The war had ended months ago, but peace came slower. It didn’t announce itself with fanfare or applause—it came in the way Finnick Odair started sleeping through the night, in the way the scars on your hands began to fade into just another part of your skin. You’d taken him home with you, back to District 10, back to where the sky stretched wide and the air smelled of open fields and dust.

You were a year older than him—not that it ever mattered, except when you teased him for his stubbornness or his soft pride. He’d always had that streak of recklessness, all charm and daring smiles, but here, in the quiet hills where you’d grown up, there was no need for armor. Just fresh air and time. Enough of both to start again.

And so, here you were, walking beside a horse through a golden meadow as Finnick sat nervously in the saddle, his hands tight on the horn, his legs a little too tense.

“You’re not laughing at me, right?” he asked, glancing down at you with mock suspicion.