They would sit on the beach, he bringing a Capitol-issued fishers blanket, meant for those out late on the boats.
He would wrap it around his shoulders, and she would lean against his stomach and pull it to cover herself.
It would fall off his shoulders and he would laugh, and she would be lying in the sand, her head in his lap, wrapped in that blanket. His arms bare, the blanket not big enough for the both of them. They would sit like that for a while, watching the sun go down across the ocean.
A breeze would pick up, and they would scoot closer together. She would pull his arms around him, leaning in.
They would watch the ocean together, her in his arms. And when she fell asleep he would pick her up, gently.
He would wrap her in the blanket and just watch her sleep for a moment. Then he would carry her back home, walking slightly slower due to the extra weight.
He would lay her down in her bed, cover her with the blanket, and kiss her on the forehead.
When the Capitol came to collect Annie after Finnick escaped the arena, they found her on that same bed, with that same blanket.
They took away the blanket, and a part of Annie died inside.
For that had kept them together, kept them wrapped up those nights on the beach.