Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Someday, when Finnick dies, he will cite Johanna Mason's full name for ruining his life.

He was telling a story; A good story because all of his stories were good. He was good at conveying them, jumping around, talking with his hands. Johanna said if he ever wanted anyone to believe him, he should exaggerate less. Finnick insisted everytime, that he was not exaggerating.

Telling over detailed accounts from being in Four was his new favorite way to pass the time. He used to fill himself with alcohol and pills. For years, he’d be out of his mind drunk and high, until he couldn't feel a single hand that touched him. He had no memories of what was done to him and he didn't care. Being in the Capitol, during the games, reminded him too much of his own Victory. He took what he could fill himself with, even when it made Mags sad and he was miserable for days after he got home. The moments he wasn't with someone, had to be filled with something.

Then, Mags told him to put his ‘good brain’ to use. Nothing big, and she warned him to never write anything down. But enough to tell her about. Finnick’s memory was splotchy and shaky, worn over and muddled together. Often, the information he had didn't make sense, threads of names and places. Mags always smiled and told him it was good enough.

Finnick didn't notice how she was tricking him into doing less. And how he seemed to remember more and more as time passed.

Then, Annie won, she won and she had her own victory tour to get through. And Finnick found himself sober the whole time. Because she was confused, scared, frustrated, and Finnick was no help if he couldn't walk in a straight line. Finnick found hismelf more and more in control of his intake. He didn't want to go home and be miserable for days, he wanted to go home and be with Annie.

Finnick still drank enough to keep from spiraling, but he filled the rest of the void with stories to anyone who would listen.

Mainly, Johanna, who would be coaxed into listening if she was drunk and tired enough. They had become fast friends the year before, when she punched him in the jaw during her victory tour. He knew nothing about Johanna, other than Snow was quick to kill her whole family and she didn’t like being around the other victors from Seven. So, every night he was free, Finnick asked if she wanted to drink in the District Four apartment, she said yes.

Finnick was up on his feet, he was a little tipsy, acting out a grand escape from a bar fight. Johanna was on the couch, barely awake, blinking slowly and giggling at Finnick’s drama.

“I grabbed Annie’s wrist,” he had actually, very gently held onto a few of her fingers. “Right as we got to the door,” he crouched down, placed a hand on the wall, looked around, “Bam!” He jumped, “A beer bottle shattered right by my head.” It was nowhere near him. “I threw Annie forward, I had to get her out first.”

Johanna rolled her eyes, took a long sip of her drink. “What a gentleman.”

“We booked it- all the way home.” They ran for only a few seconds, laughing too hard for either of them to actually sprint.

Annie had a hand on her chest, she was laughing, panting, “That scared the hell out of me.”

“Out of you? I almost died!

Finnick walked over to Johanna and stole her glass, taking a sip of his own, “I don't think I've laughed that hard in my life. The adrenaline, you know? Heart pumping, dizzy, it was fun.” Johanna whined for her drink back, grabbing and holding it to her chest like it was her child.

“This not fun enough for you?”

Finnick sat on the couch, letting Johanna put her feet on his lap, “Oh don't get jealous,” he looked over and smiled at her, “I always have a blast when I’m here.” A dry joke Johanna snorted at. The biggest misfortune of their newfound friendship. That their time together was dependent on twenty-three dead children and Finnick’s prostitution. Maybe, in a different life, they'd be normal friends. She'd teach Finnick how to climb trees and Finnick would show her the ocean.

They were not normal friends though, there was nothing normal about how they met or how they managed to stay close. They simply were friends, sprawled on the couch of the District Four apartment. Technically, Johanna wasn't allowed to be here. But they had run out of things to take from her. As long as it wasn’t open mouthed treason, she flew under the radar.

“Aww, I’m glad. You know I love it too.” Johanna hated the Capitol, and she didn't have to come here. But being home, surrounded by the emptiness of her house, the silence of her dead family managed to drag her here. At the very least, to drink endlessly and hang out with Finnick.

Finnick rolled his eyes, smiling. Smiling was a lot easier when he was like this. A little drunk, thinking of home, making Johanna annoyed. Almost bearable, almost enough to get him through the next few weeks and then home. It wasn't enough, but it was almost.

Finnick shook his head and looked up at the ceiling, “It's weird, having fun. Like- back home with Annie.” He laughed, “I don’t know- It’s like- she’s my best friend you know?” On good days, they'd get into all sorts of trouble. It reminded him of what it was like when he was a kid. Young, smart, handsome, pocketting salt taffy off of vendors and batting his lashes to get away with it. Being with Annie made Finnick feel his age, it made him feel alive. Going out onto the water, watching the rain, playing cards. Even the bad days had little slivers of sunlight in them. Annie talked more openly about her hallucinations now, described them and let Finnick rub his thumb into her knuckles. On his bad days, Annie was careful not to touch him, to walk next to him a step further than normal. Because Annie had put together what happened to Finnick when he was in the Capitol, she made no comment when he wore long sleeves and turtlenecks in the height of summer.

Johanna snorted, she rolled her eyes so far back into her head he could see veins. “Yeah okay,” she said sarcastically, “I’m sure she's your ‘best friend.’”

Finnick laughed at her, “Oh don't be jealous,” he repeated.

Something about what he said made Johanna pause, the dry humor on her face disappearing. She was drunk and it was late, so it took a moment for Johanna’s eyes to sharpen, for her whole demeanor to change. “I’m not,” her words were careful.

Finnick frowned, he didn't like how she shifted. He shook one of her ankles, “I’m serious Johanna, I care about you a lot.” Being close to Finnick was not a desirable life. Any slip up could result in death, he had years left of this, who knew how long they'd want him for? Another decade? Another two decades? And he was supposed to be flawless the whole time? No accidental words, no breakdowns, no resistance. It was bad enough that he had made friends with Annie, Johanna was another name on the list. Their only security was that they were victors, they wouldn't be the first to be killed. No, that honor went to his father and sister.

He couldn't take it back now though, he cared about both of them. The only thing to convince him to keep going, a reminder of why he was letting this happen. The thing about Johanna and Annie was that they were stubborn as hell. Once he realized he was attached, it was too late, they would never let him go. So Finnick put everything he was into taking care of them, keeping them alive, telling himself again and again who he was doing it for.

Johanna was brittle and mean, but even she had to know just how much Finnick cared about her.

Johanna pulled her legs off Finnick, she sat up, still staring at him weirdly. Her brow was furrowed now, almost like he had told an insensitive joke and she was trying to gauge how serious he was being. “Yeah, yeah,” she brushed him off, “I know, ‘care about you too.” Her lip quivered just slightly, “I meant like-” she held the bottle on her lap in between her legs to do huge air quotes, “‘Best friends’ right?”

Finnick had no idea what she was talking about. “Uh? Yeah? That's what I just said.” He was good at reading people. In fact, every year he learned more and more microexpressions, how to infer what information even a move of a hand gave away. Finnick was a people person. There were hardly any subtle codes in conversations he could not pick up on.

But Johanna was nothing like that. She wore every thought and feeling she had out on her sleeve. If she wanted to tell Finnick something, she would tell him. She was blunt like that. So what the hell was so important she wouldn't just blurt it out. She had said her own handful of vaguely anti-capitol treasonous things before.

Maybe she had learned to be scared of the consequences now.

To prove his theory that she was trying to keep what she was talking about a secret; Johanna glanced at each corner of the room. A way to say ”There are cameras here, dumbass.”

Annie and Finnick’s growing friendship wasn't a secret. Half the district had seen them spend time together. Finnick knew that Annie had been added to the list of people to murder if he ever wanted to say no. He tried to end all communication with her when she first referred to them as friends, realizing how much danger he had put her in. But Annie Cresta did not go down without a fight, and Finnick needed her more than he would ever admit.

Johanna lost everything- everyone. There was not a living soul she had left to care for. It was likely she was wanting to keep Finnick safe. That she was trying to downplay how much he cared about Annie so they wouldn’t use her against him. It was too damn late for that.

“I go out in public with Annie,” Finnick said carefully, trying to ease some of her concern.

Johanna tilted her head, really studying him this time. Finnick shrunk back under the gaze, Johanna’s eyes were deep. Less like the ocean and more like the night sky. Brown, sharp, observant. Then, all the intensity left her face, leaving her shocked and somewhat confused.

“Dude. Do you not- there's no way.”

Finnick shifted, feeling uncomfortable, “What?”

“Aren't you two-” with both hands, she pressed her fingers to her thumb, then, she pressed the two hands together.

Finnick went dizzy, like a latch had released all the blood from his brain. He shook his head, and the room spun. “Where-” he breathed, “What are you talking about?” Johanna was delusional. He didn't take her for a hopeless romantic but apparently she was. That was the only explanation to how she had jumped to that conclusion.

Johanna threw her hands up in defense, no longer bothering with trying to be quiet. “You just spent two hours talking about her. You’re wearing a fucking necklace she gave you.”

Finnick was also sick of being quiet. He needed to shut down whatever insane idea had gotten into her head, “Well- yeah! I miss home, she’s who I spend time with.” The necklace wasn't important, it just reminded him of District Four.

“I don't know! I just assumed you were trying to keep it a secret.”

Finnick actually laughed, it was absurd, absolutely absurd that Johanna could think like that. “There is no secret to keep. Annie is my friend.”

Johanna didn't believe him, he knew she didn't believe him. Because she was staring like she was trying to pull him apart, like he was lying and she was trying to figure out why. She looked away from him, and took a long drink. “Okay Finnick.”

It wasn't enough. There were cameras in here, and Finnick would be damned if he let a one off conversation with Johanna get him or his family in trouble. It wasn't enough to end the conversation and say there was nothing going on. He needed them to be sure.

“Okay,” he repeated, “Besides, I don't know how you managed to miss it, but I’m not exactly the ‘settle down with a girl from home’ type.” Finnick laid the bitterness on thick. He kept his voice stern and serious, each word would easily be picked up by a recording device. A very loud ‘Don't worry, I’m behaving. Johanna is crazy.’

Johanna bristled, she rolled her eyes again, “My bad. I forgot you liked whoring around.”

If she was trying to get a rise out of him, it wouldn’t work. Finnick was calm. He had been wildly taken off guard by Johanna’s insinuation that he and Annie were anything other than friends; but Finnick knew how to recover from shock well. Whatever insane version of the world Johanna lived in was not the truth. Finnick knew that. Finnick smiled, extra wide, just to piss her off. “Wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Johanna stood up and left without saying goodbye.

Nothing in his life could ever be so easy. One talk with Johanna, just one, and Finnick's entire world came crashing down. He got drunk that night, drunker than he had gotten in almost two years. He only stopped when he was certain he would wake up and forget about the conversation all together.

It didn't work. In fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect. Finnick couldn't stop thinking about it. And it was making him angry. Really, the nerve of Johanna to even imply such a thing.

Finnick didn’t know why the thought stuck with him so hard, or why he was so angry. He almost felt insulted. He would never let his guard down long enough to fall in love. And he would never fall in love with Annie Cresta. What she needed was support and time and peace. If she wasn’t in enough danger by being his friend, being anything more was a death sentence.

No, Finnick could never do that to her.

More so, he simply wouldn’t let it happen with anyone.

It wasn't even like he knew what he was looking for anyway. He had no idea what it meant to like someone, to be in love. Whatever the hell that meant.

Before the arena, he had only had little crushes on kids his age. A girl playing kickball with her friends by the breach. A strong wind knocked the ball into the ocean. Finnick was there so he swam to retrieve it. As thanks, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Finnicks stomach felt warm for a few hours after.

A loud boy at lunch who said every thought that came to his head, one of the only people who didn't grow tired of how extraverted Finnick could get. (Did that even count? When did friendship end and romance begin?)

Then, Finnick got older and focused on training. Then on winning. Then it took a while to be normal. It was hard to think about who he found attractive when he was trying not to wake his father up with violent nightmares every night. It was impossible to think about having a crush when Mags took him in. His father didn't want him to leave, but he didn't know anything about being a victor. He had no idea what to do when Finnick’s fight or flight kicked in and he hoarded food. Mags did, and she took good care of him.

When he was fifteen, he went out alone. His district loved him, he had made history, brought them food and money with parcels. He tried not to mind when people crowded him, how everyone turned to look at him and stared. Smiling, waving, sometimes even a cheer. He didn't go out alone often, because when he was with Mags people gave them more space. But that day, it was just Finnick. A little swarm of teenagers had flooded him to ask questions, he laughed and answered and after a few minutes; one of the girls said they should go. Her skin was warm, her hair blonde and wavy. Her eyes were blue, the color of the sky. No one in the group agreed with her, but she cleared her throat and gestured to him. Maybe he had looked tired, or stressed, but it convinced them to leave.

She faltered after only taking a step away, “You look anxious.”

Finnick shrugged, “I can't seem to sit still.”

Her words spilled out, she talked fast, “My ma said she saw you by the docks a few days ago. We got peppermint, last parcel day. My brother had never had it, he won't shut up about it now. She was going to thank you, but shied away. So- thank you. You’ve made a menace, we’ll never hear the end of it, peppermint is all he can talk about.”

Finnick laughed at that, between the cameras and interviews, he sometimes forgot what really smiling felt like. What a genuine laugh and quirk of his lips looked like when he wasn't thinking so hard about how even it was.

“Let me walk you home…” Finnick trailed off with his arm outstretched. A proper gentleman, not the one he was for his interviews, but the one his father and Mags encouraged him to be.

She smiled, “Lilo,” she took his arm.

Finnick thought she might have blushed, it was hard to tell, because the sun was setting and it was warm out. She told him more about her little family. The oldest of two, a boy and a girl. Her parents worked selling rope and ship masts.

Finnick didn't talk much, only asking for directions and throwing in a few jokes.

It was nice. She thanked him when they got to the door, he made a big show out of kissing her hand. He was mostly joking, trying to be dramatic and over the top. But as they both laughed, he knew he was blushing.

He didn't see Lilo again until after the first time someone bought his body. She didn't even go to hug him, she was just going to bump his shoulder and ask where he had been. No one had seen him leave Victor’s Village in weeks. Finnick's reflexes were heightened, he pulled away from her touch before she could get close. She looked hurt, and Finnick ran away.

Did that count?

It didn’t matter, that was the closest he was going to get.

Annie was his best friend. They had been friends before either of their games, but they weren't particularly close. After Annie’s games though, when she and her family moved in and she tried to piece herself back together, they became friends again. This time, much closer than before. Mags said it was good for them to have someone who knew who they were before the arena. They reminded each other of what it was like to simply be themselves.

Finnick would spend all of his time with Annie if he could, it didn't even feel like being with another person. They could sit in silence for hours without feeling the need to speak. They took walks, went out on the boat, played games, and sat on the beach. Finnick wrote his mediocre poetry and performed like he was on stage, it made Annie laugh so hard she cried. She dusted off the piano in Mag's house and taught herself how to play.

They were good together. As friends. As people who understood each other. He helped Annie speak up about her hallucinations, telling her the noises she heard were not real. When she covered her ears, he'd place his hands soft on her elbows, asking her to come back to him. She knew about the Capitol, about what he had to do. She made forts in the living room for when he got back, made sure he drank water. When he was exhausted, angry, stuck in his body, she coaxed him out to the ocean; took him into the water until he could breathe again.

They took care of each other, as friends. Because they were friends.

Finnick wasn't even sure if his body could feel the effects of having a crush anymore. Blushing, stuttering, butterflies, all of it was squeezed out of him before his seventeenth birthday. He couldn't focus on attraction or enjoyment when his brain was filled with:

‘Don't get your family killed Finnick. Make sure you're smiling Finnick. Only move how they want you to Finnick. Don't forget to smile Finnick. If you do anything wrong you’ll lose your father Finnick. Keep smiling Finnick. It doesn't matter if you don't want to, you need to enjoy it, Finnick. Smile Finnick..’

No, Finnick wouldn't do something as selfish as fall in love with Annie. And it was likely he was incapable of falling in love to begin with. He was too fucked up in the head, the Capitol, Snow, they had taken too much of his body. Romance, fleeting glances, holding hands, kissing, love, it was a fickle thing. That kind of love was made for people who weren't him. Finnick was made for something more brutal. Lust, desire, being torn apart so someone else could sit and watch him bleed.

And yet his brain kept replaying his conversation with Johanna. How her brow furrowed, her words, how defensive she got. It didn't matter. He could ignore the whole conversation, pretend it never happened. Move on with his life, he wouldn't let Johanna get to him.

Finnick was kept in the Capitol for two more weeks after the end of the seventy-second games. Two weeks of parties, celebrations, drama. All the while Finnick was now alone, all the victors, mentors, and Johanna went home. It was always the hardest after the games, to stay reasonably sober when he had no one else with him. Counting down the days until he could go back to District Four. Hoping Mags and Annie were doing alright without him.

He always took the first train home, regardless of the time. It didn't matter when he got there, his body knew when it was safe. The second he could smell salt in the air, the toxin of the Capitol seeped out of him. (Not that it could ever make him feel clean, but he was twenty-one now. He'd have to get over that eventually.)

Finnick finally got back home a half hour to midnight. There was no reason for anyone to be there. And yet, as Finnick stepped off the platform and adjusted his bag, he spotted her.

Annie was sitting on a bench just outside of the train station, she was half asleep, her cheek pressed against her knee. Her eyes fluttered up at the moon, she kept having to peel them back open. The moonlight made her glow. Annie was wearing a white nightgown, she didn't care much for keeping up appearances. People already thought she was insane, why bother dressing to go out in public? Her hair fell in waves along her back, dark hair that faded into the night around her.

Annie was beautiful. Which didn't mean anything, because Finnick had always thought that.

“Annie?” he walked to her, trying to figure out if she was intentionally here. She might have wondered, or fallen asleep waiting for him earlier and just woke up now.

At the sound of his voice, she sat up, brushing hair out of her face and shaking off her tiredness. “Finnick?” She was up on her feet, which were bare. Finnick glanced down, and raised an eyebrow.

“Where’d your shoes go?”

Annie shrugged, “I couldn't sleep, thought I’d wait for you.”

Finnick couldn't help but laugh, though it filled him with worry, “I didn't know when I’d be back.” At the very least she’d be stiff for a few days if she stayed like that for long. At worst, she could have stayed awake the whole night, unable to get any rest. On the other hand, if she slept for too long she might have gotten a bad sunburn. She might have been woken up by something loud, which was sometimes fine but was most times bad. Being startled awake wasn't good for anyone.

“Yeah, but it was better than lying awake in bed. The moon keeps everything bright.”

Finnick hummed, his concern momentarily fading away. That was something him and Annie agreed on, being stuck in bed staring at the ceiling was a miserable experience. They'd do anything to avoid that, even if that anything was something that made them feel worse. “Well, thank you for waiting for me,” he smiled and regretted it immediately. He had been in the Capitol for the past month, all his expressions would be forced for the next few days. He cringed, knowing how he had just shown all his teeth and crinkled his eyes.

Annie didn't seem to mind his Capitol smile right now. Most times she hated it. On days she struggled with reality, Finnick’s fake emotions annoyed her. She snapped at him, telling him if he wasn't going to help her distinguish between what was real and what wasn't, he could leave her alone. It was probably how he immediately looked upset with himself that made her giggle.

Annie stood up, “Let me walk you home.” She didn’t offer her hand to him, she kept her arms at her sides.

Finnick didn't try to smile again, showing his appreciation by beginning to walk with her.

Annie walked on her toes, careful not to step on loose gravel or cobblestone. Twice, Finnick offered his shoes, or at least his socks. It was dark out, he didn't want her to step on something sharp or twisting her ankle.

Annie declined, she had walked to the train station barefoot just fine a few hours ago. Finnick kept insisting though. Halfway to victor's village, he dropped his bag and dug through until he found a spare pair of shoes. Ridiculous emerald green dress shoes that cost more than a boat, a gift from ‘Miss Nicole Silver’. Apparently, Annie found them hilarious and laughed so hard she had to sit down.

They walked the rest of the way home like that. Annie in Finnick's socks and more comfortable shoes (They were far too big for her, each step she took made a loud clap sound.). Finnick, having to be mindful of how he stepped so the fancy green leather didn't pinch at his toes.

There was a low buzzing under his skin, warning him that someone was close. Everytime Annie glanced over to make sure he was there, everytime she spoke, his whole body tensed like it was waiting for her to grab him. He took deep breaths to remind himself that she wouldn't do that, and he was allowed to say no if she did.

Every deep breath and shuttering sigh he made had Annie glancing at him. She didn't ask him what was wrong. She knew. She didn't understand, thankfully, but she knew. She knew enough to take another step away from him while they walked. She knew enough to keep her hands in his line of sight. She knew enough not to offer to carry his bag.

Finnick lived with Mags, he said it was for her sake, but no one believed it. Annie walked him to the house. She didn't try to take him to his bedroom, because she knew enough to know he wouldn't want that. She didn't say anything as she began to pile blankets and pillows on the couch. Finnick set down his bag and took off the gem encrusted shoes.

After laying everything down, Annie took a step back to admire her handy work. “Look good?” she whispered. They were trying their best to be quiet, neither of them would ever dare wake up Mags. They haven't even turned the light on, using only the moon to see the living room.

“Cozy,” Finnick replied.

Annie faltered, her eyes fixated on the door, her brow furrowed. She blinked, her lips parted. Finnick looked behind him, he always did, even if he knew there was nothing there. He checked for Annie because she trusted him.

“Annie?” he called, still in his socks, abandoning the suitcase by his feet. He went to her, put his hands on her elbows. “Hey, Annie?”

She blinked and looked up at him, but her eyes were nervous now. She kept glancing at the door, “Did you lock it?” she asked.

Finnick shook his head, “No, but I closed it behind me. Do you want me to lock it?”

She bit her bottom lip, her brows furrowed deeper, “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Of course,” Finnick didn't hesitate, he began to rub one of her arms, gently, up and down. When she didn't respond, he gave her shoulder a small squeeze. “Is everything okay?” She mentioned she couldn't sleep, and often exhaustion made things worse.

Annie nodded, her eyes cleared and she finally looked directly at him. She smiled, “I’m okay, It was- it was a bad day. I think I’m still,” she waved a hand by her head, “All over the place.”

A pang of guilt hit him in the chest, he should have been here. Not that he could fix anything, a bad day was a bad day, but he should have been there. Here for her, for whatever she needed. Someone she could directly ask about the things she was hearing. Finnick did not give her sad looks when she pointed and asked if he could see the blood seeping out from the table. Even her family, who loved her, couldn't keep the pity out of their eyes.

Finnick couldn't fix anything for her, no matter how bad he wanted to. But it was the least he could have done to be by her side while it happened. At home, showing her comfort instead of hundreds of miles away, disassociated and stuck in his body. “You can stay here,” he said again, “As long as you need.”

She really smiled this time, and she reached up to squeeze his hand. She was careful about it, she hesitated before resting her fingers on his. When he didn't pull away she curled her hand, “I’m glad you're back.”

Something sputtered in his chest.

“I am too,” he whispered. For some reason, the words were hard to get out. “Are you going to my room?”

“Can I-” she let go of his hand, she ducked her head. Being shorter than him, her hair covered her whole face. “Can I stay down here? With you?” Finnick almost said no, because he thought about another body next to his and could have burst into tears. But he knew what she meant, she would never try laying that close to him so soon. She meant when she put pillows on the floor and used them as a makeshift mattress. She had never done it next to Finnick, or in this house, but she'd done it on nights when she couldn't sleep at home. A way to try and change her scenery. She kept two permanent floor pillow arrangements at her own home. One next to her parents bed, and one in her closet. She was asking to be near him not to get close. “I’m sorry,” she added, “If you need to be alone.”

Finnick's face got warm, he could feel it burning under his skin. He wasn't sure why though, it wasn't like they hadn't slept near each other before. This was no different than the dozen other times Finnick slept in Annie's room. Curled up on her chair, on guard until she was able to fall asleep. It was probably because she touched his hand, his body didn't know it was fully safe yet. Just preparing to ignore painful sensations again. “No- of course, you can stay.”

Annie looked up. Finnick couldn't see her well because of the darkness, but he thought maybe she was blushing. Probably not. It was more likely she was embarrassed of having to ask him, and maybe she felt bad for asking after he just got back.

Finnick tried taking the floor, insisting he would think it's comfortable. Annie wouldn't budge, she was the most stubborn person he knew. She was used to sleeping on pillows, she told him, if Finnick tried he'd be complaining about back pain for the next week. Finnick rolled his eyes, and caved.

Annie settled on the other side of the coffee table from the couch. Finnick took a shower, it was a sound that never woke Mags up. Finnick kept his shower short, a lot shorter than the ones he normally took after getting home. Most times he was there for at least an hour. The water would slowly lose its scalding heat, Finnick would stay until it got cold. He’d scrub past dead skin and make his arms and legs bleed. Tonight, he didn't bother. He knew Annie was downstairs waiting for him, and that she wouldn't be able to sleep until he was done. He wore as many layers as he could put on comfortably and stalked down stairs.

His last thought, before he laid down, was that he wasn't in love with Annie Cresta.

Chapter Text

It would be hot outside until fall, at least it wouldn't cool down for another month or two. So Finnick and Annie had weeks of good weather to go out sailing. And it was exactly what they did. Bright and early, Finnick would go down to Annie's house, greet her parents with smiles and jokes. They liked him, enough. They were protective of their daughter, the only person they really felt comfortable leaving her alone with was Mags. But Finnick hadn't done anything wrong, so they didn't make a fuss.

“Is the weather good?” Annie would ask every time.

“Would I have come and gotten you if it wasn't?” He would have. It rained a lot in Four, but Finnick would always find something for them to do. If they couldn't go out on the water, they’d fill their time with a variety of things. Walks, puzzles, Annie playing music, Finnick trying to cook. Even just a quick talk before they went their own way for the day.

Today, the weather was perfect. A cloudless blue sky, the sun beating down on the sand, the ocean blue as ever. It had taken Annie some time to get back out on the ocean after her games. For months her brain couldn't differentiate the sound of waves to that of rushing water. From the feeling of the ocean, to the dam that almost drowned her. It was a slow process, but Annie loved the ocean, she wanted it back. To be able to go out to sea and let it hold her like it used to. She fought for it, never letting the water deter her. Annie, like most in Four, was a child of the ocean.

When they were little, Finnick heard about how Annie Cresta could hold her breath for three minutes. After school, a group of kids would go to the beach and make her prove it. And she did, for a full three minutes, she stayed under the water. Finnick never got to see it, until the dam broke at the end of her Games. She was under water for almost four whole minutes before she resurfaced, gasping and choking. While the Capitol whined about having an underwhelming, insane victor, Finnick couldn't help but smile. Annie Cresta had gills.

With Finnicks help and a good boat, Annie did not hesitate to go to the beach. She didn't flinch when getting in the water, she didn't cover her ears when her toes hit the sand. She only smiled and tilted her head up to the sun.

Finnick carried all the rope they would need, and a compass (though they never went far from shore). He would re-tie the ropes for the masts once a week, which was entirely too often, but he liked how the rope felt in his hands. He liked how knew what knots to put where, how the texture scratched him without hurting. Annie brought lunch and a knife to scrape off any rot or decay. Between the two of them, the boat was spotless. It was his father’s old boat. The first thing Finnick had gotten with his victory money was a shiny new boat for his father. The man had tried to decline it, insisting it was too much, but Finnick's only request was that he get to keep the old one.

Legally, they weren't allowed to go out too far. There were buoys that floated miles off shore, Capitol designed so no one could simply sail away from Panem. They were bright orange and impossible to miss. They would sound an alarm giving you two minutes to get back in range before Peacekeepers were sent out to arrest you.

Finnick loved pushing that boundary. As a kid, he would dare his sister to get close; she always chickened out. Finnick, on the other hand, wasn’t so scared. He had almost gotten his hand on one when his father had threatened to fish him out of the water with a net. Finnick had never been scolded like that in his life. His father was ranting so hard it rocked the boat back and forth.

Annie wasn't so rebellious as to touch one, but she wouldn't let Finnick drop the anchor until they couldn't see the shore. She wanted to be completely out on the water, she wanted to feel like there was nothing but them and the ocean. The property of Victor's Village included this stretch of water, the chances of seeing any other form of human life was slim.

“Is that good?” Finnick asked, he dropped the anchor and waited for the boat to adjust to the loss of weight.

Annie lifted herself up onto the wooden railing. “Perfect.” She closed her eyes and basked in the sun. Her hair was up, showing off the trail of sweat that had worked up on her neck. She wore a thin light weight shirt that had lace around her collar and sleeves. Pants that stopped at her mid shin, the fabric was breathable, it was tight around her hips and fanned out by her knees.

“You can sunbathe too, you know?” Annie opened one eye and smiled, Finnick hadn't realized he was staring.

“Sorry,” he brushed his hands off on his pants, turning to look anywhere other than her. It wasn't like him to stare, he had no idea where that came from. “Just spacing out,” he mumbled.

Annie hummed, and when Finnick glanced, her eyes were closed again. She was getting color back in her skin, her moles had gotten darker and a few smaller ones had popped out. It took Finnick a second to realize her ears and cheeks had gone pink, though he really couldn't imagine why. Unless his staring had actually embarrassed her. He mentally kicked himself, and bit the inside of his lip. Asshole. She had said to herself one of her favorite things about him was how nonjudgmental he was. And then he went and stared at her when she was relaxed. That, or maybe the heat was just catching up with her now that she had sat down.

It didn't matter, he couldn't imagine why he was staring. Sure, Annie was pretty, but there was nothing particular about the moment that would make him want to stare. “I sunbathe plenty,” Finnick said, hoping it would relieve the tension in his stomach. He rested his elbows on the railing next to her, looking out on the water. Dropping the anchor had knocked some of the breath out of him.

Annie sat up, facing the boat and poked his arm, “I can tell. You tan, I just burn.”

There had been a handful of times Annie would come back with a sunburn so bad it blistered while all Finnick got was a darker tan. It drove her mad, she insisted it was something he was doing. She went as far as to accuse him of having some Capitol ointment he wasn't sharing with her.

“Burn?” he tilted his head, “I think you'd be less red if I put you in the oven.”

Annie rolled her eyes and kicked his hip with her foot, “It's not that bad.”

“Annie,” Finnick stood up, “You've gone pink already.”

Annie covered her ears, not upset, only embarrassed and trying to hide them. Finnick jumped back right as she tried to kick him again. She was smiling now, giggling a little, “Let me sit in the sun in peace, a little burn never hurt anyone.”

Finnick would not mention that one week last summer Annie couldn’t even sit back against the couch without wincing. “Okay, okay.”

The waves rocked them gently, a soothing rhythm accompanied by the sound of water and the occasional bird overhead. Finnick tied rope until his fingers hurt, then sat down. Annie brought out her bag of lunch. Bread, cheese, two containers of coconut water, dried meat and apricots. A perfect little meal.

After Annie was done eating and resting her eyes under the sun, she declared it was time to get in the water. Finnick agreed, it would be good on his hands, to try and cool them before any rope burn settled in.

Annie took her hair down and put it back up into a tighter bun. Then, she started to undress.

The first time they went comfortably swimming together, hadn't been until the summer after her Victory Tour. Finnick had taken off his clothes without really thinking about it. It wasn't until he was standing in only his boxers did he realize he hadn't given Annie any warning. She was completely turned around with her hands at her sides.

Finnick smiled, flirtatious, “You’re allowed to look at me.”

Annie waved her hand behind her, “I could have done with some warning.”

“What, you were going to get in fully dressed?”

“No, but you just started,” another wave of her hand, “stripping.”

“You don't want Finnick Odair to strip for you?”

Annie turned around only so she could glare at him. Her eyes didn't even glance down, they were firmly locked onto his. Unmoving. The certainty in which she looked at him, how her gaze did not wonder, made him uncomfortable. For the first time in years he felt like covering himself. Somehow, her eyes pulled an apology from him.

She softened at his small ‘sorry’, and shook her head. She turned to the side and began to undo her top, “Bodies aren't inherently sexual. Not even yours.”

Sure, whatever the hell that meant.

Finnick almost bristled, bit back, there was something hurt deep inside him. That had sharp teeth and snarled, some teenage boy who was ready to break the wrist of anyone that touched him. But that wasn't Annie, and she wasn't being mean. Annie didn’t even know about the Capitol, about why he went, why he didn’t stay when he was happier at home. She had no reason to defend him or his body, and yet, she did. She was simply stating a fact, one that as a far truth from his reality, one he had long forgotten about. But she was right. Here, in District Four, Finnick was just Finnick and there was nothing particular about how his skin sat on his bones.

No one went swimming fully clothed. And no one on the beach flinched when articles of clothing were shed. They weren't naked, it was just to spare their clothes from getting wet. Finnick didn't think to look at Annie in any sexual light while she prepared to get in the water, so why should she look at him that way?

Finnicks throat felt tight, and he swallowed. “Yeah,” he shrugged, “Guess not.”

When he looked up, Annie was looking at him again. This time, her eyes weren't trained on his, but taking in the full view of his body. And still, she did nothing. She didn't stare, or gape, or drool, didn't ask to touch his abs to trace a finger in between his chest. She looked away as quickly as her eyes had been on him.

Finnick realized that once she looked away, she was trying to hold in a laugh. She was stifling a giggle that made her hands shake, she struggled to fold her shirt.

“What?”

“With how many sweets you eat,” she laughed, “I can't believe you stay in shape.”

With the time they spent together and how often they were in the ocean, they had both become desensitized to each other. Finnick didn't bat an eye when Annie was down to her underclothes, and she didn't make a scene out of Finnick being shirtless. There was nothing to make a deal out of, they had seen each other like this dozens of times before, and they would again. There was no staring, no glances, they would have full conversations wearing next to nothing.

They were comfortable with each other like that. Finnick trusted Annie to see his body and picture nothing else. The only other person he could trust like that was Mags, his father, and his sister. A pathetic little list he held close to his heart.

Finnick was still on the ground putting the rest of lunch away as Annie undressed for the water. She didn't normally wait for him, if she wanted to go in, she would go in. It took a second for Finnick to realize he hadn't heard the crash of the water yet, that Annie hadn't jumped in. When he looked up, she was standing, her hands on her hips. She was facing him, but her head was turned away out to the ocean.

She was standing close to him, and almost naked. She had peeled off her pants, shirt, and shoes. The only thing she was left standing in was her underwear and a shell necklace she had made. Finnick glanced up, and looked back down to close the bag. “Are you okay?”

Annie was quiet for a moment, “Are you coming in?”

“Yeesh give me a second,” he rolled his shoulders. Still, Annie didn't dive into the water. She normally wouldn't wait so long, he sat up, still on his knees. “Annie? You okay?”

Annie nodded, her eyes were clear, she was looking right at him. There was no sign of distress, that she might be disassociating or trying to block out an unpleasant noise. “I’m okay, I just wanted to wait for you.”

Finnick laughed and took off his shirt, “Since when?”

“Since now.”

Annie was looking at him, in the nonjudgmental neutral way she always did. Her eyes didn't tear across his skin, didn't try to pick him open and consume him. But she was looking more than normal. Finnick was used to people who would stare and he knew what they were thinking about him. Trying to get off the rest of his clothes with their eyes. Annie wasn't doing that, she was just looking while she waited for him to get ready.

Finnick looked back at her. Not for any reason, she just happened to be in front of him. Her skin was shiny with a thin layer of sweat, she had finally gained back all the weight she lost from the arena. A little bit of skin from her stomach poked out from the hem of her underwear. She had fewer moles on the skin that did not see as much light, but there were still plenty. A few on her lower chest, a few on her stomach, and one on the right side of her left thigh.

Annie was beautiful. Which didn't mean anything, because Finnick had always thought that.

“You’re staring again.” Annie tilted her head, though she didn't sound mad. She wasn't even accusing him.

“You're staring.” As if she hadn't realized she was doing it, she looked away.

“Sorry.”

Finnick immediately felt bad and shook his head. He didn't want her to think he was upset with her. He had no idea how to explain the difference between what it felt like when Annie looked at him versus anyone else. He didn't care that Annie looked at him, her gaze was soft. Gentle. Sea foam clinging to his feet when he got back to shore. The sun drying him off. Her stare never made him want to curl away. “It's okay,” he stumbled out. “I’m teasing.”

The furrow that had built on Annie’s brow faded away, she smiled, testing to make sure they were okay. Finnick smiled back and saw the rest of her anxiety fade away. She reached a hand out to help him up.

Her skin had been warmed by the sun, it burned to touch, yet Finnick’s hand lingered. Neither of them pulled away, standing, both sets of their eyes on the ground.

Finnick pulled back first, he needed both hands to get his pants off. True to her word, Annie waited for Finnick to be ready before she dove in. Finnick jumped out right after her.

Finnick only spent a few months in the house he had won after his games. He liked it better at Mags, away from the worried eyes of his father. Annie was similar. She spent a lot of time living in her own Victor’s Village house with her parents and brothers. She loved them, and it was the most space any of them had ever gotten to live in. Before she won, they were not poor nor were they well off. They sat where most of District Four did; somewhere in the middle. Money was tight even if you lived comfortably. But with three older brothers and two very worried parents, even the spacious house could be too much.

So Annie had a temporary bedroom in Mags’ house, one of the untouched guest rooms. There used to be three guest rooms when Mags lived by herself. Then, Finnick moved in. Then Annie won, and as time passed more of her things moved into the room. She spent a little more than half her time at Mags’ house. If Mags kept getting attached to victors at this rate, she'd have no where to put actual guests if they did come.

Mags never complained, she liked the company. And really, so did Finnick. He knew Mags worried herself sick about him, and it was good for her to have someone else carry that never ending concern.

He liked having Annie around, as a friend. She was incredible company, she seemed to light up every room she walked in, and found a way to enrich every conversation. She was stubborn and funny and kind. A good person to live with. A good friend.

The unfortunate thing about packing victors together in one house was the mixed bag of atmosphere.

Some days were good and loud. Annie’s laughter was contagious, even if she wasn't laughing at anything funny. She danced around and talked about everything that was on her mind. Finnick would get up on the couch and reenact childhood stories with his arms waving around and his voice carrying across the room. Mags used to sing shanties. After her stroke, she replaced singing with humming. The whole house had music.

Somdays were good and quiet. Mags would sit and get her hands steady enough to work a hook. She’d patch holes in their clothes even though they had the money to get them replaced. Annie learned how to play piano and made seashell bracelets. She wore big fuzzy socks that made her footsteps quiet as she walked around. Finnick took naps on the floor in the living room when the sun came through the windows. Like a cat, he'd laze about and soak up the sun.

Some days were bad and loud. Finnick would get swallowed in his self-effacing jokes and bleak world view. He'd fight with Mags and force big smiles and dirty jokes to Annie until both of them backed away. Mags would babble to herself, pace in the kitchen, her cane click, click, clicking against the floor. Annie would scream, she'd scream until her lungs gave out and then hit her head against the wall.

Today was a bad and quiet day. Finnick couldn't get Annie to smile, and he had pulled out all of his stops. A stupid (mostly made up) story about his hat being taken by a sea turtle and how Finnick had to fight to get it back. Normally, it made Annie laugh so hard she cried. If not, it could at least make her smile. But nothing was making her smile. It didn't help that Finnick wasn’t having a great day either.

Finnick thought that he was supposed to have some kind of trauma with tridents considering he killed a few children with one. That when he picked up the trident his father passed down to him, he was supposed to feel sick or violent. But he never did. When he held it, all he could think of was memories of his father showing him how to spear fish. Of the thing that protected him, got him home. The weapon that made him realize he could live. When he held onto it, it made him good about himself in a way he rarely was. An extension of his body. When he held it, he was safe, he was strong.

Annie hated when he walked around the house holding it though. Once, he turned a corner too sharp with it and she punched him so hard in the stomach he threw up.

So Finnick left it in his room, though not having it made him feel anxious and vulnerable. He was doing his best to swallow down his own concerns, putting all of his energy into Annie.

She floated around like a ghost. Her arms limp at her sides, her feet shuffling. She'd drift from room to room, sometimes, her brow would furrow and she'd fixate on an empty wall. Finnick didn't ask what she was seeing, he’d whisper, ‘Not real Annie,’ and she would move to the next room. The only emotion she had shown for the whole day could barely be called frustration. At most, she pouted her lip and started to tug at the ends of her hair. She would not answer any questions as to what was wrong, in fact, the questions made her pull harder.

Mags would pry Annie’s fingers from her hair, rub her thumb over Annie’s knuckles and only let go when Annies face became neutral again.

At dinner, Annie didn't eat. She stared at the plate, no trace of emotion on her face. More than once, Finnick wondered if she was sleep walking.

Annie's movements were slow, her blinks heavy, her breath shallow. As if the air around her was honey, as if she was having to push her body to move through something heavy.

“Annie,” Finnick tapped the table next to her hand, “You should eat something.”

Annie blinked.

“Annie?”

Slowly, she looked up at him, the little furrow in her brow returned, “Huh?”

“I said you should eat.”

“Oh,” she looked back to her plate and didn't move.

To coax something in her, Mags got up and made her a cup of sweetened milk. Mags said it was something her parents used to make for her when she was much smaller. Then again when she got back from the arena. The thing about having a child make it home from fighting to the death, was that you’d do anything for them. Mags said her mother never complained when even at twenty five, Mags insisted she couldn't fall asleep without a glass of it.

Mags didn't have a recipe, she simply knew how to make it. Over the stove, she warmed up milk. In it, she added sugar, cinnamon, and vanilla.

Annie drank the whole glass, she always did. She even held it out for seconds, which was the most movement Finnick had seen from her all day. (Besides when he found her first thing in the morning, she was squeezed behind the couch with her ears covered.)

Finnick helped Annie up to her room. Not that she needed the help, but he was so damn anxious. Everything felt like it was going to set him off. He was sure if he didn't see her get into bed, that she would disappear. That he'd wake up to a world where she didn’t exist. And he needed to do something to help, sitting there, knowing she was struggling was too much. If he didn't even try to fix it, he would explode.

She said nothing when Finnick pulled out a set of soft warm pajamas along with big hand made socks. Annie didn't scold him for going through her drawers to find it, she didn't even laugh at him for fluffing her pillow or pulling back her sheets.

Finnick stepped back, letting Annie take in her surroundings before he did anything else. He watched her flit across the room. She looked at the bed where he layered her blankets and moved them aside. All she would have to do is lay down and pull them across her. She looked to her dresser where he left the pajamas and socks out. To the lamp that Finnick had left on low so it wouldn't be completely dark when he closed the door.

Finnick was still desperate to make her smile, still sick thinking about how withdrawn she had been throughout the day. “All good madam Cresta?” He stood up straight, bowed at his waist and held out his arm to the room like a butler.

Not even a twitch of her lips. “Thank you.” Her voice was hollow, she was staring at the window curtains.

Finnick stood up straight, he was ridiculous. He almost felt embarrassed, which had been a foreign feeling for years now. Something about being shown off from person to person, half dressed, drunk, and seventeen made him incapable of feeling embarrassed ever again.

Yet Annie undid him so easily.

Finnick swallowed, seconds ago, he wanted to stay and keep an eye on her. Now, all he wanted was to leave. Why was he so upset anyway? It was a bad joke, sure, but he was just worried about her. He'd been worried about her all day. “Yeah,” he breathed and shook his head, “Of course.”

Finnick went to bed.

He woke up to screaming. Annie's scream was one he could recognize instantly. There was no longer a delay as he tried to figure out who the voice was coming from. He would always know it was hers.

Finnick’s feet were sure and steady as he got out of bed and went down the hall. He was panicked, of course, Annie’s screaming always made him scared. His whole body would go cold, his brain would buzz until he found her. It scared him, and he’d do anything to find her. But it happened often enough his body would find her before he could process what was going on and start to worry.

Like tonight. He was opening the door to her room before he was even fully awake. His adrenaline was rushing, his body tense, his eyes blown wide. He didn’t have time to think before he was standing in front of her.

Annie was on her bed, all the sheets and blankets from before had been pushed to the ground. She was on her knees, folded in half, her hands clamped over her ears. She was rocking, the weight of her sobs pushing and pulling her body. Screaming did not encompass the noise she was making. It was something closer to a wail, deep in her throat, being torn out of her.

Finnick rushed to turn on the lamp on her bed side table, letting it bathe the room in light.

“Annie,” he breathed. He climbed onto the bed next to her, he lifted her into sitting by her shoulders. Annie’s scream died in her throat being replaced by a strangled sob, she pushed her elbows together so she could hide her face and keep her ears covered. “Annie,” he said, a little louder. “Annie, it's okay. It's okay.”

She cried, wheezing and gasping. She only had her breath caught for a second before it came back out somewhere between a yowl of pain and fear. She was going to crack her skull open with how hard she was pushing on her head. Her eyes stayed closed.

“I know Annie,” Finnick said, “It's okay. Look at me, look at me Annie.”

From the hallway, Mags had finally been able to get up out of bed and down to Annie's room. She stood in the doorway, her eyes flicking between the two of them. Her face was twisted in concern, her wrinkles made her look even more devastated. She did not speak, and Finnick didn't address her. His focus was on Annie, he’d only glanced up at the sound of her footsteps.

Finnick began to try and pull Annie’s hands from her ears. The second she realized what he was trying to do, she pushed back. She started yelling a string of incoherent words at him. Finnick stayed firm, not willing to bruise her, but he needed her to hear his voice as clearly as possible.

“Look at me Annie,” he said.

Her eyes were bloodshot, tears poured down her cheeks. She was wheezing, trembling under his touch. She was terrified, completely, her pupils had shrunk. Seeing him did not help her, she whimpered.

“I know, I know you're scared. It's going to be okay.”

Annie tried speaking again, her voice loud against the quiet night. Piercing and desperate. It took a few tries of heaving for air, stuttering, crying, for her to get her words out. Finally, she gave up on a sentence. “Blood,” was all she got out before she was sobbing and rocking again.

Finnicks chest tightened, he couldn't imagine what she was seeing. Finnick pulled her hands from her head again, “Where is it,” Finnick asked her, speaking just loud enough so that she could hear him over her heavy breathing.

Annie blinked up at him, her eyes flickering all over, like she couldn't decide where to land on. “E-everywhere,” she choked, she pulled her wrist from his hand and touched her chest. “It's everywhere.” Finnick couldn't say she was breathing anymore, the word for it would be more like hyperventilating.

Finnick nodded, he put his hand over the one on her chest and squeezed her fingers. “Is it on you?”

Annie nodded, she used her other hand to hold onto his wrist. She dug her nails into his skin, her knuckles were white and shaking. “Can't you see it?”

Finnick paused, he took a deep breath. Annie's nails were hurting, if she pressed any harder, she would draw real blood. He moved his wrist to rest down on the bed along with her unyielding grip. Their other hands stayed layered on her chest. He squeezed her fingers again. “No, I’m not seeing anything.”

Annie’s big, terrified eyes snapped down to her chest. She pulled her hand from under his, it took a moment for her fingers to uncurl. “My-my hand. My hands it’s- it’s all over them- it’s on yours too.”

Finnick carefully traced his fingers over her palm. He looked at his hand, then, he wiped it on his face. He took her pointer finger and traced it on his cheek where he just touched himself. “Can you feel any blood?”

Annie shook her head, her breath came out so violent and heavy she was starting to cough. Her body was too weak to fight much more, her grasp on his wrist loosened. “No- No but I can- I can see it.”

Finnick nodded, “You can see it, can you feel it Annie?”

Annie clenched and unclenched her free fist, “Not on you,” she whispered, her voice weak, “But- but my hand-”

“You can feel it on your hand,” Finnick agreed, “Can you feel it on me?”

Annie touched his face again, she blinked and two heavy tears rolled down her cheeks. “No-no I can’t feel it- on you.”

Finnick smiled, “You can’t feel it on me,” he confirmed. He took three of Annie’s fingers and held them to his nose, he breathed them in. It was strange enough that Annie actually managed to get a full breath in, her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out what he was doing. “Can you smell any blood Annie?” He put her fingers to her nose.

It took her a second to comply, she was still looking at him somewhat confused. Finnick pressed her fingers against her lips, she took in a deep breath. It caught in her throat, coming out in a shaky sob. She shook her head and pushed her hand away from herself. “No- No but-” she looked down, and something in her cloudy eyes cleared. No less distraught or scared, she looked back up at him.

“I can't feel it on you,” she whispered, “And I can't smell it.”

Finnick nodded, not wanting to challenge her, she needed to go at her own pace.

“It-it’s not real. Is it? It's not real.”

Finnick freed his wrist, he brushed some of her hair out of her face. “No Annie, it's not real. The blood isn't real.”

Annie burst into tears. She fell into him, her hands coming up to claw at his back. She wailed and screamed and sobbed into his chest. Pushing her face onto his collarbone. Her body moved in waves as each cry went through her. She clung onto him, like something was going to try and pull him away.

“Okay,” Finnick breathed, and he let himself close his eyes for a second. He had been so focused on Annie he hadn't thought of any of his own bodily sensations. He was shaking, though not as hard as her. His sight was cloudy with tears, his heart was racing. It always scared him so bad when she was like this. In so much pain and confusion.

It took no effort to move Annie, she was already holding on to him, and Finnick knew he was strong enough to pick her up. Carefully, Finnick moved them to lay properly on the bed. One arm was wrapped tightly around her, lifting her up just an inch or two from the mattress. The other one made quick work of throwing her pillows together so they had something to lean back on. Finnick turned and rested against the headboard, a pillow supporting his neck and back. Annie stayed glued to him, crying too hard to do anything else.

The moment Finnick settled, Annie pushed herself further against him. Her legs curled up on his lap, her knuckles white in their hold of his shirt. Snot, tears, and spit pooled on the collar of his shirt. She held onto him.

Finnick pulled the closest blanket over them, then turned his attention undivided to Annie. He wrapped both arms around her, ran his fingers through her hair. “It’s okay, it's okay,” he whispered to her.

She cried.

Finnick shuddered, overwhelmingly worried and relieved. Adjusting to the feeling of Annie's body, warm and trembling against his. It was natural for him to pull her in. Annie liked physical touch. She held onto his hand or wrist when they were in the market so they didn't get separated. She sat next to Mags so that their shoulders or thighs touched. Her whole family was like that too. Her mother always stopped to kiss her children's heads. Her father was ready to tickle their ribs or pinch their cheeks. Her brothers all wrestled each other any time an opportunity arose.

Holding Annie like this meant nothing, because he had done it before. He’d touch her face or elbows, Annie would lean in for a hug. Touch grounded her, and Finnick never minded being the one to provide it for her.

When she panicked, started crying, her eyes flicking across the room, Finnick would wrap his arm around her without even thinking about it.

This would be far from the first or last time he had gotten in bed with her after an episode. It was what she needed. It was no big deal, it wasn’t any deal at all. If it helped her, Finnick would do anything.

It took an hour, maybe two, for Annie to cry herself dry. From wailing, to sobbing, to sniffs and hiccups. At some point, Mags had come in with water and tissues. She had given Annie a small kiss, “Sweet girl,” she said after a few tries. Annie had held in her tears long enough to thank Mags for the things before she was back to hiding her face in Finnick, her tears coming out softer than before.

Finnick's adrenaline had long since faded, only concern keeping him up. But as Annie calmed down, he felt his eyes get heavier and heavier. Only Annie’s shuddering inhales snapped him out of it. He blinked rapidly, reminding himself not to fall asleep. At the very least, not until he knew Annie could rest again.

She found the strength to ask for something to blow her nose with and realized how much she had spoiled his shirt when she sat up. Wet with drool, tears, and snot. She frowned, her jaw quivered, she looked like she was going to cry again.

“Your shirt- I’m sorry. I’m gross.” She blew her nose.

Finnick couldn't help his soft laugh. Only Annie could be worried about something so unimportant when she had just thought she was covered in blood. “It's okay. I’ve heard I look better without a shirt anyway.”

Annie stared at him.

He cringed, he really needed to sleep. His body was sinking into the bed, his eyes trying to close. He’d sleep late into the morning at this rate. “You’re not gross,” he said, genuine this time, “It’ll wash out.”

Annie laid back down, she held onto her tissue, squeezing it in her palm. She rested her head on his chest again, right over his heart. This time though, as she settled, she didn't wrap her arms around him. She wasn't trying to hide herself in him, she wasn't sobbing, holding on like he was drift wood in the ocean. She was still shaking, a handful of sniffs or big gulps of air would pass through her, but she had calmed significantly.

The gentle rest of her body against his made his stomach hurt.

No, hurt wasn't the right word. It made his stomach feel light, like it was trying to float away. Annie wasn't terrified anymore, she wasn't crushing him in a tight hug, or wailing while he held her. She was tense to the touch, gently crying, but she was not desperate anymore. She wasn’t desperate and still, she chose to lay against him. Her tangled hair fell across his arm. Her hands were bunched up by his stomach. He could feel her breath on his chest.

His stomach clenched, for some reason, he had to fight the urge to pull her completely on top of him. To let the full weight of her body rest on his. To squeeze her in his arms.

He was just worried about her, and she hadn't cried that hard in a while. It was reassuring to know she was there. He didn't actually want to hold her like that, he just wanted to know she was safe.

Finnick rested his hand on one of her fists, his other arm went around her, playing with the ends of her hair. (Which he only did because she liked when anyone played with her hair. Her parents, her brothers, Mags. It had nothing to do with him.)

“Stay,” Annie whispered.

“Of course,” Finnick said.

“No-” she shook her head, “Please, stay. Don’t leave when I fall asleep.”

Finnick had a habit of leaving Annie alone if she was unconscious. For any reason. If she had an episode and ended up on the couch. If she drifted off in the hammock Finnick hung up in the summer. If she asked him to keep watch while she fell asleep in her bed. Finnick disappeared. He had gotten good at leaving without being noticed. About forcing himself awake until he could run away. It used to only be with patrons, the people he was trying to avoid so there was no morning after; but as he got older, it was with everyone. He had even left Mags asleep on her rocking chair before.

She was asking him to stay the whole night. Not just until she eased into sleep, not just until he couldn't keep his eyes open, not just until the sun peeked through the curtains. She wanted him to stay until she woke up again, until she was certain that her safety was real.

Finnick’s chest squeezed, the weight of her head seeming like too much. Somehow, he thought he was going to cry, his thoughts were dizzy.

“Okay Annie,” he said, and he could hardly hear himself speak. “I’ll stay,” he untangled his hand from her hair and squeezed her upper arm

“Promise,” Annie said.

Finnick was shocked by how much he wanted to promise her, and more by how much he wanted to keep that promise. How the little flicker of fear in his head was drowned out by the overwhelming urge to be there for her, to do what she asked of him. “I promise I’ll stay,” Finnick said, and he meant it. He wanted to stay.

Annie closed her eyes, her hands loosened from fists.

Finnick wasn't thinking, relaxing into the mattress. He wasn't thinking as he leaned up to kiss her on the top of her head. Immediately, he regretted it, unsure of where that came from or why he let it happen.

Annie melted at the touch, her body fully slumped against his. He could feel the tension in her shoulders ease.

He kissed her head again.

Finnick and Annie didn't drink much. Being drunk often increased Annie’s paranoia and anxiety. Being drunk reminded Finnick’s body too much of the Capitol, thinking that he was only drinking as a way to protect his mind from remembering too much. Most of the time, Annie stayed sober, and Finnick only drank when he was away from Four.

But on occasion, a drink sounded nice. Alcohol was illegal to sell, technically. Technically it was illegal to sell anywhere in Panem. But that was only the law, and Finnick would bet that there wasn't a district that followed it.

Iris, the victor who won before him, fermented all kinds of things with her wife. One of them being wine. Finnick’s father had an old friend whose cousin bottled liquor. There was a bar that, legally, wasn’t a bar at all. Supposedly it only sold grilled seafood. But its brewer was good, so with a few free drinks and a good alibi, no Peacekeeper shut it down.

If Finnick and Annie were in the mood, they only needed a few hours’ notice to get something.

Tonight, was a perfect night to drink. It had started storming after the sun set, and the rain pattered down. The air outside was foggy and wet, grey clouds turned the world monotone. Inside was lovely. Annie started a fire and turned on all their lamps and candles. The whole house emitted warm orange light.

Mags had gone to bed early, she said the sudden change of weather made her joints hurt. She slept heavy when it rained, covered in her array of blankets she had collected over the years.

Annie set out a card game, a competitive one. Annie was the most competitive person Finnick knew. She had been since he first heard her name growing up. Annie Cresta had gills, and she'd challenge anyone who thought they could hold their breath longer than her. Not even the Games, the arena, had extinguished her competitive spark.

Every game they played, no matter how calm or casual, she would be in to win. She got so lively when they played any game, even smaller ones to pass time when they were walking or out on the boat. Her whole body would light up, a glint in her eyes, a sureness in her voice. She grinned and cursed and stood up, shaking the back of Finnick's chair.

Finnick thought it was a blast, most times, he couldn't care less. But Annie cared so much it rubbed off on him. He had been a competitive child, something lost with time and experience. Annie brought it out of him again. Two years ago, he would have never raised his voice over a game, now? He did it once a week.

“Bullshit!” Finnick threw his hands up and leaned over to take a sip of the beer they were sharing. It was their third one, and Finnick knew he would start to get tipsy soon. Annie had already gone pink in her fair skin. She pointed at him and laughed.

“I’m sorry,” she shrugged, “Guess you just have bad luck.” She took the glass from his hand and drank.

“You’re cheating,” Finnick decided.

Annie gaped, “No way! I shuffled those cards fair and square.”

“Yeah! You shuffled those cards. Let me shuffle, I’ll give you a real fair game.”

Annie's laugh was contagious, and she got the giggles when she was tipsy. Everything made her laugh, warm and bubbly. “Oh sure, and I bet you'll win the next round.”

“If we play while it's fair? I’d win every round.”

Maybe he liked drinking with Annie because it made her laugh at more of his bad jokes. He liked the fuzzy feeling alcohol from home gave him. He knew it was from his district, the warmth it gave him was more genuine. He liked not having to watch what he said around Annie, how he could just talk to her and she would listen. It didn't matter if he rambled or didn't make sense, she’d nod like she understood him. And maybe she did understand him. Sometimes, it felt like she was the only person in the world who did.

Annie slid the cards to him and leaned back while Finnick shuffled. And he was going to give them a good shuffle, to prove that he wasn't so bad at this. He had lost three to nothing at this point. It was honestly humiliating.

“You know, you didn't used to be so competitive,” she said.

Finnick rolled his eyes, “I know, you've ruined me.”

“I didn't ruin you!”

“Uh- yes you did? I would have never offered to shuffle cards with my father and sister! I can pinpoint the second I started caring about household games and it was the day I met you.”

“When we were kids?” They knew each other when they were kids. They had gone to the same school, grew up in the same area. Their parents had crossed paths a few times. They weren't friends, but they weren't not friends either. They were simply a part of each other's environment.

After Annie’s games, Mags had encouraged Finnick to spend some time with Annie. She said it would be good for both of them to have someone who came from before the arena, who didn't just appear in their lives after.

“No,” Finnick waved his hand at her and dropped a few cards. “I mean the first time we played something.”

Annie scrunched her nose. It wasn't in the cute way she did it when she was laughing or teasing him. How she'd grin or pout her lip, squinting her eyes. This was in concentration. She was trying to remember, she chewed on her bottom lip.

“Neither of us were really there,” Finnick replied, “It was pretty soon after your Games, maybe even before your tour,” he trailed off and paused, “It was like- forced victor bonding time.”

Recognition flickered in Annie's eyes, “Oh yeah, a few people were there.”

The list for that game night was Mags, Finnick, Annie, Iris and an older victor named Westley. Finnick popped a few pills he had smuggled from the Capitol before everyone came over. Annie was almost entirely catatonic. It had been a pretty awful night, and it only lasted for two hours.

“I remember, clear as day,” Finnick began, lying. He had spoken as little as possible because his words came out slurred and his tongue felt fat. He was trying really hard to keep from falling asleep and hiding the sweat that had grown on his back. “You hadn't said anything to anyone in days.” He was careful when he talked about Annie’s bad days. Because sometimes, she’ll smile and roll her eyes. Empathetic to herself and proud of her progress. Sometimes, it just made her feel bad. Annie didn't seem to mind today, captivated by his story.

Finnick set the pile of cards down, so he could talk with his hands. “We were playing something really simple, and I remember the look on your face. I mean- you were devoid of emotion for the whole night. You barely twitched. But Wes won the final round and you-” Finnick started laughing, “You got so mad. The frown you gave him was killer, I thought you were going to demand a rematch.”

Annie smiled, though he could tell she didn't remember the story. “Did I say anything?”

“Something about playing again.”

Annie grinned, “I bet I kicked his ass.”

“You did,” Finnick didn't actually remember if they had played again.

Annie shook her head from the story, “That does not prove any of it was my fault. I just care deeply about things and you're dramatic. We both like to win.”

“I am not dramatic!”

This time, when Annie's nose scrunched, it was in the playful way. “You might be the most dramatic person I know.”

Finnick waved his hand, and started setting out the cards for another game, it took a second to remember all the positions. “That's a dramatic thing to say,” he glanced up at her and flashed his teeth with a smile.

Annie was drinking, so it made sense she grew more red when their eyes met.

“Let’s just say we changed each other.” Finnick began out dealing the left over cards between them.

Annie sighed, “Tell me about it.”

So, he did.

The rest of the night was spent swapping stories of the last two years. From the day Annie got home from her Games, to the night they were having now. Two years, he had really known her, and it felt like his whole life. She had always been there, somewhere. In the back of class, with a different group of girls walking home. Her parents' names were thrown around sometimes on his father’s ship.

Finnick was not her mentor, but he had been there for Annie's Games. He had to be there, and knowing her made him feel worse, so he ignored her. He couldn't deal with losing someone he knew. Someone's face he could picture walking home from school. But one night, in the two weeks Annie had left before going into the arena, she had caught him sneaking back in. He could only imagine what he looked like. Smelling like sex and cologne, his hair and face covered in glitter, pretending like no one existed.

That night she had asked him a small question.

“If I live, do you want to hang out?”

Finnick blinked at her, startled from where he had been in his head, “You wanna go out?” Finnick was fucking sick of dates. He could go the rest of his life without being on another one. A date, a few of them called it. Like dinner made up for the rest of it.

Annie shook her head, “I was thinking about my friends. And the people I knew growing up…” she shrugged, and looked back out the window, the Capitol glowed at night. “I don't know, guess I'm just feeling sentimental.”

Finnick was feeling like he was going to kill himself if he was conscious for any longer, and Annie was taking up the couch which meant he was sleeping on the floor. Because the bed was far too much. “If you live,” he mumbled, “Sure.”

Annie lived.

Finnick started inviting her on walks a few weeks after she got home. Even when Annie was silent and miserable, she went with him. Finnick learned what to do when Annie stared off at nothing, what to do when she saw things or covered her ears. He learned how to be sober, how to be himself when he was home. He learned that they got better together.

Their best stories were of the last year and a half, after her Victory Tour, when they were officially friends.

Happy stories of the beach, their time on the boat, Annie making jewelry, Finnick telling stories. More personal ones, how Finnick learned to get Annie to uncover her ears, when Annie learned about what Finnick did in the Capitol.

They went on for hours. They had finished two more beers at that point, and had moved from playing games to the couch.

Annie was laying down, still pink, blinking slowly. Her hair fell over the armrest and tangled around her face. She was smiling at him, her feet were in his lap.

“Finnick?” She cut him off from the story. Earlier this year, Annie had insisted she had something to show Finnick in the market. She held his hand and dragged him all around, but she couldn't find the shop. Excitement grew into frustration until she and Finnick were laughing too hard to keep walking. They had held hands the whole time.

Finnick stumbled off his words, his head was a pleasant fuzzy.

She smiled at him, her eyes squinting from the light of the fireplace. Her features were soft, easy on the eyes, full of life and kindness. “You’re my best friend.”

Johanna’s words came back to him, but he did not dwell on it, he didn't care about it. He had meant what he said, he had meant it with everything in him. “You’re my best friend, Annie.”

Somehow, her smile grew.

Every now and then, Annie tried spending time with her friends. She had a good handful of people she was close to before her games. Annie was a hard working part of her community, it prepared her to go into the arena. Annie was a good person, it was why she volunteered. Because Annie would protect the people around her.

After her games, she pulled back from everyone. Her friends and family included. She told Finnick she couldn't stand to be around them, knowing she was nothing like her old self. She didn't want to disappoint them. She said she didn't want them to see the girl who covered her ears and couldn't finish sentences. The person who stopped showering because the sound of running water made her scream. She said, in a detached voice, that she wanted everyone she knew to act like she had died in the arena. That some other district child had won in her place. Annie Cresta was dead.

Except, Annie Cresta was alive. Or at the very least, Finnick thought she was coming back to life. She was just different. She still made jokes, loved the ocean, defended her opinion. She only needed time to recover before she was back. She had changed, she would never be eighteen again. She was twenty, now, and she had changed. But she was not less of a person, nothing about her was less.

So over the past year, Annie worked on going out. Being on her own, being with the people she knew and trusted. She slept in her victory house, where her parents and older brothers lived, a few times a week. And for the past whole day, she had been with two of her old classmates.

When Finnick saw her walking down the path leading to the village, he ran to her side. “Mags got crab legs, you should come over for dinner.”

Annie huffed, “Mmm, I’m not sure. I’ve been out all day.”

“Please?” Finnick batted his eyelashes and frowned.

She rolled her eyes, “Okay okay,” she waved him off, “You really need to get some friends.”

Finnick put a hand on his chest, “I have friends!”

“Mags doesn’t count.”

Now Finnick was really offended, “Yes she does! She's a wonderful friend.”

Annie laughed, “I mean people your age.”

“I have you and Johanna.”

Annie stopped where she was walking, “Johanna Mason? District Seven?”

Finnick grinned, “She also makes a wonderful friend.”

“Isn't she mean?”

Finnick whistled, “The meanest.”

Annie kept walking, she was holding a bundle of fabric that Finnick couldn’t make out. It could be anything from a blanket to a dress. Annie held it carefully, so it had to be important. “All I’m saying is, you could really use some more friends.”

“Why would I need more friends when I have you?” Finnick couldn't tell if he meant it seriously or not, if he was trying to tease her or if it was something else entirely.

The fabric had to be heavy, because Finnick could have sworn her cheeks turned red. “Everyone needs friends, Finnick. You’re my best friend, but I can’t solely rely on you.”

Finnick took a moment to think about if he did have friends, or if it really just was Mags and Annie. And Johanna once a year. Friend was a strong word for Johanna still. She was annoyed by him, they had only met him a handful of times, but she always went to him mean and drunk with her guard down. Johanna, for whatever reason, had decided to trust him.

Finnick could only think of one other person that would count. There was a kid who used to work on the boats with him when they were young. They were still close enough that they hugged if they ever bumped into each other.

The only person Finnick spent consistent time with was Annie.

Maybe she was right to be worried. Mags had been worried about the same thing for years: that Finnick isolated himself.

A bitter taste filled Finnicks mouth, it wasn't his fault. He couldn’t let himself get close to anyone, not family or friends. He hadn’t spoken to his own father in over four years despite the fact that he lived across the street. A friend? That was a walking corpse.

Snow didn't waste hostages. When Finnick had a meltdown at fifteen, refusing to sleep with another person, it was at the cost of his cousin. Finnick wasn’t close with his aunt or cousin, they lived on the other side of the district. He could count the times he’d seen his aunt in his life on one hand. Finnick was told, the death of his younger cousin was a warning, a gentle correction. If he refused again, it would be someone much closer to him.

Finnick hadn't noticed he was grimacing until Annie touched his arm.

“I’m just teasing you,” she said, her voice soft.

Finnick swallowed, “Yeah,” he forced a smile, “Are you coming over for crab legs?”

“Give me an hour alone, and I’ll be there.”

Annie came over two hours later, having needed the time to decompress from being out. The time also helped Finnick feel less pessimistic. At least, his thoughts had cleared up.

Annie came over in her sleep clothes, she said she couldn't make up her mind on where she wanted to sleep tonight; so wherever she passed out was where she'd be staying. It made Finnick laugh.

Annie was cleaning up after dinner. Finnick had made a mess trying to follow Mag's directions on how to boil the crab legs. Mags didn't speak much, ordering Finnick around by pointing and hitting the back of his heels with her cane. Finnick asked her to write it down, but for most things Mags knew how to make, there was no recipe. Only Mags' culinary eye and memory.

After dinner, Mags went to drink lemon tea in the living room. Leaving Annie and Finnick in the kitchen. Finnick insisted on helping clean up, but Annie refused. He made food, so she cleaned. Finnick didn't dare to argue with her. Instead, he sat and watched her and she moved around.

They had not lit any candles for the night, all the windows and shutters were still open, so the only light came from the setting sun. The whole room was golden, getting dimmer and dimmer with each minute. The house smelled like their district. Like fish food and salt. It smelled like the house Finnick grew up in.

Annie worked light on her feet, Finnick could tell that she had tired herself out from the day. At least mentally. She got lost a few times at dinner, staring at something over Finnick’s shoulder or forgetting where her sentence was going. Cleaning helped her put her mind to something she could focus on. She stood on the tips of her feet, balancing on her toes as she walked from task to task. She’d hum a note or two, stop, remember the tune, and continue.

It was soothing, it reminded him of watching the waves. How they pushed and pulled, powerful and gentle.

Annie’s pajamas were different from the few nightgowns Finnick normally saw her in. This set was meant for hot nights. It was autumn now, so there would only be a few warm weeks left in the year. The set Annie wore was light blue, silky and shiny like pearls. A tank top that was flowy against her frame, with a small band of lace at the bottom and a bow on the top. It fell down to her waist where her shorts started. The same iridescent silk as the top. They bunched around her mid thigh, and had their own layer of lace.

Finnick thought if he touched it, it would be cold against his skin.

On occasion, Annie would stretch her arm up, and her top would lift up just enough to expose her an inch or two of skin. Her ribs, her stomach, the small of her back. And for a reason Finnick could not place, he was captivated by it. He hadn't been staring when she first started, but he was now. He found himself watching just in case she reached above her head and he could catch a glimpse of her skin.

Annie’s humming stopped again, and this time, she couldn't remember the next note. She frowned, and looked at the floor, she lowered from her toes, standing flat. She was almost done cleaning, all she had left to do was wipe off the surfaces.

Since Finnick had been watching her so closely, he was quick to stand up and go to her. “Annie?”

“I can't remember the next part,” she said to herself, her words mumbled.

“Annie,” he touched her arm, her skin was warm. Like it had been kissed by the sun itself.

She looked up, blinked a few times, and got back up on her toes. She smiled, “Sorry, did I go?”

Finnick shrugged, “Just a little.”

She was so close to him, Annie wasn't short, Finnick was just tall. But on her toes, her face was closer than it normally was. His hand was resting just above her elbow. The last rays of the sun were making Annie glow. Yellow and orange, hitting her face. The color clashed with the green of Annie's eyes, it made them look grey.

She could easily be the most beautiful person Finnick had ever seen. And for half a moment, he had a thought.

He had a thought of moving his arm to her back. To where her shirt ended and exposed those few inches of skin. How the silk would be cool to the touch, unlike the skin of her arm that burned him. He would push her in, just a little to him, and kiss her. He’d kiss her soft and warm and when he opened his eyes, it would still be bright enough outside to see her smiling.

Were Annie’s lips as warm as her skin? Would the silk she had on really be cold to touch? Would his hand fit on the small of her back, would it curve where it needed to? Would it be easy to fall into her, to close his eyes and breathe?

Would she kiss him back?

Finnick startled at his thoughts and took a big step away from her.

What was that?

He shook his head, ran a hand down his face. He almost started laughing, having to choke it down in his throat.

Annie tilted her head, “Are you okay?”

“Yes-” Finnick coughed, he played it up and turned away from her. “Got something stuck in my throat.”

Annie laughed at him, and Finnick managed a very pathetic chuckle. He knew he looked normal, that from the outside there was nothing wrong. Just Finnick, standing in the kitchen clearing his throat. He looked normal. And he felt like he was dying. The air in the house seemed to rise around him, while his blood dropped and gave him chills across his whole body. He was sweating, his throat dry, his hands shaking. He was going to have a panic attack. Or maybe he'd start crying.

He knew he looked normal, and he had to keep it that way. Annie didn't do anything wrong.

In fact, Annie had done nothing wrong but exist. And there Finnick was, staring at her, thinking about how she would feel to touch. What was his problem? He’d cry and complain about wishing people would stop doing that to him. Yet he spends one evening with a girl his age who's nice to him and he completely falls apart? Starts objectifying her in his head because he could see a little bit of her skin?

If he were alone, he’d drown himself in the sink.

Shame, was a good word for it. Finnick was ashamed. Of himself, of his thoughts, for ever letting himself think about Annie like that.

“Are you going to get me sick if I spend the night?” She raised an eyebrow.

“No.”

Annie blinked, Finnick was not often so blunt. “Well, then I’ll sleep here. I’m exhausted.”

Finnick’s head was spinning, “Yeah- good night Annie.”

“Goodnight Finnick.”

Chapter Text

Finnick wasn't in love with Annie.

The voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Johanna disagreed. He could picture it, the way Johanna pressed her hands together in a fake kiss. ”Aren't you two-” they weren't doing anything. Finnick was not in love with Annie.

For some reason, his head wasn't getting the message. Everytime he looked at Annie, he would hear how Johanna laughed when he said they were best friends, how she’d thrown her hands up in defense and said that he had been talking about her for hours. So what? He loved talking about Annie, he loved talking about home. Did Johanna want a detailed description of the invasive prep for the appointments? About how he came up with the perfect balance of pills that made things bearable without affecting his memory? Because Finnick was certain Johanna didn't want that.

Whatever.

If, and it was a strong if, he had any feelings for Annie it would be nothing more than a small, childish, crush. A little thing that would go away in a few weeks. Yes, Annie was incredible, she was everything. Kind, strong, beautiful, funny, Finnick would be more shocked if he never found her attractive. If he never found himself pulled to her center of gravity, how she warmed up the world around her.

But that was all, because Finnick could never be in love with someone. He had to accept that when he was still a teenager. Something in him had shattered. And maybe, if he was left alone for decades, he might be able to rebuild that part of himself again. He might let someone touch him on his own volition and he might even like it. He might fall in love and not worry about whether or not he was going to get them killed.

Or maybe it wouldn't happen at all. He’d find someone he blushed around and they'd try to kiss him and he'd break their wrist. Or he’d close up, refuse to talk, and they'd get frustrated and leave.

It had been over six years since he got out of the arena and he hadn't had so much as butterflies. He could hardly find anyone attractive without feeling like he was violating them and their trust. As difficult as it had been to admit, that part of him was gone. There was no hope for romantic love in Finnicks body. It wasn't going to happen.

So, fine. He found Annie to be captivating. In how she scrunched up her nose when she smiled, in how she tucked her hair behind her ears, in how she laid on the sand and soaked in the sun. Captivating, yes. And maybe in a different life he’d have a crush on her, as his best friend, the way people their age did. But even in that other life, he would never do anything about it. It was just- hormones- or something. Something that would fade away and leave him alone.

In love? That was stupid.

A crush?

He didn't have a crush on Annie. That was something children did, butterflies and blushing and grazing hands. Finnick didn't do that. He simply… admired Annie. He had a lot of admiration for her.

What he needed to do was set himself straight. Talk to someone who could remind him that even entertaining the idea was dangerous, selfish, and impulsive. Someone who had actually been in love who could roll their eyes and say that Finnick was not feeling anything close to a crush.

Unfortunately, as Annie had pointed out, he didn't have a lot of friends. Or people to talk to in general.

His options were slim. There was his father, who Finnick stopped talking to years ago in the hope it kept him safe. (It really only made Finnick feel better. A thin and weak safety net. Finnick had killed his cousin, his fathers nephew, and realized that family was just another privilege he had to give up.)

There was Iris, the victor before him who got married a few years ago. She had been sold too, and was able to fall in love, get married. That didn't make Finnick feel better though, they weren’t anything alike. Iris was softer than him, nicer. And it was hard to talk to her. She always found a way to mention that she was there for him if he ever needed to talk to someone, and he always brushed her off. Both, because he didn't talk about it with anyone, and because he didn't want to ruin her peace. It had been half a decade since she was forced to have sex. Finnick didn't need to bring it up to her again.

Which only left Mags. The only person Finnick liked talking to anyway. Mags was honest with him, direct, she told him how things were, not what he wanted to hear. She was soft when she needed to be, or when she thought Finnick could do with softeness.

She would be upfront with him.

Finnick followed through the rest of the next day as normal, as if nothing had happened. He woke Annie up, and she asked him, “Is the weather good?” as she blinked sleep from her eyes. They went sailing, talked, swam. They went back to shore. Finnick made food for them and Mags. Annie took a moment to close the windows and light candles.

Annie used their shower after dinner and came back down the stairs fully dressed with her hair still wet. “My mother is going to braid it, so I’ll be spending the night there.”

Finnick smiled, nodded, and waved her goodbye. Mags stopped Annie with a quick kiss and patted her cheek, “Sweet girl,” Mags smiled.

The second Annie was gone, Finnick deflated. He had been sitting in his head all day, which had gotten a few comments of concern from Annie. He said something about getting sick, his cough from the night before.

Finnick collapsed on the couch, put his face in his hands and groaned.

Mags hobbled over to him, she lightly tapped his knee, she hummed at him, asking what was wrong.

“Mags,” Finnick looked up at her, exasperated. His hands felt weak, his brain wouldn’t shut up. He shook his head, and rested his head on the back of the couch to look at the ceiling. “Can I ask you something?”

She sat down next to him, she reached over and ran her fingers through his hair.

He took a deep breath, “How-” his cheeks were getting red, he could feel the heat in his face. He sat up, looked at the door, then his hands. He sighed, “Have you ever been in love?”

Mags stared at him, her eyes sharp. She studied him, like she was trying to figure out what his actual question was. Like she knew this wasn't what he really had wanted to know. “Three times.” She answered, and didn't elaborate.

Finnick nodded, he did not push. Mags didn't talk much about herself, or about the past at all. She was always focused on the future, her eyes never glancing away from the goals she had set out in front of her. Even now, she was not one to reminisce.

“How… How did you know?” He dug the nail of his thumb into the palm of his hand, the pain was relieving, distracting. It made it easier to breathe.

When she didn't respond, Finnick glanced up, just to see if he could tell what she was thinking. He couldn't, because Mags was smiling. She was looking at him with a little sparkle in her eyes and showing all of her teeth. She poked him in the ribs. “Annie,” was all she said.

It was all she needed to say, Finnick pushed her arm away and blew up. “No! What the hell Mags!” He was at a loss for words, he couldn't even get a sound out of his mouth without sputtering. He threw his hands in the air, exasperated.

Mags laughed as much as she could at that, she waved him off. “She is sweet. Take no offence.”

“I didn't even say her name.”

“But you think of her.”

“I am thinking of a hypothetical unnamed person who may or may not exist.”

“Oh,” Mags rolled her eyes.

Finnick’s face was burning now, he had never been so annoyed; and if he was honest, so embarrassed. Children were able to tell if they liked someone, it was something Finnick was supposed to figure out at a young age. And Finnick had figured it out, at least, he was certain he had known at some point. He just forgot, or became incapable of it. Now he was having to ask Mags for advice because he had no idea what he was doing. Like he had been dropped in the middle of the ocean. Told to swim with no sign of land.

Finnick wilted, he pulled his limbs close to his chest, looked away. He sighed, frustrated and annoyed with himself. “Just- I know I’m an adult. And I need to figure this out myself. I just-” he pinched the bridge of his nose and looked back over, “I don't know. I feel gross.” Maybe that's what it was. Maybe he wasn't in love, it was just anxiety and dread getting to him. Or maybe he was in love but his body was physically rejecting it.

“Not gross.” She always assured him of that. Mags never let Finnick call hismelf gross, or even allude to it. Even when Finnick had sex with people twice his age. Or was seen drunk at a party trying to balance a half naked woman on his lap. As far as Mags insisted, it didn't make him gross.

“I should know how to do this,” Finnick said, “I mean- I should know if I like someone. I should be able to figure it out. But I don't even think-” it was hard to voice his self loathing. Mags was always quick to shut it down. He felt reasonable in his head, but when he spoke, he just sounded whiny. Like a child. “I don't know if I’m capable of being in love.”

“Everyone is capable of love,” Mags said, “Even if it-” she struggled to say long sentences, and even though the doctors said she had fully recovered from her stroke; her speech and walking would never be the same. “Even if it is not in a way you recognize.”

Finnick thought of saying something snarky, something mean. Was the love that surrounded him, suffocated him, tried to kill him, just a version he didn’t recognize? A married couple who wanted him for the night? Was that love he just didn't recognize? Being dragged to a party by whoever bought him, being shown off like a particularly expensive piece of jewelry? Was that love? They said they loved him. They wouldn’t have spent so much if they didn't.

Finnick was sure, if he asked anyone in the Capitol, if they loved him, they'd say yes. Finnick didn't consider it love, but maybe he just didn't ‘get it’.

Finnick was almost mean, and if he were any younger, he would have been. He would have curled his lip, stormed out of the house. He picked as many fights as he could with Mags, because it was easier to blame her than anyone else.

But Finnick was older. Older, and exhausted. He knew that wasn't what she meant. It would be unfair of him to assume it was. Mags would never mean that. He knew she believed Finnick was capable of love.

“I don’t want to be in love.” Finnick said, he detached. His go to when he realized the conversation he was in was getting to be to much.

Mags frowned, “It is not bad.”

“It's awful,” he corrected her. His shoulders were hunched, his hands laying limp over his knees. “Mags, you know I can’t- I dont even want-” he shook his head, “It could be nothing. I could be imagining something isn't there. I was just asking how you could tell.”

Mags swallowed, it took her a moment to speak again, “Do you want to kiss her?”

Finnick would be lying if he said he hadn't. Because ever since the kitchen, it had been the only thing he could think about. Finnick shrugged, unable to admit the truth, “I think?” Then he shook his head, “No, I think I just want to know what it's like to kiss someone and mean it.”

“Both?”

Finnick sure hoped not. This wasn’t helping, “Do you think I’m in love?”

Mags smiled, she reached over and pushed his hair off his forehead. She squeezed his cheek, looked at him so softly, it could make Finnick melt. He did his best not to, his body couldn't collapse under any gentle touch, it would form a bad habit. “I can't answer everything for you boy.”

“You know me best,” Finnick reached up and squeezed her fingers, he was only able to manage a small smile before his face fell again. They were quiet, Finnick unable to untangle his thoughts. He could not find a way to make them lay out in a way he understood. His brow was knitted, his eyes flicked across the floor.

“Annie?” Mags tried to ask again.

Finnick closed his eyes, “I dont know.”

“Annie,” Mags confirmed.

“I’m not in love with her. At-at worst it's a crush. I’ll get over it,” Finnick was done with the conversation, he was done with this. He was sick of this. It wasn't helping, all it did was make him feel worse. Thinking about kissing her meant nothing, the fact that Mags thought he liked her meant nothing. It wasn't important. He'd get over it.

“My mother,” Mags started, before he could shut her down completely, “Knew when I was in love,” Mags smiled, “She said, I lit up, when I talked about them.” She looked Finnick in the eyes, her gaze was intense, firm. She was sure of what she was saying, she left no room for argument, “Finnick, when you are with Annie, you glow.”

Finnick stood up, he was shaking his head. “It's nice to be around someone who doesn't want to have sex with me,” his words were cold, removed. He didn't mean it, he wasn't even trying to be rude. “I think I’d glow around anyone like that.”

Mags was not deterred by him, she never was. She saw through him, easier than anyone. Sometimes, she'd call him out on pretending before he realized he was doing it. “You glow,” Mags said again. “Like the sun.”

Finnick couldn't stay, Mags would keep trying to talk to him. Keep trying to convince him of something he knew wasn’t there. He wouldn't let it happen. He sighed and went to the door. He paused, his eyes on the floor. The floor did not see straight through him like Mags could. It didnt know him. “It's a crush, Mags. I’ll get over it.” He left before she could retaliate.

Finnick and Annie were walking on the shore. They tried to take a walk on the days they didn’t go out to sea. It was good for both of them. Sometimes, when Finnick exercised alone, he'd zone in too much. So aware of what he looked like, what he had eaten, what he was burning off. He wouldn't recognize how far he had pushed himself until he collapsed. He’d brush off any concern, a sly comment about how pretty boys don't have any fat on them and Mags would bop the back of his head. Annie, on the other hand, was trying to work herself back up to a regular amount of exercise. Before her games, she was more than in shape. Lean, athletic, fast. Most of that was lost somewhere after her victory tour. She lost weight from not eating, lost the warmth of her skin from never going outside.

But Annie was better everyday. So everyday they would walk. It never mattered where or when. In the middle of the day, with the sun high. The dead of night, with only stars and the moon. Sometimes the walks were a ten minute circle around victory village. Sometimes they were hours, they’d cover as much of District Fours as two people could.

Today was somewhere in between. As fall crept in, the air cooled, which meant they could take walks until the sunset and it got too cold.

Annie was walking ankle deep in the water, her skirt tied up by her hip so it didn’t get wet. Finnick, was carrying both of their shoes, his own pants rolled up to his knees. The sun would be setting soon, so they at least had a few more hours of sunlight. Annie didn't talk much on their walks, she said she liked listening to the world around her. The peace in her mind, how she could focus on the sound of their footsteps and breathing. How the waves rolled up on the sand and fell back.

Finnick learned to not mind the silence with her. Though there were times it would get too much and he'd go on with one of his stories. Annie didn't mind when he interrupted, she always laughed and suspended her disbelief. She never called him out for exaggerating, even when she knew he was. With time, Finnick started to understand why Annie liked the quiet. He started to like it too, just to be in her company, getting some fresh air.

They walked close to each other, Annie watched her feet as they splashed the water. Finnick looked straight ahead, soaking in the sun. It was a quiet walk this time, segals squawked and flew away when they got too close.

Annie broke the silence by bumping Finnicks arm with her elbow.

Finnick looked over and raised an eyebrow, “Watch it, I’m the one carrying your shoes,” he waved her sandals infront of her.

Annie rolled her eyes, she tugged on his sleeve and pointed out to the ocean. “Look,” she said.

Finnick looked, and stopped walking. There was nothing particular about it, the sun wasn't even casting a golden light, it was too early to say it was setting. Yet, it was beautiful. The sun had the perfect angle to hit the water and make it sparkle. Endless shimmering white and yellow light that balance perfectly on the surface of the water. It almost hurt to look at how the sun rays reflected on the waves. Finnick kept walking, slower this time. His head still turned out to sea.

“Huh, it's pretty.” His bluntness made Annie laugh. Annie shifted between looking at where she was walking, and back out to the beautiful sight of the glowing ocean. Finnick wasn't looking where he was going, his eyes fixed over her head on the water.

He was so focused on the water, his feet took him diagonally, following where he was looking. His fingers brushed over Annies knuckles, subtle and quick. Both of them pulled back, Finnicks eyes snapped down to where they touched.

Annie didn't look, her eyes were still on the ground in front of her. Finnick watched, as her fingers twitched. Her pink extended, looking for his hand.

Finnick shifted back to where he had been before, no longer close enough to touch. He stopped staring at the water, and looked ahead of him.

Maybe, if Finnick was actually secretly in love with her, he might have held her hand. He might have stopped to look at the sun set longer, notice how the light shone through her hair, made her glow. But he wasn't in love with her. So he didn't.

They were quiet the rest of the walk.

Annie had spent the six months between her arena and victory tour, mostly catatonic. Half dead to the world. While she stayed with Finnick and Mags full time, she struggled to focus, to speak, to hear the world around her. And when she was not dazed, she was violent. She screamed, broke everything she could get her hands on, and tried to slit her wrists.

She didn't have time to find a good ‘victor's talent’, Finnick had forgotten about it by the time the cameras showed up. The prep for her victory tour was a disaster. Finnick spent the morning with Annie who was throwing up buckets and cursing at shadows while her prep team did their best. She was in no shape to showcase anything because she was trying not to kill the people filing her nails.

It was Annie's mother who saved the day. She had a little bracelet a much younger Annie had made using spare string she braided off her fathers fraying clothes. Annie's mother launched into an entirely made up explanation that this was the first of many Annie was going to make. And that, as her mother, she got to keep the original.

Jewelry was Annie's talent, and she didn't know it for another month.

When she was finally filled in on what she was expected to be doing, she frowned. “I don't like their jewelry.” Of course, being from Four turned her away from it. The Capitol loved jewels, they loved big flashy metals that screamed wealth. All of Annie's jewelry from home was made of seashells, pearls, rope. With imperfections and chips.

With some debate, Annie made hers the way she liked. Everything she wore was made by herself, with no practice or guidance.

The first ever shell necklace she got to stay together, she gave to Finnick. “You got the seashells for me, it wouldn't be fair not to give it to you.”

He insisted again and again he didn't need it. But Annie was worlds more stubborn than him, and she insisted that he had done her a great favor by collecting sea shells, she was only returning his kindness.

It took months for Finnick to wear it, for a long time, he didn't want Annie to get the wrong idea. They weren't friends, he didn't know her, the less people in his life the better. But, Annie was more stubborn than him. She shoved her way into his life, she became his friend the moment his guard was down. He caved and wore her necklace.

The first time he wore it to the Capitol, he knew he had gotten too attached to her.

As it turned out, Annie quite liked making jewelry. As time passed, her hands could stay stable for longer. A sign of her progress, she could string a dozen pearls together without dropping any. She’d hold them up and smile, a big ‘fuck you’ to the voices in her head that made her uneasy.

As it was turning into fall, they had to spend more and more time indoors, off the water. It drove both of them mad, so they found different ways to pass the time. Annie made bracelets, and Finnick watched. Sometimes, he'd write his fake poetry for fake women he was supposed to be in love with. But it would either make him feel sick or he'd laugh too hard at his own jokes and get nothing done.

He mostly watched Annie.

If Finnick did have a crush on her, it wasn't that bad. Because it was no different than before, he was just quicker at stopping and redirecting his thoughts. He was able to look at her and smile, talk to her for hours, and remind himself that they were each other's best friend. Finnick didn't need anything more than that, as long as he had her in his life, he didn't want anything else.

Annie frowned at her pliers, she was trying to attach pearls to a thin chain so she could wear them as earrings. “I wanted to play piano,” she grumbled and went back to trying to manipulate the silver with her hands.

Finnick sat up, “You did?”

Annie blinked, “Oh yeah,” she set down the pearl, “I always wanted to play an instrument, but they’re horribly expensive and my parents would have killed me if I tried to get it illegally,” she rested her chin in her hand, “When I decided I wanted to volunteer, I told myself I’d get a piano for my talent.”

“But it’s not your talent- and you know how to play it,” Finnick tilted his head.

“I do now,” she shrugged, “Mags said the one she has came with her house, she's the only one who got one, once I,” she waved her hand, “Once my head cleared up, I started learning to play it. The jewelry is fun though.”

“Playing an instrument is cool,” Finnick smiled, “How’d you learn?” He remembered her practicing and playing melodies for herself over a few mlnths, but no one ever came in and taught her.

“Trial and error, mostly error. Liam knows how to read sheet music.”

Liam was a victor who had won a few decades ago, he was very quiet, kept to himself. He flinched at loud noises and couldn't talk long without getting anxious. He also had a tendency to defend the Capitol. Like it was his fault for being reaped, not theirs.

“He taught you?” Finnick couldn't imagine the man leaving his house long enough to do so.

Annie nodded, “He liked that I didn't talk much. I made him tea.”

Huh, Annie had a knack for befriending people. She made it look easy, or Finnick wasn’t as charming as he thought. “You can change your talent to piano if you want. I changed mine.”

Annie scrunched her nose, “What, you haven't been writing bad poetry for years?”

“It's not bad!”

“It's unreadable,” she cleared her throat and made an awful ‘Capitol Finnick’ impression; a mix between something sultry and annoying. “Oh Captain, my captain.”

Finnick couldn't help but laugh, “I’ve never said that!”

She sat up a little, batted her eyelashes, pushed her arms together, “Your lips are the last thing I think of before I sleep.”

Finnick snorted, “I don't sound like that.”

“You sound worse, I’ve seen you on TV.”

“Why would you do that to yourself?”

“I miss you when you're gone,” her voice shifted suddenly, serious and soft. Her eyes eased into his, her hands on the table. Her brow slightly furrowed, they didn’t talk about it, any of it. Finnick normally ran from the mention of what he did, he never spoke of it with anyone.

He couldn't seem to run from Annie, his throat went dry. “I miss you too.”

They were quiet for a moment, staring at each other.

Finnick thought about leaning in to kiss her.

He pulled back, standing up suddenly. Immediately his hands went to smoothing out his clothes and looking for something to do. A reason for why he would want to get up and leave. Whatever had kept him from bolting before disappeared, his hands were clammy. “Really, you shouldn't do that to yourself.”

Annie went back to her pearls, “I need something to make fun of you.”

Finnick could feel his heart beating in his head. “You have more than enough to use against me while I'm here,” It took a second for his panic to subside, for him to relax against the sudden thought he had about kissing her. It was just a crush, intrusive thoughts were bound to happen.

“What did you do before poetry?”

Finnick rolled his eyes, “Never ask fourteen year old boys what they do in their free time. I picked the first thing that came to my head.”

Annie giggled, “Oh I remember! You insisted for two years all you did was ‘lay in the sun’. I bet our escort hated trying to make that work.”

“She was so annoyed with me. She kept telling me to pick something else, she begged me once. But the people loved it.”

Annie shook her head.

“I needed to relax! Being in the arena was hard, you know.”

“Sunbathing was the best you could come up with?”

“I think I said I was ‘keeping an even tan'.”

Annie shook her head and rolled her eyes. She looked annoyed for a few seconds before she couldn’t keep in her laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I was ridiculous, I’m more serious now.”

“Oh I'm sure.”

Finncik finally found something to do, he started wiping off the counters with a rag, even though every surface was clean. It helped him focus on what he was saying, and more importantly what he was thinking. “So why stick with jewelry?”

Annie finally got the pearl to dangle, she shook it to make sure it was stable. “I like jewelry, it’s fun, I’m glad I learned,” she paused, and smiled to herself. “But I wanted to play the piano for years before the arena. And after-“ she paused, “I was scared I'd never get to learn it. I like having something for me, something that I wanted to do. Something I got to learn on my own time. Something I don’t have to share with them. I like that only you and Mags have heard me play. It’s personal.”

Finnick couldn’t think of anything he had just for him. There was nothing he didn’t share with the Capitol. There was nothing he didn’t hand to them willingly. It was every part of him, save for the ocean, but that wasn’t his. He swallowed again, his admiration for her grew. It was making his chest hurt.

Maybe, someday, he’d find something to keep for himself. “I’m happy for you Annie.”

She turned her smile to him.

Finnick woke up at four in the morning, drenched in sweat.

His window was open, he had opened it before he went to bed. As it got further into fall, it was getting cooler out, so Finnick bundled under his sheets. At some point in the night, he had kicked all the blankets off the bed. He had overheated more and more until there was a pool of sweat underneath him.

It was more annoying, than anything, because Finnick knew it was going to be a bad day immediately. He made no effort to try and go back to sleep. He didn't bother with changing his sheets, trying to cool off, or even closing the window.

The second he registered he was conscious, he got up and changed into something he could run in. He threw on whatever he could find in the dark, and left. He made his way through the house silently, stepping near walls to keep the floors from creaking. The last thing he needed was to wake up Mags and have to explain where he was going and why.

He didn't know the answer to either of those questions.

It was cold outside without the sun. By mid day, it would be pleasant outside. But this early, it was still cool. It jolted Finnick awake as he went to the beach, goosebumps crawling up his arms and down his legs.

If his head was clearer, he would have gone swimming. Swimming made him happy, it helped him relax. It was an extension of his body.

Finnick didn't go swimming, he went running. Running was punishing, it hurt in a way being in the ocean didn't. It stung in his lungs, in his throat, it made his head burn. His face got hot while his body stayed cold. His legs started to hurt, because he hadn't bothered with stretching. Running like this, reminded him of his games. Before he had woven the net, before he had figured out what to do. The humid air, similar to Four, but much, much heavier.

Running was a better way of hurting himself than his previous methods. A lot of pills, hangovers, smashing his head and hands into walls. Running, was subtle, and no one knew he was trying to make himself hurt other than him.

He ran along the shore, the ocean drowning out the sound of his heavy breath. He stayed on the tide line, the loose sand was too hard to keep good footing on. The sand that was wet, packed down better, it was able to brace his weight.

Finnick ran, and ran, and ran. His thoughts were too jumbled to understand. He didn't need to be thinking anyway, he only needed to run. To feel sweat down his neck and chest. A real reason to sweat, something that wasn't as far away as a nightmare he couldn't remember.

It had to be two hours at least, Finnick didn't realize how long it had been until the sun began to rise. Black, went to grey, and finally the first sign of blue grew on the horizon. The last of the stars disappeared.

Finnick slid to a stop, he needed to get back before Mags woke up. Because if he didnt, he'd be bombarded with questions and concerns, and he still didn't know why he had gone in the first place.

The realization of how long it had been, hit his body all at once. He hadn't been tired before, going on sheer adrenaline and cloudy thoughts. But as his brain registered how long he had been running, so did his body, and it almost gave out on him.

Weakness seeped into his bones, it set his chest on fire. Whatever chill there had been to the air left his skin, leaving him burning. His blood rushed, his fingers started to tingle. Finnick paused to close his eyes and shake his head. It made him dizzy.

He started running again, this time, slower, more sloppy.

Finnick made it back to victor's village panting, mouth open and his whole body dripping. It ran down his forehead and salted his mouth. He was swaying a little. Did he get out of shape and not realize it? No that couldn't have been it, he was doing more than enough exercise. Maybe it was just the running, or how long he had been running.

There was no question the sun was up now, half the sky was yellow or blue. Only the last bits of grey held onto the outer corners of the horizon. Finnick grimaced, he was going to have to deal with Mags. At the very least, he didn't have to tell her how long he had been gone for. She’d worry too much about him.

Finnick readied hismelf before he walked in. Taking some time to catch his breath, hoping not to appear too flushed.

When he opened the door, he was met with Annie, not Mags. She was still in the entryway taking off her shoes, and yelped when Finnick opened the door, and she jumped d foot in the air. She put her hand on her chest and took a few steps back

Finnick blinked, his eyes were heavy. They burned when they closed, “Uh sorry.” It smelled like coffee, he walked around the corner to see that Mags was up, and by the half-drunk mug on the counter, she had been up long enough to know he was missing.

Mags raised an eyebrow at him, she looked him up and down, “Did you take a swim?”

Finnicks throat was dry, “No, a run.”

That was enough to concern her, enough to make her brow furrow. She frowned, but Annie beat her to any questions. “Are you feeling okay? Since when would you not go swimming?” Annie appeared behind him, calmed down from her spook.

“What are you doing here?” It was not mean, Finnicks voice was too tired and weak for it to sound mean. If anything, he almost sounded scared. Which was embarrassing and weird. He wasn't scared of Annie.

“I didn't want to wake my family up, and I was hungry. So I came over here for breakfast,” as if to prove her point, she walked over and let Mags pinch her face.

Finnick sat down at the table, trying to even out his breath. He could feel his heart pounding in his body, trying to slow down now that he wasn't moving so much. He needed a shower, a long one. There was at least an inch of sweat on him. It was disgusting. He put his head in his hands so he could close his eyes without the world spinning. He breathed.

He didn't look up until there was a clunk in front of him. Annie had set him down a cup of coffee and the bowl of sugar cubes Mags always kept out. She looked worried, “Let me know if those aren't enough.” It was a joke, she was trying to tease him. Because Finnick drank his coffee practically white with milk and sugar. Annie was trying to make him laugh, because he had made her worried.

A mix between the run and his guilt for upsetting her, made him want to throw up. “Thank you,” was all he could say. His jaw was tense, he rubbed it. What was his problem? Words were not normally so difficult. He had more than enough time to wake up. So why did he sound so removed? So detached. He tried to smile at her, but he knew it was wrong. The only smile he could produce when he was tired was all Capital. Because there, it didn't matter how exhausted or worn out he was, he had to smile on command.

Annie frowned, and went back to Mags in the kitchen.

Great. Finnick huffed, and went to put sugar in his coffee. His hand hesitated over the bowl.

It had taken some time for him to stop growing. His last growth spurt was some time in the summer after he turned sixteen. He was used to eating a certain amount to keep up with his ever extending body. And since he was used to it, it was how much he ate even after he was done growing.

The next time he was at the Capitol, he had apparently gained some weight. The most egregious offence, being a small pouch of fat on his stomach. He hadn't thought much about it, because he didn't often think about what he looked like. He was always told he was beautiful, handsome, pretty. And in the Capitol the words shifted to sexy, enchanting, wonderful. Finnick tried not to think about what he looked like. He didn't like how it made him feel. Even back then, he avoided mirrors all together, so he hadn't noticed some extra skin.

His prep team had.

His stylist, who was coating him in some kind of glittery oil for a ‘very important party’, had pinched his stomach hard with her sharp nails, leaving two crest shaped indents in his skin. He had flinched, trying not to think about what would be happening to him in the next few hours.

”What's this?” She snapped, and pinched again. Finnick actually pulled back at that one, his brain forced him back into the moment.

“What?”

“It's been six months since you've been back here and what? You just let yourself go?” she gestured to him.

Finnick looked down at his mostly naked body, but he didn't feel anything other than dread. He hoped, whoever it was, would turn the lights off. Tears built in the corner of his eyes. He still felt so new to this, like a baby learning to walk. He couldn't get a hold of it. The sex, it was too much. It reeked, it clinged to him, he hated it. He hated it, he wanted to go home. He had done it at least ten times now, and he still felt like he was going to die. He wanted to go home.

“Are you listening to me?”

“No,” Finnick whispered, and he couldn't cry. If he cried now, he would definitely cry tonight. And he was pretty sure crying was against the ‘act like you enjoy it or I’ll kill your sister’ rules. “Sorry.”

The noise she let out was frustrated and loud, Finnick flinched away from her again. “I said watch what you eat. I’ll send you a diet and work out routine before you go home,” she poked his arm, “Don’t let this happen again. No one wants you sagging.”

Finnick almost snapped at her, with his tears and the tension in his shoulders. He could snap her neck, and she wouldn't have the first clue on how to stop him. It would be so easy to bash her head into the wall. Call her a bitch. Tell her, he was going to fill up like a balloon, he'd eat just to disgust her. He'd say she could stand to lose a few pounds as well.

His father was at home, waiting for him. So was Mags. So was everyone he had ever known. He bit his tongue so hard it bled.

No sugar in his coffee. Not today. Finnick downed the thing black, choking a little on the bitter taste. He stood up before Mags or Annie could come back in and see him. He only stopped by the kitchen with a quick, “I need to shower,” and went upstairs.

He was probably disasosating. That's what Mags called it, it's what Annie did when she wasn't feeling well. It was a strange, miserable feeling. He would detach from his body, letting muscle memory take care of how he got from place to place. Letting his brain shut down for a few hours. He had not dissociated in a long time.

The first few times he was bought, he didn’t know what to expect. All he knew was that he had to have sex, and if nothing else, smile the whole time. He was told he'd be given a lot of leeway at first, in case he got scared or cried. With time, he'd be expected to be better at it. He’d learn how and where and when to touch, and he'd act his heart out. He’d get really into it, put his whole chest into pretending he was having a good time.

It took a few years to get it.

It was probably with the third or fourth person that Finnick's brain decided to disassociate. Decided that this was too much, he hadn't even begun to try and process what had happened in the arena. He still jumped at loud noises and felt blood on his hands when he first woke up in the morning. This on top of all that, was too much. His brain could only handle one thing at a time.

The unfortunate thing was that it was not the appeal of Finnick Odair. The appeal of Finnick Odair included his charming quick witted attitude. How much confidence he had. How he smiled and winked and flew through interviews with ease. How he hadn't seemed afraid in the slightest of the arena. How, in his victory interview he had made some kind of innuendo he hadn't really understood at his age. But he had finished it off with a wink and a smile and the crowd had screamed.

They didn't want him silent, staring off at the ceiling, only hearing buzzing in his head while they had their way with him.

The woman he had disassociated with, had refused to touch him until he ‘snapped out of it’. She wanted him to get her off, something I couldn't do with how far removed from his head he was.

That had only been a slap on the wrist, and Finnick was assured she had been compensated for the ‘waste of time’ and that if it happened again, the punishment would go to someone else.

Not being allowed to disassociate, made it impossible. At least, impossible for a sixteen year old. He said no, just once after that, because he couldn’t do it.

He found out about his cousin the next day, and though he had only met his aunt a few times, he could still picture the grief on her face.

He didn’t say no again, he didn’t retreat back into his head. Finnick, stayed in the moment. Over time, he found a variety of things that kept him in his body. Things that forced him to be aware of his surroundings. He was good at not disassociating.

Unless, of course, he wasn't prepared for it to happen.

Because at home, he wasn't looking for signs of it starting. He wasn't waiting for a time of day to start all his tips and tricks that kept him in his head. He didn't notice he was slipping until he was gone. Apparently, he had taken a shower, one that lasted an entire hour. Apparently, he had refused to eat anything despite Annies concerned looks and Mags firm orders to do so.

Apparently, he hadn't said more than a few words at a time. He floated from room to room, his face set in a deep frown. If anyone got too close, he came up with an excuse to go somewhere else.

Apparently, he said he wanted to go sailing. He wanted to be out on the water. Annie had tentatively asked if she could go with him. Finnick had only nodded at her, and started to get ready.

His shoes and jacket were on. He was grabbing a length of rope, he always took some. Incase of any emergencies or just to fiddle with. He was folding it over his arm so it wouldn't get tangled on the walk to the boat. Annie was in the other room finishing putting up her hair.

Maybe, it was the texture of the rope, or the way that it scratched his skin because he was pulling too hard. It didn't matter.

It's two people, this time, instead of one. And they're both cooing over how they have him strung up on the bed. All three of them are drunk, and there's another full bottle of whiskey somewhere on the nightstand table.

“Hard already?” Her fingers ghosted over his thighs, not quite touching. Whatever pill they had him on, made him horny over anything. Any sensation, any friction, and he was turned on. It was violating, and lasted for hours. And he hated it, he hated the way it tasted and the way it made him feel. But it's the only thing that worked, without it, nothing went up.

Against his own will, he bucked up at her touch. The rope around his skin scratched and burned. He smiled at her, all teeth, his eyes half lidded, “Don’t tease me,” it was all purr. Velvety, someone had called his voice.

Finnick was thrown back into his body and panicked. Was his posture good? What did he look like? Was he smiling? Was he paying attention?

He blinked, shook his head. That wasn’t right, he was home. He was in Mag's front room. It smelled like salt in here, salt, and whatever they had made for lunch. It was just him in a sunny house that kept all the curtains pulled back. The wood was aged and well loved. Built a long, long time ago.

Finnick looked down at his hands, he tried to concentrate on the rope. Why did he have it? What was he using it for, why had he wrapped it so tightly around his arm?

He wasn't sure how to tie someone up, like this at least. All he knew were boating and fishing knots his father taught him. At the very least, he could do something basic, it didn’t have to be a good knot. Because it wasn’t to actually restrain someone. The point wasn’t to struggle as hard as you could against the rope. It was just the idea. Hard enough to make it ‘fun’ without causing any real pain.

Sure, he could do it. He was seventeen, and she didn’t seem like the kind to snap at him if he didn’t know what he was doing. She was just happy to be there, Finnick was pretty sure this was a birthday gift. She’d been in a good mood the whole night, she told him her party was a three day event. She wiggled and laughed on the bed, “Hurry up!” her voice was squeaky, her face must hurt from how wide she'd been smiling. Finnick actually didn’t think she had stopped smiling the whole night. He should ask her how she did it.

Finnick stumbled back and hit his head against the wall. The rope fell to the floor, it wasn’t on him as tightly as he thought. The hit knocked the wind out of him, and it gave him the last pull he needed to be back in the present.

Before he could move, even rub his head, there was a shriek from the other room. Annie’s shriek, quick and panicked.

Finnick pushed hismelf off of the wall and rushed to where the sound had come from. Annie was at the dining room table. She had been lacing up her shoes, she only had one on. The other was on the chair next to her. Annie herself was on the floor, her hands over her ears. Her eyes squeezed tight.

A lump formed in Finnicks throat.

Selfishly, he realized he was going to have to touch her to pull her out of it, and he really, really didn't want to.

Annie whimpered, and he stopped caring. Finnick got on the floor in front of her, his eyes flickering for anything that might have triggered her. “Annie? Annie, are you okay?”

Her breathing was starting to pick up, her hands had begun to shake. “Loud-” she whispered.

“It's okay,” Finnick dropped his voice, speaking so only she could hear him. He placed his hands on her elbows. The normal warmth of her skin felt closer to a burn. He rubbed her arms, “Come back to me Annie, it's okay.”

She opened her eyes, and it took her a second to recognize what she was looking at. Her pupils dilated. “Finnick?”

“Hi Annie.”

She swallowed, her chest heaved, “Finnick-” she reached out and grabbed him. Both of her hands clasping onto his arms, she squeezed him. “Finnick there was a crash- or-or an explosion.”

Damn it, “No explosion,” Finnick cupped Annies face with his hands, so she couldn't keep looking around the room and further panic herself. “It was just me, I fell against the door. I’m sorry Annie, it was just me.”

She blinked at him, her breath still going quick, “But I-” she shook her head “I heard it- I heard a cannon go off,” Her voice broke, and tears grew in the corner of her eyes.

“No, it was just me. I didn't mean to scare you Annie.” As if his guilt over making her worried earlier in the day couldn't get worse. He wanted to burst into tears, he wanted to apologize until his voice went out.

“That-” she had to breathe through her teeth, “That wasn't real?”

“No, not real. I stumbled back and hit my head. The bang was me, nothing else.”

“No-No canon?”

“No canon,” Finnick thumbed at the tear that had managed to slip past her eye and down her cheek.

Her hands fell to her sides, she closed her eyes and breathed. Finnick pulled his arms back to give her more space. It took a few minutes, but Annie was able to calm herself down, she made herself take in even breaths until they stopped shaking. She began to play with the ends of her hair, twirling her curls around her fingers.

Then, her head shot up, like she had just forgotten something important. “Finnick?”

Finnick had been trying to calm himself down as well, he wasn't in danger of dissociation, but he was very aware of how close Annie was to him. How easy it had been for her to touch him. i He looked at her.

“Finnick?” She said again, and her brow furrowed. She was really looking at him now, deep into his eyes. She could pick him apart, if she wanted to.

“I’m here,” he assured her.

Annie shook her head, “You were gone. You've been gone the whole day.”

Finnick frowned, “I haven't left since this morning”

“No. No, you haven't been here. You haven't been with me,” her fingers twitched, “You haven't looked me in the eyes all day.”

Finnick swallowed, “I’m sorry.”

“You're back now though, I can see it…” she trailed off, her look was so concerned, so careful, so loving. It made Finnick want to curl away, it made him feel like he needed to hide. “Where did you go?”

“I don't know,” he was shocked by how honest the answer was. How easy it was to admit to her. “It's just-” he shook his head and tried to give her a reassuring smile, “It's been an off day, I’m alright.”

“Not real, you're lying to me.”

Finnick flinched, “It's been a bad day, but really Annie, I’m okay.” He’d live, and by far this wasn't the worst day he's had.

Her frown did not budge, though she nodded. She brought her knees to her chest and continued to play with her hair. Anxious was a good way to describe her. Though he couldn't tell if she was more worried over him or her flashback. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Finnick shrugged, “There's nothing to talk about.” Nothing he would ever talk about with another living soul at least.

Annie chewed on the inside of her cheek, and noticed the shoe she had left on the chair. “Lets-let's stay home today. We can go out another time.”

It was an even mix of relief and disappointment. He wanted to go more now that he was back in the present, and less now that he realized he couldn't even pick up a piece of rope. Regardless, “Yeah, that's a good idea.” She was right, they could go again another time.

“Are you feeling better now?”

Finnick huffed out a laugh, “Yeah that hit knocked me right back into my body.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“Are you feeling better?”

Annie actually rolled her eyes at him, “I’ve been jumpy today, that's all, I’m worried about you.”

He didn't want her to be. It felt selfish, making her worry about him when she had her own battles to fight. She had just calmed herself down enough to breathe, she thought she heard a canon, she thought someone died. Finnick was just a little spacey, it was nothing serious. “I’m fine, I’ll be better tomorrow.”

Annie nodded, “Is there anything you need today?”

He almost pushed back again. Told her that she should be more focused on herself, she needed to take care of herself first. He always felt bad when she worried about him.

Then he remembered the rope sitting in a tangle on the floor.

It was stupid, because it was normally fine. He liked tying and untying knots, pulling it all together and making it unravel. It was a mindless thing he could do with his hands, it was good. It was good, except today it had been bad, and he didn't know why.

Asking Annie to go pick it up felt trivial, and almost demeaning. He had scared her so bad and now he was going to make her pick up his mess?

“Finnick?” her voice broke through his thoughts, “Are you okay?”

It took him a second to process what she said, he hummed before realizing she had asked a question. “I’m okay.”

“You stopped breathing.”

Alright, fine. He was doing worse than he thought, maybe Annie had every right to be concerned. Finnick exhaled, “I- could you-” The hit must have reset his brain, there was no reason it should be so difficult to speak. “I dropped a rope by the front door,” he managed, “Could you pick it up? I can’t-” his cheeks started to burn, “I can’t touch it.”

Annie didn't ask him why, she didn't even look confused. She nodded and stood up, “Really Finnick,” she whispered, “I’m okay. You need to let people take care of you.”

Finnick couldn't imagine doing that, putting so much on Annie or Mags shoulders. They had enough to be crushed without him adding to the load. Selfish. It would be selfish to make them deal with anything else.

Annie left, and Finnick tried to stand up. He tipped instantly, his vision swam and black spots creeped in. He stumbled and had to catch himself on the table. He squeezed his eyes shut, and breathed through his teeth. His brain was foggy, leaving him with nothing but mush. His chest and legs ached, he would be sore for days. He swayed on his feet, and thought about laying back down for a nap.

Annie came back to him, having put everything away, including her shoes. “You look dead,” the worry in her eyes betrayed her lighthearted tone.

He shook his head and pushed off of the table, “I'm just tired.”

“Do you want to lie down? Or change?” she pointed to him. His clothes were not comfortable at all. Little bits of the day came floating back to him. What he had done, said, thought. All in a blur of shapes and colors. It took him a second to remember showering and putting on what he wore now. He had layered like crazy. He had at least three undershirts covered by an itchy sweater that made him sweat. A pair of pants that had buttons on the pockets that dug into him when he sat down.

Disassociated Finnick, had a horrible taste in comfort and fashion.

Finnick’s hands moved to take off at least the sweater. He'd go upstairs and replace it with something softer. When his hands touched the hem, he flinched. He shook his head, “I’m not changing,” he wouldn't say that he ‘couldn't’ change. That felt like accepting defeat, accepting that something bad had happened to him.

He couldn't deal with that right now. He couldn't deal with thinking about it, any of it. If he thought about it, he'd be overwhelmed. He would die, trying to think about it, knowing it would happen again. It was why he didnt let Mags use the word rape. Rape, was violent, trauamtic, it took years to process and move on. Finnick didn't have time for that. At least, for the foreseeable future, he wouldn't have time for that.

Maybe, someday, he would think about it, but not today. Not any day soon. He had to think about it as little as possible if he had any hope of jumping back into it. Doing what he was supposed to.

Annie nodded, “You don't need to, I just thought it would help,” she shook her head, “You should really lie down though. I’m worried you're going to pass out.”

Right, because Finnick hadn't eaten today. He had taken a few hour run, showered, and was trying to go back out again and he hadn’t eaten. No wonder he was so weak, so dizzy, and though he was trying to ignore it, his hands were shaking. “That's-” his tongue was fat in his mouth, “That's a good idea.”

Annie smiled, it didn't reach her eyes.

Finnick went to the living room, he was sure that if he tried to make it up the stairs he would pass out. Annie followed him from a few feet behind. Finnick stopped in the middle of the carpet. Finnick wasn't convinced he would be able to relax on the couch. It was too soft, too cushioned, too much. Collapsing on the floor felt dramatic. It felt as if every second he was on his feet, was a second closer to death. Finnicks body was miserable, protesting at every movement. Even his brain could not keep up. As if all his thoughts were being pushed out through cotton.

As to not make a scene, Finnick managed a few more steps to the piano bench. He sat down on the ground next to it, and rested his head on the leg closest to him. Resting made his vision stop swimming, though his hands were still twitching.

He could feel Annie watching him, hear her footsteps slowly approaching. She was careful not to touch him as she sat on the bench. She opened the piano cover and pressed a finger to the key. It was a single note that filled the otherwise silent room.

“Is Mags home?” his words were mumbled, he couldn't speak any louder.

Annie looked down at him, “No, she said she'd be back home soon though.”

Finnick closed his eyes, “Will you play something for me?” The exhaustion was turning into real pain, a weight on his chest. “Please?” he breathed.

“Yes-yes of course. Of course Finnick,” she began to shuffle through the old worn sheet music she had. There were a few new ones from the Capitol, but they only had different versions of Panem's anthem and otherwise Capitol approved melodies.

“Do you care which one?”

Finnick shook his head, and tried to swallow over the lump in his throat.

“Okay,” Annie organized more of her papers.

It was getting harder to breathe, his throat and chest kept getting tighter and tighter. The thoughts that managed to make it through the cotton in his head were cruel and mean.

Was it really rape? He could say no whenever he wanted. He just didn’t. No was always an option. He didn’t have to go. He chose to. He chose this. He chose to stop speaking to his father and sister. He chose to put enough distance between them that it would take a catastrophic mistake for them to be hurt.

But he could always take it back.

And if it hadn’t been him, it could have easily been someone else. Finnick had killed other children to be where he was now. This was only what he got in return. A kind of karma. Because it wasn’t fair only he got to live, he was just being reminded of that.

It took Finnick off guard, when he blinked and felt a tear down his face. In his head, he sniffed and wiped it off. But he couldn’t move, he was exhausted. His body was too heavy.

Annie glanced down at him from her spot on the piano bench. Annie opened her mouth and her fingers twitched. But her fingers stayed planted firm on the keys. She swallowed. “This one is called Siúil a Rún,” she paused, “I have no idea how Liam got it but-“ she shook her head. “I'm not very good at it yet.”

Finnick couldn’t manage to produce a hum.

“Okay,” she breathed. And with a moment of hesitation, Annie began to play. It was slow, and careful. Multiple times, she had to stop, go back. She’d play something wrong and swear under her breath.

Finnick kept his eyes closed and his forehead pressed to the wood. On occasion, another tear or two would manage to slip past him. They ran down his nose and wetted the carpet. It felt out of nowhere, all of this, this unexplainable grief and tiredness that had started his day.

He wished he knew what was wrong, if there had been something the night before to set him off this bad.

Or if this was just bound to happen. There was nothing he could do to stop it.

Everytime Finnick thought too hard about it, he was interrupted by a particular part of the melody. Notes that were louder, more beautiful, a section she was able to play seamlessly. It kept him from getting too lost. Her music filled the air around them, filling it with energy and sound.

Finnick felt like a decaying thing, rotting at her feet. Annie brought him back to life with a melody and a few frustrated huffs and laughs as she made her way through the song. Annie was a light Finnick could not get enough of, a light he owed his life to.

Too scared to ruin her rhythm and the gentle melody, Finnick was quiet. When Annie was done, she sat back and popped her fingers.

“Thank you.” Finnick whispered. And he wondered, what it would be like, if she did reach down and run a hand through his hair. If she shifted, and let him rest his head on her thigh. If she kissed him, and wanted nothing more.

“I’ll play another,” she kept her voice quiet for him. Finnick nodded against the bench, he could fall asleep, between his few tears and Annie’s careful music. And maybe that would be nice, if he ended up falling asleep. Maybe he’d wake up and feel better.

Neither Annie nor Finnick could bake. Cooking was easy, Mags helped with old recipes and her expertise. But Baking? Baking was an exact science that no one in the house had mastered. All of their sweets came from the market or other victors who actually knew what they were doing.

Finnick was craving something sweet. Infact, he hadn't stopped whining about it the whole morning. The problem was the mini typhoon that was hitting this area of Four. High winds, pouring rain, dark sky. When Finnick had first woken up, he thought he had slept through the entire day. He was glad Annie had slept over the day before, even walking down the street could be dangerous. The wind had easily picked up a few objects and thrown them around. No one was leaving the house today.

Which meant there was no cure for Finnicks aching sweet tooth. “How hard could they be? It's just cookies.” Finnick had spent half an hour convincing Annie to bake something with him. She was firm on her no. She would not waste Mags ingredients to make something that tasted awful.

On occasion, Finnick was more stubborn than her, though it was rare. Today was one of those days. He followed her around like a duck, talking about how he couldn't do it alone, he needed back up, what would he do without her?

Finally, Annie threw her head back and groaned. “You really need help?”

Finnick nodded, and being annoying and prodding worked because Annie laughed. “Fine! Fine, we can make cookies.”

Annie read through the instructions while Finnick buzzed around and gathered it all together. Mags was upstairs, she had woken up, seen the weather, and gone back to sleep. She said that she loved the sound of rain, how it patterned on glass, how the wind made the house creek and whistle. Finnick was pretty sure she wanted an excuse to sleep without feeling old.

The lights in the house still worked, but Finnick had lit a few candles anyway. It added to the ambiance of it all. “If I wasn't a victor,” Finnick began while he cracked the eggs, “I’d run a lighthouse.”

Annie, who was in charge of the dry ingredients, laughed at him. “You would not, you'd be miserable.”

“I’d love it! It would be fun and creepy. All the fog, alone time, having to take a candle from room to room.”

Annie giggled while he spoke, continuously shaking her head, “Finnick you love people. You’re a total extravert, you’d lose your mind within the first week of having no one to talk to.”

Finnick shook his head, “No I would have so much fun. Would you and Mags come and visit me?”

Annie snorted, “Only if you lit more than one candle.”

“That ruins the thrill!”

“And Mags couldn't walk up all those stairs, you'd kill her.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that, she’d be insulted,” Finnick remembered being twelve and he had teased Mags for having to walk slower across some rocks that lead to the beach. Despite the fact that she would end up needing a cane in a few years, she took deep offence to that. Finnick was swimming laps for hours until he had earned her forgiveness.

Annie sighed, but she was smiling. It was infectious, and Finnick realized he had been grinning the whole time. There was something about making Annie laugh that lightened his chest. Made his feet less heavy.

They were quiet for a minute, the only sound being the wailing of the storm outside muffled through the house. It was cold, and both Finnick and Annie were bundled up. Annie had not brought anything particularly warm to sleep over, so Finnick let her wear his softest, newest sweater.

She looked pretty wearing his clothes.

Without looking up from where she was mixing, Annie waved to something behind Finnick. “Could you grab me that?” she asked, still focused on her bowl.

Finnick looked up from where he had been measuring vanilla, “Sure,” he looked around him but couldn’t find what she was talking about. He thought it would be obvious, but there was no tool or ingredient near him that he wasn't using himself. He looked back to her, “What did you-”

Before Finnick could finish his sentence, Annie blew a small handful of flour into his face. She didn't last a second before she started giggling, then laughing. Her whole face was getting red from the lack of air.

Finnick blinked once, twice, wiped the flour from his eyes. “Annie,” he deadpanned, “Annabel Cresta.”

Her laughing turned hysterical, she had to hold onto the counter to stand up straight, “That’s not my name!”

“What the hell Annie?”

Her cackling subsided back to giggles, she threw her hands up, “I had to! I’m sorry!”

In an instant, Finnick's demeanor changed. His face split into a grin and he lunged for the bag of flour on the counter. Annie noticed the shift in his eyes a second too late. She just barely missed grabbing it before Finnick had the whole thing to himself. Luckily for her, the bowl she was using had two cups of flour in it already, so she grabbed it and ran.

Finnick chased her into the living room, throwing a full handful of it at her. Flour did not throw well, which Annie must have thought of when she blew it on him instead.

“You won't get away from this!” Finnick yelled, getting another handful to try again.

Annie shrieked and jumped up on the couch, using the high ground to pelt him with handfuls of flour. They moved slowly around the coffee table and the couch, neither willing to make a big move. Annie was panting for air, “Finnick, Finnick let's call a truce.”

Finnick’s own giggles were bubbling up his chest. Everytime he tried to look serious, he’d see the flour he had gotten in Annie's hair and laugh again. “No way, you need to finish what you started.”

Annie shifted, bouncing from cushion to cushion, her eyes trained on Finnick in case he made any sudden moves. Instead of going around the table, and then going in circles forever, Finnick jumped on top of it.

Annie shrieked again, and blindly threw a handful at him, her laugh was booming, louder than the storm outside. Finnick closed his eyes to avoid getting any flour in them and threw back his own handful. He was laughing too, the kind of laugh that made his stomach cramp and his eyes water.

They chased each other around the first floor of the house. Annie running and yelling, she ran out of flour and turned to full defense, trying to block and dodge all of Finnick's attempts to cover her in it. Finnick was laughing so hard he kept stumbling into walls and having to regain his breath before continuing. They had looped back into the kitchen. Annie was begging for mercy.

“You wanted to make cookies! How are we going to make them if we don't have flour!”

“You should have thought about that before you betrayed me!”

“Finnick, if you do this, you won’t have a treat until the storm blows over,” her nose was scrunched in her smile.

Finnicks face was hurting from smiling, “I guess I’ll have to live with that.” Before he could dump the bag on her, there were three loud hits on the wall behind them.

Finnick spun on his heel, to see a very grumpy Mags. She was still in her pajamas, her hair wild and undone. She looked them both up and down, then behind her, following the trail of flour that looped around each corner. The whole floor was white. She looked back to them and raised an eyebrow.

Finnick pointed at Annie, “She started it.”

“What!” Annie pushed Finnicks arm down, “He's the one who was being a brat about wanting cookies!”

“I am not a brat!”

Mags pointed at him, “Brat,” then she pointed at Annie, “I can’t believe you.”

Both of them frowned, covered in dry dusty flour that was going to take ages to clean off. They'd both need to shower, not to mention the absolute disaster that was the rest of the house. It would be the next few days of scrubbing to get everything back to clean. And by the look on Mags face, she wasn't going to lift a finger to help.

“We’ll start cleaning,” Annie meant it seriously, but she had been smiling so much that she couldn't get the grin off of her face.

Finnick straightened his back and saluted Mags, “Right away!”

Mags rolled her eyes, “Don’t wake me again,” she grumbled something about them being loud as she walked away and went back up the stairs.

A moment passed, and Finnick and Annie burst into laughter again.

“She's grouchy,” Annie whispered, and covered her mouth to try and suppress the sound of her giggles.

Finnick shook his head, “You have no idea,” he whispered, “When I volunteered she didn't talk to me for hours. I thought I was going to go into the arena with nothing but my good attitude and a dream.”

Annie snorted.

“No really,” Finnick leaned in to speak, “To this day if I say something too snarky she makes me do push ups. That's why I’m always on my best behavior. Honestly, if you weren't here I think I'd be doing laps.”

“I would do anything to see that,” Annie smiled, “You really do everything she says?”

Finnick put his hands up, “You and Mags, I owe you both for putting up with me.”

Annie nodded, “Yeah you do.”

“Don’t agree!”

Annie laughed again, she pushed him back by his shoulder. “Go wash up, we need to get cleaning.”

Finnick went to the bathroom on the main floor and started with his hands. Washing until any trace of flour was off his arms. Then he scrubbed his face, and let water run over it until he was sure it was all gone. He went to grab the towel to dry off.

When he looked up, he caught his reflection in the mirror.

Water dripped down his face and chin. It ran down his arms to his elbows. The faucet was running.

Finnick couldn’t’ look away from himself. His eyes were sparkling. His cheeks were cramping from how much he had been laughing, he was still smiling and hadn’t realized it. There was a light flush to his face, turning his cheeks pink.

It took a second for him to recognize what it was.

Finnick was glowing.

There was no doubt about it.

Chapter Text

Finnick wasn't panicking.

Panicking was the moment after he killed someone. Knowing he had to get away from the body, knowing there were cameras on him, knowing the show he put on now would be seen across the country.

Panicking was the first time someone touched him and he realized what he had agreed to do.

Panicking was saying no and being walked to President Snow's office to find out who paid the price for his refusal.

Panicking was Annie in the President's mansion at the end of her victory tour, screaming and sobbing. Finnick tried to think of the best way to calm her down and stop the scene that had already begun.

Panicking was when Mags words were slurred one morning and she couldn't move her right arm.

Finnick wasn't panicking. He was doing everything he could to stay calm. He kept his thoughts in check, not letting himself spiral, he needed to be rational. He was even working on calming his breathing, as hard as that was.

Finnick hid in the bathroom, glancing up at the mirror to make sure he wasn't seeing things. But everytime he looked, he saw his face, lit up and warm. Glowing. Being with Annie, making her laugh, talking about Mags. Being home with her. It was making him glow. And for Finnick, it was a death sentence.

The storm did not blow over for another twelve hours, and Annie stayed the night again. Finnick followed every bit of advice he had ever received on acting. He wouldn't freak out in front of her. As far as Annie knew, nothing had happened. Finnick wouldn't make her question it.

They started cleaning the mess, Mags woke up, they cleaned more. They made lunch and dinner, played a card game, listened to the rain. Finnick didn’t panic, as much as he wanted to.

Everytime Annie looked at him, his stomach flipped and his heart started pounding harder. Thoughts he hadn't known he was suppressing came flooding at him.

How she walked, moved her hair, touched the corner of a wall. The mole on the back of her hand, a mole under her eye. The slow change in her voice as it got later in the night. How she smoothed over her napkin before eating.

She was captivating him, Finnick couldn't look away. And if he did, he was pulled back to her.

Annie was beautiful, funny, and kind. Stubborn and well spoken. She was wonderful. And Finnick was pretty sure he was in love with her.

Twelve hours, he was in the house with her, sitting on his realization and trying not to fall apart. Twelve hours, he spent throwing glances at Mags wondering if she could tell. If she knew something was wrong, if she could see it in his face. He wondered if he was still glowing, or if his dread had dragged on his appearance.

Annie was the first to notice that the storm had ended. The rain no longer filled in the background, even the wind was now too soft to whistle against the house. Annie stood up from where she was warming her feet by the fire and bid Mags and Finnick goodnight. “I should head back home, I don’t want my parents to worry too much about me.”

Mags had told Finnick once, ‘When you send your kid to the arena, you never stop feeling like they're going to die.’ She said Finnick’s own father looked like he was grieving Finnick's death if Finnick wasn't standing in front of him.

Finnick didn’t think about it, he didn’t think about his father at all.

Annie thought about her parents, and she would do anything to relieve them of their never ending anxiety regarding her. She left in the pajamas she had brought over from the night before, and Finnick's sweater.

She left still wearing it.

Finnick started pacing. He wore a path in the carpet, walking back and forth in front of the couch. It got so bad, he began to bite his nails. Something that would make his stylist pass out. He could feel his body get more and more tense, his shoulders up to his ears. His eyes unmoving from the floor.

What was being in love? What did it mean? What was he supposed to do about it?

Finnick did not notice Mags walk into the room, he was on a silent rampage in his mind. His body was buzzing, shaking with energy and worry. He could not hold still, they would need a new carpet if he kept going like this.

“Boy?” Mags tried.

Finnick waved a hand in her direction, his breath came out hot, he didn't have time to talk to her.

“Finnick,” Mags said.

Finnick did not stop pacing, he couldn't stop moving. “What?”

Mags raised an eyebrow, “What is happening?”

Finnick waved her off again, hoping this time she would get the message and leave him alone. Unfortunately, Mags knew better than to do that. When Finnick was upset and had the energy to be up on his feet, he could be a danger to hismelf. And Mags would not leave him alone until he calmed down. She walked over and stood directly in his path. When Finnick turned around, he almost slammed into her.

Mags opened her mouth to say something, but Finnick grabbed her shoulders. “Am I glowing?” He sounded manic.

Mags tilted her head, “Why?”

Finnick wilted, his hands slipped down to her elbows, he rested his head on her shoulder. When he was younger, it was easier, it was where his head fit naturally when she held him. Now, Finnick had to fold over, it hurt his back after a few minutes. But those few minutes were worth it, he closed his eyes, and took a deep breath in.

“Mags,” he whispered, and he felt so young, “I think I’m in love with her.”

Mags began to rub his back, her fingers gentle as they went along the length of his spine. “I know.”

Finnick's hands tightened around her arms, “What do I do,” he was squeezing his eyes shut now, trying to will the tears to go away.

“It’s up to you.”

Finnick shook his head, “What do I do?”

Her hand stilled on his back, “Tell her.”

Finnick pulled back, stumbling out of her arms, he hadn't realized how heavy he had been breathing until his throat started to burn. “I can’t tell her. I can't tell her- that's insane.”

Mags frowned, her silent way of asking him to elaborate. Finnick could read every expression on her face, he always could. He threw his hands up, “And what! Ruin our friendship? Annie trusts me, I couldn't put that on her! If she didn’t cut all ties with me things would never be the same.”

Mag’s lips twitched, she was fighting off a smile, “She could love you back.”

Finnick’s hands and face dropped, “You’re hilarious,” he said dryly.

Mags shrugged, “You are handsome, you make her laugh, you are nice to her. Girls her age don’t look for much else.”

Finnick shook off the words, “Annie is smarter than that,” she knew about the Capitol, she knew about his games. Annie was not in love with Finnick, she cared about him, she liked him, but there was no way she was in love with him. The President's best selling commodity who had already killed people before his fifteenth birthday. “She wouldn't-” Finnick shook his head again, “This isn’t about- What do I do?”

“You won’t confess?”

“And if she is in love with me?” It was a ridiculous possibility, one Finnick would never believe, “What would that do besides get her killed? No, absolutely not. She's in enough danger as is.”

“She’s victor.”

Snow did not kill his victors, no matter poorly they fucked up. He did not kill Haymitch Abernathy or Johanna Mason. Killing a victor, did not send a message. If Finnick had thought refusing would get himself killed instead of his family, he would've done it already.

“It's not just about her life- What about her family? They could make her a mentor! Or-” his voice broke. Annie was never asked to be sold, it hadn't ever been brought up to her. She was too unstable to be appropriately deemed ‘desirable’. The Capitol was disappointed and rather unsettled by her games and victory. They did their best to forget it.

But Finnick knew better than to ever let himself be fully relieved of the fear that came with that possibility. Finnick knew that if Snow wanted to, he would find someone. Someone who could get off on Annie's instability.

Finnick choked on his words, he couldn't say it. “Annie,” he whispered, “does not need any more drama in her life. What she needs is to stay in Four and heal. Be happy here. She deserves a long, healthy life.”

“You cannot protect her from everything.”

“I can try,” Finnick ran a hand down his face, and shuttered. In love with her? What a joke. “I could hardly last the afternoon without doing something stupid,” he laughed. “How am I going to be her friend? Be normal? Act like nothing changed?”

“Because nothing changed. You’re still you.” Mags moved to sit on the couch, she sighed as she sunk into it. She patted the cushion next to her. Finnick sat down, he looked at his hands in his lap. They were twitchy, he needed something to hold onto.

“So I just… continue on as normal?”

“If you don't tell her, that's what I would do.”

“Will it pass?”

Maybe, if he put enough distance between them it would go away. They could be regular friends, just two people who know each other. Annie had plenty of people in her life who could be there for her. It wasn't like she needed him. He could pull back, remind himself to be rational. They couldn't continue on like nothing happened, Finnick would not risk getting too close.

Mags looked at him, “It might,” she paused, “I’m not sure.”

Finnick closed his eyes and sealed himself for the future, however long it took to get over this. He had done this before. He cut all ties with his family after his cousin's death. He hadn’t spoken to his father or sister in six years. He pushed them away, and besides a small hole in his heart, he lived. He had kept them safe, detached from them. Estranged his own family by severing any signs of closeness. Being as mean and cold as possible.

He could be Annie's friend, but he couldn't be anything more. Finnick would keep her safe. He would get over it. This would pass.

Annie was still wearing his sweater when Finnick came to get it.

Finnick had to take it back. If he was ever going to get over her, he needed to be more careful. He had to watch what he was doing. Things like giving Annie his clothes, stepped too closely to the line Finnick couldn't cross.

Finnick didn’t look Annie in the eye while she took it off and handed it to him. Her face was shifted into something like confusion and hurt. A few days ago, he would have never asked for it back. It would have disappeared somewhere in her closet.

“It's a good sweater,” Annie smiled, her hands lingered on it.

He nodded, and said nothing else.

Finnick didn’t push Annie away, but he held her at an arm's length.

He stopped going to her house in the morning so she couldn’t ask him how the weather was. He only went out on the boat with her if she suggested it first. In fact, he stopped being the one to initiate any time they spent together. He would never say no to her, but she had to be the one to go to him.

It was difficult, and he could tell she was picking up on something. She withdrew her touch, and asked him how he was doing more often. She knew something was wrong, but she had no idea the depth of what he was keeping from her. How bad it really was. Annie kept spending time with him, if he wouldn't go to her, she'd go to him. She asked him to go on walks, to go on the boat, to sit and talk for awhile. Her eyes trained on him the whole time like she was waiting to spot what was wrong. Annie was stubborn, too stubborn to stop seeing him so suddenly.

When Annie covered her ears, ducked her head, closed her eyes, Finnick went to her. But he did not hold her like he had before. He touched her with one hand and stepped back when she looked up. He didn't let himself touch her any more than he needed to. Once she was okay, he went to his safe distance. He would not risk so much as brushing her shoulder.

Finnick snapped at Mags over dinner. He had been irritable all day, and almost swung at Annie when she touched his arm without saying something first. Annie asked if she could play music for him and he almost said yes, the music sounded nice. To sit on the floor and let himself breathe. To know Annie was there, too far to touch, but close enough to see and hear her. Finnick almost said yes, because he missed her and he would do anything to make anxiety and anger in his chest simmer for even a few minutes.

Almost anything.

Finnick said no.

Annie knew something was wrong.

Neither of them talked about it.

It was next to impossible for Finnick to reprogram his instincts. He hadn't realized how bad it was. How his body was drawn to hers, how often he tried to make her smile, how much he liked being around her. He hadn't realized how deep he had really fallen. What he needed to do was pull himself out. To keep himself from going any further.

Whatever Annie knew, she was not letting Finnick get away with it. She walked the line between frustration and concern. Finnick could see the hurt on her face when she realized again that he would not ask her to go on a walk, that she would have to go to him. She was worried about him, but without asking what the problem was, she grew frustrated. Finnick did his best to be normal when they were together. Normal, if not more reserved than his usual self.

It made her more frustrated.

Finnick wasn't trying to confuse her, he didn't want to make her upset. But he had to be careful, and Annie was doing everything she could to figure out what his problem was without directly asking. Finnick did not answer direct questions like that, especially when they regarded the Capitol. Annie picked up on that within the first few months they knew each other. If something was wrong it would have to be pulled out of him.

Finnick was exhausted, he hated knowing that he was hurting Annie. That he couldn't ease her fears, tell her that he was okay and that she didn't do anything wrong without confessing. Finnick was an idiot, that wasn’t her fault.

Finnick snuck out of the house early one the morning, before the sun rose, before Annie could try and ask to come with. He got on the boat, and stayed out the whole day, it killed him, to avoid her, to know that she was on shore waiting for him.

Finnick tied knots, looked out at the water, and tried not to cry.

When Finnick made it back to land he saw Annie and Mags sitting on the front porch of Annie's house. Mags was on their bench swing, something Annie's father had installed himself. Annie was on the floor, resting her head on Mag’s knee, Mags ran her fingers through Annie’s hair. Finnick kept quiet, making his way up from the beach back to the village.

“Is it the weather?” Annie asked, “I know he feels worse when it's cold.” Sad, was the only way to describe her voice.

“He feels worse when it gets hot, too,” Mags said.

Annie shook her head, “No, he's worse when it's cold. But I don't know what his problem is.”

Mags hummed, “Do you want a list?” Annie sighed, and Mags stopped joking. “I think… he needs space, sweet girl.”

“He's made that clear.” Annie closed her eyes and frowned.

For the first time in a long time, Finnick and Annie did not see each other for three days while they were both in District Four.

Finnick spent the whole time feeling like he was dying.

Annie hadn't done anything wrong, for all she knew Finnick was just being an asshole. She had no explanation for why he was pushing her away. Finnick did not leave the house, even though it made his skin buzz and his head hurt. He hid in his room as much as he could without worrying Mags too.

He asked how Annie was, and Mags told him to ask her himself. It was in his right to choose to step away from her, if that's what he thought would help. But he had to live with it. Finnick didn't talk to Mags for the rest of the day out of retaliation.

On the third day, Finnick had driven himself crazy. It wasn't Annie’s responsibility to figure out what his problem was. She had no reason to suspect that Finnick was dumb enough to fall in love with someone, and she had more than enough self respect to not fall in love with him.

He didn't want Annie to leave his life completely. It would kill him, not to have her at all.

Annie knew herself. She was forced to understand herself, how her brain worked and what it needed. It could take months, or years of her pushing, but if she ever thought that Finnick had really stopped caring about her, she would let him go. She would not stretch herself so thin for someone who would not care for her back.

Finnick couldn't do that. It wasn't fair to her, and selfishly, he needed her.

Finnick caved.

Two weeks he had lasted, trying to put some distance between them, and he caved.

Finnick went to Annie’s the very next morning, with a sweater of his folded up neatly in his arms. “Is the weather good?”

Annie’s face had been conflicted when she answered the door, she looked him up and down. Then she softened. “It's too cold to get in the water,” she took the sweater from him and slipped it on. “But we can go out onto the boat?”

Finnick nodded, “We can go out on the boat.”

His official apology came a few hours later. He was tying and untying knots to keep himself from staring at her. She was sitting next to him, it was cold out at sea, their boat was rocking them along with the waves. “I’ve been worried about you,” Annie said, her voice just loud enough to be heard over the ocean. She was bundled up in his sweater, her arms crossed to keep herself warm.

Finnick’s hands stilled, “I know, I’m sorry.”

“You ignored me.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I- I get scared sometimes.” It wasn’t the truth of the situation, but it wasn’t a lie. Sometimes, when Finnick thought about how much he cared about her, it scared him so bad he would get sick.

Annie sighed, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I-” Finnick swallowed, “No, but thank you Annie.” He looked up at her, and was captivated by her eyes. “Thank you, Annie,” he said slowly, “I’m sorry I was so cold, you didn't do anything wrong.”

Annie moved to sit closer to him, their shoulders and legs pressed together. The contact made Finnick dizzy, and he hoped Annie would blame any blushing on the weather. “Well I know that,” she smiled, then her face settled again, “You can talk to me, if you ever need to. Mags said you needed space, I should've been better about that.”

Finnick shook his head, “No, I like having you around,” he swallowed, “I’m glad you pushed me.”

“I like having you around,” she poked his rib, “So stop pushing me away. It’s rude.”

“You have my word.”

Annie rested her head on his shoulder, and Finnick let her.

Finnick could not pretend he didn't want her. It was impossible to pull back from Annie. She was a lighthouse, she was safe and warm and happy. Finnick couldn't help how he was drawn to her. Trying to be detached did not work, for either of them. It wasn't worth the effort.

Still, he kept some sense of self control. He adjusted back to the way they used to be. He was normal. Just regular Finnick and Annie, nothing changed. They were close, best friends, they spent time together. It was nothing out of the usual.

It was easier like that, for everything to be the same and only Finnick needed to worry about what was going on inside of his head. He didn't need to bother anyone with it, he wouldn't make Annie worried by pulling away.

Everything was normal.

Everything was normal and the next few weeks passed with no concern. Finnick and Annie shared a few more beers, they drank from the same glass. Because they always did that. When the growing cold weather allowed it, they went out on the water. They couldn’t go swimming with the weather, so they'd walk to a rockier part of the shore and dip their feet in. They talked for hours, hours until they had nothing else to talk about and sat in a comfortable silence. Finnick let her play him music, he held Annie after she calmed down from episodes.

Annie gave her friend a bracelet, Finnick ignored the victory tour that kept getting closer.

Finnick had decided there was a very clear difference between having a crush, and being in love. A crush was fine. Crushes, they ebbed and flowed, they did not stick to you and threaten to drown you. They were fun. A few missed glances and brushing hands.

Being in love was hell.

Finnick felt like he was underwater, being in love. He would surface for air and only be able to gasp before another wave pushed him back under. He was constantly having to reel in his thoughts, having to check himself. He had to remind himself that this wasn't about him, it was about her. Keeping her safe, keeping her alive and happy. It would be selfish to do anything else.

But it didn't make it easier. Finnick looked at Annie when he could, and tried to ignore the tightness in his chest. He ignored the urge to go to her, to hold her, to beg her for forgiveness before he kissed her as hard as he could. He wanted to know what it would be like to love her. To love her without holding back.

It was exhausting.

Exhausting, and worth it. When he thought about breaking, cutting Annie off, never speaking to her again, or confessing. Annie would simply be herself, and Finnick would change his mind. She could spot his bad days before he said anything, ask before she touched him, try to make him laugh. She put things into words in a way Finnick had never thought of. She stuck by him. When she slipped from reality, and heard someone screaming at her, she was stuck by him. With a few words, Finnick would pull her back, and Annie would stay by his side.

It was exhausting, not doing anything about his feelings. And it was worth it.

It was a cold windy day, but Annie would not let them skip their walk. She was insistent on it. When Finnick pointed out the awful weather, she told him to put on a coat and get over it. It was no wonder her and Mags got along, they were always pushing him around.

Finnick was dragged out of the house, bundled in multiple layers by Annie who was smiling, happy to get some fresh air. Her hair would not stay up, and every few minutes she'd stop to try and fix it just for the wind to knock it back down.

They had multiple paths they took on their walks. All ranging in length and location. Today, Annie had agreed to do something short. Because Finnick was not quiet in the slightest about his annoyance and discomfort. Finnick’s arms were folded, and when Annie stopped to get her hair out of her face, he groaned.

“You're such a baby,” Annie told him.

Finnick shook his head, “I put up with plenty of things,” a particularly cold gust hit him, “But I will not stand for being out in this weather.”

Annie smiled and shook her head, she elbowed him and they continued their walk in silence.

They walked next to each other, occasionally their fingers would brush, neither of them reached out for the other's hand. The path they had taken circled around victor’s village, starting at its entrance and leading to the rest of the town, it was marked by wooden posts and planks in the ground. For the most part, it was a better kept path in the area. No one had time for particular leisure, but because it led to the victors, it received enough maintenance to look good on camera.

But half way through, it split. One way looped back around and ended up on the beach just outside the village. Its wood was forgotten, old and rotting, just enough to be markers for those who still walked on it. Finnick was pretty sure it was just him and Annie.

It led up a hill of long grass before dipping back down and returning to the shore. There were no proper steps, so they had to find good footing to make it up, it was rather steep.

Annie stopped at the bottom of it and turned to Finnick, completely innocent.

“Are you alright?” He paused and almost reached out to her arm.

Then, Annie’s face opened in a grin, “Race you to the top,” with no further warning, she booked it.

“Wha- Annie!” There was no time for yelling, Annie was already halfway there. Finnick took after her, focused on taking as long of steps as possible. He pumped his arms, and didn't notice that he had gotten to the top. He almost slammed into Annie, which would have been a nasty fall, he could have taken them both down the other way.

Annie jumped to the side just in time. She was panting, her hair had fallen all the way down. She did not bother with putting it back up. Strands of hair sat all over her face, in her mouth, stuck to her forehead. The effort and the cold made her pink.

Finnick stumbled and didn't fall, he put a hand on his chest and closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath. “Not fair,” he wheezed.

“I didn't think you were so slow!” Annie said in between breaths.

They stood like that, Annie with her hands on her knees and Finnick with his head towards the sky. He started laughing, the adrenaline made him feel warm. Annie caught onto the laughter, and started giggling ehrself.

“I’d be competitive too if I cheated to win,” Finnick said.

Annie stood back up, “That is so not- pleh!” The wind blew more hair in her face, covering her eyes and getting into her mouth. Annie pulled at her face, trying to get all the strands behind her ears or over her shoulder.

Finnick laughed again, she was fighting a losing battle, with the amount of hair she had. “Here-” she was getting nothing done with how she aimlessly pulled in different parts. Finnick took a few steps over to her, and carefully tucked all her hair away. He was gentle, only using a few fingers as he guided her hair back over her ears and shoulders.

Annie looked up at him, and Finnick’s heart stopped.

The grey of the day made her eyes look so green. The wind gave her hair a careless, wild look. Just Annie, beautiful and smiling. Her cheek was cold to the touch, Finnick cupped the side of her face with his palm. Trying to bring some warmth back to her skin.

They were close, Finnick could hear the rustling of her clothes in the breeze. He could see her individual eyelashes. The sporadic moles on her face. The different swirling colors in her eyes. She was so cold and so soft.

Annie's eyes flickered down, then back up. Her lips parted slightly, she was staring up at him, soft and curious. Her hands hovered by his arms. It was cold, and Finnick knew, if he pressed himself to her, he would be warm. His eyes felt heavy, his lips twitched, anticipating the next moment.

Annie swallowed, she shifted to stand on her toes, “Can I-” she stopped, unable to speak or look away from him.

Annies voice pulled him out of it. Like her cold skin had suddenly burned him, he stepped back, and let his hand fall to his side. He cleared his throat and pulled his coat tight over his body.

“I didn’t-”

“Are you-”

They cut each other off. Finnick was too ashamed to look up, he knew he was red. He faced the ocean, away from her, he let the wind snap at him, letting it remind him of what he was doing. He was stupid, he was being stupid. This was irresponsible and dangerous. His throat was in his heart, pounding so hard he almost had to kneel over.

And Annie-

Annie, hadn’t meant anything by that. He was being confusing, it wasn't her fault. She hadn’t- she wouldn't. Nothing happened. Finnick swallowed the lump in his throat. Nothing happened. Finnick, shouldn't have gotten so close. He needed to be more aware of what he was doing.

Annie put her hair back up, this time, so tight there was no threat of the wind knocking it down. She continued walking, going straight past him without looking back.

Finnick walked home, collapsed on the couch, and screamed. Mags found him before he could destroy his voice, she patted his hair and waited until he could look up and talk to her.

Finnick spilled the story onto her, rambling and shaking and suddenly crying. This was it, he knew if he ever saw her again he would die from the embarrassment and shame, there was no talking himself out of it. Without a doubt, he had tried to kiss her. There was no excuse he could come up with that Annie would believe. He’d have to move to the Capitol, and after that change his name. Maybe Johanna would let him move in, or Cashmere would let him crash at her place at least for a few months. Most likely, he would just sail off into the ocean and let the Capitol sensors sink his boat.

Any of those options were better than staying here.

Mags seemed genuinely shocked that Finnick had made any attempt to get that to Annie at all. She waited for him to sit up before she sat next to him and continued to pet his hair. She tried to convince him not to get on the next train and let him take him wherever it was going.

“It cannot be that bad,” she said.

“What do I tell her? What should I say? If I admit it now she’ll know I’ve been feeling like this for weeks! Months even! She’ll be disgusted.”

“Why disgusted?” Mag's hand stopped.

Finnick scoffed, he was shaking, he had been since he got back. It was cold outside. “I really do try to sleep with everyone I meet.”

Mags hit his arm, “You don’t, she knows that.”

Finnick squeezed his eyes shut, maybe it was true. Maybe, being sold worked out for him because he would have been sex crazed anyway. Maybe he wasn’t in love with Annie, his body just didn’t know what to do with someone who spent so much time with him and they haven't slept together.

Mags hit his arm again, “You are not bad for wanting to kiss her.”

Finnick could cry, or laugh, neither sounded like they would help the sinking feeling in his chest. “Yes I am,” he breathed, “If not for that- Mags I’m going to get her killed.”

“No, you're not. She is alive and well down the street.”

Finnick buried his face in his hands, and the sinking took over. He couldn't help it, how tears filled his eyes, Finnick shattered. “I ruined it,” he whispered, and curled his fingers into his hair so he could pull. “I ruined it.” Annie kept him afloat, it was all he had. Even if she did try and talk to him again, there would always be that barrier. There would always be that wall of awkwardness that Finnick had almost kissed her. And he should have just done it. He had dug his own grave and got too scared to lie down in it.

At least, if he had kissed her, she would know that was what he was trying to do. She wouldn't have to waste time figuring out what he was thinking.

“Did she try to kiss you back?”

Finnick jolted up, “What?”

Mags did not repeat what she said.

Finnick swallowed, “No, she didn’t.” Maybe she had, but Finnick had no proof of it. And if she had it was his fault for touching her face like that, he hadn't given her time to process before he had pulled away again.

Mags took his hands so he couldn't pull at his hair again, “Nothing is ruined.”

“I can never speak to her again.”

She rolled her eyes at him, her fingers were soft, her skin worn with age. As she rubbed her thumb on the back of his hand. “You’re going to have to.”

Finnick shook his head, and his throat got too tight to speak.

Avoiding Annie this time was easy. Because everytime he thought about her, it was intrusive and it made his chest hurt.

Finnick did not leave the house, he was too worried he would run into her. And as Annie had pointed out before, it wasn't like he had any friends. Technically, Finnick didn't need to leave the house at all. All he had to do was go to the Capitol, widdle out a few state secrets, and not leave the house otherwise. And Finnick was perfectly content with doing that.

As for the ocean, he looked at it from afar, too scared to go down and swim in it in case Annie was there to confront him.

Finnick knew he was being selfish, he knew he was only making things worse. They’d have to see each other eventually. He was just… holding it off. Letting himself live in the delusion where they were still friends. Nothing had changed, he hadn't done anything wrong.

He knew Annie would ask how he felt about her, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hide the truth. Any semblance of a relationship would shatter. It would be Finnick’s fault, because he couldn't keep to himself. Next time he saw Annie, it would be when he was losing her.

The thought made him miserable, it kept him up for days.

Mags tried to convince him that wouldn't happen, she told him that Annie was more open than he gave her credit for. And maybe Mags was right, maybe Annie would be willing to work something out with him. Maybe they could go back to being friends. At least, enough so that Finnick didn't hide in his house.

It wasn't worth the risk, because no matter what happened, it would never be the same.

Finnick took a lot of showers. He couldn't stop thinking, and his thoughts always started with Annie. Then they shifted into thoughts of kissing her. Then what her reaction would be if he did kiss her. Then how selfish and lonely he would be. Then the Capitol, then hands, then hot breath on his neck and ear. Then he would be stuck in his teenage body, trying not to squirm under the person that easily pinned him down.

There were a lot of showers.

Mags made no effort to hide her concern for him, Finnick was buzzing while he was dying inside. He made her lunch, cleaned up, didn't eat, and went to take his second shower of the day. Mags tried to stop him at every point of the process, only to be brushed off. Finnick was faster than her anyway, it wasn't like she could grab him and make him sit down. Something she used to be able to do.

Finnick was trying to get his hands to stop shaking while he waited for the water to warm when there was a knock downstairs on the front door. He jumped and almost hit his head on the wall. Finnick opened the bathroom door and tried to listen to who it was.

It took Mags a second to get to the door and open it, she made no big reaction to who it was.

Finnick had a huge reaction.

“Can we talk?” Annie's voice was muffled from the distance, but for Finnick, it wasn't far enough. One room and a set of stairs away. That was how close she was. Finnick waited for Mags to say no and close the door.

She didn't, because she hated him.

Annie closed the door behind her, and Finnick got in the shower. He couldn't hear her voice, it was driving him crazy. He wanted to go down stairs. He wanted to fall at her feet and ask her to forget about what happened, to let things be normal again. They could both move on. He wanted to ask her for her forgiveness. Even if she never spoke to him again, he didn't want her to resent him, to think he was gross.

More than that, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her hard. He wanted to grab her waist and pull her in, to be so intense they’d lose their breath.

Finnick sat on the shower floor, letting the water burn him and come off as steam on his skin. He would wait until he knew for certain she was gone. And if she was waiting for him? He'd jump out the back window and walk into the ocean.

He wasn't prepared for her to come and knock on the bathroom door. Her voice was soft and firm. She was worried, and a little mad. Which was understandable. “Finnick,” she knocked, “Can we talk?” She paused, “We should talk.”

Finnick put the heel of his hand in his mouth and bit down until he could taste blood.

Annie stayed at the door for a few minutes longer, then she left. Finnick didn't move until he heard her leave and the front door closed behind her.

As days passed, Finnick sank deeper into himself. Annie stopped by two more times to have a quiet conversation with Mags. Again, she tried knocking on his bedroom door, she told him to come out and talk to her.

Finnick almost did, he almost opened the door and let her yell at him. Or make him explain himself. Or cry. It didn't matter what she needed to do. He didn't want her to think that he didn't like her at all. That he was disgusted with her. She hadn't even been the one to do anything wrong.

He only wanted to avoid her a little longer.

Until her name stopped giving him goosebumps and making him flinch.

“I don’t bite,” Annie had said to his door one evening. The joke landed flat, her voice was too torn.

Finnick squeezed his eyes shut, he let her walk away.

Just a little longer, and he would talk to her. He would have to eventually. He would have to accept that this point of his life was over, he could keep the memories to himself, but he would have to move on. It wasn't fair of him to do this to her. He had to do something, say something.

Just not today.

Or the day after that. Or the one after that.

Finally, it wasn't Finnick who broke, it wasn't even Annie. It was Mags, who took his coffee cup and poured it down the drain.

Finnick was still blinking the sleep out of his eyes, “What the hell?”

“I’m sorry you feel unwell,” Mags said and Finnick sat up straight. It had been a long time since she had spoken to him so firmly. So direct and almost angry. It reminded him of the stories he heard of a much younger Mags from other victors. Finnick had apparently only gotten a taste of it when he was a tribute.

“What did I do?”

Mags sighed and her demeanor softened, she walked over to where Finnick was sitting. “You can't keep doing this,” she took a second, “To Annie. She does not-” Mag’s speech was worse in the morning, it took her awhile to warm up to her voice. “She deserves an explanation. She’s been worried sick about you and,” Another pause, “And you’ve hurt her feelings.”

It was hard to hear, even though Finnick knew it and he had known that the whole time. He hurt Annien by trying to kiss her, by not kissing her, he hurt her.

“Stop hiding,” Mags said, and placed a hand on Finnick's arm, “I mean it. No matter what happens, you need to do something.”

Finnick tensed and looked away from her, “I know,” he sighed, “I know. I just- I want to hang on a little longer. That we might still be friends.”

“No more hanging,” Mags let go of his arm and kissed him on the cheek, “Finnick,” she waited until he looked at her again, “Stop it. Tell her what's been going on. Even if she rejects you, even if she never speaks to you again. Even if things go back to normal. Tell her something. Stop hiding.”

“I-” Finnick clicked his jaw shut. He rubbed at his temples and the bridge of his nose. When he opened his eyes, they were teary, “Mags, telling her is going to shake her. I can’t- she has no idea how much better this is than the truth. I know she's confused but-” Finnick stumbled off of his words.

Annie did not ask much from him. Only that he told her the truth. A few years ago now, she had plainly said that if he wasn't going to be real around her, he could leave her alone. The memory was blurry at the sides, but Finnick could recall bits and pieces of it. More importantly, he remembered what he had promised her.

Finnick had just gotten back from the Capitol after Annie's victory tour. He was held back almost three full weeks longer than normal, damage control, he was certain that was what it was. A way to make District Four look better. The best way to soothe disappointed or upset people in the Capitol, was him.

Alone, Finnick fell back into his old habit of getting himself as numb as possible. It was hellish, he didn't bother with trying to do anything other than make it to the next day. He hadn't been told when he could go home, only that he ‘should stay until things eased over’.

Finnick cried on the train ride home. He pulled at his hair and hit his head, he rocked back and forth on the ground. He tore his clothes off because he hated the way they felt and cried harder when he realized he was naked.

Finnick had gotten good at not crying. He had managed to get his tears under control by the time he was eighteen. No one could make him cry if he didn't want it. He could hold onto his composure. He stopped crying over the sex years ago, he was numb to it.

It was the uncertainty that had made him cry that night. Not knowing when he would be done, not knowing what was going on back home, not knowing what happened with Annie.

Annie, who spent her whole victory tour miserable and scared and angry. Finnick had been sober the whole time. He was sober when Annie lost her voice during her speech and started humming. Sober on the train rides listening to her scream. He was sober when he was told he'd be held back longer. Annie was still despondent when they left, Mags having to be with her because she was one of the only people Annie let get close to her.

FInnick hadn't heard anything about how she was doing the entire time. He wasn't even sure if she would be there when he got back. Or if she had been admitted to some Capitol mental hospital like they kept threatening to do.

By the time the train stopped in Four, Finnick had enough time to stop crying and get high.

Annie was sitting at the table, a cold cup of broth in front of her when Finnick walked in. All of the lights in the house were off, the shutters drawn. The only bit of light was a handful of candles spread throughout the kitchen. Annie was bundled up in blankets, her nails were still bloody. She had a few breaks during her tour, the biggest one being in the Capitol. At the president's own mansion, she tried tearing her throat out. She tried to separate her head from her neck. She must have not showered in nearly a month since the blood was still there.

Finnick was doing everything he could not to laugh, nothing was funny, but he had the giggles for the latter half of the train ride. He had two more pills in his pocket in case the effects tried to wear off before he passed out. Finnick collapsed in the chair next to her and gave her a big smile. Showing as many of his teeth as he could. “Hey Annie, how are you feeling?”

Annie startled at his presence, she hadn't heard him stumbling through the door. “You’re back,” her eyes were too unfocused to look at him properly.

Finnick smiled wider, his cheeks hurt, “I know! What a-” what was the word he was looking for? Lovely? Great? Fantastic? “What a thing. Good to be home,” his mouth was dry, he licked his teeth.

Annie blinked, her eyes cleared enough to look away from him. “It took you a while.”

Finnick rolled his eyes, his smile did not drop. He was too scared about what would happen if it did. “Well, what can I say? There's no drug like attention.”

Annie hummed, she looked back to her nails. She was trying to scratch the dry blood off her skin. “Mags is upstairs, she didn't know when you'd be back.”

“Makes two of us,” he winked.

Annie glanced at him, and her frown deepened.

“Not happy to see me?” He thought they were getting along before her tour. She let him be around her without getting angry or scared. And they even had a few good meaningful conversations. A few times a week, Finnick would make Annie take a small walk around the little neighborhood.

Maybe not.

Her brows were pinched together, she glanced again and rested her hands down flat on the table. “You’re being shiny.”

Finnick couldn’t hold in his giggle at that, everything felt so funny. Even his bone deep exhaustion and the hickies under his shirt felt like a joke. He had gotten some kind of injection that would make any bruise, swelling, or redness go away by tomorrow. Like nothing had happened to him, back to his pretty clean slate. That was funny too. It took him a minute to stifle his laughter. “‘M not sure what- what you mean.” His cheeks had hurt for days from smiling, there was no reason to stop now.

“You aren't being normal.”

Finnick leaned in, probably too close, he was trying to look her in the eye. Annie looked up just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes had cleared up, Finnick could tell she was upset. “You don’t think so?” Finnick hummed.

Annies hand shot out, and she grabbed his wrist. Finnick startled, Annie’s grip was unyielding, she squeezed. “If you aren't going to be real, leave me alone,” she growled, her face just inches from him. Finnick could see how it curled up, her breathing came out harder.

Finnick tried to tug his arm away from her, she did not let go. The pills in his system made it hard to think, he kept blinking to make his vision less blurry. “What are you-”

Annie took a deep breath, “I can’t keep up with you,” her voice was calm but no less firm. “So whatever your-” she loosened her grip, “Problem is, keep me out of it,” each word was enunciated.

Finnick managed to free his wrist and held it close to his chest. He stood up, and took a full step away from her. He was frowning now, and the bubbling laughter in his chest had died. “Annie,” his tongue was fat in his mouth, it made it hard to speak, “What do you mean?”

Annie needed no further prompting, she started talking with her hands in the air and the anger still on her face. “Your hair is a mess. I can see tear streaks on your face, your eyes are bloodshot, I don't think you're sober,” she caught her breath, “You come in here all smiling and jokes like nothing’s wrong and-” her voice broke. She shook her head, which didn't help, she covered her ears but did not push on her skull. “I’m so confused,” she whispered, she kept shaking her head. “I’m so confused I don't even know if you're real-”

“I’m real,” Finnick interrupted her, his head spinning, his thoughts pushed through cotton to process in his head. Somehow, he sounded sure of himself. “I’m real, Annie.”

“Then act like it. Because-” she blinked and there were tears in her eyes, “You’re really freaking me out. If you want to pretend you're okay and- like nothing is wrong I won't stop you. Just… don't do it around me. Please.”

Finnick was wringing his hands together, looking at the ground, he couldn't think of anything to say. “I’m sorry,” he managed, he walked over and kneeled on the ground by her chair. (His knees were sore and bruised, he held in a wince as they hit the hardwood). “Annie, I’m sorry.”

She uncovered her ears and looked down at him, her face was devastated. Tears slipped past her eyes, her anger still brewing in her features. But mostly, she was frustrated. Hurt, mad, and entirely lost. “I'm so confused,” she whispered, like she was admitting defeat. “I keep forgetting where I am.”

“You can ask me,” Finnick said, and he couldn't believe how clear his words were coming out. “You can ask about me, about where you are, about-” he couldn't think of another example. For Annie, her whole tour had been full of sounds no one else could hear, things no one else could see. He closed his eyes, trying to remember something specific.

“Finnick?” she wiped at her face, “You're not doing well. Is that real?”

Now was not the time to admit to Annie that he was being sex trafficking and that if Annies brain hadn't broken it could have happened to her too. “Yeah, that's real- I’m not- I was uh- worried about you,” that was true, “And I wanted to go home,” also ture.

Annie nodded, “You’re-you’re home now.”

“I am, and so are you,” he blinked some more, “We’re with Mags, you said she’s-” Damnit where did Annie say?

“Upstairs,” she finished like she could read Finnick's mind.

“Yeah, upstairs.”

“Okay,” some tension eased out of her body, she slumped back down and pulled her blanket around her tighter. “I’m sorry I grabbed you.”

The laughter came back, Annie had no idea how many people had spent the last week grabbing him. Finnick held it down, not wanting to upset her anymore, he shrugged, “It happens.” He needed to eat something, or shower, or lie down. He was probably going to lie down, “If you have anymore,” he waved his hand by his head, “Questions, just ask me, I’ll tell you the truth.” He made a note, not to be ‘shiny’ around her anymore either. She didn't like it, Finnick didn't like it either, it was just nicer to pretend he was happy than embrace his own misery.

But that would have to be on his own time. On Annie’s time, he would check himself, make sure he was being real.

Annie never expected Finnick to pour his heart out onto her. She never asked him to elaborate on his every thought and feeling. All she ever asked of him was some help. It was a reasonable request, and one Annie never abused. It was only for her own sake of mind. She trusted him and Finnick trusted her too.

It worked well. Annie only asked for clarification on things she needed to know, things that made her terrified or mad. With time, Finnick would elaborate more and more on his answers. Annie could be blunt with her questions, and Finnick gave her straight forward answers. Simple yes and no’s turned into sitting with her for hours, telling her everything she wanted to know.

They had been completely fine, then he tried to kiss her, then he ignored her and avoided her at every opportunity.

All Annie wanted was to not be so frustrated with herself. To get her memories and thoughts in order, she needed help. Finnick had kept good on his promise for years, and to Annie, he broke it for no reason. It wasn't just the remains of their friendship, but her trust in him that he had shattered.

“Finnick,” Mag's voice brought him back. He looked up at her, and realized he was holding in tears.

Annie deserved everything, she deserved the world, Finnick had always thought that. Right now, he was giving her nothing, less than nothing. He was being selfish, hurting her for no reason other than to make himself feel better.

What Annie deserved, was the truth, the truth that Finnick had promised he would always give her. Even if it hurt, even if it was at the cost of his own being.

Finnick choked, He was sure now, telling Annie would kill him. But he had to, because it was the only way he would ever stop hurting her.

As Finnick explained his realization to Mags, neither of their efforts could get his hands to stop shaking. Mags softened at his distress, she told him that she did not mean to push, and she didn't want him to do something that would destroy him. Only that she loved Annie and hated to see her so upset.

She said wanted both of them to be happy, or at least, at peace.

Finnick needed the time he had in Four. When he was home, he needed to be free of stress and pain. Being home had to make up for the Capitol. It was how he survived going back.

Finnick was sure losing Annie was going to kill him. He could see how it would all go down: He’d tell Annie everything, she'd try to be nice about it, smile and pat his shoulder. Then she would pull away, she’d avoid running into him, stop coming over. And just like that, Finnick would die.

Finnick needed to build up the courage, so he gave himself one day to figure out what to do. Everytime he thought about it, he would start to shake. His vision would get blurry, his stomach cramped. He was nauseous, he couldn't keep anything other than tea down.

The tremble in his hands only stopped when he was doing something, he kept a length of rope on him. It was a few inches too short to be any decent noose, so Mags didn't have to keep an eye on him.

In the time he gave himself, he took two cold showers, so cold his lips turned purple and his teeth clattered. It helped force him to stop thinking, to make his mind sharper. He was going to have to tell Annie he was in love with her, and he had no idea how to do it.

He knew he couldn't avoid it any longer. He couldn't stop thinking about Annie at home, mad at him and frustrated she couldn't figure out what had happened and why. Everytime he talked himself out of doing it, her image came back to him.

Finnick got the courage for it, after the sunset the next day. He had woken up, gotten ready, tried to make himself look nice and then sat on the couch tapping his foot for hours. He just had to get out the door, walk down to Annie’s, confess he was deeply in love with her, apologize, and not kill himself.

Hours, he spent convincing himself that it wouldn't be impossible. It would be difficult, but Finnick had done plenty of things that were difficult.

As the last rays of sun sunk beneath the ocean, Finnick knew he was out of time. He couldn’t do this again tomorrow, if it was going to happen. It would have to happen now. He stood up, and his body swayed underneath him.

He didn't say goodbye to Mags, too worried that he would find the conversation distracting and an excuse not to go.

Finnick made sure to bundle before he left, it was cold out, and even colder at night. He was thankful for it now though, it helped him focus. The sun made him hazy and too relaxed. The moon was already on its way up, with the sun passing the horizon and only a soft yellow still in the sky. It would be dark soon.

Finnick thought twice about turning around and once about bringing flowers. All of which he managed to convince hismelf were bad ideas.

He got to Annie's front door and stilled, his hand was a weight against his side, too weak to lift up and knock. Finnick squeezed his eyes shut, he couldn't watch himself do it, he hit the door with his foot.

Footsteps sounded from inside the house, each one made Finnick flinch. He steadied his breathing, looked up in enough time to meet the eyes of Annie's mother Jackie. She was shocked to see him and Finnick wondered if Annie told her anything. They were close before her Games. Annie said their relationship was strained after Jackie didn't know what to do with her youngest. She was not used to the version of Annie that was not independent and self assured. They grew apart.

Light from inside the house pooled out, offering little comfort. “Hi,” Finnick held his hands behind his back and didn't let himself rock on his heels. He looked her in the eyes, it was the best he could do.

“Hello?” Her hair was lighter than Annie’s, more brown, she had hazel eyes. Annie was a replica of her father, black curly hair and eyes the color of seagrass. Annie’s brothers had more of their mother in them.

“Is Annie home?”

Finnick noticed the microscopic shift in her expression, the small line of tension in her jaw, the twitch of her eyebrow. A few pieces slipped into place, Annie hadn't told her family much, but they knew enough to at least think it was his fault. Which it was.

“She’s here,” Jackie said and glanced behind her, “I’ll grab her,” another shift in her expression, this one more noticeably upset, “If she doesn't want to talk though, you should go back home.”

Finnick nodded, and was abandoned on the porch. He shivered, the loss of light made the outdoors seem so dark and cold.

Waiting for the door to open again was more agonizing than before. Finnick kept telling himself he couldn't cry or throw up, and though he was fast, he most certainly couldn't run away. He reminded himself to think of Annie, who had only asked him to be honest with her. She could take care of herself in many ways, but everyone needed help. What she didn't need was for him to avoid her like she didn't exist.

When the door opened, it was only Annie. She was already dressed to go outside, a coat that swallowed her frame, boots, her hair down to keep her ears warm. It wasn't that cold outside yet, it would be a few more weeks until winter. Finnick opened his mouth, nothing came out. She was dressed for a long conversation late at night. She was prepared to be cold.

“Come on,” she said and walked past him and closed the door behind her. Finnick obeyed, anxious and willing to do anything she asked of him.

They walked in silence down to the beach, all the way until they hit the tide, where the sand began to squelch under their feet. They walked in time, two feet apart, not close enough to accidentally touch. The sun was gone now, the only trace of it was grey on the horizon. The rest of the sky was turning black. Stars were starting to dot the sky, and the moon was getting higher.

Finnick swallowed, letting the sound of waves drown out the buzzing in his head.

“So?” Annie asked, she looked up at him, and she looked sad.

Finnick clenched and unclenched his fist. His eyes were on the waves that softly hit the sand and pulled back, leaving sea foam bubbles that popped away. “I’m sorry,” he started, he ran a hand down his face. He managed to look at her, “I shouldn't have done that, I didn't mean- I didn't mean anything by it.”

Annies sadness turned to confusion, “What are you talking about?”

Finnick turned to her, “Annie, I tried to kiss you.” The words were tight in his throat. His chest ached, he couldn't help but note how her hair was tangled, unbrushed, the few moles on her face. How her eyes reflected the little light in the sky.

Annie swallowed, she held her arms together, “I tried to kiss you too.” she looked away, ashamed.

Finnick shook his head, “No that wasn't your fault. That was me, really, it was all me.”

Annie snorted, but her laugh was mean, “You aren't-” she frowned, and Finnick was taken aback by her anger. Annie could easily be angry, he knew that. He had seen Annie yell, throw her hands up, roll her eyes, all if it plenty of times. It had just been a long time since it had been so clearly directed at him. “Finnick, I tried to kiss you.”

“Only because I touched your face,” he insisted, “And I shouldn't have, I’m sorry.”

“Finnick you didn’t,” Annies voice raised, she sounded frustrated. “I just-” her voice dropped again. “What happened? You pulled back- and I know I shouldn't have ran away but- Then you wouldn't see me and now?” She stopped, her eyes on her feet.

Finnick put a hand on his throat, hoping it would release some of the tension. He could feel tears push against the back of his eyes, it would take everything out of him to not burst into tears. His words came out weak, wet from saliva, “I have to tell you something,” it broke in his mouth, it took him a second to gather his words again, “Annie I am so sorry.”

She looked up, “What's going on with you Finnick?”

He looked up to the sky, embraced how even in the cold and dark, the stars twinkled. Beautiful. The ocean was a loud steady rhythm, a noise he had heard in the background of his entire life. The sand soft under his shoes. The cold kept him focused. His chest hurt so bad, he could have doubled over clutching it, his heart was failing, giving out on him. He looked at Annie.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

It was quiet, the world stopped. Finnick didn't breathe, or blink, his body tingled, numb, to any sensation outside of him. Annie stared at him with her eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape, her brows furrowed.

When she did not immediately respond, the world started back up. Too fast for Finnick to keep up with, it hit him in the stomach. Finnick started spilling. His heart, his thoughts, his anguish landing at her feet. “I don't know for sure I just think- And who knows what I think love is, it could be too messed up for me. I haven't had a crush or even thought about love in so long so I didn't notice it sooner. And I could be wrong it could just be because you're nice and if I am wrong I’m sorry. I didn't know what to do. I've felt like I've been dying for months. I’m so sorry Annie, I’m so sorry I don't know what's wrong with me-”

“Can I kiss you?”

Finnick choked on his last word, his body stilled. Any frustration or anger was gone from Annie's face. Her head was tilted, her eyes sparkled, her mouth was still slightly open. She had not looked away from him. She was soft, her shoulders slouched and her arms down by her sides.

“What?”

“I was going to ask. On the hill, if I could kiss you. Because I’ve wanted to for a while, I thought then was a good time but- I didn't want to do it without asking…” She straightened her head and brushed her hair off her shoulders, “So, can I kiss you?”

Finnicks knees were weak, he almost fell. It was like he had never had to carry the weight of his body before. He opened his mouth to say yes. To beg her, to kiss him. To make it soft, so he could savor it for months to come. “You've wanted to for a while?” He could not hear his own voice over the waves.

Annie’s face had gone flush, she nodded, “I don't know. With everything you go through and everything wrong with my head, I never brought it up. It never seemed appropriate. And I like our friendship,” she smiled. Finnick hadn't seen her smile in a few days, it made his chest feel lighter. “It didn't seem worth it to try and change things. Then you tried to kiss me and,” she was still smiling, and her whole face had gone red, she shook her head, “Can I?”

“No,” it came out as a gasp, Finnick took a step back, then another. “No, no, Annie. No.”

Her smile fell, but she did not show her hurt on her face, she took a deep breath, “Okay,” she waited, she looked at him, wanting an explanation.

“Annie, this-this can't happen.”

Hints of her anger came back onto her face. Like her mother, it was subtle, “I don't want to push you,” she said, “And if I am you can tell me to back off. I want to be your friend but Finnick- I think I’m in love with you too. And I think I have been for a while.”

The weight of his body and the whole world hit Finnick on his shoulders. It snapped his back in half. He looked around, unsure of what he was looking for. He shook his head, and a wild laugh slipped out of him. He covered his mouth, and laughed again. “No, Annie you- That doesn't matter. This can’t happen.” Finally, the sense of reason FInnick had lost came back to him. The certainty of knowing what was and wasn't right.

It was relieving, because Finnick knew better than this. He couldn't believe how much he had fought himself about this. The answer was easy. Common sense, there was no other option. There never had been. “Annie, you are only as safe as my friend, and nothing else. You're not- You and your family, it's all conditional. If I do something wrong, if I do something stupid, it would put you in danger.”

What was subtle in Annie's face, was now a frown. She shifted away from him, “This isn't stupid.”

Finnick shook his head, “Yes it is. Annie, you are the victor and that is the only defense I have for you. If he thinks I’m- if he thinks we're together I won't be able to protect you.”

“Then don't,” she said simply, her arms folded across her chest.

Finnick sputtered, “What? Don- what are you talking about?” he raised his voice.

“You don't have to protect me, Finnick, if he wanted me dead, he would do it.” She said it like was so easy, like the idea didn't bother her.

“Right now he doesn’t and I- I will be damned if he ever does.”

“So what?” She was really angry now, glaring up at him like she couldn't believe what he was saying, “Your plan is to never do anything wrong for the rest of your life? Never fall in love? Never do anything at all?”

“When I’m fifty I’ll think about it,” Finnick snapped, he hadn't noticed how hard he was breathing. “For now this- this is my life. This is-” his voice broke, “This is it.”

“But it doesn’t have to be Finnick!” she was pleading now, “You can choose something different for yourself.” Annie was breathing hard too, angry and tears in her eyes. Finnick could not handle the thought of making her cry.

“Are you not listening?” Finnick took a step forward, Annie did not move. “Annie if I do anything with you- If I ever do something so selfish you could die. Your parents, your brothers, could die.”

“My family is my leverage,” she hit her chest with her hand. “And selfish?” Annie threw her hand up, “You have never been selfish! I watch you die a little every single day. You could do with being selfish!”

“When I’m selfish, people die,” he shook his head, “I won’t put you in danger.”

“I’m already in danger!” Annie finally broke, she threw both her hands back, “You think any of them are happy with how I won? With my victory tour?” Annie had a careful eye on her at all times, Mags was told that if Annie couldn’t get it together for the last stretch of her tour, they would need to ‘correct’ her behavior. How Mags managed to get Annie back to Four and not in a Capitol hospital, Finnick didn’t know.

Annie dropped her hands and started to comb through the ends of her hair, almost manic, “I can’t be alone for too long or I get violent, I hit my head on walls, I try to pull out my fingernails. I’m enough danger to myself.”

Finnick twitched, she wasn’t getting it. “I’m talking about your life Annie!” he yelled, loud, as if his volume could get through to her. He wouldn’t bring up the risk of her being sold, it scared him too bad. He had never been able to form the words.

“What about it!” she yelled back, louder than him. Annie caught her breath, heaving, swallowing the salty air. “I am so sick of losing things,” she spat. “I’ve lost so much. I will never get to be the same person again. My family will never treat me how they used to.” She was trembling, anger and grief in her eyes. “I lost my fucking mind.”

She took a few more deep breaths, Finnick held back his retort, biting on his tongue.

Annie wiped at her face, the fight leaving her body. “They changed me,” she whispered and Finnick watched her catch a few tears with her fingers before they could fall down her face. “I-I lost it. And I might never find myself again.” She waited for the tears to stop spilling before she took a step towards him.

“I’m not going to wait for something to change,” she said simply. “I don’t want to wait to get better, I don’t want to wait for things to be different, I don’t want to hold out for a miracle that might not happen. I might never fully recover, so why waste the time I have now?” she touched his arm, “I’m alive,” she breathed, “and maybe I’ll live for another eighty years and maybe I’ll only live to see tomorrow. So why wait?” The wind from the ocean put hair in her face. And weeks ago, he would have brushed it away.

“Finnick,” Annie could be so stubborn if she wanted to. “If I’m hurt because I fell in love with you, then it's worth it. To kiss you even if it's only once, it’ll be worth it. I don’t want to waste any more of my time. I want to live.”

Finnick had to clear his throat. He could feel himself shaking under her, he took her words in slowly. What that meant for her. The life Annie deserved to live. Annie was right, she needed to live her life to the fullest. To not let what happened to her keep her stuck in a body that was only surviving. She deserved to experience good things now, not if or when she got ‘better’. Finnick thought of her, happy, in love, safe. A wonderful vision.

Something he couldn’t give her.

“I’m sorry.”

Annie’s smile fell, she squeezed his arm. “Don’t be,” she sounded so sure of herself. She was close now, their chests almost touched. “I want you, Finnick,” her eyes were capitaving, unyielding, they did not let him look away. “I can’t promise it’ll be okay,” she whispered, “You said you don't know if you're capable of being in love, and I- I don't know if I am either. Maybe, we're too far gone. Maybe they took too much. But maybe they didn't. And I care about you enough to try. Even if we end up as friends, Finnick, please; try. I want you.”

Finnick’s breaths were shaking, rattling his ribs and throat. His vision was blurry, he wanted to cry. He reached up, and held Annie’s face like he had those weeks ago on the hill. Her skin was cold again. He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Annie,” and he almost broke. He almost gave in. Almost let himself move to her in a way he could not pull back from.

Finnick thought about being in love. What it might look like. Holding Annie in bed, her body warm against his. Kissing her, both heavy and soft. Their fingers intertwining every spare moment they had together. Being everything they were already, and more. If Finnick wasn't broken, how deeply in love he could be. The Capitol, the hands that followed him where he went. How far he could push them if he knew the spare moments could be with Annie.

Finnick thought about the days he couldn’t stand touch, how Annie did not leave him. She didn’t let him push her away. When he was violent and mean, she stepped back, but never too far so she could not rush in and be there for him

Finnick thought about the dozens, hundreds, of people who had laid their hands on his body. Who ran their fingers down his skin like it was their own. The rot, Finnick was filled with. Unsure when he lost himself, when he became more of what they wanted him to be than himself. How likely it was, he would never be the same.

Finnick thought about coming home to Annie's dead body. A gun shot between her eyes, her body sprawled out on the living room floor, impossible to miss. A reminder that Finnick was not made for love. He was not made for something so tender. Fleeting glances, holding hands, romance, was not for him. Finnick was made for something more brutal. Lust, desire, being torn apart so someone else could sit and watch him bleed.

And if he ever forgot, his reminder would be permanent.

“Annie,” he couldn't make himself speak louder than a whisper, his voice was wet, tears had begun to push their way past his eyes. “I want you more than anything,” he said. Finnick saw it all in his head, how he would kiss her. How they would spend a week together, holding hands. How quickly she would bleed out.

Finnick pulled back, unable to touch her any longer. “I’m sorry Annie,” and he meant it, “I can't be the reason you die.” He stepped away.

Annie went to grab him again, he pulled back just in time to miss her grasp. “Finnick?” Her voice was weak too.

Finnick turned, and began to walk back home. Up the shore, to where the ground turned from sand to pebbles to pavement. His knees shook, each step threatened to topple him over. Finnick walked slowly, making sure he did not lose his footing. His hands buzzed, useless at his slides. The tears came out without resistance.

It was a beautiful night out, the ocean, the moon, the sound of Annie yelling at him.

“Finnick- Finnick where are you going?” Her voice was raising, and Finnick could hear it now, how she was crying. Having to take a hitching breath before she yelled again.

“Finnick?”

The way she said his name made him flinch.

She didn't chase after him, her voice got further away, there were no footsteps behind him.

“Finnick!”

Another flinch.

“Finnick!” Louder than before, screaming now, so the whole neighborhood could hear her. She broke, Finnick could hear weak, angry, sobs coming from her. One last time, she tried again, “Finnick!”

Finnick didn't look behind his shoulder at her. He walked until her voice was drowned out by the ocean.

Chapter Text

Finnick walked until he was at the edge of the village and in front of a garden. He had meant to go home to Mags. Yet he found himself outside of Iris’s house. She and her wife Juliet had planted a variety of flowers in their front yard. One of the flowers, Annie had recognized as ‘bleeding hearts’, a rather morbid name.

He stared at the flowers, unmoving, ringing in his ears. He was startled out of it by the taste of salt in his mouth. Right, he was crying, it came out in weak gasps and sniffs. It was getting worse, he’d be a mess in a few minutes.

He almost walked away, he didn't mean to overshoot Mags house by so much, and if she was still awake she would be wondering where he was. She was also someone Finnick could cry around without trying to force himself to stop.

Finnick took one backward and changed his mind again.

Iris and Juliet had something Mags didn't, and that was alcohol.

Finnick gathered his tears and his breath and crossed to their front door in a few steps. He knocked, and looked down at his fist, his fingers had grown cold.

It was Juliet who opened the door, her hair was curly like Mag’s. Her eyes were brown, and in the dark, almost black. She looked shocked to see him, she didn’t spend much time with any of the other victors. She blinked and looked him up and down, as if trying to decide if he was lost. Her eyes focused on his face, and when she noticed the few tears Finnick hadn't managed to catch, she softened. “Are you okay?” There was a good chance she had never seen him not smiling or any less than content. But being with Iris, she had to know Finnick didn’t go to the Capitol willingly. She knew he would not get the peace that was promised if you won the gaems.

“Can I have a drink?” The words surprised him, he really thought if he spoke again he was going to burst into tears.

She frowned, “Aren’t you supposed to be sober now?”

Wherever she had heard that from, didn't matter, he was sober enough. Finnick stared at her until she caved. With a sigh, she opened the door all the way, “Come in kid,” she was only a few years older than him, he didn’t mention it.

Their home was as cozy and as well loved. Juliet and Iris’s lives, hung up on the walls, memories, pictures, decorations. Some new and some old. It was colorful in their house, each corner was decorated with every color Finnick could think of. It was almost crowded, if it weren't for the warmth and quietness, it might have been too much. The two of them also fermented and bottled all sorts of things, and the bottles took up every flat surface. Fruits, vegetables, alcohol, juice, anything they could find were thrown in, mixed with water and spices, and sealed.

Finnick wasn't sure how it worked, or why they did it. But Iris had brought everyone peaches a few winters ago. She said bottling kept them fresh, and they were, they were ripe and juicy and Finnick was happy to have fresh fruit again, so he stopped asking questions about it.

Juliet led Finnick to their kitchen table. She removed the clutter of dirty dinner dishes, two jars, a few candles, and a colorful centerpiece. Finnick could tell she was anxious as he watched her move things around. She had adjusted well after moving into the village. She got along with Mags and could hold a conversation with Westley. He had even seen her talk to Annie a few times. With everyone else, she was more nervous. Careful around them, not trying to be on the receiving end of an angry victor.

Finnick sat down, and dropped his head in his hands. He dug his palms into his eyes, trying to make himself stop crying. He let himself sniff, that was from the cold outside. The cold he had left Annie in. His chest throbbed in pain, he leaned forward to rest his head on the table and run his hands through his hair.

Finnick didn't look up until he heard a click. Juliet gave him a small pour of wine in a glass and slid it over. Finnick reached over for the full bottle next to her. Juliet opened her mouth to object, but it died in her throat as Finnick already put his lips to it.

He’d drink the whole thing, he wasn't one to waste.

Distantly, he thought Juliet was calling Iris down. Distantly, he heard a response and foot steps. He didn't bother to try and make himself presentable. He caught his breath in between gulps, swallowing as much as he could in each mouth full. He didn't care for the flavor, it was too tart, he liked his wine sweet.

But the soft burn gave him something to focus on, it made him stop crying. So he kept going, making note of every sensation that wasn't guilt or sadness. His arms were heavy, his chest tight, his stomach was twisting so much it had begun to feel like a pinch.

Finnick kept his mind on breathing and drinking, it was all he had in him. Drink, breathe, drink, breathe. He had only managed to calm himself a little when he was startled by Iris in front of him. “Alright,” she sighed and took a seat, “What's going on? I don’t want to call Mags.”

Iris was a familiar face. Finnick had a few early memories of her, back when she was a tribute and then a new victor, she looked different then. Eighteen years old, strong yet soft spoken. Her hair was kept in long dark braids down her back, easy to keep out of her face in the arena.

The braids stayed in for her tour. It was her ‘look,’ what the Capital remembered seeing in the arena.

The braids stayed after that, too. Only being redone if absolutely necessary.

Finnick, at the time, didn't get it. He didn’t know why she wouldn’t change her hair. He hadn’t known when he won, and he hadn’t known until he was fifteen; but they had been selling Iris the whole time. Not as popular, yet no less miserable than Finnick was now. Her braids, the same color of her eyes, were part of her appeal. The girl in the arena with braids down her back, was how they remembered her. Maybe, she hadn’t been allowed to change her hair. Maybe she had, and she just didn’t want to. She didn’t want anything else ruined for her.

When Finnick looked back, he knew the demand for her dwindled over the years. And with his Victory, they had forgotten all about her.

Before Finnick started his tour, Iris had cut off every braid on her head. She kept her hair short now, really short. Only an inch or so of black curls coiled on her head. Somehow, it made the shape of her face different. As if she was now lighter, her cheekbones sharper, her eyes bigger, her smile wider.

They were opposites in that regard. Finnick hated when they cut his hair, and he told himself if it ever stopped, he wouldn’t cut it again. He’d let it hit his shoulders, maybe even grow a beard. He’d look like his father, rugged and handsome. Not so clean and sexy like they wanted him to be.

“Finnick, are you with me?” Iris was frowning now, any attempt to make this a casual conversation was abandoned.

Finnick’s mouth was dry, “Don't call Mags,” he managed to say. He tried to pick up the bottle, his fingers were shaking too bad to lift it. He had to use both hands to get it to his mouth.

“I won’t,” she promised. Finnick avoided Iris almost as much as he avoided his family. She was always trying to get him to ‘talk about it’, when they had more than a second alone. She told him she’d be there for him to open up. Finnick was always trying to make her stop, he didn’t ‘talk about it’ with anyone. Least of all Iris, who had found some peace in a house by the ocean and a lover.

“I just- needed a drink,” he mumbled, thankful he had gotten himself to stop crying before she had gotten here.

She hummed, “And you didn't want Mags to know.”

Finnick didn't need permission to drink, but he wouldn't do it in front of Mags. She got so worried about him, seen too many victors from too many districts lose themselves in some substance or another. She had almost lost Finnick to pills when he was younger. When he was a teenager in the Capitol with no supervision outside of the adults who had bought him for sex. So no, he didn’t want Mags to know he was drinking. She didn't trust him to stop. “Can I stay?” He couldn't go outside.

Annie might still be outside. She might still be screaming his name and crying, only having the moon to get her home.

Annie, who listened to him after he avoided her for days. Annie, who smiled at him, touched him with gentle hands. Annie, who played music for him when he was hurt. Annie, who said she had liked him too. Annie, who he was in love with.

Tears burned in the back of his eyes like they hadn’t left.

“Yeah,” she paused, “Yeah Finnick, you can stay.”

She didn’t leave, or try to continue the conversation. They sat in silence while Finnick drank the whole bottle as he told himself he would do. Iris sat across from him, she looked around her house, glancing back to him as if to make sure he was still alive.

Finnick had been drinking fast, he put down the empty bottle and took a second to breathe. It hit him slowly, then fast. Warmth creeped up to his face, his whole head started to burn. He blinked, and he couldn't tell if it was tears or the alcohol that was making his vision blurry. He knew that any further attempt to talk would be a disaster.

But he felt no less miserable than he had before, if anything, his emotions had heightened. This was why he normally took pills, those stopped him from feeling anything negative. It was only numbness and giggles.

What he wanted was to forget, to stop thinking about Annie. To stop thinking about the look on her face and the sound of her voice. And he would do everything he could to make that happen. He slid the empty bottle across the table, “Can I have another?” His words came out slow and a little slurred together. He wondered if she had a cold towel he could put on his neck.

Iris’s jaw twitched, she looked from the bottle, to him, and back down. “How about you take a second?”

“You didn’t drink?” The rest of his sentence went unsaid. Did she not drink to cope with it? To handle it, even a few times? Finnick wasn’t drinking to deal with the prostitution, but Iris didn't know that, and he had no plan on telling her what was actually going on. Maybe the wine was working better than he thought, because he didn’t feel too bad about lying.

Iris’s frown deepened, “I’ll be right back,” she mumbled and stood up, she stopped, her hand still on the back of the chair. “Sometimes,” she admitted, then her brow furrowed, “I don’t remember.” She left the room.

Finnick rested his head on the table, closed his eyes. He laid, completely limp, trying not to cry.

Something swung from his neck, and it took him a second to remember what it was. He was wearing the necklace Annie made for him. The one he wore everyday, the one he never took off.

He didn't know what to do. He and Annie could never be friends again, not after this, not after what he did to her. There was no coming back. No matter what he did, he would lose her.

What was he? Without her?

Maybe he was dying, actually dying. His life, over, gone before it started. Maybe he died years ago, when he first met her. Maybe he died at fourteen.

Finnick laughed, he wished he died at fourteen.

Existence without Annie was nothing. What would he do without her smile, without her laugh at the end of jokes, the gentle touch of her hands? The wild mess of her hair, the green of her eyes? If she never forgave him, they would never speak again. He could imagine it, like how things were with his father and sister. Their eyes would catch and pull away as if nothing had happened. They’d silently plan out times to see Mags without ever risking being under the same roof.

Or, if by some miracle, Annie did forgive him, and he kissed her, held her, let himself be in love. She’d be dead before the year was over.

Gone, either way.

Finnick could not keep himself from crying. It came out in a tear, then two, falling off his nose and onto the wooden table. He sniffed, and when he breathed in for air, his voice squeaked. It was loud, louder than he had meant to be. A dull pang of panic hit him, he wasn't going to start sobbing. He tried not to be sad in front of anyone. Realistically, he tried not to be sad in front of anyone but Mags. Yet here he was, near tears, trembling, turning drunk, and dying in Iris’s house.

Trying not to cry, only made him louder. Quiet whines and whimpers while he tried to pull himself together. He could really use that second bottle. Finnick sniffed, only lifting his head to wipe at his face. When he couldn't catch his breath, his body made a horrible miserable sound from deep in his chest.

Finnick heard voices from the kitchen, he tried to calm himself again enough to listen. Between his sniffs and spinning head, he listened to a short conversation between Iris and Juliet.

“He shouldn’t keep drinking,” Juliet whispered, clattering with something to cover her voice.

“No, but he’d go out and do it anyway. I’d rather keep him here.”

There was more back and forth Finnick couldn't pick up on. But it ended with a sigh and Iris saying she’d put him on the couch. She appeared suddenly back in the dining room and took her seat across from him. She slid over a new open bottle of wine.

Finnick sat up, and it made the room spin. It took him two tries to get a solid hold on the neck of the bottle, he dragged it over. “Thank you.”

Iris rested her chin in her hand, “Are you sleeping over?”

Finnick blinked, his eyes were cloudy. He almost broke and asked if she had anything else, something that would make time go by in still images, that would make his heart race, that would blow his pupils wide.

That would definitely make her call Mags.

Finnick choked down his spit and forced his hand to stop shaking. The wine would do its job after a few more swallows. “Can I?”

She blinked slowly, and Finnick realized she was tired. He hadn't noticed before, she was in pajamas. “You can,” she pointed to the wine, “And you should if you drink that.”

A teenage Finnick would have bristled, he hated feeling babied. By Mags or other victors. They weren't his parents and he didn’t talk to his father. He could do whatever he wanted, one of the youngest victors ever. A Capital darling. He killed a boy by stabbing him in the throat while he was tangled in a net completely defenseless. He could do whatever he wanted.

Finnick wondered when that fire left him, how long it had been gone. His fight now was much meeker. Keeping himself busy, learning secrets, dreaming of a free future. Falling in love. He shook his head, pulling himself back to the conversation. “Don’t let me ruin your night,” maybe the wine was working better than he thought. He had to put all his concentration into speaking.

She softened and sat up, “Nothing has been ruined, I’m just worried.”

Finnick hated these conversations. Being serious, personal, quiet, came easy with Mags, and it had grown to be easy with Annie too. The longer he knew them, the more he realized he did not try to deflect. He didn't come up with excuses to leave a room with tense air. He didn’t try to downplay what was being said with a joke or a smile. Finnick was able to talk to them, even if he clammed up or shied away, he wouldn't deflect.

With Mags and Annie, at least.

With Iris, Finnick’s discomfort grew with the silence. Even as the alcohol eased his senses, he couldn't stand the thought of her trying to have a conversation with him. Of her gently pushing him to open up and talk. So he waved her off and gave her a smile, “Don’t be worried,” he held up the bottle, “I’ll be fine.”

Her softness faded, she frowned, “Well if you aren’t, you’re welcome to talk to me.”

Finnick was able to hide his grimace, he was good at controlling his facial expressions. Tonight, he couldn't think of anything witty to say, so he drank some more.

“Or if not,” Iris added, slower, “You can stay here as long as you like.”

Finnick would at least stay the night, until he was sure Annie wouldn’t be outside when he left. And if they weren't going to force him to stop drinking, he would stay for as long as he could. Really, this was probably his best option. Finnick nodded and mumbled another thanks.

Iris left him alone after that.

How Finnick spent the rest of his night, he wasn’t sure. He had another full bottle of wine which finally pushed him past the point of being drunk. He stayed at the table, mumbling, drinking, crying when he was sure no one else was around. They left him alone, only peeking in to make sure he was alive.

Finnick let his head spin, he let his body become numb and dizzy. He let himself laugh at the jokes he made in his head and pinched his thigh when he was thinking too hard. He was warm all over. He did not feel better. It was hard to keep his tears in, to not let himself start bawling. It was impossible to not stumble out the door and find Annie. He was weak, drunk, and dying.

Day by day, Finnick would die. Soon, he would be nothing but rot.

And Annie would live, she would live hating him for a long time. And then she would move on. She would fall in love again, kiss someone else, and stay by the ocean. Annie would find happiness and peace after Finnick faded away. That was the only thing that mattered. Finnick could not ask for anything else.

He was too drunk to ask for a fourth bottle, he knew he wouldn't be able to make his mouth form the words. If he tried to get up and grab one himself, he knew he'd knock into furniture and fall over. So he stayed by the table, hoping Juliet and Iris would not catch him crying.

Finnick woke up to the sound of whispering and the smell of coffee.

“Don’t sit so close while he’s asleep,” a gentle scold.

“Are you sure he’s breathing? He hasn’t moved,” this voice was closer.

“Oh he’s fine,” there was the sound of glass hitting a surface, and the noise was just sharp enough to make Finnick come to.

Immediately, he regretted it, he hadn’t even opened his eyes and already his body was protesting being awake. He groaned, shifting on whatever he was laying on. It was comfortable, soft, but not very big. He would not open his eyes to investigate it. His head was already hurting enough.

“See?” Finnick was pretty sure the voice belonged to Iris, “He’s alive.”

The closer voice, which must have been Juliet's, huffed.

Finnick shifted again and covered his face with his arm, there was too much light. He tried to hold in another groan, “What time is it?” and he flinched, his voice was loud.

“Just past noon,” Iris said, and he listened to her walk toward him. “We got you water, coffee, and juice.”

“And pain killers but only take those if you need them,” Juliet added. Finnick wasn’t sure why they had pain killers, he didn’t ask, and he wasn’t going to take them.

Finnick took in a deep breath, willing himself to sit up. He didn't manage it on the first try, the ache in his body convincing him not to move. He took another breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and forced himself up. Bile filled his mouth the second he was up right, and he bit his tongue so he didn't throw up on their couch.

He curled forward and cradled his head in his hands, carefully, over a minute, he opened his eyes. He peaked between his fingers, taking notice of what was around him. He was on their couch, in their living room. The whole house was unfortunately bathed in light, their colorful loud decorations did not help. Finnick squinted his eyes, Juliet was sitting on the coffee table, the array of drinks next to her. Iris stood just behind her, a hand on her wife’s shoulder.

“Coffee?” he asked, he stretched his arm out and closed his eyes, trusting one of them would hand it to him. They did, and his fingers were curled around the ceramic cup. Finnick brought it to his lips, his eyes still closed.

He made a face, and his eyes opened, there wasn’t a grain of sugar or a drop of milk in it. “Do you have any sweetener?” his words were mumbled, whispered because he knew if he spoke any louder his head would split apart.

Iris rolled her eyes at him, “I can’t believe I forgot.”

Juliet was up in an instant, “I’ll get some cream,” she left the room.

Iris watched her leave, and then looked back to him. Finnick traded the coffee for the glass of water, taking small sips, worried he would throw up if he tried to drink any faster. It had been a while since he had gotten a bad hangover. In the Capitol, he would call for someone to give him an injection or a medication that would remove almost all of his symptoms. Leaving him a little fuzzy but not half as miserable.

“You don’t need to talk,” Iris whispered, “You don’t look well enough to do so,” she took a deep breath, “But if this is about the victory tour, you can come to me,” she put a hand on her chest, “I want you to know you can talk to me.”

Right, because if everything with Annie wasn’t enough, Finnick only had a month and a half before he had to go back to the Capitol. Forty nine days on the dot. Forty Nine days, to figure all of this out and become stable enough to go back. The tribute who had won this year, would likely be riddled with nightmares until his tour. A bulky seventeen year old who won because he had experience at home with all kinds of misbehaving livestock. When wild hogs charged after the remaining three tributes, he was the only one who knew how to get away.

Finnick remembered, and would never forget, how bloody the kid was when he was pronounced the winner. And if Finnick knew anything about the Capitol, every party and celebration would be serving pig.

“Thanks for the reminder,” he snapped before he could stop himself. Then he pressed his head to the cool glass of water, “Sorry.” he mumbled. How was he supposed to go back like this? The only things that got him home alive were Mags, the ocean, and Annie. There was little enough to live for. Now he may never speak to Annie again.

Finnick wondered if he was actually alive, or more so, if he was a real person. If he actually enjoyed things, if he really had a sweet tooth, if he really liked the sound of the piano. Or if he was just pieces of what people wanted from him sewn together into a doll. The Capitol would love for him to be a doll.

With more and more of himself torn away and disappearing, he wondered how much there was left. What would be the last thing to keep him going? When would he give in, completely detached from humanity and simply let himself be a vessel? Breathing skin and bones?

He had to go to the Capitol, or they’d find something else to take, and Finnick would have less to go back to.

“No,” Iris said, stronger this time, “You’re right I’m-I’m sorry I asked. At least if that's not what-” she gestured at him, “This is all about.”

Juliet finally made it back into the room, holding a clear jar of white liquid.

Finnick would have been more shocked if they didn't make their creamer themselves.

“Is this batch still good?” Juilet held it out for Iris to inspect, with a thumbs up, she handed it over to Finnick who poured almost half of it into his mug. He spilled a little, but the creamer cooled down the coffee enough to not burn. With the coffee almost white, how it should be, Finnick took a sip.

It took the full mug and some of the juice for clarity to finally hit Finnick. And his instinct was to bolt. He couldn't believe he had come into their house, drank all their wine, and then passed out on the couch. Embarrassment, was a better word for it, but Finnick was still unsure if that was an emotion he was capable of.

The two of them were standing talking about nothing by the doorway that led to their kitchen. Their voices were light, and Finnick knew they were trying to come off as normal and happy as they could for him. Which made him feel worse. Suddenly, he stood, and it was a horrible mistake. The world spun, his head split, and he had to lean over in an attempt to not throw up.

Finnick stayed that way for a minute, catching his breath and gaining the strength to stand tall again. When he did, both women were staring at him. Iris had one foot forward like she was ready to catch him. “I’m really sorry about all this,” he said with a quick smile. “I’ll get you more wine.”

“Nonsense.”

“None of that.”

They spoke at the same time. Iris continued, “Really, it's no problem, whatever you need.”

Finnick left, unwilling to say another word.

Finnick hadn't thought of what he was going to say to Mags when he opened the front door. But he knew she’d have plenty to say to him. From one couch to another, Finnick collapsed in Mag's living room, shedding his layers from the night before. She came limping in right as he got his shoes off.

Furrowing his eyebrows, made his head hurt, but Finnick couldn't help the concern. “Where’s your cane Mags?” if he was feeling better he would have stood up.

Mags waved him off. “Didn’t go well?”

Finnick would have laughed if he knew it wouldn’t hurt. Instead, he shook his head, and kicked his shoe off. He shrank into the couch, hoping that his body would give out on him and he could sleep. “Bad.” he said, not good was an understatement.

Mags was slower without her cane, Finnick had no idea why she wouldn't use it. She made her way over to him, and sat down. “Where were you?”

That was a trap, she was trying to figure out if he had been drinking, or in her opinion worse, high. Finnick gave in, he didn't have the energy to fight her. “With Iris, I just had some wine.”

Mags hummed, and Finnick felt her hands creep into his hair. Her fingers were strong and nimble when they needed to be, she could manipulate any number of things. Wires, coil, rope, even bone if she was making fish hooks. It was different when she pet his hair, her fingers turned soft, they took their time to anchor and scratch his scalp.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, Finnick kept his eyes closed, he needed to hide somewhere small and dark. Mags petted his hair until she grew tired and put her hand back in her lap. Finally, she spoke again. “Talk?”

Finnick had gotten better at understanding what her fewer words meant, “Do I want to talk about it?” He glanced over at her.

Mags nodded.

There were a thousand things to talk about, none of them inviting. Finnick’s mind had been all over the place, he tried to focus on remembering things that had happened the night before. It hit him hard in the chest, it hurt for his ribs to expand when he breathed in. If he did want to talk, how could he even start?

“Annie likes me,” he blurted out, the words came out like a tug, and his head throbbed. It was such an unimportant fact, it didn't change anything. His face grew warm, which was ridiculous.

Mags nodded again.

Finnick sat up, pushing down his body's discomfort and misery, he frowned, “You knew?”

“She wore it on her sleeve,” Mags siad, “She glowed.”

Finnick tried to think of a time that Annie was glowing, but it was harder to think of a time she wasn’t. Annie was his lighthouse, he depended on her glow, he had never thought of what it could mean. Finnick sunk back onto the couch, Annies words from the night before began to creep up on him.

“Can I kiss you?”

” I’m in love with you too. And I think I have been for a while.”

”I want you.”

Finnicks face started to burn, and it made his head ache worse, it made his nausea grow. This wasn’t the time. It didn’t matter how she felt now, it didn’t matter how either of them felt now. It was done. “I can’t-” he put his face in his hands, trying to block out the light, “I can’t be around her.”

“Why not?”

It should have been obvious to Mags, Finnick was honestly shocked by the question. “I like her too much- to just be her friend,” he shook his head, “And even if- It would be too awkward and I-” his throat closed up, “I really hurt her feelings.”

“Just her friend?”

Finnick looked up, though he didn’t want to. “Mags, we can’t be together.”

She tilted her head, and Finnick’s eye twitched in annoyance. She knew better than that. “I would get her killed,” he said.

“You haven’t killed me yet.”

The words made him flinch. His hands curled into fists, not nearly as tight as he wanted. He felt weak. “Yet,” he repeated back to her.

“Your father and sister are alive,” she paused, “Across the street.”

Finnick made hard work of the last six years to not think about his family at all, and he had done a good job. Mags was right, they were alive, because Finnick was good at being sold and he was good at pushing people away. Finnick didn’t say anything, because he knew any words that came out of his mouth would be ugly. He stared at her.

“If you’re careful, she’ll be fine.”

Finnick was speechless, he couldn't believe her. Finnick’s only mistake with a patron was at fifteen. His cousin died. How could she forget that? How could she forget the reason he cut all ties with the rest of his family. Finnicks jaw was tight, bile burned at his throat. All the symptoms from his hangover dissipated into a blind anger. “I killed my cousin,” he words came out soft, anything else would have been cry or a scream.

“You didn’t kill him,” Mags had said that a lot before. Finnick always shut her down before she could say anything else. It was his fault, and there was nothing she could have said to change his mind.

“Yes, I did,” he kept his words slow, but his voice rose.

“You were fifteen,” Mags said, unwilling to back down. “You understand it better now.”

Yes, Finnick had a better understanding of the consequences, he knew that Snow would not flinch in taking a life. Maybe Annie wouldn’t be hurt, but there were plenty of other ways to keep Finnick in check. “I understand being anything else with her could get someone hurt.”

“Who?” Mags pushed.

Finnick was going to throw up. Bile kept filling his mouth and he would have to swallow it down before he spoke, “Anyone.” Was all he could say.

Mags shook her head, like she knew anything about this. “Your family, me, are-” too much talking, she had to take a moment to rest, “are leverage for you to perform in the Capitol.” Another pause, “Annie’s family is for her.”

Finnick stood up, “And what about her? What would-” Standing up was a bad idea, his vision spun, he held his head, grimacing under his hand. He was unbearably nauseous. “What could happen to her?”

“That's her decision to make,” Mags said.

Finnick’s jaw started to burn, he could feel another round of bile start to form. He could hardly speak, staring at Mags in disbelief and anger. It had been a long time since he’d been so angry with her.

“I can’t talk to you,” Finnick whispered. Then he threw up on the carpet.

Finnick felt bad about leaving Annie landlocked. Because the boat they went out on was his. Annie loved going out to sea, she loved being far from shore, but her parents weren't fishermen. They didn’t have a boat.

Finnick wanted to tell her that she could take it out whenever she liked, but that required talking to her, which he was unwilling to do.

He spent most of his time, out on the water, not thinking about the Victory Tour. Finnick had made a mental list of all the things he would not think about. It had gotten ridiculously long.

It left him with very little to occupy his mind. He let himself think about the weather, tying and untying rope, what he was going to eat next. He exercised a lot, because no matter how hard he tried he always managed to put on some weight in between visits to the Capitol. And he had been threatened more than once with a ‘dehydration routine’, so he kept himself in check.

He managed to stay mad at Mags for three days before he caved, there was plenty of anger left in him, he just didn't know what to do if he didn’t have her. He needed her, and he didn't want to push her away by being angry. He couldn’t be estranged from Annie and Mags at the same time.

He was quiet, without Annie around. He hadn't realized how many of his jokes he made just to see her laugh. How all of his stories and conversations he based on wanting her attention. Finnick told himself that it was a good thing, he’d need his energy for later. Though, he pushed that to the back of his mind.

One afternoon, Finnick returned from the ocean. As it slipped further into winter, the sea got rougher. The waves were choppy and harsh, Finnick knew his shoulders would be sore the next day from fighting the sails. Despite staying fully dressed and not getting in the water, he was soaked from the mist. He trudged back to the village, a thick fog had covered all of it.

If it weren't for the fog, he might have seen Annie and her brother sitting on their front porch. On the swing their father had built. The two of them were sitting side by side, a blanket over their shoulders. Annie held a cup of something that had steam wisping off it.

Finnick had been looking at the ground in front of him, as sand gave way to the pavement of the village. He was walking on the right side of the street when he looked up. Annie was only a few yards away from him, less than a house length away. And she was staring, her grip tightened on her cup. Finnick stared back, for a moment, something heavy lifted off his shoulders. Just seeing her, loosened the tightness that had grown in his chest. Under the blanket, from what he could see, it looked warm. Her legs were folded up, showing the orange socks she had on. Her nose was pink, her hair tucked behind her ears.

It took her brother, Simon, a moment to find what she was staring at. A few emotions folded across his face, he almost smiled, almost waved like he would have before, then his face dropped. He glanced back at Annie, and continued whatever conversation they were having like nothing had happened.

A pit formed in Finnicks stomach, he did not want to think about what Annie had told her family. What reason she gave them for suddenly not going over to Mags despite spending more than half her time there just days before. Or why she hadn’t spoken to Finnick after they had grown so close in the past years. He couldn’t imagine what he looked like to them, if Annie told them anything. If she told them that she had any resemblance of a crush on him, the kind of asshole would make Finnick. Sleeping around, breaking her heart.

Finnick tried to brush it off, she might have not told them anything. Besides, there were few people who had any decent opinion on him, Annie’s family didn’t make the list.

Finnick ducked his head, and moved to the other side of the street, he tried not to run home.

Dealing with so much regarding the Capitol and being sold, Finnick did not often think about his own games. It was probably something his brain was doing, trying to prevent him from getting overwhelmed. When he thought about the Capitol, he didn't think about the arena. And with all the work Finnick had been putting into not thinking about the Capitol, his thoughts were replaced with his games.

Finnick spent the whole day hovering Mags. Anxious and unwilling to let her out of his sight. He had convinced himself that he needed to protect her. He didn't, he knew that. Mags was fine, entirely safe. But when he wasn't in the same room as her his heart rate would pick up, his ears would start to ring, his hands would sweat. So he gave her no space, watching her like a hawk. He kept jumping at small sounds, sat in ways that would be easy for him to stand up.

She made a few comments suggesting he should sit down, even close his eyes for a moment. Finnick shook his head, saying that he was just keeping an eye on her.

Mags, though, was accustomed to a certain amount of space. So when Finnick tried to follow her upstairs when she said she was taking a nap, she snapped at him.

“You are killing me boy.”

Finnick did his best not to pout at that, he shook his head, and smiled, “I won’t get in the way,” he just wanted to sit and watch her to make sure her chest was rising and falling. Be there if someone broke into the house.

“Try to relax. For a bit.”

Finnick kept smiling, because it was easier than letting his face drop and showing her the anxiety and fear that was clogging up his throat. He almost begged her, he didn’t know what he would do if he couldn't see her. Be sure she was okay. And it was worse, so much worse without Annie here. He kept picturing her dead because her parents were out for the day and no one was there to keep an eye on her.

Mags was the one person he could be sure to protect, and she was telling him to leave her alone.

Finnicks smile wavered, it was weak. His face had been set in a frown for most of the day, only offering smiles when Mags looked at him so he wouldn’t worry her too bad.

Mags sighed, “If you can’t, come sit by me.”

Finnick nodded, and stood in the hallway until Mags closed her door and he couldn’t see her anymore. The dread hit him immediately, because Mags had two windows in her room that she often kept open. And while she wasn’t messy, there had to be something on the ground she could trip over. The rocking chair in the corner, would have been the perfect spot to keep an eye on her.

He bit his tongue. Mags asked him to try and relax, to make an attempt to cool his anxiety and fear before he went back to following her around. She was just trying to help, trying to make him feel better. Finnick would make an attempt for her.

He went down stairs, and tried not to pace. He sucked on coconut flakes so he wouldn’t bite his nails and stared out the window. He wouldn't go out to the water, not being in the same room as Mags was bad enough, he couldn’t go outside.

Finnick crumbled the flakes in between two fingers, he hoped Annie was okay. He hoped that she was safe, and having a good day. That nothing she heard was too loud and nothing she saw was too scary. He hoped her family was patient and gentle with her, without acting like she was crazy.

Annie had complained about it more than once, about how her parents were clueless on her bad days. Their youngest, Annie Cresta, was always so independent. When she had to cover her ears or couldn't remember things clearly, they pulled back. They were careful about how they spoke to her, what they said, they didn't know what to do; so they treated her nothing like herself.

Finnick stood up, for a moment, he almost walked down the street and knocked on her door. Just to see her alive, the rise and fall of her chest, a blink of her eyes. He needed to know she was okay, that in the time they hadn’t seen each other, she hadn't been hurt.

Finnick had one hand on the door when he remembered himself. He was wearing two sweaters and cotton shorts, he didn't have shoes on. It had been a bad day, so he hadn't done his hair or looked in the mirror at all.

His hand fell off the door, he squeezed his eyes shut.

Annie wasn't dead, Mags wasn't dead. And as long as Finnick stayed well behaved, they wouldn't even be in danger. There was nothing to worry about.

Something selfish, formed as a thought in his head. What if he wasn't all that worried about Annie? What if he just missed her? What if he wasn’t really worried about her being alright, what if he wanted to see her for his own peace of mind?

A sharp pain stabbed his chest, he missed her so much it hurt. He looked for her face in every room he walked into, paused to hear her laugh at the ends of jokes. Woke up in the middle of the night and wished he could go to the other room and talk to her. It had only been a week since they last spoke, and it felt like decades.

His legs moved before his brain could process where he was going. They moved him to the living room, where a few feet from the couch, was the piano.

Finnick stared at it, Annie had forgotten to close it last time she played, but she always remembered to tuck in the bench. Finnick’s throat tightened, he pulled the bench out and sat on it. His fingers hovered over the keys.

A laugh slipped out of him, he had no idea how to play. He had no idea how to read music or how to make his fingers bend the way Annie did. He thought about how Annie made music for him. It was something Finnick hardly ever asked of her, in fact, he had only asked for it three more times since that one awful day.

Unlike the first time, he did not sit by her knees and cry. He had managed to bring himself to sit next to her, to close his eyes and bump her shoulder. Four times, Annie had played the piano for him. Four times, Finnick found that it filled his thoughts with something beautiful instead of horrible. Four times, Annie nodded, led him to the piano, picked out a song, and played just for him.

Finnick thought about how it calmed him, soothed his chest. How inexplicably loved it made him feel.

Annie said she was in love with him, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

Finnick pressed down on a key, the sound was sharp and hollow. He curled away from it. He closed the piano, he didn't want the keys to be dusty. If Annie ever came back here, she deserved something clean, untainted, unbothered.

If she were here, right now, Finnick would ask her to play something. Because, even if it was only for a few minutes, it would make him feel better. A few minutes, he would sit next to Annie and stop thinking about how worried he was. For a few minutes, he wouldn't be waiting for someone to jump out at him.

He knew if he asked, she would say yes. Even if he asked her today, as confused as she would be, he knew she would come over for him. If that was what he needed.

The sinking feeling overwhelmed him, Finnick blinked and tears filled his eyes. He placed a hand on his chest, trying to stop the feeling. It didn't help. He had been so scared in the arena, and so sure it was unacceptable to show any weakness. Even a frown could cost him a day of food. But on days like these, the terror and stress of being fourteen suffocated him.

Finnick closed his eyes, dropped his head, placed both hands on the lid of the piano. Then, he started to cry. Soft, so he wouldn't wake Mags up, soft so no one could hear him. Soft, in the way he let himself cry around Annie. Finnick folded over, and placed his hands over his ears. He tried to picture the sound of the piano, and the weight of her body next to his.

Finnick cried.

Mags could weave bowls and baskets so tightly, water would stay in them. A lost practice that Mags had learned how to do when she was little. Finnick prefered to mindlessly tie rope, but practicing his wickering was more useful. A few times a week, he would sit at the table with dried seagrass and reed, and make containers. When he was younger, before his games, Mags would make him do it for hours. Then, she poured water in them, if any leaked out, he had to make another.

She told him that there was nothing that couldn't be useful. Even pebbles could be thrown with slingshots.

Finnick sat at the table, weaving thin strips of willow into a bowl. Mags said she would be delivering them to a few merchants later that day. Finnick was fairly sure she was just trying to get him to do something. Finnick was going to go out on the water later in the day, but it was too early and too cold to go now. His plan had been to lay in bed and look at the wall, or work out in the backyard before Mags had said she needed help.

Despite what she said, Mags wasn’t making any. She was in the other room doing laundry.

As his fingers began to cramp, Finnick frowned. Mags didn't need help with the baskets. She was probably just making him do it so she didn’t have to.

Finnick rolled his eyes at the thought, it would be like her to do so. He had only been weaving for an hour when there was a knock on the door. Finnick sat up, and realized he had not straightened his back the whole time. He groaned and rolled his shoulders. “I’ve got it!” He called to wherever Mags was, it was impossible to keep up with her.

Finnick went to the front of the house, and opened the door for the stranger.

It wasn't a stranger.

Annie was standing in front of him, she was ready to go out. Her pants were made of brown corduroy that she had cuffed around her ankles. She wore a well fitting shirt under a woolen jacket. Finnick recognized the jewelry she was wearing as her own, a necklace and earrings she had made herself. The only thing undone was her hair, tangled and left down her back.

She looked tired.

Finnick startled, he took a step back. Annie mirrored him, blinking like she was trying to decide if he was really in front of her. “Mags said you were out on the boat,” she blurted out. Defensive, was the only way to describe her tone.

“Yeah I- I was going soon. Just-” he pointed behind him toward the table, there was no way she could see it from her spot in the door. “Making baskets.”

Annie’s face was set, almost angry. The only thing out of place was the slight rise of her eyebrows. She was surprised to see him.

Annie cleared her throat, “I’m taking them into town with Mags, she said to be here around midday.”

“It's midday now.”

They stared at each other. Finnick tried not to linger on her, on the mole under her left eye, on her shoulders or the curls in her hair. He tried not to stare at the shape of her hands, how her clothes sat on her body. It was over now, it had to be.

Finnick shook his head, “Come in, I’ll grab her.”

Finnick found Mags in the backyard, told her Annie was in the house, and went up stairs. He couldn't see her again. He couldn’t even be in the same room as her. His chest had begun to cave in. He stood in his room, behind the locked door, and tried to breathe in a way that didn't pinch his heart.

He wouldn't answer the door again.

Finnick was fast asleep when there was a pounding on the front door. It sounded more like someone was trying to kick the door down than they were knocking. Finnick sat up so fast, it made him light headed. He squinted, his eyes trying to adjust to the total darkness of his room. It was dark out, it had to be late in the night.

The sound didn't stop.

Finnick jumped out of bed, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and carefully stepped out into the hall. Whoever it was, was panicked, and panicked people were dangerous. He went first, to Mags room.

She was still trying to stand up, she had both hands flat on the bed and was just about to get up on her feet.

“Let me see who it is,” Finnick stopped her, “I’ll be right back.”

Mags might have said something, but Finnick was already down the hall and her voice wasn’t able to get loud anymore. Finnick hesitated on the stairs, he glanced between his view of the front door and the kitchen. He debated grabbing a knife while the person continued to hit the door. If they were harmless and scared, any weapon might make them feel worse. But if they were dangerous, a weapon could help.

If they were dangerous, Finnick would protect Mags with his life. As for himself, getting killed in a way that couldn’t be blamed as his fault was a great option. No one would be hurt if Finnick died, as long as it wasn't on purpose.

Finnick went to the door, knifeless, and hoped his reflexes were good enough to have the upperhand in a fight. Mags was upstairs, and Finnick would be damned if he let her get hurt.

He opened the door, carefully, standing with his legs far apart in case they tried to bolt in.

Annie was the youngest of her family, she had three older brothers. The oldest, Simon, was turning twenty six in the winter. Then, there were twins. Two boys a year older than Finnick, named Quinn and Colin. Finnick, despite the fact that he had met them quite a few times, could never tell them apart at first. After a few minutes, in sunlight, he would get it.

Now, late into the night, when Finnick’s eyes had not yet adjusted, he didn’t know which one he was looking at.

His hair was dark brown, short and wavy. He was still wearing pajamas, the sleeves only went to his shoulders and his feet were bare. If he was out here any longer, he’d be shivering.

He'd been knocking on the door so hard, he almost fell over when Finnick opened it. He held up his finger and took a deep breath. “Sorry-” he gasped, “It-It’s Annie we- weren’t sure what to do and you-”

Finnick didn't hear the rest of his sentence, he felt the blood drain from his face and his breath caught in his throat. “Annie? What do you mean Annie?” If Finnick were thinking, he'd be startled by the sound of his voice. How terrified and angry and loud it sounded.

“I don’t know! She wouldn't calm down- she was freaking out! And Simon went to check on her but- and then he said to come get you and-”

Finnick had heard enough, ringing had started in his ears. Tunnel vision, it was called. It was as if his heart had stopped beating and went into overdrive at the same time. He could feel the rapid thuds in his throat. Finnick pushed past him, and scrambled down the front pouch. “Tell Mags where I’m going!” he called back leaving Annie's brother holding the knuckles he had been using to knock.

Finnick himself, was in his night clothes, shoeless, and taking off down the road. The pavement slapped the bottom of his feet. Finnick was a decent runner, most of the time. Now, he wasn't thinking, his steps were heavy, each fall sent a shock up to his brain.
nice job “:#” lol loser

He stumbled to turn, and raced up the steps to Annie's house. He didn't knock, throwing himself into the house unannounced. Finnick’s breathing was ragged, and it wasn't from the short run. Every light in the house was on, and the rest of Annie's family was sitting around the dining table. “Where is she?”

Simon was sitting on the table, holding his cotton wrapped forearm. Jackie was unraveling a self adhesive bandage with a deep furrow in her brow. Annie's father, Milo, had a strong arm around the other twin. Finnick still didn’t know which one. And he really didn't care.

His eyes flicked down to Simon's arm.

“She uh- bit me,” Simon moved his arm so Finnick could see the faint pool of blood that was spreading across the fabric.

Jackie took his arm and began to wrap the second layer of bandage around it, “She's up in her room,” her voice was short and quiet, all of her attention on her oldest son.

“We’re sorry to ask you,” Milo added, rubbing his kid's arm. Finnick’s best guess was that the one in the house was Quinn, the one who had grabbed him was Colin. “She just- she’s mentioned that she responds better to you.”

Finnick nodded, “Is she- has she hurt herself?” Annie had before, and she’d really injured herself more than once.

Simon shook his head and winced as his mother tightened the wrap.

“Be careful with that,” Finnick pointed. A bite was often the last line of defense a person had. He'd seen a bite get infected in the arena, it was a death sentence. “I’ll- be back.”

There were a few murmurs of luck between the family, none of them knew exactly what to say. Finnick could tell that Annie's parents were embarrassed. That they were having to ask someone else to help with their own daughter. That she had injured her sibling and they hadn't been able to stop it. At the very least, if Annie attacked him, they wouldn't feel so bad about it.

Finnick hesitated in front of the room he knew was Annies. He put his ear to the door and heard nothing, he frowned and knocked. “Annie?” Her name on his tongue hurt, he had to remind himself not to tense his jaw. “Annie?” he tried again, stronger this time, “It's Finnick.” It hit him again, like it had the past few days, that he missed her more than anything. The door was too much space between them. He could take it down with his shoulder, and she'd be right there.

He took a deep breath, “Okay, I’m coming in.”

There was not a single light on in her room, and the curtains were closed, leaving it in complete darkness. The light from the hallway flooded it, Finnick stepped in and left the door open just wide enough for a sliver of light to break through.

The small amount of light showed a completely torn apart bed, all her drawers and closet doors were open. Finnick had only taken in half the room, when there was a solid kick that landed right in between his legs.

Finnick folded and all that came out of him was a low whine. He glanced to his side, and Annie had pinned herself in the corner between the bed and her nightstand. She looked bad, her hair was knotted into a ponytail that was mostly undone. Her eyes were wide, her chest heaved with the effort it took her to breathe. She was snarling, showing her teeth like a rabid animal.

She was wearing his sweater.

“Hi,” he managed weakly. Finnick exhaled through his nose, he would have collapsed onto his side in any other situation. He forgot sometimes, how strong Annie was, and how purposeful and precise she could be with her movements. She had trained to go into the arena since she was ten, and it had only been two years since she'd gotten out of it.

Finnick tried to move on quickly from the stabbing, throbbing pain that was shooting down his legs. “Annie?”

“Get out!” she snapped.

“Right,” Finnick breathed, even if he wanted to, he didn't think he could stand up.

“Get out!” Her voice was louder this time, she whipped her head to the side and picked up the closest thing on her nightstand. Thankfully, it wasn't the lamp. And thankfully Finnick was able to dodge the seashell she threw at him. It hit the wall on the other side of the room and shattered.

It took Finnick a second to get up to his feet, and ow she had a strong kick. But if she was going to start throwing things at him he needed to stand straight. He put his hand on the door behind him, and opened it a little more. “Annie, what's going on?” he hated seeing her like this. It was scary. (He wasn't scared of her, if she wanted to, he'd let her kill him. She could do anything she wanted to him, and he'd let her. He was scared because he knew how much she hated feeling like this, how little control she had over her body.)

“Get out or I’ll-” she seethed, “I won’t let you kill me!”

“I would never hurt you.”

She looked around again, and Finnick prepared to dodge the lamp, “Come back to me,” he said softer, “Come back to me Annie.”

Her eyes shot to him, and Finnick could tell in the low light that her pupils were no bigger than a pin point. She was breathing harder now, and the faint stains of her brother's blood smeared on her chin. “I won’t die like this,” she whispered. Her eyes tore into his, violent, and behind all the anger, scared.

“You’re not going to die Annie,” Finnick put his hands up, “I wouldn't let that happen.”

Annie looked back to the nightstand, she narrowed in on the lamp. Finnick shifted to keep light on his feet, ready to jump out of the way wherever she threw it. Annie shifted too, there was a slight change in how she held herself. Finnick thought it was because she was preparing to throw it.

It wasn't.

Annie shifted, turned, and tackled Finnick to the ground. He was just able to move his head so that he hit the floor with his arms, not the door with his head. They landed heavy and sudden, it knocked the wind out of his chest. Instinct overtook his response, he braced her shoulders and tried to kick her off. They rolled and Annie was on top of him, her knees in his thighs. She was screaming now, “Get out! Get out! Get out!” Her eyes were blown wide, her hits landed strong and random. It was as if she could not make up her mind on how she wanted to attack him. Clawing, hitting, punching. Finnick covered his face, he'd gathered himself enough to not attack her back.

Annie was strong, but between her body weight and the shape Finnick kept himself, he was terrified of hurting her. He let her rain a few more blows against his arms before he made another move. Annie was angry, but more than that he knew she was terrified. To her, she was fighting for her life, she was doing everything she could to be left alone.

It was hard not to leave her alone, to not give in. It was what she wanted. The only problem was that when she was left alone too long, she hurt herself. On purpose or not. She would leave scratch marks on her neck, on her arms, she’d hit her head against the wall until it cracked.

Someone had to be with her, even if she was trying to kill them.

Finnick took a moment to adjust to her weight, to gauge where her body was and the rhythm of her hits. Then, he moved. He sat up with as much force as he could, grabbed her wrists and flipped both of them around. Annie swore at him, and began to try and get up.

Finnick, took her previous position. Keeping her legs from kicking up at him and pinning her wrists to the floor next to her head, “Annie!” he shouted, louder than her thrashing and yelling.

She struggled against him, even bared her teeth and clicked them as close to his arm as she could get. She slammed her head into the ground, her words were intangible, but she was screaming at him.

“Annie,” Finnick dropped his voice, “Annie-”

“Get off of me!” She threw her head up, trying to collide it with his. Finnick leaned just out of the way of her, she continued swinging her head, “Get off me! Get off me!”

Finnick squeezed his eyes shut, and breathed, his ears were starting to ring. He needed to focus, he opened them and breathed again. He had to think of something, something that would make her listen. Even give her pause long enough to get through to her. She struggled underneath him, and he knew he wasn’t thinking fast enough. “It's okay,” he told her, trying to catch her eye.

“Get out!” she screamed.

Finnick looked at the ground next to her head, then, it hit him, “What's the name of the song you played for me.” He tightened his grip on her wrists, his knuckles would have carpet burn after this, so would the back of her hands. He hoped he wouldn’t bruise her, he couldn't live with himself if he did.

Annie did not stop trying to escape, she kept yelling at him, her spit landing on his face.

“What's the name of the song you played for me?” he asked again, he was startled by his voice, how desperate it sounded. He missed her so much it hurt, she was a piece of him that had gone missing. His lighthouse, and now she was so close and still so far. How could he help her, when all he wanted to do was cry? How could he bring her back, when it was all he could do to not hug her?

“Get out! I’ll kill you! Get out!”

Finnick swallowed, his spit went heavy down his throat. Every second she struggled, her face twisted in pain and anger, made him weaker. He'd let her kill him, if it made her feel better. It was only the knowledge that she didn't actually want to that kept him strong.

“The song,” he kept saying, “That you played on the piano. The very first time, what is it called?”

“Get-” she had to gasp to catch her breath, which was a good sign she was tiring herself out. “Get off!”

Finnick breathed, “What was it called? I can’t remember.”

Finnick was lying to her. Siúil a Rún, was the name of the lullaby she had played for him. He would never be able to forget it. He knew the name, the melody, the notes. They played back to him in the silence of night and in the feeling of wind from the ocean.

Those four times Annie played the piano for him, she started with that song. She always played it, along with a handful of others. He knew the name, and he would never forget it.

Her fight grew weaker, though it was far from out. She threw her shoulders up, tried to kick her feet, and attempted another bite. “Get off!” she yelled, her eyes would not settle on him. She looked anywhere but his face, looking for something to help her.

“The song Annie,” Finnick spoke firmer this time, trying to catch her attention, “What's the song called?”

She spat on him again, “I don’t know! Get out of here!”

Finnick’s legs slipped and Annie kicked his thigh, it jolted him back, and she used the momentum to scramble a few feet away. She was heaving, her breath came out in puffs and gasps. Her back was pushed against the side of her bed, finally, she was looking him in the eyes. “Don’t get any closer,” she whispered. Finnick noted how she was trembling, and how she kept glancing between him and the door.

Finnick shifted, just so he could sit on the ground, it was too much movement for Annie. “You don’t think I’ll slit your throat?” she asked.

“I do,” he admitted.

With the stillness, Finnick’s eyes adjusted again to the dark. Annie’s hair was in her face, in the blood by her mouth, splitting in between her eyelashes. She was pale too, so pale Finnick worried she was going to pass out. Both her hands were on the carpet, curled into fists. Finnick did his best to keep his breaths shallow, knowing any sudden movement would make her feel worse.

“Get out,” she whispered, “I won't die here.”

“Annie I wouldn’t-”

Her head shot to the side, her eyes dilated on the space between her dresser and her window. Her breathing stopped entirely. She stared, and stared and stared. Her shaking did not stop, but her face evened out. The anger seeped from her, and Finnick watched as it was replaced with a cold fear. Dread etched in every line of her face.

Finnick realized he had stopped breathing with her, he shook his head to try and restart his lungs.

The longer she held her breath, the more flush Finnick could see grow on her face. Finnick swallowed, “Annie?” his voice was weak.

Her breathing started like it hadn't stopped, her hand flew to her throat, and she began to hyperventilate. “No-” she wheezed over her desperate gasps for air, “No- no- no.” She covered her head with her arms, and curled away from the spot she was staring at. She was sobbing now, “No, no, no, no,”

Finnick looked over again, just in case something had appeared he didn't see before. He pushed himself closer to her, uncaring that she might lash out. “What is it Annie?”

Her hands began to push down on her skull, louder than she had been the whole night, she started screaming. She didn't try to speak, or enunciate any emotion she could be feeling. Annie sat, and screamed. She screamed, and screamed, and it reminded Finnick of her games.

The blood of her district partner, Polonius, was still on her face. She had ran in a full sprint without stopping for nearly three miles before she collapsed. She collapsed, and screamed. Her screams had been so raw and horrific, that no human nor creature dared to get close to her.

Even now, her heartbreaking terrified screams came nowhere close to the ones she had produced that day. They only mirrored a fraction of her terror.

Still, she was loud, she only stopped to gasp for more air before she continued. Finnick sat across from her, frozen. Every time she paused, he would tense, and flinch as another scream ripped through her throat. Finnick worried she was going to damage her lungs, or that the tissue in her mouth wouldn’t be able to take it and she would start bleeding. He was worried she was going to start hitting her head or try to pull out her fingernails.

So he didn't look away.

At some point, his ears had begun to ring, Finnick covered them.

Someone in her family knocked on the door, and Finnick shooed them away. As long as Annie wasn't hurting herself, it was okay, that was all that mattered.

Minutes felt like hours, and Finnick had to punch himself in the thigh every time he felt tears begin to well up. Annie wasn't okay, she was miserable, but she was alive and unharmed. The sound of her voice, horrified, made him want to hide, it made him want to run away. It was going to make him cry.

But that wasn't real. This was real. Annie was at home, Finnick could see her, curled up and wailing.

Annie was less than a foot away, that was real, and Finnick held onto it with everything he had in him.

Eventually, Annie’s voice grew weak. Her screams broke off in the middle, each one came out quieter than the last. Her hands moved from her ears to her throat. She started coughing. Then, it was only gulps of air, whimpers, wheezes, and a weak faint sound that sounded more like the ringing in Finnicks ears.

Finnick pulled his hands from his head, Annie did not look up. He opened his mouth to talk to her, raised his arm to touch her, and changed his mind. Instead, he stood up. He opened the door to her room again, just a crack. He went to her window, and lifted it so that fresh salt air could come in. He triple checked the spot Annie had been staring at, and touched the wall. He picked up the pieces of the sea shell and arranged them on her dresser. As he moved, the ringing stopped, but the room was still full of Annie's voice. No longer ear piercing shrieks, but more miserable quiet noises.

Finnick swallowed, it was somehow getting harder not to cry. To not hold her and know for certain that she was safe. To not try and make her laugh so that he knew she would be okay. Finnick rested his head in his hands, standing by the door. Each blubber and sniff that came out of her scratched at his chest. The sound of Annie in pain, discomfort, agony, threatened to disembowel him.

With more time, the room became quieter and quieter. Finnick counted the seconds, wondering how the night had not yet passed. His eyes were fixated on Annie's frame. How she shook and pulled at her hair. She did not anchor her hands in her scalp to try and rip handfuls out like she did other times. Tonight, it was the gentle way she tugged on the curls at the ends, what she did when she was anxious.

It soothed her enough, her face was still buried in her legs. Her wheezing, coughing, crying had turned into something more gentle. She sniffed, cleared her throat, and mumbled quietly to herself.

Finnick made himself count five whole minutes before he approached her. He kept his footsteps light, and sat down a good few feet away from her. Annie was still whispering to herself, only cut off when her throat gave out and she had to cough to start it again.

“Annie?” his own voice was torn.

It took a moment for Annie to look up, and as she did, she leaned back from him. She stared like he was a stranger, or a foreign object that had not yet been explained. Confused and scared, her lips slightly parted. Her face, from what Finnick could see, was a wreck. Tear tracks, snot, saliva, and blood. It was more than just the dried blood from her brother, fresh red was in her mouth.

“Am I dead?”

The tension in Finnick’s shoulders left at the sound of her voice. Weak and unsteady, but closer to normal than it had been all night. “Not real,” he said, “Not real, you're alive.”

Annie looked down at her hair, and the strands that had tangled between her fingers. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stared at the red that smeared on it. She frowned, and Finnick watched as her eyes widened when she realized it was blood. She bit her bottom lip, and stared.

“You're okay,” Finnick rushed to reassure her, “I mean, you're not hurt. I think you bit your cheek, or tore your throat.”

“Siúil a Rún,” Annie whispered, she blinked and her eyes were still stuck on her hand. “I always play that one,” her brows furrowed. She wiped the back of her hand on her leg. She looked up at him, and it almost took his breath away. The intensity of her eyes, the slight shake of her pupils, the fact that she had not looked at him with clear eyes in days.

“Finnick,” she said his name slowly, trying it in her mouth, again, “Finnick,” more confident this time.

“It's a beautiful song,” his arms twitched at his sides, he wanted to envelope her in a hug. He wanted to be reminded of the smell of her hair, how her hands felt when she hugged him back. He wanted to hold her, even for a minute.

Annie looked at the floor, she swallowed heavily, she blinked. “Did I-” her voice cracked, she held her throat.

“Everyone is okay-” he winced, “You did bite Simon.”

Annie's eyes widened, she tried to stand up too quickly, and collapsed on the floor. “No- I didn't mean to-”

Finnick was up on his knees, his arms outstretched towards her, “It's okay, he's okay.”

Again, Annie looked at him, her eyes still wide. She slumped back to the ground and looked him up and down, trying to figure out how he was existing in the space around her. “What are you doing here?”

Finnick suppressed a flinch, “One of your brothers came and got me.”

“Why?”

Finnick could not pretend the question didn't hurt, or that it wasn't fair. He had completely shut her out, abandoned her, and then appeared in her room like nothing had happened. “They think I’m better at helping you.”

Annie shrugged, “You are.”

Finnick wanted to ask what she had told them. What explanation she gave to why they stopped spending time together.

An ugly thought hit him in the stomach, it was selfish to think about, it was selfish to even worry about. But Finnick hoped, desperately, that Annie hadn't told them about the Capitol. She’d have every right to do so, Finnick had been awful and he wouldn’t blame her if she did. But the thought made his skin crawl, and he would never show his face to any of them again if she did.

“Annie-”

She held up her hand, cutting him off. She rested her forehead on her knees, and breathed. “I bit Simon?” she asked.

“He's okay,” Finnick said again, though he wasn't sure. He was bleeding when Finnick had gotten there.

One of Annie's green eyes peered over her leg, “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Finnick said, “Well- you kicked me. And we wrestled a little on the floor,” he shook his head, “I’m okay. Did I hurt you?”

Annie was quiet for a minute, her face hidden again. Finnick waited without breathing, he had no idea what he would do if she said yes. If something was actually hurt. He didn't move his eyes from her, watching the curve of her back rise and fall.

“I think I’m okay,” she mumbled.

Finnick shifted, the need to hold her was growing uncomfortable, as if his body could not stand another second of not comforting her.

Annie sighed, then she groaned, she looked up at him. She almost looked frustrated, she couldn't justify his existence. “What are you doing here?” she asked again, harder this time.

“I wanted to help.”

“But you-” she clenched and unclenched her fisits. “Finnick,” she was exasperated, she wiped off her mouth again. The bleeding had stopped, from what Finnick could see. “What are you doing here? In my house- with me?”

“Annie you were-” freaking out seemed harsh, “I wouldn't be here if it wasn't serious. I- we were worried about you.”

“I mean still, Finnick. Why are you still here? I’m fine.” Annie had plenty of anger in her. She could be harsh, biting when she needed to. Years of frustration pent up inside of her. She was angry about a lot of things. But it had been a long time since it had been directed to Finnick. She hadn’t snapped at him in months.

“You just-”

“I know.” She put her head in her hands, and breathed, “I know,” she whispered. “Please leave.”

Finnick swallowed, he would never leave her like this, still exhausted and jumpy. Even with her whole family here with her, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight until he knew for certain that she would be safe. He loved her too much to leave when she felt like this. “Are you okay?”

“No,” she said, “No I’m not I-” she looked behind her, her eyes locked on the same part of the wall. Finnick stared at her for a few moments before realizing she wasn't pulling herself out of it.

“Annie?”

She snapped back to him and ran a hand down her face, “Shit,” she whispered, then looked back at him. “No I'm not okay, but you-“ she frowned, “You’re being confusing again.”

Finncik ducked his head, he struggled to speak. “What do you mean?”

“You left,” her voice was broken and so sad, “If you can’t be my friend- if you can’t be around me, I can handle that. I’ll come to terms with it eventually but Finnick,” she glanced between his eyes, Finnick avoided her face. “You don’t get to show up like this, like nothing happened. You can't choose when you get to be a part of my life.”

Finnick kept his eyes on the floor, he couldn't look at her. He felt pressure build up in his face, “I know, I’m sorry. But I couldn't have just said no,” he looked up, “I wouldn't refuse to help you.”

Annie’s face was set, she was stubborn, more stubborn than he was. “Then next time I’ll tell my family to leave you alone.”

“I don’t- No I don't want that. Annie I want to help you.”

“You don't get both,” she snapped and more and more anger grew on her face. “This?” she waved between them, “Sucks. This is unbearable, and I know-.” Then, her voice broke, and it was as if the anger was never there. She blinked, and even in the dim light Finnick could see tears gloss over her eyes. “I know it's awful and I know it's worse for you,” she whispered, “So if you need space, then have it. Please, I want you to do what's best for yourself. But it's too much for me to have you come in and help me at my worst just to leave again.”

Finnick couldn't speak, he made no attempt at it. He knew, if he opened his mouth, he would start crying with her. The best he could do was not fall apart. It was never particularly hard for Finnick to put on a brave face. To act strong when he felt weak. Most of his life now, was spent behaving the way he knew people wanted him to. It was never hard for Finnick to stay calm and steady, to be an anchor.

There was just something about Annie that made him weak. She chipped away at him, left him raw and vulnerable.

“Not being with you is awful,” she admitted, “But I understand, at least I understand why you made your choice. I’m not mad at you.”

Something heavy lifted off Finnick’s chest, and it was replaced with something that gave him chills. Cold to the bone, her words struck him.

“I have to do what is best for me, Finnick. My memory is- splotchy at best. I have to sit down at the end of the day and go over every event dozens of times just for it to make sense,” the tears in her eyes finally fell when she blinked. She sniffed and rubbed them away, “Having you here- suddenly like nothing happened- and then leaving again,” she shook her head, “Go, I need you to go.”

“No.” The word was pulled out of him, it landed weakly in the space between them. He had no idea what else to say. He couldn't leave her. He didn't have the strength to leave her. Once was enough, once was too much. He couldn’t do it again, not like this, not while she was still pale and crying.

Finnick was drawn to her, if let himself move, he would close the distance between them. He would grab her and not let go. It took the rest of his willpower not to.

She breathed, “Then you have to stay.”

He waited for her to explain, and because she knew him so well, she did. “If you won’t leave, you have to stay,” more tears made it down her face. “No- running away in the morning. Or changing your mind when I’m better. If you're staying, you're staying for good. And if-” her tears were fighting her, and winning in every crack of her voice. “And if you can't promise me that, then you need to leave. I can’t keep losing you, so-so only stay if you mean it.”

“I’ll stay,” he didn’t take the time to think about how much he meant it. How desperate he was to provide her comfort. How unwilling he was to break her heart again. “I’ll stay.”

Annie shifted, and only lasted a few seconds before her crying overwhelmed her. Her throat was shot from before, and her energy had been completely drained out of her. She couldn't cry loud and broken, her body couldn't shake and rock with the weight of sobbing. She was too tired for that. Instead, Annie placed her head in her hands and wept.

Finnick startled at the movement, he was sure she'd be too exhausted for anything else. He half expected her to fall over, pass out on the floor. She didn't. Annie sat, and cried, her hands in her hair.

Finnick couldn't stand to watch, he had agreed to stay, and that was what he was going to do. Finnick moved to her, finally closing what was between them. Then, he moved again. He placed a gentle hand on Annie's head and pushed her to his shoulder. Annie went without resisting.

She rested her forehead on his collarbone, she kept her arms wrapped around herself, bunching up her sweater.

His sweater, the one he gave back to her. He put his hands on Annie's back, and rubbed the familiar material. She hadn't known he would see her tonight, she was wearing it, just because she could. The feeling it dug up in Finnick was too confusing, so he pushed it back down.

A few lifetimes ago, Finnick had kissed her head before she fell asleep. Finnick remembered how it eased her tension, how she melted into him.

Not for his own comfort or desire, Finnick did it again. He could feel Annie's wet eyelashes through his shirt. He could feel how her body shook and saw how tight her fingers held onto herself. Her crying was gentle, only because she was worn out. Her throat was likely in pain.

Finnick kissed her head and Annie leaned further into him. She sniffed and breathed, her shoulders jerking up when she had to catch her breath. Finnick held onto her, he rested his cheek on the top of her head. Her hair tickled and scratched his jaw, Finnick did not move it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her, he held onto her tighter.

Annie said nothing back.

“I’m so sorry Annie,” this time, the kiss on her head was only for him.

Finnick was prepared to spend the rest of the night like this, and he would have, if Annie asked him to.

Time passed slowly, the minutes bled into each other. Annie finally lost the strength to keep crying, the only thing she could produce was the occasional sniff or shutter. That too, passed. Leaving them in silence. Annie leaned heavier and heavier on Finnick as her exhaustion caught up to her.

Finnick waited a few more minutes to stir her. He made sure that she was really done crying, that she didn't need to sit any longer. When he was sure that her shaking stopped, he pulled back, “Annie?”

She blinked up at him, if Finnick waited any longer, she would have been asleep.

Finnick smiled. It was different, smiling at Annie, smiling with Annie. It made every other expression of joy feel dull in comparison. That every laugh or quirk of his lips might as well have been a flashy Capitol grin. Annie managed to pull something completely different out of him. Something real and tender.

“You should lay down, and trouble check you didn't accidentally hurt yourself.”

Annie looked over her shoulder at her bed, a small knot formed in between her brows. “I bit Simon,” if her voice was hoarse before, it was almost gone now. Finnick had to strain to hear her.

“I’ll go check on him,” he went to pull back and stand up, when Annie grabbed him. She grabbed him as if the second they were no longer touching he would disappear for good. Her eyes grew wide again, and she stopped breathing.

“You said you wouldn't leave,” even her desperation could not put more volume in her voice.

Finnick leaned back, he held onto her arms and rubbed his thumbs on her shoulders. “I was just going down stairs,” Finnick assured her, “I’ll be right back.”

“Right back,” she repeated.

Finnick nodded, “Make sure you're not hurt, get into bed. I’ll bring you water.”

Her grip on him did not relax for a few more moments. Her eyes pierced into his, and Finnick watched as she slowly processed then accepted what he was saying. She blinked, “Okay.” Her hands were shaking as she unhooked them from his arms.

Finnick helped her to her bed, Annie sat and began to rub her wrists. Finnick winced, “Sorry,” he said. Annie glanced up at him, then back down to her hands.

“You’re coming back? You promised,” she whispered.

“Yes, I’m coming back.”

“And you'll stay?”

It took Finnick a moment to respond, because he wasn't sure how much he had meant it. He couldn't deprive her of one more thing. He couldn't say no to her when she was about to break. But he didn’t know if he could do it. Finnick swallowed, “I’ll stay.”

Annie said nothing else.

Finnick was quick about his trip downstairs. Annie’s family had moved to the living room, her mother was dozing off on her father’s shoulder. Her three brothers were standing behind the couch talking in quiet voices. Finnick froze on the stairs when they all looked up at him.

Simon was the first to move, Finnick noted that the wrapping was finished on his arm. “How is she?” he asked and followed Finnick into the kitchen.

“Exhausted, probably,” Finnick paused. If he was going to leave, the sooner the better. Annie would be angry, heartbroken, no matter when he left. He had to make up his mind. He glanced at Simon, who was still looking at him. He couldn't think about it. “Is it alright if I stay the night?”

Simon opened his mouth, then closed it. He nodded, “Sorry again, that we bothered you. It's just- she’s said that you're good at helping her. And when I realized she was getting violent…” he gestured to his arm.

Finnick found a cup and filled it with water. In the Capitol, sinks could produce hot or cold water just from being turned on. In Four, running water was rare. On occasion, most often years that Four had a victor, water would come out of sinks and showers a few times a week. Even then, the water could be dirty or cloudy, so most used boiled and sterilized seawater for their needs. In Victory houses and the Justice building, running water could be depended on. Though it took a few minutes to reach any significant temperature.

“No, I’m glad. The more people to help her the better.”

“She was screaming,” Simon said, he was frowning.

Finnick nodded, Annie used to scream a lot, the first six months out of the arena being the worst. “She’s feeling better now.”

Simon cleared his throat, “Well, thank you. I’m glad she's okay.”

“Me too.”

Finnick woke up to the feeling of a body against his, and he almost jumped out of bed. He breathed in, and was flooded with the scent of Annie. Salt air, vanilla lotion from a vendor she always tipped, coconut oil for the ends of her hair. He relaxed, and remembered where he was. Finnick sat up, and rubbed his eyes, trying to recall the memories of the night before.

Annie had washed the blood out of her mouth, and was laying down when Finnick came up stairs with her water. Finnick sat at the foot of her bed, and watched her tremble for a while. She made him double check every inch of the room. To make sure it was free of blood or someone who was waiting for her guard to go down. Finnick did a dozen or so sweeps of the room before she stopped asking.

Even then, her shaking didn't stop. Finnick rubbed her leg, and looked out the window until he could feel Annie still beside him.

She said she would apologize to her family, and specifically Simon, in the morning. Finnick nodded, and told her what he knew to be true: They didn't understand her like they used to, but they loved her all the same. She was forgiven already.

Finnick wasn't sure when he fell asleep, or how he had ended up with his back pressed against Annies, but it had happened. The rise and fall of her breathing rolled through her and onto him. He had fallen asleep above the covers.

Now sitting up, he could barely make her out in the dark, the sun had not risen yet. The air in the room was warm and heavy. It laid on them, and Finnick thought about opening the window.

Opening the window would mean crawling back into Annie's bed after.

Suddenly, his thoughts were clear. It was bad enough he had fallen asleep next to her, it was bad enough he had gone to her to begin with. He couldn't do this to her, he couldn't do this to himself. He had proven that he did not have the self control to be her friend, he had tried to kiss her.

It would hurt her, kill her, shatter her heart, but Finnick had to leave. Didn’t he?

And maybe it was a good thing. If Annie hated him, forbade him from ever entering her house again, refused to look him in the eye, she'd be safe. Maybe that was for the best. All he had to do was destroy the trust between them.

Break one more promise he had made to her.

He was still trying to decide if he should get up, when she stirred.

Annie, his lighthouse, made it impossible for him to move. His eyes and body were drawn to her, he stilled.

She looked over at him, and Finnick couldn't help but frown. Her hair was tangled from her sleep, the pattern of her pillow case etched into her cheek. She smiled at him, when their eyes met.

“You stayed,” her voice was weak, no louder than a whisper.

Finnick cringed, guilt built in his stomach. He kept himself from reaching over to her, brushing the hair out of her face. This couldn't happen, the fall out was inevitable, Finnick was going to break her again. He was going to hurt her, again. He had promised her and he knew that he couldn't keep his word. “I did.” Was all he could say.

Annie sat up, and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. He sat in silence as he watched her move through each motion. She drank the whole glass of water, and winced from the pain it brought to her raw throat. Time passed slowly, both of them sitting in silence, they didn't touch.

The dark blue sky grew a shade lighter.

“I should go,” Finnick whispered.

Annie looked at him, she stared for a moment before shaking her head. “We should talk,” Annie mumbled, her voice still hoarse. She looked out to the window, Finnick followed her eyes. The sun was beginning to make its way into the sky.

The house would be up soon, Annie’s family would be up soon, and they would run out of privacy. Finnick sighed, it would be better to get it over with. To leave now and not say anything, but it was what Annie wanted, so Finnick agreed.

It took Annie a moment to find sandals that would fit Finnick, and Finnick was sure they weren't hers to begin with. He put them on without question.

They were on the beach again.

Annie was looking out at the ocean, there were no clouds in her eyes. It was cold out, Annie gave him back his sweater, and replaced her layer with a thick woolen cardigan.

The sun hit them from behind, the whole sky was turning blue. With the light, Finnick got a better look at Annie. Annie’s face was red, from the chill in the air and her sobbing from the previous night. The redness made her eyes look more green, her hands were in the ends of her hair, combing through the tangles. Finnick, even in his fondest memories, could not replicate what it was like to just be next to her. To see her with his own eyes, to know she was close to him.

He was exhausted, and before all this, he would have asked to hold her hand and take a short walk on the beach.

His body hurt, his eyes hurt, he could not find the words to form what he needed to say. There was a chill, it rippled across the waves. Annie closed her eyes and breathed in.

She turned to him, “So?”

Finnick could have burst into tears, “I’m sorry.”

She nodded, “I know, I am too,” Her voice was ragged.

That was all the words they had for a while. Finnick wasn't sure why she was sorry, but he couldn't find it in him to ask. He had to be a bigger coward than he thought, because Annie broke the silence again, “Did you think about me, when we weren’t together?”

Finnick reminded himself to be real with her, tell her the truth. He knew his honesty was going to tear them apart, he also knew it was what Annie deserved. “You’re all I think about.”

Annie blushed at that, at least, Finnick was pretty sure that was what she was doing. And he was pretty sure she had done it before. Annie swallowed, Finnick watched as it bobbed down her throat. “You stayed,” she reminded him, “Are you going to keep your word?”

The dread that had been dripping in Finnicks stomach pooled, it hurt, he placed a hand on his stomach. “Annie,” he started, and lost his words. “You know I can’t.”

Annie squeezed her eyes shut, her jaw tensed, her hands fell from her hair. Instead of yelling, which Finnick could tell she was trying not to do, her voice came out in a whisper, “Why not?”

“I don’t want you to die Annie,” he loved her. He loved her so much it was an ache in his chest, he dragged it with him from moment to moment. It kept him alive, pumped oxygen into his chest, and kept him from collapsing.

“I’m not afraid of dying,” she said, he knew if her voice was any stronger, she would sound sure of herself. Now, she sounded weak.

“I’m afraid of losing you,” what would he do with himself? At the very least, if they parted ways, he would know she was down the street. He would know that she could move on, be happy. Even if it left him with nothing.

Annie looked at him, “We can’t be friends?”

Finnick considered it again, “We could try I just-” he just had to remind himself constantly to not kiss her, to not touch her. Finnick had no self control. It disgusted him, made him feel sick. He hated how he looked at her, how he wanted her.

“No,” Annie shook her head, “No I don’t think I could do it either.” She looked at her hands for a while, traced her arms up to her shoulders, and held herself. It reminded Finnick that Annie liked him too.

“I’m sorry,” Finnick said again, he would say it as many times as she bothered to hear it.

Annie had to swallow again before she spoke, “My family would be safe, so would yours.”

Finnick shook his head, “It's not about them, it's about you,” his own voice was tired from sleep. He realized that it had been awhile since he had slept through a full night.

“That's my decision to make,” the more she talked, the stronger her voice became, though it still cracked at the edges.

“You have no idea what you would be agreeing to.” If she wasn't killed immediately, there were much worse things that could happen to her. There were worse ways to lose her. Finnick had seen every inch of the Capitals' depravity, and he knew every edge Snow was willing to line.

“That's my decision to make,” she said again and turned to him. She was begging now, he could hear it in her voice. It terrified him, he hated the idea of her begging him for anything.

“Annie- I’m sorry. We can't keep doing this- we're going in circles.”

She glared slightly at him, “You're going in circles, I want to figure something out.”

Maybe, a different day, her stubbornness would have made him smile. “I have figured it out, and what's best for us, both of us, is going our own ways.” The sky became more blue, and in the distance, seagulls began to wake up.

Annie's frown deepened, her brows pinched. She looked him in the eyes, her gaze so intense it didn't allow him to look away. “That's what you think is best for me, you're not considering yourself at all.”

If Finnick was not so heartbroken, guilty, and sad, he would have rolled his eyes at her. “I can't lose you.”

“You won't.”

“Yes-” his voice was loud, both of them stepped away from it, “Yes I will. Dead or not- the things that could happen to you-”

“Like being sold?”

Finnick finally pulled away from her eyes, he took another step back and covered himself with his arms like she had hit his chest. On the edges of his vision, he could tell she regretted what she said. He could tell she was biting her cheek.

She didn't take it back.

“That's the worst of it, right?” she asked, much softer than her tone before.

“You have no idea-” Finnick began, and he wasn't sure she could hear him.

“That's my decision, I can make my own decisions.”

“But you don't have to,” Finnick looked back up. Her words left an ugly wound somewhere between his stomach and his heart. “I can keep you from ever having to make that choice.”

“You don't need to Finnick. I am not your responsibility.”

“I don't need to, I want to. Annie, I could never be so selfish.”

She pointed at him, her eyes widened slightly, “There it is again!” her voice cracked, “Selfish. You can't do one selfish thing for yourself.”

“Not if it means putting you in danger.”

“Finnick,” she was exasperated now. Finnick knew for a fact, that she had ran this argument with him over and over in her head. “My victory, my tour, being your friend. All of that has put me in a bad place. If he thought I was valuable in- that way- it would have happened already.”

Finnick shook his head, he didn't know how to explain it to her. He didn't know how to tell her she was wrong. “Annie,” he whispered, and took a step towards her. He needed her to listen, to understand where he came from. “If anything happened to you, it would break my heart.”

“Then call it even,” still, her brows were furrowed, her voice had hardened. “You've broken my heart at least twice in the past month.”

Somehow, against his own will, her words made his lips twitch. He looked away, he didn't want her to know it made him smile, even if the smile was sad and torn.

“You deserve good things,” Annie said, “And you deserve to be selfish, to have something you want. I’m worried-” she swallowed and Finnick looked up to see that tears had formed in her eyes. “I’m worried about you,” her voice gave out and came back weak, “You're dying.”

Finnick frowned, confused. The sun continued to grow in the sky.

“Not now, but when you come back,” her hand lifted a little, Finnick’s eyes glanced down to it. She pulled back, “When you come back, it takes you a while to be yourself again. And I’m scared for you, I’m scared that if you don't do things for yourself it's going to kill you.” She whispered.

“It won’t,” he said. Annie had no idea how close it had gotten to killing him. How he pulled himself out of bed every morning and lived only hour by hour for years. He stayed alive, and his family stayed alive.

The worst time of his life, until he met Annie.

Would he go back to all of that, without her? Would he regress, back to the shell he was before? And hadn't he already? Just a few days, a few weeks without her, he felt worse than he had in months.

She blinked, and the tears in her eyes were more clear than before. “I’ve made up my mind, Finnick. Whatever happens, it's worth it, to be with you. To be a part of your life. To-to wake up and know you'll be there. Even if that makes my future unsure.” She blinked, and finally a tear went down her face. She smiled at him, the glare in her eyes gone. “I told you, I’m sick of waiting. I want to live.”

Finnick looked away, he could feel his own tears growing. He wanted to break down, tell her how much he wanted to live too. How much he wanted to live with her. His chest grew tighter and tighter with each passing moment.

“What do you want Finnick?”

She knew the answer, he had told her already.

He faced the ocean, and let the salt in the air cool off his face. He could feel pressure build up behind his head, he knew he would start crying, so he closed his eyes. “Annie,” he trailed off. His chest was aching now.

“What do you want, Finnick?”

He gasped for breath, “I want you alive.”

“I am alive, and I will be. Whatever happens after that, is up to me. I’ve made up my mind.”

Annie Cresta was stubborn. He knew any argument they could have was over before it began. Annie would not take no for an answer.

He squeezed his eyes shut, he was worried that if he looked at her, it would remind him how beautiful she was.

“What do you want with your life, Finnick? What do you want for yourself?”

Even through his shut eyes, FInnick couldn't keep the tears in. They slipped past his eyelashes and down his face. His heart was pounding against his ribs, his heart was too big, it was pinching where it sat in his body.

“Finnick-”

“You,” he breathed, and finally his eyes opened. He was met with the sight of the beach, another wave lapped over the dark sand. He could see the edges of Annie's feet, and he knew she was staring at him. He looked back to her. “I want you.” She knew that, he had told her before.

They were both crying now, Annie was no longer smiling. Her face was set, hard and sure. When she blinked, more tears fell. Finnick wasn't sure how Annie had enough water in her body to cry again. How she had enough strength to stand her ground after the night before.

“Okay,” Annie said, she nodded, “Then do something about it.”

“I can’t,” his voice broke. How could he do something to her that he knew could hurt her?

A thought crept into his mind. Did he know that? Was he certain that being with her would put her in danger? Or was he just scared?

“Yes, you can. Do something about it, Finnick. Do something just because you want to.”

Just because he wanted to, he had no idea where to begin with that.

Finnick stared at her, his own tears were salty in his mouth. Beautiful, did not begin to describe her. Now that Finnick was looking at her, he worried he would never be able to look away.

His thoughts weighed on him, and he was certain he would start sinking to the ground. That he was so heavy the sand would swallow him whole. He had been sure that every path led to Annie's pain. Staying, or leaving, something awful would happen. How could he be with her, knowing it would ruin her life? How could he leave her again, knowing it would break her heart?

How could he know her fate? The only thing he knew for sure was that leaving would destroy her, and Annie had made up her mind. She chose what she wanted, she had seen the kind of pain she might be subjecting herself too. If it scared her too bad, she wouldn't be asking.

Did she know what she was asking for?

“If you really do want this- want me- then do something,” Annie said. It was as soft as she had spoken when she woke up and uttered his name, “Kiss me.”

Finnick took a step back, and he could see in her eyes that she was not going to let him run away this time. She'd chase him. He took another step back, she shifted.

“Kiss me.”

He couldn't.

“Kiss me,” the subtle beg was back in her voice.

Could he? Could he abandon what he had spent the last two years doing, keeping her safe by giving every inch of himself away?

Could he trust that she knew what she was getting herself into?

Could he accept that he didn’t know for certain what was going to happen?

Could he risk making her happy now, just for a moment, instead of breaking her heart preemptively when he might not have to?

Could he be selfish?

“Finnick, kiss me.”

He did.

The ocean did not discriminate between the rocks on a beach and a boat in its depths. It's waves crashed against the surface all the same. Finnick, took a step forward, to be in arms reach of her, then he took another. It took less than a second; he placed his hand on her shoulder, the other on her waist. Low on her side, where her one pajama set showed skin when she raised her arms.

Hard, heavy, he kissed her. He crashed into her.

It only took Annie a moment to adjust, to reel back from the shock, before she kissed him back. She pushed into him, Finnick felt her hands in his hair, on his shoulders, on his neck. As if she couldn’t decide where to put them, touching him like she’d forgotten what he felt like. Annie shifted, and stood on the tops of her toes, pressing in further.

Finnick pulled back, only for air before he went back in. This time, they went softer.

Annie’s hands settled on either side of his face, Finnick moved both his hands to rest on her hips. They did not push or pull on the other, saving the moment in its gentleness. Annie’s lips were soft and chapped. She was warm, even in the cool morning air. Her hands kept him in place. The tip of her nose pushed into his cheek, and the sensation made Finnick smile.

All over, the chill of the day left Finnick. Goosebumps trailed up his arms and left him feeling like he was floating, the hair on his body rose. His skin tingled and buzzed, warmth seeped through him. It swept through him, and curled in his stomach.

Finnick held the kiss as long as he could, ready to run out of air. It was Annie who pulled back, she had to sniff. Tears were still coming from her eyes. Finnick blinked, and realized he was still crying too.

He reached up, in between her arms, and wiped the tears off of her face. “I’m sorry,” he tried to say, but his voice squeaked.

Annie shook her head, with her hands already on his face, it was easy for her to dry his tears. She sniffed again, “I’m sorry.”

“No-no don’t be.” Finnick’s throat was swelling. He wanted to kiss her again already. Every inch of him buzzed, he had no idea what to do with the energy she had put into him.

Annie’s face shifted, her eyes widened and her hands came off of him, “I shouldn’t have asked you like that- You don’t have to- if you don’t want-”

“Woah, it is far too late to change your mind now.”

For the first time in a while, they both laughed.

Finnick titled his head back, to sniff so Annie couldn't see any snot. He was still smiling when he looked back down, “It’s okay,” he whispered, and meant it. Annie’s hands went back to his face, she was rubbing her thumbs into his cheeks. Her worry eased. Finnick was far more worried about Annie forgiving him than anything else.

Annie nodded, the furrow in her brow still present.

Finnick pulled her in closer, so her chest was against his. She made no complaint to the movement, giving his eyes one more wipe before she hooked her wrists around his neck. She leaned into him, a silent show of trust. Finnick wouldn't let her fall.

Finnick took a deep breath, “If you die,” he whispered, “It's not my fault.” He placed his hands on her back, and hugged her tighter.

Annie nodded, “I won't hold it against you.”

Annie tilted her head to rest her chin on his shoulder, Finnick held her close. Pushing her into him and putting his nose into her hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his lips touching the top of her ear. He would be sorry for the rest of his life.

“I don’t care,” she whispered, “Let's just stay like this.”

Finnick couldn't deny her anything else. So he nodded, and kissed the side of her head.

Until the sky had faded into yellow, then back to its normal blue, they stayed on the shore, rocking in each other's arms. Annie moved her arms so she could rest her cheek on his chest, Finnick rubbed her back. Annie squeezed him.

Once, Finnick almost pulled away, and tried to change his mind. It kept hitting him, what he had done, and who he had done it too. Then Annie would shift, he would feel her breath on him. He remembered the taste of her, the feeling of her lips, the smell of her skin, and he was too weak to pull back. Whatever he had done, it was too late.

Finnicks legs began to grow tired, his arms stiff. He tapped her shoulder and pulled back.

Annie looked at him, piercing green eyes, a red flush to her face. Some of it was from crying, some from the growing cold in the air. But some, Finnick knew was there because of him. His own face heated up at the thought. Her hair was a mess down her back, her cardigan soft under his fingers.

Selfish, Annie had asked him to be selfish.

“Can we-” he bit his tongue. He cursed himself, he hadn't even considered how bad he would be at all of this. He suddenly felt like he couldn’t find his footing, flailing in open water.

If he wasn’t red before, he was now. He could feel it burning up his neck and ears. He looked away.

Annies hand found his jaw, and she tilted his face back to her. “We can go slow,” she whispered. He nodded, unable to form the question he wanted to ask in his mouth.

Annie leaned closer to him, and paused, waiting for him to fill in the space between them. Her hand was steady on his face, but it did not demand that he move.

Finnick breathed, and kissed her again.