You're laying on his bed, and you feel like shit for it. You twist and turn, slouch, and then some. All the while, he sits calmly against your chest, his straw-like hair fallen against his face and your dull blue coated chest. He's calm, and silent, and has been for over an hour. Only softly and scarcely making comments about the Capitol.
But you stay, hold him until he is content, or until he chases you out.
It's only for a while, you know that atleast. Only until Annie is saved, and brought back to the man beside of you. Only until his love, and the light in his eyes is brought back. Said light hasn't been glowing for awhile.
Until then, he has you.
He tells you that you remind him of Annie, with your flaming hair, and equally flaming personality. But you know that Annie is sweeter than you, the last time the two of you met she was, atleast. She reminds of sea glass, colorful, beautiful, out of something destructive. Broken bottles, smoothed into pebble-like shapes, with glimmering bodies, and copious amounts of beauty.
You don't know if she's changed, though she probably has. Seeing other players die around her has probably shot her sanity down the drain and into the sewers.
So you don't trust him when he says that you remind him of her.
You shuffle to the side silently as he twists an arm around your waist, and you sigh into his hair quietly. Not in disgust, or sadness, it is simply a sigh. A sigh that describes your emotions at the very moment, but yet leaves them to the most vast, dark portions of the universe, traveling until they are never found, or discovered again.
You are, simply, there.
Finnick, on the other hand, is broken. He was a sword when he entered his first games, thirteen years ago, sharp and strong. Now, he is a mere lance, thin, waiting to be snapped, looks that could kill but only a piece of steel to keep from destroying oneself. He is a lance, and you are simply there.
How quaint.
"It's twelve."
He informs you in his gruff, though brittle voice. A contradiction, though that is what Finnick Odair is. A contradiction, wrapped in mystery. A double-edged sword, though a brittle lance. Broken, but waiting to be shattered. Beautiful, but deadly.
"I am well aware of the time." You grumble back, offering a slight squeeze to the chunks of muscle that is his arm.
"You should probabl-"
"I know what I should probably do, and that is go back to my quarters. Unfortunately, my comrade's life and soul has been wretched from him, and whisked away to the Capitol. And, for the time being, I fancy myself the dull glimmer in his pale eyes, and the wind through his straw hair. And, for that reason, I will stay with him through the night if I must, to calm his nerves and piece him together again." The words pour from your pale lips without a thought to stop them, though Finnick doesn't mind. He sits silently, before a soft chuckle escaped his thin lips, and he settled back against your chest.
"I'm not glass."
"You are." You murmur back to him when he tries to sit up, and you quickly shuffle a bit away, as if him seeing you would make what you are doing any more horrid. You catch the scent of sea and wind of his skin, and you are well aware that he misses home. You could care less about horrid District 4; Where you spent your days separating fish from octopi and crabs.
"I can't shatter."
"You can if I try." You remark back, hissing it under your breath, and he goes quiet. He knows your strengths, he knows that you are stronger than half the population. That you can throw a spear strait through the eye of a squid a quarter of a mile away, he knows that you can look someone and they will curse, hiss, or simply whimper in fear at your presence.
You are death, but you aren't, really.
You've never been in one of the Games. You blended in, slipping away at night to fish and curse and shatter bones. District 4 was your home, Hell. Then you would haul your sorry ass back to your house, fix yourself up long enough to last another day, then repeat. Your parents didn't care, they hated you; and much rather preferred your older sibling to you. You are a broken shard of glass, brittle and sharp.
"I can break you as well, but only for a small few." He murmurs back. He is well aware that your hobby is breaking yourself, and slowly piecing the shards of you back together. Though, each time, bits are left scattered throughout, leaving small, growing holes in yourself.
"A secret?" You question, chuckling. Secrets? That's all you are. Maybe that's why Finnick lays with you, waiting for the one he truly desires. He can get secrets from you, break you and build you back up again at his will, bend you and snap you, just to solder the pieces together as they shatter apart again. Your emotions, laying in the darkest depths of the universe, your sanity, lost in bits and pieces around you, your mind, falling apart, you are made of secrets and secrets alone.
"Of course. A small fee, I believe. I know how this somehow gets you off." He snorts.
"My wish is to be killed by you." You say it too quickly, you know that, because he goes quiet. Which he stays for an indefinite period of time, and you start losing track of it quickly.
"Your payment has been received."
just a li'l' somethin' I did in the middle of the night. Input is welcome and highly encouraged! 3
uwu