Cinna had all but fallen asleep at his table, leaning into his pencil sketches so much that both his hands and cheeks were covered in lead. He would occasionally glance at the time or out the window to the bustling Capitol city below and then try to work, but his mind was lost.

It wasn't altogether different than watching the games. He would find himself not wanting to watch, but then unable to look away. Whatever scenario that he could dream up in his mind was always worse than the reality anyway. And this night had that same dank kind of lull: try not to think about what was going on, but find yourself unable to focus on very little else.

Cinna heard noise outside of the room and a code being entered to open the door. He quickly closed his notebooks and his his drawings, tucking them neatly into a drawer. He collected himself and sauntered towards the door apprehensively.

Finnick slid in by himself, leaving whomever had accompanied him outside as the door slammed to a close behind him. He didn't seem to notice Cinna at first, only turning to face the closed door and place his own hand, and then forehead, squarely on it.

Cinna was unsure of what to say, so he stood for a moment trying to assess any damage. Other than noting that Finnick's gold belt and cuffs were gone, he didn't look like he was in need of much repair.

Then he turned around.

He still didn't lift his eyes to meet Cinna's, even as he raised a shaking hand towards his mouth. He caught a stream of blood that was escaping from a pretty deep split in his lower lip. Cinna noticed his hands were bloodied, too, and he couldn't tell from where. He didn't have much more time to observe before Finnick managed to raise his face.

"What can I do?" The words escaped Cinna's mouth before he knew they were coming. It wasn't in his nature to see a wounded bird and not rush to its rescue. So he posed his question again when it was met only by Finnick's silence, "tell me what I can do."

Finnick laughed to himself, shaking his head slowly which seemed to cause him to wince as well.

"For starters, you can stop looking at me like that."

Cinna could tell that Finnick's voice was tired. It was strained and low...with a breathy gasp that wasn't just a result of his usual appeal.

Cinna lowered his head in apology and went to grab a metal tray from the table. He heard Finnick move into the room and a sudden hiss of pain erupted from him, enough to cause Cinna alarm.

He was struggling to take his shirt off, so Cinna again worked on impulse and went to him. Without saying anything he eased the sleeves off one at a time, noticing a sheen of similar coloring on Finnick's torso. There was deep blue brushing on his hips. Along his spine. His shoulders. And when Cinna spun him slightly to remove the shirt completely, he revealed a collarbone and neck stained purple and black...the imprint of two hands around his neck. And they weren't small.

"I'm sorry this happened." Cinna heard himself whisper as Finnick adjusted slowly to help the shirt slip off. It seemed to give him great relief when it was gone. He lowered his head and attempted to roll it towards his shoulder but when he winced, Cinna stopped him.

"Lie down, I'll see what we have here that you can use."

Finnick raised an arm and pointed to a cobalt blue jar.

"That one. It's for bruising."

Cinna's eyes followed and grabbed the ointment. Sure enough those were the instructions. It would, apparently, diffuse any bruising or discoloration within 24 hours. And clearly this was not the first time Finnick had experienced it. Cinna grabbed it and twisted it open as he approached Finnick, dipping his two fingers into the salve before asking Finnick where he should start.

"I haven't had a good look at the damage. Wherever you think I need it." The sound of Finnick's broken speech was almost enough for Cinna to request he not speak anymore, but he enjoyed Finnick's conversation so.

Cinna walked behind Finnick to start on his back. He applied liberal amounts to all the bruising and Finnick moaned as it worked...heating against his skin.

"Can you lift your head?" Cinna asked as he rounded the boy and grew sick at the sight of his neck.

"Who would do this...you're lucky you weren't knocked unconscious."

Finnick smiled in spite of himself, eyes towards the sky.

"Who says I wasn't?"

Cinna tried to block that out and go about his work.

"Are we done? I need to lay down."

Finnick's request was pure...and true. Cinna had noticed his legs shaking. He especially noticed when Finnick placed a hand in his shoulder to steady himself.

Cinna closed the jar, thinking he may be done before he realized he hadn't been able to see Finnick's whole form. He looked over him briefly before asking.

"Do you want to take this? In case there are other places you need it?" Cinna held it out gingerly, his fingers playing at it as he tried desperately to not make Finnick feel uneasy. It was the least he could do to protect his modesty.

Finnick closed the space between them, even on shaky legs that stumbled slightly...he still stalked like a cat moving in on its prey. He took a hold of Cinna's free hand and pulled at it slightly, placing his open palm directly over his own groin, pushing his cock into Cinna's hand as he held it there. Cinna was too in shock to react immediately.

"You sure you don't want to do it for me?" Finnick purred, but it was sad. There was something morose about it, not tempting like he usually was. Cinna yanked his hand free and stepped back, both hands in the air as Finnick stumbled slightly.

"Hey...I'm not sure why you think I'm here. But I'm here to help. Not treat you like you belong to me like everyone else seems to think they can. So you can cool that stuff with me. Be yourself."

Cinna sensed for the first time how deeply fractured Finnick Odair was. He was broken, bleeding and exhausted and still his comfort zone laid in throwing his body at someone.

Finnick watched him speak as if he were speaking a foreign language he couldn't quite process, and then he looked down over his body slowly, staggering slightly.

"Be myself. I don't know who that is anymore."

It was a moment of clarity for them both. Finnick took the blue jar and made his way to his room, shutting the door that had before then always been opened. Cinna stood in the empty room for a moment. Not sure what to do next. There was a bedroom. A bathroom. Was Finnick expected to stay there? Was he? Because all he wanted to do was get the hell out of there. But his feet wouldn't move. He moved back to the metal tray before deciding he would leave it outside of Finnick's door and prepare to spend what was left of the night on his couch. As he lowered the tray to the floor, he heard Finnick's low whimpering cry escaping it. He stood for a minute, wanting so badly to help but having no idea what to say. He stood silent for a moment. Listening to the gutteral sobs that Finnick was trying so desperately to mask. Finally, he wrapped his knuckles against the door.

"Hey. I'm out here, if you need me."

The crying subsided but no answer came. Cinna waited a long moment before grabbing a long ream of fabric to work as a blanket. He slunk down into the couch as he lowered the lights.

"Thank you."

Finnick's voice floated from his room.

It wouldn't be the last night Cinna would spend fighting the urge to comfort him. Nor would it be the last night Finnick Odair would spend crying, but not trusting the affections of anyone in his world...especially The Capitol darling designer who would serve as his new bodyguard.