so frail.

“Annie, I will worry about you even if I am lying next to you while you sleep. I always have to worry because I love you. I love you, you’re my world. You’re really all I have left, you and Mags. If—If I go, I only grow scared of what is to come of you. I won’t be able to protect you then.”

    She kept her arms wrapped around him, small and pale. Her hands     trailed up his back, tracing a path to the nape of his neck before letting     her fingers twine through his hair. Soft golden curls gave way beneath     her fingertips, allowing her keep him as close as was physically allowed.     Annie dropped her head to his shoulder, mirroring his position. Pink lips,     tasting of saltwater from her tears, pressed to the junction of his neck and     shoulder. She placed chaste kisses wherever her lips could find skin,     focusing on the feeling of it beneath her.

             She was afraid what was to come of her, honestly. She was going to fall              with his absence, it was inevitable. Just the thought of watching him expire              on that screen, the sound of the canon, left her shaking. She could lose him,              completely. There would be no return, no recovery.  

                  An unfamiliar heat rose to her cheeks, coloring them a light                  shade of pink as he spoke. Well, rambled. She wasn't sure what                  it meant to love someone. Frankly, whatever emotions she had                  begun to understand had been torn from her. She was a child,                  forced to age in order to survive. But he made things easier. She                  wasn't sure how, but it was bearable to deny the poor, mad girl that                  clawed at her sanity in his presence. For months, she had been                  trying to figure it out. What it was that he did, what he said. But she                  was slowly starting to realize that he didn't have to do anything, say                  anything. It was just him.

    He gave her hope, and she hadn't known what it was that meant     until he'd said it. And it was indescribable to relay what it meant     that she had sparked it in him. ❛You love me,❜ She mused, no     longer a question. A smile grew upon her lips, the over-analysis     of her nails forgotten as she raised sea green hues to look at him.

                Padding softly over the floor, she took the few steps that it took to                 stand beside him. Her gaze focused in on the corner of the window,                 expelling the breath she'd been unknowingly holding in. 

Finnick ran his hand over her cheek as he listened to her, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. He listened to her his head nodding slowly not able to speak at the moment, afraid he would break in Annie’s arms.

He kissed her, desperation and passion added to it. His tears falling onto his cheeks and he wished he was not like this. Wished he could stay strong for her. “I love you…I love you so much, Ans. I’m—-somehow we’re going to make it through. You’re going to be okay, there will be peace for you.”

  “Still,” Katniss insisted, giving a trace of a smile toward the woman. She nodded, and she tried her best to muster the belief in her eyes but there was a doubt that lingered there – too strong to be shaken. She had always known that when it came to taking difficult things she was the stronger of the two, there was less heart in her then there was Peeta and it killed her to think that they were chipping away everything that was good and kind about him.

Finnick leaned into Annie as he clinged to her as in if he let go, he would die or she would disappear and he would already be in the arena.

           It was the kindness he showed her when he knew - he had to know - that            she wasn't worth the time nor the trouble. The softness in his voice when            he spoke to Mags, the person he became in her presence. Despite the            constant fear, the voices and images, he had saved her. Kept his promise to            bring her home.

    But she hadn't known HOME in weeks. Small and frail within walls     that towered over her, fanciful furniture and rooms without occupants.     Her family seeming like strangers, afraid of her. This was the closest     she'd been to home, standing barefoot in his kitchen, leaning against     the cool countertop being offered chocolate and hospitality and being     spoken to as if she wasn't going to crumple to the floor. Reaching out,     she took the box from his hands, bringing it to lay in front of her. She     could have complained as to how unfair it was to make her choose first:     how was she to know which ones she liked? Which were the best? But     she had plucked a cool circle of chocolate, decorated with drizzles of     milky white cream, a slipped it past her lips before she had the chance     to say anything at all. More importantly, before she had the chance to     realize what he had said.

                      Expression dropping in surprise as her mind replayed his words,                      her entire being seemed to freeze. Jaw halted, the taste of the                      chocolate on her tongue dissipating and melting into a pool in                      her mouth. Eyes fixating on him, watching as he avoided looking                      at anything that had to do with her.  

           ❛I would like that,❜ She replied, straightening her posture to            lift her head from her knees, releasing them to let her feet fall            to the floor. Just a mess of limbs and dark, tangled tresses.            Pushing off from the cushion, she padded softly across the            floor to follow him. Not a magnet, necessarily, but a sort of            curious pull. She wanted to see what it was he was doing,            where he was going. A need curious enough to confuse her,            her actions disconnected from her mind. She was comfortable            here, which was something she wasn't sure she would ever            truly understand again.

                                         ❛Oh, uh                water. Water would be nice.❜     She didn't eat as much as she used to; that hunger pawing     at her stomach just too weak to persist. But chocolate, on     the other hand, was a different story. It was a delicacy, even     for a district that had more than most. he was the last person     she thought would have indulged, having been the face of the     Capitol for the past few years. It was odd, as were most things     about their situation. He was a man of many faces, many seen     under the public eye. She knew better, of course. She had     learned to decipher which smiles were real, which were just     a show. The tone of voice that meant business, entirely     juxtaposing the tone of voice he used with her. But these were     only pieces, only parts of a whole that made up Finnick Odair.

                 And maybe that was the pull she couldn't quite put her finger                  on: to KNOW him. To honestly know him, understand him inside                  and out. Just another piece to store away: he liked chocolate.                  The corner of her lips lifted in the slightest, a smile stretching                  over her face.

     It was almost funny - a genuine smile tugs at the  corners      of Katniss’ lips, though it never quite comes to full fruition.      There’s only so much that the survivour can smile handle;      only so much   happiness   and   humour   her   delicately      beating heart can withstand. She felt like she was   on   a      tipping scale, waiting for a gentle summer breeze to push      her into one purgatory or another. If only she   could   just      manage            to            keep            her            balance..

           ”You’re not. —But you’re lucky Effie isn’t here. The second             anyone brings up the grey, she goes crazy.    Certifiably.”

     And in an   instant,   Katniss’   smile   wavers,   and   she      immediately regrets her choice of words. ‘The poor, mad      girl,’             the             Capitol              calls              her.

               ”I'm sorry, I— “

     She begins, her gaze turning back to the monotone   food      before her, stabbing at a piece of meat before dragging  it      along the edge of the tray to free it from the  prongs.   Her      brow is furrowed intently, and she shakes her head - sorry      for what? For using the word crazy, like it’s some kind of a      joke? For her insensitivity? There’s no way  to   finish   that      apology -         so         she              remains               silent.

                                                         C     R     A     Z     Y   .     She'd heard it many times before by the unfortunate souls     with  tinted  skin  and  teased  hair as they looked into her     unseeing eyes and found nothing but the pain they had yet     to experience.  by  the  lips  that  caressed  her skin in the      comfort of District Four, assuring her that it was nonsense,     that it  meant nothing. the whisper of a voice that she swore     sounded  of  her  own,  echoing in her head on the days that     she  couldn't  pull  the  curtains  back  to  look  at  the  water     lapping over the sand. years  of hearing those two syllables,     and   her   tolerance  was  stronger  than  she  would  admit.

       because she didn't think of the implications, nor did she see        the insanity of her mind  echoed in her blank stare. she saw        effie, the grey-dimmed, fluorescent soul trying to thrive under        the surface as she had above. ❛you don't need to apologize,❜        she murmured, a smile flashing to her pink lips before fading        with the warmth in her cheeks. ❛we've spent too long watching        what we say, don't you think?❜ with the president's ears seemingly        everywhere,   they   had   spent   their   life   with   censors.

Finnick wouldn’t leave her, God he would never do that. Every time the Capitol practically dragged him out of Four, Finnick felt his whole demeanor sink. He hated being away from his love, there was no worse torture in the entire world. Finnick hoped she knew that.

      For them, okay was good; was something worth       celebrating.  Because they had seen  a  lot;  far       more than they should  have;  far more than they       deserved. Or, well, far more than she deserved.       He     wasn’t    quite     sure    about     himself.

                "That’s good.”

                         A  soft  smile  washed  over  his lips  until she                          returned the question. Finnick’s gaze flickered                          to the ground  for a moment,  before he looked                          back up at her.

                                 "I've had better days,” [ hadn’t they all? ]  “but                                    I’ve also had far worse. I mean, I’m better now                                    that                 I’m                 with                 you.”

       It seemed that a day simply filled with moments         meant to surpass a simple OKAY was next to       impossible under the Capitol's hand. Miles away        even, District Four had a certain decolorization           after the experience of their careless torture,       entertainment for those without it. She watched as       his eyes flickered away from her, honing in on all      that didn't hold her gaze. It was such a joy to know       that she had the power to make him feel even the      slightest bit better, though that subtle sadness still     lingered because she knew that there was a reason                          he needed her to do so.