A/N: Possible eating disorder triggers

He's been eyeing the scale for weeks now. Finnick doesn't like it, never has, he hated it when they used to measure him every time he went back to the Capitol to see if there was any tweaking that needed to be done on his diet and exercise regimen, but there it is, watching him, almost waiting for that moment when he'll break down and step on. Annie's been keeping it out since Maggie was born as part of her effort to lose the baby weight. She says it's doing her good, and Finnick doesn't question that. To him, she always looks radiantly beautiful. He's the one that needs to be worried.

There's nothing special about today, no reason his weight should matter more now than it does any other time, but still, Finnick checks that the bathroom door is shut before he climbs onto it. This moment is always the worst, when the digital numbers stutter between one weight and another before they arrive at their final verdict. Finnick hates it, so he closes his eyes and doesn't open them until he's certain it's finished.

Two fifteen. Damn it. He does the mental math. That's thirty, no, thirty-five more than he's ever clocked in at before. Damn. And Annie spent good money on this thing, so he can't even dismiss it as a fluke.

There's nobody there to see it, but his cheeks flame. He knew that his abs were less obvious than they had been a few years ago; that was hard to miss, but now, studying himself in the mirror, he sees other, less obvious signs he's missed. His shoulders are no less broad, but much of the tapering from them to his hips has disappeared. Everywhere, what were once sharp angles have been replaced by softer curves. He can't resist running a hand down his chest and stomach, watching skin and fat glide along with his fingers in a way they never would have before. This isn't how he's supposed to look. Finnick Odair, dubbed Panem's Sexiest Man three years in a row, letting himself go? A waste if there ever was one.

But yet, since he's useless, he's allowed it to happen. Finnick can hear the escorts' scolding now Finnick, nobody will like you anymore if you let yourself get fat and the dietitian and trainer already coming up with something new.

Finnick's still standing there, eyeing his reflection, when he hears the doorknob twist and the door begin to open. He hurries off the scale, tripping over his own feet in the process, and he has to grab the towel rod for support. "Finnick?" Annie's voice is sleepy, and she's still dressed in his old undershirt that she uses as a nightgown. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he lies. Fuck, where's his shirt? Over there, next to the door. Could today get any better? Maybe he can grab it without seeming suspicious…

She frowns at him. "You don't look like you're fine."

That hurts. Finnick fights the urge to cross his arms over his chest to hide himself from her. "Just a bit tired is all." Now, he doesn't care if she's going to worry about him – he needs his shirt. He loves her, absolutely and forever, and he trusts her with his life and more, but right now…

"Finnick, if you need to be alone, all you need to do is ask. I didn't realize you were in here – I thought maybe you were already out on the boats. I can shower later."

Now that his shirt's on, the world seems more manageable. He turns on the persona that served him so well for years. Brilliant smile – thank goodness he hasn't lost that with his weight gain – give her a wink, and she'll fall for you in seconds. "Yeah, I was just on my way out." No little innuendo tacked onto the end this time – he needs out, not to stay for longer.

But even his most convincing acts have never fooled Annie. "Your hair's not wet, and the mirror's not fogged up, so you haven't showered yet. What's really bothering you, Finn?" She's the only one allowed to call him that, and usually, it's comfortable, because he's her Finn and she's his Ann and that's just how the world is supposed to be, but this morning, the nickname is only another reminder of them. Annie reaches out to touch his shoulder, and for the first time in years, Finnick finds himself tensing at the contact. "Nightmare?"

"No." At least that's the truth.

She pauses for a moment. "You know that I love you no matter what you look like, right?"

His breath catches, and he's not sure how to respond. When he meets her eyes, there's no doubt in his mind that she means every word she says. Annie moves a little closer to him, not quite enough that their torsos touch, but close enough that he can feel her nightshirt soft against his skin. "And I, and everyone else in their right mind, still think you're sexy as hell."

That earns a snort of laughter. Annie's never sworn often, and since Ronan's birth a year and a half ago, he's not sure he's heard anything stronger than a few goshes and darns from her. There's mischief written all over her face when she gets up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Way to say thank you."

She squeals when he picks her up and kisses her. It's warm and loving enough to not be spoiled by two cases of morning breath. "Will that suffice?" Finnick asks as he sets her back down.

"In a pinch, I suppose." There's a lovely flush to her cheeks, and his hand hasn't moved away from her bottom, and he wonders if she wants something more. But no, they've talked about this dozens of times. Sex isn't payment for a compliment or a requirement of any sort. If he's going to feel broken afterwards, she's not interested.

Finnick smiles at her before leaning down for another kiss. "Should we find some breakfast?"

"Sounds great."

"Mind if I steal some of that nasty-looking crud you've been eating lately?"

"Of course not. Misery loves company."

Finnick had been certain she'd exaggerated the blandness of the new Capitol diet breakfast food, but as soon as he takes his first bite, he has to agree that misery is an apt description.