A/N: Not really Odesta. Can that be considered a trigger warning? Also, on the more serious side, this contains mentions of rape, suicide, and alcoholism, though there's nothing graphic.
He had not so much walked as floated on a cloud of praise and glory.
Before she boarded the train that would take her back to Four, Mags had told him to be careful. Like the good child he was, Finnick had kissed her cheek and promised to do his best. He helped her onto the train while the photographers' cameras clicked a hundred times a minute behind him, and Finnick waved as her train left the station. He straightened and flashed a smile for the paparazzi. They had followed him everywhere these last few weeks, and though he still found the constant clicks and flashes annoying, he was starting to like a few of them.
Fourteen years old and already heralded as Panem's Most Beautiful Man. Who would have thought it? Finnick's parents had taught him too good of manners to admit it to anyone else, but he was pretty proud of the designation and even liked the attention that came with it. Photo shoots, interviews, parties… it was all so far removed from life in Four, so glamorous compared to getting up early to go out on the fishing boats. Yes, he wanted to see his family again really soon, but a part of him never wanted to leave this place. It was magical.
But even rain cannot rest in the clouds for long before it tumbles down to earth.
He knew that he was to attend an intimate engagement after the photo shoot; he had not known just how intimate it was going to be. When he finished, Finnick gathered as many pieces of himself as he could find, but he was certain he lost a few. It was the first time, but it certainly wouldn't be the last.
All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Finnick together again.
Not that they didn't try. They polished away the cuts and bruises, leaving him glistening gold so only he could see the cracks. President Snow, his mentor, the therapist they assigned him to make sure he didn't jump off a building, they all told him he had done well. According to them, he was a Good Boy and a Well-Adjusted Victor.
But he wasn't, and he had a growing collection of almost-empty booze and pill bottles to show for it. When he's being childish, Finnick blamed Haymitch. That first night, when he'd finally realized what being a beautiful Victor meant, Haymitch had been the only other person in the Training Center, kept behind by the Capitol after a bout of alcohol poisoning that Mags had insinuated might or might not have been accidental. He'd comforted Finnick the same way he'd been comforting himself for the last decade or so. Tasted like hell going down, but the liquor brought a dreamless sleep, and he hardly even remembered swallowing the vile stuff when he woke up. Brilliant man, Haymitch.
It's impossible to really know you've hit the bottom until you're looking from above and seeing your own brains splattered all over the sidewalk.
Almost ten years in, and he still hasn't seen it. He's seen Haymitch teeter on the edge a few times, and if he's honest, he knows he's come close to jumping straight off once or twice, but for now, they're both steady. Haymitch has two sixteen-year-olds this year, and when Finnick stops by for a drink, the other Victor confides that he thinks they have a real shot at it. Finnick has to agree. The Gamemakers don't hand out elevens like candy, and this girl is something special.
Maybe, just maybe, he won't be falling anytime soon.
Because even the fallen raindrop will eventually return to the sky.