every morning, finnick odair wakes up next to you. the sun filters through the curtains, filling the room with soft light as the clock strikes 5 am. he quickly realizes it’s early, and you’re still in deep slumber, breathing steadily without any worry about the world around you.
he can’t help but succumb to his selfish cravings. leaning in, he buries his face in your hair and hums at your scent. the soft scent of lily soap makes his heart flutter like a schoolboy.
your lover wraps his arms around you and holds you close to him. finnick tries to keep his hold on you as light as a feather to avoid disturbing your sleep. but the moment his body is pressed against yours and his chin finds its place on your shoulder, he feels you begin to stir.
a pang of guilt tugs at his heart, and he scrambles to lull you back to sleep. “shh, honey,” he coos. “it’s just me. just wanted to hold my pretty girl for a bit,” he whispers softly in your ear, his voice a bit husky. he presses soft kisses to your neck to lull you back to sleep.
after you fall back to sleep, he cuddles your sleepy figure and enjoys the warmth of your body against his. with your back against his chest, he wonders if you can feel how fast his heart beats for you, even in your sleep.
his strong arms around your torso make him wonder if you feel safe with him, the way your presence makes him feel like he can breathe a little easier. your gentle voice, as you tell him how brave he is, silences the self-deprecating voices in his mind. and your sweet, tender touches contrast with everything he’s ever known.
ever since he opted out of the mission assigned to him by the now-deceased president coin, he has felt a deep ache in his chest. he feels useless, constantly comparing himself to his fellow victors and the rest of the prop team.
it’s a feeling he can’t shake, even after you’ve reassured him time and time again that he’s already made enough sacrifice for the rebellion, and that his worth doesn’t depend on how much he has contributed to rebuilding his district from the ground up.
memories of his time in the capitol still cloud his mind, his arms tightening around you every time his thoughts take him back. but beneath all the self-deprecating thoughts, finnick is quietly grateful he didn’t go with the prop team.
if even soldiers like boggs didn’t make it back, how could he believe he would have? the day before the quarter quell, he promised you he would come back to you. the thought of running away, going so far away that he could live a simpler life by your side, was one of the few things that kept him going through the games. and every time his mind wandered to the possibility of his death, his heart ached as he pictured you completely shattered and alone, especially knowing that a death at the hands of the capitol would be neither quick nor painless.
when he feels you moving in your sleep, finnick is pulled from his thoughts and back home to you, to a simple life in district four. to a small house by the beach, where the biggest worries are whether the fishing nets you cast will hold, and making sure the neighbor’s cat doesn’t snatch more fish than you’ve already given him.
