𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑶𝒅𝒂𝒊𝒓

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄.

The Current Panem

The 69th Annual Hunger Games' Victory Tour

Both Finnick and Rosie were dressed to impress, well, at least at the beginning of the night they were. Now, after hours of partying, not so much.

Rosie's make-up was the first thing she got rid of—she'd scrubbed it off with some cream she stole from Zavir and hid in the Loft, the duo were getting quite the stash of things hidden away—then her dress had been swapped for a jumper Finnick had left in the Loft. Finnick's hair was a mess, he'd grown it out since she saw it at the 69th Games. She'd offhandedly mentioned she could Dutch braid his hair if it was a little longer, so, naturally, he grew it out. He looked ridiculous and was immediately cutting it all off once back at District 4. Just like Rosie, Finnick was desperate to get out of his clothes, and when he could, he stripped into clothes he'd dumped in the Loft earlier to do that very thing. 

"Kai's been pissing me off," Rosie groaned. The thought of going back and having to face the teenage boy who was getting a little too attached, wasn't a pleasant one. "It's Aldine this, Aldine that. Can you teach me this, can you teach me that? Like how fucking stupid are you, dude?" The teenager continued to complain, her forearms resting on her face.

Finnick hummed, not really loving the conversation's direction.

He, for obvious reasons, wasn't fond of Cunt Face Kai. Finnick hadn't even met the boy, but he already loathed him. Partly for how he treated Rosie when she was younger, and partly because Kai got to spend time with Rosie more than Finnick did. That aspect of his and Rosie's friendship bothered him, he saw Rosie everywhere. Not hallucinations—he wasn't that insane—but he saw things he knew she'd like.

Leant against the drywall, Finnick tried his hardest to not let his eyes wander, but he was a teenage boy, so he didn't always win.

Rosie was wearing his jumper with a pair of sleep shorts—and fluffy, blue socks—which meant her long legs were on display.

His eyes darted away when Rosie rolled from lying on her back to lying on her front. The jumper rode up, exposing a slither of the skin of her back. Finnick had seen her in less clothing, but Rosie was uncomfortable in those outfits, she always looked like she wanted to crawl out her skin, but in the Loft, she was relaxed. The shorts rode up just like the jumper, but Rosie made no desperate attempts at covering as much of her body as she could.

Trust.

That's what Finnick had ample of from Rosie, something he swore to himself he wouldn't take advantage of.

"He still won't tell me what the fuck he's getting all these lessons for. Like, he's from Partridge Row, he's not hurting for money," the girl scoffed. Without warning, she turned on her back, a question catching her attention. She'd moved too quickly for Finnick to tear his eyes away. She'd caught him staring at her, where her thighs dipped under her shorts, and where her back came out the top. Finnick went bright red, Rosie—kindly—didn't ridicule him. "Are you from the rich or shit side of 4?"

The question caught Finnick off guard. "I mean..."

"You mean rich?"

"Yeah. Guess so," he nodded. Somehow he felt almost disappointed that that was his answer, but he wasn't about to lie and tell Rosie tales of starving and having to choose what necessity to skip on. Finnick wanted to relate to Rosie, and he was acutely aware that—as Rosie eloquently put it—she was from the shit side of 9. "It was just me and my Dad, so there wasn't much to spend money on. We weren't the richest, but I always had everything I needed."