↳ i don't rise from the ashes, i make them...
oc x finnick odair
catching fire - mockingjay pt. 2 (flashbacks included)
TW: Depression, thoughts of suicide, use of drugs/alcohol, use of tobacco, detailed gore, use of weapons, death, and mentions/sug...
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I open my eyes, allowing myself a long moment to figure out where I am. I look around, my eyes landing on the walls around me, most of which are bare, besides a few, which hold paintings that are silhouetted in detailed, golden frames. I move my arm, pulling a thin, olive sheet closer to my cheek, where the soft fabric brushes against my skin. I inhale a breath, and with it, the heavy scent of Finnick Odair, wafting off of it and to my nose.
The realization shocks me a little bit, but I'm too groggy to move too much or do anything about it. That's not mentioning the pounding headache that's pressing against my temples at the moment, making me want to writhe with pain, but I manage to stay still, pulling the blankets closer to me, pressing the soft fabric against my cheek. It's in that moment that I firmly decide that I don't want to go anywhere. I want to stay right here, bundled in blankets so that nobody or nothing can ever hurt me ever again.
This distinct ideology is short lived, sadly, because my throat is burning with thirst and I know that some water would be my only chance at allowing my headache to subside for a little bit, even with acknowledging that it likely won't do much. In fact, it probably won't fully disappear for a long time, but pretending like there's a chance it could is all the hope I need to survive, so I push the layers of Finnick's blankets off of me and pull myself into a sitting position, letting the cold, morning air hit me.
Finnick's room is fairly clean. I can't say I've ever been in it before, but it's similar to the layout of my room. All of the houses in Victor's Village are designed exactly the same. The walls and floor plans are laid the same way, and there's even a pitiful, broken Victor placed in each house to top off all the similarities.
I see my boots beside the nightstand, placed perfectly beside one another against the wall. I'm assuming that wasn't my doing, considering the condition I'm in. At that thought, I try to grapple any singular memory from last night for the first time since I woke up, but only come to the conclusion that I hardly remember anything after taking the bottle from Finnick and hauling myself into his living room to slump onto the floor in front of the fireplace, so I could fill myself with as much of the fiery liquid as I was able to contain. My cheeks become heated with embarrassment at the thought that I was so careless that I can't seem to remember anything else. It's not hard for me to decide that I was such a fucking mess that I'm probably lucky to have even awoken at this hour, or perhaps at all.
I think about putting my boots on, but decide to just pick them up and carry them with me down the stairs. They are heavy in my tired arms as I hold them at my side, opening the creaky door that belongs to Finnick's room, before finding the stairwell and heading down the the steps.
