𝐎𝐮𝐭𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 || 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎'𝐃𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐱 𝐎𝐅𝐂

(xv). aurora, you're my morning sun

"Can I take you up on your offer?" a voice asks.

Finnick's eyes flutter open and he looks around at his surroundings before his eyes land on the ginger in his doorway.

Malia.

"How did you–" Finnick began.

"Oh come on," Malia chuckles, walking further in his room. "As if a few guards could keep me away from you."

Finnick shifts a little before patting the spot next to him and Malia walks over and climbs into the bed next to him. He pulls her close and drapes the blanket over the both of them.

"Besides," Malia continues. "The rebellion needs me to turn district one against the Capitol. And after being away from you for so long, I'm basically untouchable to them."

"So you've decided to go through with it?" Finnick asks.

Finnick's fingers trace nonsensical patterns across her back. Malia is tucked into his chest, her head resting over his heart, hair fanned out around her, and he twirls a lock around his finger absentmindedly.

Even though he slept besides her most nights, it usually isn't like this, soft and intimate.

"Maybe," Malia mumbles. "I spoke with Jake a lot about it, he keeps telling me it's my decision but–"

"There's something bothering you," He finishes for her and she nods. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

"After I thought you died..." Malia began. "The Capitol tried hijacking me like they did with Peeta. They made me forget small details about myself. I don't even remember what my favorite color is. I thought it was red, but... now I'm not too sure. How can I be someone people look up to if I don't even know who I am anymore?"

"It's green," Finnick tells her.

"What?"

"Your favorite color is green," He repeats. "Not a dark green or a lime green. But a sea green. Like my eyes. You told me that yourself."

"That sounds about right," Malia smiles, scrunching her nose.

In that instant, Finnick couldn't help but marvel at the woman before him. His heart swelled with an overwhelming love that transcended the boundaries of words. The way her nose scrunched had his heart fluttering and Finnick found himself lost in a world where only they existed. The adoration in his eyes intensified, the silent declaration of his love and admiration for her more than ever.

The decision, unspoken but powerful, crystallized in his mind.

Malia's breaths were slow and even, he can't tell if she's asleep again, worn from the last twenty-four hours, or if, like him, she's still clinging to the last strands of wakefulness, lingering fear keeping her eyes open, or maybe just wanting to bask in this moment for a little longer.

"You love me, real or not real?" Finnick asks her, his thumb caressing her hip gently.

"Real," Malia murmurs, her grip on him tightening, almost as if she was afraid he himself wasn't real. She knew that there were some things that she could barely remember about herself, but she never once doubted her love for Finnick. Even when she thought he was dead when she was in the Capitol for weeks. She liked to think that her love for him is what pushed her through– helped her keep hold of her sanity until she couldn't anymore. And when she let go– her love for him is what pulled her back. And she knew he felt the exact same way.

Finnick has never been a subtle lover. He wears his heart on his sleeves and carries it in his hands, and for years now Malia's held it in her own, cradling it close to her chest. She's held all of him for years.