fire kills, finnick odair

12.

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TW; This chapter contains scenes that some readers may find distressing, pictures depicting self harm and suicide. Please read with caution.

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Finnick was running a little late; he had been rehearsing interview answers with Rafe and hadn't noticed the minutes ticking by. He cursed himself as he made his way to Bailey's dressing room, realising that it was a lot later than he thought as he was met with a queue of tributes waiting to go on stage. Although Bailey wasn't there yet, he didn't have enough time to say all the things he had been so desperately wanting to say.

The line of tributes had stopped him in his tracks, annoyance punching him in the gut and causing him to falter. Mags had been practising interviews with Bailey, as per tradition, but Finnick had still wanted to wish her luck. He had promised he would tell her all about his interview, and how he managed to keep his cheeks their usual pale peach and not tomato red, as she had put it.

"Thanks." Rafe had muttered to his mentor as he took his place in the queue. Finnick hadn't processed it entirely, however, only really coming back to reality when someone beside him spoke in a familiar husky tone.

"Having flashbacks?" Haymitch laughed, elbowing Finnick in the arm in a friendly manner.

"Something like that." Finnick sighed, giving his friend a small smile.

"It never gets any easier, does it?" Haymitch replied, his eyes settling on the line of teenagers before him.

"I don't think it ever will." Finnick mumbled.

Haymitch crossed his arms over his chest and Finnick stuck his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers, as a comfortable silence fell upon the mentors. The two men watched the tributes in front of them, unwillingly reminiscing on when they were in the very same situation; The cocky smile on Cato's face reminded Haymitch of the boy whose throat he slit, and the fidgeting of the Boy from 5's hands reminded Finnick of himself.

After a few moments, Haymitch broke the silence, "Ah, The allies." He mused, his eyes gesturing over to where Bailey and Katniss were talking.

Finnick's heart immediately skipped a beat as he laid his eyes on the girl who had come to mean so much to him. Bailey's hair was tied back in a braid, swishing across the bare and freckled skin of her upper back. Her plump lips were coated in a slight gloss, and Finnick found himself wanting to press her lips on his own, to feel how soft they were, to know how they tasted.

"Finnick?" Haymitch questioned, eyeing his friend suspiciously. Finnick pulled at the collar of his shirt, despite it being loose around his neck, suddenly feeling very hot.

"What?" He replied as he turned to look at the older man, his features contorting into an overacted picture of innocence in an attempt to hide the slight blush of his cheeks.

"Nothing," Haymitch raised his eyebrows as he looked away, "Like pigs to a slaughter. I hate this."

The Adam's apple in Finnick's throat bobbed as he gulped, trying to hold back his nerves.

"You've got good tributes this year," Haymitch continued, "Rafe's biceps are bigger than my head and Bailey, well, Bailey has Katniss."

The muscles in Finnick's jaw became tense, his hands balled into fists in his pockets as he tried not to react to his friend's words. He knew Haymitch was only trying to lighten the mood, but he had unknowingly hit a nerve that Finnick was only just starting to realise was there.