I am starting to worry that the structure of my umbrella would snap and catapult into my eye as heavy, torrential rain blasts down angrily from the heavens. I am surrounded by a throng of inconsiderate commuters as they bustle their way through across the wet and wooden platform, hopping in and out of trains, opening and banging their umbrellas into my face. Peeta happens to choose to arrive in the midst of a Wednesday afternoon rush hour.

I am also starting to worry because he is supposed to arrive here in the station twenty minutes ago, and I'm not sure if his train has arrived at all. There is too much bodily activity on this platform, and some trips are delayed because of the rain storm.

My umbrella rattles above me as I am suddenly pushed forward, and I swing my head irately at the running person behind me trying to get through. This place is mad. I look up again, over the arches of a colourful array of umbrellas that are knocking into each other and look happy despite the blanket of colourless sky. He has to be here by now.

Where in the world is Peeta. Two more minutes have passed. That makes it twenty-two minutes.

My head perks up as a flash of blonde hair catches my eye and disappear again into a sea of moving umbrellas. I muscle my way through the crowd, determined to spot the elusive blonde again. The bitter winds are knocking my umbrella back and inside out, but I hold on to it tight and tilt the umbrella against it. My heart is beating faster as my eyes work extra hard, disappointed as the number of commuter decreases and the area clears a little, and still no sign of Peeta.

My anxiety grows as I fret and pace around, my neck starting to hurt from my head rotating restlessly, desperate and excited to finally see him. I approach one of the ticket booths and sit on the bench beside it, wiping at the rain on my cheek. I feel clammy and uncomfortable, shivering from the slight chill in the air.

A new set of commuters stampede through the station and I let out another sigh, checking if the structure inside the umbrella is still capable of holding itself. As I swing the umbrella back up over my head again, that's when I spot him, standing in the middle of the open platform under the heavy rain, the duffel bag perched over his shoulder and his free hand resting on top of his head, holding back the hair that usually falls over his forehead. He looks confused and slightly distressed through all the raging water, and when he finally sees me emerging from the bench staring back at him, his face completely brightens from a smile.

I'm up and making a mad dash across the platform, my shoulders crashing into other shoulders, not caring if all the impact is causing me pain on my left. An even stronger gust of wind slightly pushes me aside and surprises me, detaching the umbrella off of my grip as it hurls gracelessly into air, and I don't bother to look back where it lands, because he's right in front of me and my legs are not planning to delay our reunion any further.

He drops his bag and we collide into each other, wet skin and wet clothes, as he encircles his arms around my waist and lifts me off the ground, chuckling as he takes a couple of steps back. I wrap my arms around his neck and look down on him, my mouth starting to hurt from smiling, rain trickling down the tip of my nose and dropping onto his. He slowly lowers me back down until I feel the ground beneath my feet, grabs the back of my neck, and pulls me close as he lets his lips, soft and wet from the rain, crush hungrily against mine.

The duffel bag sits in the middle of the dining table and Peeta is poised over it, unpacking ceremoniously. We are now both dry, waiting for our mugs of hot chocolate to cool down. I am sitting on a chair looking on eagerly as he grabs items from the bag one by one and recites them to me, with Pebbles sleeping soundly in my lap. She was very excited at seeing Peeta again and has depleted all her energy from jumping and rolling all over the floor too much.

"You remember this one, this is seaweed bread," he tells me, making sure I see it as he carefully places the green-tinted bread peeking out of its paper bag. I smile because of the concentration on his face and not because of the old, buried memories attached to it.

"This…," he drops something solid covered in old newspaper in front of me, "This is dried fish. Specialty item." I crinkle my nose at the faint smell that is attempting to seep through.

"And this," he pulls out a plastic container with something green, weird and flat inside. "...is dried seaweed." I pick it up and study it, then tear the plastic open. I pick a flat piece and wave it, as if trying to weigh it.

"It's like paper, but green, with salt. How are you supposed to eat this?" I ask incredulously. He doesn't respond but he grabs it from my hand and shoves it into his mouth. He proceeds to grab paintbrushes and tubes of paint, and a binder full of papers and places them on the table as well, the bag now only filled with his clothes in the bottom. He saunters around the dining table and takes a seat on the chair beside me, casually chewing on more dried seaweed.

My attention flies to the binder and I reach out to open it, revealing all of Peeta's documents, from submission to release forms, exercise sheets and most importantly, the test results. I suddenly find myself engulfed by it, reading Doctor Aurelius' notes in red ink. My eyes skim through Peeta's answers as well, in his careless cursive, trying to spot red flags. And there are, marked by small asterisks by the doctor. I put the papers down and I can see Peeta from my side-vision watching me with fixed eyes.

"Want to laminate it?" he asks and smiles. I decide to ride along his light mood and quickly flip through the pages again.

"If there is anything I would want to laminate...," I say as a matter of fact, showing him one of the exercise sheets he has made plenty of doodles and random sketches on. "...it would be this one." I point on the upper right hand corner of the paper, with Doctor Aurelius' infamous red marker encircling something Peeta wrote.

NAME: P. Mellark

DATE: no but thank you for asking.

I'm aloof, my eyes slowly rolling towards Peeta whose smile is disappearing into a thin line and face now set in stone.

"I was bored."

I drop the used teabag in the sink and grab a small spoon from the drawer, swirling it inside the mug as I lean over and appreciate the steam coming off from my jasmine tea. I walk past the island counter and pick up a plate full of cookies and cheese buns, heading for my living room, my show is starting in about ten minutes. I sigh collectively as my back touches and rests against the couch, and crack some bones on my neck out of bad habit. I place the mug and the plate on the coffee table and reach back to tie my hair in a messy ponytail, lifting my legs off the floor to tuck them underneath me.

This is so heavenly and relaxing.

The rain is still beating down against my window, a sound I have grown to love. The storm has not stopped since Peeta's return yesterday. I wouldn't be surprised if it starts flooding any time soon. The sudden loud and panicked knocking on my door distracts me from my rainy thoughts and I spring off the couch, almost stumbling over my own legs.

I launch the door open in haste, taken aback as Peeta lunges forward and almost crashes into me, soaked from the rain even though it should just take about ten steps to reach my front door. My hand flies to his chest to support and hold him upright, but he's shaking terribly, and murmuring something I can't fully understand.

"Peeta-" My arms are around him now, trying to keep him from falling flat on the floor, and I realize I can't hold all his body weight anymore as he leans into me further. I lead him to the couch and make him lay down, taking off his shoes and grabbing the throw blanket draped on my lounge chair.

"It's so cold Katniss..." he finally says clearly as I move my ear near his mouth when I notice he's trying to tell me something. He is trembling out of control. I touch his forehead and I'm alarmed at how abnormally hot his skin feels under my hand. He is burning up. "I feel like hell."

"Oh Peeta, don't tell me you're sick from all the seaweed that you ate..." I say to him as a half joke. I run to my closet upstairs where Peeta Belongings are exclusively harboured and grab a shirt, underwear, sweater and cotton pants. I also pick up a small towel, a bowl of hot water, and medicinal ointment. I struggle as I strip him naked on the couch and discard all his wet clothing, and I ruffle his hair dry before I guide him into his dry clothes.

I hope he's sick because of the weather and all the rain he has suffered under, and not because of the aftermaths of Doctor Aurelius' numerous tests he was exposed to.

I dip the towel in hot water and avoid squeezing it completely dry. I roll it and place it gingerly on his forehead, noticing his wild flinching has subsided. I open the ointment and place it under his nose, and tell him to breathe in. Then I pull the blanket up to his chin and wait until his breaths stabilize. He manages to say "Thank you" before I disappear into the kitchen.

I tread back into the living room minutes later, offering him a bowl of hot, cream of broccoli soup. He looks calmer, watching me with wistful eyes as I approach him with a smile. I insert more pillows behind his head and his back so he could somehow sit up, and I bring a spoonful of the soup in mid-air, trying to entice him with it. He looks down on it hesitantly.

"That soup is green," he declares.

"Yes, but it's not seaweed. It's broccoli, it's good for you," I say, almost like talking to a child. He peers down on it again, and he's not trying to hide the repulsion on his face.

"Why is this reminding me so much of something else bad that happened a long, long time ago..." he trails off, his eyes landing on a spot behind my head. His gaze focuses back on me and he continues, suddenly brightening up at a distant thought. "Actually no, no it wasn't a bad memory at all." He flashes me a knowing smile, bewildered.

"Just eat the soup, Peeta," I say somewhat patiently and blow into the spoon to cool some steam off. I'm also making him a drink consisting of hot water, lemon juice and ginger. I have already placed a kettle full of water and crank the stove on maximum heat so it can boil faster.

After what painfully seemed like forever, he accommodates. I make faces at him, as signs of approval, as he lets me feed him. We finish the bowl and I land him a kiss on his cheek as a reward. He sighs as he positions himself on a more comfortable angle on the couch.

"I don't think you should come any closer, Katniss, you might get sick too," he tells me as he sniffs, his eyelids drooping, tucking his chin underneath the blanket. I could hear the kettle whistle full blast in the kitchen.

"It's ok, I like taking care of you," I flash him a smile as I begin to gather myself up so I could attend to the boiling water.

"Are you sure?" he asks, stopping me on my tracks. I whip around and look down on him, nodding. "Alright then..." I could hear him murmur as he suddenly reaches out and grabs me by the waist, blanket flying about, trying to yank me down to his eye level and I see his lips, comically puckered up begging to be kissed.

"Peeta!" I shriek at him and laugh as his grasp over me tightens and refuses to let me go. My legs flail as high as my arms. "The water is going to boil over!" My eyebrows are trying to furrow at him but all I see are his lips pointed up towards mine, pouting in an attempt to kiss me, but instead makes out with thin air. My head swings back, avoiding him, as more laughter rack through my body.

I am finally able to wriggle out of his arms and his insistent lips and threaten him with more soup as I leave and head for the kitchen. Some hot water have spilled out of the kettle but I'll leave the wiping for another time after I make him the drink. I squeeze the juice out of the lemon and peel and cut a small piece of ginger, then smash it on the cutting board before I dump them all in the huge mug of hot water. I stir the warm concoction and smile, hoping that Peeta would like it. This should make him feel better too.

I turn on my heels and walk into the living room, and I see that Peeta has fallen soundly asleep, a huge chunk of the blanket hanging off the couch, and he's snoring away gallantly. I place the mug on the coffee table and kneel on the floor by his side, and grab another towel to wipe a small drool on the corner of his lips. My eyes sweep over his peaceful face and I poke the tip of my nose in and lightly rub it against his cheek, taking in his natural scent.

The rain still has not let up, but I take comfort in its continuum.

Peeta is feeling way better now. I know so. I can tell. I ensured he is well enough to stand on his own two feet so he could walk back to his house. And so he did, under perfect, healthy condition. I also ensured he made it through the door, and that is why I followed him, and that is why I am here in his bedroom, in his bed.

And he is laying flat on his back, breathless and naked underneath me, one hand stroking the taut nipple of my breast and the other on the curve of my ass, urging me to go faster, as I bounce up and down into his hot, rigid cock. He gathers a bunch of my hair and pulls it down towards him, my head dropping in closer as our mouths collide over a clumsy, sloppy kiss. I sit back upright and groan at the feel of his erection impaling me from underneath as he buckles and thrusts upwards to meet my rhythm, my juices making his cock sleek and my folds easy to slide in through. I lift my ass up high and almost completely off of his erection, and pause until I slam back down into him as his throbbing girth expands me even further and deeper. He is inconceivably deep inside me. I whimper and cry at the contact, hurting me in the most exquisite way, my back arching at the sharp pang of pleasure. I stare him down and make him look at me, but he looks like he is about to pass out. He looks wonderful. My breasts spring up and down and spill all over his frantic hands as he pushes his head back into the pillow and grunts loud and rough, his hands now grabbing my hips tight and secure as I feel him twitch and spill inside of me.

I mount off of him slowly as we both pant, chests heaving hard, and I drop into the empty space beside him. He moves and gets up off the bed and drags his feet across to the bathroom.

It is really late into the night, but I remind myself that my first class starting tomorrow begins an hour later for this upcoming semester. I kick my rumpled clothes off the bed and turn so I could lay on my side, facing the edge of the bed. Peeta returns and I could feel him shift behind me, and the softness of the blanket as he places it over us, followed by his arm snaking around my waist. He pulls me closer as he rests his chin on my shoulder and nuzzles his nose into the area behind my ear.

It looks like I am sleeping well again tonight.

A sliver of white light is trying to push through into my eyes as I stretch languidly, yawning as my hand flies up and scratches it. I am finally able to flutter my eyes open and I almost jerk back out of alarm because all I see is one of Peeta's eyes slowly blinking at me from behind a mountain of messy blanket.

"You're here," he says as his voice croaks, not sure if it is a statement or a question. The sun is out, casting odd shapes on his bedroom walls. I smile at the mild disbelief on his face.

"I thought you wouldn't mind," I tell him, looking sheepish.

"No, not at all," he grins and shuts his eyes from the crawling sunlight that is now illuminating his face. I slightly rise up, and perch myself over an elbow, my hair cascading down and covering one of my breasts.

I pause and take in a deep breath. "Then you also wouldn't mind if I move in with you?" I ask him. I now have his full attention as his head shoots up and turns to look at me. His smile has widened and his eyes are an impossible shade of blue against the sun as a backdrop.

"I don't think I'd mind that either," he says, as he inches towards me and my head finds a place to rest on his chest.

"It would be good. I can look after you better," I suggest, my fingers making patterns on his stomach. "You know, you turn into a really big baby when you're sick."

"You know, you make really good wild mushroom soup, even better than broccoli soup or anything with broccoli in it."

I catch him off guard and pinch his sides, and I know he hates it because he's howling at me, but I'm sure he never minds.

The autumn skies overhead warn us of another onslaught of rain. It is a bleak Saturday, and I have boxes of clothes lined up in my living room waiting to be carried out. So far he has transported, after a careful round of consideration, my box of fine dish set, small appliances, and Pebbles' items. Before all that, Peeta, standing strong at twenty-nine going into thirty, effortlessly carried the TV out of my house first. He has a plan of putting it in our bedroom, much to my chagrin. All my toiletries are also packed in a medium-sized box, now sitting on his porch.

I decide to leave the big furnitures and perhaps sell them later, and some that will not be making it to Peeta's place I'm donating straight to the Hob. As soon as the first raindrops touch our heads we duck under the awning stretched over the front porch, careful not to kick any boxes around.

Peeta plops down on my lounge chair poised by the door, and I look for a big, sturdy moving box to sit on, as rain gradually falls around us. Something catches his attention in one of the open boxes and starts to pick on my random items. He pulls out one of my fancy underwear, the little black number with thin white laces. He shoots me a quick smirk before puts it back in the box and continues to dig. He picks out a small, expensive bottle of perfume, the one he gave me three Valentines ago. He goes through many more frilly underwear, exclaiming how sexy they are, then proceeds to wink at me. Lastly he pulls out a black suede jewelry box. A look of confusion crosses his face as it slightly sours.

"Did someone else propose to you when I was gone?" he asks, deadpan. My eyebrow raises at him and I shake my head, my hand gripping the side of the box to balance me. He steals a sidelong glance at me before he slowly opens the small box. Nestled in the middle of the soft fabric is the pearl he gave me as a gift when we were on the beach during the quarter quell. He freezes at the sight, and I hear him faintly say "Oh" before he realizes it has escaped his lips. I don't think he has seen the pearl in years.

"You carried a smooth demeanor but I could tell you were a bit nervous," I tell him. He looks up at me as a remote lightning rips through the sky behind him. "Do you still remember the moment you gave it to me?" I ask, as I stand up and tread slowly towards him.

He stares back down at the pearl, serious and pensive, then suddenly lets out a short laugh. "I wanted to give you a kiss as well."

"So did I."