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The word "recurrence" felt like a physical blow, a heavy weight that settled in the center of Katniss’s chest and refused to move. In the quiet of Peeta’s dorm room, the air had turned thick and suffocating. The flirtatious energy of their previous sessions was gone, replaced by a raw, jagged vulnerability that made Katniss want to reach out and pull him into her skin just to protect him from the world.

Peeta sat on the edge of his bed, his fingers tracing the edge of his prosthetic leg where it met his thigh. He looked smaller than usual, the charismatic glow he usually carried dampened by a shadow of sheer exhaustion.

"My mom," he started, his voice barely a whisper, "she used to say I was a drain on resources. Even before the cancer. When I got sick at sixteen, she told me it was my body’s way of being as useless on the inside as I was on the outside."

Katniss felt a sharp, hot flash of anger—the kind that usually made her want to reach for her bow, though she hadn't hunted since her father died. "Peeta, that’s... that’s horrific. She’s a monster."

"She’s in prison for a reason, Katniss," Peeta said with a hollow laugh. "It wasn't just the words. She had a temper. My brothers and I... we learned how to hide bruises before we learned how to ride bikes. When the state finally stepped in, I was already halfway through my first round of chemo. I spent my recovery in a group home because there was no 'home' to go back to."

He looked up at her then, his blue eyes swimming with tears. "I thought I was done with all of it. The hospitals, the needles, her voice in my head. I thought I finally got to be a normal college student. And now it’s back."

Katniss didn't know what to say. She wasn't good with words; she was the girl who survived by staying silent and blending into the woods. But she knew how to be a constant. She moved from her chair to the bed, sliding her hand into his. His skin was warm, but he was shaking. "You aren't a drain, Peeta. And you aren't alone this time. You have me. You have your brothers. You aren't going back to that place."

They spent the rest of that evening tangled together, the weight of his confession hanging between them like a shroud. When she finally kissed him goodbye, it tasted like salt and desperation.

The following Monday, Katniss arrived at their shared lecture hall ten minutes early. She saved the seat next to her, tapping her pen nervously against her notebook. She expected to see his wavy blond hair bobbing through the crowd, or to hear his self-deprecating joke about tripping over his own feet.

The professor started the lecture. The seat remained empty.

By Tuesday, the silence from his end was deafening. She sent a text at 10:00 AM: *Are you coming to lunch?*

No response.

At 2:00 PM: *Peeta? Just checking in.*

Nothing.

By 5:00 PM, Katniss was a wreck. She paced the small confines of the dorm she shared with Madge and Delly, her phone clutched so tightly her knuckles were white. Every worst-case scenario she had ever imagined—and as the daughter of a miner who died in an explosion, she had imagined many—played out in her mind. Had he collapsed? Was he back in the hospital? Had the cancer spread so fast he couldn't even reach for his phone?

"Katniss, breathe," Madge said softly, looking up from her history textbook. Her blonde bangs were slightly disheveled, a sign she was stressed on Katniss’s behalf. "He’s probably just tired. You said he had an appointment."

"He said it came back, Madge," Katniss snapped, then immediately softened. "I’m sorry. I just... he doesn't disappear. Even when he's clumsy or tired, he texts."

Delly, who had known Peeta since they were children back in their hometown, looked more worried than she was letting on. Her usual bubbly demeanor was replaced by a somber frown. "He gets quiet when he’s overwhelmed, Katniss. But this... this feels different."

It wasn't until nearly 8:00 PM that her phone finally buzzed.

*Peeta: Sorry. Started first round of chemo today. It hit me harder than I remembered. I’m at the University Hospital, room 412. You don’t have to come, I look like a mess.*

Katniss didn't even reply. She grabbed her heavy olive-green jacket and bolted out the door.

The University Hospital was a sprawling complex of glass and steel that felt like a labyrinth designed to swallow people whole. Katniss hated hospitals. They smelled like bleach and sickness, a scent that triggered vivid memories of her mother sitting in a chair for months, staring at nothing while Prim cried for food.

She found room 412 on the oncology ward. The door was heavy, and she hesitated for a split second before pushing it open.

The sight inside nearly broke her.

Peeta was tucked into a high hospital bed, looking swallowed by the white sheets. An IV pole stood like a sentinel beside him, various bags of clear fluid dripping steadily into a port in his chest. His face, usually so full of color and life, was a ghostly shade of grey. He had a basin tucked near his pillow, and the rhythmic hum of the monitors filled the silence.

"Peeta?" she whispered.

He turned his head slowly. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with red. When he saw her, his lip trembled. "I told you... you didn't have to come."

"I’m not very good at following instructions," Katniss said, her voice cracking. She crossed the room in three long strides and took his hand. It was cold now.

The bravado Peeta usually wore—the gentlemanly charm, the easy smiles—crumbled instantly. He let out a choked sob, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "It hurts, Katniss. It’s starting all over again. I’m so scared. I don't want to die in this room."

Katniss felt a lump in her throat so large she could barely swallow. She climbed onto the edge of the bed, mindful of the tubes and wires, and pulled his head onto her shoulder. She stroked his hair, her fingers weaving through the blond curls she had grown so fond of.

"You aren't going to die," she fierce-whispered into his hair. "You’re a fighter. You’ve done this once, and you’ll do it again. I’ll stay here. I’ll stay until they kick me out, and then I’ll sit in the hallway."

Peeta clung to her, his fingers digging into the fabric of her jacket. He cried until he was too exhausted to keep his eyes open, the chemotherapy drugs dragging him down into a forced, heavy sleep. Katniss stayed exactly where she was, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, terrified that if she looked away, the monitors might stop their rhythmic beeping.

It was after midnight when a nurse finally insisted she leave. Katniss walked back to her dorm in a daze, the cold night air biting at her cheeks. Her mind was a whirlwind of medical terms she didn't understand and the haunting image of Peeta’s pale face.

When she pushed open the door to her dorm, she found Madge and Delly sitting on the floor in the common area. They had a blanket spread out and three mugs of tea waiting. They had clearly been waiting up for her.

"How is he?" Delly asked immediately, her blue eyes wide and swimming with unshed tears.

Katniss sank onto the floor, her legs finally giving out. She stared at the steam rising from her mug. "He’s... he’s starting chemo. He looked so small, Delly. I’ve never seen him like that. He was always the one making sure I was okay, and now he can barely lift his head."

Madge moved closer, resting a hand on Katniss’s knee. "What can we do? There has to be something."

"He told me about his mom again," Katniss said, her voice hollow. "About how she treated him when he was sick the first time. He’s terrified he’s going to be alone in this."

Delly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "He’s not alone. We’ll take turns. We’ll bring him real food when he can eat, and we’ll record the lectures for him. We won't let him fall behind."

"I told him I’d stay," Katniss whispered, finally letting a single tear escape. "I told him I wouldn't leave."

The three of them sat in the quiet of the dorm, the weight of the situation settling over them. For Katniss, the world had narrowed down to a single hospital room and the boy who had managed to crack open her heart just in time for it to be threatened.

"He’s going to make it, Katniss," Madge said, though her voice lacked its usual certainty. "He has to."

"He has to," Katniss echoed, though the image of the IV drips and the pale, trembling boy haunted her every time she closed her eyes.

The next few weeks were a blur of fluorescent lights and the scratchy fabric of hospital chairs. Katniss became a fixture in the oncology ward. She brought her textbooks and read aloud to Peeta when he was too tired to focus. She learned which nurses were the kindest and which ones to avoid. She learned how to help him navigate the bathroom with his prosthetic and his IV pole without making him feel like a burden.

One afternoon, while Peeta was drifting in and out of a nap, Katniss’s phone buzzed. It was a video call from Prim.

She stepped out into the hallway to answer. Prim’s face filled the screen, her blonde pigtails slightly messy, her eyes bright and observant.

"Katniss? You look tired," Prim said immediately. "Is Peeta okay?"

"He’s fighting, Prim," Katniss said, leaning her head against the cool hospital wall. "It’s just... it’s a lot."

"Give him the pressed flower I sent in your mail," Prim told her, her voice serious in the way only a twelve-year-old who had grown up too fast could be. "Tell him it’s a primrose. It means 'I can't live without you' in some old books, but I just think it means hope."

Katniss felt a fresh wave of emotion. "I’ll tell him, Little Duck."

When she went back into the room, Peeta was awake. He looked a little better today—a hint of color had returned to his cheeks, and he was propped up on a few pillows.

"Who was that?" he asked, his voice raspy.

"Prim. She sent you a flower. She says it’s for hope." Katniss sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the small, flattened yellow flower from her wallet. She placed it on his bedside table.

Peeta looked at the flower, then back at Katniss. He reached out, his hand steadier than it had been days ago, and cupped her cheek. "I don't know why you're doing all this, Katniss. I’m just a guy you met in a lecture hall a few weeks ago."

"You’re not 'just a guy,' Peeta," Katniss said, leaning into his touch. "You’re the person who noticed I was lonely before I even realized it myself. You’re the person who makes me feel like I don't have to be intimidating all the time."

Peeta smiled, a genuine, albeit tired, version of the smile that had first drawn her in. "I think I’m falling for you, Katniss Everdeen. Which is really inconvenient timing, all things considered."

Katniss leaned down, pressing her forehead against his. "Then you better stay alive, Peeta Mellark. Because I’m not finished with you yet."

They stayed like that for a long time, two broken pieces fitting together in a room that smelled of sickness but felt, for the first time in days, like it might hold a future.

Back at the dorm, Madge and Delly were busy. Delly was baking a batch of "sturdy" bread—something Peeta had mentioned he missed from his family’s bakery, before things went bad—and Madge was organizing a schedule of who would bring him his assignments.

"We're going to see him tomorrow," Delly announced when Katniss walked in. "I don't care if the nurses say three is a crowd. He needs to know he has a squad."

Katniss looked at her friends—her roommates who had become her sisters in the span of a few stressful weeks. She realized then that Peeta hadn't just changed her life; he had created a circle of protection around himself without even trying. His kindness was infectious, and even in his weakest moment, he was bringing people together.

"He'll like that," Katniss said, sitting down and finally letting herself eat a piece of the bread Delly had made. It tasted like home, or at least, what home was supposed to taste like.

As the sun set over the university campus, casting long shadows across the brick buildings, Katniss felt a glimmer of the hope Prim had mentioned. The road ahead was long, filled with more chemo, more nausea, and the terrifying uncertainty of the next scan. But as she looked at the determined faces of Madge and Delly, she knew they wouldn't be walking it alone.

She pulled out her phone and sent a final text for the night.

*Katniss: Get some sleep. I’ll be there at 8:00 AM with the history notes and a primrose.*

A minute later, the reply came.

*Peeta: I’ll be waiting. Goodnight, Katniss.*

She slept that night without nightmares, dreaming instead of yellow flowers and a boy with blond hair laughing in the sun, his prosthetic clicking rhythmically against the pavement as he ran toward her.