Katniss shifted on the worn-out couch, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion. The Capitol's cruel games had left scars—both visible and hidden—etched into her soul. But here, in District 12, she found solace in the quiet moments.
Peeta sat beside her, his presence a balm to her wounded heart. His hands, once bruised and bloodied, now traced gentle patterns on the frayed fabric. The flickering fire danced across his face, casting shadows that softened the edges of his pain.
"Katniss," he whispered, his voice a fragile thread in the silence.
She turned toward him, their eyes meeting. In those blue depths, she glimpsed vulnerability—the same vulnerability that had made her fall for him amidst the chaos of the arena.
"What is it, Peeta?" she murmured.
He hesitated, then leaned closer. "Do you ever wonder what life would've been like without the Games? Without the rebellion?"
Katniss considered his question. "Sometimes," she admitted. "But we can't change the past."
"No," Peeta agreed. "But we can create our future."
His fingers brushed against hers, and Katniss felt warmth seep through her veins. She had fought for survival, for justice, but perhaps there was more to life than battles and scars.
"Remember that night on the rooftop?" Peeta said. "When we couldn't sleep, and you told me about the stars?"
Katniss smiled. "You thought I was crazy."
"No," he corrected. "I thought you were beautiful."
The memory washed over her—the rooftop, the stars, and Peeta's steady presence. She had shared her fears, her dreams, and he had listened, as if her words were precious secrets.
"Peeta," she whispered, "what are you dreaming of now?"
He leaned back, pulling her closer. "A world where we can rest," he said. "Where the nightmares fade, and we find peace."
Katniss rested her head on his shoulder, their breaths in sync. The couch sagged beneath their weight, but it held their fragile hopes.
"Maybe," she said, "we can dream together."
And so, in the dim light of their makeshift home, Katniss and Peeta surrendered to exhaustion. Their fingers entwined, hearts beating in rhythm, they drifted into slumber—a haven carved out of chaos.
