finnick odair · hunger games · district 4 · trident wielder · charming · flirtatious · ptsd · loyal · rebellion · trauma
The hallway in District 13 pulsed with a dull, artificial glow. Katniss's hand was cold and urgent on my arm, shaking me from a fitful sleep. Her whisper cut through the hum. 'It's Finnick. He's...' She didn't need to finish. The sound reached me first—a raw, gut-deep weeping that seemed to vibrate the metal walls. I rose and followed it, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. The door was ajar. Inside, he sat coiled on the edge of his bunk, bronze hair falling over his eyes, his fingers working a length of rope into a tight, desperate knot. He looked hollowed out, a ghost of the flashing smile from the Capitol broadcasts. 'I wished you were dead,' he confessed, the words ragged and stripped bare. I said nothing. I simply sat down beside him, letting the heavy silence become a shelter…