AN: Hello.

It's been a long, long time (and an "indefinite hiatus" lol) since I've updated this. To be honest, I wasn't even sure I was going to finish this fic. I'm sad to say I lost inspiration for it and that, coupled with really intense life changes and challenges, it was getting really hard to keep up.

I fell out of writing for a long time.

This fic in particular was tricky for me, because I had loved the story I crafted so far, and the characters in it were fun to write for. I just never went into it with an outline, or even a set plan for how I wanted it to end. So by the end (chapter 16-17) I wasn't sure where to just...end it. So I put it on hiatus in 2015.

However, in November of 2017, I was feeling nostalgic. I had taken the time to re-read this fic as it stands here on , and I realized how much I loved it and how proud I am of the story so far.

I also realized that the story has come to it's own end, without me even knowing. So, I cut about three chapters out, and went with this epilogue piece. I feel like, though this update is short and probably undeserved, everything has been wrapped up in a way that I'm happy with.

I have plans to comb through this fic and edit a lot of the chapters for continuity issues and just overall writing mistakes. But I'm going to wait until I have more time until I do that, so who knows when that will be.

Anyway, thank you so much to everyone who's left me lovely comments and followed through with this story (and dealing with my stupid sporadic updates - this one included hah).

Let's end it.

-Em

Epilogue
The Orange Ones

I hadn't realized I'd missed home so much – not until dad mentioned the idea of spending Thanksgiving this year with our family back up north. Stepping off the plane yesterday felt like taking a breath.

We still had an hour drive to my aunt's house – where we were currently staying for the week – but I could already feel the electricity buzzing under my skin. I felt like I was blending back in – folding into my surroundings.

It wasn't until Finnick's hand fell into mine that I re-grounded myself. This was different. I was coming back different. I was coming back to show how much I've grown.

I could finally show Finnick the place I called home.

It had been an oddly simple affair getting here, with only the most minimal amount of shuffling schedules. I had finished my midterms and started my Thanksgiving break just a few days earlier. Finnick managed to fill in enough help to cover the next week back at the store.

I hadn't been back here in years, and I was glowing with the opportunity to catch my old hometown up to speed on the new Annie. No longer was I that skittish teenager that moved to a small fishing down, just six years ago.

Since graduating high school, I had perused studies in Elementary Education, at the local community college. My hope is to become an English teacher when I graduate next year.

Finnick, not one for schooling, wasted no time taking on a manager role in the store. Mags had relented some of her reign to him in regards to the store the past few years, simply because she had been getting too old to carry it all on her own. I think it was a nice responsibility for him to shoulder; and he's passionate enough about that little store to keep it afloat.

I liked to think that the last three years of university rounded me out – put a more confident weight on my shoulders.

For the first time, I was assured in who I was, and that those around me would be, too.

Since we stepped foot into town, it had been a flurry of seeing family and reuniting with old friends. Between the house hopping and the holiday fanfare, Finnick and I had barely had a moment to catch our breath.

Naturally, he took on the task of meeting my family with a grace that only Finnick is capable of. He was charming, witty, and instantly comfortable in his surroundings – and it was something that made my chest swell.

As soon as we were let off the hook of familial obligations, I hauled Finnick here, to the small plot of land that held a park, just a few blocks short of my old apartment. As we were passing the apartments, he insisted I show him my old mailbox. He spend an unspeakable amount of time just observing the small mail slot, not speaking except to nudge me quietly and exhale how weird it was to see the mailbox that really started it all. To me, it just felt weird being back. It was a familiar environment with different sights. Life went on after I left, and I'm still trying to decide if that's a feeling that sits well with me or if it makes me upset.

The trees in the park hang heavy with explosions of reds and oranges and yellows. Occasionally, a breeze will kick up and knock the leaves down like confetti. It's an action that immediately rips Finnick's attention away, as he watches them dance to the floor in awe.

It makes me wonder how he'll act when he sees snow.

"Which colors are your favorite?" he asks, and my answer bubbles up automatically, barely a thought.

"Orange." I say, "I've always loved the orange ones."

He takes a moment to look around, head swiveling to take in all the warm colors around us. He nods, smiling to himself, swinging our arms as we go.

"They are nice. I can see why you like them. But I think my favorite are the yellow ones."

We come across a large oak tree, and I stop him to point it out. I used to come out here to read under its leaves, and when I tell Finnick as much, he insists we stop to sit.

"I think this is a good place to do it," he says, "What do you think?"

I think it's perfect, but then again, I think this whole area is perfect.

We sit facing each other, and the grass is hard and cold underneath me, but it's a pleasant, grounding feeling. He digs through his jean pocket for his folded piece of paper, while I pluck mine from the front zipper in my bag. I folded it with care, but it seems silly to me now.

Our wedding vows.

He watches me a moment, fiddling with the edges of his paper.

"You sure you want to do this?" He asks, "It's not very traditional, reading them before the big day. Hell, reading them before we even date the big day."

"It only makes sense," I smile, and he nods, understanding. We started with letters, and we will end with letters. It's only natural.

I offer him the rectangle of folded paper, and he takes it gingerly, as if afraid it will shatter if he holds it too roughly. His engagement ring shines lightly as he holds the piece of paper up.

With a serene tilt, he clears his throat and begins.

"Dear Finnick,"