Primrose Blossoms

….…

I wanted to write a story for Katniss' birthday given that I'm barely a year into the fandom. I waited and waited for May 8 to write something, and this story went through a lot of different beginnings until I found this one that felt right. I wanted to write a senior!Peeta and senior!Katniss because I just thought of them growing old together - like 70 or 80 years old. But this is a story for some other time. So, even though this story is a day late from May 8, cheers to you, my lovely Katniss Everdeen!

Belated happy birthday and happy mother's day, my love!

….…..

A story from the perspective of the primroses that Peeta planted in Katniss' garden. Post-Mockingjay. Peeta and Katniss grow back together.

P.S. Suzanne Collins owns The Hunger Games Trilogy!

….…

"You're back," the girl with dark matted hair says as she tumbles down the house, looking as if she wants to scream but coming up short.

"Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday," the boy with curly golden hair answers. This morning, he dug my family and me out of the ground, disturbing my sleep and cutting some of my side roots.

"By the way, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone," he adds and frowns slightly at the sight of the disheveled girl.

"What are you doing?" she asks defensively. She tries to push the hair out of her eyes, but it is no use because her hair is all clumped and oily.

The boy drinks her in before answering. "I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her," he says softly. "I thought we could plant them along the side of the house."

She studies my family and me, our roots wrapped in cloth and the soil secured by kitchen twine while we wait to be transplanted. We didn't have any say in our fate and could not protest because we had no thorns. I wished I could have drawn blood from the rough and scarred hands of the boy. Then again, he looked determined and somewhat hopeful as he was digging us out this dewy morning, and we couldn't help but relent and have him take us. He was careful and respectful, even thanking us as he wrapped us securely.

The girl doesn't say anything back after looking like she wants to viciously scream at the boy. Her face softens, and she gives him a nod, then she runs back inside the house, and I hear the door being locked. More sounds of fumbling and running upstairs follow then there is a loud smashing sound of glass. The boy winces every time he hears a thud from the house. The girl seems to be throwing things around and rearranging the furniture with haste.

I'm grateful though, that the boy continues his work and plants my family and me thoughtfully on the ground. He surrounds us with rich soil and drenches us with water, alleviating our drying roots and lifting our spirits. As I watch the boy return to his house and push his creaky wheelbarrow down the road, I fall asleep from the stress of being uprooted from the woods.

….….

The boy waters us every morning, checking our leaves and hilling up the soil around our base to make sure we grow upright. He looks thin and pale, and there are dark circles on his face, but his eyes are like the sky in the woods - impossibly blue and very clear.

Every morning, the girl rushes out with her bow and sheath of arrows on her back. I saw her before in the woods, she was gone for a long time, but I never forgot her face. Many years ago, she used to come with her father, then alone, then with a tall older friend. She wanders the woods a lot as if she belongs there, respectful and quiet, observing everything and drinking in the sounds.

An old lady comes to the house bringing a pot of stew every morning. I've never seen her before, but as she shakily walks towards the house with the young girl holding the edge of her skirt, I can't help but feel glad because the young girl always smiles at me. I think she wants to talk to me, but the old woman keeps her by her side all the time.

As my roots grow deeper and become stronger, I relish the quiet in this village. It's not the woods that I am used to, but it is still a serene place. The boy planted my family and me where we could receive morning sun and a shade at midday. He plucked out all the weeds around us, so we won't have any competition for nutrition. I can see everything from where I'm planted - who goes into the house, walks by the road, where everyone lives. It's a nice shift from my usual environment, and I became more observant of my new habitat.

The boy brings two loaves of bread every morning to the girl's house, one of which always goes to the old lady and the young girl. I hear voices inside the kitchen, some friendly conversation between the boy and the old lady, but I never catch the voice of the girl with matted hair again. She seems very quiet and reserved. Nothing has changed, I suppose. She was like that too in the woods when she was much younger.

As the sky darkens, I hear a hiss on the porch behind me. I'm much too short to see above the wooden platform, but I am certain that there is a wild cat in the house. The girl with matted hair just came home, assisted by a man she calls Thom. In a few minutes, I hear the girl's raspy and sad voice.

"It was the waste of a trip. She's not here," the girl says, and I'm certain that she has gone delusional. The man Thom already left, and there was no one else in the house to talk to.

The cat hisses again then I realize that she is speaking with the scraggly feline.

"She's not here. You can hiss all you like. You won't find Prim." There's a pause, and then she continues. "Get out! Go away! There's nothing left for you here! She's not coming back! She's never ever coming back here again!"

It sounds like things are being thrown inside the house, and the cat hisses and meows as if hurt and abandoned.

"She's dead," I hear her say, and the sound of knees falling heavily on the floor follows. "She's dead, you stupid cat. She's dead."

The cat wails loudly as the girl sobs with despair. It's heartbreaking hearing them both cry. Feeling and receiving their energy as it dissipates around the village makes my leaves droop heavily towards the earth. Their weeping fills the darkness of the night until exhaustion overtakes them.

….…..

"Peeta," I learned, is the name of the boy with golden hair, and "Katniss" is the girl with the matted locks. There's a gruff, old man who visits every now and then, smelling like death with the stench of alcohol that I only recognize from fermenting berries in the woods.

The girl remains silent as ever, and the boy and the old man spend their afternoon playing a board game with some small banter. Sometimes the girl waters us, looking depressed or blank on most days. Today is an exception though, and there's a slight hint of a smile on her lips. It doesn't reach her eyes, but to me, she is already very lovely.

The boy comes to her side, and he kneels on the ground, plucking some stray weeds that have grown near our roots. He smiles at her softly, squinting as the sun hits his eyes, making his corn hair eyelashes translucent. Their companionable silence is refreshing, and I watch them work together amiably from where I am rooted.

….…

I wake up to the incessant honking and guttural noises of geese coming into the yard. They've been corralled in the gruff old man's house, but somehow they had escaped today. Seven of them litter the yard and are making a mess of things. Two are relieving themselves in the brick path, three are attacking the ground, looking for food, and two are nipping at my family's leaves. Being a plant, I have no way of escaping, so I succumb to my ill fate. A lot of leaves are already half plucked on the ground, and two more geese are coming my way to dig out my roots. I brace myself for imminent death.

"Haymitch!" the girl screams from the house, and I am thankful to see her stumble towards the yard with a broomstick. The geese are protesting and fighting back, squawking and flapping their wings wildly, but they're no match to her blazing fury. "Haymitch, get your geese out right now, or I swear I will shoot every one of them with my arrows!"

The old man, who I now know the name of, comes barreling down the yard with a bag of grains on his back. He calls his "pets" (I call them pests) with his deep voice and pats the bag of grains to signal feeding time. They seem to recognize him and honk their way toward him, screaming for food and leaving the mess they created in the yard.

"Hey, what's happening?" the golden boy suddenly chimes in, and he blushes profusely at seeing the girl. I guess the girl didn't realize her delicate presentation. She's practically flashing him with her skimpy night shorts and a threadbare old shirt. She might have forgotten to wear any underwear underneath it all too.

"It's his geese! They ruined the primroses …" she cries and falls down to the ground. I never knew we mattered so much to her.

The boy gives her his flannel robe and wraps it around her body as she shivers in anger. "It's all right, Katniss. We'll fix it together. I'll help you."

The girl nods and wipes her tears, sinking into the boy's chest as she looks at our half-eaten state.

….….

In the days that follow, the girl sets up a perimeter around the garden. She also spends more time lounging on the grass, watching the house across the yard intently for its fowl (and foul!) intruders. The old man, Haymitch, says that she looks ridiculous guarding a set of primroses with her bow and arrows, but she just scowls at him and gives him a death stare. I wish I could do the same.

The boy looks amused and supports the girl, saying that is just what she does. "She fiercely protects the ones she loves," he explains confidently. I knew the boy understood the girl very much.

I wish I could produce a bloom right now just for the two of them.

The boy brings out a blanket and lays it over the grass for her to sit on. She eyes him warily, but he shrugs his shoulders and goes back to his house to get a picnic basket. Splaying bread, fruits, and cheese, he invites her to eat as he busies himself with drawing the sky. He says he's sketching the sky, but he's really rendering her on paper instead. How very sneaky of him.

….….

The air grows colder as fall comes, and the shortened daylight brings in more and more nightmares for the girl. She's screaming and shouting three to four times every night, and the boy comes running from his house to comfort her while sporting his pajamas. He should have just moved in about a month ago, but he is much too scared to do it.

"I'm so tired, Peeta," she says as he holds her in his arms by the porch. I've grown a little taller now from all the compost the boy gives me, and I can see above the porch.

"I know … It's really hard, Katniss," he coos and rubs her arms, comforting her like he does every night.

"I just want it to stop, Peeta. Even just for one night," she says - it sounds like a plea. I see the boy's heart yearning for her as he looks far into the darkness. "Just stay with me," the girl whispers.

The boy blinks back tears, but a few escape the corners of his eyes. This is not the first time they've had this conversation before, and conflict riddles his expression.

The boy always seems scared to live with her, as if there is a monster living in the house or something.

The girl tries to be strong, and she is, except during the night when nothing is within her control. She can fight off any enemy in the daytime, but the battle in the darkness is beyond her capacity somehow, and she's wearing thin from exhaustion. I didn't understand then how difficult sleep is for human beings.

A few weeks ago, I thought they would have changed their routine as the boy was staying in her house longer and longer, only leaving in the middle of the night to catch a few hours of sleep in his own house. But one day changed everything, and it was like they were back to square one.

It was a beautiful summer day, the boy and the girl were splayed on a blanket in the yard, busying themselves with the blades of grass and wildflowers around them. I was basking in the soft sun, storing its warmth and growing my stems and leaves out while I watch them.

The girl was weaving a crown of flowers while the boy fiddled with her hair, claiming that he was practicing his knots. I'm not sure what the knots were for, but the girl allowed him to do it. The scene before me looked very romantic with her head on his lap, and they were both gently grinning at what they were doing.

"This feels very familiar," the boy said out of the blue. He looked so happy and calm, the best I had seen him in a long time. "I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever."

"You already said that to me before," she answered and tilted her head up to his direction, smiling charmingly at him. She looked content and peaceful, like the few plump robins that lingered in the apple tree in the yard.

"Yeah? I did?" he asked, looking curious and a tad bit sad. "I wish I could remember ..."

"It's okay, Peeta," she said after a pause. She then gestured for him to bring his head closer to her. He obliged naturally, their faces only a few inches from each other. I heard my family swoon at the sight of them almost kissing.

"There, you look very pretty now, Peeta," she laughed as she looked at him with the crown of flowers over his head. The boy's eyes were watery, and she cupped his cheek to pull him down for a kiss, but then something snapped, and the boy grabbed her wrist painfully. She yelped and cried out as she sat upright, her face twisting in surprise and pain.

"No!" the boys shouted, then he pushed her away so forcefully that she fell to the ground completely. Scrambling to his feet, he was able to take a few steps before he started convulsing and crouching with his head firmly planted on the ground. He was mumbling words incoherently, rocking himself back and forth and bunching his hair, almost pulling them out.

"Peeta, it's not real," the girl said unyieldingly as she ran towards him, but he held her off with his hand, gesturing for her to stay away and not to touch him. "Peeta, please …," she appeals, tears streaming down her face.

"No!" he snarled and pounded the ground with his fist. My roots felt the energy of his aggressiveness.

The girl cried and cried by the dirt path, pleading quietly to let her come close to him. She took a step towards him, but he bolted upright like an animal before stumbling again in the middle of the road. Just then, the old man, Haymitch, came out of his house with a thick, heavy blanket and covered the boy up from the bright sun. They stayed like that for a good two minutes, but it seemed like forever with how thick the anxiety was. Since then, the boy had kept his distance from the girl, only being alone with her when outside so he could run away easily if he needed to.

"I can't hurt you again, Katniss," the boy bitterly says. "I'm not well ..."

"You're just saying that," she replies strongly against his chest. "You won't hurt me. I know it."

"But I don't."

"You're hurting me more this way, Peeta," she says, then to the boy's surprise, the girl kisses him right on the lips. "Peeta, please … forgive yourself."

What could he possibly respond to that?

He kisses her temple to let her know that he's listening, but he does not give her an answer. Confusion, guilt, and anger pepper his face, but when he takes one good look at her crestfallen expression, everything dissipates, and compassion fills him again.

They stay like that for a long time, the girl embracing him while she sits on his lap and buries her head in his neck. Her right-hand goes up to the back of his head, gently caressing his hair as she begins to hum a lullaby. Everything falls silent, even the breeze comes to a standstill.

….….

She hunts, he bakes, and they write and draw on a big book together while out in the yard. They're farther out from me, staying under the shade of the crab apple tree. I see photos pasted on the paper and the boy painting faces from pure memory on parchment. One time, I saw the girl holding dried-out petals from another old book. It's familiar and looks like my own flower petals. I see strange bits of happiness in their eyes as they grow back together. It encourages my roots to grow deeper and my stems to grow stronger and more upright. I bask in the energy of their blossoming love for one another.

….….

Slowly as the harsh winter in this district comes, I begin to lose my leaves and retreat down to the soil. The boy and the girl cared for my family and me, covering us with mulch and constructing an evergreen bough over us. I'm grateful for the added protection because blizzards in this place can be devastating for a wild plant like me.

I wake up to the soft sun as winter passes and the ground warms up. I feel like stretching my leaves and stems and spreading my roots wider and deeper to feel the enlivened earth. Life is beginning again after the hard cold months, and I see that life has treated the boy and the girl well in my hibernation.

She looks radiant and well-rested, her cheeks and body have filled out some, and her hair is the most magnificent I have ever seen. Her eyes are still a stormy gray but no longer as sad and empty - I see much hope in them now.

The boy has grown a scruff on his face, much like some of the hunters who ventured into the woods in my youth. He looks older with his light set of beard and mustache, partnered with his growing body that has served him well during winter. Every now and then, I would hear the tell-tale sound of wood being chopped and imagined it to be the golden boy preparing the house for his beloved.

"Why hello there, lovelies," he greets us with a smile that could contend with the bright sun. He no longer looks scared and has maybe found peace in himself.

The girl rolls her eyes behind him, smirking at the sight of him talking to us. I bask in the energy that they are radiating and get energized for the days ahead.

"Let's get them prepped for spring," the girl says and messes with the boy's head. Ah, they're touchy now. Winter really did them good, and I'm glad.

….….

It only takes a few weeks for my family and me to start producing flowers. With the care and love surrounding us, it's easy to fructify our tips and form flower buds. I'm sporting white flowers with a small yellow center, and my family has slight variations of purple, blue, orange, and pink. We are a mixed set growing up wild in the woods and now showcase a variety of colors for our new home.

"Okay, just one more step," the boy says to the girl as he guides her down the porch step. "Don't open your eyes, okay? We're almost there."

"Peeta, what is it that you want me to see?" she whines, and it's the cutest thing. She's wearing a light orange spring dress that reaches a few inches below her knees. Her scars have healed, and she seems more confident in her skin - especially when around him.

"Okay, right here. Just one more step," the boy says, then he rubs her shoulders from behind, before shifting his palms over her hips. "Now, open your eyes."

"Oh my god, Peeta!" she gasps as she sees us in full bloom. I feel so grand and proud, and I hold my flowers high for her to see. She crouches down to the ground, not minding that her bare knees touch the soil. As she inhales our fresh scent, her lips quirk up, and her smile reaches her eyes fully. I admire how she is very at home with nature.

"I love them. They're so beautiful," the girl says as she touches us delicately with her slender fingers.

"As pretty and wonderful as Prim," the boy adds as he kneels beside her. "She will always be here with us through them."

"Thank you, Peeta," she whispers, then gives him a quick kiss on the lips. They settle on the grass, the girl leaning her body on his side and holding his cheek with her left hand. They just watch us and smile with the look of remembering a distant memory.

I once heard them talking about the girl's sister who had golden hair and big blue doe eyes - how she loved to dance in front of the fireplace and feed her goat named Lady. She used to own Buttercup, the orange cat with a chipped ear that came home months ago.

Sometimes, Buttercup also comes here in front of us, curling up in the soil and rubbing his fur on our leaves. I wish I had known the girl's sister as she seemed like a really extraordinary human being.

…...

I am surprised to be cut from my stem and placed in a glass of water this spring morning. It didn't hurt when the boy did it, and it was nice moving around to a different place. My blossoms are relegated to three places - the kitchen counter, the coffee table in front of the fireplace, and the bedroom upstairs.

It's interesting being in the kitchen, it's warmer than outside, and the smell of baking bread and simmering stew is very much new to me. The girl comes to me every now and then, taking a whiff of my scent and brushing my petals lightly. I know I keep saying this, but I just love her. She's a wood fairy from olden times.

I know that the boy bakes a lot, but I didn't grasp just how much work goes into baking bread. He seems to enjoy it though, and sometimes even hums or whistles to himself while he bakes. Today, he's baking a raisin and nut loaf with a pure glint in his eyes. Not that I have any comparison, but I never saw a man so happy to be kneading dough.

In the living room, the girl is pushing the coffee table a little farther away from the fireplace. She sweeps the floor quickly and then lays out a thick, soft carpet in front of the hearth. There's a permanent smile on her face, and she keeps touching her lips for some reason. She seems a little frazzled and excited, maybe even tingling out of her skin. I don't know what it is, but she seemed like electricity and fire combined.

The afternoon comes, and everything is quiet again. I hear the sound of the shower being turned off in the bedroom, and then the girl comes out in her robe and goes to the closet to pick out a dress. Her humming is infectious, and if I could only move, I would sway my petals along with her exquisite notes.

When she comes out of the wardrobe, she's wearing a simple all-white dress that reaches the middle of her calf. The fabric is light and flowy, following her movement elegantly like how a willow tree plays with the wind. Her hair is down, and she carefully sticks small wildflowers in her natural waves. Her lips are nude, colored slightly with the berries she picked in the backyard this morning. Like I said before, she is a wood fairy incarnate.

The living room is dimly lit with candles, and more primroses in clear drinking glasses fill the space. I see my family happily watching as the girl descends down the stairs while the boy never takes his eyes away from her face. He is beaming.

They settle before the fireplace, kneeling first and then sitting back as the only guest begins to sing. I didn't know that the old gruff, Haymitch, could hold a note, so I was pleasantly surprised to hear his low baritone as he sang a love song from old. I remember this song from a man who silences the birds in the woods a long, long time ago.

The old gruff brings out a set of gold rings from his pocket, and I'm impressed with how clean and presentable he looks tonight. He hands the rings, wrapped in a dainty white handkerchief, to the boy and then sits on the armchair by the corner of the room. He looks merry and proud.

"Katniss Everdeen, I give you my heart, my life, and my future," the boy starts while holding the girl's hands with so much devotion. "You have me fully since I was just five years old and will have my full attention until the day that I die. My mind might have forgotten you briefly, but my heart never forgot how much I love you. Thank you for loving me unconditionally, for protecting me, and for never giving up on me despite everything. I promise to cherish you, make you happy, serve you, and stay by your side for as long as I live. Always."

He shakily slides the simple gold band on her ring finger and kisses her hand after. A soft chuckle comes out of his lips, breaking his nervousness and helping him breathe. He was like an overripe strawberry.

Now it's the girl's turn.

"Peeta Mellark," she starts, and immediately her voice hitches. The boy squeezes her hand right away, fighting back tears as he looks at her endearingly. "Peeta Mellark, my boy with the bread. I give you my heart, my life, and my future. You saved my family and me on that unfortunate rainy day and have been saving me ever since. I know you said this to me before, but you also don't know the effect you have. I didn't realize that I loved you then, but now, after everything, I know surely that I love you with all my heart." The boy smiles as she says this, and tears just escape the corners of his eyes. "Thank you for being patient with me and affirming my strength. Most importantly, thank you for coming back to me from the dark depths of your mind. I have always known that you have a good heart, and I'm honored that you are giving it to me now. I promise to protect you and honor you, to love you because you deserve every ounce of happiness in this world. You have heart and my love. Always."

With sure hands, the girl slips the wedding band on his finger and places his palm over her heart for him to feel her strong heartbeat. Together, they rise from their sitting position, and their lips meet right in the middle of the hearth while kneeling.

"Ehem … mmmm …," the old gruff interjects. "You're forgetting the bread, kids. This is a toasting ..."

The boy and the girl shyly retreat from each other, settling back down on the carpet. They shoot each other a mischievous look and proceed to do their part. The boy skillfully cuts two squares from the raisin and nut loaf, and the girl skewers them at the end of two metal brochettes. Holding each other's hands, they toast the bread together in the all-consuming fire. The boy cools the bread first with his breath and places it near the girl's mouth for her to bite into. She smiles as she chews, a tear escaping her eye as she has a mesmerizing look on her face. They repeat and toast the other piece of bread, the girl keeping it in the fire longer than the boy.

"I'm the girl on fire," she says with a soft laugh. She blows out the bread with her breath, her pink lips almost touching it. She tells him to open wide, and she pops the piece easily into his mouth. He chews it with vigor, winking at her playfully. It's great to see them having fun.

They both turn to the man Haymitch who is smirking at both of them. "What are you waiting for? A go signal? Just kiss already so I can eat some cake!" the man announces, then stands up to go to the kitchen while rubbing his gray beard.

As much as he wanted to hide it, I saw the contented look on his face. He's elated for them, and his love for them is spilling out of his ears.

They eat cake and tell stories, and then the old gruff gives them a small wooden box with his gift inside it. He tells them to open it later when he's out, then proceeds to cut another slice of cake. As he leaves, he shoots them a knowing look and then picks up one of my family from a water glass, twirling it with his fingers.

"Make sure you close the windows, kids!" he shouts, then shuts the door behind him. His laughter reverberates all over the village, and he sings like a drunken man outside.

The boy kisses the girl passionately, then lifts her up in his arms and bounds for the stairs. She squeaks a little and laughs jovially while hanging on his shoulders.

"Wait, Haymitch's gift!" the girl says with glee. The boy grabs the wooden box from the couch and gives it to the girl for her to open. I wish I had seen what's inside because there's a mutual blush on their faces that rivals even the reddest of flowers.

- The End -

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Thank you for reading! Check out my Tumblr account for the story aesthetic. I'm dandelionlovesyou over there.