𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐄 ━━ finnick odair ✓

𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. ( dead serious )

   Finnick Odair kissed me. And he wasn't even drunk this time. But he is crying, which is quite confusing to say the least. Coming down from my own electric high leaves me feeling unprepared to deal with this. I'm not exactly an expert at normal relationships, but I'm pretty sure people aren't supposed to cry after they kiss you.

"I'm sorry if I did something to upset you," I say hesitantly, not letting go of my grip on him.

He doesn't answer me, instead wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me in closer. I don't stop him, though my concern is growing by the second. His forehead drops to my shoulder, so I place my hand on his neck to keep him pressed there. The upbeat music still plays in the background, a mockery of the sudden somber scene. When he starts to pull away, I let him without question. His first move once he's free is to wipe his eyes rapidly on his sleeve. Then he clears his throat and casts his face toward the ground. When he moves to speak, I know what he means to say a second before he says it.

"I'm-"

"You don't have to apologize" I cut him off. "You shouldn't apologize. But you should explain yourself because I'm stumped."

He laughs a cynical laugh and stalks over to sit against the brick wall to our backs.

"Why do you think I'm upset?" He implores as I move to sit beside him.

"I mean I have a list of theories starting with my own horrible ugliness ranging to the fact that I've been sleeping with your best friend for the past few weeks, but I'd like to hear your take more than my own." I try for the slightest bit of humor.

"Don't call yourself ugly." He evidently isn't enthused by my joke, but he still doesn't move to answer my question.

Right. Finnick doesn't like being forced to talk about himself. I decide to employ an entirely new tactic: silence. Maybe if I don't try to fill in the gaps, he will. The quiet leeches into my brain, tension itching for release that I resist resolving. Finnick seems to feel it as well, his sudden squirming is a dead giveaway of his discomfort.

"I'm no good for you," he finally says, sighing like it's the heaviest burden in the world to unearth. "I've tried so hard to keep from soiling your life, but I feel like I can't help it. Every time you're happy, I can't help but to want to come in and destroy everything. On your victory tour, just when you started to relax, I kissed you and lied about my intent straight to your face when cowardice consumed me. I was thrilled when Santiago left you, even though I knew it hurt you. Now, with Gloss, I swoop in and try to ruin everything even though I can see that you're having fun with him. It's like I hate you." There's shame lining every word he says.

"Do you hate me?" I ask, though I know the answer.

"Of course not. I don't think I could if I tried. I... I think that I love you."

There it is. Out in the open for the first time ever.

"For how long?" I ask, trying not to betray the bitterness within me.

"Longer than I should admit."

"Since before I told you that I loved you ?"

"Since before that," he affirms.

It takes a monumental amount of effort from hurling the worst thoughts in my head at him. I close my eyes and inhale deeply though my nose, then let the breath out through barely parted lips. Lashing out in frustration will do nothing to solve the hurt I'm feeling. All that nasty words could do is make Finnick hurt. For a moment, I think that that's what I want; that I wish him to feel exactly the way I did a year ago when he broke down my entire sense of self. Then the notion passes and I rectify that I don't actually want to destroy any piece of Finnick.