"Humanity desires entertainment to remain pacified- television, parties, gossip magazines, literature. They are useful devices, when regulated." Snow watches me, interpreting my silence as disagreement. "You do not agree." He states.
"Literature ha...
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"Did something happen?" My mother questions, hesitating as she lifts her mug to her lips. I pause, realizing I've steeped my tea for far too long. I hiss under my breath, yanking the tea bag out and dropping it onto my plate.
"No," I lie, avoiding her eyes. She sees right through me.
"Is it Finnick?" She asks, careful. I shake my head immediately— the only thing that hasn't been going wrong in my life is him.
"Just tired." I mumble. "Nightmares, y'know?"
My mother hums quietly, something of sadness shining in her eyes. "When you go back to the Capitol for the tour, see one of those fancy shrinks, would you?" I nod my head obediently, not wanting to talk about the looming Victory Tour I'd have to embark on soon.
"Alright."
*
"Hey," Finnick says, his voice soft and deep as it floats into my stream of semi-consciousness. I open my eyes, realizing that I've fallen asleep, and meet his eyes through blurry vision. He reaches out, hand warm and gentle as he brushes it against my forehead. My heart rate settles. "I'm sorry for waking you, you can keep sleeping. I'm just going out for a little bit."
"What time is it?" I mumble sleepily, glancing around to gauge my surroundings. I'm in one of Finnick's guest bedrooms, bundled up in multiple layers along with general exhaustion. I'd come here to rest, hadn't I? Sleeping at home after Snow's visit has been impossible, but the guest bedroom at Finnick's is always safe. I sleep in increments when I can stay over for the day without any responsibilities, but it's more than I could have asked for— to feel at peace for a little while is a treasure.
"Around noon," he says gently. "Darrius came back from the Capitol last night, so we're going to lunch. He wants to meet you— formally, by the way— but there's no pressure if you want to sleep more."
"Archer?" I mumble, brows slightly raised. Darrius Archer had been the male District 4 tribute for the 52nd Hunger Games at age eighteen, quickly becoming a fan favourite with his clear blue eyes and mysterious nature. I'd watched his tape with Xander during training. He won after killing the District 1 female— he cracked her skull on the beach over a rock. As far as I was concerned, he spends most of his days in the Capitol entertaining its citizens— whether this was by his own choice or not, I wouldn't be surprised if it was the latter.
"That's the one," Finnick responds. "You in?"
I smile sleepily at him, reaching out to push a loose strand of his hair back into place. "Yeah, I just gotta go home and get changed."
"I can get ready first and we can go over together," Finnick offers. "I haven't talked to your mom in a bit,"
"You trying to stay in her good graces?" I snort, twisting over onto my side. Finnick rolls his eyes and stands up, stretching his arms above his head.
