Here he was, standing center stage, all smiles and perfect posture, the kind of grin that made everyone swoon without effort. Finnick Odair, the Capitol’s Golden Boy, every inch polished and rehearsed, as if charm alone could carry him through the world. You stood in the wings, arms crossed, jaw tight. The sparkle of the crowd reflected off his hair and his ridiculous muscles, and all you could do was scowl. Every laugh he drew, every clap, grated against you like nails on a chalkboard. He caught your eye for a split second, winked, and the audience cheered like he’d just performed a miracle. You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. Pathetic.

The announcer’s voice came through the speakers, calling your name next. You took a step forward, adjusting your posture, deliberately ignoring Finnick’s practiced charm. He was the Golden Boy, yes, but that didn’t mean you had to play along — especially not after everything about him irritated you to your core. Finnick tilted his head slightly, still smiling, as if he could sense your disdain. “Break a leg,” he called out, voice smooth as silk, and that only made your scowl deepen. You smirked under your breath, muttering something just loud enough for the backstage crew to hear, “That's for losers.”

The lights were yours now.