After the rebellion

We're still standing

*Katniss Pov*

I stand in the breeze on my porch, wind blowing through my hair. I sip on tea as I gaze into the colors that rest in the sky. 

The world is an interesting place, with so many colors that float in the sky as the sun rises. Willow is on my lap while I braid her silky brown hair. 

All of the colors that lay in the sky are all given names that makes up the color. Kind of like us. 

I was given the name tribute, girl on fire, victor, tribute again, mocking Jay, and- "Mutt".

I hear him whisper those words under his breath. His eyes, a dark shade of blue. Like the rapids seas at midnight. 

"Mutt, you ruined my life.." I stand up from my chair and run upstairs to set Willow down in her room. I slam her door shut and secure it with a lock. 

I run downstairs to the sight of my husband having a battle with his own mind. "Peeta, it's alright stay calm".

"How could I be when a mutt is before me". He whispers. "Peeta I am not a mutt, i'm Katniss. Your wife, and the mother of your child." 

He grabs onto a chair and his fingers curl into a fist, his nails biting into his skin. 

I can see the strain in his posture, the way his body tenses like he's about to spring into action.

 But it's not like before, when he would throw himself between me and danger without hesitation.

 No, now there's something different in him—an emptiness, like the part of him that would do anything for me has been hollowed out. 

His hands clutch onto a chair and they almost turn purple—a tear slides down his face, so I know he has snapped out of it. 

I rush to his sides rubbing circles onto the small of his back. His arms lock around my waist and we both don't say anything. 

I walk upstairs to let Willow out of her room, and she is probally confused why I just trapped her in there, but shes only one.

I lock my arms around her and carry her downstairs. I place her small frame gently in a high chair. 

She plays with her toys and I return back to the living room to comfort Peeta. 

As soon as I walk in the room, I can see the guilt that shows on his face. Why is he mad at himself? It's not his fault. 

"Katniss i'm so sorry, I feel so bad and I promi-" I cut off his lips with a kiss.

 I lean in, resting my forehead against his. I close my eyes and feel the way his breath evens out when I do. My heart slows to match his.

His hand lifts, fingers tracing along my jaw, brushing hair behind my ear like he's afraid to miss a detail. And then he kisses me.

It's slow, unhurried. No desperation. Just warmth. 

His lips are soft, familiar. Safe. I kiss him back because I don't know how not to. Because this right here, is the most certain I've ever felt.

When we pull apart, I keep my forehead against his. Neither of us moves. The fire snaps quietly behind us.

"You're safe," I whisper, more to myself than him.

We are interrupted by the sound of Willows cry's. "I'll get it Hun" I tell him planting a kiss on his cheek. 

Her cry's echo through our house, and I pick her up in my arms and sing a song that always calms her down. 

The song I sang first to Prim, then Rue, and now my sweet girl. 

"Deep in the medow, under the willow."

"A bed of grass, a soft green pillow"

"Lay down your head, and close your eyes." 

"When they open the son will rise"

"Here it's safe, and here it is warm" 

"Here the daisies guard you from every harm"

"Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true"

"Here is the place that I love you"  

Her blue eyes are now covered by her eyelids, and her breathing is more heavy and constant. 

I walk back up our creaky stairs and set her down in her crib. My baby girl is just so perfect, so sweet, and I cannot believe she's mine. 

I head back into the living room to be with my husband and he still looks very upset with himself. 

"Peeta seriously get over it, i'm not mad at you." "You should be though." He replies. 

"Why should I be mad at you? It's not like you hurt me or anything." "But Kat, I could've." "But you didn't. Alright?" 

"How about we watch something" I suggest. 

"Alright, can we watch cake boss" He asks and his eyes overflow with excitement like a little kid on Christmas morning. 

"Sure, darling. I'll get some blankets" "Okay, and i'll make the popcorn.

_

We get all cozy and there are blanket's wrapped around our legs, and the popcorn bowl is nestled between us, half-empty. 

 He made it with honey and cinnamon, which means I'm eating more of it than I planned.

Peeta's favorite. Buddy is mid-rant about some leaning wedding cake disaster, waving his arms like it's the end of the world. 

I don't really get the appeal, but Peeta is hooked, eyes fixed on the screen like it's a championship game.

"Okay, but look at the structure on that one," he says, pointing like I'm supposed to be impressed. "You see how he layered the sponge? That's genius."

I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. "You get this excited about cake every time."

He grins, undeterred. "It's art, Katniss. You don't rush the Sistine Chapel, and you don't rush a five-tier fondant masterpiece."

I shake my head, but I'm smiling. I can't help it. "You're ridiculous."

He just shrugs like he's proud of it. "You say that now, but just wait—one day, I'm going to make a cake shaped like a bear. You'll cry."

"Only because I'll know you spent six hours elbow-deep in fondant."

His laugh is warm and full, and it settles something in my chest. I lean into him a little, rest my head on his shoulder. He smells like flour and something sweet, like home.

On the screen, Buddy throws his arms in the air and declares, "This is the best cake we've ever made!" Peeta claps, just once, like he's part of the team.

"This part gets me every time," he says quietly.

"The cake reveal?" I ask, glancing up at him.

"No. The way they all cheer together. Like... they actually like each other."

There's something in his voice I recognize. Something I could ask about, but I don't. 

Instead, I slide the popcorn a little closer to him and say, "Well, I like you. And if you ever do make that bear cake, I'll pretend to cry, just for you."

He turns to me, smile soft and real. "Deal."

The fire pops, and Buddy starts yelling about buttercream again. 

I barely hear it. I'm too wrapped up in this moment, his warmth, the easy quiet between us, the way everything feels so... normal.

I never cared much about cake before. Still don't, really. But if it means nights like this, curled up next to Peeta, safe and full of honey-cinnamon popcorn, I'd watch a hundred episodes.

Maybe even cry at the bear cake.