twilight
Annie sat alone on the park bench with a book in her arms. It was twilight; the time when the air still lingered with the warmth of the day but the stars twinkle with their delicate grace. The only sounds were the faint chirps of nightingales, singing to the silent wind.
The city felt empty. Not desolate; not silent. The city just felt empty, as if there were no one there but the city lights and towering skyscrapers. Somehow, some way, there were real people in there.
The night grew darker and the stars in turn grew brighter. It was only when the clock struck ten that Annie put her book down. She stood up. She gazed into the distance, at the silhouettes of the nightingales. A shadow crept out of the darkness. "Annie?" the shadow asked. Annie gasped.
The shadow stepped forward and swept Annie off her feet. "Finnick!" she exclaimed in a whisper. Finnick kissed her on the cheek. Annie gazed up into his shining eyes, her hair falling over his shoulder. Finnick set Annie down on the bench, where he sat next to her. "You're late," Annie said with a smile.
"I know I'm late, shut up!" Finnick joked back. They both laughed. Annie reached for his hand. She threw her head to the side, a smile emblazoned across her face. They told jokes and they laughed late into the night.
Annie shook her head, laughing. "Finnick," she whispered, a hint of a chuckle in her tone. She wrapped an arm around his neck and turned to him. The corners of her mouth ever-so-slowly turned up into a smile.
"You don't know how lovely you are, Annie." Annie's gaze drifted to the ground. Finnick placed two fingers under her chin and brought her chin up until she was looking into his sea-green eyes. Annie turned her head and stared into the stars. They seemed to dance through the sky. Annie wished for one thing— to dance through the sky. or just to dance.
"I'm not lovely," Annie whispered. "Not at all." She slipped her hand into Finnick's. Finnick looked at her with such a look that any sane person would chuckle at. Annie wasn't sane; she wasn't mad; she wasn't "special"; she wasn't crazy. She was only one thing and she would only be one thing: Annie Cresta.
wish
"Finnick," Annie said, sing-songing. "I want one— no, two things." Her eyes flickered in the moonlight. Finnick twisted a lock of her hair affectionately. Putting her head on Finnick's shoulder, Annie waited for a reply.
"What do you want, my darling sugar cube?" Finnick replied as if on cue, using the nickname that Annie might have hated the most. "What could you want that your lovely lover hasn't given you already?" Finnick boasted to himself.
"Finnick," Annie said, staring up at the full moon. "I want to dance." Her voice came out in whispers; she said it so quietly that Finnick could only hear a sliver of her words. Finnick took her hand and led her down a flight of wooden stairs to a small field. Annie's hands rested on his shoulder; his on her hips, and they did all but dance. They tripped over each others' feet and laughed as they fell sprawling into the grass. At the end they only lay down on the grass, stargazing. They didn't care about anything anymore, only that Finnick was on the left and Annie on the right and there were two of them, bound by their entwined hands.
They lay on the field for a moment longer, still pointing at the stars when Finnick asked, "Annie, what was the second thing you wanted?" He plucked a purple honeysuckle and twisted it in a lock of her dark hair. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, waiting for a reply.
Annie's reply was simple. "I want a white veil and a ring on my finger." Finnick's gaze averted from the stars. He instead looked at Annie, who still looked at the 'dancing' stars.
Their night ended with the whispers of "Will you marry me, my darling sugar cube" and "Of course, my handsome tridentarian".