Sea green eyes

23 - Dead by morning

My propo has aired in every single District, just not the Capitol. Every single soul in the rebellion has seen it, as well as some loyalists that still believe in the Capitol, like District Two. There has still been no news of District Five.

Katniss has also become even more of a sensation. She went of to Twelve and sang the Hnaging Tree and now whenever anyone sees either of us in a hallway we get congratulated. I know Katniss hates it and honestly, I do too. I've actually started to take to hiding my hair behind a scarf so I'm not recognised. Apparently my hair and my eyes are my only distinctive features, as it usually works as long as I keep my bright blue eyes down.

I don't know where Katniss is right now, but I'm sitting with Finnick in his room. If she wanted to join us she could. Finnick's asleep, handsome as ever as he lies there, hand clutching mine from where I sit on the bed next to him. After an early dinner we came back here to rest, and that's exactly what he's doing. According to Prim, he does have quarters up in the main Thirteeen area, but he had so many panic attacks and such that he moved down to the Hospital and basically lives here, although they have been considering moving him as soon as I'm able to leave too. Along with the fact that he would sit next to me for hours on end, his panic attacks and crying didn't make leadership think he was any more stable than he actually was.

Gazing down at Finnick, I examine his features. His skin is so smooth, not a scar to be seen, and his face is actually still tanned from the games. Wow. I reach my hand up to his hair, running my fingers through the golden brown strands. His hair is so soft, geez. What does he use, a whole bottle of shampoo? I laugh quietly, moving my hand down to touch parts of his face I've never really noticed before. His eyebrows, brown and light, arching over his closed eyes. His freckles, splattered over his cheeks. After counting them, I think there are forty two. And then... His lips. Soft and pink, I stare down at him. Finnick. Beautiful. I smile, ruffling up his hair and he groans, eyes blinking open. Gods his eyes. I could stare into them all day and never get bored, I think.

"Hey," he smiles, and I ignore the little voice in my head that tells me how attractive he is. How kind. But someone like that would never even like me, so I keep my mouth shut. I'll enjoy it while it lasts, because it probably won't last for much longer. Once Finnick sees what a mess I am, he'll leave just like eveybody else.

Finnick gazes up at me sleepily for a few secounds before sitting up against the headboard next to me. Slowly, I drop my head onto his shoulder, closing my eyes as I just let myself feel at peace. Searching inside of me, I find the wall around Finnick, still maybe a quarter of the way raised. That's the wall that tells me that we've still go a long way to go in this war. That it would be better for both of us to stay apart as possible because I think if I loved him and he died it would destroy me. But something about Finnick is almost magnetic, a force that draws you into his bubble of Finnickness. I managed to stay out of that bubble for a long time but now... Now I wonder if I should have forgiven him.

---

Staring at the window in the tribute center, I sit, watching the life of the Capitol go on, celebrating their newest Victor. Murderer. Monster. Me. Those words all mean Victor now. Pressing my forehead to the glass, I frown as I remember my interview tonight where I have to rewatch the games. I don't want to see them die again. Thren- I spring to my feet, sprinting to the bathroom to vomit in the sink. A scream rising to my throat, I press it down, running my hand along the new scar that curls on my shoulder. It's just started to scab over, making it easy to cover for the interview, and it'll only form into a proper scar when I leave. Yay.

Walking out of the bathroom, I stop short at the sight of someone in my room. Finnick Odair. Almost sixteen years old and a mentor. I guess that'll be me soon. He's simply standing by the doorway, arms crossed, but the look he's giving me is pure anger.