Even If You Cannot Hear My Voice, I'll Be Right Beside You (complete)

-Chapter 3-

It becomes a routine with us, some nights worse than others. But we're always there for each other, the only people that can help us drag through the day. Sometimes, when I'm woken up from a nightmare, it takes me a few minutes to realize that I'm awake since the real world isn't much different from my nightmares. This time, I'm lying on my side, eyes wide open, blinking to accustom to the darkness. My back is flush against Finnick's, which is now growing taught from his muscles pulling together and loosening.

I wrap my rope around my wrist like a bracelet and stare at it for a moment or two, spinning it round and round. The tips of my fingers are a bit red from tying so many knots, but I don't seriously mind. I used to nurse so many scars from my hunting in the woods.

My sleepy, nostalgic window is broken by the feeling of Finnick stirring behind me, as if a spasm is seizing control of his body. He's grunting out intelligible sounds, as I sit up and turn around. His breathing is becoming erratic, picking up faster and faster by the second. I lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Finnick," I say. "Wake up".

Finnick doesn't respond, his eyes still squeezed shut, eyebrows still knit together in frustration and he looks so distressed that it makes me feel a little terrified myself. I sway him onto his back, placing a hand on his cheek, "Finnick," I repeat in a more urgent voice. But the world transforms into a blurry mess when a hand grasps around my wrist, fingers digging into my skin so sharply a gasp escapes me. I'm shoved onto my back, and now his eyes are wide open, filled with an animalistic nature, as wild and feral as a starving cat, and believe me, I know what they look like. They're the eyes of a madman.

"Finnick," I insist a third time and now he blinks, regaining sanity, recognition finally appearing present in his eyes and soon, realization settles in. He yanks his hands off of mine, looking absolutely appalled at himself.

"I'm so sorry, Katniss." His voice is weak and shaky as he climbs off of me. I just stare at him with wide eyes, not horrified, rather surprised at how tense he is. "I had no idea it was you... I just..." He rubs his face with his hands. I'm not normally one for physical affection, but when Finnick suddenly collides into my skinny frame, arms wrapped around me in a hug, I cautiously drape my arms around his shoulders, one cupped around the back of his head, wanting to comfort him. His face is buried in my chest and I can feel the silent sobs racking down his spine, yet no moisture reaches my shirt. I carefully stroke his hair, placing my chin on top of his silky curls, rocking our bodies slowly backwards and forwards.

"It's okay Finnick, I'm here... I'm going to be here for you." I bend my head down to press my lips against his hair and begin to hum a tune into his scalp.