I do not own The Hunger Games.

Finnick Odair is precious.

The Girl With The Green Eyes

My Love, You Have My Heart


"I have to tell you something, Annie."

They are sitting on the beach. At the water's edge.

"I have to tell you the truth."

"I do dream. they're horrible."

Just in the waves.

"I used to dream about being in the arena again, fighting, killing. Be killed."

"I used to think those were the worst dreams imaginable and that I wished I would die instead of fall asleep."

And for some reason Finnick Odair cannot explain, . . .

"But now my dreams have changed."

"Now I dream about losing you."

. . . he has begun to speak.

"In the Games. In some terrible scheme by Snow. I dream about you drowning yourself in the sea."

"I dream about losing you, I dream about you just evaporating into thin air."

Confess, really.

"I dream about waking up and you never existing at all, being a dream in my head and having to live without you."

"I dream about losing you, Annie. And terrifies me more anything else I can ever imagine."

Something that has been true for a long time.

That he must tell.

To her.

"That's what I dream about."

Annie shifts, raising her head from his shoulder to look at him.

They are so close, inches apart.

He can feel her breath on his face, light and soft and sweet.

As she slowly, so slowly he could stop her if he wanted to, brings her lips to his.

And kisses him.

Finnick Odair has never been kissed with love, real, true love.

Before the Games, he had a scant few kisses.

Fleeting kisses, full of hormonal drive and early teenage uncertainty.

And that was okay, that was right for twelve, thirteen, fourteen.

After the Games, in all the years following, he has been kissed many, many times.

Kisses filled with infatuation, fantasy, deceit, lust, drunkeness, desperation, and any and all myriad of emotions and motivations.

Annie's kiss is unlike all others.

Her lips are full and warm, they fit perfectly to his.

They are soft. Sweet.

Her lips taste like sea salt and unspoken devotion.

Being kissed by Annie is like pleasantly melting, like floating in the clouds, like being weightless in water.

He shouldn't, he can't, kiss her back, encourage her.

But for the first time in so long, kissing another person doesn't feel like work, like selling away a part of himself.

It feels like truth, it feels like coming home.

Nineteen, almost twenty years old.

And it feels, for the first time, . . .

Annie.

. . . like love.


Sometime after the kiss, he is sent back to the Capitol, some slavering, pawing, fabulous patron that is not Annie.

He does what he must to keep his family alive and Annie alive and himself alive.

Then he goes away, back to his Capitol apartment.

He spends a few days sleeping there, resting, recuperating, recovering.

Both mentally and physically.

As best as he can.

And then . . .

"Finnick."

"Annie."

. . . he goes home.

Begins to learn how to accept the love Annie offers him.

And begins to learn . . .

"I missed you."

. . . how to accept himself.

"I missed you too."

In a different way.


He brings her shells.

Holds her hand.

On good days, he tells her stories to make her happy, jokes to make her laugh.

On bad days, he simply holds her as she struggles to hold on tight to whatever sanity she has left.

If Finnick Odair is awake, his thoughts are on her.

Often on her when he sleeps.

This doesn't go unnoticed.

Annie is very observant.

She smiles at him, what smile she can muster depending on the day.

Sometimes it is a sliver of possibility, sometimes it is big and bright and everything in his whole world.

She seems to take comfort in his presence, his arms around her.

He tries not to speak it, he really does.

He knows it would make her happy.

But it might also be the signing of her death warrant.

Or start a chain reaction, however fast or slow, that would lead to her untimely demise.

Most likely very painful, at the hands of President Snow's Peacekeepers or Truth Seekers.

He also knows it would hurt her worse when he is summoned to the Capitol and away from her.

And doing what he must to whom he must.

And so he tries to stay quiet.

Tries to love quiet.

Unassuming.

He does his best.

To make Annie happy.


His nightmares do not go away

In fact, at times, they seem to get worse.

And oftentimes when he awakens, she is there.

Curled into his arms, warm against his body.

Has snuck there sometime during the night, he supposes she also can't sleep without him as much he does not wish to sleep without her.

She is there and that is always the crux of his fears, that she is not.

So when he can convince himself that she is real and with him and not dead or worse, he can recover better.


She continues to kiss him, just kiss him.

Sweet and loving and light.

As if she knows he has been used for his body for so long even positive, genuine, loving sexual attraction might be feel like another pressure, another performance.

His shame and embarrassment, at least for this bliss of time, are fading.

She presents him with no expectation or demand.

Only that he is now, and has been and will be continue to be, loved.

They sit in the ocean, they sleep in each other's arms, they kiss.

He holds her hand, never lets it go.

Finnick longs for her presence, her affection.

He hungers for it, craves it.

He is a man, he has urges.

But he does not crave her sex.

Sex is something he has had, strange, copious amounts of, must continue to have with whoever requires it of him.

What he craves, what he desires, is simply her affection, is simply Annie.

He dares to imagine one day he will reach out for her and, with her consent, begin to draw her to him.

He cannot imagine that, with his current aversion toward physicality, it will not take time.

But he feels that might be alright between them if she is patient.

He can hear the words as if they have already been murmured between them.

"I don't want to be with you like I am with them."

"How are you with them?"

"Not with you."

"So be with me."

"I don't . . . I don't know how. I have sort of a . . . mode. I try not to think about them at all."

"Then don't. Think about me. And we can take all the time you need."

But for now, all he wants is the deep special intimacy they have now between them.

And that seems to be . . .

"Good morning, Finnick."

"Good morning, Annie."

. . . enough.


"I love you, Finnick. And I think you love me."

He doesn't say anything in response to this.

He doesn't trust himself.

Annie does, Annie trusts him.

"Is that real or not real?"

And he swallows thickly.

He doesn't want to hurt her, cause her danger, any more than she already lives in and suffers every day.

But he doesn't want to lie.

"It's real, Annie."

And so he tells the truth.

"I love you."

And Finnick Odair finds himself able to truly . . .

"I love you too, Finnick."

. . . smile.


I think there's so much more to tell about these two precious people. We'll see what the future holds.

For now, let's give them as much peace and quiet as they can manage.

Thanks to scrapler for adding your support to this story. I appreciate that.

Thanks for reading and happy reading of whatever else you find that brings you joy.

:)