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Annie pins Finnick’s wrists to the wall, leaning her sweaty body into his. He notices how her hair has frizzed out in the humidity, creating something of a halo of curls around her head. The sweat gleams on her skin from the pale moonlight filtering in through the window. It gives her this ethereal glow, like a siren sent to drag him out to sea.
She moves closer, pressing her chest to his. Her lips come to the hollow of his neck, and trail upwards in featherlight kisses. Her hot breath against him sends shivers down his spine. It’s a rare moment of cold in the otherwise sweltering heat that is District 4 in the summer.
“I missed you.” she sighs into his neck.
A chuckle bubbles up from his throat. He notices she’s on her tiptoes, letting her full body weight rest against him. Like he is the only thing keeping her upright.
“I missed you too.”
She pulls away from where she is kissing his neck to look up at him through long, dark lashes. The grip on his wrists does not falter.
He feels the exhaustion of travel weighing on him like a blanket, but he pushes it aside to enjoy this moment. It’s been weeks. He’s been anticipating this reunion with her ever since he left. And he’ll have to leave again for the games in a month. Their time together is fleeting.
“You were gone too long.”
“I know,” he says. “If I could have left sooner I would have.”
She nods.
“Kiss me?” she asks, always quick to avoid talk of the Capital.
Happy himself to avoid the topic, he lets his lips brush over hers. She kisses him back with a hunger, putting everything she has into the movement of her lips against his. It’s deeper than he intended, more passionate. She tastes of seawater. Of days spent on the beach, baking in the summer sun.
He pauses for a moment. Her lips pull away.
And before he can process it he’s being dragged away from the wall and flung down onto the bed. A startled yelp escapes his throat before his back makes contact with the mattress.
Annie smirks down at him and climbs onto the bed herself, straddling him.
“I—“
Annie cuts him off by pressing another kiss to his lips, her hands braced against his shoulders. Knees dig into his sides. The heat feels all-encompassing. The body is flush against his. He squeezes his eyes shut as one hand finds purchase in his hair, tugging at the strands. And the other slowly makes its way down his chest. Lower and lower until it’s not Annie’s hand anymore.
It’s not her.
It’s the man from last week with his vibrant blue hair and the tendency to leave Finnick bruised come morning. It’s the rich socialite from the night before who dragged him around some party with her claw-like nails digging into his arms. Or maybe it’s the sponsor, the one who gave him that trident all those years ago, pressing featherlight kisses to his skin one minute, and forcing him to rewatch all his bloody, gruesome kills the next. It’s a hundred different people. The ones who love him. The ones who hurt him. It’s everyone at once.
But it’s not Annie.
He tries to hold the image of her in his mind. He tries to hold onto her. Her wild, untamable curls. The bright green eyes that are impossible to ignore. But he can’t see her. He can’t feel her. All he can feel are the hands of so many people, hundreds of people, pushing him down.
So he pushes back.
The looming figure retreats.
“Finnick?”
It is only then that he feels the tears cascading across his temples and the heaving breaths that leave his lungs aching. He feels disconnected, his body reacting without his knowledge. It’s like his body does not belong to him.
Though when has it ever?
“Finnick, what’s wrong?”
He’s not breathing. Or maybe he’s breathing too much. It’s hard to tell when his mind feels fuzzy and the world around him is blurry. He hears a voice but it’s distorted beyond recognition. He tries to ask who the voice belongs to, but the words get caught in his throat. They stay lodged there, choking him. He tries to move his hand to the lump forming there, but he finds that his fingers have gone tingly. Has he been drugged? He has no memory of taking anything but a client could have slipped him something without him realizing it. It wouldn’t be the first time.
He tries to focus on the voice in case it can bring him any clarity to the situation but the words are impossible to make out. Though after a few moments something breaks through the noise in his head.
A melody.
He latches onto it. He follows the notes and finds that he recognizes them. The humming is a lullaby. One his mother used to sing to him when he was small. One that is unique to District 4.
He sits up and the humming stops.
“Finn?”
The voice is familiar. He knows it intuitively.
“You need to slow your breathing. You’re panicking.”
He nods, but the tightness in his chest doesn’t secede. He can feel the panic clawing up his throat. It’s choking him. He digs his fingernails into his legs.
“Just follow me, okay?”
The voice is counting softly, whispered numbers falling from familiar lips. He directs his attention to them.
One, two, three, four.
He blinks away the tears gathered in his eyes. His eyes sting, but his vision clears.
“Annie?”
He sees her now. The green eyes. The wild curls. Her pink lips turn up in a tiny smile, before settling quickly back into a thin line.
“Are you—“ she pauses. “Did I hurt you?”
Annie is leaning against the window, fingers gripping tightly onto the sill. The strap of her green, cotton dress has slipped off her sunburnt shoulder. It leaves a pale line of unblemished skin in its wake. She’s breathing slowly and deliberately with sweat-soaked strands of hair clinging to her forehead. She’s watching him. The frantic rise and fall of his chest. The trembling of his hands. She works her jaw. He can almost hear the crack.
“Finnick?” Her voice is soft.
He flexes his fingers, ignoring the way they shake.
“You’re not there anymore.”
“I know,” he nods. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have–”
“Don’t apologize,” she cuts in. “I shouldn’t – “Finn, if you need me to stop, you’ve got to tell me.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not.”
“I just forgot where I was for a moment.”
Tears are welling in her eyes, shimmering in the low light. She turns her head into a shadow to block his view, but he knows. He knows it hurts her. His time in the Capital might be just as hard for her as it is for him.
“I’m sorry,” He says.
“Stop apologizing to me. You did nothing wrong.”
He lets the silence hang there if only to give himself time to slow his frantically beating heart.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No.” He responds maybe too forcefully because Annie jumps at his voice.
She takes a tentative step forward as if her closeness will suddenly send him into a panic again. But he knows it won’t. He can smell the salty air of District 4. He can feel the rough sheets beneath him, nothing like the silk ones in the Capital. He’s home.
She sits beside him. Her bare feet dangle off the edge of the bed, kicking slightly. He rests his hand between them, palm up. She takes it without hesitation.
“I love you.” She says it so casually, like it isn’t dangerous. That their love is something inevitable, like the change of the seasons and the flow of the tides. It is something that only they share. Something both special and mundane. Finnick knows it’s not that simple. He knows the cost of love in this world. He knows it’s a risk.
“I love you too.”
But it’s a risk he’s willing to take.