Thursday March 10th 2016

I stare dully at the brick walls of the coffee house, watching them go slowly in and out of focus as my mind churns sluggishly through the night's events. I take a glance at my watch, blinking a couple of times to bring it into focus. 6:12am. I sat down at 6:07am the minute they opened the doors. I watched the two waitresses hurry in at 6:05am, late. I felt like a fucking alcoholic standing outside a bar to get the earliest drink. But I just wanted a cup of coffee. It won't help the insomnia but if I haven't slept a wink in the night why would I sleep now?

I jump slightly when the young waitress places a cappuccino in front of me and by the time I look up to thank her she's halfway across the room. I sigh and sip the bitter liquid.

Everything reminds me of him. I see him in the ocean, in the streets, in the walls of the coffee house. He invades the little sleep that I manage to get. For the first time the genius of the idea to stay in State 4 is lost on me. It feels like imprisonment and I want out.

That's probably the lack of sleep talking, I reason, and take another gulp of coffee.

I purposely sit at the same table I did with him that final time we drank coffee here. I sit in the same seat as that last time, facing the same way. I want to say that I can imagine him before me but the truth is I can't. All I see is the empty chair and I'd give anything for him to be here again, even yelling at me again just like last time.

I know he's anxious. He wrings his hands around his coffee cup repeatedly looking anywhere but my face. I try to think what I could have done that would agitate him so much. I come up blank. I've done nothing. Maybe that's the problem.

"We're moving to the Capitol." Finn finally states, glaring at me.

I look at him incredulously. "We?"

"You heard me!" He drops his cup against the plate with a loud 'clank!'

I decide to state the obvious. "Finnick we live here." I wave my arms around the brick walls of coffee house and think of the small two bedroom rental we've lived in for nearly a year.

"And we're moving." He says again.

"You mean you." I clarify, still confused.

"No I don't Peeta!" He bursts. I look around the café alarmed but the few patrons here aren't paying us any attention. "We are moving to the Capitol. And do you know why? Because this year sucked, man. No one's here anymore." He motions around the coffee house where just a year before was filled with our own friends but now houses strangers. "I'm sick of doing this long distance crap with Annie and you need to get your shit together and move on, Peeta!"

Instinctually, I want to be angry at him but I can't deny he's right. Katniss left nearly 10 months ago never to be heard of again. Jo moved following a job and so did Annie. Only Finnick and I stayed, and honestly, even though Finnick stayed for a job, it was more to look after me.

"She's not coming home, Peeta." Finnick says softly, rubbing his palms against his face. "God, you even went to State 12 a few weeks ago and she wasn't even there! Peeta, I love her and she's been my best friend for a while but right now, for you, she's not worth it. We're not all one happy family anymore. We're all moving on to different things and you need to do it too. We're going to the Capitol."

My head falls into my hands. I want to say that he is wrong and it's all going to work out again. But something inside of me knows he is right.

I use my last argument forlornly. "What the hell do we do in the Capitol?"

Finnick smiles. "I have an interview next month. As for you, I've talked to your dad and you'll be a benefit to the Mellark companies and whatever shit you do every day if you're in the Capitol."

I have no other argument. He's right on every level. I wonder vaguely how long he's been planning this. Judging by how pissed off he is I would think a while. "What if I don't want to work with them anymore?" I ask, my distaste for the family company now coloring my voice.

"Find something else!" He throws his hands to the ceiling. "There is literally everything in that city. Are you in?"

I pause. I think about what this could mean. It would mean accepting a life without Katniss Everdeen in it. It would mean starting fresh in the busiest city of Panem, moving away from the confines and notoriety of State 4. It would mean a chance for something better.

"Yeah. I'm in."

I ended up taking Finnick's advice. Well sort of. I left the family company to pursue a career as an artist which I should have done from the beginning. I would say it was solely because of Finnick but if I'm being honest, when I left Katniss' words were also ringing in my ears. But I got out, that's the main point.

I stay at the coffee shop long enough to get a second cup and watch the corporate business men and woman come in waves. It's kind of how I used to imagine my life after college. The average 9-5 job, suit and tie, the mandatory morning coffee. I had it planned out to a tee.

Now I have an outlandish apartment in the Capitol, a useless business degree, a dead best friend and a soon-to-be fiancé that's in fucking Africa. I snort and drain the remnants of the cup. Plan all you want but sometimes life just gives you shit.

It could be worse, a small voice from somewhere inside me says through all the hurt. But I can't quite see the truth in that. I've lost the only constant I've ever really had in my life. The one that practically built me a whole new life even when I didn't want it.

Finnick claps me on the back with a large grin on his face. "Man, this place is awesome! You're getting it, no doubt about it."

I roll my eyes at his child-like expression. "Isn't it my decision?"

Finnick mimics my expression and doesn't utter what we're both thinking; that I hadn't made any real life decisions myself in the past year. I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for Finnick.

"Dude, just get it."

I scan the ridiculously large apartment. It's nice, well, more than nice. "It's kind of big for one person."

Finnick huffs beside me. "Who cares? I know you can afford it. And come on Peeta, you need to start living a little." He strides over to a room off a hallway and starts yelling at me from it. "I mean look at this view! It's incredible!" I follow him in and find he's right. The whole Capitol is visible through the ceiling to floor glass windows.

"I don't know, Finn…"

He whips around and glares at me. "What's your problem? This is the nicest complex in the Capitol. There's an art gallery right down the street and…" He starts listing off all the amenities but I tune him out.

I stare out the windows and down to the street below. I know I need to find something sooner rather than later. They'd never say it but I need to move out of Finnick and Annie's house to give them their space. And nothing I've seen even compares to this apartment. It ticks every box. The location is prime, in the dead center of the Capitol, the major art gallery is only two blocks away and I can very well afford it.

So what is my problem?

"Are you even listening to me?" Finnick's voice cuts back into my thoughts and I look up to see him glaring at me again.

"No," I admit honestly.

He doesn't get mad like I expect. Instead he levels his gaze on my face and says, "Maybe not now, maybe not in a year, but you're going to thank me for this one day."

And again, he was right. I never thanked him in so many words but I'm sure he knew it. Or at least I hope he knew it. I sigh, again. I feel like a shitty friend. What have I ever done for Finnick? He uprooted my life, helped me forget about Katniss, pretty much chose my fucking engagement ring…and what did I do for him? Shit all. And for what it's worth, I'm stuck back here again being tortured by my past I tried so hard to forget.

The front door opens and slams and I know it's only one of two people. Finnick and Annie are the only ones with keycards to my apartment. My bet is it's Finnick considering I'm fairly sure he'd mentioned coming over to watch the game. I'm proven right when his voice carries down from the entryway, "I swear Peeta every time I walk in here I get a little more depressed."

I roll my eyes making sure he sees. "If I remember correctly you're the one that demanded I get this place. You all but signed the deed."

"Yeah and I expected you to transform it into the luxurious bachelor pad it deserves to be!"

"I hired a decorator." I say defensively.

He looks around with his nose scrunched. "What kind of boring ass decorator did you find?"

I sigh and swallow a retort. "All the furniture is new and modern, it all matches, it's all part of the same color pallet."

"Whoa, stop right there. Color pallet? Really? I see no color." He begins walking around the room pointing at random bits of furniture and walls. "Black, grey, grey, white." He pauses. "Oh, I'm sorry you're right, I found some color. There's a really daring beige in that room."

"What do you want, Finnick?" I snap at him. "I find it hard to believe you care this much for interior designing."

"You're right. The furniture is fine. It's you. You're not living here. This whole place has a cold, clinical feel. I can't even see any personal items aside from that book over there! Would it kill you to put up some pictures? You're an artist for Christ's sake! Paint something."

"If I'd known this was what I'd get when you said you'd come over to watch the game I would've put the chain on the door."

It's his turn to roll his eyes. "I'm serious."

"So am I." I counter, eyeing the door.

He flops down on the couch cushion next to me and pops the top off two beers. "I'm just looking out for you."

I don't answer. I know his intentions are good, and hell, he's nearly always right.

"Still nothing?"

I can feel his glare on me before I turn to look. I sigh. I moved across the country, bought some swanky, exorbitantly priced 'bachelor pad', quit my work with the family company but none of that matters if I'm still asking about her.

"No, nothing. I wish you'd just move on, Peeta." He says stiffly and then turns his attention towards the hockey on TV.

It's not just Katniss and Finnick either. I haven't forgotten that my own mother resides in the prison a half hour out of State 4. Or that I haven't seen her since the jury delivered her verdict. What's even the protocol for a situation like mine? Am I supposed to see her, tell her Finnick died? Do I even want to see her?

These are questions I'd pose to Finnick. And he'd know exactly what to say.

When the waitress comes around for a second time and offers me a third cup I decide then that it's time to go. 6:40am. I've sat here stewing long enough. I begin to rise from my seat but a loud crack causes me to jump and the china goes flying across the table. I catch it just before it can smash to the floor and then stare outside in disbelief as sheets of rain fall from the now grey sky.

Yeah, Peeta, it could be worse, I think sarcastically. It didn't rain for a year during college, but sure, a tropical rainstorm hits now. I can see the force of the wind blowing the frail trees outside, shifting the rain into diagonal streaks. I'd never seen anything like it in State 4 before.

"Okay." I say simply, pretending like I'm not beyond pissed. I hand the blonde girl a ten dollar bill and she watches me as if I'm a madman for stepping out into the rain. I suppose I am. I could've just stayed and waited it out. But I know if I do I'll be that guy sitting here at lunch time on his sixth cup of coffee visibly shaking from the stimulants overflowing his veins. No, I still have a few morsels of dignity left.

Fifteen seconds later those few morsels are all but gone. I'm drenched from head to toe and can barely see straight as the wind whips pieces of hair into my eyes. I regret my earlier decision to not take the car. But the kicker, the real low blow, is when I walk back along Annie's street and the clouds part and the sun comes out gleaming in mockery. I stare at the sky accusingly, wondering what the hell I did so wrong that I deserved a punishment like this.

000

She's there every morning, no matter what ungodly hour it is. I wonder whether she is awake all night like I often am. Or maybe she's still a really early riser. But for whatever reason, she's always here first, and she hears me every goddamn time.

This morning I think maybe I've finally done it. Maybe my footsteps are as silent as hers and she somehow missed the click of the front door. But the minute my feet touch the carpet she speaks.

"Your phone's been going off for a while."

My eyes flit to the side table next to the couch where sure enough my phone is blinking rapidly with who knows how many text messages and missed calls. She doesn't turn around when she says it. She sits on the floor completely disregarding the couch, cross legged, her arms bent inwards toward her lap. I can only assume she's texting. Who, I have no idea.

I don't really know what to say. All our conversations since last Sunday have been short and stilted. The knowledge that she didn't even try to find out the result of her own court case reaffirmed the 3 year old idea that she never really cared. That, and her unnervingly calm demeanour. She's a goddamn rock lately.

I'm about to leave and go sulk somewhere else when she turns her head, probably confused by my silence. I can see the words die on her lips as she takes in the sight of me. I almost forgot I'm soaking wet. Almost. She looks out the window and then back to me clearly trying to solve the discord between my wet clothes and the now clear blue sky.

"It was raining." I say defensively before she can assume I jumped in the ocean fully clothed.

She looks at me perplexed and I'm sure she's going to say something about the car when my phone starts buzzing on the table.

"You should get that." She tells me and resumes her own text conversation.

I almost don't because I'm really feeling that petty but then I take a look at the screen and see two big blue eyes and a perfect smile. I stare at it puzzled for a moment and then start counting back the days in my head.

Today is…Thursday…the…10th?

Shit. She's back.

000

Are you okay?

It's the question everyone hates but feels inclined to ask. It's the one that you feel you should lie about even when the answer is no. And it is her first question on the phone followed by my profuse apologies that I hadn't called her yesterday when she'd returned to the Capitol.

"I'm fine." I assure her through speaker phone as I try to wrangle my wet t shirt from my chest. I grab a towel from my bed and dry my hair. "I mean, I'm a little wet but I'm fine."

"What?" I can hear the concern in her voice that assures me my attempt at light heartedness has fallen flat.

"Tropical rainstorm."

"Isn't it like 7am over there? Why were you outside that early?"

"I couldn't sleep."

Silence. I count to ten before she asks, "You're not okay, are you?" Her tone is harder and I know she'll be upset if I lie to her again.

"I don't know."

"I could get a flight out today," she says, "I can call my dad and be there by tonight."

I have no doubt she could pull some strings and book what is probably a first class ticket on an already full flight. And I honestly do mull it over for a minute. But then I imagine trying to keep myself sane, support Annie and keep the past and present loves of my life away from each other. I shudder at the thought.

"No, it's fine, really. I'll be home in just over a week anyway."

"Peeta - "

"I'm okay, really. Please." I'm about to try and convince her further when I take note of the background noise behind the call. "Where are you?" I frown.

"Oh, I'm at the gallery. I'm just leaving now. I'm going to redo the pictures around the apartment."

I smile, just slightly, remembering the way she first decorated my plain apartment, bringing life and warmth into it with colourful rugs, ornaments and photographs. She redoes them about every six months with new photos of us or prints from her trips.

I can tell the moment she leaves the gallery because honks wail out behind her and the chatter increases. I can picture the street in my head, the exact way she's walking back to my apartment. I can picture her holding the remnants of a skinny latte, probably cold by now, though she doesn't care.

"How can you still drink that?" I ask as I watch her drain the remnants of her coffee that she bought over an hour ago.

"Just because you skull yours in two minutes does not mean I have to." She retorts. She throws the paper cup into a nearby bin, barely looking, then entwines her hand in mine.

I shake my head at her and lean down for a short peck on her lips. "There is a reason coffee is sold hot."

I laugh at the irritation on her face before it quickly dissolves back into a smile. "Iced coffee is a thing, Peeta."

I snort and imagine the sugary concoction that they manage to disguise under the guise of coffee. "Not in my world."

She laughs, eyes turned toward the sky and I take a moment to admire her beauty. "I still don't understand your world, Peeta. But in my world there is such a thing as cold coffee." She gives me a sassy look that tells me I'm never going to win the argument. "You're just going to have to deal with it."

I roll my eyes but squeeze her hand gently. "I guess I can try, if it means I get to keep you."

She grins at me, eyes sparkling in the sunlight, and pulls me down the street faster. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I miss you." The statement falls from my lips without another thought.

I hear her sigh. "I miss you too. Are you sure you don't want me to fly over?"

My memory induced haze is gone as quickly as it came and I'm again faced with reality. "I'm fine." I say but even I can hear the quiver in my voice.

"Peeta - "

"I need to do this by myself. I'm okay, trust me."

I make sure the remaining time we spend on the phone is about her and her trip to Africa. I hear about safaris, local markets and secluded Maasai tribes and I enjoy the reprieve I get if only for a few moments. But there's still a feeling of guilt eating away at me once we hang up and I lie back down on my bed, because I know I've pushed her away and I can't exactly fathom why.

Not only am I a shitty friend but apparently a shitty boyfriend now too.

I throw my arms over my eyes and make a final half-assed attempt at sleep.

000

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I, um…" I stare down at Finnick's bloodied body trying to find the right words to tell the operator. The colour red seems endless, out of place in the bland apartment.

"Sir? Can you tell me your emergency?"

I grip my phone tighter in my hand. "My friend… he's injured." I mutter still captivated by the colour red, illuminated by only the moon.

"Is he conscious?"

I look at his pale eyelids obscuring the green I know is under them. "No."

"Is he breathing?"

Tears roll down my cheeks. I kneel down next to him, my knees becoming soaked in blood. It's surprisingly cold and thick. "No," I tell the operator and then recite my address in a clinical manner, in a similar way Finnick had recited it to me when he'd found the apartment for sale.

"An ambulance is on its way. Do you know how to give CPR?"

I do. I know the process. But I also know it won't help. "He's dead," I choke out, placing a hand gingerly in the blood. The hue seems to hold brown tones along with the red.

"CPR may still revive him. If you clear his airway and begin compressions - "

"He's dead. His lips are blue." Yet another colour my apartment has been lacking.

There's a beat of silence on the line for the first time. "How long has he been there?"

"I don't know." I lie, looking at the clock. It's been a long time. What have I been doing?

"Are you in your house, sir?"

"Yes." I scan the dark and bland apartment noting how boring and lifeless it is.

"Do you know how he died?"

"I think I killed him." I whisper hollowly and then drop the phone into the redness.

"Peeta!"

My eyes fly open and I jerk into a sitting position. Johanna is staring at me with wide eyes from the doorway. It takes me a moment to recognize the warm and colourful room of Annie's house. I look frantically down at the knees of my jeans and find them blood free.

It was a dream.

"Are you okay?"

There's that question again. "Sure," I mutter sarcastically trying to rid the colours of the dead from my mind.

She steps into the room and shuts the door quietly behind her. I check my watch quickly and realize that I've somehow actually slept two hours.

"Peeta, come on." She admonishes softly. "What just happened?"

"It's stupid." I mutter, still looking at my hands and expecting blood to cover them at any second. I close my eyes briefly and try to rid the images of Finnick's dead body on my living room floor.

"Peeta." She says sternly, her eyes boring into mine.

I sigh and give in. "I dreamt I killed Finnick."

Her reaction is pretty much what I anticipate. For a split second her eyes widen slightly with shock, then that's quickly replaced with sadness and finally frustration. She sighs and fixes me with a hard stare. "How many times do I have to tell you it wasn't your fault?"

"No, not like that." I tell her, "I dreamt I physically killed him. He was lying dead on my living room floor."

She continues to stare at me with a growing look of concern. "That's…Peeta…" She struggles for words and I silently wished I'd stood my ground and stayed silent. "You have to stop blaming yourself."

"I have." I tell her defensively. "I told you that!"

She shakes her head. "I don't believe you. This isn't the first dream, is it? They've been bothering you for a while. You still feel guilty."

"Oh, so you're analysing my dreams now?" I bite back.

"I'm trying to help you! You need to understand that it wasn't your fault he was out there."

"OF COURSE IT WAS!" I roar back at her. "I'm the one who changed our plans. I'm the one who told him to work that afternoon. I'm the reason he was out there and got killed!"

"That's ridiculous!" She yells right back at me. "He could've been out there for a thousand different reasons! No one knew that was going to happen. It was a freak accident."

"But it didn't happen for a thousand other reasons! It happened because of me!"

"What if you hadn't changed your plans that day, Peeta? What if you were with Finnick?" She suddenly says. "Someone else would've been there. Someone else would've been killed. Someone's husband or wife, mother or father - "

The door suddenly slams open violently, shaking the house, before Jo can finish her sentence. "What the fuck is going on in here?" Katniss asks loudly, glaring at the two of us. "I can hear you guys screaming from the kitchen. You've upset Annie!" The anger between us burns out quickly and we both cower ashamed under Katniss' glare. "So either deal with this quietly or take it somewhere else." She whips around and stalks out of the bedroom just as quickly as she came, leaving both me and Jo dumbstruck and silent.

I groan and tug at the roots of my hair. "What is the hell is happening?"

"Peeta -"

"Can you just go please, Jo?" I ask, trying my hardest to keep my voice soft. "I just can't right now."

The soft click of the door is the only thing that tells me she's gone. I throw myself back down onto the bed face first and even though my mind is waging a war, pure exhaustion wins out and I fall into a couple more hours of restless sleep, trying desperately to hold onto my sanity.

000

The following days after my blow up bring a little more sleep and a little more stability. The dreams still come but I'm able to separate what is real and what is not. I don't take my frustration out on anyone in the household; in fact I don't see much of them. I suffer in silence.

On multiple days I am hindered, trapped inside by random bouts of rain from the ever greying sky. It's so unusual that it takes my mind away from Finnick more than once. No one seems to know what to make of it and I've heard more than a few grumbles from angry residents wandering the wet streets. The only person seemingly unaffected by the rain is Katniss. I've never her seen her bat an eye even with thunder clapping right over the house. It annoys me for reasons I don't even understand.

This morning is like all the others. It's dark and gloomy and a steady but light pitter-patter of rain falls. Not enough to flood but enough to annoy. I stumble down the stairs, not bothering to conceal my footsteps. Katniss will hear me whether I try or not. But when I enter the living room I don't find the dark curls of Katniss but the straight locks of Annie.

"Morning, Annie. You're never up this early." I remark.

"There's a first time for everything." She responds lightly and I wish I could hear more of that light, playful tone more often. "From what Katniss tells me you've slept in."

I check the clock and find she's right. Half past seven. I decide not to comment on the fact that she and Katniss have clearly had conversations about me. "Yeah, I've been sleeping a bit better."

She smiles warmly at me. "Good. I've been worried about you."

"You shouldn't worry about me." I mutter quietly, suddenly feeling guilty. Yeah I'd lost my best friend but she'd lost her husband and the father of her baby. She shouldn't be worrying about anyone but herself.

Her hand gently touches my arm. "I can't help worrying, Peeta. And don't look at me like that, you're allowed to grieve too."

"Maybe. I should be handling it better though." I wasn't one for gender stereotypes but it hurt my pride a little to realize that all the women in the house seemed to be handling it better than me lately.

"Everyone grieves in different ways." She says. "You out of anyone should know that. We've all had that moment when it's really hit us. Yours was these last few days. Don't be ashamed of it." I think about that, wondering if it's true. I remember the day after we left the hospital, how broken Annie had been. She wouldn't talk, wouldn't eat, she wouldn't do anything. I had to check on her periodically to make sure she was still breathing and coax into her what little food and water I could for the baby. It had been ugly. I think about on Monday when Jo had barely spoken a word and chain smoked at least an entire pack of cigarettes, a distant and bleary look in her eyes. And then I think of Katniss. Calm and collected Katniss. The only time I'd seen her lose her temper was when she returned from her run on Sunday. Was that her day? I don't think so. I am about to voice my opinion when Annie continues talking. "In fact, you were beginning to scare me when you hadn't broken down. You were so strong after we turned off the life support, when we planned the funeral, when we came here. You couldn't go on like that forever."

"But I upset you the other day." I sigh.

To my surprise she laughs. "Peeta I have a million pregnancy hormones raging through me, tears are inevitable. I wasn't upset at you though, Peeta. I was upset for you. I can't stand to see you blame yourself for something that wasn't your fault."

"I can't help it."

"Yes you can. No one blames you, so don't blame yourself. Hindsight can be an awful thing. Don't let it eat away at you, Peeta."

I nod hesitantly and try to absorb her wise words. "You're going to be a great mom, Annie."

I watch as a little more life comes into her eyes at the comment. "I hope so. You'll be a great uncle too."

I chuckle. "Uncle? I think I have to be part of the bloodline to earn that title."

"I don't care. You guys were brothers. We're going to call you Uncle Peeta."

I share a small peaceful moment with her imagining the little baby in her house in the Capitol. I tilt my head back and lean it against the couch. "We have to go back home in a week."

A moment passes. "Yeah we do. I thought you'd be relieved, I know how unhappy you've been."

Again a bone crushing guilt seizes me. "I'm sorry, it's just - "

"I know." Her hand covers mine. "It's hard dredging up the past. Especially one like yours. I appreciate the effort you've put in being here without Finnick and with Katniss."

"Where is she anyway? She's always down here so early."

"She's out running." Annie answers, her eyes flitting to the coffee table briefly.

I take another look at the grey sky and the consistent rain. "It's raining."

"I know." Annie nods. "It doesn't bother her."

"What does?" I mutter petulantly under my breath.

I hear her sigh. "I wouldn't be so quick to judge her." She says quietly. "Just because she's not outwardly suffering doesn't mean she isn't at all."

"I know, I know." I say unconvincingly. "It's just…she's so damn calm. I never saw her like this in college. I didn't think she was even capable of it. And where has she been? None of us know - "

"Peeta - "

"I mean not even Finnick knew where she was. I don't understand any of this Annie." I admit in a huff and fall back against the couch.

A strange look comes over Annie's face that I can't interpret. She opens her mouth but whatever she's about to say is lost when the front door opens. Katniss walks, surprisingly loudly, through the living room to the kitchen and then back again with a water bottle in her hands. The sweat and rain have intermingled on her skin giving her the appearance of running double what she probably did. She pushes fly away strands of hair from her eyes and smiles warmly.

"Morning." She greets, seemingly unbothered by my presence. I've only seen her break twice in front of me and each time we've been alone. Today her mask is on again and going strong. The conversation morphs into idle chit chat and I participate half-heartedly wondering what it was Annie was going to tell me.

000

Apparently I've broken the insomnia barrier or I'm just that fucking tired because sleep finds me again that night. It seems almost instantly the bedroom materializes back to my Capitol apartment, the moonlight illuminating it again.

I spin around scanning the apartment. This isn't right. No lights are on and the pictures aren't on the walls yet. There's no belongings scattered around either. An unsettling feeling creeps into my stomach. I approach the living room tentatively even though I know what I'm going to find.

Red.

It's everywhere again. I nearly choke just having to look at it. This time I don't call 911. I kneel again in the coagulated blood and look into his eyes. They don't look green in the dark. They don't even really have a colour. Carefully, I place my fingers on his eyelids and slide them closed.

"This isn't right."

I spring upwards, startled by the voice behind me.

Finnick.

I look back and forth between the dead body and the living Finnick. He peers at his dead body curiously.

"It didn't look like this. It looked much worse."

I stare at my best friend, mouth agape. How could it possibly look worse?

"I'm glad you didn't see it."

"You're not real." I tell him, staring at the body on the ground.

'Neither is that," he gestures towards the dead version of himself. "It doesn't make sense. You didn't kill me."

I watch him kneel next to the body, hands resting on his thighs as he peers at it again, unfazed by the gore.

"Nothing makes sense," I grumble.

He looks up suddenly – with almost inhuman speed – his eyes gleaming green. I flinch. "I'm sorry," he says.

I frown at him. "Sorry for what?" But he's already inspecting the body again. He slides a finger carefully through the blood and holds it up to the moonlight. I wait for what seems like an eternity before he gently rises and looks at me.

"I need you to trust me."

"You know I do."

He shakes his head slightly. "I'm not so sure. Something will come up. You need to trust me."

"I don't understand."

"We protect each other, it's what we do. Right?" He says softly, voicing a different train of thought.

He walks around the room, trailing his fingertips lightly against the wall, small streaks of blood marring my cream walls. I stare down at his corpse guiltily.

"I didn't protect you."

He turns back with a ghost of a smile on his face. "As I didn't you."

I can't comprehend what he is saying. "I don't understand. What didn't you protect me from?" He rolls his eyes. An oddly familiar gesture.

"Stop remembering this." He motions lazily to his dead body. "And do one thing for me."

"What?"

"Trust me."

And then he's gone.