The Epilogue - Katniss and Peeta

Regret.

*Flynn's POV*

I walk through the door, noticing the windows being open and the light shining into the house. I close the door before walking in further to see Katniss smiling, and Peeta watching her like she's sunlight. The sight is heartwarming—for the fact that I haven't seen her smile in almost a year—but also unsettling. I can't explain the feeling exactly; I'm not even sure there's an expression that could explain it.

"Hey, Flynn." Katniss says to me, and I notice her long dark braid falling over her shoulder. I try to refrain from showing my feeling of concern, just to preserve her sudden contentment. I know she has a facade up, because Katniss hasn't braided her hair in years.
"Hey, Katniss." I reply, smiling back at her. I wait until she walks out of the room to turn to Peeta questioning her sudden change in personality. He gives me a look before sighing, and I can't read his conflicting expressions.

"She received medicine from her doctor." He starts, and I lean against the counter facing him. "She seems different, right?"
"Very different." I agree, picturing the way she acted when I walked in. "Is it a bad thing, though?"
"I don't know what's worse," he starts. "Her being on high doses of medication, but being happy, or her being herself and being depressed."
"Has the doctor said anything about bringing the dosage down?" I ask, but he shakes his head before looking towards the door that leads to the living room. He sighs, and I try to get him to remain positive.

"She still has the same mind, it's still her." I say quietly, and he nods. "Why don't you talk to her about it? You could find out how she feels and choose together how you want to move forward."
"You're right." He says, standing from the counter. "I'm going to do that."
"Let me know how it goes," I remark. "I care about her too."
"I know you do." He smiles before walking towards the doorway in the corner, and beginning to talk to who I assume is Katniss.

I know she's different, but maybe it's a good thing. I've hated seeing her be in so much pain for years, it hurts me just as it hurts her. I remember this one time where she was sitting on the ground, and I was sitting with her, us both crying, and she asked me if I think life will ever get better. I had told her yes, me being naive, and I remember her talking about how it may never get better for her.

I remember that conversation everyday, it mostly haunting me. I see Katniss in Willow, and I've seen Katniss at her worsts, which is why I'm so terrified of what could happen to Willow. Even Katniss herself has told me she's scared that Willow will turn out like her. But now, with this new medication, I'm hoping it'll benefit the both of them—Katniss being happy and it rubbing off on Willow.

I begin to climb the stairs, the squeaks of the steps shaking me from my thoughts. I get to the top before noticing that Willow's door is closed, and her lights are off. I come to the door, and I knock twice—our shared code. I get no response, so I knock twice again before walking into the room. I open the door to see her asleep on her bed, although she's facing opposite of her headboard.

I close the door behind me, and I walk towards her, bending down to her level. I tuck her hair that's spread across her face behind her ear, and I smile at the sight of her so peaceful. I stare at her freckles for a moment before beginning to rub her shoulder until she awakens. She opens her eyes and sees me, and a smile appears across her face.

"Well someone's happy to see me." I joke, standing up slowly.
"Don't start already." She groans, covering her face in her arms. I laugh at the sight of her so disheveled, before walking towards her windows and opening the curtains.

"Why are you still sleeping?" I ask, opening her windows to let the fresh air in.
"You don't want to know." She starts, finally sitting up. She combs her hair with her fingers after seeing her reflection in the mirror across from her, and I fight the urge to smile at the sight.
"What don't I want to know?" I ask, assuming she was up late reading, or reorganizing her bookshelf.