𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐄 ━━ finnick odair ✓

𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞. ( the beginning )

           Life progresses in small ways the further we move away from our homecoming. None of us keep track of the days, but there are small markers that remind us how much time passes. The couch becomes too small for four people to sleep in. So four splits to two between the two bedrooms upstairs. Climbing them isn't easy, but we all know that good things come at a price. Finnick and I sleep in his bed, which becomes our bed after the first night. The nightmares still come, even tucked safely in his arms, but I knew they would. They likely will forever.

The next marker is the ringing of the telephone. There are people that we never said goodbye to, people who care enough to check in. Dr. Doug and his son both call in the same day, mostly to make contact with Finnick, but also to inquire about the rest of us. Finnick tells both of them that we're well. We're instructed to reach out anytime, both as patients and personally. The very next day, Finnick makes good on the offer. The arrival of the prosthetic limbs in the mail is difficult for all of us.

Ronan makes a graveyard in the meadow to the east of our houses. He chisels rough lines of names into sandstone slabs. Grant, Cashmere, and Blight rest just beside each other, but not touching, because they never liked that. As the number of headstones grows, so too does Ronan's skill. The newer additions are no longer jagged and uncertain, but most of the names are ones we don't recognize. Nearly a decade of mentoring and lost academy friends has left him with a list of names so long that I don't think he'll ever finish the project.

Then more time passes and upon reflection I can't tell how long no matter how I focus. Four people in one house becomes a crowd. Johanna is attached to my old house, unwilling to part with it at any cost, so Ronan and Gloss aren't able to live next door. They choose individual houses on the other side of Johanna's. The walk to their doors isn't more than a hundred yards, but it's a very big deal in the beginning. There are countless nights where bare feet fly across the gravel path, consumed by the fear of a nightmare that has convinced us that the others are dead. Ronan always denies that it happened by the time morning rolls around, claiming that the muddy footprints on our porch must be from someone else.

Gloss never tells a single lie, it's like he's incapable of it. He's very candid about his anxiety, revealing insecurities even without prompting. I think that it's the reason that he adjusts much more quickly than the rest of us. He's the only one who immediately answers yes when Giovani and Fierian ask us about visiting. The rest of us take days to mull it over, scared, so scared, of allowing anybody from the Capitol to breach the sanctity of our new home.

They're from a time in our lives that we'd rather not remember. They never had the privilege of steeping in District 13 with us, so they contain the full potency of our time in the Capitol. Not even memories of their generosity in the bunker sway me to acceptance for a good while. Ronan is the last of us to approve it and even once he has, he's still uncomfortable at the prospect. He's on our doorstep the night before their arrival, eyes wild and ever growing hair plastered to the side of his head. The next morning I dutifully pretend that it never happened.

But in the afternoon when we hear the sound of voices approaching where we all lay lounging on the beach, I hold his hand. Our greetings are more or less warm, but stiff despite efforts on all of our parts. It's not until Draggus, fully clothed in pants and tunic, makes a giggling break for the water that genuine smiles grace all of our lips. We agree to watch over the boys playing in the water while Fierian and Giovani unpack in the partially furnished home we've set up for them.

Finnick, anxious over letting them swim alone, quickly joins them in their play. Squeals of delights follow him around as he dutifully tosses and wrestles with them in the surf. Ronan's eyes slip shut as I watch him, head tilted back to bask in the atmosphere. Gloss smiles gently at me when he notices as well, face filled to the brim with tranquility. It's not long before he runs down the length of the sand, unable to resist Finnick's invitation to roughhouse. I can almost see the peace swell within Ronan when Gloss's rougher voice joins the chorus.