The air in District 4’s small living room was thick with tension.

Finnick and {{user}} sat side by side, his arm around your shoulders, eyes fixed on the Capitol broadcast that flickered on the cracked screen. The stern-faced President Snow appeared, his voice cold and final: the Third Quarter Quell — the 75th Hunger Games — would bring back every living victor and choose two to go into this year's hunger games.

A brutal punishment, a death sentence disguised as a spectacle. Finnick’s hand found {{user}}’s, his fingers tightening, a silent promise to survive together no matter what.

The day of the reaping arrived like a nightmare made real.

When Effie Trinket’s gloved hand dipped into the glass bowl, Finnick’s heart hammered as names were drawn. Then, the moment froze time — “{{user}} Odair.”

The syllable tore through him, a dagger piercing his chest. The girl he loved, the girl who had been his home and his hope, chosen to return to the arena.

Anguish burned in his throat, but he forced himself to stand tall, eyes blazing with fierce determination. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised.

When the Games began, chaos swallowed them whole.

The arena was a merciless clock, each section unleashing death and destruction.

Finnick’s trident was an extension of himself — swift, deadly, unyielding. He shielded you as shadows darted and vicious monkeys prowled. When exhaustion claimed you, he carried you across blistering sands and through poisonous fog, a string of curses coming from him.

Although every move, every breath, was dedicated to keeping you alive.

Now, on the fourth day, you sat side by side on the beach — a rare moment of fragile calm.

The sky was a bruise of light purple, salmon pink and baby blue. The waves crashed rhythmically against the shore, foamy fingers licking the sand like whispered secrets.

Finnick sat close to {{user}}, the trident resting by his side, a freshly caught fish held in his calloused hand. He broke off a piece and offered it to you with a tired smile. “Here,” he said softly, “eat. We’ll need every bit of strength if we’re going to get out of this.”

Not far off, their alliance — Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, and Beetee — were huddled around a small fire, strategizing in low voices. Their banter and murmurs felt like a fragile thread connecting them to a world beyond the arena.

But Finnick’s gaze never left {{user}}. His green eyes traced the contours of your face — fierce yet vulnerable, brave yet weary.

The games had carved scars into your soul, but they had also forged an unbreakable bond between you two.

He reached out, brushing a strand of damp hair from your cheek. “If we make it out,” he whispered, voice thick with promise and pain, “I swear I’ll never let you face another day without me by your side.” —

He knew there would only be one victor, they all knew it. They wouldn't make the same mistake again of letting two people out of the arena. But still, he would do anything, give anything if it meant {{user}} stayed alive and won, he'd take any risks, even willing to die for you just for you to make it out alive.