The early morning had never been that peaceful.
There were no mumbles. No cries. Nightmares hadn't haunted her in her sleep. It all seemed like a dream. Like the pain and suffering had only been part of a sick joke that her mind had pulled in her most vulnerable state.
If it weren't for the two arms keeping her still, Olive would have assumed that she was back in her victor's house living room. She was still in Finnick's house, resting her head on his chest while he had his arms wrapped around her torso.
Fortunately, she was the only one awake. Raising her head to look out the window to the sea, Olive saw the sun peeking over the horizon. Close to no light caressed the houses, much less the town. It was her cue to leave.
Her eyes tried to get her to go back to sleep, but she refused. Careful not to wake Finnick, she got up from the sofa and stumbled her way to the bathroom. If anyone were to see her get out of the house, it would be better for her not to have such obvious bed hair and wrinkled clothing.
The bathroom was an identical copy of her own. No decoration or objects had been changed — the same cold blue tiles and gold-decorated sink — though the lack of a mirror was surprising, and perhaps even unsettling.
Forgetting about her previous mission, Olive traced the wall with her fingers. There were faint stains of dried blood where the mirror should have been. There weren't many plausible theories. However, there was one in particular that never left her mind; Finnick had broken the mirror himself.
A golden light reflected on the most noticeable stain. With one hand, Olive caressed her earring, stopping the golden light from being cast. She let go and grabbed the earring two more times, zoning out for what felt like seconds, but were in fact minutes.
Two arms wrapped themselves around her waist, pulling her back to reality as a hoarse voice said, "Having fun?"
She turned her head to look over her shoulder, meeting Finnick's half-opened eyes. He buried his head at the back of her shirt's collar, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. Without a word, her hand reached out to stroke his hair, which made both of them laugh softly.
"Right now? Yes," she replied, her eyes darting from his eyes to his hair, which she was ruffling, making it messy on purpose. "You have horrible bed hair."
He raised his head slightly, resting his chin on her shoulder. "It's so obvious you haven't seen yourself yet, honey. It's worse than mine."
"Allow me to doubt that, honey," she scoffed.
His hands gripped her shirt tighter, pulling her closer. "You're allowed to doubt." He paused, a smirk playing across his face. "But you're still wrong."
"Sure. Whatever you say." She rolled her eyes playfully.
With a smile, Olive admired Finnick for the first time in years. Saying that her thirteen-year-old self had no reaction to seeing a boy more or less her age riding the tribute's chariot, half-naked, would be a lie.
First, it was pure amusement. Not every day did she see in District Four a boy in such ridiculous clothing. However, as the chariot came to a halt, she had a good look at the audience's reaction. At that point, Olive didn't know why, but the people in the Capitol were looking at Finnick like she would look at meat after a long month without being able to eat it.
Then pity and confusion replaced amusement.
Finnick's fourteen-year-old self did remind her of someone. A boy she had met some years ago. He was tall, had radiant blond hair, and was worryingly alone, apart from being a horrible trader. She felt bad for tricking him into accepting the deal, especially since she hadn't seen him again after that day, but she couldn't remember much about their interaction apart from that.
"Staring much?" Finnick asked mockingly, his lips pressing against her shoulder.
"Can't I?" Her eyes travelled back to Finnick's sea-green eyes, getting lost in the mesmerising colour for a second. "Do I need permission to look at you?"
"Yes, actually, you do," said Finnick.
Olive turned around, still in Finnick's arms, which forced him to raise his head from her shoulder. She folded her arms and looked up at him. "Alright, so what should I do to get it?"
"First off, why don't you tell me why you want permission to stare at me?" he asked, letting go of her waist to place his hands on his hips, smiling at her cockily.
"Maybe because I'm human?" Olive answered in the same playful tone. "My kind likes beautiful things, you know?"
Their eyes locked for what seemed a magnetising eternity. The sun rose on the horizon, peering through the small bathroom window at their interaction. The right side of Olive's face lit up, forcing her to narrow an eye since the sunlight was bothering her.
Finnick placed his hand between Olive's face and the light. "Oh, trust me, I know."
A chuckle escaped her lips involuntarily. "It must be difficult to admire your own beauty with no mirrors."
"Oh, there are other ways. And I never said I admired myself. Who do you take me for, Cresta?" asked Finnick cockily.
"An incredibly cocky brat, Odair."
Olive's eyes stared at his lips for a second, but quickly got back to Finnick's eyes. He had a capturing charm on her, enough to distract her from the entire world with his presence alone.
"Likewise," he whispered, taking a single step closer to her, leaving close to no space between them.
Heat rushed to her cheeks, though she wasn't sure if it could be easily seen through her dark skin tone. Perhaps it was a good thing, since, when she took a step back, her heart pounding in her chest, the embarrassment felt lesser than she had initially thought.
"I have to go," she blurted out. "Um, yeah. I—I start the transition today and all that fun jazz, so I should get going. Gianna might be awake, and if she doesn't see me, she'll go nuts . . . so . . . yeah."
Finnick's cheeks turned a light pink colour, his eyes darting everywhere except hers. "Sure, I'll walk you to the door."
The silence continued until the house's front door, where, after making sure her hair was smooth, Olive took a single step outside before turning around. She raised her eyes to meet Finnick's, trying to ignore the urge to look down at his lips as she said.
"I had no nightmares yesterday. You're right, opening up does work like a charm."
He let go of the door to lean on the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. "I don't think that was entirely us feeling relaxed after opening up."
"What could it be, then?" she asked.
"I don't know." Finnick shook his head, pushing himself to take a step closer to Olive, which this time she did not evade. "We could have sleepovers. You know, until we find out."
"You know that if Gianna finds out, we're both dead, right?" Olive laughed softly, shaking her head disapprovingly.
"So . . . see you tonight?"
She paused, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Sure, a sleepover sounds fun."
Finnick's grin couldn't be controlled at that point. "Great. Oh, and, um, tell Theo that trident classes start tomorrow."
Olive folded her arms, frowning at him playfully. "Tell him yourself, mister. I'm nobody's messenger."
"Fine." Finnick rolled his eyes dramatically. "Go before they wake up. I just got Gianna to accept my existence. Now I need to make her not hate me."
Trying to keep a straight face, Olive patted Finnick's shoulder. She repressed her smile and fought not to laugh at Finnick's dramatic, distressed look on his face.
"Good luck with that." She chuckled softly and left.
Her Victor's house was unsettlingly quiet. Olive would have expected Gianna or her father to be awake, but both were peacefully sleeping in their own beds. It was such a rare occurrence that Olive did her best to tiptoe around her shared room with her siblings. Luckily, no one woke up.
However, Annie's mumbles filled the silence.
Concerned, Olive climbed up the ladder to her twin's bed, seeing her muttering in her sleep. Annie was rolling from one side to another, barely keeping herself from falling off. Her hands gripped the sheets, then the pillow, as if she was desperately trying to hold on to something.
"Annie," Olive whispered, shaking her twin lightly to not startle her. "Annie, wake up. It's just a nightmare. You're safe, I promise."
Her twin jerked at the touch, taking in a long and shaky breath the moment her eyes shot open. "Olive . . . Olive . . ."
Out of breath, and gripping onto anything that was near her reach, Annie cried silently in Olive's protective arms. The older twin stroked the younger's hair, muttering reassuring words like prayers. There was no doubt in her voice, but neither was there a change in Annie's panic attack.
"It's OK," Olive kept whispering. "You're safe. I'm here."
"Stay with me," Annie begged. "Please."
"Always," promised Olive while laying down beside her sister, bringing Annie's head closer to her chest to soothe her in a more comfortable position. "Do you want me to sing mum's lullaby? You loved it when we were young."
A shaky chuckle left Annie's lips. "I haven't heard it in so long."
Olive cleared her throat, taking a second to recall the lyrics. It had been a while since they had sung that lullaby to Theo. The last time she remembered, although perhaps not actually the last, was from a week before her reaping, close to two years ago.
With a hand around Annie's shoulders, and another stroking her hair, Olive sang.
"You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are grey."
Annie sniffed, trying to calm her running nose and overflowing teary eyes. Burying her head in Olive's chest, she did the one thing that had never been openly accepted in her family since their mother's passing; she cried.
This time, it wasn't due to her nightmares. Not for the traumatic experience she had gone through, or the fear of her twin forgetting about her one day. Annie cried because she missed her mother, and wanted nothing more than to let out all her bottled-up feelings for her loss.
"You'll never know, dear
How much I love you."
Olive brought Annie closer, a single tear escaping her eye. She tried to fight the need to cry, but Finnick's advice replayed in her mind. He was right. She needed to open up, and that was the right moment.
"Please don't take
My sunshine away."
With a shaky grip on her twin's shoulders, Olive moved Annie softly to kiss her sister's temple. Her lips burned against Annie's skin, making both of them scoot closer to keep that warmness they had been missing near their reach.
"The other night, dear
As I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you
In my arms
When I awoke, dear
I was mistaken
So I hung my head and I cried."
Two curious hands appeared on the top bunk railing. Theo's head peeked, trying not to be noticed, but it was a failed attempt. The hand Olive had on Annie's hair stopped to motion Theo to cuddle with them.
He got on the bed and placed his head on Olive's shoulder, tears flowing out of his eyes without knowing why. His hands kept rubbing his eyes, making them swollen and red, but Olive had no hands to stop him since they were around her younger sibling's shoulders.
Gianna climbed on the top bunk silently, not needing an explanation to know what was happening. She held Theo's hands and carefully kissed his temple as he cried on her chest.
A single glance at each other was all it took for the two oldest to continue singing the lullaby together with their younger siblings.
"You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are grey."
The door to their room opened, revealing their father. His untidy hair parted on the side while wearing a wrinkled navy-blue shirt. He walked over to the bed where his four children were cuddling, giving them a tearful, yet proud, look as he joined in their singing.
"You'll never know, dear
How much I love you
Please don't take
My sunshine away."
The lullaby stopped, but the tears did not. The four children sobbed, holding onto each other for comfort. Their father, from the side of the bed, held out a hand to stroke those whose heads he could reach; Theo's and Gianna's.
"I miss your mother, too, darlings," he revealed in a low tone. "She would have been proud of you all. You know that, right?"
"Dad," Theo began, "did mum have nightmares?"
Their father stared at Theo, forcing his quivering lip to stop to answer. "Yes, she did, Theo."
"What were they about?" Theo questioned immediately.
"War, loss, rebellion . . . many bad things we better hope never happen." Their father raised his hand to caress his youngest kid's cheek, wiping the tears away from Theo's big sea-green eyes.
"I have those dreams, too." Theo's voice was no louder than a whisper, but somehow, his words were hard not to listen to or dismiss. "Sometimes, when I fall asleep, I see this girl. She has her hair in a side braid, and she looks very fierce, but she's always looking for someone. Every time, every day, she just shouts their name, but I never get to hear it. It's like there's a wall between us, and I can't get to her. Then, I look to my right, and there's a boy with blond hair there. He's always looking at her, but the way he does changes. Sometimes he looks sad, others scared, but, lately, he looks at her like she hung the moon."
"Theo," their father muttered warningly, though keeping his caring tone. "You can't talk about this to anyone outside this house. Do you understand?"
"Even Finnick?" asked Theo.
"Even him." Their father nodded along with his words. "No one can know. We're under the Capitol's watch now. Anyone who knows could be in danger."
Olive sat up, bringing Annie, who still had a tight grip on her shirt, with her. "What do you mean, dad? They're just dreams. It's not like that's going to happen."
Their father raised his eyes to glance at each of them, a serious look in his eyes. "I'm not saying they aren't. I'm saying that others have lost their lives for less. Please, kids, don't ever talk about your mother's dreams, nor Theo's outside. No one must know. It takes one person — one idiot that believes them to be true — to create havoc. And havoc ends up in loss."
There was no need for the four siblings to look at each other to choose their next words. Annie and Theo didn't voice them, they simply nodded. But Olive and Gianna did, uttering the same words simultaneously.
"Alright, we won't."
Words that the siblings knew were nothing more than a white lie.