𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗦𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 ᐅ 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙞𝙧

𝙁𝙊𝙐𝙍𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙉

⌌⊱⇱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⊰⌍
I never dared letting
go of him.
⌎⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⇲⊰⌏

After my recent discovery, the question nagged at me — how would I act around him now? The realisation of my feelings left me with an abundance of questions with just as many lacking answers to counteract it. What would I do now? What if I messed up? Gods, what if he felt the same?

I couldn't get the damned boy out of my head: the way his eyes lit up when he talked; the melodic sound of his laugh and the light tone of his voice that set butterflies free in my stomach. There was no escaping this.

I hated being trapped. The feeling that you couldn't go anywhere, do anything out of your own free will made fear twitch inside me, leading me to think of the grim possibility I might encounter. But not with Finnick. Never with Finnick. Ironically, the two of us were the most trapped we'd ever been in our lives, however it didn't feel like that. It felt like freedom. Was that what love was?

I didn't love Finnick Odair. I knew enough about myself to know that.

Of course, back in District Five I'd had one or two crushes on boys in my year — the most notable being on Callum Zebuk when I was around thirteen. Childish as I was, I was a shy little thing back then, only daring to cast small glances at him from across the room and never dreamed of speaking to him. If I had, I would have found that every word that came out of his mouth was more detestable than those of a Peacekeeper's, but nevertheless I continued to admire in silence.

Did this count as silence? No, it was worse. It was openly touching, caring, smiling without a hint of realism or sincerity. It was all fake. At least on his part anyway. A break from him was granted throughout my time at District Eleven, allowing me to sift through my thoughts, categorising them into boxes and processing my feelings. It didn't help.

"District Twelve is the poorest district," Jameson grumbled from his place on the sofa, his head in his hands as he reeled from the hangover claiming him after his rather extravagant drinking with Haymitch the night before.

"I'm aware."

"Therefore they're lacking the most moral. Snow will want you to boost it, most likely. Go down there and interact with the locals, congratulate them on their tributes—"

"Which are dead and both died the first day," I snapped.

"They're hurting."

"I'm also aware of that, Jameson."

"Tone," he warned.

"You're not my dad."

"No, I only kept you alive."

I huffed, blowing a strand of brown hair out of my face and sinking into my seat. Wouldn't it be wonderful if it would swallow me whole? It wasn't the first time I'd thought this, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. My brow raised.  "So... you want me to call you Dad?"

"I want you to start listening to me!"

"And I am," I assured. "Just... very vaguely."

"Finnick will go with you."

As though he'd been summoned, Finnick waltzed through the doors with a chirpy smile on his face. He was the sunrise personified — the promise of a new beginning shining in his sea green eyes and the colours of pink, orange and yellow radiated from his aura, creating a warm atmosphere as he jumped onto the armchair next to me.