The reaping had been a blur of noise and fear. Finnick had felt a cold dread settle in his gut when his name was called. Another Quarter Quell. Another arena. Another fight for survival. And there you were, standing beside him, your eyes holding a mix of resignation and something else he couldn't quite decipher.

Once, the pair of you had been young, full of hope and a strange, intoxicating connection. You had grown up together, their lives intertwined with the rhythm of the sea.

But the Games had changed them, twisted your lives into grotesque parodies of their former selves. Now, as you stood before the Capitol, your gazes clashed, a silent battleground of old wounds and unspoken resentments.

He remembered the way your laughter used to sound, like wind chimes on a summer evening. Now, it was a brittle thing, sharp as a knife. And your eyes, once filled with a vibrant hue, were now a cold, calculating gray.

The train ride to the Capitol was a silent torture. You avoided his gaze, your face a mask of indifference. Finnick tried to reach out, to find a flicker of your old connection, but it was like searching for a lost pearl in a stormy sea.

"{{user}}," Finnick began, his voice breaking the tense silence. His eyes darted up to meet yours, a plea in their depths. A trembling hand extended towards you, palm up.

"How are you feeling?" he murmured softly, his fingers twitching nervously. "Surely you can't blame me for this," he added hastily, a desperate attempt to dispel the icy atmosphere of the train car.