this little universe between our backs
annie/finnick.
'pick a star on the dark horizon' + heartbeat + shadow
this is how they fall in love:
(she calls it fate; he calls it an accident but thinks she must be right.)
she is wearing a blue dress. her hair is a mess. she is a pretty girl but not overly so; it is the brightness in her eyes that makes her attractive.
she is saying, "i am about to be sick."
he says, "take a deep breath."
she laces her fingertips together, over her diaphragm, and sucks in air as though she is drowning.
he puts his hand on her shoulder and says, "relax, you're going to be okay." (at the time he is unaware that he is lying.)
she sits, knees pulled up to her chest, on the edge of his bed, and stares out the wide expanse of his window.
"hey," he says.
she startles at the sound of his voice. "i can't do this," she says, shaking. "i'm going to die."
he sits next to her, long legs dangling off the edge of the bed. "no," he says, "you're not." (he has never done this before: hence, the optimism.)
she sighs and twists around and presses her mouth to his with a quiet desperate exhalation of breath.
he startles. "what-"
"i'm not going to be a virgin sacrifice," she says, slowly, biting her lip. "i'm not. do this for me- please?"
he drops his forehead against hers, feeling her shiver against him. he remembers this feeling: the loneliness, pressing against his heart, stifling the beat of it. he fits his hand to the curve of her cheek, and makes it good.
the darkness hangs across the night sky, so the lamps cast long elegant shadows across the floor and their feet. she slips her hand into his and says, it's dark out, but there are stars, and he drops a kiss on the top of her head and says, yeah.
the steady rhythm of her breath settles in his chest, and for the first time in his life he thinks about forever.
"pick one," she says, curved up against him, all fragile bones and bare skin- there isn't enough muscle to take her through a fight. "a star."
"what?" he asks, distracted by the thump thump thump of her heart against his palm, by the edge of salt caught in the scent of her hair.
"pick a star," she says. "so i can think of you. stars are a constant."
he tightens his arms around her and picks the brightest, fiercest star, so that she can know someone is out there, for her.
she stumbles out of the arena, dripping wet and gasping, eyes flat and hollow.
he catches her in his arms and murmurs, oh annie, and she falls into him, breathing out like relief and she says, i saw the star, finn, i saw the star, and throws her arms around him like an octopus, too tight for either of them to breathe. the seawater seeps through his expensive, beautiful clothes, so they are the same now, joined in the knowledge that they survived, and the wetness and harsh stink of the sea.
the cameras start whirring, and he runs his hands through her hair and says, "annie cresta, everybody," as she presses herself against him. the applause is enough to break his heart.