(UPDATE: I drastically reduced the very long A/N! Enjoy~)

Here's the fic that I finally finished editing. It's my first time writing for the Hunger Games fandom, so please bear with me here. Again, this was written late at night, so please forgive my inconsistencies in tense every now and then. It's a post-Mockingjay, pre-Epilogue Everlark fic as well (My preferred type of Everlark fic, to be honest.)

Hope you guys enjoy it~ Please do review. :)

DISCLAIMER: No, I am not the spectacular author of the Hunger Games series OR the creator of these great characters. That would be Ms. Collins, not me.

She was dead.

Well, not exactly.

Yes, her heart was beating loud and clear; and, yes, she could feel the blood flowing through her veins and her lungs stretching and filling with air with every breath she took. And, sure, Katniss was a brave soul. She was strong and independent, and everyone knew that she could fend for herself. She was the fiery victor everyone knew about, the Mockingjay, symbol of the rebellion. She was the Girl on Fire, and her fire could not be quenched.

But her eyes told a different story. Any person who came across her now would agree that their blazing Mockingjay was now reduced to sputtering embers in a pile of ashes. Her ash grey eyes were cold and empty, devoid of any spark of life whatsoever.

She was broken.

And that showed in her behavior. She became catatonic at most, moving from her spot in the bed by her bedroom window only when Greasy Sae would help her accomplish her daily routine. Maybe she would come downstairs to the kitchen sometimes, but even then she would stare at her plate blankly while her mind was off to a world where her sister continuously haunted her with memory after painful memory (until Greasy Sae or Haymitch would tell her firmly to eat). But, even so, she would only eat a few bites and drag herself up the stairs to her bed or, on occasion, to the massive sofa in the living room where she would just stare into space for a long time.

As a result, the girl withered in her appearance. Her cheeks became hollow, her eyes dull, dark circles appeared underneath her eyes, and she grew thinner and thinner each day despite the fact that Greasy Sae cooked the heartiest meals in all of District 12. She often spent her time sleeping and staring into the distance, and if not, she was either petting Buttercup absentmindedly (The blasted cat was not shouted at anymore. In fact, after their first moment of mutual grief, the girl and the cat were in good terms with each other.) or jolted awake by her numerous nightmares - most of which involved the Games, Gale, her father, Rue, Cinna, Finnick, her mother, Primrose, and even Peeta, among many, many others.

After all, everyone knew that deep inside, a part of her died the moment her little sister was blown to smithereens just months ago.

o-~-~-~-~-o

But then Peeta came back from the Capitol, and as soon as she saw him exhuming soil from her front yard and placing lovely flowers in its place, Katniss ran down from her room and up to him, skidding to a halt at her porch while eyeing the flowers in his hands. For the first time in months, she spoke.

"You came back."

He looked up at her and gave her a faint smile. Following her gaze, he looked down at the tiny bushes he just planted onto the yard.

"I found these at the edge of the woods and thought that you would want these to remember her by."

And then suddenly she understood: he had planted her primroses.

She looked into his eyes for a moment before running back into the house and shutting the door behind her with a loud bang.

o-~-~-~-~-o

The next morning, Katniss woke up to a loud knock on the door. She just woke up from a strangely peaceful dream (a memory, perhaps?) of her singing Prim to sleep, and she felt the grief and mourning for her sister wash over her.

The knocking surprised her, though; no one ever knocked at her door, not even Greasy Sae.

She hesitated at first (After all, Katniss never really enjoyed surprises anymore; since her father's passing, they were usually bad surprises, not good ones.), but she managed to pull herself out of bed and open the door even though the knocking had stopped.

Yes, the sight that greeted her was a surprise indeed.

A warm loaf of bread lay in the covered basket at her doorstep. Though the person who placed it there wasn't present, she knew who had left this gift at her doorstep. His name slipped like a sigh from her chapped lips.

"Peeta."

The girl bent down to pick the basket up and brought it into the kitchen. She removed the cloth that covered the basket, cut a slice for herself, and placed the remaining loaf back in the basket. Taking the warm slice in her hands, she inhaled the sweet aroma of Peeta's bread and took a bite.

The bread was soft, still fresh from the oven across the street. It was a mish-mash of flavors on her tongue- the sweet and tart taste of the fruit, the toasted flavor of the nuts, and the homey bread taste which evened out all the other rich flavors. It tasted just like the bread he tossed to her in the rain years ago.

It tasted like home.

Once that thought sank in, Katniss felt an overwhelming flood of memories and emotions overcome her. Peeta had baked this for her. Was it possible that her boy with the bread was back?

And so this was how a slightly-late Greasy Sae found her that morning: crying feebly into her arms with a half-eaten slice of fruit-nut bread on the plate before her.

o-~-~-~-~-o

The house at the other side was filled with the sounds of tortured screams, broken glass, and objects thrown around. Katniss knew that Peeta also experienced night terrors like she did, but by the sound of his pained cries and the sight of his bleeding hands with which he held the bread basket on the way to her house the next morning, she realized that things were just so much worse for him.

And it's all her fault.

o-~-~-~-~-o

The bread became a staple each morning. Greasy Sae would still cook her breakfast but made sure that Katniss would still have an appetite for Peeta's bread. Sometimes the girl would slowly pad her way to the kitchen and take a slice of bread from the bread box.

One morning, however, Katniss got downstairs to find Peeta sitting at the kitchen table with his usual bread basket uncovered before him.

"Oh! Hey, Katniss. I'm sorry for barging into your house this morning. Greasy Sae can't come today because her granddaughter's sick, so she invited me over to make you some breakfast. I hope you don't mind."

She made no reply but still moved over to take the seat across from him. He leaned over the table to take the cloth off the top of the basket, and almost instantly, the kitchen smelled like yeast, bread, and cheese.

"I hope you like it. It took a while to get it right, but this one was the best batch," Peeta said sheepishly as he took a cheese bun and broke it in half.

Cheese buns. Katniss's favorite. He remembered.

Katniss took one as well and proceeded to pull it apart like he did and placed a chunk into her mouth, closing her eyes as her teeth sank into the soft, stringy dough and the cheese melted in her mouth. Just as good as it was before.

She opened her eyes and saw Peeta's gentle and amused smile when she reached over to grab another bun. She gave him a shy smile in return, but Peeta swore he saw her usually-glassy eyes twinkle with joy. A joy that hasn't been present in her being for a long time.

She was getting better.

o-~-~-~-~-o

In the days that came after that, it became a routine: Peeta would come over to Katniss's house with bread to go with Sae's meals, Sae would leave so that the two could spend some time together, and they would eat silently before Peeta got up to leave after helping her wash the dishes. It was tense, awkward, clipped, polite; Katniss felt uncomfortable with the tension in the air, but it was enough for the both of them for the time being.

But some mornings, Peeta did not come.

He didn't come at all.

One of those days, Katniss waited until Sae came, and the older woman told her that Peeta would not be able to come that day.

After half-heartedly eating her breakfast, Katniss got up and crossed the street, her knuckles connecting with the front door of Peeta's house in short and quick raps. However, once she pushed the door more from her knocking, she found that his door was slightly ajar.

"Peeta? Peeta... Where are you?" she called out, yet being extra wary, since she knew that something was definitely wrong. Katniss slowly went around the house, searching through each room and racked her brain for any of his possible hiding spots. Soon, she found a light wafting in from the kitchen.

Maybe he's baking...

The scene that greeted her shocked her. Trays upon trays of cooling pastries, warm breads with swirls of fruit and chocolate, and savory rolls covered every surface imaginable. In the midst of it all was Peeta, who looked like a mess. His hair stood up in uneven lengths and levels, his eyes were bloodshot, and he was rocking back and forth with his arms tightly wrapped around his legs. Tears stained his face, which was shriveled in pain, fear, and confusion.

Beside him was a burnt batch of cheese buns.

What is happening?

Perhaps a relapse?

A flashback?

Of course.

Katniss couldn't help but to cry with him and to blame herself for causing him such misery. Her strong, happy, hopeful Peeta was now reduced to a sobbing, vulnerable, damaged young boy. It tugged hard at her heartstrings as she saw him so lost. So broken.

"Peeta?"

She drew nearer to him, but as soon as she came within arms' reach, he frantically pushed himself as far away from her as he could.

"I think... I think it would be best if you leave right now, Katniss."

Katniss recoiled from him as if she was burnt.

"N-no... don't be scared... it's just that..." he stammered, desperation seeping into his voice. He rose to meet her but stopped at a safe distance, eyes wild and frightened. "I-I just think that if you stare at me like that, I'm gonna hurt you."

"No, you can't- you won't... I-"

"No! I couldn't control myself. You don't want to be hurt, do you?" he asked in a soft voice, like a little child. His hands were shaking slightly, fidgeting nervously with the hem of his shirt.

Katniss felt a bit of fear strike her heart, but she instantly shut that part of her down. No. He would never bring himself to hurt her; she knew that. She stepped closer to him, carefully gauging his reaction.

"Peeta..."

There were more tears in his eyes now, and he was panicking.

"N-no... Katniss, please, I don't want to-"

"Shh..." she soothed, slowly bringing her hands up to take his face in her palms. He jerked away quickly when her small, cold hands came in contact with his cheeks.

"It's alright. You won't hurt me," she said gently, murmuring soothing words over and over. She just got Peeta back; she couldn't lose him again.

He hesitated at first, but soon his hands went up to cup her face in his huge, scratched hands as well. Leaning closer to him, she was just about to close her eyes when suddenly he whispered harshly.

"Get out, Katniss."

She pulled away suddenly, seeing his pupils dilate and retract quickly over and over.

"Please."

She backed away, terrified when Peeta started to clutch at his hair and bend over. She started for the door but hesitated.

"I said GO!" he screamed.

Startled, she ran out the door and back into her house, feeling guiltier as she heard him run up to his room and pound at the wall in rage. Katniss sank back onto the floor while hearing him momentary slip from sanity.

o-~-~-~-~-o

The rest of her day was spent sitting against the wall, crying broken tears, and murmuring self-loathing things to herself over and over. His was spent on hours punching walls, throwing objects around the house, shouting, and finally sobbing in a dank corner of the room, faintly whispering her name and attaching apologies to them in regret.

But somehow they always managed to find each other through even their worst episodes. Peeta came over to her house a few days later with a basket full of cheese buns as a peace offering, and Katniss used her mother's concoctions to nurse his wounded hands. Everything soon went back to normal (or as normal as everything could be for them), and a week later, after many Games and War-related episodes for the both of them, Katniss brought up the idea to create a memory book. It would be just like her father's plant book, only that this one would be filled with faces and descriptions of people instead of plants. People who they loved dearly.

People who were no longer a part of their lives.

Not long after, the Capitol train has sent stacks of parchment, heavy cardboard, boxes of paints, pens, pencils, charcoals, and ink, which were delivered to his doorstep, at Effie's orders.

o-~-~-~-~-o

So the two young victors sat in Katniss' sitting room and worked on the book. They would work on one person each time, since they often finished a page with one or both of them in tears. Sometimes they would lapse into an episode, even.

Yet they both were there for each other. Peeta would hold Katniss in his arms and whisper soothing words into her hair as she cried. When she blanked out, he was there to hold her until she came back. And when Peeta launched into an episode, Katniss was there to pin him down with her tight hugs and to whisper "Not real" over and over in his ear. She held him though he sometimes came to seeing bruises on her arms, her cheeks, her legs, scratches all over her body, and an ache on the spots where she had held him down.

Working on the book was a tedious job, but it brought them closer. However, most of the time she would just spend the time watching him bake or paint. Or sometimes he would hang around and hold her comfortably as she leaned back onto his chest whilst petting Buttercup on her lap. It was soothing, and she knew that in those moments,

She was happy.

o-~-~-~-~-o

One particularly rough winter night, Peeta awoke from his garish nightmares to Katniss's broken screams across the street. He had never heard her scream like that before, and hearing her scream like that frightened him. Before he knew it, he had frantically put on his prosthetic and bolted for her front door in his bare feet and his pajamas, leaving footprints in the fresh snow. Peeta fumbled with the doorknob and hastily made his way to her room, throwing open the door and taking her in his arms as she cried.

"It's okay, Katniss. It's just a dream. Not real, not real," he muttered gently into her hair as her screaming turned into sobbing and eventually became monotonous muttering. He continued to hold her and to soothe her until she turned in his arms and buried her face into his chest, her tears soaking his t-shirt immediately.

"She's dead, Peeta. Prim's dead, and it's all my fault. I was supposed to protect her, but I failed. I failed her, Peeta... she never deserved to die," she moaned into his chest.

"No, you didn't fail her, Katniss. You have never failed anyone. You did what you could, and I believe she is in a much better place now, where she will never get hurt ever again," he said softly as he took her face in his hands and looked intensely into her glassy grey eyes, trying as hard as he could to convince her that it wasn't her fault.

Katniss make no reply to that, just closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into him, wrapping her arms tighter around him.

"Stay with me?" she pleaded timidly.

"Always."

o-~-~-~-~-o

Since that night, it became a routine. The two would spend their nights wrapped in each other's arms to ward off the nightmares. They would go their separate ways in the morning, Peeta rising before the sun did to start baking while Katniss woke later and ate the breakfast Peeta had left for her before heading to the forest in her father's hunting jacket and carrying her trusty bow and arrows and her game bag. They would only reunite an hour before dinnertime, when Peeta would come to her house from planning the rebuilding of the Mellark bakery in town and Katniss would return from the woods with the day's game and the occasional bunch of berries. Peeta would prepare their dinner, set a portion to send to Haymitch, and eat dinner with her before delivering Haymitch's plate of food to their intoxicated mentor next door. The old drunk would accept their offering of food with a grunt and the occasional crass remark, but soon after he would close the door and return to his bottle of white liquor.

Sometimes, though, Haymitch would come over (surprisingly sober) and eat dinner with them, ranting animatedly about his pesky geese (though, to be frank, he treated those birds like they were his children). This would often make Peeta chuckle and bring a smile to Katniss's lips.

Once they have sent Haymitch on his way, however, and it was just the two of them, she would curl up on the sofa against his side as she watched him draw on his sketchbook by the light of the fire in the sitting room. When he feels her lean more heavily into his side, he would close his sketchbook and place it on the table with his things and wordlessly take her in his arms and carry her up to her room and lay her on the bed.

He quickly changes into his sleepwear and joins her in her bed, pulling her to him and sighing as she burrows deeper into his chest and tangles her legs in his.

They sleep like this for weeks, months, even years. The nightmares do not come. But if they do, they have each other to comfort and to remind them of what is real.

o-~-~-~-~-o

Eventually his episodes don't come as frequently and as violently as they used to. He takes to gripping the back of a chair until his knuckles turn white and his eyes become a clear blue again. On the rare occasion that they do become violent, she takes him into her arms and holds onto him for dear life as he trembles beneath her form exactly how he holds her when she has her nightmares. They play the old game of "real or not real" until everything makes sense to him for the time-being. He was still in awe that she did not give up on him, that she was not afraid of him. And, she reassured him each night:

She was not leaving him. Ever.

And Katniss's depressive episodes started to ebb as well. Very rarely, Peeta would come home to find her still swaddled in her blankets or sitting in front of a mirror in only her undergarments and staring at her numerous scars. Whenever that happened, he would delicately hug her and press kisses on the scars on her face, her arms, until the fog from her eyes fades and she hugs him in return.

Soon, he started to press kisses to her forehead, she to his cheek, and eventually she pressed one to his lips.

o-~-~-~-~-o

Then, one night, when he is on the verge of losing it, he asks her the question that has been circulating in his mind for the longest time.

"You love me, real or not real?"

Katniss considers everything that has happened in the past year since he returned to District 12. He was the only person who was able to get through to her, the only reason why she kept on fighting the urge to stay in bed all day. He was her dandelion in the spring, her only hope and the ray of light in the inky black recesses of her tattered mind. And he was so gentle, always so gentle to her that she knew he would do everything in her power never to hurt her. Peeta was the only one she had left to love. The only person she wanted to love. He was the reason why she held on and kept on living, the one person who made her smile.

She was alive.

Without hesitation, she looks into his eyes and answers him firmly.

"Real."