. "I wish I remembered it better."

"Maybe," I say, choosing my words carefully, "maybe you don't need to."

His eyes widen a little as he understands what I'm saying. I see them flicker down to my mouth and then return to mine. He starts to lean toward me, I close my eyes quickly and a moment later his lips are on mine. They're soft and gentle at first, just pressing slightly. I press back and he gets bolder. I feel one of his hands behind my neck, sliding up into my hair, and the other travels down to squeeze my waist. I place both of my hands on his shoulders and he pulls me closer, tilting his head more to the side, for better access. I feel warm and almost numb as my mouth moves with his. I'd forgotten just how nice this is. It's not exactly like those kisses in the Quell, but it's almost as good, because it's real and not for show. I want this.

Peeta's the one who ends our kiss, and he proceeds to trail his lips along my cheek and jaw and then down to my neck, while I try to catch my breath. He gently draws my skin into his mouth, making me shiver just a little. He's never done this before…not to me, at least. Then I feel his lips on mine again, gently pressing with a closed mouth. He pulls back to look at me for just a second, then leans in once more, this time just to hug me. I rest my head on his shoulder.

When he says he needs to go put the bread in the oven, I release him. While he's in the kitchen I try not to over-think what just happened, but of course can't think of anything else. I knew what I was doing when I brought up what happened in the Quell, and what was it I said, that maybe he didn't need to remember it? I don't know what came over me. It was an impulse.

I can't deny that we've been getting closer lately, but somehow I haven't thought of kissing him. I've told myself that we hug at night because of the nightmares, and then it seemed pointless to make the bedroom our only hugging zone. Why not do the same thing during the day? Why not hold his hand, and reciprocate whenever he puts his arms around me?

Still, kissing hadn't occurred to me. But just now, I really wanted to. I correctly assumed that he needed my encouragement before making such a bold move, and I gave it willingly. I lift a hand and brush my fingertips across my lips. It was nice, very nice. Are we going to kiss again? Is that going to become one of the things we do regularly? Is it a step toward something else?

I bite my lip and begin to feel foolish for thinking like this. Why should I get to be happy when so many people are dead because of me? I don't deserve to be happy, and there are much more important things to think of than kissing Peeta. I need to leave. I need to go home, and to my roof.

No, wait…what would Peeta think if he came back and I was gone? I can't do that to him. He looked so happy before he left the room. I can't make him miserable again. I've done that enough in the past.

It's not until I hear his voice asking, "Are you all right?" that I realize I'm hunched forward, with my face in my hands. I slowly sit up straight and let my hands slide down to my lap. Peeta sits beside me on the couch and I turn toward him. He looks worried and I can't stand it. I reach out and take his hand, to let him know that the anxiety I'm feeling isn't anything personal.

"I just…" I can't think of a way to explain it to him.

"It's okay," he says, seeming to sense what I'm feeling. "It's okay…to try to move on." He reaches out and tucks some of my hair behind my ear. "They would want us to be happy," he tells me. I know he's right, and remind myself of the promise I made to those pictures. Peeta slowly reaches his arms out for me and draws me toward him, giving me plenty of time to pull away, but I don't. "I love you," he says softly. But I know what he really means. He means: Please don't do this; please don't ruin this nice day we're having by thinking too much.

I decide that I won't ruin it, no matter what. But I still want to get out of here. "Can we sit outside?" I ask. I couldn't help noticing on our walk over here that the weather is lovely today. Sunny but not too bright, and breezy.

"Sure," Peeta says, pulling back and smiling at me tentatively. He takes my hand and leads the way to his back porch. We sit on the swing facing his grassy yard and the trees beyond. His arm is around me and I'm leaning against him. I'm reminded of our day on the roof of the Training Center, before the Quell.

"Do you want to freeze this moment and live in it forever?" I ask, glancing over at Peeta. I expect him to say yes. We just kissed, he has bread baking, it's nice day. What more could either of us hope for at this point?

He smiles, seemingly relieved that I've calmed down, and I feel his hand gently squeeze my shoulder. "I don't need to. We have plenty of time now."

I realize he's right. Every moment can be like this, if we want it to. We don't need to make wishes in order to keep feeling this way, we just have to let it happen. I have to let it happen.

I lean away from Peeta just a little, and twist my upper body so I'm facing him. I reach up and cup his face in my hands. He smiles and I love the way his eyes soften, and knowing that he's happy because he's here with me. I let my hands slide down to his shoulders and this time I'm the one who leans in for a kiss.

When we pull away, he smiles and seems a bit shy as he looks away from me. "What?" I ask.

"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to sing to me."

I remind myself that I did ask him what he wanted to do today; I guess being sung to is one of those things. Before I can rationally try to think of what to sing, a single line, from the old mountain air that I sang to Rue, pops into my head: Here is the place where I love you. Where did that come from?

"Oh," I say, stalling.

Peeta looks into my eyes again and smiles. "You don't have to," he says quickly.

"Maybe some time," I say, leaning my head against him again. I realize that my face feels warm and hope that if it has reddened visibly, he didn't notice.