Reunited

For Mattiboi

"They say when you are missing someone that they are probably feeling the same, but I don't think it's possible for you to miss me as much as I'm missing you right now"
― Edna St. Vincent Millay

To my dearest Peeta,

I am still counting down the seconds until I can see you again. Every moment we aren't with each other feels like a thousand years. I can't wait to see you, feel you, hear you, hold you again. I want nothing more than for this experience to be over just so that we can be together again.

A landmine went off and I was caught in the explosion. I'm relatively fine, so don't be fretting about it, but I have sustained an injury to my hip. I'm currently being treated in hospital and I think they're considering sending me home after my treatment. If this is true, I promise I will never leave you ever again. Because a life without you in it is way too hard to push through.

I need you in my life like I need air to breathe. I need you like flowers need sunlight, how your tea needs milk, your laces need double knots and your canvas' need paint. Three months feels like a lifetime but I will suffer these next ninety days until I can hold you in my arms again. Because the wait will be worth it.

Just to have you again.

Love you always,

Cato

A year. It is made up of three hundred and sixty five days. For some, the time can fly. Be over in the blink of an eye. And to others it can be a lifetime. Every hour, minute, second, dragging on forever until there is nothing left but the desperation for it to just end. End now. So that you can get back to the people you love and find happiness again. To leave all the pain behind where it can be someone else's problem.

That's what it felt like for Cato. Every second he spent without Peeta felt like it was going to last forever.

Cato had joined the army for one reason and one reason only: to make a difference. He thought he had the gumption for it, he thought he was strong enough to do it, and on some level he was. He was able to fight when he was needed to fight, to know when something could be pushed through or whether it was a lost cause, to do what had to be done to win . . . But it wasn't that that made him ache.

It was missing Peeta.

Peeta . . . His life, his love, his one and only.

Really, getting injured in battle had been a blessing. Okay, so it hurt like hell, but when Cato got the news that he was being sent home, he had felt a rush of relief. He was going to see Peeta again. Nothing else mattered.

There was a further three months he had to wait, in a hospital in Iraq, before he was deemed healthy enough to travel. Cato thought it cruel, to tell him that he was going to be sent home, only to have to wait three more months. When he wasn't focusing on the pain in his hip, which had been injured in an explosion when Finnick hit a landmine, every waking hour was spent thinking about Peeta.

They didn't have some deep, extremely romantic meeting. Cato even knew for a fact that Peeta looked back on it in embarrassment. Three years ago, they had been at the same bar. Cato remembered seeing Peeta at the back, with his friends. He was downing tequlia shots like a trooper and was getting drunker with every passing second. Despite the fact he was absolutely hammered, Cato knew that he couldn't leave the bar they stood in without that boy's number.

Anyway, near midnight, Peeta had been past the point of cohearancy and lost his friends somewhere inbetween. He ended up dancing on the bar, crooning 'Can't fight the Moonlight' from Coyote Ugly into a hairbursh. He was reaching the climax of the song when he slipped on a spilled drink. Cato had caught him and carried him home, even though Peeta adamantly insisted that he was not drunk and that he was only slurring his speech because he was probably having a stroke.

Cato had managed to get his number before he passed out asleep. Since then, Peeta hasn't drank, but they have been inseperable ever since their first date a couple of days later.

Peeta was perfect. Cato could talk about him for hours. He certainly bugged the hell out of his fellow soliders because whenever there was a gap in conversation, he'd tell them all about his partner, who was hopefully still waiting for him back home. There was just so much to tell. He had an amazing personality, he was funny, clever, beautiful, had a gorgeous body and these almost inhuman blue eyes. Absolutely perfect.

More time was spent on the flight back to Panem. It really killed, knowing that in a matter of hours, Cato would be back with the love of his life. Nothing was between them now but an airplane and the distance from the plane to the airport. Once he had Peeta in his arms again, every second was going to count.

Cato could barely contain himself as he limped through the airport, his eyes scanning the crowd frantically for any sign of his other half. He realized, with a sinking heart, that Peeta mightn't have been able to make it because of work. Oh well . . . he supposed he could see him back at home when his shift ended. It was hard not to feel a little disappointed at this.

But then he saw him.

Standing about ten metres away, a blond boy stood with an over-sized chauffer hat on his head, holding a sign saying: HADLEY. Because of the hat's visor covering his eyes, the boy couldn't see a thing. He kept flicking it up but it kept immediately falling back down over his eyes again. A part of Cato wanted to do the whole running towards each other and meeting in the middle sort of thing that you see in the movies but, because of his hip, he knew he wasn't going to be able to do it. Why were romantic meetings so taxing physically?

Eventually, Peeta gave up and grabbed the visor of the hat, holding it out of the way as he scanned the crowd for his partner. Cato's heart beat faster as those beautiful blue eyes finally fell on him. As soon as Peeta smiled, Cato found himself smiling right back. It was contagious. Like an illness Cato didn't mind getting infected with.

It was Peeta who ran. Cato walked as fast as his hip would allow him, pushing through even when it started to protest. The distance got smaller. From ten metres to eight, to five, to four . . . to two.

One.

Peeta launched himself at Cato, who caught him easily with a laugh. Nothing had changed, he felt the exact same. Hard and soft at the same time and extremely warm. Cato buried face in the younger boy's neck, almost bursting out crying when he realized that Peeta even smelled the same. Cinnamon and dill. He wasn't sure how he smelled like this-just because he was a baker didn't mean he bathed in cinnamon every night-but it was endearing all the same.

"You're really here," Peeta breathed, his hands running all over Cato's body as if making sure this was real. That he was genuinely here. Cato almost did the same right back, suddenly afriad that this wasn't real and that he was only dreaming. "Oh my god, you're really back home."

"I am, I'm here," Cato assured him. He took Peeta's hands and held them in both of his. Peeta's eyes were watery, making the blue undulate like the sea. "And I'm not leaving again."

They kissed.

Cato had already came to the decision that kissing Peeta was never going to get old a while ago. Because every time was just as exciting as the last. They shared each other's breath, giving each other a little piece of their life, and after the year without being able to do that, Cato never wanted to stop giving Peeta those pieces of himself that they had missed out on for so long.

Peeta had some of his favourite cherry lipbalm on, knowing that the taste drove Cato wild. While Peeta's hands wound into Cato's hair, Cato himself let his tongue take a taste of his partner's beautiful lips. He wanted to drink his essence, show him that the time that had spent apart had only made them stronger, and that they could make it through anything.

Except they were still in the airport.

Peeta pulled away and pressed his cheek against Cato's chest. "You aren't allowed to leave again," he mumbled. His hand found Cato's injured hip and he rubbed the spot gently. "You're hurt now anyway so you can't."

Cato laughed. "You know they could if they thought I was-"

"Sssh," Peeta murmured, sliding his palms up his chest and resting them just below his shoulders. "They can't."

"Okay, Peeta, whatever you say," Cato teased, kissing the top of his head. That was one of the many things he loved about Peeta, he was extremely stubborn to the point where he refused to let anyone think differently from him.

Peeta pulled away and grinned. "Come on, we've got a lot to catch up on," he said. He took Cato's hand and started guiding him out of the airport. While they walked, he reapplied some lipbalm, a clear sign that he was expecting them to be kissing again soon.

When they reached the car, Peeta insisted upon loading Cato's bags for him, saying that he didn't want any strain put on his injury. The doctor had told Cato that he shouldn't do any heavy lifting but he wasn't going to tell Peeta this because then he would just worry and insist to do everything for him.

They didn't live too far from the airport. They shared an apartment about fifteen minutes away. They talked about a lot of nonesensical things on the way there, things of unimportance. It didn't matter what they discussed, it was just the sound of each other's voices that filled their hearts and made them feel warm inside. Cato didn't bring up the tour in Iraq too often and Peeta didn't push the topic. It wasn't that Cato found it painful to look back on, he just knew that it was the sort of thing that may seem distressing to those who haven't lived through it.

It was scary how familiar everything felt. Their apartment was even the same. It looked exactly as it had when he had left, apart from a few odds and ends hanging out. "I tried to tidy up but you know me, everything just gets messed up again five minutes later," Peeta explained, quickly swiping a tea towel off the living room floor and throwing it into the kitchen.

Cato chuckled. That was right, Peeta couldn't keep anything clean for the life of him. He was just a naturally scruffy guy. Laid back and casual, things such as keeping a room straight seeming like a bit of a waste of time. Cato didn't mind, he quite liked a bit of mess too.

Peeta dragged Cato's suitcase into their bedroom, where he propped it against the wall with a flourish. Unable to help himself, Cato let his eyes fully appreciate his other half's . . . figure. What? It had been a year! And he knew Peeta was expecting it, because he was wearing the jeans he always wore when he was trying to wet Cato's appetite. They were incredibly fitting, accenting the cute little bump of his backside, and had two pockets at the back at Cato's hands fit into perfectly.

But it wasn't just his ass he was looking at. Cato had never been able to understand how one boy could captivate him so much. He stared at Peeta's face intensely, trying to figure it out, but all he could come up with was that the boy was absolutely beautiful and he was incredibly lucky to have him in his life. Why he ever chose gunfire and death over Peeta's eyes and smile was beyond him.

In their room, Cato found something that broke his heart. Sitting on the small table, on Peeta's side of the bed, was a photograph of him in his military uniform. Beside that was the wooden box Cato had bought Peeta for their second anniversary, which was stuffed to the hilt with all the letters he had sent him over the past year.

Cato hadn't noticed that his feet had brought him closer to Peeta until he was standing inches away from him. Peeta was too busy trying to fix the comforter to notice, cursing under his breath when he couldn't get it straightened out properly.

Cato wound his arms around the younger boy's waist, tugging him back so their bodies were pressed together. Peeta immediately stopped fretting and melted into him, his hands finding Cato's and holding on tight. "I missed you so much," Peeta breathed, unable to prevent the few tears that slipped out of his eyes.

"I know," Cato murmured, pressing his face into the crook of Peeta's neck. "I've missed you too. So, so much."

Peeta twisted his head awkwardly so they were face to face. They stared at each other, a bundle of raw emotions, before meeting each other in a hungry kiss. Peeta twisted around and framed Cato's face, opening his mouth when entrance was requested. Cato licked all traces of the cherry lipbalm off, his hand idly tracing up and down the line of Peeta's spine. He smiled into the kiss when his partner shivered in anticipation of what was to come.

Taking everything at a gentle pace, because every second mattered, Cato let his fingers slowly drift down to the hem of Peeta's t-shirt. The younger boy held his arms up and they parted for other a millisecond to take a breath and get the shirt up and over his head. Almost as soon as they reconnected, Peeta tugged on Cato's own shirt, a silent demand for it to come off too.

Soon, their pants also hit the floor and they were standing in their underwear. Cato's hands were itchy and desperate, unable to find a comfortable place to rest. They were too keen to explore his lover's body and see if the spots that made him moan, shiver, whine, gasp where the same. They stroked Peeta's soft, pale skin tenderly, caressing his body in an extremely careful manner.

They fell onto the bed, Peeta underneath Cato. The older of the two enjoyed being in charge, prefered to be the one coaxing the sounds of pleasure from the other. Peeta had always been a creature of submission anyway, it seemed to be in his nature. When they tried switching roles, he had been too shy and introverted to take the lead. Not that Cato minded, his liked the position of power and probably always would.

"You didn't mean what you said, when you said that they might send you back?" Peeta asked quietly, his hands drifting along Cato's arms in worry.

"I don't know," Cato honestly admitted. Peeta looked away, biting his lip as tears welled up in his eyes. "Hey, it's okay," he took the younger boy's chin and made him look him in the eyes. "I'm not leaving you again."

"What if you don't have a choice?" whispered Peeta.

"There's always a choice." Cato softly pressed their lips together, swallowing every small gasp that came from his partner as his hands climbed down to his most senstive part, the part that were for Cato's eyes only.

"I'm a little nervous," Peeta whispered. Cato found his eyes again, the bright blue orbs that shone through anything. "I haven't done this in a year. I haven't even indulged in self-pleasure because it seemed like an insult to you."

Cato was touched. "Oh Peeta," he sighed. He kissed him again, distracting him from all those anxious thoughts, and gently began to prepare him for what was to come. Peeta closed his eyes and softly moaned, his hips lifting off the mattres in pleasure. His fingers pushed into Cato's hair, clutching tightly like his partner was the only thing left in the world he could cling to.

When Cato slowly pushed into him, he did it carefully. Bit by bit. Because a year was a long time, and every second mattered, and Peeta was his, and only his. No one else's. They owned each other's hearts.

Every thrust was executed with care, every gasp and groan released being an exclamation of passion and joy. They were a unit, who couldn't work with anyone else but each other. They needed one another, like a living being needed air, like a clock needed to tick, how a butterfly needed wings, a candle needs a match, how dark needs light, like fighting needed to cease, death had to come, life had to rein, the good had to win . . .

And when they both reached that edge, the peak where there is no turning back, they weren't afriad or nervous or anxious. They were ready.

Afterward, they lay together, just holding each other tightly. Too scared to let go.

"I love you," Peeta murmured.

"I love you too," Cato replied. He idly played with the younger boy's hair, letting the silk strands caress the spaces between his fingers. "I promise if they ask for me to return, I'll turn them down."

"You don't have to," answered Peeta, drawing patterns on Cato's shoulder. He had spelt out I love you at least ten times now. "Not for my sake. Doing that is selfish on my part. If you want to go back then go, I'll stand by you whatever decision you make."

Of course Peeta would say that. Because Peeta was that incredible, perfect boy who wouldn't dream of putting other people before himself.

"I'm staying here," Cato said firmly. "Not just for you, for us." He slipped out of the bed and pulled the red velvet box out of the back pocket of his jeans, which were strewn on the floor a little distance from the bed. Peeta sat up, holding the covers close to his chest.

"What are you doing?" he asked gently.

Cato smiled, trying to calm his fluttering heart. He had planned this for months now, he could do it. Peeta frowned when he knelt beside the bed, the gesture soon melting in that of shock when Cato popped open the box, revealing a diamond ring. "Cato," he repeated softly, "what's going on?"

"Peeta," Cato breathed, unable to contain his excitement, "I love you. More than anything in the world. I didn't know what living my life was until I met you. You are my beacon of hope, the thought of coming home to you was what stopped me from giving up when I was out there on the field. The promise of seeing your face again keeping me fighting because I knew every second wasted out there, was going to be made up for here with you. No matter how far we are parted, no matter how much time we are forced to spend apart, I know it will only make us stronger. Because are love is the stars and all we have to do is look up for reassurance that it's going to be okay.

"I don't expect you to want to waste your life away with someone like me but all I ask is a chance. Because I promise if you say yes, if you let me prove to you how there is no one else out there who will love you more than I do, than I swear you won't regret it. Because even though I am but one person, my love for you is stronger than thousands.

"So, here I am, throwing myself out there, laying my emotions out bare. And, as you stare at them, I just have one question." Cato took a deep breath. By this point, Peeta was crying, his hands covering his mouth in shock. "Peeta, will you marry me?"

Never had there been an easier yes ever said.

"Didn't I say I'd always be your same stars? If you get to missing me, just look up."
― Anne Rivers Siddons, Fault Lines

A/N: Hope you enjoyed reading! Remember, if you want a one-shot, just PM me! :D