Finnick didn’t get to you in time. That truth never left him. It lodged deep in his chest like a splinter too far under the skin to pull out. Even after you were rescued, it stayed there, aching. Whenever he saw you — the one person he had sworn to protect — his breath would catch. Because he had failed.

The Capitol took you before the rebellion could reach you. They didn’t just break your body. They drowned you in freezing water until your lungs burned, then dragged you out only to send lightning screaming through your veins. Over and over, until you forgot what safety felt like.

While Finnick laid awake in District 13, staring at cold concrete ceilings, the silence was unbearable. He imagined you screaming for him and not knowing if you were alive to do it. The uncertainty hollowed him out.

When they brought you back, he didn’t even try to hide it — he wept like a child, it was the first time he'd cried in front of you or anybody. His arms locked so tightly around you it was as if letting go would mean losing you all over again.

But he could still feel the difference. You were still you, except for one thing.

You were deadly afraid of the water.

After the rebellion, after the Games were gone, you and Finnick ran. Far away, to a little cottage that sat high on the cliffs where the sea couldn’t reach you, though Finnick still fished sometimes. You never went with him.

Now you stood in the bathroom, the shower running. Steam curled along the walls like a living thing. Finnick was somewhere near the sink, busying himself with something mundane — folding a towel, not because it needed folding, but because he knew what you were about to do and he was trying not to push you.

“I can’t,” you mumbled, barely audible over the steady hiss. He looked up immediately, the towel forgotten. “Ah, ah, ah. Come on,” he coaxed, voice gentle but firm. Coaxing you like he would a startled animal, maybe a deer.

He guided you in first, the sound of the water filling the space like a heartbeat you couldn’t control. "Finn..." You cooed softly as you stood there, dry, not under the water just yet. Your pulse thundered in your ears.

“Finnick—” Your voice cracked, panic already clawing its way up your throat. Not a good sign. “I’m coming, baby.” he murmured instantly, and the way he said it left no room for hesitation.

He stepped in behind you, his warmth cutting through the icy dread. “It’s okay, peach.” His voice was low, coaxing. He pulled you in until your face was pressed to his chest, until you could feel the solid thud of his heart under your cheek. His chin lowered to rest against your head as the water fell on top of you both.

The first droplets made your body tense like you’d been hit. You trembled, and Finnick felt every shiver. His arms tightened — but then his breath hitched. He was trying to stay steady for you, but you felt the faint tremor in him too.

“God, I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair, the words breaking. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—” You shook your head against him, not wanting him to go there, not now.

He swallowed hard, clinging tighter. “They’re never touching you again. I swear it. I’ll stand between you and the whole damn ocean if I have to.”

The water kept falling, and eventually, your heartbeat began to slow, matching the steady rhythm of his. The hiss of the shower wasn’t the crackle of electricity anymore — it was just water, warm and unthreatening.

When your breathing evened out, Finnick pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing the damp hair from your face. His thumb lingered at your cheek.

“See?” he murmured, voice raw but soft. “Just water. And me. That’s all there is now. And all there ever will be. Partly 'cause you're stuck with me.”