Author's Note: Hi guys! So extremely, terribly, very, very sorry for the long wait. I've been trying to figure stuff out and it's been difficult and unfortunately I wasn't feeling too much like writing most of the time. I actually just finished this chapter when I was supposed to be writing college application essays! It is what it is. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy and please, please, please, let me know how you liked it or what you want to see, I love hearing from you guys. Thank you so much for your continued patronage and support! I have not in any way abandoned this story it's just been taking me a bit longer to do updates recently. I wish all of you the very best and hope you're all doing ok with school/work/whatever you have to deal with it. Ok, enough rambling, enjoy!

After Peeta got back from the bathroom a calm energy seemed to descend over us, despite the brazenness of our actions just a few moments ago. Peeta's nervousness seemed to have calmed when he came back and saw me reclining on the couch, catching me in a moment of quiet contemplation with a smile ghosting my lips.

He sat down on the couch next to me and smiled sheepishly before taking my hand. The pure comfort of the moment was overwhelming, with the drowsy feeling accompanied by a physical sensitivity that was both exciting and pleasant having settled over my body. The rain is pouring heavily, pitter-pattering on the old roof as thunder rumbles in the distance and flashes of lightening cast shadows in the living room.

With Peeta by my side, my head resting gently on his shoulder, it's all impossibly cozy and perfect. I've been resting on him, cuddled slightly into his side, a silent happiness existing between us when I open my eyes lazily. I turn my head from his shoulder to take in his face and catch him in an unguarded moment.

He looks positively angelic with his eyes closed, head resting on the back of the couch, smile on his beautifully swollen lips. His impossibly long eyelashes flutter when he realizes I have moved and he looks at me, moving his head and smiling more broadly.

I take his face in my hands, the size of his jaw making my fingers look tiny. I give him a gentle kiss, not meaning to incite another heated session but rather give him a sweet reminder of my joy and of the fact that I have no regrets. He returns my kiss; his soft, milky skin moving beneath my palms as his plump lips lazily latch onto mine.

I pull back before things can go further and take his hand in mine.

"I should get up and check the time, Prim might be needing to come home soon."

"Ok," He says, raising his lips into his seemingly permanent smile and getting up with me, squeezing my hand before letting it go to take our empty plates into the kitchen.

I check the clock in the entryway and see its about a half hour from when Prim said she would be home and I realized I've let the time get away from me, distracted as I was by the handsome man currently washing dishes in my home, a goofy grin on his face no doubt.

I go to the phone on the wall and call the number that I had written down previously, anxious to catch her friend's mother before she tries to leave. I look out the window while the phone is dialing, drawing back the curtain and peeking out at the rain that pelts down unforgiving on the flooded road, the lightening illuminating the otherwise grey and sunless sky.

I feel the dredges of panic start to take hold within me when I think about Prim being driven home in this weather, scared and unsafe. I breathe a small sigh of relief when a woman on the other line answers and I shakily tell her that I'm very worried about the storm and ask if there's any way that Prim can stay until it passes. She sounds kind and tells me that she was just about to call me to ask the same thing and that the children are having lots of fun and would love to have more time together anyway. We agree that Prim will stay the night and I will call her in the morning when I'm ready for her to come home.

I thank the woman, her name is Annie, profusely, and the relief in my voice is evident, my anxiety eased now that I know Prim will not be in a similar situation to my parents the night they died. Annie tells me that Prim and her daughter are having a fantastic time and seem to becoming fast friends. She invites me over to dinner sometime to properly meet her and her husband; his name is Finnick I think. I graciously accept and hang up the phone, immensely relieved that Prim is safe for the night.

I wander into the living room again, finding Peeta crouched in front of the fireplace, building a fire to keep us warm as the storm wages on outside. He smiles at me in greeting and I crouch beside him helping him light and stoke the fire until it is a steady blaze, warming my face and chilly fingers. We relocate to the couch, sitting closely, both of us clutching our now tepid hot chocolate.

"Did you talk to the mother of Prim's friend?" He asks, also seeming concerned about the prospect of Prim being driven home in this weather.

"Yes, I was really anxious about her trying to make it over here in this," He nods, listening intently and putting his mug down to rub little circles on my upper back. "But the mother, Annie, she was very nice and assured me that it would be no trouble for Prim to stay the night."

"Good, I think that's best. I could always go pick her up but the storm is really bad, it's probably for the best that she stays where she is," He says, smiling and putting me more at ease with the fact that he would've tried to venture out into this to pick up my little sister.

I squeeze his thigh in gratitude and silence settles over us, the pressing matter of Prim's placement out of the way. Sitting close to him on the couch, the rain outside and his hand on my back, I realize that Prim is going to be gone all night, meaning that Peeta and I will be here by ourselves. Alone.

There's no way I'm letting Peeta go out into this to go home, which means that he's staying the night too. Something like nervous excitement runs through me, the thought of Peeta staying the night both delicious and dangerous.

It's become painfully clear that being in close proximity to Peeta does things to me, makes me have thoughts and urges that I've never experienced before, feelings that lead me to act in scandalous, albeit satisfying ways. I can't say that it bothers me but I realize that I am going to have to exercise some restraint if we're alone together all night. As much as I'm sure that Peeta is the one that I would want to do other things with, I don't want to rush anything by cramming the majority of our sexual activities into the span of one stormy, inhibition-less night.

I look at him slowly, suddenly unsure on how to broach the topic of a sleepover, whether by circumstance or otherwise.

"So," I say, busying myself by taking a sip of my lukewarm hot chocolate. "I guess that means it's just the two of us tonight."

He smiles widely, seemingly unperturbed by the idea. "I guess so," He says, moving to take my hand and squeeze it gently. He must sense my sudden nervousness because he looks at me reassuringly, attempting to ease my nerves.

"But that doesn't mean that anything else has to happen, Katniss," He tells me, taking on a more serious disposition in an attempt to calm me. "I'll sleep on the couch and we can just spend the rest of the evening reading or playing a game or something, I don't want you to feel any pressure about doing anything else. You know if you regret what we've already done you can tell me but either way I don't want you to feel like I expect something else to happen because I don't, I'm just thrilled that I get to spend time with you."

He looks at me in an incredibly sincere and calming way; making me believe every word he's said and feel much better about the situation. While his words put me at ease, I was never much worried about feeling pressure from him, more about myself being unable to control myself and acting like a wild animal. But I decide to take it a moment at a time and make sure he doesn't mistake my nervous energy for feelings of regret.

"Thank you, Peeta," I say, trying my best to rub the little comforting circles on his hand that he often rubs on mine. He notices the gesture and smiles, his own nerves seemingly calming a little from the simple movement. "I don't regret what we've done." I tell him, watching him visibly relax as I realize the importance of communicating fully with him to ease the anxiety he often feels. "Like at all," I add quietly, looking down at our hands at my admission.

"I'm glad," He says quietly, showing me the goofy grin he always does when he's surprised or relieved by something I've said. I take a moment to marvel at the power I seem to have over this gentle boy; the ability he's given me to make him happy so easily.

I settle down a bit, relaxing further, when I think about the hours ahead I'll get to spend with him, filled with lazy kisses and conversations, the rain protecting us from the distractions of the outside world for a little while. Besides our time at the bakery, we've never had time alone like this before.

I treasure my time at the bakery with him but it's a different type of interaction. When we're at work our interactions are full of nervous smiles and gentle touches. Few words pass between us under the guise of having something to do. When I'm at the bakery I feel an obligation to keep myself busy; both to lessen the amount of work that Peeta has to do and to distract myself from his proximity.

Unlike now, I don't let myself stare at him and think about all the feelings he incites in me. Like the way my fingers itch to touch him and my body aches to feel his solid warmth.

But now we're alone together in my home and there are no distractions, no feelings of duty to keep me from cuddling with him and getting to know him better. I realize that I feel such a connection to him, such a comfort being with him, but I haven't spent that much time talking to him. I don't know so many things about him and suddenly I want to know them all, I want to stay up all night listening to every hope and dream he's ever had, trying to figure out what made this man so gentle and kind.

Besides brief insights we've given each other into our pasts and the information that seems to spread around town, I realize we don't know much about each other; neither of us having the courage to open up or ask the other person to. But I suddenly want to, I want to know everything I can about this man that is both comforting and puzzling. His gentle nature confounds me, as it is something that I have not seen in any other person. I don't know how he's managed to be so incredibly kind despite his awful mother and his loss and loneliness, how he's managed to not let this harsh world corrode him into something hard and defensive the way it has done to me.

I lean my head on his shoulder and tuck my feet under me on the couch, settling into him, encouraging him to get comfortable too. He scoots closer and puts his arm around my shoulders, nuzzling me closer into his side. I feel incredibly warm and content, a domestic comfort that I haven't felt in years. I take his hand in mine and stroke it gently, feeling the soft skin, seeing how it contrasts in a pleasing way with my own olive tone.

Profoundly comfortable, I think about what I want to know about this boy. He's poured his heart out to me and told me that he thinks the world of me, that he would do anything for me and my sister, but I don't even think I know his favorite color. That doesn't seem right and I decide to remedy it, hoping I don't sound silly and childish.

"Peeta?" I ask, speaking softly as he moves the side of his head to rest on mine.

"Yes?" He whispers back, his gentle voice rumbling softly in my ear.

"What's your favorite color?" He answers with a light chuckle, the deep sound both relaxing me further and exciting me.

"Orange," He says, moving his fingers in tandem with mine, the two of us searching and stroking each other's skin, craving any contact we can get despite how close we are and the things we've done already.

"Orange?" I question, thinking that such a brash color seems unbefitting of him. I would expect his favorite color to be something of a soft blue or something equally comforting; this boy that can paint things with such a lifelike quality must have a different favorite color than orange.

"A soft, lazy orange, like the sun right before it retires for the night or when it first rises in the morning. What about you?" His soft words soothe me and seem fitting. It would make sense that Peeta would appreciate the way the sun sets and rises, I wouldn't be surprised to find out that he makes a point of watching the sun come up and go to rest each day. I make a mental note to keep an eye out next time we're at the bakery to see if he looks out the window as the sun comes up.

I have to think about my answer to his question, though I know it will not be as poetic or beautiful as his response I want him to have a similar insight into what comforts me. "I suppose my favorite color would be green. Like the deep green of the trees in late summer, right before fall comes and cools everything down."

He gently kisses the top of my head; I can imagine he's smiling and I hope he's as happy as I am; that he thinks this moment is as perfect as I do. "That sounds beautiful. Maybe you could show me the woods sometime, maybe in the spring."

I smile at the suggestion, thinking nothing sounds as tranquil as seeing Peeta in my woods with his golden hair brightened by the sun and his fair cheeks made pink from exertion.

"That sounds nice, I would love to." He squeezes me closer with his arm and I nuzzle into him, already so close but wishing I were closer. I don't think I'll be truly satisfied until this boy and I have no barriers between us, until I can feel his beautiful skin pressed against the length of me. I take a breath and remind myself to take what I can get, to not rush things, especially when they are this beautiful and natural.

Silence stretches between us for a few moments but it is not uncomfortable. There is no expectation to fill it with words or stuff it with awkward smiles. We've reached an understanding, both of us knowing that the other wants to be here just as much as we do and it's exquisitely comfortable. But I still want to know more about him. I practically want to crawl inside him and see everything that makes him so soft and gentle.

"Do you ever miss your mother, Peeta?" I ask, not stopping to think if my words might ruin the balance that we've reached or if I might disrupt the comfortable silence.

He doesn't seem to tense though. He simply takes a moment to collect his thoughts and continues to stroke my skin lazily, holding me just as close as he was before.

"Sometimes," He starts and I listen closely, aching to understand. "Sometimes, I miss a mother, I miss a comforting maternal figure, but not her. She was never kind or comforting to me. She was bitter for as long as I can remember, though my dad said she wasn't always that way. She became angered easily, especially by me it seemed. Whenever I made a mistake she would yell and sometimes strike me and she would berate me about it for days. Most of the time I would just try to stay away and talk to her as little as possible. It was my dad who I went to for comfort. So I don't miss her. But sometimes I miss what she could've been, what I imagine a good mother is. But mostly I miss my dad."

I let go of his hand and snake both of my arms around his torso, burrowing deeper into him, willing him to absorb all the love and comfort I have to give. My heart breaks for him and the little boy he was, scared of his own mother and her wrath.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, though it seems like an insult, not nearly enough for all the pain and loneliness he's suffered.

"It's ok sweetheart," He says softly, kissing my hair again and hugging me against him. "It's been a lot better since I've known you, a lot less lonely."

I place a quick kiss to his cheek and burrow back into him, still sad for him but comforted by how much better we both seem to feel because of the other. I can't imagine what it's like to have a mother that is so hostile and unloving. Both my parents were incredible and deeply in love. We didn't have much but I remember our family always being so happy when we were together. My mother would light up when my father came home and we would spend long evenings together in this room, on this couch, singing songs and telling stories and playing games.

It hurt so much to have that ripped away so suddenly but I will always have those glorious memories, those moments of warmth and love to remember in times of hardship. I can't imagine what it must be like to not have that. Or to not have someone to look after and pour all your energy into. Prim has given me purpose and I suppose having me in his life is similar for Peeta. He finally has a distraction from his grief and loneliness and I'm so happy I can provide that for him.

The silence descends upon us again and I let myself think about what it would be like if we were a little family, my little sister and Peeta and I. I can't help but think it would be beautiful, each day filled with golden kisses and warm hugs; a bakery to work in together, lingering touches shared between us all day long. Then to come home to Prim and a home filled with good food and gorgeous paintings, a home filled with Peeta and his gentle goodness. It fills me with such a sense of joy to imagine living that life.

I remind myself to not get ahead of myself and to enjoy the moment and how incredibly good it is. But every moment I spend with Peeta, every touch and every kiss leaves me satisfied but also even hungrier than I was before. No longer am I hollow and starving, instead I am so full. Full of good food and love and want and greed for more.

I want to never not be close to him. I want to fill him with affection and comfort the way he has done for me. I want him to feel just as unexpectedly happy as he makes me.

I kiss him; slow and deep, unable to contain the cauldron of joy I have bubbling inside of me. He returns the kiss, searching and sensual, expressing all the emotions that my question has brought up. After a moment I pull back and look at him and his flushed cheeks and bright eyes. I cannot only imagine but am filled with a special kind of wonder at the thought of seeing that face every day, of waking up to his loving gaze beside me.

I pepper little kisses on his face; his nose, his eyes, his strong jaw. He closes his eyes and smiles, somehow looking even more breathtaking than he did a moment ago.

I pull back and he takes in a shaky breath, looking at me disbelievingly. I'm struck with another moment of courage and I pull back a bit farther, facing him and stroking his hands gently.

"What do you see yourself doing in 10 years?'" I find myself holding my breath, strung tight and anxious at the realization that his visions for himself could not match up with the visions I have had of us together. The thought of him not seeing something long term with me would be devastating. It scares me how much the thought hurts and how desperate it makes me feel.

He looks at me a bit confused for a second, trying to derive meaning from my strange and sudden question.

"I don't know…" He says, now shy and unsure, looking down at our hands as he talks. "In a perfect world I would still have the bakery and it would be doing well. And …" He looks up at me, gauging my reaction while I silently will him to say what I so want to hear; that he wants a family, that he wants that family to be me.

"And nothing would make me happier than having someone to come home to at night. A courageous, beautiful woman that loves me. But that's a long time from now and I doubt I would be so lucky."

His words make me sad for him again, sad that he doesn't let himself hope for that. It's clear that he feels insecure sharing that with me, probably thinking that it will scare me off. It would've scared me off a couple months ago. The prospect of commitment like that would have terrified me before I realized that I wanted it, before I realized who I wanted it with. But now the idea fills me with a sense of elation, only dampened by the fact that Peeta thinks it implausible.

"I don't know, 10 years passes faster than you think. I think it's entirely possible." I say just as shyly as he did, watching my fingers dance over his skin. He smiles big and bright at me, his earlier anxiety of rejection fading away. It's the closest that I can get to admitting the depth of my feelings but I think it's enough.

We both bask in those words for a moment, reveling in the possibility of a future together. We each became more vulnerable with each other tonight, him sharing more of his painful past and me sharing the possibility that I see in our future. We sit quietly, both perfectly content, both enjoying the rain and the crackling fire and the person beside us.

"Do you read a lot, Peeta?" I ask, deciding the image of him absorbed in a book seems fitting, given how beautifully he describes things.

"I do," He says, cuddling me slightly closer into his side, seemingly just as desperate to be close to me as I am to him. "I like to read fiction books when I'm home alone, it gives me something to focus on and makes me sleepy before bedtime. If I didn't read I'd probably stay up too late, occupied by own thoughts. Do you usually read?"

"Sometimes, though not as much as I should. I have a few books but I'm normally too tired at the end of the day to think of it. It sounds nice though, to read before bed."

"If you want, I could read to you right now? Reading is always especially cozy when it's raining outside and there's a fire going."

The idea thrills me, and I chastise myself for not thinking of it before. I can't imagine a better way to fill this time than to be cuddled up with this boy, hearing his smooth, deep voice read me a story. I practically bounce up off the couch, moving towards my modest bookshelf and picking the perfect book for this occasion.

I settle back into the couch and hand Peeta my selection, a tattered paperback copy of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. He looks surprised but delighted at my selection and I hope he likes this book too, given that it's probably my favorite.

"My dad used to read this book to Prim and I sometimes before bed. He must have read the whole thing to us three or four times. I've always loved it."

He looks at me and smiles, holding the book reverently between us. "I would be honored to read this to you. This book is one of my favorites, too."

I smile wide and take the liberty of cozying into him, all modesty aside. He holds me nice and snug, his arm draped around me, when he opens up the book to the first page and starts reading, the soft cadence of his voice painting the fantastical scene for me, the vibrations of his chest just as hypnotizing as the words.

He reads to me for a long time, speaking slowly and softly as the night wears on and I try to fully take in each moment, warring with my eyes and foggy brain to stay awake so I can keep experiencing it. Eventually the drowsiness overtakes me and I can feel myself losing consciousness.

It's like this, all cuddled up and curled into each other that I drift off to sleep, Peeta's hand gently combing through my hair while I let thoughts of what could be, what will be, lull me into a peaceful sleep, the likes of which I only achieve when he is near.