You and Finnick sat at a small cliffside in District four, the water swooshing beneath you while you both talking quietly. He was pressing little kisses across your knuckles, then two more on your nose, and forehead - all apologetically. Because once again, you were disagreeing on being a secret. You were never chosen for the Hunger Games so you didn't understand why.

He had his hand on your waistline, his palm calloused from years of training with his trident, yet his grip was gentle. You two couldn't go out in public. You couldn't show each other off, couldn't display public affection, couldn't tell the public to stop hitting on him. It could be frustrating to say the least, and one of those times was now.

"I know, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise.."