I.
"Tell me all of your fears," he's saying, and her hand is resting inside his, her head on his thigh, and her eyes are closed.
"You first," she's teasing him, and he's gently squeezing her warm hand, his thumb tracing the imperfections in her blue nail polish. He's sitting up and looking down at her, at the smattering of freckles over her nose, at the way her lashes fall over her cheeks elegantly.
"Abandonment," he says after a moment. The room is silent, save the busy rustle of autumn leaves, tumbling to the ground off of the maple tree outside his window, that was their nest for so many months until it just wasn't anymore, until autumn began.
"Finnick Odair, that is so cliche." She opens her eyes and glances up at him. Their eyes meet and, after gazing into those sea-green eyes with the little hazel flecks, she rolls her eyes. And he pokes her in the shoulder.
"Oh, but I am a very cliche person."
"But cliche is bad, ergo, you are not cliche." And he jabs her in the ribs. "You're only afraid of abandonment?"
"Mm-hmm," he murmurs. "And apparently, you're not afraid of anything, because you haven't answered."
"Shut up," she teases. "Snakes, spiders, being dragged away in the night, disappearing off the face of the earth, exploding into a million pieces."
"That is also cliche."
She sighs.
"I'm not as cliche as you."
And she smiles her red-lipsticked smile, and he pokes her in the ribs, and she pokes him back and their lips meet and they stay that way for a long time.
"Did you know," she says slowly, when they've come away and they're just staring at each other, with his hand tangled up in her hair and hers on his neck. "That I feel a certain happiness never before experienced by any member of the human race when I'm with you?"
And a smile sort of creeps onto his face.
"I did not," he says back, and he's looking down at the floor. His hand has fallen. It is no longer tangled up in her dark hair, just gently fingering the loops of greyish carpet beneath them.
"And did you know," she continues, staring into his eyes even though he isn't remotely looking back. "That I am very, very afraid of stupid things."
"Oh," he says, and he's still looking down and she's still got a hand on the back of his neck. "Well, don't worry." And he sort of just stops, and Annie doesn't really know what he means by that.
"I'm not worrying. It's hard to worry when you feel this never-felt-before certain happiness."
"Just. . .I'll try not to let stupid things ruin all of that, then," he says.
"Happiness is a nice thing," she says, and she's looking down with him.
"Happiness is weird," he says sort of quietly.
"Happiness is beautiful."
"You're beautiful."
She is silent, squirming a little bit awkwardly. Annie Cresta isn't used to compliments. So she says nothing, just presses her lips to his cheek and whispers little nothings into his ear, thinking about happiness and stupid things and how much it will hurt when he leaves her.
Author's Note: Agh, Peyton, sorry this is slightly horrible and sorry it's not fabulous. Take no offense to my butchering of prose.
