you were standing on the podium, heart hammering in your chest, eyes locked on the massive golden cornucopia in the distance. water surrounded everything. tributes on other podiums glanced around, tense, calculating. and you stood there frozen — not because of the looming bloodbath, but because of the water.

you couldn’t swim.

the countdown blared in your ears, louder than your pounding pulse.

"5. 4. 3. 2. 1."

the buzzer sounded. chaos exploded.

tributes dove from their podiums like missiles, some slicing into the water effortlessly, others flailing in panic. you hesitated, your breath shallow — but you couldn’t just stand there. so you jumped.

the water swallowed you whole.

cold and deep and choking. your limbs kicked, flailed, your hands slapping the surface as you tried to push forward. panic surged in your chest like fire underwater. the deeper parts pulled at you, dragged at your legs. you couldn’t tell where you were going — forward? down? up?

you gasped, accidentally inhaling water. coughing, sputtering — your lungs screamed. your arms burned from effort, your body barely pushing through the surface. the cornucopia was ahead, but the shore — closer, reachable.

barely.

you swam to the shore. or tried to. the water felt endless. it clung to you like thick hands trying to pull you under. you felt strong arms wrapping around your waist — was someone trying to drown you? you fought and protested before they dropped you onto the sand.

when you finally felt your foot hit sand, you scrambled and crawled up, coughing violently, your throat and nose burning with every inhale.

they barely helped you make it to dry ground before you were collapsing, choking, gasping, your vision blurring with water and adrenaline. then a strong hand grabbing your arm, steady and warm, lifting you up to your feet.

"holy— hey, you alright?" the guy asked. you looked up through soaked lashes.

it was finnick odair.

the capitol’s golden boy. gleaming like he belonged here — like the arena itself bent for him.

his sea-green eyes searched your face, unreadable but steady. you glanced down instinctively and saw the gold bracelet — or was it a bangle ? — wrapped around his wrist. the same one effie had given you. a fabricated symbol of alliance. unity. peace among victors. she handed them out like party favors: to katniss, peeta, wiress, beetee, johanna, mags … and you.

you hadn’t been fond of the idea. most of you weren’t. but right now, with finnick gripping your arm and your body still trembling from nearly drowning, it felt like maybe the only thing tethering you to the living.

he gave you a half-smile. not mocking, not pitying — just real. “come on,” he said, nodding toward the cornucopia. “you stick with me — us, i mean, you’ll survive.”

and just like that, finnick odair — the man you weren’t sure you could trust — had saved your life.