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The name rang in Ansel’s ears. Finnick. He was okay. He was alive. Ansel ran as fast as he could along the sandy beach, still soaked in blood from the previous rain. His heart was beating faster than it ever had in his life. “Finnick!” He screamed as soon as he saw the blonde tribute.
As soon as Finnick heard his name in that oh-so-familiar voice, he ran towards it. He grabbed Ansel and pulled him in close, tears running down both of their faces. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” Finnick sobbed, hugging Ansel tightly, never wanting to let go. “Are you bleeding? Are you hurt?” Finnick asked worriedly once he pulled away, frowning as he looked over Ansel’s slim figure. “God - you’ve gotten thinner. You need to eat something…”
“I’m fine, it was just the blood rain. Brutus fucked up my arm a bit at the bloodbath, but I’m fine. And we couldn’t find any food, Finn.” Ansel reassured the male. “Are you alright?” He frowned, gently running his hand over Finnick’s cheek, some blood transfering from Ansel's hand to Finnick's face as he did so.
“I’m fine, don’t worry about me. Mags, though - God, we lost her last night.” Finnick choked as he remembered the elder tribute. He hadn't fully gotten to mourn her death and he probably never would be able to. You couldn't mourn in the Hunger Games. You simply acknowledged the death and waited until the next one came along. It was quite terrible and for someone like Ansel who didn't deal with death well, severely messed with his head.
“I’m so sorry, Finn.” Ansel frowned, pulling Finnick in for another hug, wrapping his arms around the male tightly. “Do you want to go help me wash off? I think it would be nicer to hug you, that way.” He murmured, a small smile finding its way onto Ansel’s lips as he attempted to lighten the mood. Plus he really would like to get the blood off of him. Ansel didn't even want to try and figure out whose blood exactly it was, he simply wanted to rid himself of it.
“Of course.” Finnick nodded, grabbing Ansel’s bloody hand and leading him over to the water, where the liquid immediately began to wash away. It took about five minutes or so for the blood to completely leave Ansel’s skin, Finnick having to scrub at it with a lot of force. The two boys giggled as they delayed a bit by splashing one another with water. In these dangerous times when you didn't know how much longer you would survive, happy moments were to be treasured. Once they had finished, Ansel and Finnick sat in the shallow waters as they watched the sunrise together.
“It reminds me of the beach you took me to, when I went to District Four to visit you.” Ansel hummed, resting his head on Finnick’s shoulder. The older boy welcomed the touch as he leaned his own head on top of Ansel's.
“You hated the water.” Finnick chuckled fondly as the memory replayed itself in his mind. He remembered how Ansel had squealed at the coldness while almost crying at the feeling of something brushing his leg. It had just been seaweed and Finnick had laughed his off that day. He still enjoyed teasing Ansel about that moment. “What made you suddenly love it?” He asked, not for the first time curious. It had been a sudden change within their first few visits to the beach and Finnick always wondered what had sparked Ansel to like it.
