Azalea Rose Willow loves three things above everything else:
summer, the only season that mattered in her mind.
singing, alongside the comforting embrace of her guitar.
but above all, the easy camaraderie with the boy who lives next door to her, and...
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The days leading up to the Games blurred into a whirlwind of activity.
Every morning, the same melody chimed, pulling her from sleep. She'd wake to the soft murmur of conversation drifting from the kitchen – Tomas, Finnick, and even Catlina, who seemed to be growing increasingly comfortable with their unconventional family unit. Breakfast was a quiet affair, fueled by nerves and unspoken worry. Then came training in the training center alongside the rest of the tributes, a brutal ballet of violence disguised as exercise.
After lunch and a quick shower, Azalea would retreat to the living area of her apartment, the door locked and a watchful eye cast towards the hallway.
Furniture was pushed aside, creating a clear space for movement. Finnick, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a focused intensity, would become her teacher.
The lessons? Learning how to wow the judges of the evaluation with the trident, her weapon of choice in the Games.
Finnick pushed her mercilessly. Each thrust, each parry, was imbued with a silent urgency, a shared understanding of the deadly ballet she would soon perform before the entire Capitol.
The tension that had initially hung heavy in the air between the past lovers began to dissipate throughout the week though. It wasn't because Azalea and Finnick were growing closer, their interactions still laced with a wary respect. The shift was subtler, emanating from Azalea herself. Her mind, once laser-focused on survival, now harbored another thought, a thought that sent a blush creeping up her cheeks in the dim light.
Azalea found herself surprisingly eager for the training sessions with the other tributes a lot more, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by the rest.
Her father, bless his heart, attributed the change to her newfound dedication. He beamed with pride whenever he saw her choosing to go earlier to the training sessions, or stay for longer. Mistaking her enthusiasm for a newfound love of physical training and her desire to want to be ready for the games.
Finnick, however, wasn't so easily fooled. His sea-green eyes held a knowing glint whenever she skipped out the door, a spring in her step and a mischievous glint in her own eyes. He wouldn't pry, not directly, but Azalea could feel his silent questions hanging heavy in the air.
Azalea practically bounced out of her chair at breakfast that morning, her eagerness barely concealed.
Before she could disappear in a blur of motion, Tomas stopped her. "Flor," he said, his voice serious, "don't forget, you have your final training with Finnick tonight to go over your evaluation performance."
Azalea grimaced internally. Finnick. The reminder dampened her spirits momentarily. "Right," she mumbled, nodding absentmindedly. "I won't forget."
With that, she practically sprinted out of the dining hall, leaving Tomas, Finnick, and Catlina at the table.
