enjoy.

Despite his insistence, Finnick's pride is clearly wounded by whatever I have forgotten from our interaction that night. I rack my memories for any sliver of information or reason why he has become so sour but find nothing. Even with his newly adopted attitude, I can't help but be happy Finnick is speaking to me again.

The night when the tribute's scores are published, we meet in the garden. He tells me how frightened his girl- Bird, he calls her, is of loosing her brother. Each of the 4 tributes have decided to volunteer their lives' for the other. Finnick tells me how annoying the I sentiment was. "I reckon they'll both die while being busy trying to save eachother."

I had laughed and said nothing else. I can tell how fond he is of the girl, despite his insistence otherwise. I worry he will suffer when she dies. We speak nothing more about the event that happened the night of my memory loss.

It is not until the night before the tributes leave for the arena that I think any more of the what may have happened.

I dream of the blue-haired boy's lips on my skin. His lips trail across my stomach and his hands move a path across my hips. My skin is alight. I am struck by how right this feels, us together like this. As the warmth dips down below my hip bone, A sensation courses though me. It sharp with both pain and pleasure and I cannot help but let his name leave my lips. "Finnick," I exclaim as I peek downward toward not blue hair, but blonde. His smile Is broad and arrogant as he turns back toward his work.

I wake absolutely sure that Finnick had been the one in my bed two weeks past. I am horrified that I have forgotten such a material portion of that night.

The entire walk to my room I try and fail to remember more. How could he not tell me?

I pound on his door twice and waltz in, not waiting for him to open it. Finnick sits on the bed, shirtless and confused as to why I am so worked up. Perhaps he's expecting another repeat of that night.

"Viva?"

"How could you not tell me?"

His face fixes into a frown and then into a scowl. He understands me.

Finnick picks up a shirt ffrom the floor and rips it over his shoulders. "How could you forget?"

I fight the burn of shame. "I drank a lot. I thought it was-"

"-that blue haired kid?" Finnick chuckles. His face is smug. "Like he could have done anything I did with such proficiency."

"You're so arrogant!"

"you enjoyed it, trust me. I rarely ver-"

I hold up my hand and close my eyes."Finnick," He quiets. I fight the burn of anger.

"I didn't plan it," he admits. "I saw you with the boy and just kind of," Finnick shrugs. "It was a confusing night."

I think of all the times I have watched Finnick disappear into rooms attached to beautiful women. The feeling of fire and hate that has always burned through me at that sight. I have pushed aside the knowing, not wanting to ruin what was between us.

"It happens to me too you know," I train my eyes at a spot on the opposite wall. "When you leave with them."

Our eyes meet and time seems to stop. Finnick knows who I'm speaking about. We stand there, staring at each other without anymore words.

I slip out the door a moment later without any other words between us. I feel small and foolish for what just had occurred, like a child who has put her hand in fire.