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Katniss woke screaming.

Her front door was open. She slept in the room on the ground floor of a modest two-storey house made of wood. Finnick kept his footfalls loud as he crossed the threshold and dove toward her bed, standing by her bedside as she tossed and turned as violently as the sea.

"It’s okay," he whispered hurriedly. She pinched her brows. Dropping onto the edge of her bed, Finnick held his hands out. He didn’t touch her; he let them hover like wings. "Katniss, it’s okay."

She sensed him near without needing to touch her. She smacked his forearms as sharply as two arrows and she shot up beneath the thin sheet. Her hair stuck to her temple. Her wild eyes looked right through him as they darted across the darkened room. Briefly, he regretted not turning the lamp on.

But when she returned her gaze to him after cataloguing everything in the room—the wooden clock on the vanity, the mirror with the deep scratch in the right-hand corner, and the fish he’d painted on the wall to show her there was something fishy about her belongings—Katniss exhaled heavily. Her shoulders sagged. The fight slipped off of her like water. She almost collapsed back against the bed, but she swayed forward.

"Finnick?" She furrowed her brows tightly together as she carded knotted and damp hair away from her face. "What are you doing here?"

"I was at Haymitch’s," he said with an easy lift of his shoulder.

She exhaled again, closing her eyes this time. No further explanation needed. He was at Haymitch’s to avoid his nightmares while she stubbornly tried to face hers. She scrunched her hand into a tight ball. She was reciting her list quietly in her head, the list that contained all the good things he allegedly did. Finnick never thought to ask for the list so he could correct it. There shouldn’t be anything on it.

Katniss wet her lips and swallowed thickly, and when she spoke again, her voice was still tight and quiet. "Was I that loud?"

Finnick scrunched his face in consolation. He’d made a promise not to lie to her or risk an arrow in the back for his treachery.

"Fuck." She palmed her forehead and breathed heavily against the inside of her wrist.

"Hey, it’s okay," he said, sliding his hands between his thighs. He didn’t reach out to her. Wouldn’t. Katniss needed to pull herself together by herself. She didn’t need him to tie her loose, fraying ends together. "I’m a lot louder."

Katniss made a strangled noise before she laughed softly. "Of course, you outdo me."

When she peered up at him from the cradle of her wrist, he shrugged. "It’s what I do."

"I’m going to be okay, Finnick," she murmured, keeping her head tilted as she watched him. Despite how she stubbornly held his gaze, he knew that wasn’t the truth. She hadn’t been fine. It was impossible to be after every single game they’d been forced to play, and now they were playing the worst one. "Trust me. You can go home."

He couldn’t go home.

Finnick inhaled deeply and let his shoulders rise. He nodded. "You know where to find me."

Not at home. He hadn’t been home in over two years.

He used to wake to the sound of waves crashing against the shore. The seagulls would greet him as he stretched his arms high above his head and felt sand press against the bare skin of his toes. District 4’s Victor’s Village was everything he had dreamed it to be when he was thirteen years old and enamoured by the Games. It was everything he had wanted and more when he won.

But the house was quiet and transformed quickly into the carcass of a shipwreck lying at the bottom of the ocean. His family would never live in it as he dreamed they would. There would be pieces of them throughout the house, but he’d ensured they never left an imprint in fear it’d take the form of a trident Snow speared at him. His home at District 4’s Victor’s Village looked as serene as the prettiest painting of the beachside, but it was as empty as the dark windows the painter failed to brighten.

The Victor’s Villages had since been dismantled by the new government, taken apart like planks of wood. When Finnick had expected new buildings to be built in its stead, they’d left the Villages destroyed as a token of everything that they had lost during the war. Sometimes he wondered if it was a warning to the Victors leftover. They had been a key part in what broke Panem in two. Even though the break had been as clean as one breaking bread, it’d left crumbs behind.

His house in District 13 wasn’t by the ocean. He didn’t wake to the sound of seagulls. The ocean was close, but it wasn’t on his doorstep. Finnick had ensured not to take the house built specifically for him by the sand. Instead, he woke to the stony silence of the neighbouring woods, to the land locking him in. If he was truly unfortunate, he’d wake to her screaming.

Since the war ended, District 13 shot up from the dirt like one of Katniss’ roots. It grew while the other Districts wilted. Even when they tried their best to water them, they continued to bend until they collapsed. There was nothing a Victor could do when so many innocent lives had been lost in a war they should’ve fought with minimal casualties.

But the beach never wilted. Even though he’d seen some of the plants from the nearby park sprawl closer and closer to the edge of the sand, the beach remained vibrant. Sometimes he could fool himself into believing that this beach was his, even if it didn’t know him intimately.

Every day, they walked the beach. Haymitch never joined them. He never liked participating in any group activities, even if the group consisted of just the two of them.

"I hate sand," he’d say each and every time before curling up his lip and waving his hand dismissively. "You kids go have fun. I’m going to sit on my porch and watch the grass grow." Katniss would always smile and insist on seeing Haymitch drop into his wooden, creaking rocking chair on his front porch before she took Finnick’s hand and guided him along the dirt path to the beach.

"Sand feels weird," Katniss said. She tucked her hands into her long coat and let her hair whip around her face. She wore it loose again. Sometimes she’d braid it, but she’d never tie the end tight enough to keep it in its net.

Finnick sighed on purpose. "You say that all the time."

"And yet it still feels weird." She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes playfully. "What’s up with that?"

"Well… sand’s just the ocean’s dirt that’s dried out under the sun."

She snorted. "If that’s so, then why is it gross to walk on when wet?"

He laughed, ducking his head. "You really think I put the sand on the beach, huh?"

"Well, I did overhear you telling Haymitch that you were the 'God of the Ocean'."

This time when he sighed in exasperation, he wasn’t playing it up. He looked away from her, smiling until his cheeks hurt. The problem with Katniss Everdeen was that she remembered every single one of his drunk declarations, and she never let him forget them.

Finnick cleared his throat and determinedly stared out at the collapsing waves. It was warm, but not hot enough to toss her over his shoulder and drop her in the ocean. Crinkling his brows, he turned toward her. "Why do you say it like that?"

She cocked her brow. "Like what?"

"With the fingers." Curling his index and middle fingers together, he mimicked her air quotes. "It makes it sound like it’s not real."

"Because it’s not."

He cocked his brow. "How do you know I didn’t put the sand on the beach?"

"Did you?" Katniss cocked her brow and stepped closer to him. Finnick twisted on his foot and walked backwards, tucking his hands into the pockets of his loose pants.

He shrugged and glanced away, liking that she stepped toward him even if she didn’t realise it. "Maybe."

Katniss laughed and shook her head incredulously. She pushed him gently, her hand lingering against his bicep before she tucked it back into the soft pocket of her coat. "You’re annoying."

He righted himself and stepped toward her, laughing as she twisted and stumbled backward along the sand. It would always catch her. If she was to fall, he’d ensure that the sand would soften her fall. She deserved that.

"And you’re wonderful," he singsonged sarcastically.

She snorted. "No one would describe me like that."

"Yet, I just did."

Katniss rolled her eyes. She inhaled deeply and coughed as though the sea salt irritated her throat. Considering she was a land-locked animal that sniffed dirt without any issue, he supposed it did. "Does it feel like the ocean?"

He peered out at the water, at the familiar folds and crests and creases of it. It roared in response to declare its authenticity, even though he hadn’t seen the ocean from this angle in his entire life. Everything in District 13 felt upside down and back to front, like trying to put the left shoe on his right foot.

But the ocean was endless. It never changed, even if the sun set differently here. His ocean had found him. Even when he wished to hide from it, it slithered into his dreams and made him long for it as it called out to him.

A little too solemnly, he answered, "Yes."

Katniss hummed, loud enough for him to hear over the crashing of the waves. She peered out at the water as though she was able to see it mirror the water found on the edges of District 4. What she was searching for, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that she found something in it with the way she relaxed her shoulders.

"Does it feel like your ocean?"

Finnick licked his lips. The air tasted salty. The water gently lapped at his feet. The sand gave way beneath his weight. But it didn’t feel like the ocean at District 4. He considered lying. He considered informing her the soft sand was from District 4 and that it had clearly followed him, unable to exist without him. He thought about telling her that the ocean was always his, no matter where he was.

Instead, he answered, "No."

She turned toward him, her hair whipping across her face. He balled his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching out and brushing it away. "What can we do to make it feel like it?"

Surprised, he cocked his brow as he looked at her. She ducked her gaze, looking determinedly at the water. The waves grew louder as they folded on each other. For once, Finnick wasn’t certain what it was trying to say.

"It’s just… Well." Katniss cleared her throat again and brushed her hair roughly away from her reddening face. "You go hunting with me. I just wanted to make it feel more like home for you."

Finnick slowed. "You don’t have to do that, you know."

Katniss stopped, digging her hands into her pockets. She pushed her toes into the sand as though she expected the ocean’s breeze to whisk her away. He’d long since stopped informing her there were no roots to be found beneath the sand, only Katniss-eating crabs. "But I want to. You’re my friend, Finnick."

He stared at her. Katniss dropped her gaze briefly to somewhere near his chin, but she looked up at him and held his gaze stubbornly. Her lips parted before she brushed her rebellious strand of hair away from her face. She’d let it grow out again. In the stillness of the woods, it reached almost to her hip.

As he thought he needed to cut it again, he looked away. The sea foam was calling to him, but Finnick didn’t heed it. He stopped swimming in the ocean before the Quarter Quell.

"You’d look like a drowned rat in the water," he opted for.

She smiled softly, although he felt she was dismayed at his answer. "At least you’d be there to save me, right? One day we should go back."

Any quip he could offer her died before he even tried to plant the seed. He narrowed his eyes as he squinted out at the water. "Why?"

She shrugged. Katniss continued to walk, letting the sea breeze whip her hair across her face and into her eyes. Finnick didn’t move until she was a good distance away, and then he ran to catch up to her.

"You have so much hair," he groaned, pushing her head down so he could easily destroy the braid he’d begun to thread. Despite his complaint, he loved her hair. It was thick and long and perfect for weaving intricate, if temporary, nets. He loved it when she offered her hair for him to practice on, even though they both knew he didn’t need practice at all.

"Well, that’s what happens when your hairdresser refuses to cut it," she said. Katniss kept her head bowed as she sat in a chair in her kitchen. The sun filtered in brightly, accompanied by a gentle breeze that whipped the stray strands of her hair around his fingers.

Her hair was soft. Finnick let his fingers linger in their thickness for a few moments longer than was needed.

"I can cut it."

"And risk you cutting my ear off? Pfft. No."

"We need to set the record straight here," he chuckled. "Firstly, you moved your head. Secondly, I nipped your ear! It barely bled!"

"Because I stopped the bleeding!"

He shook his head as he began to section her hair again. This time, he’d give her a pretty fishtail braid to prove to her that even roots could weather the water. Not everything grown on land had to drown.

"I think you’re overreacting."

"You almost took my ear off!"

"Children, children," Haymitch sighed as he leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen. He had a bottle of empty liquor in his hand, the glass glistening slightly in the bright light of the room. He rolled his eyes. "Please. Shut up. I can hear you bickering all the way from the market."

"That’s an exaggeration," Finnick murmured. "You can’t even hear me when I’m beside you."

Haymitch shot him a pointed look.

"Tell him he almost cut off my ear, Haymitch!"

"Lower your head," Finnick gently commanded, pressing his fingertips to the back of her skull. Katniss obeyed, murmuring she’d like to lower his head into the water.

Haymitch chuckled. "You’ve still got both ears, don’t you?"

"Not the point," Katniss murmured sulkily.

"And you did," Haymitch continued, peering up at him. "Told you can’t trust anyone from 4 with scissors, Katniss. Not my fault you almost lost an ear for it."

"Ha!"

"Hey!" Finnick laughed. He began to gently braid her hair as he tracked Haymitch walking to the sink. He turned the tap on hard and filled the bottle with water. "I thought we had an agreement."

"Did we?" Haymitch pursed his lips before he shrugged. "Guess I had my fingers crossed."

Katniss tented her fingers in her lap. "Finnick says my hair’s too long."

"It is."

Finnick laughed.

"Do you want me to cut it for you?" Haymitch asked.

"I think I’d rather risk a crab cutting it," Katniss said. She lifted her head up, but Finnick gently pressed his fingers against her head to encourage her to remain still. "Is that a donation?"

"Sure is," Haymitch said, pouring the water inside the bottle down the drain. When it was empty, he rested the glass on the drying rack. "Can’t wait to see what shitty little ship you shove in this hole."

Finnick smiled. "You’d be surprised by what I can fit in a hole."

Katniss lifted her head and scrunched her face in disgust. "You’re supposed to be charming."

He laughed as Haymitch opened a top cupboard and grabbed the mug Katniss kept for him. It was bright red with white cracking text. #1 DAD. In their attempts to make something for one another at the end of the year, Finnick had tried to teach Katniss pottery. He’d gotten the mug to stop leaking a couple of months ago.

When Finnick silently pressed his fingers against the back of her head to encourage her to look down, Katniss asked quietly, "Does it look good?"

"What?" Haymitch asked as he turned on the sink. He filled the mug to the brim and sipped it before pouring it down the drain. It was leaking along the side.

"The braid."

"It’s okay."

Finnick chuckled. "That’s a compliment coming from him."

"Your ugly cat’s been catching mice and leaving them at my doorstep again," Haymitch groused as he put his mug on the drying rack.

"He likes you," Katniss said fondly.

"Tell him to stop."

"Where are you going?" Finnick asked.

"Got to do something for Johanna," Haymitch said as he turned at the threshold. His gaze lingered on Katniss’s upturned face before he cleared his throat and waved his hand before leaving.

Hands pausing in her hair, Finnick stared at Haymitch’s back long after he disappeared out the door. Subtlety stopped being a part of his skill set when that axe rebounded off the force field.

"Jo’s not coming here, is she?" Finnick asked. He hated how his voice sounded stressed at the idea. He cleared his throat and masked his expression in case Katniss tipped her head up to peer at him.

When Katniss didn’t respond, he paused in braiding her hair.

"Katniss."

"She’s worried about you," Katniss said, lifting her head then. He gently nudged her to return to bowing her head, wanting her to let him braid her hair as he wanted to and to keep her from looking back at him. Sometimes braiding her hair meant he could hide within the thickets she’d shown him. "And she’s lonely."

Finnick sighed. "There’s nothing to worry about."

Katniss shrugged. "If you say so."

"There isn’t."

She nodded. "Sure."

Sometimes he wondered why he even tried talking to her. Rather than break her braid and walk away as he wished to, he continued to weave her hair together, enjoying the texture between his fingers. When she let him cut her hair and style it, he often wondered if anyone else knew just how soft Katniss’ hair was. For all those hard edges she presented herself with, she could be gentle.

"Can you stop moving? You’re going to fuck up this braid again."

Katniss laughed. "Just admit you can’t braid hair, Odair!"

"Never."

When the front door quietly groaned open, Finnick didn’t glance over his shoulder. He sat on her porch, quietly watching as night fell on District 13. It looked the same as it did in 4, but the night wasn’t accompanied by the choir of waves. Crickets chirped in the distance, and he was sure a predator was rustling through the nearby woods.

Other than the predator behind him, of course.

Her footfalls were always so noisy as though she wanted to remind him that it was her behind him. Finnick never liked anyone creeping up on him.

She sat down beside him, pulling her legs up. Her hair was braided loosely and she wore the torn shorts she slept in. Looping her arms around her kneecaps, she let her thigh brush against his.

He liked her house better than his. It was near the woods, protected by trees on almost every side. It felt like hers. It smelled like her. She often walked barefoot around her property and encouraged him to follow suit. Connecting with the earth was as important to her as sand was to him. But where she complained endlessly about the way the grains of sand stuck to her feet and embedded themselves into the lifelines of her skin, he always wanted to get his feet dirtier and muddier.

She exhaled softly. "Will you teach me how to fish?"

He looked down with a smile. "I thought a hunter like yourself would know how to already."

Katniss pressed her lips together, unimpressed. District 12 wasn’t without its lakes, but still water was nothing like the unpredictable tantrums of the ocean. Katniss could tame almost anything, but the ocean was something that wasn’t meant to be tamed.

"I can hunt deer and rabbits," she said, tilting her chin up proudly. She could never resist taking the bait, even when he didn’t dangle it in front of her. Katniss turned to look at him, studying his profile. "I don’t know how to hunt for fish, Finnick."

He chuckled as he looked at her. Furrowing his brows, he teased, "So, does this mean you’re not the best hunter in all the land?"

Katniss rolled her eyes. "I said that to Haymitch."

Finnick leaned back, the wooden porch groaning beneath his weight. Sometimes he felt like it was protesting his presence, knowing that he preferred grains of sand beneath his ass rather than splinters of wood.

He nudged her gently with his elbow. "You screamed it across the fire at me."

She huffed in exasperation and pulled her legs together, clapping her knees. "I was telling that to Haymitch, Finnick. That wasn’t for you to hear."

"I was across the fire."

"Still rude to eavesdrop," she murmured. He snorted.

Looking out at the night sky, he could see it beginning to fill with little fireflies. Finnick wondered if Katniss had ever heard of the stories of how the night sky was just another forest, that the fireflies were stars that had woken up along with the moon and had fluttered down to lull the earth to sleep. It seemed like the sort of tale one would know from 12.

From the corner of his eye, he could see she was looking at him expectantly.

"So, will you?"

He lifted his brows and shook his head in feigned confusion. "Will I what?"

She rolled her eyes. "Teach me how to fish!"

"If you feel so passionately about it," he laughed.

She groaned and shoved his bicep firmly. "You’re so annoying."

"And you’re a dear," he smiled. Looping his arm around her shoulders he pulled her toward him. He ruffled her hair, purposefully trying to cause natural knots to form. While she initially tried to pull away, Katniss rested her head heavily against his shoulder. "I’ll teach you how to fish."

Finnick waited all of the next day for Katniss to set a time for her fishing lesson. He’d even gone to great lengths to try and prompt her to pick a date, cocking his brow from across his kitchen table over breakfast, asking her what she had planned for the next three days, and even going as far as inserting and emphasising the word fish into random sentences. She seemed greatly amused by how he expertly wove the word into anything. Sometimes he thought she was purposefully being obtuse to see whether he’d eventually give up.

He wouldn’t, of course. Finnick Odair enjoyed irritating Katniss Everdeen entirely too much.

Whenever Finnick was unsuccessful in baiting his snapper with a hook and line, he took to entering the water himself. Sometimes it was more efficient to catch a fish with his hands than using any other tool.

It was barely the next day when he knocked on her door at five in the morning. A friendly, loud, incessant rhythm of his knuckles. It was a song she was bound to know. She was the one who taught him the knock.

When she opened the door, she held it ajar so half her face was visible. Her right cheek was red from sleeping on her side, and her collarbones were pink, too. She regarded him with narrowed eyes and leaned her cheek against the edge of the door. "Finnick? What is it?"

"You’re not dressed," he said, pointedly looking her up and down. He smiled in delight as she narrowed her eyes in confusion. "Why aren’t you dressed?"

"For what?"

"Fishing."

She blinked blearily. "What?"

Finnick smiled big and wide, hoping it’d attract her ire. But Katniss was always so slow in the mornings. Sometimes there was no point in trying to bait her until at least lunch.

"We’re going to fish."

She stared at him, prompting him to smile wider. She was no longer eclipsed in sleep as her narrowed eyes that had originally begun as squinting against the idea of being awake sharpened into something like an arrow. Finnick liked that look a lot; he liked it most when she aimed it at him. Shaking her head, she spoke without the thickness of sleep in her tone, "We’re not fishing."

He furrowed his brows. "Why not?"

"Because it’s five in the morning."

"Which is the best time to fish."

"Says who?"

"Me."

Katniss rolled her eyes and rested the tip of her nose against the door. "Ugh."

"Were you not serious about fishing?"

"I was."

"Then I don’t see the problem here?" he noted, drawing his brows together tightly.

She sighed loud and long enough for a century to pass before she stopped. Finnick did his best not to smile. Katniss slapped her hand against her forehead. "Why do we have to do it so early?"

"Because that’s when the fish are ready to be hunted."

She stared at him as though he had grown a fish head on the side of his neck. Perhaps he had. He could’ve caught three fish by now if they hadn’t been talking. Finnick considered telling her as much, but he pocketed it for another day.

"Did they tell you this?"

He scoffed. "Obviously."

"The fish told you that they wake at five to be hunted?"

"Yes. Why is that so hard to believe?"

"There truly are no words to describe you," Katniss sighed.

"I mean, there are a couple," he said with a thoughtful frown. "'Charming.' "Charismatic.' "Incredibly handsome.'"

"Ech."

"You’re right, it’s 'devilishly handsome'."

"Please stop." Katniss banged her forehead against the side of the door. When he smiled, she sighed heavily and eyed him for a long moment. Gently shoving the door open, she turned on her foot and slowly and sloppily walked the way to her room. "Give me five minutes."

He smiled brightly and stepped inside.

Glancing over her shoulder at him, she groaned. "That wasn’t a compliment, by the way. Me not knowing how to describe you."

"Cute PJs," he said, letting his eyes linger on her flannel shorts. They weren’t the torn ones she seemed to favour every time they spent time together on his or her porch. They seemed new. The hem barely brushed against the back of her thighs, and what it did slide up against was a healed scar. "That’s a compliment."

She slammed the door of her bedroom sharply shut.

Unsurprisingly to him, Katniss was a quick learner. After two lessons, he had a bucket of fish he’d split open and prepared for an evening by the fire. Haymitch chose not to join them, deciding that last night’s antics where they constantly sniped at each other over his dinner table were enough for him.

"We’ll leave him a snapper for tomorrow," Finnick had said, wrapping one of the fish in baking paper and piling it into his freezer. Katniss had watched him diligently, keeping her eyes focused on his hands and the nimble way he had folded the fish neatly into its package.

Katniss prepared the bonfire in his backyard, pulling out old and creaky lawn chairs and cleaning the plates and forks. She’d prepared the bread in her house, allegedly making it from scratch. Although Finnick knew better than anyone that she had taken Peeta Mellark’s baking lessons to heart, he liked to remind her constantly her bread tasted like coal.

"Yours is coal," Katniss said as he cooked the fish over the fire. "Especially made."

"A woman after my own heart," he smirked. Finnick leaned back in his lawn chair, smiling as it creaked beneath him. He liked that it was imperfect. Well-worn, clearly falling apart. The Capitol refused to let anything grow old. Everything was fresh and bright and fixed, fixed, fixed. Even now, after everything, it still insisted on being pristine and perfect. If it showed a flaw, then it showed their complicity in the war memorials lining the streets.

Katniss bowed forward, never quite one to relax back on her chair. Sometimes he wondered if she simply didn’t trust it. After winning the chairs in a game of poker against Haymitch, she’d never seemed to relax. It could’ve had something to do with Haymitch’s promise that his favourite lawn chairs would collapse under her cheating ass.

She picked at the grass, digging it out so she’d pull the roots free, too. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

Dropping the grass onto the ground, she reached for the two beers she’d lugged from her place. She struggled to twist it open, but Finnick didn’t offer to help. Katniss liked this part the most in their bonfire ritual.

"Who taught you to fish?" she asked, looking at him.

His throat tightened. Finnick glanced at the flames, gaze unfocusing before he pulled himself back. He promised to remain present with Katniss. He’d never let himself drift. She’d refuse to let him.

"Mags," he said quietly. Disliking the croak in his voice, he cleared his throat gently.

Katniss nodded as if she expected that answer. She looked down and, after struggling with twisting the bottle open, smiled when it gasped. She tossed the metal cap onto the ground and held out the beer for him.

"Who taught you to build a fire?"

"Gale," she said. Katniss didn’t look at him as she twisted her beer open and took a swig,

Finnick held his, liking how cold it was compared to the fire’s warmth kissing his face. "Mags taught me how to do that, too. Build a fire." Katniss glanced at him and smiled a small smile. "A lot of things remind me of her."

"Same," she said. "And of Gale."

He smiled at that. Even though Gale wasn’t a name he heard much, he liked that she let herself speak of him now and with him. He gestured with his beer bottle toward her. "She liked you, you know."

Katniss cocked her brow in surprise. "She did?"

He laughed lightly. "Why do you sound so surprised?"

"I don’t know…" Katniss shrugged before she let herself fall back into her chair. "I guess I just didn’t think I made an impression on her."

Finnick snorted and took a swig of his beer.

"What?" she asked, laughing self-consciously. Her cheeks were pink; he didn’t want to blame the fire. "It’s true!"

"That’s where you’re mistaken. All you need is a few seconds to make an impact. Just a few."

"Okay." Katniss tilted her chin upward as she regarded him pointedly. "What was your first impression of me?"

"That you weren’t on fire."

She rolled her eyes. "Take my question seriously for once, Odair."

He chuckled and bowed his head. Taking a small drink of his beer, he smacked his lips as he stared into the fire. When he had watched Katniss’ Game, he had felt pity for her. He felt pity for them all. Whoever won would be damned to a life that Finnick knew all too intimately. Once he’d been exposed to the real truth behind what it meant to win the Hunger Games, Finnick pitied every single Tribute who entered the Arena. He resented each one that didn’t make it, even though he felt relief when they died. It was the Victor he pitied the most.

"I felt sorry for you," he said, glancing at her. Katniss’ smile was gone. Instead, she was looking at him intently. She sometimes did that when she didn’t think he was looking. "Not only was your win unique, but you were in a precarious position. No one deserved that."

She shrugged. "I made a choice."

"I know," he said quietly. Katniss watched the fire, her expression clouding. He didn’t want her to disappear on him, either. "Despite the pity, I also admired you."

"You did?" she asked, furrowing her brows.

He nodded. "You had guts. To defy the Games rules like that…" He sucked on his teeth. "There have been Tributes who have fallen and Victors who have survived that did that. Not too many. A lot of Tributes are either too scared of the Games or idolise them too much."

Katniss leaned her elbow against the chair’s armrest. "Which one were you?"

"I admired them," he said. He swallowed thickly and felt defensiveness burn hot in his gut, even though all she did was simply look at him. "You have to understand that in 4, you saw it as a privilege to be selected. It’s all you’re trained to do. There are the basic life skills every person learns—how to fish, swim, and cook what you find, especially in water—but you pray every day to be Reaped."

"Did you?" she asked quietly.

He shrugged. "I wanted it, but I didn’t pray for it. My brother did."

"Is that why you’re not speaking to them?" At the tilt of his head, she continued, "Your family."

He shook his head and leaned forward, the chair squeaking beneath him. He wasn’t sure if it was protesting his answer. "No."

"Then why?"

He licked his lips and turned the fish over in the flame. He lingered pretending that he needed to adjust the fish so that it’d cook precisely. The flame was hot enough to burn through the scales. "Because I don’t know if I can face them."

When he glanced up at her, she was watching him intently. Her brows were slightly pinched, but he thought he could see understanding in her gaze.

"They didn’t know," she murmured, "not until the propo." She didn’t sound surprised. Finnick was, after all, the best secret keeper in all of Panem. Even his secrets were interwoven tightly into the intricate net he kept.

He shook his head and remained leaning forward. Tilting his gaze to the fire, he sighed. "No."

"I’m sure they’d understand, Finnick…"

"That’s the problem," he said, gritting his teeth. He leaned back in his chair, not wanting to be too close to the flame. He’d been burned one too many times, even though he knew that the Girl on Fire would never singe even a strand of hair on his head. "I don’t want them to understand."

She furrowed her brows tightly. "Why not?"

"Because them understanding means that I made the right decision, and I don’t want that."

"So you’d rather their derision?"

"It’d be easier," he said, shrugging. It was a pathetic answer that would’ve left him tied up in knots if it was true. "To know that they hated me for it."

She narrowed her eyes as she regarded him incredulously. "How could anyone hate you for surviving? I doubt anyone could hate you."

He ignored the heat that burst in his chest at that. Finnick sucked on his teeth and raised the beer to his lips. He didn’t take a sip. "Easily. I hate me for surviving."

Katniss sighed deeply as she watched him. While she would never burn him, her gaze did. He stubbornly stared at the fire, refusing to so much as glance at her. What would he see if he did? Pity? No, Katniss never pitied him. She always understood, even when she didn’t have the experience. She had a capacity for empathy that even Haymitch had overlooked in favour of Peeta.

Katniss understood what it was like to look in the mirror and hate the person looking back. Panem admired imposters.

Someone was shaking him awake.

Finnick surfaced quickly and pushed her away, propping himself up on his elbow as he panted. Twisting away from her, he brushed his hand over his damp face. His hair was a mess on his head. His legs were tangled in tight sheets.

He’d been swimming in the great expanse of the ocean. He kept swimming and swimming, moving further away from the land behind him. Finnick never looked back, keeping his gaze straight ahead. Each stroke of his arm and kick of his legs propelled him onward, creating a greater wedge between him and the sand. There was something on the horizon waiting for him. Someone was calling out to him.

No matter how hard he tried to identify the silhouette, its shape changed. At first, it stood as a tall woman in the distance. Once he thought of her name, it morphed into someone shorter with wild seaweed-like hair.

Despite the speed and power of his strokes, Finnick could never close the distance between himself and the silhouette. The land behind him was getting further and further away until she brought him back.

Katniss sat tentatively on the edge of his bed with her hands tucked between her thighs. Her face was flushed. A strand of hair curled around her cheek. Finnick watched as his hand reached out to brush it behind her ear before he realised what he was doing.

"You were screaming," she murmured.

"Sorry." He swallowed thickly and tried to smile, although he could tell the shape wasn’t as sharp and comforting as he wanted it to be. He was still swimming in the murky shallows of that water, coming back to the land despite not realising when he had turned around in the middle of the ocean. She always dragged him back. "Didn’t mean to disturb you from much-needed beauty sleep.’

Katniss smiled a small smile and rolled her eyes. "Incorrigible."

"That’s my middle name."

"You know your jokes aren’t as funny as you think they are?" she asked, cocking her brow. He merely smiled at that, feeling his cheeks pinch. The movement of his mouth felt more relaxed now that she wasn’t looking at him with blatant concern.

"I think I’m hilarious."

"You’re the only one, Odair."

He forced a chuckle. Ducking his gaze, he shifted in bed until he was propped up awkwardly against the headboard. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before sighing heavily. His skin was hot and the sheets stuck to his legs. When he opened them, she was staring at him.

"What?"

She flushed. "Nothing." As soon as Katniss averted her gaze away from him, he understood what had snared her focus. Finnick didn’t tug the sheets up his bare chest, not wanting to embarrass her further. He simply sat as he was, picking at the thin sheets tucked around his waist.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

"Because you’re here," he said, watching her intently. "You only wake me up when you’re not asleep."

She shrugged. "I figured it was my turn to help you out of your blowhole."

He smiled. "You’re cute when you try and speak fisherman."

"So you agree?" she asked, cocking her brow. "You’re a fisherman."

"Of course," he said with a gentle smile. "I’m nothing but."

"A preening fisherman."

"Now’s not the time to get nasty, Everdeen." He smiled brightly when she did and she ducked her head as she tried to hide the physical evidence of her laughter. But her laugh, however soft and reluctant it was, often reminded him of a bird’s pretty song.

"You going back home?" he asked.

Katniss cleared her throat, although the tension sat in her shoulders like a rope pulled taut. Her mother wanted to see her. He knew Gale wanted to as well. "I don’t know."

Finnick nodded, humming quietly to himself. Looking at his bed, he shuffled over to the other side and pulled the sheets up.

She was frowning at him. "What are you doing?"

"Inviting you to bed." He smiled devilishly. "I promise I’ll keep my fins to myself."

She rolled her eyes. "Your fish puns are as good as your jokes."

"So, magnificent?"

Katniss smiled and looked away from him. He waited, knowing that she was very much like the prey she hunted in the nearby woods. They’d never shared a bed before, only ever going as far as perching on the edge and waiting for the other to emerge from the darkness. But Finnick trusted her to keep him afloat and in the light, and he knew that she trusted him in return, too.

But where she would give him ample time to slip into her bed, she never afforded it for herself. Katniss Everdeen had a talent for being incredibly patient while never asking for it in return. It was a good thing he liked to give her what she never let herself ask for.

When she finally moved, he smiled and dropped the sheets, keeping his hands in his lap as he watched her tug it back and slide into bed. She laid back on his pillow and tucked the sheets beneath her chin, resting her hands against her chest.

"Huh."

"What?"

"I always thought you’d have little glow-in-the-dark drawings on your ceiling."

He chuckled incredulously. "What?"

She smiled at him. "Yeah. You just seemed like it. Childlike."

Finnick slowly slid beneath the sheets, ensuring to keep his long legs away from her. She seemed skittish in the ways only she ever exposed to him and Haymitch. Tucking the blankets beneath his chin, he peered up at his ceiling and narrowed his eyes.

"There could be," he said, before looking at her. "If you wanted to paint them up there."

Katniss watched him for a moment before looking up at the ceiling again. "I’m not much of a painter."

He shrugged. "So what?"

"They’ll look horrible, Finnick!"

He made a noise low in his throat. "If you’re scared…"

"I’m not scared!" She huffed as he laughed. "Fine. I’ll paint you some pictures. If you don’t like them, you only have yourself to blame."

Katniss rolled over onto her side and determinedly started to snore. Finnick laughed loudly, watching her back as she quietened down. He knew she didn’t sleep, but knowing that she was nearby lulled him into a sense of contentment he hadn’t felt since before the Quarter Quell.

"I can tell you the mistake you're making if you'd like to know," he said patiently.

"I'm good," Katniss grunted as she tangled her wrists in the netting. He'd done his best to loop together a net that was appropriate for the size of her hands. Even if he made her something the size of a doily, Finnick was certain Katniss would somehow find her way tangled up in it. She was a land fish through and through.

For a land hunter like her, she wasn't used to the elements pushing and pulling her weapon about. Even though she'd told him of the hungry and angry winds of 12 that used to disrupt her shooting, she confessed she'd never taken to using a net to hunt her prey. The district simply didn't have the means, and Katniss wasn't prepared to spend all day weaving together a flimsy net that was bound to fall apart. It was easier to take to it with a bow and arrow. Quick, efficient, and playing to her strengths as a patient hunter.

The ocean lapped at her feet, pushing her to and fro like she wasn't the most grounded person he knew, but someone made of delicate feathers. Despite those delicate feathers, she still fought back. Standing taller. Grounding her feet. Pulling her shoulders back. Katniss fought the ocean as though she was capable of winning against it. If Finnick had to place a bet, he'd put it on her.

She struggled to remain standing, but she determinedly dug her feet into the sand as she sunk further into the ocean floor.

The sun peered down upon them warmly as Finnick stood helplessly beside Katniss. The sun made her brown hair appear as warm as the dirt she loved so much. All he wanted to do was tangle his fingers in it, but he kept his hands balled into fists by his sides.

"Katniss..."

"I'm okay!" she shouted. Clearing her throat once she realised her outburst, she continued calmly, "I'm fine. I can do this."

"Alright."

"You don't have to sound like that."

Finnick chuckled. "Like what?"

"Like you don't believe me."

"But I don't," he said, crossing his arms against his chest. He ensured to sound flippant. "I don't believe you at all."

Katniss peered up at him and glared. Some of her hair had gotten loose from her braid and brushed against her cheek and in front of her eye. Blowing an angry puff of air up at it, Finnick laughed as it remained stubbornly unmoved.

"Here." He stepped closer to her, the waves gently pushing him. He brushed her hair away from her face, watching as her breath caught. Katniss peered up at him for a prolonged moment before she looked determinedly down at the netting.

Finnick took a small step back, mindful of the small stones embedded in the deep sand beneath his feet. "Now you can see."

"Okay, this net is stupid." Katniss tried to drop it onto the ground, but given how tangled her hands were in it, she could barely shrug it away. The problem was she didn’t trust it. She hadn’t learned its weight. She was used to the coarseness of her bow, the sharp metal of her arrow. She hadn’t learned how to hold it yet, and how to move with it. But Finnick knew she would in time. It was a dance, and while Katniss had two left feet, she had learned the dance steps he’d taught her a year ago well enough.

Finnick laughed. "Will you let me help you now?"

Katniss glared at him. Determinedly tilting her chin upward, she reluctantly nodded. "Fine. If you must."

"I must," he said with a toothy smile.

The ocean pushed him to her again. It lapped at his knees, its touch warm. Finnick slowly worked the net from around her hands, gently tapping her fingers to encourage her to lift them away from the rope she clung to so desperately. He kept his gaze down as he worked quietly, easily peeling her free from the netting. He deliberately kept touching her hands, liking the way her fingers flexed as though she wished to reach out to him.

Once he had freed her, he unfolded the net and held it against his chest as though it was a blanket. "This is how you hold a net."

Katniss rolled her eyes. "It's not fair. You're tall and half-fish."

"I prefer the term 'merman'." At the cock of her brow, he smiled and ducked his head, his cheeks feeling sunburnt. The waves were loud, but they quietened to let his soft tone float along its surface. "My nephew would call me that. He got it from a book Mags gave him."

"You have a nephew?" she repeated quietly.

He nodded. "Yeah." Finnick looked out at the ocean as it reached out to touch the horizon. He wondered how far it went, if its arm extended and looped around back to 4. Was his nephew in the same water he was in now, just further away and out of reach? "I'm the cool uncle."

"I bet you are," she said fondly. Katniss exhaled deeply before holding her hands out. "Show me again, please."

Finnick smiled brightly at her. Stepping closer to her, he gently placed the net in her hands. "You need to hold it like it's a part of you," he said.

When she took the net, he walked around her, standing behind her. Katniss stiffened; he considered stepping away, but she relaxed quickly. He heard her exhale loudly.

He held the net with her, trapping her between his arms. But he wasn’t a cage trying to catch his prey. When he encouraged her to bend lower toward the water, he went with her. With her hands tightly wound against the netting, she reached for his hands, opting to intertwine their fingers so she could grip the net with a lighter touch. It took them almost an hour to catch a fish, but when they did, her smile made the struggle all the more worth it.

In the morning, he'd insist she kicked him awake from a deep, deep sleep.

They’d stayed out late on their third fishing adventure, District 13’s ocean turning cooler than he had anticipated. Katniss had been determined to catch a fish beneath the bright moon, and once she had, she’d wanted to catch another. He had to drag her from the beach and to her house, where it was easier to simply slip into bed together than for him to follow the track back to his house on stiff legs.

Finnick delicately rolled onto his side, ensuring to keep some distance between them as Katniss began to toss and turn. The sheets had been wrapped loosely around her before he had closed his eyes and drifted off into the shallow waters of sleep. Now, they were tightly wound around her like a barnacle.

She whimpered, again and again. Pinching her brows tightly, she tensed her jaw almost as though she wanted to bite her own tongue off.

He pushed up onto his elbow and hovered over her, still keeping a distance in case she chose to punch him again. She'd done that during the first handful of nightmares he had the pleasure of dragging her out from underneath.

"Katniss," he murmured.

She stopped whimpering, growing quiet for a moment as though she could hear him from beneath the water she was drowning under.

"Katniss," he said louder.

The pinch to her brows deepened.

Her leg kicked out as though it was a spasm, but he knew that it was her fighting his voice. Was she dreaming of him? Was his voice morphing into someone else's? There was no use in hoping it was a kind voice. He knew none of those visited either of them during the day or night.

Finnick hovered his other hand over her, tempted to jostle her awake. But Katniss was always quick, even in sleep. He remembered her Games. He remembered her after the rebellion. Haymitch had made the mistake of touching her during a fitful sleep once and walked away with a black eye.

But perhaps the bruise would be worth it if it meant she stopped making those sounds.

He chanced it. Gently, he curled his hand around her bicep. She jolted against him. A whimper followed. She extended her leg as though she was searching for his to kick, but when her toes made contact with his calf, she slid it around his ankle as though she were a ship's anchor embedding itself into the soft seabed.

"Finnick?" she whispered. Katniss pinched her brows tightly together before she opened her eyes. She quickly turned her head toward his and narrowed her eyes as though she couldn't recognise him. "Finnick," she repeated again, relief warming her hoarse tone. "Oh, thank god."

He fell onto his back as she launched herself at him. Wrapping her arms tight around his arms, she buried her face in his neck and sobbed.

"Katniss, it was only a bad dream." Finnick tentatively wrapped his arms around her and stroked her back. Her nightshirt was damp and cold. "It was only a bad dream."

"I dreamed that you died," she whispered hoarsely against his shoulder. A sob wracked her body, but so did a deep inhale as she tried to pull herself together. She gripped him tightly like a taut bow's string. Her hands clawed at his bare back before she let her nails settle against his skin, inevitably leaving half-crescents in her wake.

She didn't pull back.

"He killed you."

"I'm right here," he murmured, furrowing his brows. "I'm still here."

At least she didn't dream of the lizard mutts. Those haunted his nightmares, lurking in the dark as they invaded the safe pools of water. Sometimes Finnick wondered if they waited for him deep within the ocean. Surviving them had been a stroke of luck, and Katniss was a good sniper despite her weaponry always being a bow and arrow.

She hugged him tightly before she released him. Finnick disliked how he felt cold with her pulling back and sitting against the headboard. She ignored the pillow curving against the small of her back.

Katniss tugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin against them. "I wish this got better."

Finnick stayed propped up on his elbow, twisted in the loose sheets. He peered up at her with a look of sympathy. "I know," he murmured.

She turned her head to look at him and pressed her cheek against her knee. "Did it ever get better for you? Over time."

He inhaled deeply through his nose. He could lie. He'd practised the art of weaving an intricate web as confidently as possible. He'd once told a Capitol patron that the water at District 4 tasted like cream, and they'd believed him even after his Tributes had insisted that it tasted like salt.

"No," he answered quietly. Pressing his lips together, he bit back the desire to apologise. "It didn't. They piled on for me. It just got easier to ignore them."

"How?" she asked quietly, peering at him intently. "How did you ignore them?"

He licked his bottom lip and glanced away from her. Even he couldn't quite answer that. As much as he had carved a clear path forward for all of his Tributes since he was fifteen years old, he never successfully mapped out a route to overcome the nightmares. They piled up like sand until the mound was being built over him. They never took the form of a castle with a moat. He was always trapped beneath the moat, drowning in them.

"I buried my head in the sand."

Katniss merely looked at him before she nodded. "I bury my head in the dirt."

At her small smile, he chuckled softly. "Of course, you did. You eat dirt for breakfast."

She laughed a little louder, although it was still a gentle, tentative sound. "Shut up."

"Make me."

She pulled her head away from her knees and tugged the sheets away. "Since we're both up, I'm going to make hot chocolate."

Pushing off the bed, she extended her arm across her chest to stretch it. This was her way of regaining control. If she moved her body under her own command, it was hers. Whatever she dreamed about wasn't real. She grounded herself in trusting her movements. Finnick wished he could follow suit.

"It'll be sprinkled with chocolate," she teased, glancing at him from over her shoulder.

He pulled the covers away and ignored tugging a shirt over his head. "Haymitch is going to be so jealous when I tell him in the morning."

Finnick woke to someone’s arm thrown over his waist. He furrowed his brows as he peered down at the hand, the fingers long and the knuckles red with healing scratches. It couldn’t be her. Katniss hadn’t injured her hand over the last two days.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Johanna murmured.

Finnick groaned low in his throat and forced a shudder, although he didn’t peel her hand away from his stomach. He welcomed her touch, no matter how invasive she made it be. She was safe. She was always safe.

Her fingers fanned against his skin as she dug her nails into him. "Jo."

She made an amused sound low in her throat. "Your door was open—"

"You’ve got a key."

"—which opened it." She shrugged behind him. "I thought I’d let myself in considering I came all this way to see you."

"And Haymitch and Katniss."

"Mostly you. And their doors were locked and neither of them are stupid enough to give me a key."

Finnick sighed heavily as he gripped her hand. She pulled away, giving him the space to roll over so he could face her. She was wearing one of the oversized shirts he bought her when she’d come and visited him in 4 years ago. It was well-worn, fraying at the collar and with the bright pink fading into white at the hem of her short sleeves. Tucking his hand beneath his cheek, he smiled as she mimicked him. Her hair was longer than it was the last time he saw her. Red streaks made it look like she was sporting fresh coats of blood.

"You look good."

"You feel good," she smirked. When Johanna dropped her gaze, she allowed her mouth to soften. The walls she erected to keep herself as sharp as the blade of her axe dulled considerably as she lowered her voice and said, "I feel better."

"I’m glad."

She cleared her throat gently as she peered up at him. "Anything we say here stays between us, right?"

He nodded. "Fisherman’s honour."

She rolled her eyes. "You’re so fucking cheesy," she murmured with an aggravated sigh.

Shifting against the bed, she kept her hands tucked beneath her cheek as she observed him for a moment. Johanna’s cheeks no longer looked hollow. It’d taken the last couple of years for her to come back to herself. Finnick was grateful to see his friend stand confidently before him again—or lie beside him with that confidence.

"I missed you," Johanna whispered. "It’s been good in 12. It’s been better in 7."

He knew what number was coming next. "I don’t want to hear about home," he said gently, shaking his head.

"All right," she said, although she pressed her lips together as though that would stop her from spilling the secrets and messages that had come with her from 4. He knew them already. None of them changed. "Just know that I’m not the only one missing you."

"How can you miss me?" he asked, cocking his brow slightly. Ignoring the thundering racing of his heart, Finnick remained as calm as he possibly could. "I’m right here."

She smiled. "Sometimes you weren’t," she said gently. "Sometimes you were far away. I’m glad that you’re here again, Finnick."

So was he.

When the war had finally ended, Finnick hadn’t been sure what to do with himself. He’d followed Johanna to 7 and had lasted barely a month. He’d trailed after Katniss after she had spontaneously invited him to come with her to 13. Existing in a District that hadn’t felt his touch, that hadn’t seen him preen and hide behind his ridiculously coloured feathers had been freeing. It’d let him come back to himself, even if there would always be a piece missing.

She wasn’t there. He could start anew—or at least pretend to be something else. A different shape. A different texture. A fish that no one had ever seen before.

Johanna growled in frustration before curling her lip up. "Now, can we stop with this cheesy shit? I’m a guest in your bed and you haven’t even offered me a fucking drink."

Finnick laughed and rolled onto his back. "I’m going back to sleep."

"Inhospitable asshole."

With Johanna in town, Finnick didn’t head over to Haymitch or Katniss’ house for breakfast. He stayed inside with Johanna, letting her cook bacon and eggs for him. It was an old routine that had started when he was twenty-three and she was seventeen, freshly crowned as Victor and already broken porcelain. There was something in the simple routine that had always felt grounding for the both of them.

"You like your eggs moon-side up, right?" Johanna said without turning around to look at him.

He smiled. "Big and bright. None of that half-moon shit, Jo."

She chuckled. She moved about his kitchen as she saw it every morning, and it welcomed her like the ocean at District 13 had welcomed him with its open arms. Finnick liked that Johanna wasn’t afraid to take up space in his house.

When the back door opened, Johanna peered over her shoulder as she switched the gas stove off. She smiled brightly when she saw Katniss standing awkwardly over the threshold. "Katniss Everdeen."

Katniss smiled. "Johanna Mason."

"I’d offer to hug you, but I’ve been banned from holding anything in my hands when approaching a person."

Katniss furrowed her brows. "Who on earth would dare do that?" she asked playfully.

Johanna pointedly looked at Finnick. He laughed and held up his hands in surrender. "It’s for my own safety. She almost took my eye out with a spatula!"

"Not my fault you have weak eyes," Johanna murmured as she plated up two plates. "You hungry? I can make another plate."

"No, no, I’m fine…" Katniss stood at the door and wrung her hands together, smiling although her jaw tensed. She never did well when their routine was spoiled. She darted her gaze between them as though she wasn’t sure who she wanted to look at. "I was just… Well, Finnick didn’t come to breakfast. I wanted to make sure the mattress hadn’t swallowed him again."

Johanna carried the two plates to the kitchen table, cocking her brow at Finnick as she placed his in front of him. "Is that so?" Finnick glared up at her, his wooden chair creaking beneath the shift of his body. "Do you find yourself in Finnick’s bed a lot, Katniss?"

Katniss widened her eyes and blushed furiously.

Johanna laughed. "I’m joking," she said, winking at her. "What are your plans for today? Maybe you can join Finnick and me with our plans."

Katniss cleared her throat and cocked her brow slightly, slowly coming back to herself. Johanna always managed to throw her off-kilter in the most amusing ways. "What do you have planned?"

"Nothing," Johanna stated as she dropped into the chair beside Finnick. She smiled sweetly at him. "Absolutely nothing. He’s the best host."

"You dropped by unannounced," he said, picking up his knife and fork and slicing into his bacon without looking at her.

Johanna shrugged, staring at him intently in the hopes he’d look up. "Where’s your plan for that?"

"You’re just in time," Katniss said with a smile, glancing at Finnick. "There’s a music festival tonight."

Johanna shoved Finnick’s arm. "You could’ve told me that."

"I didn’t think you liked music!" Finnick laughed as he rubbed his bicep.

She rolled her eyes. "I like music, Seaweed Brain." She tilted her head up as she regarded Katniss. "You’re coming."

"I was hoping to," Katniss said. When Johanna cocked her brow, Katniss stood a little taller. "I was going to strong-arm Finnick and Haymitch into coming. They’re both, uh…"

"Lame?"

"Pretty much."

"I’m sitting right here," Finnick said.

"And you look pretty while doing it," Katniss smiled.

Johanna made a delighted noise low in her throat. "Pretty as a peach. We’re going," she declared, sitting back heavily in her chair. "Finally, we can have some fun. Sit, Katniss. Join us for breakfast."

Katniss waved her hand as she shook her head. "No, I better get going. Haymitch is expecting me. I’ll just tell him you’re busy."

Finnick nodded as he watched her. She was shifting on the spot again. A part of him wanted her to screw Haymitch and pull up a chair, but he knew that she never liked leaving him alone in the mornings. The Victors from 12 enjoyed their morning routines too much. They felt starting off on the right foot wasn’t just a saying, but a way to live.

"Don’t tell him I’m here," Johanna said before she smiled wickedly. "I want it to be a surprise."

"Are you going to grope him in his bed, too?" Finnick asked, cocking his brow.

Johanna rolled her eyes. "That’s just for you, silly." She smiled as Katniss shuffled awkwardly on her feet. "He’s fun to spoon. You should try it sometime, Everdeen. All that muscle to hold onto…" She purred low in her throat.

"Say hi to Haymitch for me," Finnick said, glaring at Johanna. He ignored the heat working its way up his neck. Katniss dismissed herself with a gentle goodbye to Johanna and the door clicked softly behind her. "You’re an asshole."

Johanna laughed loudly. "At least I’m not an inhospitable one," she smiled before she grabbed her fork and speared the egg on his plate.

The music festival was one of his favourite times of the year. Not only did Haymitch get so drunk he embarrassed himself, but Katniss laughed more. He supposed he did, too. Mostly, he just laughed at her.

With Johanna in town, he was laughing harder than he had in a long time.

The town centre looked like it was situated in the middle of a rainbow. The lights glittered. Streamers hung from tree branches. The town was decorated so brightly Finnick was certain his golden hair looked like it was a part of the festivities. While shadows crept along the ground, none of them felt suffocating. He didn’t want to hide in the arms of any of them, and neither did she.

It was one of the only times he let himself leave his house and the sanctuary of Katniss’ woods and his beach. District 13 never treated him like a Victor, but Finnick always felt as though he didn’t belong there. He hadn’t earned his place. But he had earned a right to let loose on the dance floor.

The music was a mixture from all over Panem, but that didn’t stop Johanna from claiming the floor. When she wasn’t pulling people from District 13 into dances with her, she was tugging a reluctant Katniss and dipping her enthusiastically until the end of her braid brushed against the floor.

Finnick stood on the edge, arms folded as he laughed at the way she dragged Haymitch around the dance floor. The locals knew to give him a wide berth, although many of them enjoyed Haymitch being led instead of being left to hide between the trees.

Johanna left the dance floor with a low bow, leaving a flushed Haymitch gasping for breath. "I forgot how limber you woodpeckers were from 7," he huffed.

She laughed loudly. "It’s just me, Abernathy. The rest of them can’t even do the limbo!’

"Think we could stop with all the wood puns?" Finnick asked as he grabbed Katniss’ hand and tugged her out of her chair. This was a game she always played, pretending to be moody and broody and unhappy to take to the dance floor. But she was always jiggling her leg in anticipation, waiting eagerly for either him or Haymitch to sweep her off her feet. It was always him. Haymitch sometimes did the honours, but Finnick always swooped in to save her from his awkward shuffling.

"Never!" Johanna declared, swinging her arms effortlessly as she heaved a breath and dropped into Katniss’ chair with a loud thunk. She winked, although Finnick wasn’t too sure if it was at him or Katniss. "Don’t have too much fun. Watch out for his hands, Kat!"

Katniss flushed. "He knows he’ll lose them if he tries anything." She spun around, gently placing her hand against his shoulder. It didn’t matter to her that the music was fast-paced, Katniss always liked to take it as though it was a slow one.

Johanna snorted behind them, but Finnick easily glided them out into the middle of the floor away from Johanna and Haymitch’s inevitable commentary.

"It’s nice that she’s here," Katniss said. The music was still fast; District 13’s dancers spun around them giddily, some of them performing dances that used to be strictly for the Capitol only.

"It is," he said, watching her curiously. "You know, you can come over. She’ll get sick of me eventually, and then I’ll be all alone again."

"Too pretty for your own company?"

"Extremely."

She chuckled, glancing away. Finnick’s gaze dropped to her mouth when she bit her lip. "It’s a little weird, isn’t it? How our worlds are colliding."

He furrowed his brows. "I’m not following."

"It’s like 13 is this safe bubble." Katniss looked over his shoulder, keeping her gaze focused on the lights strung up in the trees. "We can be whoever we want to be here, and then with Jo coming…"

He nodded and sighed quietly. "The past is always there, Katniss," he said gently. "It’s how we choose to face it that defines how scary it is."

"Is that how you feel about yours?" she asked, peering up at him. She narrowed her eyes as she studied him, but he was too slow to cover his pensive expression with a bright smile. She was getting too quick at reading him these days.

He shook his head. "No."

"Liar."

He sighed heavily, glancing over the top of her head. "It’s complicated."

"Try me."

The fast-paced song ended just in time for him to use it as a raft. Finnick spun Katniss away from him and tugged her back, although he must’ve pulled her a little too firmly as she almost stepped right onto his feet.

She didn’t step away as she peered up at him. Finnick wanted to look away, but that’s how Katniss knew she’d caught her prey. She didn’t need a bow and arrow to hunt. Sometimes she was the weapon herself.

As the band began to play a slower song, she didn’t step back. She moved her hands to the back of his neck and stepped closer to him. Finnick rested his hands on the small of her back as he peered down at her. The back of her shirt rode up and he pressed his fingertips against the warm skin of her back.

"You’re going to have to face them someday, Fin," she whispered.

"Not today," he said with a shake of his head. "Today, I get to dance with a pretty girl and make her laugh."

She flushed at his triumphant smile. "Whenever I laugh, I laugh at you."

He smiled. "Thank you for the clarification."

Katniss looked away from him, and when she turned her face towards his again, she kept her eyes downcast. Finnick didn’t allow her any privacy this time, smiling down at her as they swayed on the spot. The dancers around them had slowed until they were almost not moving at all.

He liked these quieter moments when the water felt still. As much as he enjoyed rushing out into the wild embrace of the waves and getting drunk on how hard and fast his heart raced, he liked these moments where he could stop and exist. Katniss’ eyelashes were long and her cheeks were pinker and fuller than he remembered. She had a pretty mouth.

When the song ended, Katniss didn’t step away immediately. She stared up at him, her expression uncharacteristically unreadable. When her gaze dropped, she cleared her throat and brushed her fingers against her temple before taking a step away from him. She was slow to remove her hands. "I’m going to go get something to eat," she said.

As soon as she opened her mouth again, he said, "Surprise me."

She smiled and nodded. Extricating herself from him, she wove her way through the throng of people to the opposite side of the festival. Finnick remained standing in the middle of the floor as the next song began, slow before building into a fast tempo.

He turned and made his way back to the table, taking a seat beside Johanna. He ignored her, peering out at the dance floor in the direction Katniss had gone. It was strategically the worst move he could’ve made; Johanna was staring at him.

"You two looked cozy," she smirked and leaned toward him, resting her arm against the back of his chair.

Finnick sighed and leaned toward her, keeping his hands in his lap as he enjoyed her possessive claim of him. "It’s not what you’re thinking," he said with a small smile.

"Then why are you blushing?"

"I just finished a very intense dance, Mason," he said, regarding her incredulously. "I danced my ass off."

"Hm."

He laughed, ignoring the heat bursting against his cheeks. "What? Why are you being so weird?"

"Why are you?" Johanna asked, narrowing her eyes as she laughed. She tapped her fingers against his shoulder before curling her palm around his bicep. She tugged him close; Finnick didn’t fight her, not that he ever did. "Can I tell you something?"

"You always do."

She shoved him gently. "Don’t fuck this up."

He furrowed his brows as he looked at her. "Fuck up what?"

She rolled her eyes. "You’re so dumb." Exhaling roughly, she clucked her tongue and glanced away. When Johanna returned her gaze to him, she leaned closer toward him until they were almost nose to nose. "I know that you miss her. Annie. But you know she’d want you to move on."

Finnick shifted in his seat, crossing his arms against his chest. His throat felt tighter and he cleared it gently, even though he knew Johanna could hear it for what it was. Grief liked to bottle itself in the lines of his muscles and make it impossible for him to move.

"It’s been two years."

"I need a lot more than that to forget her."

"No one said anything about forgetting, Fish Brains," Johanna scolded gently. "You carry her with you. Always. But you let yourself open up again."

His breathing grew shallow as his skin became clammy. Finnick sat still in his chair, staring out at the dance floor and not seeing the dancers. He forced himself to breathe, to inhale as deeply as he could and hold it. But even as he did, he felt the water build in his lungs. Speaking about her always made him feel like he was drowning.

"Is that what you’ve been doing?" he asked, cocking his brow as he regarded her. "Because you’re still as closed off as you’ve always been."

Johanna sighed heavily and glanced away. She heaved a big breath before she licked her lips. When she looked at him again, her expression was softer. "I’m still learning," she said quietly. She rolled her eyes and shook her head derisively, "Can you believe I’m taking cues from you?"

Finnick smiled and shook his head. "Guess we’re both hopeless."

"You more than me," she said as she slid her arm around his shoulders and almost tugged him off his chair and into her.

"So, this is what you called me over for."

"What?" Katniss looked at him with a cocked brow. She carried a plate to her kitchen table, perfectly laid out with utensils. In the centre sat a vase with the wildflowers he'd picked for her two days ago. Despite her alleged black thumb, they were thriving better than they did during their brief stay with him.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. Finnick stood in the doorway of her kitchen as he watched her flutter about as though she was a butterfly.

Sometimes she was. Katniss didn't understand the delicacy that she took to some things, like caretaking for those she cared about. He always saw it in the way that she treated Haymitch. Walking home with him with an arm slung around his waist. Her ensuring all his windows and doors were locked. Taking to his axe to cut him wood so he wouldn't remember his Games.

Katniss always postured as being as hard and mean as wood, but Finnick knew that even wood would grow soft. Moss grew on planks of it out in his backyard.

He stepped inside the kitchen and felt the atmosphere change. While it still crackled as it usually did, it felt strange. The light shone brightly through the easterly window. The table setting was for two. While that wasn't completely out of the ordinary, the lack of barking orders from her made him feel off-kilter.

"Sit," she ordered. At least he felt some semblance of normal at the way she clicked her fingers and pointed to the chair he'd claimed as his own. Katniss didn't look at him as she scurried to the oven.

Slowly, he did as she requested, pulling out his chair noisily. A little too loud. Finnick sat and rested his back against the chair as he looked over the table. Everything was in perfect order. Maybe he was making something out of nothing.

"This isn't going to taste as good as yours, but I did try."

Finnick watched her over his shoulder as she pulled a tray out from the oven. She waved an oven mitt—the vibrant puke-green fish pair he'd made for her—over the steam. She was quick to move about the kitchen, easily covering what she was cooking.

She served it up on two plates, her back turned to him. It smelled like it was from the sea.

When she placed the plate in front of him, Finnick furrowed his brows incredulously. He stared down at it as though he had never seen it before. His heart pounded hard in his ears.

Katniss sat in front of him, her chair scraping noisily against her wooden floorboards. She sat tucked close to the table and held up her knife and fork.

He was staring down at a plate of fresh salmon, cooked just the way he had once described to her. He curved the corner of his lip up, although he regarded the fish in disbelief. "We haven't fished in a while."

"I know," she said. When he peered at her, she ducked her gaze and cut into her salmon. "I caught it myself."

"When?"

She took a bite and hummed, using it to stall. She shrugged a shoulder. "This morning."

"On your own?"

"Is that so hard to believe?" she glanced up at him before she looked down. "It's not a big deal, Odair. I felt like doing something nice for you. Don't make a big deal about it."

He stared down at the fish. Poking at it with his fork, he turned it over and smiled. As he cut into it, he inspected it, making a show of it when he felt her intense stare.

"Can you eat it?" Katniss demanded exasperatedly.

He chuckled. "I'm just trying to make sure you're not trying to kill me here."

"As if I could kill you with fish," she said, rolling her eyes. "I've seen you eat it raw."

"It was one time," he said with a big grin, "and I was drunk."

"Smashed. Off your face. It was so embarrassing." Katniss smiled and ducked her head. "I'm glad Johanna was there to witness it. It'll forever be embedded in my brain."

He rolled his eyes. "Remind me to never pick 'dare' when you two are together. A man completes a dare and he's ridiculed for showing you up. Pfft."

Katniss laughed. He smiled, looking up at her at the same time she lifted her gaze to his. Something in the way her face scrunched with mirth made his stomach flip deliciously.

"Just eat your fish, Finnick. You won't get dessert if you don't."

"If it's anything like the actual dirt you served Haymitch last Friday, I'm happy to not eat at all."

She glared at him from across the table and flushed red as he laughed. "It was not dirt!"

Finnick stared at the dark dirt path before him. The untouched bottle of beer felt unnaturally heavy in his hand. Ever since Katniss had cooked him fish, he’d been feeling off balance. He’d stopped laughing at Haymitch’s jokes in the morning, and he hadn’t been responsive to Johanna’s morning wake-up cuddles despite wanting to be.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the fish.

Haymitch smacked his lips as he took a loud swig of his beer. He was already onto his second bottle and wasn’t prepared to stop anytime soon. These nights were the darkest. When he and Haymitch sat on his front porch and stared out at the abyss of night. Sometimes Finnick tried gazing up at the stars, but tonight, he could barely lift his eyes away from the dirt ahead of him. It was easier to exist with Katniss around.

"You’re quiet," Haymitch said with enough exasperation to make Finnick chuckle.

"Sorry," Finnick said, shifting on the step. As if prompted by Haymitch’s voice, he took a swig of his beer and followed Haymitch in smacking his lips. "Just thinking."

"So that’s what that noise was." Haymitch smiled and shifted noisily on the wooden board. He needed to fix it for Finnick. It creaked as though it was rotten from the inside. "What’s going on? You and Katniss are awfully weird these days."

"Weird?"

"You know what I mean."

Finnick furrowed his brows. "I don’t know if I do."

Haymitch sighed. "You and her. Her and you. How is it that I’m always the first to know about this shit?" He licked his lips and rested his arms against his knees as he bowed forward, curving his back. "What happened between you two?"

"Nothing!" At Haymitch’s look of disbelief, Finnick chuckled and ignored the heat rising to his face under his scrutiny. "She… cooked for me."

"Groundbreaking," Haymitch deadpanned.

"No, no… She cooked for me." He regarded Haymitch with a weighted look. "She caught a fish and cooked it for me."

"With you, right?"

Finnick shook his head.

"Ah." Haymitch leaned back against the wooden step and took a long swig of his beer.

Finnick looked at him expectantly, impatient for him to continue. He took his sweet time, and when he pulled the beer away from his mouth, he was smiling. It was his shit-eating smile, the one that he remembered Haymitch wearing when he had been trying to acquire Sponsors for Katniss and Peeta. It was the smile Finnick knew meant trouble.

"She likes you."

"Of course she likes me."

"No," Haymitch shook his head. "She likes you. I’ve seen the doe eyes before. She gets all scratchy—"

"Scratchy?"

"You know, like when you rub yourself against a really unpleasant tree." At Finnick’s amused cock of his brow, Haymitch waved his hand dismissively. "Don’t ask. She likes you. Anyone with two eyes could see that. Hell, even the fish could see that, and they don’t like either of you."

"She doesn’t like me—"

"Idiot." He took another swig of his beer. "Amazing how you’re you and you’re also so stupid."

"Ouch?"

"Katniss has liked you for a while, Finnick," Haymitch said. "Now, I wouldn’t typically say anything considering that I don’t give a shit, but… I care about her. I want her to be happy. She’s happiest when she’s with you."

Finnick hunched his back, leaning his arms against his knees as he looked down at the ground. He jostled his beer and tipped the bottle toward him as though he was about to take a swig.

"You must’ve figured it out. Why else would you be freaking out over a fish?"

"I’m not freaking out over a fish."

"Freaking the fuck out," Haymitch said as though he didn’t hear him. With his lips pressed against the lip of the bottle, his voice echoed dully as he murmured, "I can’t believe I’m playing fucking cupid again. I should get paid for this shit."

"I can give you a cup of dirt?" Finnick offered.

Haymitch snorted. "Got enough of that from Katniss." He studied him for a moment, prompting Finnick to squirm on the step beside him. "I don’t want to tell you what to do, but you better do right by her."

"I know," Finnick said quietly. Lifting the beer to his lips, he murmured against the brim, "Or else you’ll kill me."

Haymitch chuckled. "Oh, no. Katniss doesn’t need me to do that for her. But I’ll make your life a living hell. I’ve learned a few boat songs from Jo. The ones you don’t like."

Finnick smiled and groaned. "She’s a menace."

"And a good one at that," Haymitch said, toasting him. He chuckled and murmured, "Freaking out over a fish. Ha." He shook his head and fondly murmured, "Just like the good old days. If only Mags was here to see this."

Finnick had spent the entire day banned from entering his house. Katniss had strictly ordered Johanna to take him out to town and keep him out, and if she saw either hide or hair of them both, she’d bury them in the dirt. Both of them had taken her threats seriously. They’d seen Katniss with a shovel.

When Johanna finally brought him back home, the sun was beginning to set and the sky had turned a warm orange. She stood on his porch with her arms behind her back. "I’m going to head over to Abernathy’s," she said, cocking her head in the direction of his house. "See you in the morning?"

He turned to face her and nodded. "Maybe I can be the big spoon this time?"

Johanna shook her head. "Hell no."

He laughed and waved her goodbye, watching her walk down the dirt path to the street. He sighed heavily before he entered his house, furrowing his brows as he tried to sense where Katniss was. She was still inside. She wouldn’t have threatened either of them to stay away if she wasn’t planning to meet him there.

"Kat?" he called out.

"Up here!"

Finnick took two steps at a time to his second floor and walked hurriedly into his bedroom. She was already lying on the bed, her hands resting against her belly. She’d closed his windows, throwing the room almost into pitch blackness. The light from the hallway gave her a strange heavenly glow.

"Turn off the light," she said, smiling at him. She peered up at the ceiling. He narrowed his eyes as he looked up at it. It was still painted cream. "Hurry!"

"All right, all right," he laughed. He disappeared into the hallway to turn off the light, and when he returned to his bedroom, he smiled at the way she was smiling up at the ceiling. He didn’t tear his gaze away from her as he toed off his boots and left them lying haphazardly on the floor.

Climbing into bed beside her, he rested on his back and mimicked her by folding his arms against his chest. He turned his head to watch her, studying the outline of her profile that he could see from the very faint glow of his clock. It was hard to spot her, but he could sense her in the dark.

"Look up," she said without turning toward him. "Not at me."

"But I like looking at you."

He knew she rolled her eyes.

Tearing his gaze away from her, he looked up at the ceiling and smiled. The ceiling glowed. Drawings were softly illuminated by the dark. He saw a bow and arrow, a cat eating a flower. He saw fish swimming out of the ocean. There were two stick figures, a man and a girl, holding hands… or bananas.

"Katniss…"

"I know it’s not the greatest," she said, shifting slightly against the bed. He knew she was looking at him, but he couldn’t turn toward her as he smiled up at the ceiling. "But I promised you I’d do it."

"It’s amazing."

"It’s not the best—"

"Shut up," he said, laughing softly. "It’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever gotten."

She licked her lips and remained quiet for a moment. "That’s us. We look like we have oranges in our hands."

"I thought they were bananas."

He laughed when she gently shoved his bicep.

She cleared her throat gently and returned her hand to her chest. "There’s Annie, too," she said quietly. "In the ocean with you. I know it’s not the best, but…" She let out a soft exhale. "Finnick…"

"We don’t talk about her," he said quietly, his throat tightening.

"No," she whispered gently. "We don’t. And we don’t have to. But I think it’s important that you keep her safe. Just like I do with Prim and Peeta."

"Is that her up there?" he asked, pointing up at the ceiling where a little girl sat with a cat. "With Buttercup."

"Yes," she said quietly. "I hope you don’t mind."

"Of course not. Prim deserves to be up there. I just wish you had drawn yourself scowling from the window."

Katniss chuckled. She inhaled heavily. He knew she was looking at him. "I’m here," she said. "When you want to talk about her. When you want to see them. I’m here, Finnick."

Finnick swallowed heavily and stared up at the ceiling, willing himself not to blink in fear that tears would fall. He didn’t move despite wanting to shift. Sometimes the ocean was at its deadliest when it was still and quiet. Sometimes it was at its most beautiful when there were no ripples in the water and the ocean itself looked like a perfect mirror.

He licked his lips and turned to face her. "I invited them. My family. They’re coming in a couple of weeks."

"That’s so good, Finnick," she said.

He pressed his lips together and nodded. Moving his hand away from his chest, he reached for hers. She eagerly wrapped her fingers around his, gripping his hand tightly. "I want you to be there."

"I will be," she said quietly. She squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Finnick."

He shrugged against the bed and cleared his throat again. He stared up at the ceiling, smiling softly at the assortment of drawings she’d painted. For him. All of this was for him. To help him ease the loneliness he felt. To remind him of what he had and what he could choose to keep.

"I miss her," he murmured. "I miss her a lot."

"I know," she said gently. "I miss her for you, too."

He inhaled deeply and held it, trying his best to loosen the tightness of his throat. "I’ll miss her forever," he said quietly. "But this will make it easier to not forget how it felt to have her with me."

Katniss made a soft sound low in her throat. "I’m sorry it’s a shitty drawing."

He laughed. "She would’ve liked it. I like it. Shitty drawings are my favourite."

"Shut up," she laughed.

"No, I’m serious. They’re my absolute favourite. Just ask Jo."

"You’re annoying me now."

Finnick smiled. Keeping her hand in his, he rolled onto his side and came closer to her. He could tell where she was, right where her lips were. He peered down at where he sensed her mouth to be, but he didn’t bow forward.

Instead, he dropped back onto his back and exhaled loudly. "So you think I have bananas for hands."

"Oranges," she said.

"I hate oranges."

"I know."

Finnick did his best to keep his distance from Katniss during their next two fishing lessons. He stood off to the side of her and let his hands hover her but never touch her. The desire was there. All he wanted to do was wrap his fingers around her wrists and press himself to her back. All he wanted was to feel the softness of her hair and twine it around his fingers like seaweed.

Something had cracked open within the seabed of him. All he wanted to do was give in to the impulses he had easily ignored before the glow-in-the-dark drawings on his wall.

"I think wearing wet pants should be a crime," Katniss said as she dropped onto the sand. She brushed her hands against her thighs before planting them behind her. She peered out at the ocean, smiling softly to herself.

Finnick dropped down close beside her and crossed his legs. His knee touched her thigh. He’d tossed his spear to his left. Peering out at the ocean, he smiled as the sun glistened brightly along the surface of the water. Even with the ripples ruining its smooth surface, it still looked so beautiful.

He could sense her watching him.

"You’ve been weird," she said.

"Me?" He shook his head and forced a chuckle. "I haven’t been weird."

"I know you, Finnick," she said, her stare intense. "You’re not usually this weird."

"Ouch."

"What’s up?" she asked, tugging her knees to her chest. She scrunched up her face in displeasure as her fingers touched the cold wetness of her pants.

"Nothing," he said, glancing at her before looking away. Even though the sun was setting in front of them, he felt that it was to his side, right where she sat. "It’s just…" He sighed heavily, his shoulders dropping.

He drew his top lip between his teeth as he considered weaving a lie instead. He was thinking about his family coming to visit. He was nervous about Johanna telling some of her stupid jokes. He was afraid that if he admitted what was on the tip of his tongue, he’d be ruining one of the only good things in his life.

But when he turned his head to look at her and saw the way her gaze was soft as she waited for him to speak, he knew that he owed her this secret. Secrets were a currency he had wielded as a trident against the Capitol citizens for so long that he hadn’t known how to handle something so delicate. He used to wait, as patient as he was when it came to his fishing before he struck.

He couldn’t wait anymore.

"I think I like you," he said, looking at her before ducking his gaze.

"You think you like me?" she repeated in disbelief, furrowing her brows slightly. "Thanks?"

"No," he shook his head, exhaling roughly. "I don’t think, I… I like you."

"I like you, too—"

He chuckled and carded his hand through his hair, uncaring that he was spreading sand throughout the strands. "This is so hard. Why do you make things so hard?"

"I’m sorry?" she chuckled incredulously. When he glanced at her, he could see her cheeks were tinged pink.

He stared at her for a long moment before he planted his hand between them. Katniss understood actions better than words. She wasn’t like the people Finnick had learned to manipulate with pretty words. She was a woman who liked to be given a pile of dirt and told to pretend it was gold. She was the girl who enjoyed being shown how to fish because it brought her closer to him. She was the person she couldn’t see himself without.

He ignored the heat climbing up his nape. His heart fluttered furiously like a fighting fish in his chest. All he wanted to do was sink into the sand, but he knew if he did that, she’d follow him.

Rather than creep up on him, she barrelled straight into him like a wave. She kept crashing into him, knocking him on his ass over and over. And he let her. He enjoyed it. All he wanted was to be crashed into by him, in the sea and in the dirt.

Finnick leaned toward her and gently pressed his mouth to hers. She was still beneath him until she began to part her lips. He sucked her bottom lip between his lips and lifted his other hand to brush his fingertips against her jawline. Her skin was as soft as it always was, although he felt brittle grains of sand and dirt.

When he pulled back, she was staring at him.

"Why did you kiss me?" she whispered, her gaze dropping to his mouth.

Finnick swallowed thickly. Quietly, he answered, "I think you know why."

Katniss glanced away and licked her lips. Finnick didn’t look away, staring at her as the sun set before them. Even as District 13 was beginning to cloak itself in darkness, she burned brightly. He finally understood what her being the Girl on Fire meant.

"I thought that was my best-kept secret," she murmured.

He smiled softly. "You forget who you’re friends with, Katniss," he murmured. "I’m really good at finding secrets."

She looked at him, her eyes slightly wide. "Finnick—"

"I like this secret," he said, peering at her intently. "And I like it no longer being a secret you keep to yourself. Some secrets are good, you know."

"Is this good?"

He nodded and chuckled incredulously. "Yeah. It’s a good secret."

She smiled and looked down at the sand. Digging her toes beneath it, she cleared her throat as she gazed out at the water. "Can I tell you another one?"

He nodded. "Please."

"I liked kissing you," she said, determinedly looking straight ahead. The pink tinge of her cheeks matched the shade of pink streaking across the sky. She belonged here in District 13 where she smiled and laughed and thrived. She belonged on this beach with him. She belonged best to herself and not the rest of Panem.

"Well…" He chuckled and glanced away for a moment. "Best you do that again. Wouldn’t want that to be a secret you keep close to your chest."

"You’re so corny—"

"You love it."

Katniss said nothing as he dove toward her. She fell back onto the soft sand, laughing as he pressed a knee between her legs and planted his hands on either side of her head. He bowed his head and sloped his mouth against hers, smiling as she chuckled against his lips. She smacked her hands against the sand and scooped grains up between her fingers. Before he could anticipate it, Katniss’ hands were in his hair, rubbing sand through the strands as she tangled them tightly between her fingers.

"I’m not going anywhere, Katniss," he murmured.

She bit his bottom lip gently. "Neither am I."