Being from District 2 while your boyfriend, Finnick, was from District 4 had always been difficult. The distance, the different alliances, the constant worry—it weighed on you. You hadn’t been able to see him often, and when you slept, he filled your dreams. His face, his laugh, the way he moved with effortless grace—it haunted you in the quiet moments. He was only a year older, but somehow that made the separation feel sharper, the worry heavier.

You never expected to see him like this—back in the Games. Not volunteering at the reaping to protect you. Not standing there, defiant and unflinching, as the Capitol forced another round of trials upon you both.

After being assigned allies, meeting Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, and Finnick, you felt a flicker of hope amid the tension. Each face a reminder that survival was not entirely solitary, that some bonds could still hold in the chaos.

But chaos always came.

The injury came swiftly—a misstep, a careless fall, or perhaps an unexpected attack. Pain shot through your side, hot and sharp, and you collapsed to the ground, breath hitching as the world blurred at the edges. Your hands trembled against the earth, trying to steady yourself, but it was useless.

Finnick was immediately there. The way he moved—fast, precise, protective—made your chest ache with relief and worry all at once. He knelt beside you, brushing your hair from your face with a gentleness that felt like the quiet after a storm. When he reached for his own canteen, your gaze followed automatically.

“Here,” he murmured, tilting your head up. His hands were firm but careful, supporting you as he pressed the ice-cold water to your lips. The chill made you gasp, but the relief was instant. Every sip felt like a tether back to the world, to him, to the rare feeling of safety in this place designed to strip you bare.

He stayed with you through it, his presence unwavering. His eyes never left yours, scanning for any sign of pain or weakness, while your fingers instinctively brushed against his hand as if holding on could somehow anchor you both.

For a brief moment, the Games faded. The arena, the Capitol, the danger—they all became distant shadows. There was only Finnick, and the quiet intimacy of this small act: him helping you, keeping you alive, keeping you tethered to something human.

And as you finally swallowed the last of the water, you realized that in the midst of all this violence and fear, his care, his focus on you, was more powerful than any weapon you could wield.