Author's Note: This is a story that has been in my head for a while and I have been really looking forward to writing it. Thanks for reading! The parts written by Suzanne Collins are italicized.

Disclaimer: I own nothing in the Hunger Games universe. This is just something fun I enjoy participating in.

Snow has stolen him from me, twisted him beyond recognition, and made me a present of him. Boggs, who came to 2 when I did, told me that even with all the plotting, it was a little too easy to rescue Peeta. He believes if 13 hadn't made the effort, Peeta would've been delivered to me anyway. Dropped off in an actively warring district or perhaps 13 itself. Tied up with ribbons and tagged with my name. Programmed to murder me. It's only now that he's been corrupted that I can fully appreciate the real Peeta. Even more than I would've if he'd died. The kindness, the steadiness, the warmth that had an unexpected heat behind it. Outside of Prim, my mother, and Gale, how many people in the world love me unconditionally? I think in my case, the answer may now be none. Sometimes when I'm alone, I take the pearl from where it lives in my pocket and try to remember the boy with the bread, the strong arms that warded off nightmares on the train, the kisses in the arena. To make myself put a name to the thing I've lost. But what's the use? It's gone. He's gone. Whatever existed between us is gone.

What I would give to be once again back in the safe closure of his arms. To have him love me again, so unconditionally, in a way that nobody could ever love me again. But there was no point in wishing over something I could never have. No matter how much I yearn, my chance is gone. All that's left is my promise to kill Snow. It's that promise that allow's me a night's sleep.

The oddest sensation greets me when I awake. I feel my feet in an upright position, and as I run my hands outward I no longer see the scars that should be there. It's unsettling. When I hear that voice, Peeta's voice, unmistakable I realize I must be dreaming.

"Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what's going to be left when we get home?" he says.

It's the same words that he spoke to me years ago, and when I look out I see him. Peeta Mellark. In all of his healthy beauty, no bags, no scars, only the slight limp from his prosthetic cause to worry. It feels so real, that I almost question if it is a dream. I can distinctively feel the tall grass gently swaying across my bare legs, I can hear the soft rumble of the nearby train, and most importantly when I look out I see Peeta in distinction.

Is it possible? Could this not be a dream? I shake my head at the silly thoughts.

"Well, Katniss. Don't just stand there and stare at me. I deserve an answer."

"I-," I'm broken off as a fat bug lands on me. The feeling is so real, so awake, that it shakes me from my confusion. Whatever state I am in, whatever dream or twisted reality I have ended up in, I can at least experience Peeta to some degree until this turns into a nightmare. All of the good dreams turn into nightmares when I spend my nights alone in the bunk. With no arms to surround me, the nightmares have found new roots with the loss of Peeta and the Quarter Quell. I handed up like him, with most of my current nightmares are focused around losing Peeta again.

I suddenly feel the urge to take advantage of this situation's feeling of reality and as Peeta begins to speak I cut him off by enwrapping my arms around his body. It makes him falter a bit and we both fall back onto the soft grasses below us. I push myself on top of him and enclose my lips around his. The warm desire bubbling in my body reminds me of everything I have missed. I keep my lips on his, even though he fails to reciprocate, pushing my tongue into his mouth and only coming up for a gasp of air. I could make Peeta happy. I could give him what he wanted, even if it was only in this faltered state of reality.

He looks up at me with a sigh, "Katniss. Please don't toy with me like this. Don't kiss me if you don't mean it."

I stare into the blue orbs of his eye, the varying shades reminding in their perfect detail that this is the Peeta Mellark that I knew. Not the one that came back from the Capitol. Not even the one I went into the Quarter Quell with, just pure unadulterated Peeta. Innocent. Sweet. No sugar in his tea goodness. I gently trace the side of his face with my index finger, taking in the soft perfection of his skin before I say what I wish I could say in real life.

"You are," I choke out, "You are one of the most kind people I know. I have no idea why you love me, and I know that I could live a thousand lifetimes and never will I ever deserve you. I want nothing more in this world, than to spend the rest of my life in this moment," I grip his shirt and ball it up in my hands before speaking words that I had never spoken to him before, "I love you Peeta Mellark."

Author's Note: Yes, I know this chapter was short, but I wanted to get my words out on paper and see what you thought. If there are any errors, I wrote this illegally in class in about ten minutes. So it's probably going to be a bit bad. Other than that, I'm looking for a beta and further chapters will be around 4,000 words.