a/n: ... I FEEL SO BAD FOR NOT UPDATING FOR OVER A MONTH ! truth be told, I've just been studying to bring my grades up, so I'm sorry. Some of you follow me on tumblr, so maybe you've seen. If you wanna follow me, I'm .com :)

dear lord, I've seen Hurricane Sandy, and I hope everyone in that area is okay. I've been PMing the author BREADBOY, and if any of you are readers of her fic "Mystery Voice" then, take note: she hasn't been updating because of Hurricane Sandy.

AND HOLY FREAKING CRAP GUYS, there was a magnitude 7.7 earthquake on Vancouver Island. I live in Vancouver, so it got me concerned, so it's alright :)

fghjklgfhjlkl long author's note, but I'm actually really happy with this chap.

DISCLAIMER: i do not own the Hunger Games.

I awake to the sound of coughs and groans, a sound that I have not woken up to for a long time. Another series of coughs and sniffles is what really propels me to open my eyes. I am met with the sight of my ceiling, so I roll over in bed in the direction of my always opened window. In response to my actions, there is a loud sneeze and a sniffle.

Who would be sick in the spring?

Oh.

"Katniss?" I ask groggily, rubbing my eyes. The sniffles stop immediately, and Katniss' voice sounds through the window.
"Oh, hey Peeta." her usually jubilant voice sounds tired, and nasally. "You ready for school?" she asks. I can't hear her, but she is such a bad liar, so I can definitely tell she's sick.
"I'm ready for school." I say, exaggerating the I'm, rolling out of bed and running a hand through my unruly blond hair, that really needs a trim. "But, you're not going to school," I say, pulling myself to my window, eyeing the blue colour that needs to change to a soft orange. I catch a glimpse of Katniss through her open window, dragging her steps like a zombie and pulling a shirt out of her closet. I sneak a look at her pajamas and see her boyish looking shorts and oversized t-shirt that must have been Gale's and smile. I usually wear the same attire at home, minus the baggy shirt; she pulls off the outfit with style. Now that I think about it, Katniss could pull anything off with style and modesty.
"What do you mean?" she asks, feigning innocence, keeping her back to me. I roll my eyes.

She hates to be scolded, especially by me.

I know every little thing about her.

Like, for one, she loves it when I bring her a freshly-baked cheese bun from home for her to eat. Her palette has changed from overly sweet to savoury. However, another thing I know about her, is that she appreciates and loves it when I bring her a cookie once in a while. Or how she always takes the lettuce off of her ham and cheese sandwiches. And how the gets the slightest snap to her voice during that time of the month.

She's changed quite a bit since I met her in the summer of the seventh grade. Another example, her outfits have changed from overly bright, to subdued and soft colours over the years. One thing I miss seeing though is her hair down, her natural waves down. She leaves her hair in a braid more and more now, never leaving it down in public. I sigh, and pull myself out of window, clambering onto the willow tree and climbing into Katniss' room easily. Katniss and I have been very comfortable with each-other this past year, knowing every little quirk about each-other.

"C'mere." I say, grabbing her shoulder, ignoring her protests and cupping her face. What I see shocks me. I could tell by the way she held herself that she was sick, but not this sick. Her eyes are droopy, looking like she needs a few more days of sleeping, her cute button nose red and she slumps against me slightly, telling me she's probably dizzy. I set her down on her bed and look around the house for Gale or Drew.
"Gale?" I shout down the hall. I get no grunt or 'what do you want now Mellark? in response.
"Drew!" still no response.
"Prim? Rory?" there doesn't seem to be anyone in the house.
"Where is everyone?" I ask down the hall, staring at the closed, dirty white doors.
"Work or school Peeta today is Tuesday." Comes the raspy and sick voice of Katniss behind. I jump and whip around, my wavy hair flopping into my eyes. Katniss stands, her hair pulled into a high ponytail, thick-framed glasses balanced on her nose-bridge. I only ever get to see glimpses of this Katniss, the one who looks so at home and at ease, not caring about the way her glasses so cutely makes any expression she wears even cuter.

But of course I'd never tell her that.

"Look," I say. "I'll stay home with you, alright? You're sick, and I'm not letting you leave the house." I say firmly, planting her on her tousled bed. She sighs, the long breathe turning into a series of coughs and sneezes. I wince at the sound, and race down the stairs to promptly heat up a kettle to make her some hot chocolate. She hates coffee. She never takes well to the bitter taste of coffee. I see a small jar of marshmallows, but don't reach for one. It'll turn into mush in the hot liquid, and there's nothing she hates more than mushy marshmallows. My phone makes the keyboard clicks as I type.

me: hey cover for me I'm staying with Kat she's sick.

I press send, keeping an eye on the kettle and waiting for the familiar sound of the ding of my text-tone.

gale: kk she's sick?

me: yeah, I'm gonna skip school, she looks really dizzy.

gale: kk tell her I'm gonna be there after work.

me: sure. When does your shift end?

gale: 5:30, short day today. Boss says to "get out and get fresh air."

me: ahh.

gale: I just think he wants to knock up his girlfriend ;)

me: ...

gale: lol kk gotta go

me: ...

I shudder at the thought of Gale's 27 year old boss trying to bang his girlfriend in the office.

Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss...

I shake my head, as if to rid the thoughts of that out of my head. I walk carefully up the stairs, making sure not to spill any drop of the steaming hot liquid. I kick open the door to Katniss' room, my bottom lip being bitten by my teeth as I stare at the two mugs in concentration, not noticing that Katniss is smiling ruefully at me. I set the two mugs down on her table, and she grabs one, blowing the steam off the mug.
"Thanks Peeta," she says quietly, looking into the hot chocolate with rosy cheeks.
"Always." I smile.

We spend the whole day like this. Lying on her bed, me taking her temperature every other hour, fretting if she is one degree higher than before. She rolls her eyes every time I point out her current temperature, she smiles when I suggest she go to a doctor. And she tells me it's just a "spring sickness".

I don't believe it.

Around noon, a few hours after I finally coax some bubble-gum flavoured Tylenol into her, the lights refuse to go on. The stove, TV and refrigerator along with the computers work perfectly fine. So we dance around the kitchen, with Cody Simpson's voice blaring from the stereo, in the refrigerator light. And when I have to pick up some groceries, we get lost while singing terribly off-tune to Justin Bieber, and then after we take an illegal U-turn, I almost run the red looking at Katniss, long wavy hair pulled out of her ponytail billowing the wind.

I slam on the brakes, watching wide-eyed at the young couple in front of me, the mid-twenties holding her baby boy in her arms protectively, and the man shielding the both of them from my old beat up truck. I hear Katniss audibly swallow as the green-light comes back on. And after we finally make it back home, unscathed, she forgets her bright green knit scarf in my truck. The next time I see it, Katniss no longer needs my care, and I hold it up my nose. The thick knit scarf smells of firewood, the smell I've come to recognize as Katniss'. I smile, and I forget to give it back to her. I keep it in an empty drawer, for the fear the scarf loses its earthy firewood smell.

That night, I dream of a life like the day I spent with Katniss. Waking up to her peacefully sleeping form, kissing her cheek as I announce I'm home from work, hearing the pitter-patter of bare feet as children come running up to me, enveloping me in a familial hug. The last thing I remember from the dream, before the blaring of my alarm-clock interrupts the peaceful sleep, is a life that I want to share with only one person.