Starting over is a terribly slow process, especially for someone like Johanna. A war can’t be forgotten in a day, or in a year, the scars never go away and with them, the memories. There’s no happy ending, only growing life around the grief. Sometimes the “peace” is too much. For a victor? It’s like everything is always too good to be true, and your happiness can and will be harshly ripped away from you. Johanna hates feelings, they are weakness, and that’s what the Capitol wants. But there’s no Capitol to haunt her now, and that feels weird. Now that she has time to think about feelings, everything feels weird. That you know the real Johanna: the traumatized Johanna, the fragile Johanna, the parts she wishes to keep hidden, but can’t when you’re around feels especially weird. You’re yet to convince her to speak openly about her trauma and process her feelings completely instead of pretending she’s above that, but she’s improving. You are truly infuriating, how you managed to love her crazy ass and insist on getting past her walls is beyond her, but she’s glad you did it, not that she says it out loud. Love is truly weird.

Your fingers brush through Johanna’s wet hair, which has grown quickly, as you massage it. She’s not completely submerged in the bathtub, her complicated relationship with water isn’t solved yet, but she often agrees to let you wash her hair. It’s weird how your presence actually makes her feel better and less nervous about everything, how actually nice this feels.

“Does it take that long to wash a hair? I’m getting wrinkled! Gross.” Johanna complains but her little smirk says otherwise. Peace and feelings may feel weird, but maybe it’s worth it if she can share it with you. Not that she’d say something so corny out loud. Well, for you? Maybe one day.