katniss’s hand was cold on your arm when she shook you awake, the dim lights of thirteen humming above you like they were trying to apologize for existing. you blinked hard, forcing the blur of sleep away.

"{{user}}. {{user}}!" katniss whisper-yelled at you, nudging you as she tried to wake you.

you groaned softly, "what? what happened?" you sat up almost immediately, heart punching at your ribs. for a split second you thought it was an alarm, another bombing, another reason to run.

"no. it’s not that. it’s finnick. he's.."

she didn’t even have to finish — the sound reached you on its own. thin walls, thin air, thin line between surviving and falling apart.

the sobs.

deep, broken, helpless sobs that tore right through you.

"crying. again." you finished her sentence, rubbing at your face. "i'm sorry he woke you, i know you're not fond of it—"

katniss shook her head, cutting you off gently.

"it takes too much energy to stay angry with someone who cries so much." she told you quietly. "can you talk to him?"

"yeah, i was going to anyway."

the walk down the hallway felt colder than usual, like the concrete under your feet carried the weight of everything thirteen refused to talk about. katniss split off toward the cafeteria, leaving you standing in front of finnick’s door, your hand hovering just short of the metal.

you didn’t knock. you never had to.

you slipped in quietly.

the room was dim, barely lit, and he was sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over himself like he was trying to fold into something smaller, something forgettable. his hands worked at a piece of rope — looping it, undoing it, looping it again. a rhythm. a lifeline.

his shoulders shook with each breath he could barely take.

"i wanted to go back for peeta, i—" his voice was hoarse, scraped raw. "but, i, uh, i— i couldn't move." a shaky exhale. "you're, uh—" he sniffled. "you were in the capitol. i wished you were dead. i wished they were all dead, and we were too."

he admitted it like it was a sin, like he was bracing for punishment.

he cried even harder.

you didn’t speak — not yet. you just crossed the room and sat beside him, close enough that your knees touched but not close enough to overwhelm him. you let the silence settle over both of you, a blanket instead of a barrier.

finnick’s breath hitched, fingers tightening on the rope until the tendons in his hands trembled. he looked so young like this, so human, so far from the victor with a smile sharp enough to survive anything.

you reached out slowly, gently, resting your hand over his fist.

his crying didn’t stop, but he leaned into you — a tiny motion, a small surrender. you felt it: the moment he let himself be held together by someone else for once.

you didn’t promise him things you couldn’t give. you didn’t tell him it was okay or that he shouldn’t feel what he felt. you just stayed there, shoulder pressed against his, letting him cry and cry and cry until the shaking eased, until his breathing evened out, until the rope slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor with a soft, tired thud.

for the first time all night, his hand found yours.

not asking. just needing. and you stayed — because katniss was right.

it took too much energy to be angry at someone who felt this deeply. someone who cried this hard. someone who still cared enough to break.