When they returned to District 12— when the bodies had been buried and the rubble had been cleared away— he’d chosen a new house. One without ghosts in it or painful reminders of a family that was gone. They didn’t have to live in Victor’s village and construction was happening on the outskirts (the wounds in the land were still too fresh to build over the skeletons of previous houses) but it had always been empty here save for Haymitch and then them. It was s a f e s t out of them all.
Peeta’s hands stopped on the dough he was kneading and his shoulders froze in place. There was always a second of silence before he dared let himself breathe when she spoke, a remnant of what the Capitol had done to him, to t h e m . But he was still Peeta Mellark, still stood in this kitchen with the scent of stew on the stove and buns in the oven. Katniss’ voice was still fresh in his head.
Turning around, he wiped his hands on his apron conservative in his smile because the victor couldn’t tell her tone… was she distraught, happy? His own heart was pounding in his chest. “Really?” Was the only word he could find without tipping the scales one way or another. The baker wanted to grab her and hug her, but she might be scared, she’d been so terrified of children, of family, of losing others…