This is gross and I hate it :(
Originally, after reading "Knotted" by the author "green and yellow" I wanted to write something like that. Five chapters later I realized that I was just rewriting their story and the only reason I wanted to write was this one super fluffy scene where they comfort each other, and this is the result. (It's not even that fluffy ugh)
Go check out "Knotted!" It's super duper good :) green and yellow didn't ask me to sponsor it, but I highly recommend you read their fanfic.
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS IN THIS FANFICTION; THEY ALL BELONG TO THE AWESOME SUZANNE COLLINS.
A scream shattered the peaceful night.
Finnick turned over in his bed, trying to ignore it. He tried to listen to the waves of District 4, but they were far away, and faint, too faint to comfort him.
Finnick was the second most recent victor. The newest one was Annie Cresta, a poor girl still trapped in the games, ruined by President Snow and his cruel ways. She was tormented by her own mind every night, wailing like the sirens that his mother had told him about.
Another scream. Finnick sighed and got out of bed, pulling a white cotton shirt over his head and a pair of shorts.
Annie's house was right next to his. The door had been left ajar. Did Annie ever go out at all? Mags brought her food sometimes, despite Finnick's protests against her walking halfway across the village. There was a plate of salmon, a delicacy, but it appeared untouched. He picked it up and carried it inside.
The houses were all styled the same; Victors were given tables and chairs sculpted from driftwood. The bedframe was made from drifwood as well, with beautiful shells and pearls embedded in the sides, and the sheets were made of cotton. Most of the houses had other things too; Finnick kept pictures on the walls of his family and his trident, which had won the games for him, hung from a nail on the wall. Mags had several ornate vases in her home, and there were always fresh flowers in them. Some of the other victors owned ships in a bottle or huge conch shells, things appropriate for one living in District 4. But Annie's house was completely undecorated. The walls were bare, and a thin film of dust had settled on the beautiful table. Finnick put the salmon down, but he wasn't sure if anyone would eat it.
Another tortured scream awoke him from his thoughts.
"Annie?" he called softly.
There was silence.
He poked his head into what he thought was the bedroom.
Annie's room was as bare as the rest of the house, yet at the same time, it was not. The sheets had been torn from the bed in a fury, and they cascaded to the floor like a waterfall. A vase lay shattered on the floor.
Annie Cresta sat in the middle of the piles of sheets. Her breath was labored, her eyes dancing with fear. She didn't seem to notice Finnick. In the moonlight, she looked like a ghost, and in some way, she was.
"Annie," he said again, coming a little closer. "Annie. It's Finnick. Remember me?"
Annie did not respond, and Finnick took another step towards her. He kept talking to her, coaxing her, like a skittish animal that needed to be tamed.
He had barely touched her shoulders when she screamed again and whipped around to face him. Her nails clawed at his arms and his face, leaving red lines across them.
Finnick grabbed Annie's flailing limbs and pulled her closer to his chest. She stopped screaming almost immediately, and her arms fell to her side limply. Her hair smelled of sea spray and wildflowers. He inhaled deeply, at peace for a fleeting moment. Annie felt so small in his arms, and he held her tighter.
Annie made a small whimper and curled into a smaller ball. A tiny voice whispered, "stay?"
Finnick nodded. "Yes," he replied, squeezing her palms. "I'll stay."