You’d been patiently waiting for Finnick to get back for ages. Two months since he had left to storm a Capitol base. No contact, no nothing, and it killed you to not know where he was or have a clue if he was still alive. You were one of the faces of the rebellion, yet you’d been less likely to come out of your room after the first two weeks of no contact. You shut yourself off while everyone questioned where you were, one of their best fighters. You were blaming yourself, thinking you should’ve gone with him.

So when Finnick’s squad came back, and he had ash on his face, dirt and blood that wasn’t his, he immediately went looking for you. He walked through the halls, muttering your name over and over again, praying you hadn’t grown too mad at him. He missed you. Finnick couldn’t get you out of his head, that’s why he fought so hard.

Finnick reached the hall with your room, hurrying with his heart pounding and discarding his guns and strapped on gear in the hallway. He just wanted to hear your voice again, gear and weapons be damned. He knocked on your door, frantic, a grin on his face.

He wanted to call you ‘honey’ again. He called everyone that until he met you. And ‘sweetheart’, and everything sweet.

He just wanted you to open the door.