Post-Mockingjay: Katniss watches Peeta paint.
It’s nice, just to be with him. His presence becomes a comfort. The way his hands work, the smear of paint across his forehead, the tightness of his lips when he makes a mistake. The sun shines through the window behind her, and Peeta paints a meadow where Prim sits, the wind blowing through her hair in a field of dandelions. Perhaps it can be good again.