𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗦𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 ᐅ 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙞𝙧

𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙀𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙉

"Your wardrobe is pretty impressive, I doubt there's nothing in there you can't find."

"Not that, you know I can't swim."

He tilted his head. "Just trust me, please?"

Please. He said please.

"Whatever, Odair."

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

I'd not felt this much adrenaline spark inside of me since the Games as the two of us ran from the Victors Village, the ocean sparkling in the distance and the smell of sea salt lingering in the warm air. The sand parted under my feet and sifted through my toes when I ran along it, the sound of my heart beating furiously in my chest almost wiping away the hushed chuckles coming from Finnick as we ducked behind a wooden building. His soft hands linked with my calloused ones so gently as he pulled me along.

He'd held my hand many times, but that was all fake. That was for the cameras, for the Capitol, even for the Peacekeepers. Now that no one was watching us, this felt real.

"We look like lunatics," I mumbled as we crept behind someone's back porch.

He winked. "We're staying undercover."

"As if that's going to work."

"Have some optimism, would you?"

I sighed. "Fine, but I introduce the right to say I told you so when we get caught."

"If we get caught."

I couldn't help but smile at the pure optimism that radiated from him — he was a constant shower of arrogant hopefulness and disdainful positivity. Until him, I wasn't sure whether someone could even be such a thing, but the way in which he viewed the world as if everything in life would work itself out for a person was obnoxious and vain to me. And it was even more hubristic when he manipulated me into thinking that way, too.

"Stop," he muttered.

I poked my head around the side of the building to see a Peacekeeper walking past, baton in hand. Finnick chuckled to himself, and so I couldn't help but roll my eyes with a fond smile at the childish blond next to me.

"I've never seen you be such a rebel before."

"The things I do for you," he teased.

We darted in between buildings, weaving in and out of the wooden structures as though we'd been doing this our entire lives. He had, I'm sure. So I trusted him enough to know where we were going, but the idea that I had no clue where we were thrilled me. My mind was screaming at me that I wasn't safe, however logic calmed it down. I was with Finnick, and I was a Victor. No one would dare catch us.

Time to time, Finnick would have to pull back back along when I got distracted by the sun rising over the sea, casting bright oranges and pinks over the rippling waves. How could I not stop and stare?

"Okay," he breathed. "This is it. This is my old home."

The small wooden building in front of us was painted a soft blue, although it faded and cracked away in certain places, which only added to the rustic feel of the build. The roof was slanted, and holes were intricately patched up with netting and seaweed which cascaded over the porch, allowing a person to look through the seaweed in order to see the gleaming ocean. Two small rocking chairs swayed on the dishevelled porch, the greenery wrapping itself around the old wood as though they were holding hands. The morning was so quiet, so still, yet merged with the waves you could hear the soft snores of a couple floating through the back window, hung open as plants grew in the sill.