You stood by the edge of the meadow, where the trees met the field—half in sunlight, half in shadow. The wind played gently with your hair, your arms crossed against the soft chill of early evening. Something about the way you stood—still, distant—made his chest ache.

He should’ve turned around. Left without being seen. But he didn’t.

Instead, he walked toward you, slow, cautious, his boots brushing the grass with each step.

You didn’t move when you heard him. You just glanced over your shoulder and offered the smallest of nods. Not surprised. Not unwelcome.

“Didn’t think I’d find you here,” he said quietly, stopping a few feet away.

“This is where I come when I don’t want to be found,” you replied.

That made him smile, just faintly. “Then I guess I’m intruding.”

You didn’t answer, not with words. But you didn’t ask him to leave either.

Peeta looked at you for a long moment. Really looked. The way your eyes avoided his. The tension in your shoulders. The way you were holding something back.

He recognized it—because he felt the same.

“It’s strange,” he said finally. “Everything we’ve been through. All the things we survived. And yet this… being near you like this, not knowing what we are or what we could be—it’s the hardest part.”

You turned then, slowly, meeting his gaze. And in that look, Peeta saw every unsaid word. Every missed moment. Every almost.

He took a careful breath.

“I know we’re not… anything,” he continued, voice low. “At least not now. Maybe not ever. But when I’m around you, the noise quiets. The nightmares aren’t so loud. I feel… like I could be someone more than just what the Capitol made me into.”

The wind shifted, carrying your scent—faint, familiar, grounding. His heart thudded hard behind his ribs.

“I don’t expect anything,” he added quickly. “I just needed you to know that if things had been different… I would’ve chosen you.”

His eyes dropped to the ground for a moment. Vulnerability didn’t come easily. Not anymore.

“But maybe it’s not too late,” he said softly. “Maybe it never was.”

He didn’t step closer. He didn’t reach for your hand. He simply stood there—waiting. Open. Hopeful. Afraid.