The Princess of Panem | Finnick Odair x oc

XXIX

The Capitol's parties are always dazzling, too much to take in all at once, but tonight feels especially overwhelming. I stumble down the grand hallway, my heels clacking against the marble floor. The sounds of the party echo behind me—laughter, music, clinking glasses, all blending together in a blur of indulgence and revelry. I know I've had too much to drink. My head feels light, the edges of my vision softened by the alcohol buzzing through my system.

I giggle at nothing in particular, the sound escaping before I can stop it. My lips still tingle from the kiss—his kiss—and the thought sends another wave of heat flushing through my body. I don't even know why I left the party. Maybe it was the crowd, the noise, or maybe it was just him. Finnick.

I needed space, air, something to pull me back to reality, and for some reason, I ended up here—our rooftop. The one where we've met the first time. The one where everything always feels quieter, where the world seems to make a little more sense.

The door creaks as I push it open, the cold night air rushing to greet me like a slap to the face. I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself, and step out onto the rooftop. The stars above are barely visible, drowned out by the glow of the Capitol, a sea of lights stretching endlessly into the distance. And there, standing at the edge, is Finnick.

Of course, he's here.

I laugh softly to myself, the sound a little too high-pitched, a little too giddy. "We really do keep finding each other, don't we?" I call out, my voice too loud in the stillness of the night. My steps are wobbly as I approach him, the alcohol making the world spin just a little too fast.

Finnick doesn't respond immediately. He stands with his back to me, shoulders stiff, posture tense in a way that makes my drunken brain falter. Something about him seems... off. His hands are at his sides, each one holding a glass of champagne. The way his fingers grip the delicate stems, like he's trying to crush them, sends a sliver of unease crawling up my spine.

I stop a few paces behind him, frowning slightly. "Finnick?" My voice is softer now, the playful edge fading as I take another step closer. The tension in the air is thick, palpable, and suddenly, I'm not so sure I should be here.

Slowly, he turns to face me, and the look on his face makes my heart skip a beat. His eyes, usually so vibrant, so full of life and mischief, are hollow. Haunted. It's like he's staring straight through me, seeing something that isn't there.

"You've been drinking," he says, his voice low and rough, almost like he's tired.

I grin, trying to dispel the unease creeping into my chest. "You don't say. What gave it away? If I remember correctly we've had the same conversation about 3 hours ago."

Finnick doesn't smile. He doesn't even react. He just stares at me, his eyes dark, unreadable. The tension between us grows thicker, heavier, and for the first time in a long while, I don't know what to say to him.

I wobble slightly on my heels and make my way to the railing beside him, the cool metal pressing into my palms as I lean against it. I glance sideways at him, trying to read his face, but there's nothing. Just that same blank, hollow look. My chest tightens, but I push it down, attributing it to the champagne.

"Are you alright?" I ask, my voice quieter now, more tentative. The city sprawls below us, a million lights twinkling in the night, but all I can focus on is Finnick, standing so still, so unnaturally still beside me.

He doesn't answer right away. His jaw clenches, and I notice his grip on the champagne glasses tighten. "I'm fine," he mutters, but his voice is strained, barely more than a whisper.

I chuckle softly, though there's no real humor in it. "You don't look fine." I take one of the glasses from his hand without asking, lifting it to my lips. The champagne is cold, bubbles tickling my tongue as I take a long sip. For a moment, I let the alcohol wash over me, hoping it'll dull the strange feeling twisting in my stomach.