After having a horrible slip on the ice, you were ordered, by your mother who had doctored you for the past couple days, to stay in bed. You had a broken heel and bruised tailbone, so it was hard to get up anyway.

The only thing — or person — bringing you company and comfort was Peeta. He came over everyday to bring you fresh bread and to help you with your families book. It's an old thing brought together with yellowish, stained paper and thread. The books composed of page after page of ink drawings of plants with descriptions along with medical uses. For a long time, you wanted to add your own knowledge that you had learnt from the previous Hunger Games. You were no artist, so that's where Peeta came in. You explained in detail, trying to help Peeta capture the plants that were unknown to him.

When he finally got the hang of it he would have this expression, a serious face that you rarely saw. You spent a lot of time staring at him, letting your eyes lock on his golden lashes that shone in the sunlight.

Peeta finishes his drawing and turns it up to you with a smile. It was beautifully drawn, shaded and perfected.

"So? How does it look?" he asks.