This is a follow-up to my earlier fic "hold me, hold me (never let me go)", so you may want to read that one first. This will still pretty much make sense without it, though.

Title is from some Florence & the Machine song that I've never actually heard. ;)

Come on, then.

Haymitch doesn't have to tell me twice. We nearly run down the hallway together, giddy, careless. Nothing else matters now. Just Peeta. I get to see Peeta. Touch him. Feel him.

He's already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with doctors poking and prodding at his body. I can tell the moment he sees me through the glass wall; his eyes widen and he sits up straighter. He stands just as I burst through the door.

And then I'm in his arms.

And then I break down.

Even if I'd had the perfect words to say, I wouldn't be able to get them out now. Instead I cry noisily against his shoulder, my arms squeezing him so tightly I'm sure he can't breathe. Peeta says nothing, his own face buried in my hair.

It's not until I hear a soft, choked sob that I realize he's crying, too. I pull my head back slightly and meet his eyes, wet and red and swollen. "This isn't how I wanted it to go," I say, stumbling over the words.

Peeta manages a small, watery smile. "What?"

"Just – kiss me." And he does.

About fifteen minutes pass before the District 13 doctors pry us apart. They still need to check Peeta for less obvious damages, they say. Peeta tries to brush them off, tells them he feels fine, but it's non-negotiable. "It's okay," I tell him quietly. "I'll be here."

Even so, he looks scared as they lead him into another sterile white room, never breaking our eye contact until the door shuts behind him.

I slump down into a chair, suddenly exhausted. He's here. Peeta is here. And in one piece. I can't really wrap my mind around it.

A pang of guilt strikes me as I realize I haven't even asked about Gale's condition. I leave the room and wander down the hallway until I run into someone in a white coat. He's in Room 722, she tells me. The door is unlocked when I get there.

Gale's resting in a bed, his back propped up against a few pillows, and his eyes open as I enter the room. "Hey, Catnip," he says, his voice hoarse.

"Hey." I move to sit in the chair beside the bed; his mother was probably already here. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better." He gestures to his torso, covered in a large, white bandage. "Took a little shrapnel to my back, but they sewed it right up."

I must be making an awful face, because his expression softens, and he reaches out to touch me gently on the arm. "It's really not that bad, I promise."

I only nod, my throat suddenly welling with emotions. "Did you see him?" Gale asks quietly, looking down at his hands.

Another nod. If I speak right now, I'll only start crying again. And I don't know what to say to Gale right now.

I'm still angry that he didn't even tell me he was going on this mission. But what he did – it was selfless. Selflessness isn't something you learn growing up in the Seam; I know better than anyone that it doesn't come easy. I know that I should thank him, but something about it feels wrong.

"I…need some sleep," Gale says after a long moment of silence. "Thanks for stopping by, though."

Again, I nod. But as I stand to leave, I touch his hand hesitantly. He takes mine in his own, squeezing it for a brief moment. I hope it's enough.

Over an hour passes before I'm permitted to see Peeta again. They've given him a mostly clean bill of health – he's got a few cuts and scratches, but it seems the Capitol's main method of mistreatment was denying him food, since they had to keep him presentable for the cameras.

He's still just as thin as he was the night the arena exploded, though, which means the doctors want him to get his weight back up as quickly as possible. We sit side by side at a little table in a room in the medical center, holding hands as we wait for the kitchen to prepare him a specially ordered meal.

We don't say much. I'm not sure what I should say. Is it too soon to ask him what happened to him all these weeks? Probably. Maybe it'll always be too soon.

"I…" He swallows hard. "I guess my family isn't here?"

My heart sinks. Has no one told him? I slip my arm around his waist, an attempt at comfort. "They're not here," I confirm quietly.

Peeta nods tightly, his gaze trained on the tabletop. "I kind of guessed that. When I found out about District 12, I mean. But I still…I still kind of thought maybe. Maybe."

I rest my head against his shoulder and say nothing. A man in gray kitchen clothes appears with a tray for Peeta, who accepts it with a thank you. I've never seen anyone slurp down the kitchen's thin, watery stew so quickly.

Peeta finishes the meal in record time, and sighs as he drops his spoon into the empty bowl with a clatter. "I'm still hungry. You think they'd give me more?"

I shake my head sadly. "They're really strict about food here. They'll give you exactly what the doctor prescribed, no more, no less."

He sighs again. "Great."

I assume that we'll be allowed to leave, since Peeta's uninjured, but when we open the door I find Boggs on the other side. "We need to take him for questioning," he says gruffly.

"What?" I grab Peeta's hand. "Questioning him about what? How he nearly starved to death?"

The old Peeta would have smiled and told me I was being silly, and promised he'd come find me once it was over. But now he only stands behind me in silence, an iron grip on my hand. He's frightened.

"We're not accusing him of anything," Boggs says, lowering his voice. "We just need to make sure that if he knows any more about what Snow's planning, we know it too."

"It's three in the morning," I snap. "Let him rest."

Boggs sighs. "Soldier Everdeen…"

I don't trust him. I don't trust Coin. But I don't know that I have a choice. I look up at Peeta, questioning him without words.

He looks at Boggs. "Can she come with me?"

Boggs shakes his head. "I'm sorry."

"I'll walk with you. I'll stay right outside the door," I tell Peeta. I glance at Boggs, who nods slightly in confirmation. That much they'll allow.

Boggs leads us through a series of winding hallways, down one elevator, then up another just a few feet away. We must be going to a different part of the compound – one I don't even know about. Peeta keeps a tight grip on my hand the entire time. He seems overwhelmed by this underground maze we're weaving through, and I slow my pace as his feet start to drag a little.

"Do they have everything down here?" he asks as we pass one of the farming corridors.

"Pretty much," I say, keeping my voice quiet so Boggs can't hear our conversation from where he leads us a few yards ahead. "But not fresh game. They let me and Gale out a few times a week to hunt."

"That sounds nice," he says, but his face tells a different story. Maybe I shouldn't have brought up Gale.

"We're here," Boggs says abruptly, stopping before a solid metal door. "Soldier Everdeen, I can't let you any further than this."

I wrap my arms around Peeta in a brief hug, then lean against the wall in defiance. "Fine."

Boggs swipes a card and the door slides open. With one last, slightly panicked look at me, Peeta enters the room. Boggs follows, pausing in the doorway.

"This is going to be a while," he says. "You sure you don't want me to take you back up to the civilian area?"

So that's where we are – some kind of military headquarters. My stomach feels queasy at the realization. I shake my head. "I'm not leaving him."

Boggs shrugs. "Suit yourself." The door shuts behind him, sliding into place with a soft click.

Boggs was right: It's a while. Hours pass and I drift into half-waking, half-sleep, curled up on the cold tile floor, fluorescent lights shining harsh and dull behind my eyelids. Not a single soul passes through the hallway.

I hope someone tells my mother and Prim where I've gone in the middle of the night.

I don't know if I'm thinking or dreaming or both, but my mind floats among memories of Peeta. Of the things I've done with Peeta. Specifically, the thing: the night before the Quell when he moved inside of me, kissed me, made me his. The night I made him mine.

Neither of us thought of it that way, of course. We were going to die. We knew we were going to die. We made no promises in what we did.

But I know now that I was choosing him that night, in a way, even though I didn't really have a choice. That no matter how long I live, no matter how many times someone touches me that intimately, I'll always be brought back to that moment, that bed, that boy.

I'm disoriented when the metal door slides open again. Peeta stumbles out first, and I'm on my feet immediately, pawing at him ineffectually. "D'they hurt you?" I manage to say, voice still clouded with sleep.

Peeta shakes his head, patting my back with clumsy hands. "No, no," he says. "I'm just tired."

And he is, clearly: His face is pale and drawn, dark bags puffy beneath his eyes. I see Boggs and a few other soldiers clustered around the doorway. "Now will you let him sleep?" I demand.

Boggs stifles a yawn with one hand and waves us forward with another. "Yes. I'm taking him to his quarters now."

The journey back to the familiar part of the compound doesn't seem to take as long, and Peeta's new compartment is just a few doors down from where Finnick's been living. Boggs hangs around in the doorway for a minute or two, seeming almost embarrassed when he realizes I'm not leaving with him.

As soon as Boggs leaves I lead Peeta to the bed, crawling in beside him under the covers. We don't even bother to undress. "You're staying?" he croaks softly, his eyes already half-closed.

"Yeah," I say. "I'm staying."

"Can you…can I hold you?" he asks quietly. Without a second thought I curl up against him, relaxing as his arms wrap around me, warm and secure despite how much weaker they've become during his imprisonment. "This doesn't feel real," he whispers against my neck.

"It's real," I whisper back, though I'm not so sure myself. "I promise it's real."

I have no idea what time it is when I wake. But as I slowly realize where I am, who I'm with, it doesn't matter.

I twist around in Peeta's arms to look at his face. In sleep he looks peaceful, healthy. I wonder if it's because I'm here. I know that he's the only reason I didn't wake screaming with nightmares as we slept.

Just as I'm starting to drift off again, Peeta's eyes flutter open. I can see the recognition in his gaze as he slowly realizes that I'm here, that I'm solid and real, that I'm not a ghost or a dream. He buries his face in my neck and groans, squeezing me tight against him.

A smile cracks over my face. "Sleep okay?"

I can feel him nodding. He moves his head back a fraction to speak. "But I still feel like I got hit by a truck," he says, his voice gravelly.

I run my fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp lightly. He looks up at me in surprise, and I flush slightly, but don't stop the repetitive motion. He closes his eyes again, breathing deeply through his nose. "Do we have to get up? I want to stay here forever."

"We have some time," I say, though I honestly don't know. One of Coin's lackeys could burst through the door at any moment and drag us to an endless series of stupid meetings about the Mockingjay. But I don't want to move, either. I want to stay exactly where I am.

"What's this?" Peeta has finally noticed the purple text on my arm, my schedule. The ink broke down hours ago and I haven't bothered to wash it off, so the words are cracked and smeared in places.

"They print your schedule on your arm every morning," I explain, but he still looks confused. "You'll find out soon enough."

"Do you like it here?" he asks quietly, settling back a little so he can see my face. "Are they treating you okay? I didn't even ask how you are."

"I'm fine," I say, letting my hand run down his arm. Part of me still can't believe he's here; touching him constantly seems to be the only way to convince myself that it's not an illusion. "It's not the best, but they took us in. Made room." I swallow. "They brought you back."

The look he gives me is so raw, so open, that it nearly hurts to look at him. "I missed you," he whispers. "I've missed you so much."

"I missed you too," I confess, and then we're both crying again, soft, quiet, embarrassed tears. But there's happiness mingled in with them, too, even if it's tempered by all that we've faced, all that we've yet to face.

"They told me you were dead, at first," he says, and I swear my heart stops in my chest. "But I saw one of the videos you were in. I knew they were lying."

"I thought you were dead. When you warned us about the bombs, Peeta…" I can't say anymore, or I'll really break down. The images flash behind my eyes: His leg on the ground, motionless. His blood on the camera lens.

He chuckle, but there's no humor in it. "Oh, yeah. They weren't happy about that."

Neither of us really wants to talk about it, and we drift back into silence, Peeta tracing lazy circles over my back. After a while, he says thoughtfully, "I suppose I should take a shower."

"Do you have a change of clothes?" The thought of Peeta in the shower, naked and wet, stirs something in me.

"Boggs said there'd be some here for me." He props himself up on one elbow, looking around the little room. His compartment is so small the bed isn't even in its own room – it's just tucked off into a corner. "Oh, wow. It's dinnertime."

I crane my head around to look at the clock on the wall. It's just after six p.m. – not quite dinnertime yet in District 13, though of course he wouldn't know that. "You have time for a shower," I assure him.

"Okay. What about you?"

I hesitate. I don't want to let him out of my sight, not until I'm certain he's safe. The logical part of me knows that Coin and I made a deal – that she was willing to authorize an entire rescue mission just to bring him back to me. But if I take one step out of line...

A pair of martyrs could do her just as much good as a pair of mockingjays.

"I'll go back to my family's compartment. They don't know where I am, I think," I admit. "But I'll come right back here and we'll go to dinner. Is that okay?"

"Fine with me," Peeta says, stretching as he stands up. I climb out of bed after him, grasping his arm to steady myself. As I move to leave he stops me with a gentle tug on my hand. "Hey," he says, his voice low and quiet. "Um…"

Somehow I understand exactly what he's asking, and I raise up on my tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his mouth. He responds immediately, sliding his arms around my waist, pulling me close. His lips are soft and warm, a little chapped, but otherwise exactly as I remember them.

I pull back to take a breath, and look up at him. "Did you think…?"

"I thought – I thought maybe – when you first saw me, they just needed a good reunion…" he trails off.

"Peeta…no." But of course he wouldn't know that something has changed. He doesn't know how miserable I've been without him. He doesn't know that I've spent days and weeks and months trying – and completely failing – not to think about him. Because I haven't told him.

I kiss him again, a long, slow kiss, one that I hope will linger with him while I'm gone. "There are no cameras here," I tell him.

"Okay," he says, looking dazed. "Okay."

Mother and Prim are on shift at the hospital when I get back to our compartment, so it only takes me a matter of minutes to shower, slip into some clean clothes and hastily plait my hair into a braid. I'm back at Peeta's door within the hour.

He's not as quick as me, it seems, because he hasn't even got his shirt on yet when he lets me inside. I avert my eyes as we talk, knowing it's completely ridiculous – I've seen him naked, for pete's sake.

"Okay, I'm ready," he says, ruffling a hand through his damp hair, which has grown almost long enough to flop into his eyes. The Capitol's extreme dedication to personal grooming must not extend to their prisoners of war.

"Okay." I smile up at him, and he moves in to kiss me, hesitant at first but increasingly confident as neither of us breaks away. By the time his hands slide down from my waist to my hips to the curve of my ass, I'm breathless.

"We could stay here," he says quietly against my lips.

No matter how tempting it might sound, I know we can't. "No," I sigh, pulling away. "You need food, and they're not going to make an exception for you again. Let's go."

One of my favorite things about the people of 13 – the only thing, really – is how little they're impressed by my and Peeta's celebrity. Nearly everyone we pass gives us a look, and they clearly know who the pale, blond boy clutching my hand is. Some of them even look surprised. But they don't say hello, or gasp, or try to touch him.

We sit side by side at the table where I usually eat with my family and the Hawthornes, but tonight it's just Gale's mother, brothers and little sister dining with Peeta and me. The conversation is painfully awkward, especially with Hazelle, whose son is recovering in the hospital while the boy he risked his life to save sits here, clean and more or less healthy, with me.

Dinner is the same pale, watery stew they whipped up for Peeta in the middle of the night, but he eats it less enthusiastically this time. "Do you eat this every day?" he asks.

"A lot of days," I say. "They have a lot of different stews that all taste basically the same. But the days me and Gale go hunting –" I stop. Gale isn't the best topic for discussion right now.

Peeta and I finish our meals quickly and head back to his compartment to digest. Technically it's still meal time, but after that comes evening recreation, and then bed. I didn't bother to stamp the day's schedule on my arm after I showered, but it's unlikely that I'll be expected anywhere else this late in the evening. If I am, it's almost guaranteed I'd rather not be there anyway.

Except for a few pairs of clothes and some basic furniture, Peeta's compartment is essentially empty. There's a recreation center in the compound where you can borrow dog-eared books and old board games with some pieces missing, but that obviously hasn't been a top priority for us in the past twenty-odd hours. Peeta pulls a scratchy, dark blue blanket from the food of the bed and drapes it over us as we curl up on the couch together.

"I can't believe you're really here," I murmur, letting my head fall against his shoulder. His hand comes up almost automatically to stroke my hair. "I thought…" I can't say it out loud; it's too awful.

"I thought I'd never see you again," Peeta says quietly. "And it was so – if I'd just been able to reach you, in the arena that night. If I hadn't let you go off with Johanna –"

"I shouldn't have left you," I interrupt him. "I knew something bad would happen. I could feel it. I didn't trust my instincts."

Peeta pulls me in closer, breathes in deeply against the top of my head. "It doesn't matter. It's done. We're here now."

I nod, feeling my throat close up again with some unnamed melding of regret and relief.

"I thought…" Peeta trails off, sounding nervous. "I thought about us, a lot. That night."

I know he doesn't mean the night in the arena. He means the other night – the one that's been plaguing my own thoughts, too. "Me too," I admit.

"Were you…did you regret it?" He sounds like he's afraid of my answer.

I shake my head slightly. "No."

"Oh." He half-laughs, relieved. "That's…good."

"Peeta." I tilt my face up to meet his eyes. "That night…it meant everything."

This time there's no hesitation when he captures my lips in a kiss.

I kiss him back eagerly, twisting around so I'm almost in his lap. His hands are everywhere – in my hair, on my neck, beneath my shirt on the bare skin of my back. It's one of those kisses: the kind that curls my toes and warms me head to foot. The kind I wasn't sure I'd ever feel again.

Peeta feels it too, and after a few more kisses he picks me up and carries me to the bed a few feet away, laying me back against the single pillow. He hovers over my body, trailing kisses down my throat, over my collarbone.

"I would think about this," he says in a rush, pulling the collar of my shirt down to uncover more skin. "If I could just come back to you – feel you one more time –"

I squeeze my thighs around him in answer, and he presses his hips down to mine with a groan. I can feel how hard he is already, his heat. Last time this had intimidated me. This time it thrills me. I can actually feel myself getting wet.

Peeta sits back abruptly and pulls off his shirt. I do the same, reaching behind my back to unclasp my bra. His eyes grow a fraction darker as he drinks in the sight of my bare breasts, but I'm not embarrassed…mostly. I know what I want. I know what we both want.

"Beautiful." I just barely hear the word before his mouth is on my breast, his tongue laving over the little peak of my nipple. I drop my head back against the pillow and moan, my fingers grasping at the back of his head, running through his thick, soft hair. He moves his mouth to my other breast, and his hand slides up to replace it, rolling the hard bud between his fingers.

"Keep – keep doing that," I gasp out, but he ignores me and instead moves his hand down between my legs, rubbing at my center through the fabric of my pants. My hips buck up into his hand, but it's not enough. "Please," I whine.

With one last, hard suck, he moves his mouth off of my nipple and focuses on removing what remains of my clothes. His hands tremble a little as he fumbles with the closure, and he tugs them off of me one leg at a time, pressing a kiss to my ankle.

Peeta's eyes widen when I roll my underwear down over my thighs, kicking them off onto the floor, leaving myself completely bare before him. Then he pounces.

"I want to feel every part of you," he mumbles against the crook of my neck, his hands running up and down my body as he attempts to do just that. His hips grind into me, his hardness brushing up against my clit in frustratingly brief strokes.

Then he moves his hand back down again, sliding his fingers through my wet, slippery folds, and all coherent thought leaves me. "You're so wet," he breathes, and pushes one finger into me, just to the knuckle. I squirm under his touch, too keyed up to speak. "Ugh, and so tight."

Peeta pushes another finger in and fucks me slowly, adding a third after a few lazy thrusts. My fingers clench around the bedsheets, desperate for something to tether me to the earth.

He slips his fingers out of me and brings them to my clit, rubbing me in gentle circles. I clench my thighs around him again in response, but I feel suddenly hollow without his fingers inside me. I groan, pushing desperately at the pants still buttoned around his hips. "Take them off," I tell him.

Peeta lifts his hips and pushes his pants and underwear all off at once, baring his cock to me. He's so hard, and bigger than I remember. I gasp when Peeta grabs me by the hips and rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him, rubbing his tip against my wet center. I want so badly to feel him inside of me again.

"This okay?" Peeta asks, watching me steadily. I feel so exposed, straddling him like this, my breasts and stomach and hips all on display. But I also feel a thrill as he touches me reverently, running his fingers over the curve of my breasts, his eyes following everywhere he touches.

"It's okay," I tell him, and finally he smiles: that wide, warm smile that burrowed its way into my heart somewhere along the line.

His eyes widen for a second. "D'you have a condom?" he says, looking suddenly panicked. I just smile, bending down to kiss him, my hair falling around him like a curtain.

"They give me a shot every month," I explain. A rare commodity in a community so intent on building back its breeding stock. But I guess Coin doesn't think she needs a baby Mockingjay.

"Shit, wow. Okay." Peeta looks like I've just given him the most incredible gift, but I understand. It excites me, too, knowing that there's nothing between us tonight. Just him and me.

With a deep breath, I sink down onto him slowly, wincing at the pinch as he fills me. Though only a few months have passed, it feels like the first time happened a lifetime ago. But the pain fades much more quickly tonight, leaving in its absence a pleasant ache, a wonderful fullness.

Bracing my hands on his chest, I lift myself a little before dropping my hips back down to his. "Oh," I gasp. There's something new that I don't remember feeling the last time, like he's rubbing against something inside of me in just the right way.

I move again, sliding further along his cock this time. It nearly knocks the air from my lungs as his length fills me again – it feels so deep. Peeta's breath comes quick and shallow, his eyes trained on the spot where we're joined. He's watching himself disappear inside of me, over and over. The thought of it sends another wave of pleasure shivering through me, and I can't stop the little moan that escapes my throat.

The noise I make seems to draw Peeta back to consciousness, and he grips my hips in his hands as he begins to gently thrust up into me. "Katniss," he chokes out. "Oh, fuck, you feel so good."

His words encourage me, and I start to move a little faster, a little harder, my breasts bouncing with the effort. That new feeling starts to get even stronger. I wonder if I'll be able to orgasm this way, with Peeta hard and thick inside me this time.

Peeta slides his hands up to palm my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers. "Fuck," he says again, and for a reason I can't explain, I love it, I love to hear him say that.

I stop my movements up and down, instead pushing my hips back and forth so I can grind against him experimentally. This feels incredible, too, and when he lets his head fall back, eyes squeezed shut, I know he feels it, too.

Trying to hold back a moan, I slide my hands from his chest, down his arms to grip his hands and press them down into the mattress. I lean forward far enough that my breasts brush against his bare skin, and he lifts his head just slightly to kiss me. We kiss in time with the rhythm of our hips, straining against one another, our tongues dipping into one another's mouths. I've never felt this alive, this electric.

"I'm gonna come soon," Peeta groans into my mouth, bucking up into me with a hard thrust.

"Not yet," I plead, panting against his cheek. I want to come with Peeta inside of me tonight. In this moment, it feels like the most important thing in the world.

Somehow he seems to understand what I want. "Touch yourself," he breathes.

I hesitate. "What?"

"The way I touched you. Before." I sit upright as he guides one of my hands to the spot between my legs, where he'd made me burst with ecstasy that first time. "I want to see you touch yourself."

I shudder as my finger brushes against my clit, and I make myself press harder, rubbing firm circles around the little nub. "Oh," I say, startled, and hunch forward slightly as I start to grind on his cock again, my fingers working furiously on my clit.

"Fuck, Katniss," Peeta says loudly, his fingers digging into my hips. "I want – I wanted you so bad, every minute…" He thrusts up into me harder, and I cry out wordlessly in response.

"Peeta," I mewl, and the sound of his name must egg him on because his cock is plunging into me from below, over and over, and it feels so good so fucking good I don't even know what's happening anymore. Like flames are licking up through my body, burning, tingling. But I'm so close to the edge so close and I want to get there, I want to get there with Peeta, I want to fall with him…

"Ahhh," I moan, high-pitched, as the pleasure shatters within me, my muscles contracting around him. Peeta grips my hips and slams my shaking body over his cock as he thrusts erratically. The pleasure curls through me, twisting, sparking, for longer than I even knew it could. Then Peeta wraps his arms around me and pulls me flush against his chest, groaning loudly against my neck as he pulses, emptying himself inside me.

We lay like that, sticky and sweaty and panting. I don't want to move. I never want to move. I feel him twitch inside of me and I smile against his temple.

"That was amazing," Peeta murmurs, taking a deep breath. "I love you."

I don't answer, but I feel strangely relaxed despite his words, vacant of the guilt and panic that usually flood my mind when Peeta confesses the depth of his feelings for me.

Because…I think I love him, too. Shouldn't I be able to admit that by now? All I wanted these past few weeks – the only thing – was Peeta. His smile and his hands and his laugh, his eyes and his mouth and his low, soothing voice. Now he's here. I still want him, all of him, and even laying here with him inside of me, it doesn't feel like enough. There will always be this hunger. I'll always want him.

"It's okay if you don't want to say it back," he says softly. "I just told myself if I ever saw you again, you'd know it. I'd tell you every chance I got."

I don't know how to explain to him what I say next; I only know that I need to say it.

"When they took you…it felt like…" I stop, searching for the right words. "It was like you were here, but you weren't. If I really thought you were gone, I could've left. None of this matters to me. Only you mattered. Keeping you safe. Alive." I swallow, dropping my eyes to the pillow beneath his head. "I don't know if that makes any sense."

I let my eyes flicker back to his, and find him staring at me with a look that would have sent me running for the hills only a year ago. Now it grounds me. If I can just have that look – this boy – with me, maybe we can salvage something good out of all this pain and death.

I kiss him then. It's a new kiss, different than all the ones that have come before. There's no sorrow, no longing, no guilt, no fear. There's a definite stirring low in my stomach, lazy and slow, but it's not quite like those kisses, either. It's a kiss that could go on forever, because there's nothing to stop us. Not even ourselves.

We have as many tomorrows as we're willing to fight for.