↳ 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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Finnick was the one to convince me to start training. I hadn't wanted to, even in the slightest, but I knew he was right, like he is with most things. I knew that if I could at least strengthen my weak muscles enough to not look like a complete joke the second I step foot into that arena, then that would increase my chances of winning just a little bit more. If Aylo could see anything to help her further believe that I have motivation to come home to her if I were to leave, it would be me, waking up at a reasonably early time in the morning to Finnick Odair at the front door, just before my mother let him in to drag me from my bed and bring me for a run through the north end of the District.
In the beginning, I was winded and about ready to keel over and throw up more often than I could actually keep moving, never having run so much at once in my life. When Finnick would pat me on the back with a firm hand and will me to keep going, that was one of the things that helped me get progressively better. Well, that and a combination of silent wincing every time I thought about how much I had to run during my first Games and marveling at how I even managed to get close to surviving. I can't go down that route again, especially when my admittance into the Games is perhaps imminent.
I started to get stronger, eventually, keeping up with Finnick better, instead of just watching him run a couple yards ahead of me, and not waking up to be very sore the next day. Finnick had always been in much better shape than I was, but I could tell a difference in him, too. His breaths became more even - his shoulders more level as if he were prideful of running so well.
One, late night at Finnick's, I held up the liquor bottle he had left on his coffee table beside an empty glass, brown residue beginning to dry at the bottom. "We stop this today. Both of us," I say, even though I hadn't had a single drink since the night of the Quarter Quell announcement, and found myself losing reason to go down that rabbit hole again. Then again, I could use a reason not to yearn for another anytime soon.
I could see Finnick give me a sort of questioning expression, like he didn't want to disagree with me, but held an unspeakable sort of dependence to it. After a moment, he nodded, knowing it was the right call. "We dump it. Tonight." I nodded, watching as he took the bottle and brought it to the kitchen, walking to the sink and pulling off the plug from the top to dump it down the drain. I could see him losing a piece of himself as the liquid poured steadily from the bottle and trickled down the open drain, like he was pulling any layer of protection he owned off of himself, showing his true insides to the world without a protective shield to block him anymore. I watched as he turned his head just enough to look at me, grinning weakly. I grinned back, placing a hand on his back.
"Thank you," he said softly. I nodded. "Go get the rest. I think it's the right thing to do."
When days bled on and ruthlessly continued forward, I didn't complain when Finnick would lead us on a farther route or we stayed out longer than usual, running up the gravel hill towards Victor's Village, which made the muscles in my legs burn with exhaustion and exertion, but left me with a feeling of satisfaction in my chest when I finally reached the top.
