- F A L L E N -

2

The second I saw Finnick on the train, I froze.

I hesitantly meet his eyes, and he immediately runs over to me. I want to hug him, I want to hold him and I want him to hold me, but I'm afraid if he touches me I'll collapse. I cannot break in front of Finnick, so I stand still.

"Y/n" he says, his hands grasp my shoulders and I flinch, "Y/n".

I look up into Finnick's sea green eyes and I feel a tear glide down my cheek. He pulls me into a tight hug, and I stand like a statue while he strokes my hair. "It's ok" he says, I feel his fingers combing the tips of my bangs, "It's ok".

My arms dangle by my sides like dead weight, and I realize that I should be hugging him too, but I cannot move. "You're in shock" he says, soaking the words into my forehead with a kiss.

"I can't do this again" I say unprompted, my voice slightly breaking. I didn't realize I said it out loud until Finnick randomly squeezes me tighter and breathes warmly into the edge of my neck.

"I know", he says, "I know".

The gentleness of Finnick's fingers running through my hair, and the heat I feel radiating off his body onto mine makes me want to cry even more, because I realize this is probably one of the last times I'd ever feel this comfort.

Then I thought, I'd rather die than lose him.

"I'd rather die than lose you" I say, the words rolling off my tongue quickly and uncontrollably, like it wasn't something I was supposed to say out loud.

At first, he sighs, then presses his lips to my cheek, and loosens our tight embrace, "Nobody is losing anybody". He holds me for a minute longer, neither of us able to look into each other's eyes, but neither of us wanting to leave.

"Finnick" I say after a while, so hesitant it comes out as a whisper.

"Y/n".

"I'm so sorry you have to go through this again".

He sighs, and pushes back a strand of hair that is resting on my eyelid, "Don't be. I would have volunteered anyways".

I think of saying "why?", but I know why, and I know he is unable to explain.

"I'm still sorry", I say, circling my fingers around his face, I hold his head with the grasp of my hands and bring the tip of my head to meet his. I don't want to let him go.

"I'm sorry too" he says, and I can see the tears in his eyes. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The whole thing feels faster than last time: the decadent desserts, the sugary breakfast foods sprawled across expensive vintage dishes, the surplus of alcohol and space, the train windows that look like they're being brushed with black paint when they move quickly under the dark bridges.

Mags went with us of course, and Annie too. We all collectively said very little to each other, with awkward "Good mornings", or "Dinner's ready".

During meal times, like a worn-down family, we ate silently and ate very little, unsure of how to act appropriately around each other.

At night, when the clock hit 10pm, Finnick would shut my door and crawl under the covers in my bed. The first night he held me and kissed me until we both fell asleep, and the second night he just laid there sadly, staring off into the distance.

"Finnick" I said, turning over my left shoulder to face him, so I could see his eyes and read his face . Looking at his far away expression I suddenly longed for his touch, and I nuzzled my head into his shoulder, "What's on your mind?" I asked, lifting my head from a-top his shoulder.

He took a very long pause to answer, so long I wondered if I'd said anything out loud, and then wondered if I should say it again.

"You know what I like about you?" He said to nobody in particular, and I fought the urge to check if there was someone else in the room. He took an unfaithful sigh, and in that moment, I could feel him sinking farther away from me, "...you know what matters".

He licked his lips and clicked his tongue, and I watched the top of his lips form into a regretful smile, as if he was unsure whether to laugh or cry, "I've never met anyone like that before".

I can feel his hand start to stroke my hair, with his blank expression and cold tipped fingers ever so slightly brushing my face, it already feels like a memory.