Chapter 5:
An Ode to a Large Tuna in the Market
"I told you it was your job to get fresh clams! What is wrong with you, Pearson?" Linda scoffed loudly at the curly, ash-blonde haired boy sitting at the dining room of Danny and Elizabeth's house inflating purple plastic balloons.
"Those are fresh!" Johnny bellowed. "I should know I caught them myself."
"You don't 'catch' a clam, Johnny. You pick them!"
"Fine! Pick, catch, buy, whatever, I don't care! I've been harassing myself buying all these things and here you go nagging on me without even saying thank you!"
Linda snorted again and started to work on her clam chowder in the kitchen.
Elizabeth Fisher—soon to be Lizzie Cross—walked inside her small, but charming house when she heard the ruckus.
"What now?" She kidded. Elizabeth had been babysitting the blondes for barely just half an hour now and she already didn't know how long she could take their bantering.
Johnny, as childish as he could, pointed angrily at Linda, while the latter, as snobbish as what she always wanted most people to see her, raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, very mature Johnny." The female blonde retorted. "And don't mind us, Lizzie, he's just being dumb."
"She was being dumb!" Johnny recoiled.
"I was not! I told you to get fresh clams! What if we get poisoned by this junk you gave me?"
"I told you they are fresh, how do you say so that they are not?"
"Are you kidding me—"
"Unfortunately I'm not Linda, because as you can see—"
"—these clams are all useless!"
"Are you questioning my ability to fish? Because let me tell—"
"You don't even fish, Pearson—you have one bloody little boat and you call yourself a fisherman?"
"Now you are getting on to something!"
"Well yes, I think I do!"
"Alright Simmons, you asked for—"
"Alright, hold it!" Elizabeth Fisher—again soon to be Elizabeth Cross—stood in between the skirmishing teenagers and held her hands up. "What is the matter with you two?"
Linda grumbled and crossed her arms as Johnny rolled his eyes and got back to inflating the balloons.
"Seriously?" Elizabeth asked again, looking back and forth to both blondes. "The clams look perfect Linda, and yes, thank you Johnny for buying all the necessities. Now tell me what the matter is."
When none of the teenagers spoke and continued to pretend that they were busy with their tasks, Elizabeth shook her head and sat on the chair across Johnny.
"Look," she continued. "I don't know what's going on with you guys but it seems to me that this is just more than the clams."
Elizabeth watched as Linda continued to stir the pot nonchalantly but that one millisecond scoff—the quirk of her eyebrow, the quick deep breath—betrayed her composure. And Johnny seemed to be the more disturbed with whatever the confusion was. Elizabeth noted that apart from being quite angry, he looked a ton more worried than Linda.
Then suddenly, there it was! Elizabeth noticed. The glance—that swift eye contact between the teenagers that she was waiting for.
"You two better tell me now." Elizabeth tried to urge them again to speak-up.
She watched Johnny as he took a deep breath and snatched another glance towards Linda. The other blonde, with her long and sleek tresses, nodded as if confirming and agreeing with the boy's thoughts. Then, Linda arranged her apron as if composing herself, and after a short while—with a dignified although anxious huff—she finally turned to Elizabeth and spoke.
"We have a situation."
(A Solitary Man of War)
The dills were growing impeccably.
Willard Cresta wasn't even sure it would be sprouting at this time of the year but there it was! True he missed the tomatoes, which unfortunately became a victim of his dear daughter's wrath a few weeks ago, but seeing the new ones finally sprung themselves off the dirt was redemption of their own kind.
It was a special day too, now that he reminded himself. Fresh lobsters would be for lunch, maybe a fresh catfish salad for starters, and a cream cheese frost for dessert. He hadn't thought about dinner yet, though. But that was another circumstance... He could plan on that later.
What he didn't expect this morning though, as he was tenderly watering his garden, was the arrival of two gentle lads—much too different from each other but both quite persistent in their own unique ways.
They were both tall and familiar. Maybe in their late teens. One had a slightly dark hair, the other quite lighter. Both had asked for favours, one for himself and the other for a special someone.
What Willard Cresta found astoundingly funny was that even though both men specified favours of two different things, their similarities were quite uncanny.
For one, they both wanted to make an impression.
(10 hours before)
Finnick was already awake for almost ten minutes. He was still feeling a bit groggy but at the same time he did not want to sleep. He decided to simply lie back on his bed and keep his eyes opened and his body splayed funnily on the bed.
His ceiling wasn't really the first thing he wanted to see in the morning, but even his eyeballs didn't want to move. Every once in a while, after Finnick realized he'd been steady for so long already, he felt the urge to finally shift knowing that just a few feet away, there was the large window overlooking the sea and how in a few more minutes, it would display the sunrise. It was quite similar with the sunset, he knew, but there was something so intriguing about the sunrise that despite the sunset's more vivid colors, sunrises were far more appealing for him.
Once again, he urged his body to stir. He blinked once, compelled his fingers to move, his mouth to slightly open... stating in his hazy mind how thankful he was that Danny didn't think of coming in unannounced and wake him from his sleep because truly, all Finnick wanted to do now was to be alone.
There was never a moment after he won the 65th Hunger Games that he had the chance to be in solitude: Flickerman wanting another interview, Chivy Dweller arranging different visits, women all over the country wanting to grapple him, Danny always annoying him to death, Johnny following him wherever he went...
Couldn't they see the beauty of how it was to be isolated yet at peace—that there was just really something so lovely about the silence?
Despite all the denial he will be going through for the rest of the day, he knew that the truth will still hang over his head like a constant reminder for those few rare moments that he seemed to already forget.
He always tried not to think of all the strangers he kissed; the forced smiles he committed; the false love he promised. The memories were like a cold trickle of water down his back, and for six o'clock in the morning, this was not the way he wanted so start his morning.
For all the days he woke up like this, feeling dreadful and just dead, Finnick constantly wished for one thing—as apparently, the bitterness and the unfairness will continue to shape his already lonely life. He wanted to simply have that time to grieve, to grieve the reality that he was no longer himself. That he could no longer be just Finnick.
He gave a sad sigh, signalling his daily surrender, and finally sat on the bed (of course, as routinely as he could, further more playing in on his own joke of a life). This reality would had made him shed some repressed tears, but there was just numbness that all his brain can process and his mouth can produce was a light snort.
He was done trying. And as what his mantra reminded him every day, every morning, like a habit unsuccessfully altered—it was long gone. And it seemed silly for him to even hope it could one day change.
What he can do now, as he always did every morning, was to admire the things—the spaces—that still hold true to their own being. Like the sky. Always way, way untouchable, unreachable—ever so intangible but would forever be so real. Everyone knew that it would just be there.
Finnick rubbed his eyes as he finally stood up from the bed—flexed his sore muscles, shook his head a little, rubbed his eyelids—and walked across the room to the window. He slid the window open and welcomed the breeze that familiarly smelled like brine and freshly cut grass.
From the bluish glow, Finnick watched how the skies transformed to become lighter and lighter, becoming the spectacle he was waiting to see. The sun's rays slowly sneaked inside his room; on his walls, his bed, even attempting to touch his skin.
Everything else in view seemed to work in harmony as well. The waves crashing to the beach, the children playing in the more distant shore, the mast of a couple of boats or so preparing for some hauls, the lovely lady walking towards another victor's house...
Finnick jolted as if he was punched in the stomach.
Even though he couldn't see her up-close, he knew perfectly of her glassy sea green eyes and how at certain times of the day—depending on the weather and the brightness of the sun—did it become slightly identical with his own.
And then suddenly, just with that quick glimpse of her, suddenly Finnick found himself leaning and resting his arms on the window pane, watching as she crossed the Victor's lane and into the next house.
She was wearing a white sundress and her hair was flowing freely with the wind. She was walking slowly, as if contemplating how the sand crushed beneath her foot or how the glow of the morning rays made her look—radiant, beautiful, breathtaking?
Slightly recovering, Finnick ran a hand through his head and smiled, feeling somewhat sheepish.
She was so near and it would only take a mere minute to 'accidentally' bump into her —five seconds to grab a clean shirt, another five to pull decent pants, ten seconds to brush his teeth, a short three seconds to comb his hair, the remaining thirty seven seconds to get out of his house...
It didn't matter if he looked groggy or if he had forgotten to wash his face in that equation. She would understand of course, as she always did. It wouldn't matter to her what he looked like, as it wouldn't matter to him that the slightest glance of her made his head spin in excitement. Because all that should matter was that she was just right there and he was just here—a few feet away from each other, seemingly a perfect fit, but never had an opportunity of a perfect timing.
He shook his head at the thought of that certain loop-hole in his grandiose daydreaming. Still somewhat embarrassed (self-conscious and giddy like a twelve year-old), he craned his neck to catch the final glimpses of her—craned and leaned in further, holding on to the pane to keep him from falling. With the final swish of her white skirt though, she finally disappeared into the house.
Now that was a tad bit complicated him being totally in to her. Because the fact remains to Finnick that aside from having no idea if she knew of his feelings, she didn't like him the way that he liked her—and that they were actually still not in good terms at the moment; and that although he wanted to be so close to her and tell her the truth, he knew he would be jeopardizing everything; and that when he jeopardized everything, if anything happens to her because of him, he didn't know how he could forgive himself.
Finnick looked back into the ocean and closed his eyes, thinking of this one other truth that would ultimately become the death of him.
Annie could never be anything but a fleeting moment in his life. And even though he had always known of what—who—he wanted for the longest time now, she was something he could not afford.
Not when he knew with all certainty that he could be her greatest demise.
(Among These Frail Vegetables)
"Good morning, sir."
"Well good morning to you to, Mr. Pearson." Johnny took the friendly smile of Willard Cresta as a good sign.
"If you are looking for my daughter though, I'm afraid she already left." Willard continued. "Mags seemed to be in dire need of her to make some breakfast."
"That's nice."
"Yeah, you know Annie."
"Of course, she's the best Mr. Cresta."
Willard chuckled. "Oh please, call me Willard. You've been one of Annie's friends for the longest time now. You are no different, son."
Johnny smiled at that. There was no wonder almost everyone in the district adore this father and daughter. They were the nicest people in existence.
"Actually, I'm not here to see Annie, —I mean, Willard."
"Oh?"
"Yes," Johnny nodded in emphasis. "I am actually here... to ask you something."
For a second there, Johnny noticed the surprised and curious look of Willard. But after a while, he was back to his good-natured and jolly self.
"How about a nice cup of tea inside then?" Willard finally went on.
Johnny breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, why not. That would be really great."
Willard chuckled as he led him to the small, and quite pleasant house of the Crestas.
Despite Johnny's lack of knowledge in the art of housekeeping, he could simply describe the house in one word: charismatic. The living room wasn't as pristine clean as you would expect it to be, but it has character. Willard's fishing equipments complete the messy look but certainly, Annie's touch—a flowery vase at the center of the coffee table, a quilted blanket spread on the couch , a few shell decorations—made the entire house look nice and homey.
"I'm really sorry to be a bother." Johnny continued, sitting on the comfy couch. "I just really need to ask a favour."
He heard Willard scrambling in the kitchen probably preparing the tea he promised. When he reappeared he was holding two big mugs in each hand.
"A favour you said?" Willard replied, handing Johnny his tea.
"Yes, a favour. A huge one, as a matter of fact."
"Well," Willard settled on a wooden chair opposite the couch, creaking a little when he did so. "Let's see what we can do."
Johnny took a sip of his tea before settling his mug on the coffee table. "But you have to promise me one thing,." He explained.
Willard raised an eyebrow in response.
"You have to promise me," Johnny continued, a determined look set on his face. "That you won't tell anyone. Not yet at least."
Johnny believed with all certainty that Willard would think of him as crazy and naive. But he was desperate—no, passionate—that he would take great lengths just to be able to do it. He was on the edge of his seat waiting for the older man to make a response when finally, Willard cleared his throat then nodded his head as if impressed.
"I promise."
Elizabeth Fisher had been teased time and again how at certain times, she became a perfectionist. She denied it when she was little even if it was apparent that even the slightest crease on her notepad displeased her. So when she promised to help out for tonight's festivities, she gave herself a good pat on the back, a deep breath, and a huge amount of self-control before proceeding with the chore list she prepared the night before.
The house simply needed to be very presentable. And it took a lot of effort on her part not to become overly zealous for such a simple task. From the list, she calmly started by washing the dishes and then letting them dry, then she moved on to tend the garden on her so-called front yard while saving the backyard as her last task. She also started to arrange some decorations she were to put on the dining table and even planned to pick some lavenders to add a feminine flair.
By mid morning, Elizabeth was already congratulating herself for doing such a great job with the errands, when a certain Danny Cross ultimately crossed her peaceful rhythm. It didn't help too that instead of greeting her with a lovely good morning, he instead said,
"I'm sorry, love. Can't do it."
Not controlling the frown forming on her face, Elizabeth stood from the potted ivy geraniums she was trimming in the living room and faced her beloved.
"I don't know what you mean, Danny."
She watched as Danny approached her with a frown of his own. He dropped his duffel bag on the couch and sighed. He was walking slowly too, as if trying to decipher how testy she was at the moment. When she didn't give him any sign of movement and was still utterly looking at him with the same frown, he finally went for the kill and gave her a peck on the cheek.
"I saw your note from this morning before I left." Danny continued.
"And? What I am asking you is the simplest of all the jobs." Elizabeth finally budged.
"Oh, Liz. You don't know what you are talking about."
Elizabeth huffed. "Okay, so why don't you clean the house, shop for all the food, and decorate the entire dining area? And why don't you also start pulling out the weeds in the back yard to make it look quite nice too?"
"No can do, love." Danny replied again smoothly, scooping her in his arms. "Besides, I will be the one on the grill later—don't worry, I will be wearing my apron."
Unfortunately for her, Danny landed the both of them on the couch she just finished arranging.
"You are not being helpful today, you know." Elizabeth complained, straightening up. Danny pinned her down again where they lay entangled with everything—pillows, covers, legs and arms.
"What are you saying, woman? I am the most dependable man out here in Four."
"Then why can't you do what I ask you to do?"
"What the groceries? Fine, I'll do them—"
"No, not the groceries. The other thing."
"Ahh, well."
Danny rested his head on Elizabeth's shoulder as he took a deep breath.
"You know how it is, Liz. I can't make him do that."
"Why not?"
"It's unfair. Besides, do you think she would like that?"
"I don't know, maybe? She is very... kind."
Danny seemed to be thinking about it. "Perhaps you are right. But that is not enough reason."
"But we have to do something, Danny. We can't just sit here and wait for them to figure it all out themselves, because heaven forbid, look at how much progress they made. It's as if they're still fifteen."
"Maybe they still are!" he retorted. "Why are you fretting so much about this?"
That rubbed her off a bit. He had to know of her efforts not to become such a perfectionist. He had to know the amount of patience she had reserved.
"I don't know!" Elizabeth recoiled. "Maybe because it's the summer time again? We can never be so lucky, Danny."
She thought he was about to retort but opted to stop himself. Elizabeth knew she was right if you look at it in the right angles. No one knew how much time they had left. But she also knew that meddling with others' business didn't generally seem favourable as well. And unfortunately, Danny knew it too.
But surely, there were far worse truths than the Hunger Games, right?
"Danny..." Elizabeth tugged at his shirt when he didn't respond.
"Oh, Liz." Danny groaned, recovering from his thoughts. "You need to stop this obsession."
"Danny!" Liz grudgingly sat up and ignored Danny's calls for her to lie back down. "I'm just trying to help."
"I know you are. But we can't just... push it."
"But it is just so-"
"I know it is Liz. But we can't play matchmaker. Not to them."
"Why not?"
Danny took a deep breath and intertwined his hand with hers, trying as if not to show how much dread he had by just saying it.
"What if Annie doesn't like Finnick, Liz?" He finally explained, "Where would he be then?"
(7 hours before)
"But it's just the Bonfire!" He heard Elizabeth exclaimed. The cleaning of the house now moved from the living room to the kitchen.
"You know that it could never be just the Bonfire." Danny reasoned.
"Danny, for someone who thinks very highly of Finnick, you make it sound like he is a coward."
Danny scratched his head and turned to wash the windows. It wouldn't be good dealing with Elizabeth when she was determined to have him give in. She was having a go for almost three hours now and he was already at his wit's end. For the whale's sake, if he didn't just love this woman...
"I don't want to argue anymore, Liz." He groaned. "This is final. I would not give Finnick the idea to ask Annie out to the Bonfire."
He saw Elizabeth's reflection on the window, quite sullen and angry but nonetheless, it was a look he liked to call "the white flag". She was done.
I think.
"Fine." She scoffed. "You just better make sure he's here for later—oh, and you missed a spot over there at the far corner."
Danny shook his head and threw the dirty rag he was holding.
"Alright that's it." He sputtered.
Elizabeth looked at him—mocking. "What?" she shrugged.
Danny climbed back down from the ladder he was using to reach the high windows. He walked towards Elizabeth and crossed his arms.
"I don't know what you want to happen tonight, Elizabeth Fisher. But you have to promise me one thing."
She raised an eyebrow.
"You have to promise me," Danny stepped closer to reach for her arms. "... that you won't meddle."
"I never meddle!"
Danny chuckled and tucked a stray red hair from her face.
"Just promise me. Let it ran its course. He'll get over her."
"And if he doesn't?"
Danny paused for a while before shrugging as if nonchalantly, "We'll think about that later."
(I Walked On)
Finnick deeply smelled the warm soup.
He decided to have a run on the beach after successfully dragging himself off the bed, but also immediately started to run back to his house as soon as he started—and just when he had finished his first lap. It's not that he didn't have the strength to continue, but Annie's sudden reappearance at the shore caught him off guard.
Instead of running back to his starting point, he immediately hid behind two huge rocks, and waited for her to pass. He could not handle an interaction with Annie Cresta at the moment, not after the embarrassment he had at his window pane (even if no one was there that actually saw him all giddy).
She was walking slowly, like before, and seemed to be enjoying the beach and the sand. Finnick was already in dire pain from the rough edges of the rocks that scratched his legs before she was finally out of sight.
The next thing he knew, he was running back to his house, then to his bedroom in a state of panic. He took off his running shoes and headed to fridge and gratified himself with a glass of cold water. What was unexpected though after few mere minutes of gulping the last drop of the water, was the ringing of the doorbell of his front door.
He wouldn't lie that Annie was the first person on his mind. But he wasn't dumb enough to think that she would actually ring his doorbell after everything that had happened. Still, it was a great surprise when he saw Mags, her almost eighty year-old self, standing on his front porch, carrying a bowl of freshly cooked lobster soup.
"Annie made this." She said as her preamble. "She cooked far too many for me so I thought I should bring you some. Especially when I saw you hide behind the boulders, I think you need some sort of comfort."
Finnick rolled his eyes. It didn't help too that as Mags was slowly making her way inside, she was laughing at him.
"You saw that, did you?"
"'Course I did. You lot are the only entertainment I have."
Finnick took the bowl in the dining room where he also found Mags already perching herself in one of the chairs.
"You love that right?" Finnick kidded. "Making fun of me."
"My absolute dream come true."
"Comforting, that one, Mags."
He settled opposite the elderly and rested his head on the table top.
"So why did you hide behind the rocks?" Mags asked.
Finnick looked up to her with a frown, "You're subtlety is like a brick, Mags." But after a while, he added nonetheless. "I got scared."
"Scared?" Mags chuckled.
"Horrified, really."
"Of my granddaughter?"
"Your surprised tone really offends me. You don't know how scary Annie could be?"
Mags gave a hearty laugh. "Then it only means that you've done something dreadful."
"Should it always be my fault?" Finnick retorted.
"Well, you're the only one who can make her feel intense... anger."
"Anger?"
"Anger."
Finnick scratched his head as he sat upright. "So she's still that mad?"
Mags shrugged. "I don't know. Have you given her a reason to be mad?"
"You are not helping, you know."
"Nah, I don't think you need helping." The older woman chuckled once more. "So, what'd you do?" she asked after some time. Finnick rolled his eyes again but took a deep breath and contemplated.
"I was," he started. Finnick thought of the most appropriate, most kid and elderly friendly word but only this came to mind. "A jerk."
Mags nodded. "Not something I haven't heard before."
"Mags..."
She laughed. "You should get out of the house more often Finnick. You're taking everything seriously as if you there's no tomorrow."
"Is there?"
Mags blinked. "Ahh, don't ruin the day, son. The sun is up! It's a perfect day to celebrate."
"I don't particularly feel celebratory, thanks."
"Why don't you start writing again? That always comforted you before."
Finnick could give Mags the benefit of the doubt. But he wasn't fourteen anymore. He wasn't that naive boy. He wasn't the same person.
"And then what?" Finnick asked. "Shove them all back inside my drawer to dust?"
"Most likely."
"That is just unproductive."
"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't."
"Maybe I should also just tie knots until my fingers bleed, don't you think? To practice my patience? That should work well too." Finnick replied sarcastically.
"Then why not? Do whatever it is that would help you. It could only get worse from here on. You of all people should know that in two weeks—"
"I know!" Finnick exclaimed, cutting the older Victor off. They both remained silent for a long time.
"I'm sorry." Finnick finally said, feeling ashamed.
"I'm sorry, too." Mags shook her head. "We always have our bad days."
"Every day is a bad day."
"Oh Finnick..."
"Mags, you know the routine."
"No, I don't." Mags retorted. "You made yourself stuck in this delirious situation of disabling yourself—"
"And you don't?" Finnick exclaimed.
Mags only shook her head again.
"I am... done, Finnick." She looked at him—familiar, warm and comforting. "I've had my chances and you know how much I wasted it.
"We could go on with this all day long, pretending like we haven't before." Mags continued. "But doing these pep talks over and over again won't change anything. And if you wake up tomorrow—even if it's such a beautiful day, even if you almost fell from your window pane just to be able to get a glimpse of my granddaughter—and yet you still feel dead, dying, and dead again, it's simply because you already are."
Mags patted his hand. "You made yourself into one."
(5 Hours Before)
David ran his hand on his dark brown hair for the eighteenth time as he stood outside the still quite unfamiliar door. He didn't have the slightest idea of what he was actually doing there but it was as if his feet brought him automatically at this certain doorstep. Not that he was complaining but he had no clue of why he was still standing there looking exceptionally stupid.
When David was finally, finally decided that he must go before things get worse for him, Willard Cresta came out of nowhere (from the side of the house holding what seemed to be a garden hoe) and spoke directly to him.
"May I help you?" the elderly asked.
"Oh, yes." David scratched his head and turned to greet Annie's father while offering a hand. "Yes, sir. I am David Gray. A friend of Annie's."
Willard looked at him curiously before nodding as if remembering.
"Ahh, David," Willard chuckled slightly before putting down the hoe and removed his soil-stained gloves before shaking his hand. "Yes, I know you. I've talked loads of time to your old man."
"I've heard lots of stories about you too, sir."
"Really? Well, I hope you father didn't tell about—"
"Oh no, not from my father, sir. From Annie."
"Oh." Willard nodded knowingly. David felt a twist in his stomach and he was afraid that he might already be blushing. If he did, Willard didn't seem to notice. "Well still, I do hope there was no embarrassing story about a turtle and a hat."
David chuckled, slightly easing up. "No there was no turtle or hat involved."
"I have to say I am relieved."
There was a short and obvious silent that all David wanted was to get swallowed by the ground. He should've left when he had the chance to.
"So, young David." Willard finally spoke, clearing his throat before doing so. "It was nice to finally meet you."
Willard picked up his hoe and was about to go back perhaps to his gardening when finally, David plucked up the courage to speak. He knew his feet were right in dragging him here. There was something he needed.
"Actually, Mr. Cresta." He started. Willard stopped on his tracks and faced him again. "I need to ask you a favour."
He paused and looked around, as if someone might be eavesdropping during this time of the day (which was impossible given that it was a weekend morning). When he was certain no one was there, David looked back at Willard Cresta with a serious and determined expression dead-set on his handsome face.
"But please don't tell anyone, sir. Not yet at least."
Willard gave him another curious look before replying, "Well, haven't I heard that somewhere before?"
(With Me, My Brother)
Of course Johnny didn't want to feel irritated.
Even though he considered himself quite the ordinary, typical guy, he was not the one to feel all insecure even if his best friend happened to be the most desirable man in the whole of Panem.
For years now, he was okay being on the sidelines—shoved when sudden group of girls wanted to ask for Finnick's autograph (or his shoes, sometimes some piece of clothing, or worse, a strand of his hair), pretend to be a wallflower of some sort whenever the teachers admire Finnick's bravery during the Games, or even act as a look-out whenever Finnick wanted to get away from all his fans.
As far as being a good—excellent—best friend was concerned, he'd earn the Games' rating of 12. But despite these few excess baggage of being Finnick's best friend, he definitely still considered it as another situation altogether when it came to Finnick's private and more personal problems. Though he—Johnny—tried to avoid the entirety of the drama, it was as if a whirlpool was sucking him in every time he tried to get away.
This did not mean that he didn't try to be helpful and understanding. But surely, someone should've noticed the discomfort he was going through. Because if he was honest (in which the total percentage would only accumulate a few minutes of his day), he would confess that being Finnick's best friend was becoming so tiring.
So, so tiring.
Of all the trouble he went through to keep his friendship intact with the victor, he didn't need Finnick's love troubles up on his shoulders as well. He didn't need both guilt and conscience at to be his companion.
For the love of all the dolphins at bay, he—Johnny—was just a few steps away from the streets and many inches far from the Cresta household when it happened. Willard Cresta was kind enough to show him all his fishing tools and masts when after almost two hours of discussion, Johnny decided that it was time to head home.
"So, young lad." Willard said, "I hope you'll bring these pointers with you when you compete in the Bonfire Haul."
It was such a pleasant experience. He even took notes while Willard went on about the difference between a tilt and a trim. The least he could do, as Willard didn't ask for any payment or gift, was to clean up that bit of a mess he did while trying to tie a knot and accidentally toppled Willard's fertilizers. The kind man of course simply chuckled, but he immediately sifted and tried to salvage some of the compost by getting it on his garden.
Johnny was about to finally bid his goodbye to Willard after cleaning up when he had the first clear view of David Gray. Like an instinct, he hid behind one of the large bushes, already envisioning some kind of doom to happen on such a fine day.
And Johnny, he himself considering the fact that he was not the smartest kid in town, was absolutely right.
(Who Else Was There? Saying What?)
David walked around the house, genuinely curious.
"You can sit down." A voice said behind him.
"Oh, thanks." He sat at the comfy looking couch and watched as Willard Cresta crossed the threshold and into the seat opposite him.
"So what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Gray."
"Just David, sir. Please."
Willard chuckled. "Alright then, David. How can I help you?"
There were a lot of things going on inside a young man's head most especially when his actions and whereabouts at the moment were unplanned. Of all the things a young man must do if he, indeed, was in this kind of situation, was to: first, explain his existence inside this particular house; second, elucidate why his existence decided to show up in this particular house at this particular time; third, explicate thoroughly why his existence suddenly became so nervous whenever he was near (or at this circumstance, inside) this particular house during this particular time; and lastly, make clear of his existence's intentions to the daughter of the owner of this particular house where he—the young lad—was currently billeted at this particular time.
Damn.
That was a lot to digest, David realized. No one could finish all that, could they?
So not wanting to go through the labyrinth of the proper and the right spiels and introductions, David decided to simply start to where it all mattered.
"This might seem ridiculous to you, sir," David started, "But please hear me out before you, well, say something."
The older man, bless his kind soul, nodded in agreement.
"Sir, Mr. Cresta," he continued. "I actually don't know where to begin or how to actually explain why I found myself in your doorstep, because truthfully sir, I am still at a lost here."
David ran a hand through his dark hair. "This might seem foolhardy or worse, impossible for anyone to understand given that I am young and may possibly be so naive to the world that we live in, but seriously sir, we know the world that we live in. And I am here taking this chance right at this moment to explain, or at least try to explain myself in front of you because I don't know if I would be having another chance at this two weeks from now because life would be unfair by then, and I don't think it would be the best time for you, for Annie, for the both of us, so I am just here. Right now. Being blunt and honest and hopeful—"
"Mr. Gray, perhaps you should just get on—"
"I'm in love with your daughter, sir." David finally blurted after a deep breath. "Very much so."
So there were a few questions Johnny intended to ask this crazy, stupid world that was also more or less treating him unfairly at the moment: First, why should he be the one to witness David Gray confessing his love for Annie Cresta? Second, why should he be the one to decide whether or not to tell Finnick what he had witnessed? And lastly, why, now that he lifted several brown bags off the Trade Market counter—for the love of all the mermaids in the sea—should he be the one, the only one, buying all the food for tonight?
Hadn't he suffered enough already?
(2 Hours Before)
"You just better make sure they are all coming." said Elizabeth. "And I feel bad for leaving just Johnny doing all the groceries. Speaking of, where is he? Linda will be here any minute now."
Danny stood up from the stool and scratched his head. "He'll probably be here in a few minutes, too."
"I thought you'd help him."
"My darling, Johnny needs no help. He's a grown-up boy."
"You're a grown-up. You should be a role model."
"I am a role model."
"You don't look like one."
"At least I smell like one."
"Smell?"
"Of tuna and snapper." Danny shrugged. "If they want that Bonfire Haul, they better smell like fish."
"And I am marrying you because?" Elizabeth chuckled.
"Because I am about to clean the backyard." Danny kissed her forehead and whistled as he exited through the back door.
Elizabeth shook her head and started preparing the ingredients she and Linda would need for their dishes. They wanted to make it simple but still slightly festive; clam chowder for starters, grilled fish for the main course, and a sweet lemon cake for dessert.
"You two are so right for each other." Someone suddenly expressed.
"Linda!" Elizabeth went pink. "Of course you have to see that."
"What?" Linda laughed as she entered the kitchen. "I think it's sweet."
Elizabeth shook her head, pulling out the necessary cookware and utensils. "But we're supposed to be the grown-ups remember? We're not teenagers anymore."
Linda, after settling her things in one of the stools, immediately started the fire on the stove and hastily tied up her apron. "Since when should you be a teenager to be sweet? I'm a teenager, I'm not sweet."
"Yes you are. Well, not really sweet as you would put it. But you are a romantic!"
"And look at all the good it has done to me." Linda sighed. "Seventeen and haven't even experienced real, good snogging. Of course I wouldn't count that incident with Ralph. We were... age ten that time."
Elizabeth genuinely laughed as she started handing over some of the ingredients. Linda, her blonde hair swaying with the movement, smirked and started to cook. Elizabeth, meanwhile, started chopping some onions. They remained silent for some time and only the clanging and chopping of their utensils, and the occasional singing of Danny in the background, could be heard.
"Linda," Elizabeth started after a while, a huge bowl full of onions right beside her. "Do you believe in fate?"
She had wanted to ask Danny about this but she decided that this might just upset him more. Elizabeth knew she treaded new territories when she brought up Finnick and Annie. But, damn, couldn't they see her point? I mean, somebody besides herself must know!
"Fate?" Linda looked up from her stirring.
"Yes, fate. Destiny—two people meant to be together."
"Hmm." The blonde furrowed her eyebrows. "Well, that's a wishful thinking, don't you think?"
From the kitchen where she was standing with Linda, Elizabeth stared at the dining area, just right across from her, where the purple banners and the white balloons were finally—and rightfully—placed. She, of course, didn't outdo herself but merely provided elegance and femininity to the Cross-Fisher household's more masculine garlands (what with Danny's shoes and ropes and nets lying all around before her morning cleaning).
"How can you say that it is wishful thinking?" asked Elizabeth, now staring at the fresh bloom of white geraniums and lavender serving as the centrepiece of the dining table.
"Well," Linda shrugged, "Do you really think you could afford that?"
"Hmm?"
Linda stopped stirring and put the stove fires into minimum. "I mean realistically. Could you think about such things?"
Elizabeth snorted. "You do."
Linda pulled a face. "It's a wishful thinking, Lizzie."
"I still don't have a single clue of what you are talking about." The red hair frowned.
Linda rolled her eyes. She took a deep breath and momentarily closed her eyes, as if trying to digest the naivety of the woman who was supposed to be the more mature—and experienced. "Fine. I will try to explain thoroughly."
The blonde cleared her throat and Elizabeth, her finesse all forgotten, pursed her lips.
"Lizzie," Linda started. "You know the feeling when something good or beautiful happens to you?"
She nodded.
"It feels good, and warm, and... comforting, right? It makes us all giddy inside and forget about our juvenile problems. If something good happens, we are like living in the moment. We feel like nothing could go wrong and think that we are invincible. Maybe because probably, in those hours of bliss, we were—we are."
Linda paused and contemplated. "But do you also know that feeling when you wake up the next morning and suddenly realize it's all over? I mean, the good thing that happened was yesterday's event, not the present. And that all you could actually get from it is the thought that it happened? You look back and feel the same warmth and comfort but all the while recognizing that today is never going to be the same? That perhaps today would be the exact opposite?"
"Like there's some kind of... uncertainty?" Elizabeth suggested.
"No, not really uncertainty or doubt even. It's more of that desperation for the bliss to happen again. Yesterday is over but the bits and pieces remain as if glued to your thoughts and you'll carry around forever. Even if you try to forget, it still hangs around in your head."
"Wait," Elizabeth asked. "Why would you want to forget something beautiful that's happened to you?"
Linda shrugged. "Maybe because it's never going to happen again."
"What?"
"Because it's so rare, that's why. And it's just painful to know that once you reached that kind of euphoria or happiness, you'll never be able to go back and surpass it. So you will either try to simply forget or hang into it."
"And this is related to destiny because?"
Linda quirked an eyebrow. "Because Elizabeth Fisher, not everyone in this District could be as lucky as you and Danny. Some of us could only hope for what you guys have. Hence, wishful thinking. It's probably the reason you don't understand."
Linda started stirring the pot again. She also now added the chopped onions. "You have your destiny with Danny, Liz. You didn't even need to hope—all the more search—for it."
(We Will Go Together)
"Is that true?"
"What is?"
"That we just... found each other?"
Danny paused for a moment and put down the white recliner he just lifted. He scratched his head and took a huge deep breath. "Liz, what the hell are you talking about?"
For Danny, saying that the backyard was clean seemed to be an understatement because for him, it was impeccable.
The washed-out hardwood floors of the porch had been swept, the ivies were watered, the recliners' repainted, the porch lamps brandishing new bulbs, the weeds in the beach sand's been pulled, and the fire pit's getting ready for the grilling.
Elizabeth was now in the backyard with him. She said that Johnny just arrived with the groceries but had just bickered with Linda for the past ten minutes she couldn't take it anymore.
"Have you had a bad oyster this morning?" he continued. "You've been saying all sorts of stuff these past few hours."
Elizabeth chuckled at him as she neared, helping him with the last recliner.
"Maybe. You don't cook very well."
Danny rolled his eyes. "Really, what's up?"
He watched his fiancé rested against the porch fence and folded her arms.
"I was talking to Linda before Johnny came along. She said some things that might've perhaps cleared a few things."
Danny raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Really?"
Elizabeth nodded.
"And what are those things?"
She shrugged at him. "Fate."
"Fate?"
"Destiny, as some would want to call it."
Danny had to admit Elizabeth could be a bit... dramatic. One of the many interesting things he loved about her. But all the more, it didn't mean it would spare him some headache.
"And? What did she say?"
"That it's a comforting thought, destiny."
Danny nodded.
"You agree?" Elizabeth asked, quite astonished.
He lightly chuckled and laid on one of the recliners, putting his hands behind his head. "I didn't say that."
"So what exactly did you say?"
Danny studied her for a moment. But really what was the use? They'd been 'squabbling' too since this morning. He would test her the same way she'd been testing him the whole day.
"I don't believe in fate, sweetheart." He blurted.
That seemed to take her aback. She frowned at him—curious, angry, thwarted? Danny didn't want to know.
"You don't?" she clarified.
Danny chuckled heartily once again. "No, I don't."
"Hmph."
Now it was his turn to frown. There was even a bit of shock, if Danny was to be honest. "Are—are you disappointed?" he stuttered.
Elizabeth looked at him gravely at first, but after a while, she exhaled as if conceding and went to lay in the recliner with him.
"No, I'm confused." She finally explained.
Now he, too, was confused.
"About what exactly?" Danny asked.
It took a fair amount of time before Elizabeth replied. "If you don't believe in fate, then how exactly did this happen?"
"What happened?"
"Us, Danny! You and me! How did we end up like this—together?"
It was a... difficult question, Danny had to admit.
"Did we just happen all of a sudden or was there a few help from nature—or your dad—that us happened?" Elizabeth continued.
Danny reflected on it. There might have been a few memories long forgotten but he certainly was sure his relationship with Elizabeth wasn't any of his father's doing. The old man approved, yes, but he didn't really interfere.
"It was our choice." Danny said simply after a few enlightened thoughts. "We chose to be here, with each other. Unless—" a cold trickle ran through his back.
"Danny!" Elizabeth slapped him once in the arm. "Of course I chose this! With all my heart!"
"Then there you have it!" Danny exclaimed. "It's not fate. It's not some stupid mind games. It's you. It's us, we made this."
He wrapped his arms around Elizabeth. "True, it might not have been my fault that there was a terrible hurricane and you needed some roof to cover yourself from the rain and the nearest establishment was my shop, but it was my choice to let you in. It was your choice to go inside the shack instead of drenching in the rain."
Elizabeth chuckled.
"And it definitely was my choice to smugly ask for your name... and your address, and your schedule that Friday." Danny added and kissed Elizabeth on her forehead.
"And it was my choice—hastily, if I may add—to give them to you."
"Because you chose not to bring your purse that morning. I needed something in return of the favour."
"I didn't know you'd choose to charge me with the beach towels you handed over!"
"I was on shift, love. I needed the business."
"True love, this relationship."
"I never once doubted."
Elizabeth sighed and snuggled more closely to him.
"Problem solved?" He asked in between breaths.
Elizabeth pursed her lips but nonetheless looked resolved. Danny wouldn't deny that he felt relieved. Egging on Elizabeth's obsession with Finnick and Annie was driving him insane already. He just wanted to lay there for the rest of the day, actually, and sleep until the dinner. He never knew that cleaning the house could be that tiring.
But alas, destiny was happened to be cruel because suddenly, there was an angry conversation in the background and it ultimately brought Danny back to reality.
"You what?"
"Not so loud, Simmons!"
"Johnny, you are so in trouble!"
"You are not helping you know."
"What are you going to do? Will you tell?"
"I don't know, Linda! Can you please just shut up?"
Beside him, Elizabeth sighed. "I guess I better go back before they burn the house down."
Elizabeth was about to sit up when Danny abruptly stopped her.
"So out of curiosity," he asked, knowing he was treading dangerous territories again. "This has nothing to do with Finnick and Annie?"
Elizabeth, uncannily reminding Danny of himself at the moment, finally stood up from the recliner and chuckled, "I didn't say that."
(What's Wrong With You? With Us?)
It took a long time before it all came clear to Finnick.
What Mags said struck cord. Did he do this to himself? Did he, slowly, destroy his own happiness?
He was back to where he started this morning, on his bed—unmoving, thinking of how Mags could say such things.
And of why the fuck did he feel so affected by it?
Surely this disposition of his wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault that he got picked for the Hunger Games; it wasn't his fault that he got popular and got dragged into a hideous lifestyle; it wasn't his fault that Annie disliked him so much and he can't even defend himself one bit because he can't tell her the truth.
It wasn't his fault. Entirely.
But, he did, in fact become cowardly at some point (no matter how hard it was to admit that). Then again, who wouldn't be? It was a difficult world out there. So of course, Finnick did what he does best. He ran away and distanced himself before it could get worse.
Despite this reasoning, however, Finnick couldn't deny that there was this small portion inside himself that always tugged on his nerves.
If there was one thing he was certain about, it was the fact that he knew he wasn't built to run and hide. He was born in District Four—the possibilities expanded just like the ocean. The vastness of this District surely kept unsearched opportunities, chances, and probabilities.
So Finnick asked himself, now feeling slightly dumb—how could the Capitol matter to him? Especially now? Now when he got to wake up in his own home and cook his own breakfast? Now when he can be himself? Now when he knew he could actually do something?
Where else should he start but right here? In District four, with his friends, with his family, with her. He just needed to have that damn courage to finally fight back.
His strength might be enough to kill twenty three other tributes but he knew it was not enough. As much as he wanted to hurt them as brutally as possible, the only way he knew of how to avenge himself was to creep in—stealthily, dangerously and unexpectedly.
And, like the sound of the canons in the arena, a thought occurred to Finnick—he had just the right kind of weapons.
Time was something he could not afford at the moment, as it was something he had no control. So what he did was to write down the things he should be doing so as not to waste mere seconds of his life.
Abruptly, Finnick got up from the bed, took a scratch paper and started to write. Like the way he used to when he was fourteen.
He started to write all the things he was afraid he'll forget one day. Stacks of paper were hidden at the second drawer of the desk where he was now writing his thoughts—memories he wanted to forget, moments he needed to treasure, and people he wanted to remember. He really can't say that he was born sentimental. It was just that a lot was taken away from him already and the papers in his drawer reminded him that he still had a lot to keep. That in some ways, these were the things—thoughts, feelings, secrets—they could not take away from him.
And then he started to enumerate:
24 women in five months.
24 secrets in five months.
Strawberry lip gloss was the worst.
Chivy should at least warn him about the tattoos and claw-like nails of his patrons.
Despite the delicious food offered to him, he felt vomiting whenever they watch him eat.
But he definitely liked the coffee of Patron D.
He didn't get the right amount of sleep as pointed by his stylist.
The President is truly horrible.
He was under the impression that District 4 was enduring too much suffering, but he can't believe what was happening in 12.
This year's Games might be the most expensive yet. He heard about water dams and perilous mountains.
He continued writing and scribbling all the little details his memory could offer him—the way the bed sheets smelled, the screaming crowds, the grandeur of a mansion, the fear of roses...
The list went on and he didn't stop even if his hand was already hurting and that he had perhaps written in three sheets of paper.
As always though, like the truth forever hanging on his head, there was an epiphany that gently and slightly elbowed him in the stomach.
Finnick stopped. He gave an angry and embarrassed sigh.
So this was how his life was going to be, avenged by nothing but stack of papers?
Surely, he thought, this was supposed to be something much more, shouldn't it? That these recollections were some kind of redemption—a proof that he wasn't going crazy and that he was not ultimately lost.
Perhaps someday this would just be stories people would forget. Perhaps it could save Panem. Or perhaps these could just become scratch papers, dusting and crumpled inside his drawer. Nonetheless though, it comforted him, just like it used to be. It was an achievement on its own because for the first time in days, Finnick felt lighter.
This was exactly what he needed.
His head was clearer and happier memories were slowly replacing the gruesome ones in his thoughts—because truthfully, there were far greater stories than his life in the Capitol.
There was Danny, Liz and their impending marriage; there was Linda and her quest for true love (Johnny barfed at this when she explained the other day); Mags and her promise of net weaving lessons; Thomas, Stella, Aunt Irvette, and yes, maybe even Uncle Marion; And then of course, there was her. Probably now a bit too friendly with David Gray, but who cares about him anyway? He was just David—David Gray who was also probably in the midst of a terrible hurricane that is Annie Cresta.
Finnick had to smile at the thought. He was so much surrounded by better and greater people that even if everything seems so wrong in his life, he can be so damn happy. Uplifted by this sudden euphoria—without thinking, without even considering to re-read, pace, and contemplate his actions, Finnick folded the pages that contained the pointless parts of his life and threw it inside his compartment.
Starting anew, he wrote the first reason why it was going to get better really soon. Because truthfully, how could he forget?
Today was Annie's birthday. And he only had two hours to find her a gift.
(1 Hour Before)
"We have a situation."
"What? What is it?" Elizabeth asked the two teenagers.
Johnny and Linda looked at each other, perhaps having second thoughts whether to reveal the details to her or not.
"C'mon, guys. Don't make me ask—"
"It's David." Johnny finally spoke, taking a deep breath.
"David? What did he do?"
Johnny and Linda exchanged another knowing looks, as if to answer her question.
Understanding dawned upon Elizabeth and she didn't even feel the need to gasp. Everyone was also expecting that to happen, weren't they?
At that exact moment though, when everything seemed quite lost and ruined, Danny entered the room, shouting perhaps on the top of his lungs (while the promised apron tied around his waist),
"WHO'S READY TO PARTY?"
(I Am Your Dream, Only That, And That Is All)
There are a lot of things a girl could hate in her lifetime. For Annie, one of those would be surprises. She hated them. All the surprises in her life were never really the pleasant ones— as one of which was her mother's untimely death. She really couldn't imagine how she could once more handle surprises after that.
But if she was to look beyond her own grief, her own experience, gone were the days that people actually thought of surprises as surprises. Life in District Four had somewhat became so predictable and so expected that the only thing that could shock the people was whenever the lighthouse was forgotten to be turned on at exactly six pm every night. The rest of the so called surprises barely met the expectations in which they were named after, as most of the townsfolk find them quite desperate and staged, especially when it was the summer season.
Which unfortunately for Annie, was the season wherein this next big surprise in her life occured.
Annie had barely even pushed the front door of the Cross-Fisher household open when she was immediately welcomed with a thunderous choir of "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" And needless to say, she was speechless. Because whenever she was in doubt, her lips seem to decide never to part.
"Happy birthday, Annie!" Linda crossed the room and hugged her fiercely. Then an array of people followed suit; Mags, her father, Elizabeth, Danny, and Johnny.
To her alarm though, the last person in line, just a tad bit taller than Johnny, was the person she least expected—already holding a cup of what seemed to smell (noticeably fragrant as he neared her) of wine.
Instead of hugging her though, like the rest, he merely nodded and shook her hand.
"Happy birthday." Finnick whispered.
"Thank you." Annie finally was able to speak, quickly letting go of his hand. Then she turned to the rest and smiled. "Thanks to everyone!"
As Annie looked around the house, she felt the tiniest change in her disposition. She was embarrassed—embarrassed for even thinking of the entire thing as foolish.
The house was decorated with white and purple balloons and there was a huge banner with her name on it hanging on the wall. The house also smelled warm and homey thanks to the fresh flowers and the supper, Annie knew, was cooked perfectly by Elizabeth and Linda.
"You have to know, Annie." Danny spoke as they settle themselves in the dining room. "I spent a good amount of four hours cleaning the house for you." Elizabeth jokingly smacked him on the shoulder.
"Well that is highly appreciated, thank you."
"And of course the cooking was made by Linda and Liz." her father added, finding himself a sear in the dining room where, to no surprise, was overwhelming with food.
"I have to say," said Linda, who sat right beside her. "Johnny personally picked the clams."
Johnny blushed. "Yeah, well. It's your birthday, Annie. Only the best!"
Annie laughed. "Really, to all of you, this is amazing. I don't know what to say."
"Say you love my chowder!"
"I know I will love your chowder, Linds."
Linda clapped her hand and started to serve the hot soup. "Now, everyone gather your bowls around."
"You know, Johnny," Willard spoke again, "They count the clams in the Haul."
Everything seemed to stop. Annie looked at her father and there was a twinkle in his eyes. What did he mean by that? The next thing she knew, everyone was talking rapidly—even Finnick.
"The Haul? Are you joining the Bonfire Haul? When are you planning to tell me? I'm your best friend!"
"Seriously, Pearson? Good luck with that!"
"Why didn't you ask for my help? Whale's sake I won the Haul!"
"I think that is very good for you, Johnny. Well done!"
"The Haul? You are joining the Haul?"
Johnny flushed pink as he answered the questions thrown at him, but Annie noticed that he was looking at her father, obviously asking for help. But Willard, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the fuss and heartily chuckled.
As Annie helped herself with the clam chowder—and stopping herself choking from laughter—she looked around the room, admiring the sudden elation and warmth. She could used to this kind of squabbling every single day; Johnny still flushing pink and pleading with her father, Linda eyebrows raised in amusement with this sudden revelation, Danny and Elizabeth already egging on the prizes Johnny can win, Mags joking about girls clamouring after him, Finnick finally clapping his best friend's shoulder in support...
Sure, she wasn't entirely surprised by this dinner. But Annie had to admit that she was touched by the effort. Who knew that there were people besides her father who were all willing to go the extra mile and prepare this night for her despite the uncertainties of the next few days.
Then again, as Annie put her spoon down, the uncertainties themselves were enough reason to celebrate. And that maybe perhaps, now that she thought about it, this party might not even be for her birthday.
But not that she was complaining.
He was glad he came.
Finnick admitted having to have second thoughts attending the party tonight, but Danny was on his doorstep the moment he was about to change his mind.
"It'll be fun, Fin." Danny said then. And he was right.
True, Finnick was thousand times nervous knowing that this would be a face-to-face encounter with Annie, but he also realized though that this was actually what he needed for the longest time now.
A closure.
A motivation.
A friend.
"Okay, Annie." Linda suddenly said as she was gathering everyone's plate after the fillet was gone. "We have another surprise for you actually."
Annie rolled her eyes that earned a couple of chuckles from everyone.
"But please step out of the room first." The blonde continued.
"What?" Annie groaned. "Look, it's fine if I see it already."
"No! Of course it's not." Linda argued. "Please!"
Finnick felt a kick from underneath the table. Only one person could dare.
He looked at Johnny and he was eyeing him and then glanced back towards Annie. Finnick didn't initially get it but when Johnny mouthed, Take her away, Finnick then, too, rolled his eyes and resisted his own laugh. He was just about to give in when Elizabeth did the honors instead.
"Why don't you accompany Annie in the backyard? Danny's done a tremendous job making sure it's lovely." she suggested. Behind her, Finnick could see Danny rolling his eyes and mouthing, Ignore her.
But Finnick could only chuckle. Why not? He shrugged and nodded, pretending not to see the astonishment in Annie's and even Danny's eyes.
"Good! Take her away please!" Linda hurriedly said as she went back into the kitchen.
"Danny cleaned the house?" Finnick tried to joke. "Could be interesting."
Danny snorted and impatiently waved a hand in surrender.
Finally, ignoring the jitters he was feeling in the pit of his stomach, Finnick nodded his head and invited Annie out. Slowly, like she was hesitating, she stood up and grabbed her cup.
He was fairly aware of the stares the rest of the people in the room. Mags was eyeing him thoughtfully, Elizabeth seemed flushed-pink for whatever reasons, and Danny, Danny the elderly brother Danny, was giving him that encouraging and manly wink.
Really?
It was just the backyard.
They were quiet when they reached the back porch and into the nightly sea breeze of the District. The sound of the waves was a hearty welcome and covered up for that horrible silence Finnick would want to ignore.
Annie leaned onto the fence, still her wine cup in hand, and stared into the darkened beach. Her hair was swaying slightly to the breeze and Finnick had never seen her so serene. Tired-looking, but peaceful.
"Are you going to apologize?" she asked so suddenly.
Finnick jolted. "Excuse me?"
Annie chuckled and turned to him. "I was kidding."
Now he didn't know what was so funny about that, especially when he was still very much aware of their heated conversation a few days back.
"I was just trying to lessen the awkwardness." She continued.
When he didn't reply immediately, Annie murmured again, "Never mind that, Fin."
But he couldn't. There was this feeling bubbling up again and he knew that it would continue to resurface not unless he did something about it. In which he knew he can.
He started to where it all mattered. Running a hand through his hair, preambles aside, Finnick exhaled. "I'm sorry. Really, I am."
Annie frowned, but there was a smile already forming on her lips. "I just told you to forget about it but if you wish, then go on. You are apologizing because?"
Now this was becoming funny. She was definitely challenging him. There was the quirk in her eyes and the familiar purse of her lips that told Finnick she was enjoying this.
He smiled. "For what I did."
"Which was what?" Now she, too, was grinning.
Finnick leaned on the fence beside her and shook his head.
"For being a jerk the other day. I shouldn't have lost my temper."
Annie was thoughtful and silent for a moment before she whispered and nodded her head, "That's okay." She looked farther in the shore and tugged a stray hair behind her ear. "You know, I'm sorry too."
He looked at her, and Finnick was thankful that slowly, she turned her head to look at him as well. It was practically a sin for him to admit, but for a while this day, he had forgotten how good-looking she truly was. Sure he knew she was beautiful, but he was unprepared for this moment. It was as if his sight just automatically zoomed in on her and even the tiniest of freckles seem to just become so clear and so stunning.
It surprised him at how easily she just took his breath-away.
For the first time in weeks, they finally seem to get a hold of themselves.
Or at least, he did.
"Annie," Finnick whispered. "Truly, I am sorry."
She smiled.
"I told you to just forget about it." She took a sip in her cup. "But if comforts you, then yes, apology accepted."
"I'll tell you that's a relief."
"Good. Finnick Odair does have a conscience."
He laughed and shook his head. "You have to know, I wake up early in the morning too. I'm not as lazy as you think I am."
Annie faked a shock. "Really? That is astounding information. I should tell the girls at the docks so they could compete in preparing breakfast for you."
"That you must. But truly, Liz's cooking or Linda's would actually suffice, so I'd appreciate it if you advice them first."
Annie laughed. "But seriously though," she asked after a while, seemingly bothered with that information. "You wake up early?"
Finnick chuckled back. "I do! Is it that hard to believe?"
"Well, no. But you are Finnick! You don't need to wake up early. Most of the people here wake up early because they need to work."
"That's true." He agreed. "But that's not the only reason to wake up every morning, isn't it?"
Annie paused, slightly looking surprised.
"Hm. Touché." She finally answered as Finnick gave her a smile. "So what's your reason getting up so early then?"
It was so simple he didn't even need to think. It just happened this morning, didn't it?
"The sunrise." He said simply, wishing Linda would take her time preparing Annie's birthday cake as finally, finally, they were getting somewhere...
"The sunrise?" she asked.
"Yeah, the sunrise. It makes me... I don't know, feel something." Finnick answered. "Why, don't you like the sunrise?"
Annie shook her head. "No, I mean, I do love the sunrise. It's a beautiful sight."
"But it's not really just about that, isn't it?" Finnick asked. "The sunrise can be, I don't know... so much more?"
Annie remained silent and Finnick took this as a sign to go on.
"I mean, the sunrise is a sight, you're right. But wouldn't it even be more fascinating to be a part of it? Not to just simply see it, but to actually be there—to be the one who unravels it every morning?"
"What do you mean?"
"That you, Annie Cresta, are the phenomenon that can make the sunrise. I, also make the sunrise. We are the ones who witness how it moves and shifts and changes. You and me, we are the in-betweens. We are the portion of the sunrise where it is at its most breathtaking; we are in that moment when the blue touches the yellow, or when the orange mixes with the gray, or when the pink combines with the violet... We—the both of us who discovers this—make it the most wonderful sight. Without us, the sunrise would just be another underappreciated performance."
Finnick turned to look at Annie. She was staring at him as if it was the first time she'd seen him. She was frowning slightly, curious perhaps, but with a tinge of a soft smile. Her eyes were glassy but not distant, and there was also this tint of red on her cheeks that even without the help of alcohol, made Finnick all giddy.
"What?" he asked suddenly, slightly embarrassed.
She smiled at him, like there was some she knew and he didn't. "Nothing."
"You, Annie Cresta, are weird."
She laughed at this and took a sip in her own cup.
"You, Finnick Odair, are interesting."
David reached the Cross-Fisher house billed in far end of the West Villages, a couple of blocks away from his own home. He could hear the strong waves crashing to the shore and the slight rush of wind urged him to tuck his sweater tighter.
It wasn't so bad, he thought, his visit to Willard.
It's true that the old man seemed taken aback with his revelation but he was nonetheless, understanding. David just wanted to explain himself because there was no time to lose anymore.
And he was sure. Of course he loves her.
Well, he didn't know if it was love, surely, but if it wasn't, then what was it exactly? All he knew was that it was definitely something he couldn't avoid. All he thought about was her.
Her. Her. Her.
He tried to avoid thinking about Annie, for his own sake. But it was as if the world wanted him to never forget anything that was about her—it was torture. Though it was a good kind of torture, he assured himself.
And tonight, as planned, everything would change.
David was about to go up to the front porch and ring the doorbell when he heard noises coming from the back portion of the house. Tugging his sweater and holding the bouquet of flowers in his hand tighter, he decided to check out the house from the shore as probably, all of them would be there already celebrating.
As he made his way in the small alley, he could already picture people animatedly talking in the backyard. He pushed away several branches of the bushes, wanting to immediately greet whoever they were.
Turning in the corner, David stopped abruptly.
Surely, one of them was Annie. But who was—Finnick? David was utterly surprised. He stood still and contemplated the scenario before him.
Quietly, he sneaked towards the heavy bushes and hid, parting the branches slightly to get a glimpse of the two.
"How long has it been?" David heard Finnick asked.
"Almost ten years now." Annie replied.
He saw Finnick nod before replying back. "Do you miss her?"
Annie was looking thoughtful. She momentarily stared at the white cup she was holding before replying.
"Every single day." Then after a while, Annie put a hand on Finnick's shoulder and murmured. "I know you miss them too."
He saw Finnick smiled sheepishly and didn't say a word. Finnick just stared on the ground and ruffled his hair as if he was constraining himself.
"And I think that is okay." Annie continued, smiling herself. "Us, missing them."
Finnick finally looked up to her as she went on.
"I mean, that's the only thing we could do right? To look back and remember?"
Finnick didn't reply, but he shrugged nonetheless.
In the silence, David could not think of any reason why they should be there on their own. It was impossible not unless—
"Annie," Finnick started, disrupting David from his thoughts. He took another glance at Annie before continuing. "Do you really hate me?"
David could see Annie was surprised with his question. Everyone knew how much she loathed him. Annie was probably the only person who didn't rejoice when he got out of the Games safely.
Finnick seemed to let her take her time answering his question.
"I don't hate you." Annie finally answered.
"You don't?"
She chuckled. "Surprisingly, I don't. Not really."
"Hm."
"What?"
"Nothing. I just... nah, forget about it." Finnick waved a hand then drank from his cup.
Annie placed a hand on her hips, frowning. "No, tell me."
Finnick seemed to observe her. Sighing, he conceded. "It's just that... I was worried you did. And I didn't think I could handle that idea of you hating me."
Annie chuckled. "Why not? You're Finnick Odair. You could deal with a lot of things."
"But not that." he explained. "You're Annie—I knew you since I was seven years old, and if you hate me, then I'm not so sure anymore."
"Sure of what?"
"All of it."
"Fin..."
"You're the only one who holds true to my previous life, Annie, before I won the Games. And if you're not there... then it's all gone—"
David couldn't take it anymore. Why did he suddenly feel like he was an intruder—like it was something so private he felt ashamed being there hearing it?
Why? It was supposed to be his night. It was supposed to be him from now on. It was supposed to be him, David, beside Annie on that porch and not Finnick Odair.
As he sneaked another look, he realized that the answer had been over his head since they were fifteen years old. What frustrated him the most , like in the story books he had read, was this bond seemingly made just for Finnick and Annie.
Like a secret.
For the first time in weeks, it was back—that same hint of fear David experienced every time Finnick was home from the Capitol. No, he couldn't deny it anymore. It was already in the out, hovering itself in his face like a boat mast.
Finnick was also in love with her.
"Finnick, don't say that." Annie whispered.
"But I do. I fear that all the time."
Annie smiled gently. "Then from now on, you don't have to."
Finnick laughed lightly. "Well, thanks for that I guess."
He knew he was taking a huge leap of faith by doing this, but slowly, he reached for Annie's hand and gripped it.
"Really, Ann. Thank you."
Annie seemed to freeze as he did so, but it delighted Finnick to see at how easily she relaxed. But knowing he was pushing his luck for so long already, he regretfully let go.
"I, um, have something for you." Finnick said nonetheless, running a hand through his hair and not breaking their rapport.
"You shouldn't—" Annie replied, blushing slightly.
"I wanted to. I mean, it's not every day that you turn eighteen."
"That I have to agree." She chuckled.
"Here." Taking the object from his sweater's inside pocket, Finnick handed her a squared shape object wrapped neatly in a blue paper.
"Save me the embarrassment will you?" he added. "Just open it later, when I'm not here anymore, I guess."
Giving him a warm smile, Annie whispered, "Thank you, Finnick."
Somewhere in the background they could hear Linda shouting that the next surprise was ready and Annie should go in already.
"We should go."
Finnick nodded.
He watched as she slowly backed away, still with a small smile on her lips and with his gift safe in her hand. There was this urgency he felt the moment she was almost about to open the door. It already creaked slightly, and despite the thousand reasons he needed to think about—like David, like Mags, like the candles Annie needed to already blow out, or maybe even the likes of Corolianus Snow who was just waiting for the next moment he would fail—Finnick just knew that it was a perfect moment. He didn't exactly know when this could happen again.
So before Annie could even step inside Danny and Liz's house, he did the one thing he knew was right.
"Annie,"
She turned around and faced him again, one eyebrow slightly raised asking him in return.
Then without any hesitations, he continued. "Will you go to the Bonfire with me?"
Annie was not so sure if she heard Finnick correctly. But he was just there, with a smile on his face, waiting for her to respond. And in a situation that should had been a short five seconds, somewhere from the first tick to the four point fifty-nine second, it was as if someone put a joke on her and slowed time down to become an eternity.
David looked up instantly as he heard Finnick. And as if he was the one who asked, he felt himself go cold because of the anticipation of what could happen next.
He had never felt so greedy and selfish.
Finnick Odair could not have her.
It took Annie forever.
Finnick felt like it was his slow and painful death. But there was no turning back now. He would wait no matter how long it would take her—just like how slowly he was discovering her all these years.
Everything seemed ironically like a blur.
He was so right and so real—like what he used to be when they were seven years old, when he had a front tooth missing and a scruffy haircut that she, Annie, secretly liked.
David knew he could do something.
He knew that if he presented himself to the two of them, if he could move his feet and step into the walkway and reveal himself from the bushes, the trance would break.
He could be the one to end this. He could be the one to end this agony.
Finnick watched, not even realizing he was holding his breath, at how she fidgeted—tucking a stray hair behind her ear, pursing her lips, blinking too many times than normal... Any second now.
After everything that had happened, after all the troubles and the judgements—her judgements included—he was still the same Finnick after all.
David had just one chance of doing it, of breaking that spell. He had to do it now.
Five...
So even if it did sound foreign when Annie thought about it after a while,
David stepped one foot forward and shoved the branches of the bushes.
Four...
She definitely knew no other way of answering it.
He moved another foot, the porch lights now slightly illuminating him.
Three...
Annie finally parted her lips.
Finnick took a deep breath.
Two...
David cleared his throat.
One...
"Yes. I would love to."
AN: OH THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE! I know I took a while to update but really had a busy schedule this past ten months. Hopefully, it won't take me long to update again. Reviews are LOVE! :)