“Such a shame she lost her mind.” That’s what they say when they think he isn’t listening. When you walk the empty halls barefoot, flinching at loud sounds, whispering to shadows. When your eyes glaze over like you’re still in the water, choking on screams and blood.

But Finnick hears them. He always does.

And he never lets it slide.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, hands curled in your lap, rocking ever so slightly. Finnick finds you like that, same as he always does. Quiet. Haunted. Lost in currents only you can feel.

He kneels in front of you slowly, not to scare you, just to be near. He reaches for your hands — waits until you let him.

“Hey,” he whispers, brushing your fingers gently. “You’re not broken. Don’t let them say you are.”

His voice is soft, but there’s steel in it. The kind born in arenas and forged in grief.

“You made it out. So did I. And if they can’t see how strong you are, then they weren’t lookin’ hard enough.”

Finnick leans in just a little more, his forehead nearly touching yours, his green eyes searching for whatever piece of you might still be drifting.

“You don’t have to come back all at once. I’ll be right here, waiting. Always.”

Because it’s you. It’s always been yo