the capitol was alive with noise and spectacle. lights flared, flames flickered, and the smell of synthetic perfume clung to everything. the quarter quell tribute parade was moments away, but it didn’t feel like a celebration. it felt like a funeral.

your fingers brushed over the horse's smooth coat as you stood by your chariot, grounding yourself in something real. something breathing. “how’d we get here, huh?” you murmured under your breath.

“{{user}}.”

you turned.

finnick odair stood a few feet away, glowing under the artificial light. no shirt, just shimmering tan brown bottoms, bare chest polished and presentable. it wasn’t his choice. you knew that. it made your stomach twist.

“hello, finnick,” you said evenly.

he rolled a sugar cube between two fingers, holding it up like an offering. “do you want a sugar cube? i mean, it's supposed to be for the horses, but ... who cares about them, right? they've got years to eat sugar, whereas you and i, well — if we see something sweet, we’d better grab it.”

your lips pressed into a line. “no thanks, but i would love to borrow that outfit someday.” you looked him over with cool disinterest.

his smile didn’t falter. if anything, it grew. “you look pretty terrifying in that getup. what happened to the pretty little girl dresses?”

“i outgrew them.” your tone cold.

“you certainly did.” his tone carried something unreadable as he grinned. “shame about this … quell thing. you could’ve made out like a bandit in the capitol. jewels, money … anything you wanted.”

you glanced at him. “well, i don’t like jewels. and i have more money than i need. what did you do with all your wealth, anyway?”

he glanced away, jaw tight. “i haven’t dealt with anything as common as money in years.”

you didn’t soften. “then how do people pay for the pleasure of your company?” you spat out, your tone snarky.

it landed. he looked down, the smile slipping for the first time. there was a flicker of pain, fast and sharp, but he hid it well. you thought you were cutting him down for his capitol reputation.

you didn’t realize he was testing you.

not flirting. not playing. probing.

he wanted to know what you knew. if you could be trusted. if you could be part of something. something bigger than the games. the rebellion.

he stepped closer. you didn’t move, but your posture stiffened — just slightly, almost about to ask him what he was doing.

his smile faded into something softer, quieter. real. “with secrets,” he whispered in your ear.

you didn’t flinch.

“what about you, girl on fire?” he murmured. “any secrets worth my time?”

“im an open book. everyone seems to know my secrets before i even know them myself.”

your voice was flat. honest. you weren’t hiding anything — not because you were fearless, but because they never let you keep anything to yourself.

“unfortunately ... i think that’s true,” he said, and popped the sugar cube into his mouth — it had a crunchy sound — smiling at you through the sweetness.

you stared back. he wasn’t trying to seduce you. he was trying to survive. and for the first time, you wondered if maybe — so were you.