It's tomorrow. It's tomorrow, I think frantically. Now that my interview is over, I have more time to think about the next thing on my mind. And that's the actual Games. Of course I'm going to die in the arena. There's no chance some rope tying skills can save me.

But I don't want to die, I protest feebly. My mother needs me! I...I want to see Finnick again.

Grudgingly, I admit that my feelings about Finnick have changed dramatically since the Reaping. First, I hated him. For not helping my brother win. Then, I didn't hate him anymore, just because he told me what he's been suffering. And now...Have I really fallen for Finnick Odair?

Finnick Odair...Irrationally, I wonder what rhymes with Odair.

Hair?

Chair?

The elevator door opens then, and Davis and I return to the meeting room to watch the recap of the interviews. A door not far down the hall opens, revealing none other than Finnick.

In his underwear. Well, there's my answer. Finnick Odair in his underwear. It's silly, yes, but thinking of rhymes help me calm down.

"What are you doing?" I shriek, gaping at him. There goes my attempt at relaxing. "Put some clothes on!"

"Er, sorry," he says, though he doesn't sound very sorry. "I wanted to change before...you know."

"Go back and change, then," I snap, my cheeks flaming, "Oh, what am I going to do? I'm scarred for life!"

Davis appears to be amused. "Oh, Annie, you're really innocent, you know that?" I do not need someone two years younger than me to tell me that I'm innocent. I scowl at him, and Davis holds up his hands in surrender.

Finnick gestures at my dress. "That's why Sandra decided on white, Annie," he adds. "It's innocent, just like you."

Somehow, having both Davis and Finnick discuss my innocence—especially when Finnick is wearing nothing but underwear—makes me uncomfortable. I glare at both of them before I stalk into the meeting room. I hear Davis sigh, "She's really something, isn't she?" I don't want to know what Finnick's answer to that particular question is.

"I can't believe it," Locketta sobs, gathering me into her arms as I enter the room, "tomorrow you'll be on screen!"

Yeah...it's not like we haven't been on screen till now.

"I'll be cheering on for you, Annie," Locketta promises, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "It's been a blast getting to know you, dear."

At least someone's acting like they normally do. Hold on...why is she talking like I'm never going to see her again?

"Shall we watch the recap?" Finnick enters the room (he's fully clothed now, thank Panem) and strides to the television. Davis follows him in, and I can't help but wonder what they had been talking about behind my back. Probably something nasty.

We watch the interviews quietly. Little Monika has the audience moved to tears, and I pay attention to the other tributes. I wish I had gotten to know some of them better, while others I'm glad I hadn't spoken to at all. Either way, I'll be seeing them tomorrow in the arena.

And I'm fully aware that most of the tributes are stronger than me.

"You two should go to bed early," Finnick says suddenly. I had been too focused on my thoughts, and did not notice that the interviews are over. "Get some rest. You'll need it out there. Who knows when the next time you'll be able to sleep is?" Finnick had sprung into mentor mode again.

"Good idea," Davis nods in agreement. "Well, I'm toast. G'night, everyone."

Locketta bursts into tears, and she gives Davis a hug.

Davis waves at the rest of us and add, "Annie? Remember, we're allies."

"Do you really think I've forgotten?" I respond, but he's already gone. I stare at the doorway where he had left. I feel sorry for him. After all, it's irrevocable that he's going to die in the arena, just to keep me alive.

Even with him as an ally, there's still the chance of me dying. There's not much hope for me, and I decide that I'll just have to accept death when it does come.

I stand up and prepare to leave after him when a thought clicks in my mind. "...Finnick?" I ask uncertainly, "Can you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Can you take care of my mother if I don't make it?" I choke on the words, and I have to fight back tears. This is too much.

Too much.

"No," he says stubbornly.

My heart sinks. "No?" I echo.

"I won't take care of your mother, Annie Cresta, because you will make it," he states firmly. "I promise." Before I know what's going on, he stands up, grabs my hand, and pulls me into his arms.

And he kisses me. In front of everyone.

It's apparently too much for Locketta to handle, because she faints and rolls onto the floor. It would've been hilarious had it been a different situation, one that doesn't consist of me possibly dying the next day and Finnick being no one but my friend.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sandra and the other stylists attempt to wake her up. When that doesn't work, they carry her off—hopefully to the emergency room.

I stand, frozen in shock as I feel his lips meet mine. I don't know how to react.

This is...my first kiss.

It's over all too soon.

"Good night, my little mermaid," he croaks out, his voice strangely hoarse. He gives me a sad little smile.

I don't know why, but I want him to kiss me again. I want to run away from all this so I won't have to think about wanting him to kiss me again.

In the few days since I first met him, my feelings are a mess. And now, after he kissed me, everything seemed to have gathered together and punched me in the face. Is it because of his past, and how we've both lost loved ones to the Capitol? Is it his personality? I highly doubt that it is. Or is it something else I still haven't figured out yet? Whatever the reason is, I realize that I've fallen in love.

With Finnick Odair.

"You're...not going to wish me luck?" I ask, trying to lighten up the mood as I try to sort my jumbled thoughts.

He shakes his head. "You don't need luck," he whispers. "I know you'll win. I believe in you, Annie Cresta."

I cast him one last glance, then I turn and stumble, rather dazed, into my own bedroom. I need time alone to think.

I sink down onto my bed. "Stupid Finnick," I moan. "Why did you have to make things so complicated?"

In truth, what I really want to ask him is, "Why now, especially when it's so obvious that I'm going to die?"

Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to the amazing Suzanne Collins.

YES. FINALLY. I've been wanting to post this chapter for ages. The long awaited fluff! *insert drumroll here*