Disclaimer: I don't own anything in Hunger Games or Bleach

Notes: Again updated, in reward for waiting so long. Thank you for the support and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 6

Finnick Odair – he finally figured out his name from Annie, who had outright laughed at him when he sheepishly admitted he still didn't know the guy's name properly – was a baffling pile of disaster just waiting to happen.

Grudgingly, he had to admit to himself that he hadn't been fair on the guy at first due to the fact he acted waay to much like some certain, manipulative people in his life that he didn't like on principle.

(Aizen, Gin, and hell, even Urahara when he was at his most conniving before he really got to know him and discovered he was a hundred times worse than he originally thought. The fucking shithead.)

Initially, Ichigo thought the guy was hiding too many things behind his smiling, blank mask that carefully hid his every thought. It took a while for Ichigo to distinguish the fact that no, the guy wasn't Aizen reincarnated ready to stab his back at any moment and that he also wasn't doing it to be purposefully disturbing like Gin had.

No, the more he looked, the more he began to realize that Finnick wasn't formulating diabolical plans every time he smiled that empty smile, but that he honestly didn't know how else to react to literally anything. It was like he was so used to smiling when he doesn't mean it, that it was a well-worn habit by now. Like a reflex that had been hard pressed into him to the point where he didn't know how to act natural in front of people he didn't know.

It was more than a little worrying to be frank.

Hell, Ichigo had almost been convinced that Finnick wasn't even capable of expressing any real emotion until Annie came into the picture. The way the bronze haired man looked at her almost made Ichigo feel like he was intruding on some private moment between two star-crossed lovers he's only ever read about in stories as a kid. It was more than a little embarrassing.

And that's when Ichigo extended the olive branch to the other man, Annie in tow as they all quietly ate in the kitchen with Finnick constantly shooting puzzling, awed smiles at her as if she was some miraculous marvel. It was such a drastic shift in demeanor that Ichigo couldn't help but keep a continuous eye on him as they ate, cataloguing the differences. Something the other man had whether been oblivious of, or simply ignored.

The next few days were radically different after that, Ichigo unflinchingly going up to him that next morning and bluntly asking him about 'Panem' in general.

Finnick had looked laughably stunned at his sudden approach after nearly five days of completely disregarding him, and had to have Ichigo prompt him with a growling, "Well?" before shaking out of it. The man had given him a perplexed look before cautiously starting to answer, as if afraid Ichigo's voluntary contact to him was a fluke he couldn't afford to mess up.

It sent a pang of guilt in Ichigo's gut at how uncomfortable he's made the man from his own behavior.

So with unhesitant resolve, Ichigo began to approach him more after that, firing question after question to him relentlessly to fill in the previous lack of communication between them.

At first, Finnick seemed wary by his rather blunt demands, but slowly began to relax and actually seemed to take some genuine enjoyment from Ichigo's obvious cluelessness on some issues. Like the matter of Capital fashion for example.

"Why the hell does everybody there dress like circus clowns on display? Are they compensating for something?" Ichigo complained as they casually ate their dinner in the living room on the expensive couches. It's been two weeks since Ichigo came to District 4 and they're more comfortable around each other than before.

Finnick let out a peal of snickers at this, grinning broadly with a touch of realism in it. Ichigo was satisfied to see that the fakeness he first saw from the young man was wearing away bit by bit the more they got to know each other.

"It's the fashion there." Finnick answered, looking greatly humored.

"They look ridiculous." Ichigo stated flatly. "And impractical. Seriously, have you seen those dresses? Some of them look like walking marshmallows with how poofy they look. I get second-hand embarrassment just watching them."

Finnick let out a 'pfft' sound that was so uncharacteristically undignified that Ichigo couldn't help but smirk smugly at how badly Finnick was unable to hold in his own amusement at the mental picture Ichigo painted.

"You-You really don't hold back, do you?" Finnick managed to wheeze out, breathless from laughing so much, sea-green eyes practically sparkling.

"It cuts the bullshit faster." Ichigo replied flippantly, which earned an amazed shake of the head.

"You're definitely one of a kind." Finnick declared, something almost like wistfulness in his voice. Ichigo, picking up on it, raised an eyebrow and jerked his head.

"What? You aren't capable of being completely honest?" Ichigo questioned. Finnick shook his head, a twisted, bitter smile spreading across his handsome features.

"Oh, I wish." Finnick gave a lopsided shrug. "I'm famous, remember?"

"Oh." To be honest, Ichigo had totally forgotten about that. He's never been one who cared about status and fame in the first place. Hell, his relationship with Byakuya alone spoke volumes of how much Ichigo gave a crap about that. Ichigo's interest piqued though over this new subject Finnick has opened up and he couldn't help but slyly smirk.

"So, what are you famous for anyway? Being the most wanted man of the year?" Ichigo snarked into his drink as he took a giant gulp.

Suddenly, as if a light switch was turned on, Finnick immediately turned rigid, a small flinch spazzing his entire body frame for only a second.

Ichigo's eyes sharpened at this, his attention snapping into focus.

What the heck?

"Hey." Ichigo said slowly, putting down his drink and giving the young man a questioning stare. "What's with you?"

Much to Ichigo's growing worry, Finnick didn't answer for a long while, his eyes avoiding his demanding gaze, a pensive expression plastered on. After a long moment, Finnick finally sighed, the sound long-drawn and defeated. When he looked up again, his face was steeled and serious in a way that made Ichigo instantly know he wasn't going to like what he had to say.

"Ichigo." Finnick said grimly, like he was bracing himself for impact. "There's something I should've told you a long time ago."

And then Finnick talked.

When Finnick finally finished, he felt utterly exhausted.

He finally told him, he thought somewhat dazedly, tired beyond belief over the emotional rollercoaster he had gone through. In all his life, he never had to explain the Games to someone who didn't even have an inkling of knowledge on the subject. Everyone in Panem knew. Parents told their children all this when they were around six or seven so they could mentally be prepared over their possible, imminent deaths in the future. Morbid, but at least they won't grow up to be naïve and are capable of actually surviving in such a messed up system.

Ichigo hadn't interrupted once as Finnick explained the system, carefully making it sound a lot less worse than it was. Snow had cameras everywhere and though Finnick had a certain advantage above most tributes due to Beetee's reworking over the system maintenance, it wasn't something he could use often without attracting suspicion.

So he played it out in a way where it would be as carefully neutrally opinioned as possible.

Judging from how Ichigo's face only seemed to grow darker and darker by the minute, it wasn't working.

By the time he was done explaining how old the kids were, Ichigo looked ready to storm to the Capital and behead Snow himself.

"Twelve?" Ichigo snarled out with so much murderous rage that Finnick instinctively tensed at the tone. It reminded him too much of the opponents he faced in the games when people were out to actually kill him. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I wish." He muttered under his breath. Ichigo stared at him, dawning comprehension rapidly taking over his face.

"How old were you?" Ichigo demanded, voice dangerously quiet, the calm before the storm. Finnick hesitated for moment before sighing, knowing he wouldn't quite until he told him.

"Fourteen."

Ichigo's face turned emotionless, face so closed off that Finnick would have to pry Ichigo open with a crowbar to get any reaction from him. Suddenly, with a deadly swiftness that looked almost predatory in nature, Ichigo stood up from his chair and whirled around to stand above him, eyes narrowed and so full of anger that it was terrifying.

"I'm going in the games, aren't I?" Ichigo said in such a contradictory calm tone that Finnick almost thought he misheard him. Finnick's only ever heard people say that sentence with fear or defeat, knowing they were going to die in there and terrified out of their minds at the inevitable fact. For all Finnick knew, Ichigo could've been talking about the weather from how he's talking.

"Yes." He admitted reluctantly, hating himself for it. "Ichigo-"

"Good."

With that one word, Ichigo began to turn around and briskly walk away.

What?

Finnick stared after him, speechless and unable to believe what he was hearing.

"Good?" Something in him snapped at the word, anger rising rapidly beyond control. "Good? Are you insane?"

"Everybody will be watching, right?" Ichigo stopped in his tracks and snapped his head to level him an intense, burning glare. "If that's the case, then it's the perfect time to strike."

He grinned wildly, everything about him screaming bloodlust and confidence and payback that'll send armies running for the hills.

He looked like a god of war ready to march to the front lines, eyes blazing with resolve so strong it would've driven weaker men on their knees.

"I'm going to fucking beat Snow at his own game."

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