Routines could be fickle creatures. They required daily tending to grow and thrive, a constant need for attention. The idea was that when grown, they could last a lifetime. Coral had watched routines rise and fall over the years, from life before and after Ford. From the life before and after Aveline. None had settled in quite as fast as the one she lived day to day after the night of Finnick and his knife. It was too easy. It made her wary and guarded and yet she found herself going back each day for more regardless.

Some things stayed the same. Fishing. Classes. Mags. Cleaning a home occupied by two people on a day to day basis was something that actually required little of her time. Two good hours and some elbow grease and the vast majority of the work was done. The meals she offered could be prepared in advance when there was an actual working system to store excess food. Suddenly, for the first time in her life, Coral gained the true experience of free time. In the beginning, Mags filled it with the herb garden and teaching her to craft splendid fishhooks which were traded off to Finnick for his small excursions. After the Games, the Victors chose skills as a means to occupy their sudden wealth of time and energy. Mags had funnelled hers into weaving. Finnick had chosen fishing. It had seemed a strange decision to Coral, at least until she'd learned that he could spend hours of a day in a little boat of his own. Away from Four. Beyond the grasp of peacekeeper and fanatic fan alike. Things Finnick craved more than he'd ever dare vocalise.

That she knew any of that was surprising because to Coral, it signified that a change had come to the antagonistic relationship between them. Now, she looked at him with annoyance over rage. They weren't friends. He was far too free with his charm and cockiness for that. No, she tolerated him. Learned to accept his presence in Mags' home, which happened to be quite a large part of the time. Every day in fact.

Somehow, she muddled through.

Saturdays were her favourite. Days that had once been riddled with fish guts and nicked fingers now held recipes. The catches Finnick made were stored and prepped by the boy himself, leaving Coral to focus on the combinations of flavours. Of taking Mako's instructions and the books Mags brought back from the Capitol and turning them into something more. For a long time, Coral had convinced herself she liked cooking as a necessity. A means to an end. Now, she found she was enraptured by the process. The way steaming or salting or frying or baking could offer subtle differences in the outcome of their food. With Mags budgeting the shopping, there was no limit on fresh produce. With Finnick aiding their market visits, there was always an extra addition in the bag. It was baffling how willing people were to reward him for the glimpse of a smile or the hint of a secret shared.

Once or twice she'd debated asking him to stop. To preserve whatever piece of himself that he could but then he'd give her a glance and the mask would slip. He'd let a smile past that wasn't filled with implication or desire - just happiness - and Coral didn't have the heart to bring that piece crashing down too.

Guilt was a fresh feeling. Naturally, she was attuned to the ebbs and flows of such emotion when it came to her family. When it came to Aveline. To feel it rise and fall with the twitch of Finnick Odair's smile was wholly strange. She felt it when he helped around Mags house in nothing but a pair of shorts, bandages giving way to white scars. She felt it when she traced the small piece of silver coral that had been passed onto her mother by the Wyndham's. They could've sold it. Burned it. Instead, they'd made sure it found its way into her hands. Eos would've meant it in good faith. As comfort. Ari, however, would've known how it would be received. A constant reminder of Coral's failure. Of the sacrifice made for her.

Too many people making sacrifices for her.

By all accounts, it didn't make sense. Even when Ford had been alive, she had been the problem child. The annoyance. Getting under feet, winding up her classmates. Quick to anger and quicker still to hold a grudge. That Aveline had befriended her at all had been a shock, not least because back then she had been in the most volatile stage of grief. Not a day passed between thirteen and fifteen that she hadn't been in a fight. That she'd not bloodied or bruised another kid simply for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

Now she was reliving that confusion. She'd lashed out at him for years and Finnick decided to keep coming back. To make promises. To trade away pieces of himself for her peace of mind. No part of that made logical sense.

What made less sense was the evenings where she didn't have to be home. When Mags would find an old book she'd brought back from the Capitol to read from. Most were wretched history tomes full of propaganda and lies, and while she spoke the words aloud, she'd correct the narrative by signing. Telling the truth of the stories as she knew them.

Coral would settle in the old window seat, listening and watching Mags speak. Scratching down the real stories little by little in the ways she could. Through shorthand. In the margins of other less important novels. Ways and means to keep the world from devolving into a cold and empty madness. For Coral, it imbued a sense of rebellion. Of control.

Finnick was the wild card on such days. Occasionally he'd be away on his boat, but occasionally, he would be in the house tucked like a child against her feet. Nodding off with his head pressed to her shins. Often, he'd sleep for an hour. Maybe two. More than once he'd weaved a hand between her calves and clung tight.

She learned more about the boy in his sleep than she did while awake. He snored. Often. Always quiet little sounds that echoed with consistency. He tied knots without thinking. There were times he'd hold a rope and nod off while his hands were mid-work. Work that would continue as he dozed, his eyelashes fluttering and fingers deftly pulling rope into intricate knots until eventually he slipped into dreams.

His nails were always broken. Part of it was from toiling on the boat during her school hours, and parts of it were the fact that he chewed at their edges when he was feeling especially stressed. Sometimes he left faint scratches along her skin while he slept, during the moments when he was caught in some nameless dream and reaching for relief.

There were times he spoke in his sleep. Sang. It was faint. As if she were listening from a faraway room rather than right next to him. During those moments Mags would slowly raise her voice. Masking the noises enough that it didn't matter if he slipped up. Said more than he ought to. More than once Coral had caught herself sweeping hair from his eyes, watching the frantic flutter of his lashes. Strangest of all was when she'd reach for him, a hand pressed to his forehead to quieten the anxiety in his dreams only to find that it worked.

More than once, with his body weighted against her legs and fingers tangled in his hair, she'd let his deep slow breathing lull her to sleep.

Each new day made the process a little easier to swallow. A little less jarring.

Some days, it even made her believe that there was more comfort to be found in Mags's place than there was in her own home. Today was one such day, Coral lingering far longer than she ought to have. Offering Finnick a few snippets of her thoughts on the walk home, a task he had decided was now required no matter how much she protested it. He was chattering about trying to catch more flatfish so she could try out the herbs she'd planted in Mags' garden, the girl giving an odd input where necessary. Her mind was heavily occupied and she barely felt the change of smooth cobbles to packed earth underfoot.

Coral glanced at the buildings, a realisation drawing her to a stop. Finnick strode right into her back, stumbling and using her shoulders to balance himself.

"What's wrong?" Looking over her shoulder at him, she started to laugh. Concern bloomed through his features and Coral had to wave it off.

"I don't - it's just…" She was being ridiculous really. That much was quite evident. Less than a month ago, the mere sight of him was enough to incite a blind rage. She'd been righteous in that anger, devoted to it. Now what she felt was confusion. A constant low-lying headache that made itself known from the second she woke in the morning to the point she finally fell asleep at night.

When the person you'd blamed for all the wrongs in your world suddenly proved to be as broken and twisted as you were, where did all that blame go?

She couldn't internalise it. Not any more than what she already had. Coral was always angry with herself. Always doubtful and guilty and pained. Adding the weight of what she'd directed towards Finnick would've just let her finally have an excuse to drown her sorrows in pills or booze or something else in between. She was too stubborn for that. Most days, she wanted to live too much for that. In the hope that someday, one day, it got better. That things changed. Things already were changing.

Except not in the way she'd thought.

Except she'd never factored in Finnick.

Except the more that she let herself tolerate the boy, the more confused she got.

It was almost impossible to even explain it. So, Coral found the humour, and the familiar buildings that surrounded them - and laughed.

"This," She pointed to the ground and the whitewashed homes that surrounded them, one with a vibrantly painted blue door, "Is where you told me I'd cut people raw."

Finnick looked immediately uncomfortable, a hand reaching for the back of his head. His mouth opened and shut while he sought an answer and Coral shook her head at him. Stopped him before he began to offer more sacrifices she couldn't bear to carry. She didn't want explanations. Or apologies.

"You were right. I mean, not about it being the pieces of me to do it but I did." An expansive gesture of her hand found the scar she could see across his arm, the skin puckered and white in the middle. "I cut you."

Finnick looked like he might crumble. His face was too emotive. Too pained. Coral hadn't been seeking a nerve. What struck her was the irony. She'd picked up the blade for his benefit above all else. There'd been none of the relief she'd hoped to find in separating his skin. In making him bleed.

There was a pressure, unwelcome, in her head. The feeling of mounting violence in the air that accompanied a new storm. Drawing darkness across the skies and lightning over the sea. Except when she turned her head up the sky was clear. Dark, yes - but they could see the stars for miles. Down to the water and beyond.

She felt Finnick's hand on her shoulder before she saw it coming. His nails embedded themselves in her skin as if drawing her back together through the pain. It cleared the fog in her brain enough for her to see him hunch. To bring his head close to hers and press forehead to forehead.

This was a different kind of pressure. Pointed and firm. His weight and the warmth of his skin seeping into her own. As he held her in place. Not that she would flee this time. Without her anger, without it driving her - Coral had nowhere else to go. No friends. Barely her own parents.

She had Mags and the stories. With those, came Finnick. With those, she had to tolerate him. To live with him.

Because that was what she was doing.

Right?

His breath was warm on her face and Coral's eyes flickered shut. There were other people about. People who faded into little more than echoed footsteps and quiet whispers. In an hour, once curfew set in, the streets would be engulfed in silence. Somehow; she knew it wouldn't be near as effective as the silence she experienced right then and there. A silence that spoke of the earth and the sea. Of a moon pulling tides simply because that was what it was supposed to do.

"I'm still not afraid of you."

Her eyes snapped open to see his expression. Earnest and soft. The pressure sank into her stomach, ruining the dinner she'd made for them that evening. Making her want to throw up. To give in.

"Then you're a bigger fool than I thought."

Because she didn't deserve another sacrifice, even if it happened to be his sanity. Even if she wanted to see him burn, or at the very least smoulder. She didn't deserve generosity or kindness. She deserved spite and their rage in retaliation for all of the antagonism she'd thrown outwards since Ford had died. Been murdered.

For the fights she'd started and the tears she'd caused.

Coral pulled back from Finnick. Away from the warmth of his breath and the salt and leather scent that lingered on his skin. She didn't want his secret smiles. To know what lived beneath his mask. She didn't deserve it. She didn't need it. She'd been fine on her own once. She'd be fine on her own again.

Turning away, Coral hastily wiped her eyes and said, "You can leave me here. It's close

enough." Without waiting for an answer, she began to walk. Then run. Then flee. Even when she was trying to stand strong, running was the easiest answer. The solution.

The house was eerie on her return; Coral slipped in the door unnoticed and slid it shut with a click. Gathering herself together, it took her a long moment to realise something was amiss. Usually, she'd hear the air circulator or her parents' voices but instead, it seemed like she was home alone. At least until she moved into the dark kitchen and heard a hushed conversation from the yard.

They didn't have much of a garden, it was a scrap of too dry grass in summer and a mess of mud when the rain eventually landed in winter. For the most part, it was used to hang out their washing. Coral reached for the switch to turn on the light and tell her parents she was home when the urgency of her mother's voice stalled her.

"What do you want me to do Del? I can't stop her."

"Bullshit. You had every opportunity!" Her father's voice was angry. Coral glanced to the table and saw an empty bottle of spirits. Fuck.

Tempted to retreat, Coral hesitated. She wasn't certain why but it felt almost like she was the topic of discussion. Rampant curiosity stayed her hand. Kept her feet firmly on the same spot so that she wouldn't cause the floor to creak and reveal her presence.

"And you didn't?! If you didn't push her away so much, she might have actually wanted to work the boats with you. Instead, she's being paid more than we could ever scrape together and she enjoys it. Do you want to take that away from her?"

Delmar dropped his voice and Coral had to lean forward to catch his answer. "-I don't trust them, Gillian!"

"You don't trust anyone. Not even your own daughter. You think she can't tell that?"

"What's the alternative? Tell her the truth?" A laugh, bitter and sharp. Her hands caught the sink in a solid grip for balance, Coral all but pressed to the wall beside the window. One leg arched off the floor, a ballerina in flight. The wide range of volumes forced her to strain. To hold her breath.

"-prepare herself!"

"For what? Another reaping? She's better off not knowing!"

"So you want to keep her blind? You and I both know there won't be another Aveline Wyndham to jump in and protect her. She needs those two on her side if it happens again!"

"That girl had no business getting involved in our affairs. She hurt Coral by what she did. We're better off keeping distance. From all of them. You know that as well as I do. I told you to squash that relationship from the start so it didn't come to this so I won't carry the guilt of your failure!"

"No," Her mother's voice was dangerously edged in a way that Coral couldn't recall hearing before, "You're exceptionally good at that aren't you?"

More frantic murmuring, the sound drowned out by the pulse of rapid blood in her ears. Coral missed the low answer from Delmar. Her knuckles had turned white. What the fresh hell was all this about? She couldn't remember hearing an argument like this between her parents, though maybe that was the point. Maybe they'd kept this from her as effectively as she'd been hiding her own quiet implosion.

"They'll fill her head with lies! She's even walking about town with the Odair bastard as if they're friends now?!" A huffed breath. "It's not fucking right."

"You can't win this way Del. You've kept her ignorant because you thought it would protect her, but she needs to know. To make her own choices in who to trust."

"She shouldn't trust any of them! They're all petty and vindictive monsters." Delmar had begun to shout and Coral instinctively retreated from the noise. For a time after Ford, she'd found herself wishing for a break in the graveyard silence, but that too came at a price. It was found at the bottom of a bottle during the offseason when her father gained enough liquid courage to facilitate the transition of quiet rage into outright violence. Never at Coral. Never at her mother. He destroyed people with words. Tore apart the things they could afford to repair. It was a wave of calculated cold anger; one she could never understand. Her own temper was violent but direct. When she struck out, it was in the direction she thought best to attack. A sword to the chest. Delmar's anger was an explosion of shattered glass. It didn't matter who got hit in the process.

Heart erratic and head sore, Coral retraced her steps back towards the hall. Slammed a hand into the light switch. Called out as if her parents were in their room rather than outside.

"I'm home, just going to get to bed since I already ate. Love you." Rapping on the bedroom door of her parents for good measure, to cover her tracks, Coral escaped to her room. Allowed panic to take root.

Amidst the confusion and the anger, something else had taken root between her own parents and she'd missed it. All of it. It was a mystery she wasn't entirely convinced she wished to solve.