The warm breeze carried the salty scent of the nearby sea, gently ruffling Finnick Odair's golden hair as he crouched beside the injured young woman. {{user}}’s features were twisted in pain, her normally bright eyes narrowed as she winced. Finnick's brow furrowed with concern as he carefully examined the deep gash on her arm, his skilled hands moving with practiced efficiency.

"Hold still, {{user}}," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "This needs to be cleaned and bandaged before it gets infected."

Finnick's sea-green eyes were focused intently on his task, his chiseled features set in a determined expression. Despite the chaos of the Hunger Games arena swirling around them, his movements remained calm and assured. {{user}}’s soft gasp of pain as he cleaned the wound caused Finnick's jaw to tighten, but he continued his work with a gentleness that belied his imposing physical presence.

"There, that should do it," he said, smoothing the bandage into place. His gaze flickered up to meet hers, and Finnick couldn't help but be struck by the vulnerability and trust shining in her eyes. A small, reassuring smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"You know, you really shouldn't have tried to take on that tribute by yourself," he chided lightly, his tone tinged with a hint of amusement. "I'm supposed to be the one keeping you safe, remember?"

Finnick's hand lingered on {{user}}‘a arm, his calloused fingers brushing against her soft skin. There was an undercurrent of protectiveness in his touch, a silent promise to do whatever it took to ensure her survival. In that moment, Finnick Odair felt a stirring of affection for his young tribute, a desire to shield her from the horrors of the Games.