"Did something happen?" My mother questions, hesitating as she lifts her mug to her lips. I pause, realizing I've steeped my tea for far too long. I hiss under my breath, yanking the tea bag out and dropping it onto my plate.

"No," I lie, avoiding her eyes. She sees right through me.

"Is it Finnick?" She asks, careful. I shake my head immediately— the only thing that hasn't been going wrong in my life is him.

"Just tired." I mumble. "Nightmares, y'know?"

My mother hums quietly, something of sadness shining in her eyes. "When you go back to the Capitol for the tour, see one of those fancy shrinks, would you?" I nod my head obediently, not wanting to talk about the looming Victory Tour I'd have to embark on soon.

"Alright."

*

"Hey," Finnick says, his voice soft and deep as it floats into my stream of semi-consciousness. I open my eyes, realizing that I've fallen asleep, and meet his eyes through blurry vision. He reaches out, hand warm and gentle as he brushes it against my forehead. My heart rate settles. "I'm sorry for waking you, you can keep sleeping. I'm just going out for a little bit."

"What time is it?" I mumble sleepily, glancing around to gauge my surroundings. I'm in one of Finnick's guest bedrooms, bundled up in multiple layers along with general exhaustion. I'd come here to rest, hadn't I? Sleeping at home after Snow's visit has been impossible, but the guest bedroom at Finnick's is always safe. I sleep in increments when I can stay over for the day without any responsibilities, but it's more than I could have asked for— to feel at peace for a little while is a treasure.

"Around noon," he says gently. "Darrius came back from the Capitol last night, so we're going to lunch. He wants to meet you— formally, by the way— but there's no pressure if you want to sleep more."

"Archer?" I mumble, brows slightly raised. Darrius Archer had been the male District 4 tribute for the 52nd Hunger Games at age eighteen, quickly becoming a fan favourite with his clear blue eyes and mysterious nature. I'd watched his tape with Xander during training. He won after killing the District 1 female— he cracked her skull on the beach over a rock. As far as I was concerned, he spends most of his days in the Capitol entertaining its citizens— whether this was by his own choice or not, I wouldn't be surprised if it was the latter.

"That's the one," Finnick responds. "You in?"

I smile sleepily at him, reaching out to push a loose strand of his hair back into place. "Yeah, I just gotta go home and get changed."

"I can get ready first and we can go over together," Finnick offers. "I haven't talked to your mom in a bit,"

"You trying to stay in her good graces?" I snort, twisting over onto my side. Finnick rolls his eyes and stands up, stretching his arms above his head.

"I don't have to try," Finnick says smartly, flicking my knee as he walks around the bed and heads for the door.

"Arrogant much?" I call out loudly, watching his figure disappear around the bend of the doorframe. "It's not a good look, Finnick!"

"It's my best look!" Finnick shouts back. I can hear him laughing as he retreats.

After around thirty minutes of Finnick taking his time getting ready and me fighting the urge to doze off again in his guest bed, he finally returns and manages to drag me from the comfortable mattress and duvet. I only put on a pair of slippers and slip into a cardigan of his I'd stolen long ago, aware that I look like a mess but not necessarily caring as we set off to my own house. I lean against the front porch railing as Finnick locks up, aware that this is the exact spot I'd broken down in his arms a lifetime ago. The words leave my mouth quickly, and with little hesitation.

"You think anyone saw?" I ask, waiting for him to look over at me. We make eye contact, and it's almost like I can hear every single one of his thoughts without him having to voice it. "The other day. When..."

"Probably," Finnick says truthfully. "But they've all been through it, so there's no judgement."

"Except my own," I reply. Finnick shrugs his shoulders.

"We're our own worst critics, aren't we?" He says idly. He comes over, standing closer, and I resist the urge to lean into him. My dependency scares me. "You remember Rain, right?"

"Burkheizer, 61st." I nod my head. "What about her?" I haven't seen Rain since training days, but even then, it was only in passing. She had an air of venom and melancholy to her, and despite having an abundance of useful information regarding combat at her disposal, seeing me and Xander just once was enough to stop her from engaging. Finnick said it was for fear of growing attached. She had been reaped with her best friend. He died in her arms after a District 7 tribute caught them while hunting for food. Even now, I don't have any real relationship with her. I'm afraid my ending with Xander reminds her of her own loss too much.

"Her and Darrius are alike, you know. Can't count how many times I've seen those two passed out, lying somewhere around here drunk out of their minds." Finnick blinks rapidly, considering his next words. His hand comes up to push a stray curl of mine behind my ears. He keeps his hand at the base of my neck, resting. "They like booze, Rev. They handle their pain with alcohol and it sucks, but it's what works for them. Everyone in this neighbourhood is fucked up. You breaking is honestly the least thought-provoking thing to them all, I promise."

I meet his eyes, feeling as though he is inhaling my very being with every passing second. I allow him. "Have you ever done anything embarrassing?"

Finnick huffs out a breath, a small smile on his face. "Of course not, I'm perfect." I roll my eyes, turning my head with a scoff. I keep my gaze on the foaming water as it crashes against the beach shore.

"Really, Finnick, that's just fantastic." I say sarcastically. He's grinning now, clearly entertained in this morbid conversation that only we can turn into a joke.

"Okay, so maybe I got drunk for three days straight and tried to set my house on fire, but I was 16–"

"No way," I exhale loudly, staring up at him incredulously. Finnick seems almost bashful with his admission, and I'm not sure if he planned on continuing with the story before a voice interrupts us.

"Oh, that was surely a spectacle, wasn't it, Odair?"

I turn to look, and standing at the stone pathway below the porch steps is a man in his thirties with dark hair and sharp, pale blue eyes. Darrius Archer. He's not smiling, but there's a hint of amusement in his expression as he observes Finnick with me. I feel the older boy move his hand away from my face, turning to acknowledge the brunette. "Darrius," Finnick says smoothly. "You're eavesdropping now, aren't you?"

"Lunch would be long over if I left you and Miss Bloom to keep talking." Darrius says just as fluidly. There's an ease to the way Finnick and Darrius speak— all that time in the Capitol must have helped them perfect their conversationality. "And, to be honest, I have quite a bit of a hangover so I would prefer to eat my lunch before dinnertime, if that's alright with you two."

Finnick rolls his eyes, clearly entertained as he starts to jog down the steps. "When are you not hungover?" He jests. I self-consciously wrap his sweater closer around my body, slightly embarrassed about my attire. I had hoped to meet Darrius after I'd gotten changed.

"You're a nuisance, Odair." Darrius says. He turns to me, still frozen on the front porch, and tilts his head to the side beckoningly. "Come along, Miss Bloom. I know a great place."

I feel my face burning. "We need to make a pit stop."

"A pit stop?"

Finnick snorts. "Oh, it's my fault. I told her she could laze around while I got ready first. She still needs to get changed."

Darrius smiles then, subtle but pronounced. His cheekbones are strikingly prominent, perfect bulbs sitting high on his face. No wonder he doesn't stay in District 4 often— the Capitol would miss his beautiful face too much. "Well, lead the way then."

I shyly skip down the steps, stepping around the two and setting off down the stone pathway in the direction of my house. I hear their starting footsteps from behind me, Finnick and Darrius keeping in line with each other. The walk is brisk and short, and upon arriving at my front door, I turn to address the chattering victors. "I should warn you first. My mom is in with a friend."

Darrius blinks up at me— I am on the top step of the stairs. "You underestimate me, Bloom." He says, tone deep.

I glance at Finnick, who meets my eyes with ease and smiles widely. Cute. "We'll be fine." He tells me.

I unlock the door and go in first, stepping into the wide front foyer that leads into the main living area. I hold the door courteously as Finnick and Darrius step past the threshold themselves. "Mom!" I call out loudly, shutting the door behind them.

"In the kitchen!" I hear her response. The three of us navigate our way through the expanse of the first floor to the kitchen. My mom is seated at the island counter, mulling over a mug of tea with her best friend Rhea. Rhea had been our neighbour before this all, and once upon a time she knew me as a soft, gentle young girl. I wish she still viewed me the same, but like everyone else, she saw the 70th Hunger Games. The two women look up upon noticing my entrance, and with the way both of their eyes widen, I gather that they're either extremely surprised or extremely in love.

"Hi, Rhea," I say with a small wave. "You already know Finnick. This is Darrius. Archer. Darrius Archer." I turn around to look at the brunette, about to cue the older man to introduce himself further, but he's already ahead of the game. Finnick and I hold back for a moment, watching him work his charm all over the two ladies.

"It's unreal," Finnick mumbles after a moment. "Absolutely insane."

My mother is smiling dizzily at Darrius, holding her hand against her chest— he is now pressing a kiss to the back of Rhea's hand. "I can't watch this. I'm going to get changed." Finnick snorts when I twist away, leaving the two of them to entertain.

I get dressed quicker than Finnick, instead spending more of my allotted time on my hair. Finally, I grab a purse and slip on a more presentable pair of shoes, quickly heading back down to the kitchen. Upon my arrival, I see Darrius engaged in a grand story at the head of the island, with Finnick, my mother, and Rhea listening adamantly. I pause at the door frame, neglecting to announce my presence in favour of listening for a little bit longer.

"And she had a wig, at least weighing fifteen pounds on her neck, bright pink. She approached me during a lunch date at a brilliant café, and believe me when I tell you— her confidence was astounding. Nothing like you'd imagine. From birth... it's like they're all entitled, and the fight over there is just about exerting your own entitlement over everyone else's." Darrius raises his eyes, piercing and thoughtful, and he meets mine with ease. "Here, though... it's different. There's no entitlement in the districts, and confidence is something only a select few have. Everyone is humble mostly, humility coursing through veins while we wonder where the next adequate meal for all will come from. But Miss Bloom, I see you've done something to assuage some of that concern this year."

I blink, startled by my mentioning. Finnick turns his head sharply. "What, by surviving?"

Darrius observes me for a moment, and then suddenly he's confirming my worst fear and the wind is kicked straight out of my chest. "You didn't just survive in that arena, Miss Bloom. You conquered it."

I turn my head, trying to mask my emotions. I can feel my throat tightening, a telltale beginning. "I conquered a bunch of teenagers and now District 4 eats stress-free this year, right?" I hate the bitterness that invades my tone, present and obvious to all parties in the room.

"You could put it that way." Darrius tilts his head. "But truly, I find that accepting the gravity of my actions makes room for a more fulfilling life."

"Accept?" Finnick raises his eyebrows. "You haven't accepted."

"Oh, but I have." Darrius says, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Why do you think a bottle of whiskey is my best friend? You accept... and then find a way to cope with that."

I don't know how I find my voice, but it's sudden and the words pour out of me like acrid vomit on the hardwood floor. "It's a bit selfish, isn't it? The fact that those families deal with loss while we profit off of it for the rest of our lives. Why do we deserve self-acceptance when there is ... so much suffering because of us?" I press the palm of my hand flat to my forehead, focusing my breathing. I hear my mother's consoling voice say my name, the scrape of her chair as she stands up, but I hold my other hand out to stop her from approaching. "I'm fine, I'm fine." I mumble quickly.

"Excellent question," Darrius says smoothly. "We don't deserve it. Not necessarily. We were put in an impossible situation, and in being so afraid of death, we were willing to kill, or, condone killing. That's inexcusable, morally speaking. Self-acceptance, after the fact, is a necessary step for us to keep going. Whether we deserve it or not, we can't stay stuck in that arena for the rest of our lives, can we?"

"No, we cannot." Rhea voices her agreement, ill-timed and out of place. She's staring at Darrius though like she might run away from her husband and elope if he suggested it right then. I meet Finnick's eyes, and without having to say anything, he gets to his feet and starts to end the conversation for us.

"It was lovely to see you ladies again," he says charmingly. "We were just waiting for Reverie, so we'll get out of your hairs now."

"Nonsense," my mom says, laying a gentle hand on his forearm. "You're always welcome here."

"Thank you, Ms. Bloom." He smiles easily at her. Darrius says his goodbyes quickly as well, and in a matter of seconds we're setting off through the foyer to the front door.

"Couldn't save all that self-acceptance bullshit for therapy, could you, Dr. Archer?" I say aggressively, slamming the door shut loudly as I fumble with my keys.

"Apologies if I overstepped," Darrius replies swiftly.

"Which, if I might interject, he always does." Finnick says, reaching out to take my keys from my trembling hands. I step back and let him lock the door for me, still annoyed and a little shaken by the heaviness of a conversation I wasn't prepared to have.

"Learn boundaries, dude." I say, meeting his eyes and willing myself to stay levelled. "That's not something you do— especially in front of my mom and her best friend that already thinks I'm going to hell."

"Hell?" Darrius raises his eyebrows.

We start walking. "Yeah, she watched my Games and saw the shit I did. Thinks the devil is in me or something."

"The devil," Finnick repeats.

"We all have a devil in us," Darrius muses. "Just a matter of if they like to see the sun more often."

"Does he always talk like that?" I turn to look at Finnick, who barks out a laugh.

"Get used to it,"

*

"Oh, that question. Well. You want to know how I deal with it?" Darrius says, eyes following the crowds of people bustling down the cobblestone street. It's a busy Saturday afternoon, the lunch rush setting in as people fill the streets in search of food and entertainment. There's a street musician playing a couple blocks away, his song distant but audible. Finnick, Darrius and I are seated at a table outside of a small restaurant, lunch barely touched.

"I do," I reply, taking a slow sip of my water. I really don't, but this is our life now.

"I extort the people who extort me," he says fluidly. "That's how you win a losing battle."

I stare at Darrius for a moment, silence enveloped by the loudness of the populated street. I glance at Finnick— his eyes are bright today. I almost lose myself in the gleam. "What, you blackmail them?" Finnick speaks first.

Darrius leans back into his chair, gaze averting as his eyes follow the crowds once more. "Not really. Guilt is a very simple emotion to manipulate. They like to offer gems or clothing to assuage that feeling, but truthfully, I don't need any more of that. I found a better currency to work in."

I furrow my eyebrows, and my confusion must amuse Darrius because a subtle smile stretches across his face. "A better currency?"

"There's a lot that goes on that we don't know about," he says smoothly. Finnick and I nod in agreement. "Which you aren't surprised about." He adds quickly after, gauging my expression as I mull over his words.

"No," I say thoughtfully, looking over at Finnick. He is already focusing his gaze on me. "I am a little sad though."

Finnick shifts in his seat. "About?"

I shrug my shoulders. "I just wish it wasn't like this for us all. I wish we were normal people leading normal lives."

Finnick looks down at his lap, the mood of our quick-flowing conversation extinguisher. "I think about that sometimes— about how we should have gotten the chance to be normal. But I think part of what connects us all though is that we aren't."

I frown. "You think we're only friends because of circumstance?"

Finnick shakes his head. "No. I think we would've found each other anyways, in another life. But I think it's this... our circumstances... that plays a big role in our understanding of each other. So even though I wouldn't wish this life on anyone... it gave us a bond."

I meet Finnick's eyes easily— he's already waiting to meet mine. "You're so... okay with all of this."

Finnick exhales loudly. "I'm not, but... after a while... it's all you can do or be, really. To not go insane." I look back at Darrius, who idly swigs back a mouthful from a flask.

"So secrets, then." I say decidedly. "Got any secrets worth our time?"

He smiles, a hint of sadness hidden behind the false excitement. "You'd be surprised."