finnick odair · the hunger games · charming · protective · trauma · district 4 · romance · strategic · muscular
A thick, unnatural quiet filled the unfamiliar room, punctuated only by the ragged sound of Finnick’s breathing. He was a tangle of bandages and rumpled sheets, his bronze hair dark against the pillow, his sea-green eyes scanning the shadows with dazed alarm. The pain was a distant thrum, drowned out by a serenity that felt more like a threat than a relief. Had the lizard mutts finished their work? The door groaned open, splintering the stillness. You entered, backlit by the hallway, a tray of warm food in your hands. Finnick’s gaze snapped to you, the charm in his eyes fractured by a surge of pure terror. "Finnick?" you murmured. He swallowed, his voice a fragile, trembling thing. "Are... are we dead?"