Why does he love me?

That's the question that swirls my head as I walk aimlessly around the woods. Why does Peeta love me? What have I ever done for him? Okay, yes, I saved his life a few times, but I figure we're even. What I mean is, why does he still love me?

This morning, when I woke up, I realized Peeta arms had me in a vice-like grip. As I wriggled out, Peeta, still half-asleep, looked up at me and said, "Don't go…I love you." He then turned around and went back to sleep, as if nothing had happened.

That was when the question had plagued me: Why does he love me?

I close my eyes, and imagine a boy. A boy who I've been hopelessly in love with since I was five. He barely notices me, until I give him bread, saving his life. After that, we don't come in contact until the Games. I admit that I love him, and he tells me his does, too. My heart swells in hope, and we share many kisses, each of which I cherish. And then he tells me it was all for the Games.

Fast forward to next year. I miss him so much, but he ignores me, keeping an icy distance. I see him with his pretty female friend, who he cares deeply for. We come in contact again, and I offer to be friends, though I would prefer we be much more. We share more kisses, ones that make my heart flutter, but means nothing to him. He shares kisses with his female friend too, ones that probably mean much more to him than mine do. One day, he kisses me, and this one is different than the other ones. This one is passionate, deep, and meaningful.

All these kisses and gestures, fake and real, take over my life. And through this all, I love him unconditionally, willing to give my life for him. He barely responds to my love, and keeps darting out of my reach. No matter what I do, he takes it for granted, not loving me back. He leaves me broken.

I bump into a tree. I slide down it, going into the fetal position. What have I done? What have I been doing to Peeta? The thought of how I treated him with his hijacking causes me to break out in sobs.

Haymitch was right…I could live a thousand lifetimes and still not deserve Peeta.

I'm running now, past the woods and beyond the fence, sprinting to his house. He's not at the bakery today; it's a Sunday.

I fling open his door. Peeta's in the kitchen, kneading some bread. He turns around, smiling warmly. "Back so soon?"

His warm smile and sweet voice causes my face to crumple. Immediately, Peeta is at my side. His concerned blue eyes look into my own, "Katniss! W-what's wrong?"

I throw my arms around him, pulling him as close as I can, but needing him closer. "I'm sorry!" I wail, "I'm so sorry!"

I try to elaborate, to get everything off of my chest, but my voice gives away to ugly chokes and hiccups. Peeta, no matter how bewildered, scoops me up and takes me to his bedroom. He lays me down, but I sit back up, determined to tell him everything. Why am I making these stupid sounds? Why can't I stop crying?

Peeta strokes my hair, whispering soothing words to me, "It's alright, Katniss, it's okay."

"No…it's…not!" I manage to choke out.

Peeta pulls me close. "Whatever it is, Katniss, it's okay. I forgive you. You don't need to be sorry." Under his breath, he adds, "It can't be that bad."

"But it is!" I cry, "Peeta, I'm sorry! I…I don't…"

At this point, I lose it. I cross a line into hysterics, and Peeta holds me until sleep overtakes me.

When my eyes flutter open, it's dusk. I'm swathed in a cocoon of blankets. I hear the shower running in Peeta's bathroom. I remember why I'm at Peeta's house, and exhaustion overtakes me again. I want to do nothing more than turn over and fall asleep again.

I'm just about to when Peeta exits the shower. Automatically, I pretend to be asleep.

I hear his steps get closer to the bed. A soft kiss is placed on my forehead. When I hear his footsteps get farther away, I crack open one eye.

Much to my relief, a towel is wrapped around his waist. He uses a smaller towel to dry his hair. I find myself watching him. The way his arm muscles strain as he blots his hair, the slight pull at the corners of his lips, his abs…For the first time, the word "sexy" is used in my head to describe Peeta.

Peeta pulls on shorts and a T-shirt, then climbs into bed beside me. I keep looking at him, his icy blue eyes; his ash blond hair. His eyes dart to me, and he starts.

"Oh!" he says, "You're awake!"

I crash my lips into his. For the first time, my kiss is rejected. Peeta pulls back, his eyes mystified. "Katniss," he says, "You crash into my house, ask me for forgiveness, go hysterical, then go into a kissing frenzy. What is going on?"

Again, I realize I haven't been fair to Peeta. I have no idea what to say; how to get my thoughts out in words, so I just say, "Haymitch was right, Peeta. I could live a thousand lifetimes and not deserve you."

He looks hurt. "Don't say that! I'm the lucky one here, Katniss."

Is he crazy? I give him an incredulous look. "Are you serious? After all I've done to you…" My eyes tear up again.

It's Peeta's turn to give me an incredulous look. "What you've done…uh, let's see: you've saved my life more times than I can count, you've put up with me when I was hijacked, you keep away the nightmares—"

I don't want to hear any more excuses. My lips meet his. For the second time, he pulls away. "Katniss," he says, his eyes locking onto mine, "I'm serious. You do know how much I owe you, right? You know how important you are to me, right?"

I give a little laugh. "Sure, Peeta."

I really don't want to talk anymore, so for the third time, I crash my lips onto his. When he tries to pull back, I move forward, not letting him go. Every time he tries to speak, my lips silence him. After a while, he gives up, and starts kissing me back. I can't place this feeling. It's not quite the same feeling I felt at the beach during the Quell; it's more intense, and weirdly searing. The heat envelopes me, and soon, my fingers are in his hair, and his are in mine, and it still doesn't seem close enough.

My fingers tug at his shirt, lifting it higher with each pull. He takes this as encouragement, pulling at the sleeve of my shirt, until my shoulder is exposed. He places a longing kiss on it, making a moan escape my lips. His fingers play with the fabric, not pulling it any lower. His eyes bore into mine. Are you sure? They ask.

No…no, I can't. I can't go through with this; not tonight, not after how much I've hurt Peeta. I can't afford to hurt him anymore.

He sees the answer in my eyes. He places a kiss on my lips, a softer, more gentle kiss, and pulls my shirt into place.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

He waves a hand of indifference. "Don't be. You weren't ready."

"Not that," I say softly, "I mean, for everything. For how I acted…for how I'm acting now."

His eyebrows draw together. "What do you mean?"

I place a kiss on his cheek, then snuggle in close. "Goodnight, Peeta."

Peeta sighs, wrapping me up. "I've never understood her," he mumbles under his breath, "I don't think I ever will."

I am just about to drift off to sleep when three words are whispered in my hair: "I love you."

I bite my lip, squeezing my eyes shut. Those are the worst possible words to say to me right now. I pretend to be asleep, and soon, Peeta falls asleep. A ragged breath leaves me. I fall asleep to my lingering question: Why does he love me?

"Peeta! Peeta!" My throat burns as I scream his name. Can he not see the mutts? They're right behind him! "Peeta!" I watch, unable to move, as one of the rose-scented monsters take a bite out of his neck. Blood gushes out, staining the floor, my hands, my eyes. I try to run, but it's no use. I cannot get any closer. "Peeta, NO!"

Peeta's lifeless smile stares up at me. He's gone, he's gone, he's gone! He made a mistake by loving me; he's dead, because of me, he's dead! He raises silently to the sky, a smile still on his face. I try to run to him, but he raises higher and higher and higher, dangling tantalizingly above me, justout of reach. I watch, helpless, as hundreds of mutts take more bites out of him; making him a bloody slab of meat. "No, Peeta! PEETA!"

"Katniss," he says, his voice far away, "I'm right here."

He is. And here I am, wrapped in his arms, with a pair of concerned blue eyes looking into my own. I sit upright. "They're behind you! Peeta, go! GO!"

Peeta sits up. "Shh, Katniss. No one's there. Its only us."

"But the mutts—"

"They're not here," He says patiently.

My hand reaches out, trailing over his face, searching for the gory mess of a boy I saw moments before. He cups my hand, but I slip it out, touching his neck. It's not bloody and irreparable, but soft and scarred.

"It was a dream," he says softly, voicing my thoughts.

"I…I was so scared!" I say, my voice trembling. I thought…I thought he was gone. My best friend, my closest companion, my remaining family, gone. The boy with the bread, gone.

"It's okay, Katniss," he whispers, "I'm right here."

"They…you…I—" I feel myself on the brim of hysteria.

Peeta's lips meet mine before that occurs. His kiss, warm and steady, helps settle the line between dream and reality; making the dream panic slowly wear away. When I feel the early morning sunshine on my back and hear birds chirping outside, I pull away.

I clasp his hands. "Stay with me, okay? I…" I gulp, "I need you, Peeta."

His eyes look perplexed. "You 'need' me?"

I nod, looking away. "Yes."

He smiles. "Well then, I need you, too." His smile grows wider. "In fact, I more than need you." He places a soft kiss on our clutched hands, "I love you."

My throat jams up, my heart picking up its pace. This time, there's no cover to duck behind; no way to pretend to be asleep. So I look up at him with wide eyes, utterly speechless.

"It's okay," Peeta sighs, "You don't have to say it back to me. You never do." Is it just me, is there a hint of hurt in his voice?

I keep staring at him like a fool, at a total loss for words.

"But you know what I think," Peeta says, his warm, playful voice back in place, "I think you do love me. I mean, who doesn't?"

Since I know he's just playing, I scoff, "Me. I don't love you."

He leans in, his nose barely an inch away, "Not even a little bit?"

I pull back, "No." Even I can hear the doubt in my voice.

He leans in closer. "You're in denial."

As I pull back, I lose my balance and fall on my back, with Peeta on top of me. We both laugh.

"Oh, so I make you swoon?" Peeta teases.

"Peeta, shut up, and get off me." I say.

Peeta presses down on me. "Not until you admit it."

I jut my chin in the air. "Never."

"Then you're not getting up." His statement is accompanied with a smug look. I scowl, not even attempting to push him off of me, as my attempts would be fruitless.

"I can't admit something that isn't true," I say.

"Oh, but it is."

"Not in a million years."

"No?"

"Not a chance."

"Then I'll just have to…" a sly look crosses his face, "Convince you."

My eyebrow raises. "Convince—"

Peeta leans in, his lips leaving soft, whispering kisses on my collar bone. My eyes close. He then kisses my neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses all the way up to my cheek.

Something is stirring in the pit of my stomach. Warm and curious. Peeta kisses my forehead, then my nose, skips my lips, kissing my chin. He does this again and again, kissing me everywhere but the lips.

But that feeling is growing. I need him. I reach out, cupping his face, and pressing it against my lips. I feel his smile through our kiss. He has won, but I could care less. Last night's feelings return. My fingers tangle in his hair, needing him closer, no matter how close he gets. I now feel the hunger I felt at the Quell, except its ten times as strong. I need him.

Finally, we pull away for air, panting. But it's not enough. I need more. I need him.

"You love me," Peeta says quietly, "Real or not real?"

Real or not real? He hasn't used these words for almost a year now. Is this his last game?

I know I need him. He's my family, my companion, my closest friend. He's the key to warding off my nightmares. Without him, I cannot survive.

But, there isn't just need. I more than need him. I'm talking more than a roof over our heads, food on the table, and company. I'm talking about that feeling I get when I see his face first thing in the morning. The feeling I get when we kiss. The feeling I get when he holds my hand. The feeling I get when his arms wrap around me, warding off nightmares. The feeling I don't ever want to lose.

Could it be…love?

Peeta has loved me ever since we were children. He is open with his feelings, while I am not. I've been trying to avoid this feeling for as long as I could remember. I don't want to get married, I don't want to have kids, I don't a family.

But Peeta's not asking all that. He's simply asking if I love him.

This feeling…is it love? Does love mean he's always in your thoughts? Does love mean you don't want to spend a day without seeing him? Does love mean you crave his kisses and caresses? Does love mean you can't bear the thought of something bad happening to him? Does love mean his life his worth just as much as yours…maybe more?

I'm back in Peeta's room, looking up at his questioning eyes. He's bracing himself for my reply, his blue eyes boring into mine. I have a feeling he knows my answer, but I say it anyway.

"Real."