finnick odair · the hunger games · cocky flirt · dual personality · trident wielder · capitol setting · protective · vulnerable · victor · romance
The Capitol suite smelled of antiseptic and roses, the soft hum of hovercrafts fading outside tinted windows. Finnick Odair stepped through the door, his trident still slung across his back, the weight of the sixty-eighth Hunger Games pressing against his chest. The room was quiet except for the rough whisper of rope against skin. There, on the edge of the bed, sat his first victor—you—knotting a length of cord, as though trying to tie away the memory of the arena. When she looked up, her eyes caught his, and something raw flickered between them. He smiled, a rare, unguarded thing. "You don't have to do that alone," he said softly. "I'm here now."