Four times he should have said he loved her and the one time he did.
1;
He was 13, she was 11. Her hair was dark brown and fell in knotted waves over her shoulders, her eyes were green, her skin was pale but slightly freckled, her laugh lit up her face and he didn't know why he was noticing these things about her. He noticed how she had a small group of friends and was awfully shy. He noticed her swimming at random hours, fishing on her father's boat. They had barely even talked.
He found her sitting on the sand skipping rocks; they hopped once, twice, three times before plunking into the water. She reached behind her to find her pile of rocks had dwindled to nothing so he passed her another. They sat there until the moon lit their faces and the sand grew chilly beneath them, skipping rocks and finding shells and she laughed in the way that made her whole face shine and he laughed until his sides hurt. He looked at her and he felt like he needed to be closer to this girl, but he pursed his lips and said that he had to go because his mother would get worried about him. He scurried off and if only he knew how much that girl would mean to him.
2;
He was a tribute, then a victor. Victor. The word rattled through his brain. Was he supposed to be proud? He was a monster. People would crowd and congratulate him and he could never understand why what he did was something to be proud of in their eyes. His nets, woven by his fingers, trapping the other tributes. His trident thrown through them. The sound of the cannon that signaled the end of their life all at the hands of him. It made him sick to his stomach. He barfed and retched and scrubbed in the shower until his skin was raw.
The beach was cold and empty except for her. It was always her. Shy promises whispered to the waves and the wind that he wasn't a monster and that it would be okay. She didn't know, she couldn't possibly know. But he let himself open up and she sat beside him as he sobbed and swore because it wasn't fair; he shouldn't be praised for his actions. Her fingertips touched his shoulder and he cringed because the touch was too soft. She wasn't rough or mean, her touch held innocence and gentleness and it was too strange for him. He watched tears roll down her face as he fell apart to this girl, the only one who would ever truly understand.
3;
He still noticed her. He didn't want to. He tried so hard not to. He couldn't risk having her get hurt. 16, 16 years old was old enough for his body to be used and sold. The Capitol's Darling Boy. The boy who put on a mask because he could never be the broken victor, he was loved and was supposed to love in return. The Capitol women, men, anyone who wanted him could have him. He continued to scrub his skin raw in the shower.
Then she volunteered, and he had to keep himself together, for she was just another tribute to be sent to her death at his hands. Her father wasn't there, and her mother was sick, it made sense. But nobody was going to cheer for the small shy girl in training, but he knew better. She could be as strong as the raging sea, putting him back together with a touch of her fingers and cracked whispers. A broken record repeated in his mind that she would be dead soon, just another tribute from District 4 lost, a cannon shot and a coffin sent home for burial. Find food, shelter, weapons, create an alliance; basic advice told with a smirk and Capitol laughs because what more was a mentor supposed to do.
It was perfected, his act, yet she saw right through him. This was the girl who had seem him at one of his lowest, who skipped rocks til the moon reflected off the water with him and laughed until she cried. He opened up to her over hot chocolate and reruns of the reaping, curled under blankets and weighted whispers of how scared she really was. He promised to get her out alive, her and her brown hair that lay in soft waves and green eyes with endless amounts of galaxies within them. Innocence didn't last long in the Capital. She fell asleep to the sound of his mug smashing against the floor in frustration.
4;
His hatred for the Capitol doubled, tripled even. Annie was so kind, so beautiful, so innocent. She was everything they wanted, even if they weren't happy with how the games played out. He knew this would happen. But she was crazy they said, mad, insane, they couldn't have her like that they said. They couldn't sell her with her screams and crying and her hands pressed so hard over her ears they went white, that turned off any possible customers.
She was the mad victor from District 4 they said, but she was so much more than that. She was the girl with the dark brown knotted hair that fell over her shoulders and freckled pale skin. Her green eyes looked so much more sad but he could still see all the stars in them. And he could still coax a laugh out of her that lit up her face like it did all those years ago. She was the girl who put his broken pieces back together as he did to her. They fit together in every sense; like in the way their fingers intertwined perfectly and her hesitant chapped lips molded onto his. It was too pure for someone as corrupted as him. And he hated how much more he loved her every time he crawled into her bed and peppered kisses on her scalp, because he was Capitol Sweetheart Finnick Odair and she was Annie Cresta, the victor who went mad, and he was never supposed to fall in love with her.
5;
He had said he loved her before, but only as rushed whispers, kissed into her skin and her hair. He was too scared, he couldn't lose her. He'd lost too much already. So his "I love you"s were their fingers interlocked and light touches to her cheek, his long fingers braiding her hair and how he kissed her until she came back to him. She always did.
But now there was just them, them and Annie's green wedding dress in their District 13 compartment. There were no more Capitol clients and she was safe with him. Safe, safe, safe. So he repeated the three words like a prayer, because he finally could.
Ever since he was 13, Annie Cresta understood him. The girl with the dark hair and bright eyes, who waited for him to come back to her as he did for her; the girl who made him feel real again and made him realize he could fall in love. To anyone else, their story would be the strong Finnick Odair helping the poor Annie Cresta, but it was far more than that. It was the nightmares and nights on the train, it was the sand underneath their toes on the beach, it was the smashing of glasses and trying to tell themselves they weren't in love because it was too dangerous. But suddenly everything was worth it and Finnick Odair was in love with Annie Cresta.