Sat upright in the extravagant bed the Capitol provides for the Victors, Finnick weaves the rope in his hands, performing how to create an Alpine Butterfly Loop.

The ghastly memory you relived of the 66th Hunger Games, the one you survived, still lingers in the back of your mind. Knot tying aids you tranquiler, always wishing to study Finnick execute it first before he’d befall the rope to you.

It was an unspoken agreement between the two of you to share a bed during the tenebrous hours of night. It’s easier to calm down after a traumatic nightmare, intending the other can haul them back from the wounded darkness when awakened.

After completing the knot, he unties it, then delicately sets the rope upon your lap, the silk duvet pooling at your torso. He gazes intently as you copy his previous actions. The shadows under your haunted eyes are prominent like your freckles, yet your stylists usually cover both of those up.

Finnick wishes your name was never chosen in the Reaping, otherwise you’d be experiencing a regular life in District Four. Not one where you’d jolt at cacophonous noises, immediately assuming it’s explosives which the Gamemaker supplied into your arena.