*A/N So, I don't know... is it worth continuing? Is it even what you guys wanted in a sequel? I don't even know if people know there's a sequel. Oh well, here's another chapter for the time being. Thanks to anyone who's giving this a chance.*

The worst thing about the kiss was that I enjoyed it. I realized that I hadn't had human interaction in so long. After having countless nights with Peeta in the cave, holding each other and kissing each other, I needed this. Whatever Gale was doing, I needed it.

Yet, I pulled away. Gale had a smiled on his face. I tried to remain calm and neutral looking, but on the inside, I was angry with myself.

I didn't want to make a big deal out of it or fight with Gale about what had just happened, but I hoped and prayed that Gale would never kiss me again. I loved Peeta. And if Snow found out about Peeta's kiss with Katniss, surely he would know about this one too.

"I have to get back," I said. The sun was already beginning to set.

"Okay," Gale muttered. He grabbed his coat and slid it back on. We walked back in silence. Occasionally I would look over and see him smiling. Then he would catch my eye, and I would pretend I wasn't looking in the first place. I blushed, but it was an angry blush. My fury was directed at myself, for letting this happen in the first place.

Gale dropped me off at my house. I watched from my upstairs window until he was out of Victor's Village. Then I slid my hat back on and went into my backyard. After hopping the fence, I sprinted a couple of houses down.

"Haymitch!" I screamed, as my fist banged on his back door.

"Sweetheart. What's the problem?" Haymitch opened the door. He leaned against the doorframe, looking irritated.

"Can we talk inside?" I asked, wringing my hands. Haymitch stepped aside and let me into his house. I sniffed him as I walked by and smelled no alcohol. He was sober? What was he up to?

I took off my coat and laid it over a chair.

"So. Here to clean my house some more?" he joked.

"Gale Hawthorne kissed me," I blurted out with my eyes tightly closed.

"Well! We can't blame Peeta anymore, can we?" Haymitch whispered, trying to joke again but only sounding surprised. He offered me a glass with some sort of liquid in it. I peered in it suspiciously. "For Pete's sake! It's tea!"

I took a drink, "I didn't want to kiss him."

Haymitch looked up at me. He set down his mug and leaned across the table. "What was that?"

"I didn't want to kiss Gale!" I shouted at him. I had thought that fact would've been obvious to Haymitch, as he was the first to know I loved Peeta.

"Oh, sweetheart!"

"What?" I wondered, a little scared by his sudden outburst. Haymitch looked so excited. I wondered why.

"Nothing. Nothing. Look, let's keep this between us for now. The Victory Tour starts tomorrow. Have you and Peeta made up yet?"

"No. I don't plan to."

"Why not? If you want this to look real, you have to be friends at least!" Haymitch pleaded. I shook my head and gulped down the rest of the tea.

I couldn't talk to Peeta. What would we even say? What was there to say? My fear got the better of me, and suddenly, I was scared of Peeta. The rejection from before began to bubble up again in my chest. And I felt like crying. But instead, I put on a smirk and faced Haymitch.

"Not happening. Goodnight, Haymitch. I'll see you tomorrow," I said, grabbing my coat and letting myself out of his house.

Haymitch's words continued to confuse me.

Why was he so excited about me not wanting to kiss Gale? I thought it was obvious that I still love Peeta.

My mind started buzzing whenever I thought of Peeta. I didn't want to see him anytime soon. But I couldn't deny that my heart still pounded a little harder whenever I thought of him.

I took my time getting home. By the time I was inside, night had fallen. Normally, I would be asleep by now.

Tossing my hat and coat on the floor, I wandered up my stairs. I quickly grabbed my pajamas to change into before I caught sight of myself in the mirror. The appearance was unsettling.

My hair was knotted, and my face had a layer of dirt on it. My mind suddenly couldn't remember the last time I had showered. One last look at the dirt under my fingernails, and I was walking to the bathroom.

Hopping in the shower, I washed my hair, slowing running my fingers through it to get any tangles out. The ends of my hairs looked raggedy, and I decided to cut them off. Finally, I scrubbed my whole body three times. I turned off the water and wrapped a towel tightly around my body.

I went to my dresser and looked for a comb but didn't see one. Suddenly, I remembered how it had been thrown it in with my kitchen utensils downstairs in another attempt to ruin my home. I made sure the towel was secure and ran down the stairs to find the comb.

It was exactly where I remembered it being, so I began to make my way back to the stairs before seeing something. My body pressed against the wall by the stairs. My hand went to the top of my towel, holding it there.

"Peeta! What are you doing in here?" I screeched. Peeta's eyes widened in horror, and my mind decided it didn't care about his answer. I sprinted up the stairs and into my room.

I locked the door and got dressed as quickly as possible, as if Peeta could see me through the ceiling. I ran the comb through my hair with unnecessary haste.

What was Peeta doing here? He had seen me in just a towel. I was embarrassed. My cheeks burned, and the comb continued to tug itself through my now un-tangled hair at an even pace. I took a couple deep breaths and tried not to focus on the fact that Peeta had seen more of me than I would've liked. Soon, my breathing slowed and the heat in my cheeks faded.

But my head was still reeling. Peeta had come to my home. How did he get in? What was he doing here? What was he going to say? Something bad? I suddenly felt almost sick to my stomach. I finally decided that if I didn't talk to him now, I would be a mess tomorrow at the Tour. So it was better sooner than later.

I slowly walked down the stairs, peering into the living room. Peeta was sitting on the couch, making himself at home. As I cleared my throat, Peeta quickly stood up and turned towards me.

"You didn't answer the front door. So I came through the back door. You left it unlocked. I didn't know you were…" he trailed off, not wanting to say anything else. His face was tilted up towards me on the stairs. My body squirmed, as I was not as comfortable with Peeta as I used to be.

"Why are you here?" I asked, crossing my arms. I felt protective of myself. Around Peeta, I felt weak and vulnerable. He knew almost everything about me and could use any of it against me.

"Haymitch told me to talk to you."

"He told me the same time, but I didn't break into your house," I pointed out. Peeta laughed.

"I really am sorry, Ivy," he said. My body tingled when he said my name. My heart began to beat rapidly, against my wishes.

"It's no problem. I said you could bother me again," I told him.

My feet carried me down the rest of the stairs and to a spot on the floor far away from Peeta. He sat back down on the couch, and suddenly, I yearned to be next to him. I wanted to snuggle up next to him like we used to be able to do.

If I hadn't said anything, would I still be allowed to do that?

"Oh. I brought you some bread. It's in your kitchen," he gestured unnecessarily towards my kitchen. I nodded and pulled my legs up to my chest, like I had earlier with Gale.

"Thanks," I muttered. Peeta was told to talk to me, but he wasn't really talking. He sat on my couch, clasping his hands in front of him. His brilliant blue eyes gazed out my window and into the darkness of the almost victor-less village.

There were so many things that were on my mind, but I wasn't going to share first. Luckily, I didn't have to. Peeta seemed to have finally found his voice.

"Look, if this Victory Tour is going to work we need to… do something differently. We're not like we used to be," Peeta said quickly like he was afraid he wouldn't be able to say it.

"No, we're not," I agreed. He looked like he had wanted me to say more. My eyes gazed into his from across the room. It felt like miles. Why couldn't we reach each other?

I think I looked sad. I felt sad. Peeta never said what I wanted him to say, but I was being unfair to myself. I wanted things that couldn't happen. I wanted Peeta to hold my hand again. But he was across the room. And even if I were sitting next to him, he wouldn't hold it.

"Can't we just be friends?" he whispered. I looked down at my feet. They were cold, and suddenly, I wished I had thought to put socks on. I kept my head down, and he waited.

I knew that some part of me wanted to be friends with Peeta, but the way he phrased the question threw me off.

Just be friends. Only friends. Ever. I didn't want that. And it was selfish of me.

"I…" I couldn't get past the first word. I couldn't say it. The words were stuck in my throat. As if it were possible to get them out my hands touched my mouth, trying to force the words out. All that was heard was my heavy breathing.

"Goodnight, Ivy," Peeta said. I didn't look up. I saw his feet in front of me. There were tears on my cheeks as Peeta crouched down and put his hand under my chin. I gently moved my chin away from his hand and avoided his gaze. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," my voice croaked. Peeta started to walk away. I desperately turned my head, watching him walk back out of the back door. My heart's beating almost stopped when I thought of him leaving me. Again.

Say it. Say it now. It may be your last chance.

He turned and looked back at me, tears running down my face silently.

My mouth opened, but the words didn't come out.

Ivy, blurt it out. Scream it if you must.

His face scrunched into an emotion I hadn't seen him wear before. I didn't know how to describe it. Then, he closed the door behind him.

"I love you," I finally gasped out. My hands buried themselves in my hair. And I sobbed.

I couldn't go on like this. Heartbroken and barely alive. I regretted my decision immediately, knowing I should've agreed to his friendship. I grabbed a pillow near me and wiped my face on it. Then I hurled the pillow across the room. It hit a flower vase. The vase fell to the floor and shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces.

Thinking all the vases in my house had already been broken, I ran towards it, picking up the flowers. Daisies and ivy. I looked at the shattered vase. A piece of paper was stuck to one of the glass shards. All it read was:

Ivy

From, Peeta

Now what was I supposed to put the plants in? I grabbed a bowl from the kitchen, filled it with water, and threw the plants in it. After staring for a long time at the plants, my eyes shifted to the rest of my home.

There were tattered pillows lying hopelessly on the ground in almost every room. The living room had a disconnected telephone and a television set with a cracked screen. The closet by the front door was bulging from all the coats on the floor and umbrellas on the hangers. I had rotting fruit and moldy bread, dusty windows and broken light bulbs, rooms that I didn't even go in, locks that stayed locked, empty food cabinets and closets.

How was this my home? I would burn it down if I could. There hadn't been a day where I hadn't wished to leave my house. Of course, that meant that everyday I'd convinced myself to stay. But was this a home?

No, home was where you felt most comfortable. Home was where you felt you belonged.

Even when we were fighting, I was comfortable around Peeta. I felt we belonged together.

And so I cried. Because I knew my home was Peeta.