The Epilogue - Katniss and Peeta

Remembering.

*Flynn's POV*

I hold her hand tightly as we approach the building in which the funeral is being held. It's a tall stone building, and it gives off a melancholy feeling.

I watch as people I do and don't know file into the entry way, just as we eventually do. I also watch as they all move out of the way for Peeta.

Speaking of which, he's surprisingly holding himself together. I notice the way he carries himself, poised but also so heavily—like his heart is weighing him down.

I'm also surprised by the way he greets people, because it shocks me that he can even hold a conversation within the context of why everyone is gathered. His smile brightens the room—one nobody has even seen in a while—and I can tell tension in the air lessens as he does this.

I see Johanna and Birch, and others that knew Katniss—

It's so weird using past tense, saying things like 'knew' and 'was' when talking about her.

I notice Willow squeezes my hand, and I look down to see her gazing forwards, and I notice a casket. I realize she didn't mean to tighten her grasp around my hand, but I don't mind.

The aisle leading to the casket is eerie, and I hesitate even looking at it for too long, let alone walking towards it.

My attention is dragged away from the casket to a man in the corner, hunched over a table with a flask. I take a deep breath before letting go of Willow's hand and flashing her a small smile.

"I'm going to go talk to him," I say, motioning towards the corner. She nods her head in acceptance, and I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead before walking away.

He doesn't even realize I'm in his presence until I take away the flask from his cold hand, and he glares up at me through his blonde shaggy hair.

"That's mine, Flynn." He mutters, and I can smell the liquor on his breath.

"You couldn't stop drinking for one day?" I ask, still holding the flask. "Not even for the girl you practically raised?"

"Give that to me." His tone is more fierce this time, but I don't flinch.

Instead, I lift the flask to my lips and pour the remaining liquid into my mouth.

I hand the empty bottle back to him, and I flash him an amusing look.

"This was half full." He tips the bottle over, and I nod my head in agreement. "You're such an asshole."

"Trust me," I start, remembering all of the shitty things I've ever done. "I know."

I give him a push on the shoulder before leaving the table, and moving back towards Willow and all of the others that are there for Katniss.

I assume Haymitch is too drunk to remember the times where I would drink with him in Katniss—times where I couldn't stand to be around my mother.

Peeta never found out about her drinking that much—and he never will. He doesn't need to know that she was going downhill way longer than he knows.

I couldn't tell him even if I wanted to, because I owe her everything. Katniss was the one who solved the issues with my drinking, and Katniss was the one who helped me through the hard times with my mother.

Now, I have no one to do either of those things.

I run my hand through my hair before watching as she looks at me, and I can tell by the look on her face that she's upset.