Work Text:
Finnick’s living room window is open, a gentle twirl of a breeze rustling the curtains, drifting through his hair. He barely notices, just like he doesn’t notice I’m studying him so carefully. The images on the mandatory programming on the television are a collection of footage of him in the Capitol during the last games.The Finnick on the screen is striking and charming and handsome, dressed sharply in colorful suits, alternating with racy, sexual, revealing and highly styled outfits, waving to crowds of admirers. My Finnick is curled up on our couch, clad in jeans faded from wear, and an old wool fisherman’s cardigan, draped open over a dull, gray tee shirt.
He looks like anyone from 4- slouched tiredly on the couch after a long day of work out on the docks. If only he had been anyone. We could have had a regular life. Our lives are tied to the ebb and flow of the Games rather than the tides, and we are curled up on a couch in the Victor’s Village, and not on an avenue down by the shore, and I’m learning these few precious weeks are all the regular we get. There’s a sweet spot of several weeks in the autumn that I am nearly myself nearly all the time, having recovered from the separation from the last Games, but still far enough away from the next Games that I can convince myself we’re ourselves, without obligations to anyone but each other. We live our true lives in the space of these days.
The Finnick on the screen flashes toothy grins while greeting Capitol citizens at various parties, and I am thankful that we had shut off the sound. Beside me, my Finnick shifts through a letter that had arrived this morning, scanning it carefully. The envelope sits between us, in the folds and waves of the knitted blanket. The handwriting is familiar, I assume it belongs to a Victor from another District.
“Mags said you spoke with Meredith and Ronan today.” He didn’t look up, but frowned at the last page of the letter, and rubbed a hand absently over the stubble on his jaw.
“She’s worried about her nephew.” I frown, glancing through the open window and beyond, across the street to Meridith’s house, where the lights are dark. “He’s only got his name in once, but-”
“Once is enough.” Finnick finishes my thought. He bites his lip, not bothering to fold up the letter before handing it to me, loose papers flopping gently in the breeze from the window. I take them, giving them no attention as his gaze flickers from mine to the television screen, and back to me again, sadness weighing heavily on his handsome features. When he nods at the papers in my hands, I look down, recognizing the signature as one of the Mentors from District 7. “Sabille is worried about her new Victor.”
Sabille is ill. Finnick says she has been ill for several years. Scanning through her letter, I see that she’s no longer able to receive treatments from the Capitol. She’ll be dead soon, and wants Finnick to help her new Victor, Johanna, once Sabille is gone. It’s a heavy ask, but Sabille and Mags are old friends, and Johanna is pretty, and of age. Terrifying, but pretty. She’ll need help navigating expectations and obligations in the Capitol as a Victor. I pull my attention away from the letter in my lap, and Finnick has fixed a vacant stare at Capitol footage rolling now, primarily him flirting with Capitol citizens, each dressed more outrageously than the last. He frowns, his jaw tight in a grimace.
“Hey.” I lean over, tilting my head to the side in an attempt to catch his attention. “That’s not you.”
He’s inhaling a shaky breath, and I can see that his peace is starting to falter. Pressure radiates from my lungs to my fingertips, and I know it’s the beginnings of panic. I push it aside, just like the blanket across my legs, and I climb into Finnick’s lap. He’s tired, and I can feel weary tension leaving his shoulders under my fingers. His body fits snugly with mine, and I can feel puffs of soft warm breath across my collarbone. I press a kiss to his hair- wild and unruly in the gentle sea breeze from the window. Finnick’s arms wind around my waist, and I run my fingers along the curve of his neck, waiting for his calm. Mine will follow.
Outside, beyond the shoal, I watch a fishing boat drift across the horizon.
“No one ever wins the Games, Ann.” Finnick mumbles, and his words reverberate against my skin. Inside these walls, we are the same. Survivors. We play characters in the Capitol, our parts in Snow’s Opus in exchange for our precious few moments of peace at home. Our Capitol Selves- the Finnick on the screen and the Mad Girl that stays home in District 4- they aren’t us. Finnick taught me that, and he’ll teach that to Johanna, too. Vaguely, I wonder who her Capitol Self will be.
“We don’t win, but we survive.”
It’s several minutes before we move, Finnick’s grip is anchoring me to reality, and keeping the panic at bay. I lay a hand beneath the edge of his cardigan, feeling his heartbeat start to steady below the soft cotton of his shirt. I press a kiss against his temple, offering what comfort I can, but I know it’s not enough. When Finnick hums his agreement, I smile. His shoulders have relaxed, and I can tell that his peace is largely restored. He slouches into the couch beneath me, and he leans his head back against my arm, before turning to face me, his features tucked into the crook of my neck.
The Finnick on the screen is comprised of flirtations and sexual adventures, drugs and parties and flashy soirees. My Finnick thrives on deep connections, on closeness, on physical touch. He’s emotional and sensitive, and when he returns, he’s starved for real affection and reassurance. It’s part of what makes his obligation to the Capitol so devastating. I’m not sure Snow even knew this detail about him, or if his obligation of forced prostitution in the Capitol was a calculated selection to produce the most pain and suffering. Finnick suffers greatly, regardless, and so do I- he’s so much more than his role in the Capitol. We’ve come to rely on each other, deeply, in the year since my Victory Tour concluded, and I’ve come to need him just as much as he needs. He’s guarded, but he’s let me in.
Here and now, I think. Here and now, and not then, and there.
“I’ll call Sabille tonight. We’ll need to arrange time with Johanna before the Games.” He’s decided to honor Sabille’s wishes, but I can tell by his tone that he also has decided to stop thinking about it for now. I hum my own agreement, my fingers twirl into his hair, long and untamed. I’ve learned this year that he avoids haircuts outside of the regularly scheduled grooming provided by the Capitol, over which he has no say. I prefer Finnick this way- overgrown, rustic and wild, calm and comfortable like the tide pools nearby. My Finnick is sweet and kind, thoughtful. He loves fiercely, and with an utter devotion that grounds me.
The gentle sea breeze has turned cold as the sun starts to set. I close my eyes against the chill, and let out a sigh.
“Someday, we’ll keep the world out of the house, Finnick.” I have no authority to make that promise, but I do, and Finnick shoots me a piece of an amused grin, nodding faintly. I push a few stray strands of my hair out of my face, and let my attention drift to the sea, and the gentle rolling waves of a tide coming in.
“Someday, Ann.” He leans his head to the side, along the back of the couch, and lets his gaze travel along the length of my thigh, curled across his lap. Hidden beneath the hem of the sweater I wear, which feels comically large, is my bare skin, scattered with freckles. His fingers reach out to touch my leg, so softly, delicately, that I shouldn’t feel anything, yet my skin is alight, and the shiver down my spine has nothing to do with the cool breeze. I smile sweetly, climbing off his lap to close the window, shutting out most of the cool night air, leaving it open just a crack. It feels like we're brimming on the edge of something beyond our friendship, and I'm surprised that considering this doesn't feel heavy and complicated, like everything else that surrounds us. In the here and now, it's just us, in the house, and nothing else matters.
Finnick watches me- a small, shy smile tugging at his lip, as I move about the living room, picking up Sabille’s forgotten letter from the floor, and folding it with care. I suspect he can hear my thoughts drifting through and rolling over in my head. Finnick knows me, in and out. When I move on to the knitted blanket, I glance at him as I fold it, and instantly feel the heat of a blush. His eyes smile, too, and when he shifts in his seat to prop his head up on his hand, he catches my gaze, and holds it.
“What?” I breathe, offering him a gentle smile. He stands, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and I turn to face him squarely. I take a step toward him, and Finnick exhales. His gaze flickers to our feet, and I know he’s searching for the right thing to say.
I wait.
“You and Mags-” He starts, but stops again, raising a hand to rub against the stubble on his jaw. I have learned that this is a tell- he’s mulling over something serious, and wants to consider it carefully. After a moment, he starts again. “You and Mags are everything I have.” His words are quiet, soft, and I step closer to hear him. “When I go, I keep you both safe.” He pulls his hand out of his pocket, and brushes a stray piece of hair away from my face, fingers barely touching my cheek. “I need you to be safe, Annie.”
“I’m safe.” I whisper. “I’m here, and I’m safe, and you’re here with me. You’re safe here, too, you know.” I step closer again, closing the small space between us, and I smile fondly as Finnick leans in, touching his forehead to mine. We’re no strangers to existing in each other’s spaces, and are familiar with the comfort of such closeness, but in this moment, I know without any doubts that Finnick and I are teetering on the edge of something more.
If we were anyone else, I may have grabbed his face, and kissed him deeply, pulling away only to laugh off the surprise, and grin about the impulsivity. Maybe I would have pushed him back down on the couch, and climbed back into his lap, and kissed him again, with lust and heat. Maybe he would have kissed me back. Maybe I would have raced him up the stairs, to the bedroom we already share, shedding clothes. Maybe we would have kissed a long time ago.
Instead, the heat burns in my chest, making it hard to breathe, and I can’t tell if the pressure I feel is wanting Finnick, or hating the Capitol, or both swirled together. He’s broken, just like me, but we’re broken differently, and our broken bits make everything so complicated. We could have had a regular life. Finnick pulls back, mere inches, and meets my gaze slowly. He’s biting his lip, and I’m distracted for a moment- letting my mind wander, wondering if he tastes like the salt air in the room. When I look back, his eyes remain fixed on me, and something shifts.
“It’s okay, Finnick.” I whisper.
In the space of the moment, it's all the permission he needs, and he’s dipped his head, and captured my lips with his own. I shiver, the firm pressure of his arms back around my waist and the delicate, slow kiss on my lip pulling me under my senses. My own hands reach up, and my fingers tangle into the hair at the back of his head, causing him to groan softly into my mouth. I feel dizzy- unsteady, as if we were on a boat rather than on land. I reach for him, gripping his arm so as not to lose my balance. Finnick breaks away at once, and I can see by the knit in his brow he’s panicked that he’s ruined us, or hurt me. One of my hands curls around his jaw, and I let my thumb run across the dip of the dimple on his cheek. He’s breaking into a soft smile, and so do I. Standing on my tip toes, I kiss him again, smiling against him. I want to continue kissing this man, I think. I love him, and I want to kiss him again.
“Annie-”
“Finnick-”
He grins as I laugh when we speak at the same time, in the same tone, and I know we have the same thought in our minds. He sighs, wrapping his arms around my shoulders as mine twine around his waist, and I can feel some of our broken bits mending. I rest my ear to his chest, taking comfort in the rhythm beneath his shirt. I feel him press a kiss in my hair, and I feel myself sigh, too. He’s resting his chin on my head, and I can feel his words rumble against my temple when he speaks.
“Wow.” He breathes, and I know he’s smiling, because I’m smiling, too. “Real?”
“Real.” I agree. “Very real.”
Outside the window, the breeze picks up, rolling into cold wind, rattling the window pane. We’re grinning smugly to each other, though, and I forget about the chill in the room and everything outside it. There’s a familiar warmth against the soft cotton of Finnick’s shirt- the same warmth I felt moments after dropping to the floor of the hovercraft above the arena of my Games, the same warmth that never left me alone with my terrible thoughts, the same warmth that slept soundly curled up beside me last night, and the night before, and the night before.
My Finnick collects secrets when he goes away, but I am his secret here at home. These kisses, they are our secret, too. Just like everything that comes with being kissed. I’m in my thoughts, and I feel Finnick lean in and press his nose to my cheek, his lips almost touching mine. His fingers roam from my waist to my hair, pausing along my neck before tracing along my chin, tilting my head up to face him. I meet his gaze, and the soft green of his eyes have darkened, and I know Finnick Odair is the last man I’ll ever kiss. His expression softens, and his attention darts to my lip and back to my eyes again.
We collide, and these new kisses are deeper, more urgent, and I’m lost in the mix of lust and affection. I step back, and pull him with me. Legs unsteady, I'm grasping tightly to the front of his cardigan. When Finnick leans into me, I moan into his mouth, and he chuckles for a moment, catching my bottom lip with his. Then his tongue is in my mouth, and his fingers are hooked around my knee, and he's lifting me with ease.
“Annie.” He breathes my name like a prayer, and I wrap my legs around his waist, my fingers cradling his face. He’s got to angle up to kiss me now, and I take control easily, pulling at his lip, matching his fervor. Loose and wild strands of my hair drift between us, and as I swat them away, he takes a few shaky steps, bumping me into the doorway that separates the cozy little living room from the kitchen.
“Finnick.” I lean back, resting my back along the cedar of the door jam, flushed and breathing heavy. I grin broadly when I see his cheeks are pink, too. I’m wedged between the wall and his hip, and his smile is disbelieving as he laughs, quietly. He kisses me again, thick and thoroughly, and I’m so wrapped up in the feel of his lips on mine, and the taste of him that’s salt and sweet together, that I don’t immediately realize that he’s lowering me back down to the floor. He breaks our kiss, and I slip my hands beneath his cardigan, rolling the hem of his shirt between my fingers at his waist.
“Are you alright?” He’s holding my face with both of his hands, searching my features for signs of distress. I know he won’t find any.
“Better than alright.” Finnick is grinning at my words, and his happiness lights my happiness, too. We’re broken, and we’re broken differently, but maybe our broken pieces fit together this way, and it will make us whole- here where we can live our true lives. I feel clarity, and I feel like myself, and I love this man before me, deeply, with everything in my soul. My Finnick- the real Finnick. Leaning into him, I kiss him again, calmer, quieter. Familiar- it feels as if I’ve kissed him a thousand times. Tangling my fingers with his, I let my gaze flicker to the stairs over his shoulder.
“It’s chilly down here, what with that breeze off the bay.” Finnick arches his eyebrow at me playfully, the shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, red and flush. I feign indecisiveness, and he ducks down, dropping soft kisses to the crook of my neck, and I can’t remember anything anymore. "No harm in calling Sabille tomorrow."
“Upstairs?” I flash a grin, and step around him, pulling him with me as I make my way to the staircase. Finnick turns to follow, but pulls me back, pressing a kiss to my knuckles, my hand still in his. I may as well have asked him to love me forever, I think.
“Upstairs.” I’m offered a crooked, boyish smile as he agrees. It couldn’t have been more than four minutes, and already, we’re at ease with the shift between us. Vaguely, I wonder what Meredith, or Ronan, or Adrian, or Brendan, or Mags would think if they happened to be walking past Finnick’s house right now, and I twirl around on the bottom step of the stairs, a hand on the polished wood of the banister, facing him, nose to nose.
“What? What’s wrong, Annie?” He’s frozen, and I recognize the expression on his features. He’s worried I’m not myself.
“Nothing, nothing’s wrong.”
“Annie, I-”
I shake my head to quiet him, and roll my lip between my teeth, suddenly nervous. I don’t dare let go of the banister- I feel lightheaded from the surge of joy and desire. I need to tell him this is serious. That it’s deep in my soul, that it matters. I need to tell him that he matters. We’re here and now, and here and now are our true lives. My fingers trace along his jaw, touching the stubble that covers his cheek. I skim my thumb over the stubble on his chin, and he turns in my hand to press a kiss to my palm.
I can’t find any words.
My finger moves slowly, running across his bottom lip, an ancient, familiar gesture here at home, in District 4. When I raise my eyes to catch his gaze, I know he understands. In weddings, the promise of commitment is sealed with this motion, each touching the other’s lip with salt water. There’s no salt water for us, but maybe someday there will be. Finnick follows suit, moving his fingers in an identical motion, touching my lip lightly before pressing his forehead to mine. Connections, closeness, touch. These are things I need to thrive, too. After a moment, I do find words. They come out as a whisper. Quiet, and only for us.
“I love you.”