FAILURE TO COMPLY ┃ f. odair

2.15 the death of hate

Calypso wished she could stay in District Four for much longer than two weeks. It passed in a heartbeat and, during the second week, Finnick had been gone for four days in the Capitol. When he came back he was more solemn than usual. Being forced into someone else's bed felt all the more horrid when his heart now belonged to someone else, he told her.

But, after a fortnight and after Dr Melville cleared her for return to Five, Calypso was set to go home. It was bittersweet being told she could see her family again while knowing she would be leaving someone else she loved behind.

Love. It was a strong word considering how new their relationship was, but perhaps the life and death circumstances they constantly faced forced them closer together than it should've. Calypso felt like Finnick had ensnared her soul within all those small rope knots he was always tying between his gentle fingers, whenever he wasn't painting her skin with salt water from the very sea they found themselves sat by every evening, leaving imprints in the sand where their bodies laid until morning.

It didn't take too long for her to realise he was somehow more comfortable there than in his bed, though how could she blame him when she knew exactly why that was?

It was the final night, with the crescent moon high in the sky, its light bouncing off the gentle waves lapping against the shore. This little corner of solitude, the stretch of beach that no one but the other victors touched, was a haven Calypso was going to sorely miss. Even more, she was going to ache with the ghostly remnants of Finnick's gentle touches. In silence, he ran his fingers up and down her shoulder to where his oversized sweater slipped off her shoulder.

"Seeing you in the Capitol won't be the same, you know," he commented softly, gazing at her side profile while she watched the dark horizon. Her small grimace didn't escape his notice. "Because it won't be like this. It'll be much harder to pretend that we're anything other than what we are."

"Victors?" she questioned. "Victims?"

"Yes," he replied, leaning his head forward until it rested on the soft cushion of her hair. "When I'm with you, I don't feel like a victor or a victim. I just feel like Finnick again."

So many times, Calypso had lost her words to the void of her own mind, but now she had too many to say and none that were quite right. Instead, she leaned forward to connect her lips to his in a kiss that started off gentle, until her hand reached for his hair, and his pulled her waist closer and closer.

"Is this alright?" he whispered against her mouth, his fingers slipping under the fabric and caressing the bare skin of her stomach. Calypso nodded. "Words, please."

"Yes," she breathed.

Finnick moved his hand further up to her midriff, tracing delicate patterns ever so softly, barely ghosting over. His body leaned forward, making her back arch into his fold. His fingers moved higher, tracing the lower outline of her brasier.

"Wait," she mumbled, pulling back from their ongoing kiss. Finnick's lips chased hers, lost in the feeling of safety and serenity that he found with no one else. "Finnick, I can't do this."

Immediately, his hands rescinded from her skin, finding themselves once again resting on the soft material of the sweater instead. He broke the kiss and gave her some room to catch her breath, though quietly observed every small reaction. It was obvious what was wrong, and he was not going to push against it.

"Sorry," he replied a little sheepishly. Daringly, he tucked a strand of Calypso's hair behind her ear, and she did not resist the motion. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," she reassured him with a gentle pat on the arm. With an awkward cough, she readjusted her position in the sand so that they were sat parallel instead, facing the expanse of the ocean. "I just don't think I'm ready to go the distance yet. Not after... everything."