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She always brought him something from the woods.
The first time she brought him a single dandelion.
It had been a long winter, and the sun had only begun to peek through the cold shadows. It had been a good hunt today, with 2 rabbits and a squirrel shot right through the eyes. Her short dark hair tickled her neck as she practically skipped back home.
That's when she saw it – the first spring flower, a lone dandelion lurking between the wet shadows. She scurried towards it and quickly plucked it, almost afraid it would run away if she wasn't fast enough.
"Peetaaa," her voice rang through the house as she peeled off her shoes and hung her father's hunting jacket on the hooks Peeta had installed for her.
"In here," Peeta called from the kitchen.
She found him all serious, wrinkle between his eyebrows as he kneaded some dough. She skirted towards him wanting kiss the lines between his eyes.
"Hi, bread boy," she whispered sweetly before kissing the frosting off his lips.
"Hi," he said in between kisses
"Mhm, vanilla." Katniss breathed licking his lips.
"Here, try this," he said, spreading a thick layer of icing on a cinnamon roll and handing it her.
"Mhmm, so good. Thank you baby," she said between huge mouthfuls.
"I got you something from town today," Peeta sang, reaching into his pockets.
"Show me, show me," Katniss almost begged.
"You know Thom's little sister, Darlene," she nodded. "Yeah, well, she was really happy with her birthday cake and wanted to give me something in return."
He pulled out a long strip of transparent lace.
Katniss' face broke into a huge smile. "A ribbon? What does she think you're 12 to go around wearing ribbons?" she teased.
"Be nice, Katniss, she's only five. I doubt she knows how to gift a grown man," Peeta said.
"You do know she has a crush on you, right?" Katniss said, grabbing another cinnamon roll, stuffing her mouth once again.
"Who doesn't?" Peeta sassed, swaying his hips.
"I don't," Katniss rolled her eyes.
"Oh really?" he eyed her mischievously before grabbing her arms, leaving all but an inch between their sugary lips. "I wouldn't be too sure about that."
She shuddered involuntarily. Even after a year of being with him, just being near him made her weak in the knees. His warm hands slid down her arms before gently turning her around so that her back faced him. Slowly, he brought his hands up to her hair, bunching half her hair into a ponytail and tying the flimsy lace into a bow.
She turned around, beaming in his arms, peering into those blue eyes.
"Wow, birdie, look at yourself."
She blushed bright red before pulling out her dandelion from underneath the table.
"For you," she said shyly, holding it right under his face.
"Thank you, birdie," he said, delicately taking it from her hands as if it would slip from his grasp like water.
Her blush deepened. She loved it when he called her that. It reminded her of her father, that he was still a part of her, and just like him, she still sang wild and free. A bird that's what she was.
"You're my dandelion in the spring, you know that, right?" she whispered.
"I know," he whispered back, burying her mouth in long, warm kiss.
After that, she brought him something every day. Sometimes it would be tufts of dill or rye. Other times, she would bring him shiny stones that reminded her of the color of his eyes. Sometimes a feather or a leaf, but mostly she brought him flowers. She brought him wild onions because it reminded her of the day she broke her heart. She brought him daisies because they were as pure and white like his soul. She brought him sunflowers because he was her sun and followed him everywhere he went.
He kept a whole shelf dedicated to her gifts and pressed the flowers inside his notebook. It helped remind him that all was not lost on the more difficult days when she could not get out of bed or talk to him.
And on the night they conceived their first child, she whispered into his arms.
"I'm going to call her Dandelion."