I wake to a crash. Where Peeta's warm body should be beside me, breathing steadily in the light of dawn, there is a cold empty space. I immediately jump out of bed and throw one of his shirts on whilst I run downstairs to where the crash came from, instinct kicking in. I head to the kitchen, and what I find in front of me makes my heart sink.

Peeta is leaning against a cupboard, his bad leg stretched out and his good one tucked underneath him. He's shaking and there are tears streaming down his face, his breathing ragged. His fists are banging on the floor as he chants 'Not real, not real, it's not real'. I look to my right and there's a tray of plates and glasses shattered on the floor with food scattered everywhere. From what I can tell he was trying to bring me breakfast in bed when a flashback hit.

I run over to him without a second thought, checking his hands and face for any cuts which could be worsening the situation but he seems physically okay. He hasn't even noticed I'm there despite being right in front of him.

"Peeta? Peeta its okay, it's Katniss. You're okay, you're safe I promise. You're at home in District 12 with me, in our kitchen, you were making breakfast. Peeta please-" Something in him snaps and he looks at me, his eyes wild and feral. Every instinct in my body is telling me to run, but I stay put and continue my mantra, trying to reassure him. It helps somewhat but he is still shaking and although he sees me now his eyes are still distant and cloudy. I wrack my brain for something, anything to help him and I start to sing. I'm not even sure what tune I'm singing but it has the desired effect. His sobs quieten, his shaking lessens, his eyes clear somewhat. I keep going until he lets out a huge sigh and his body relaxes.

"Peeta," I breathe out and throw my arms around his neck, relief coursing through me. He still seems somewhat stiff beneath me and I pull back to see what's wrong. He's crying again but not the uncontrollable sobs of earlier; these tears mark his face in silence.

"Katniss, what are you doing here?" he says. I frown. "I could've hurt you so easily, I was on the verge of a full blown flashback. You should've ran when you saw me."

I shake my head, "You wouldn't hurt me. I know you wouldn't. And you don't leave me when I'm having a bad day so I'm not going to leave you." I pause. What I say next is under my breath. "I've done more than enough of that."

He obviously hears me anyway, "I don't blame you for that, Katniss. I left you just as much in the arena. And I almost killed you in Thirteen, you had every right to shut me out and leave me."

"No, it wasn't fair to you. What if the situation had been reversed? If I had been hijacked what would you have done?" I say. His silence is his answer. "Exactly. I left you when you needed me and I'll never stop hating myself for it."

"Katniss it's different. I could hurt you during a flashback-"

"But you haven't. Ever since you've been home you've never hurt me once during a flashback. And you've always come back to me before you go over the edge." I say, running my hands through his hair in an attempt to comfort him.

He sighs, "It's not fair to you though. You have enough to deal with without my flashbacks."

"And you have enough to deal with without me hiding in a cupboard or in the woods for hours on end and having to come find me. But you do it anyway. For the same reason I stay with you and help you with your flashbacks."

To my surprise the corner of his lips curl into a half smile and he shakes his head, "You're so stubborn."

I smile back, "So are you." I place a kiss on his forehead and he opens up his arms to me which I happily curl up into. He is so strong and steady considering how a matter of minutes ago he was violently shaking. We sit together on our kitchen floor a while, listening to the sound of each other breathing. I take his hand and rub soothing circles into them. It started off as a technique to calm one another down after a nightmare but I use it more now as a comforting gesture. I'm here. I always will be.

I'm cautious before my next words. I've said them to him before, in whispers under the cover of darkness, a tangle of limbs and sheets. I remember how his face lit up when I first told him, and I wondered how I had ever been so scared to say it out loud, to admit it when I had known it for so long.

I have never said them out loud in daylight, and somehow saying it in the middle of our kitchen with the sunlight streaming in seems so much scarier, so much more real. But I know that they're truer than ever, and that he needs to hear them right now. "I love you."

Whenever I've said this to him before, his face lights up and he showers me with kisses, whispering back how he loves me too. But today he just stares ahead of him, sadness filling his eyes. Part of me panics, worrying if this was wrong and I shouldn't have said it, not out in broad daylight like this and not so soon after a flashback.

"I don't know why you do," he says eventually. His tone tells me he's not just saying it, that this is genuinely what believes, just like he genuinely believed nobody needed him on that beach so long ago.

I raise my head from its resting place on his shoulder and look at him. He looks so defeated, his eyes filled with a sadness I have only seen a few times. I try and come up with something to say, but I've never been good with words; that was always his forte.

"Because you're Peeta," I say. To me this is enough of a reason in itself, but I know this means nothing to him. I try and elaborate, finding that once I've started it all starts spilling out. "Because when I was starving and almost dead you threw me bread. Because you make me feel as safe as my father did. And you can make me smile on days when I swear I won't be happy again. And you put up with me and my stubbornness and my breakdowns and my outbursts. And I don't have to explain anything to you because you already know." I pause, taking a moment to look him in the eyes, which are shining. I glance to the mess of food and smashed china on the floor. "Because when I've been feeling sad you'll bring me breakfast in bed with extra cheese buns. And you make me do things that I don't want to do but I know I should, like take my medicine or ring my mother. Because after everything you've been through you have every right to be angry and distrusting and to shut the world out but you're still the kindest and strongest person I've ever met."

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head but I talk before he can, "Peeta, nobody has ever recovered from a hijacking as well as you have. And they all received the same treatment as you and they didn't go out into a war like you did."

"There's still so many days where I feel like I might slip again." He says quietly. The pain in his voice tells me this is something he thinks about often, is terrified of. I take his hand in both of mine, placing a kiss on his knuckle.

"That's okay. We'll work through it together. Like we always have."

He is quiet for a while, but I don't mind. I poured out my heart in a very short amount of time which is something I've never done before. I don't blame him for needing some time to process it. I'm still in shock I said all those things myself. He's the one who will declare his love for me in offhand ways and tell me I'm beautiful when I've just got out of bed. It's only in recent weeks that I've even said those scary three words, most of the time preferring to convey my feelings for him physically rather than emotionally. This is new territory.

Eventually he turns to me, his eyes soft and clear and brilliantly blue. "Thank you. I'm sorry for being such a mess this morning."

"You don't have to apologise." I say, threading his fingers through mine. He holds me tight against his chest whilst I sit in his lap, leaning my head against his chest. Too soon I feel Peeta shift beneath me and realise he must be uncomfortable after having been sat here with me on his bad leg for so long. I get up from his lap and he stands up slowly, surveying the damage he's made.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," I say, leading him through to the living room. I make him lay down and put on the TV that he can watch to distract him. "I'll clear up and then make some breakfast okay?"

He begins to protest and get up but I make him lay back down. "I know my cooking's not great but I can make a decent enough breakfast can't I?"

"Well …" but he's grinning and I can tell he's just teasing me. The thought makes me smile; the fact he is able to tease me and joke around after this morning seems amazing. I kneel in front of him so we're on the same level.

"I'll be right back. If you need anything just shout."

"Okay," he nods. I am about to get up when he speaks again. "Katniss?"

"Yes?" His face seems serious at first and I'm worried something's wrong. Then it breaks into the most beautiful smile.

"I love you."

I lean forward and kiss him, soft and gentle. It takes a lot of strength to pull away and not just climb on the couch with him and spend the rest of the morning enveloped in his warmth, but somehow I manage. In the quiet morning air I place one last kiss on his forehead and whisper four words back, just for the two us.

A/N: Hey guys! Long time and no writing, I know. I feel awful and I hope I can do more of it but I can't make any promises unfortunately! This was a little shot I came up with whilst chatting to a good friend (shoutout to Joy) post Mockingjay Part 1. I feel like we all need a bit of everlark fluff in our life after that movie! (Still loved it though). Hope you guys enjoyed this - as always reviews are always appreciated.