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You don’t think you are built for the sea.
Your swimming capabilities are mediocre at best, so you avoid the water when possible. The sun and you are lifelong enemies, always getting painful burns no matter how much sun cream you apply. And the permanent salty frizz in your hair is something you would gladly do without.
But he was made for the sea, Finnick Odair.
Sitting on a smooth rock, you observe him. It was starting to cool down, the sun dissenting in the sky with pale pinks and oranges making their appearance. The smooth rock you sit on radiates heat from the sun’s rays soaked up from the day. Keeping you warm despite a cool breeze’s best efforts to chill you.
He’s still swimming. He has been for the past two hours or so. Could you even call it swimming? The way he glides through the water, it's like he’s not even human. He sauntered onto the beach while it was still light out and got straight in the water, and hasn't left since.
You bristle a little at the memory, you were here first. Claiming this small alcove set off from the rest of the beach for yourself. There’s only one way to reach it, and if you don’t know what to look for it's almost impossible to find.
Your older brother used to come here with some of his buddies, they are the ones who showed it to you. They used to come here around the sun set and smoke cigarettes, very illegal and hard-to-come-by cigarettes. Difficult to come by in any district. You were never really sure where they got them from.
They were only 15, who would be giving them cigarettes? Were they stolen? You asked your brother once, where they got them from. He brushed you off playfully. Dramatically raised his hand and placed it on your head, giving it a shake. He told you not to ask, but that one day when you are older he would let you try one.
You huffed at him at the time. Saying you would never want to smoke and that he can keep his secrets to himself, angry at him for treating you like a child. Now though, you're kind of wishing you had gotten him to tell you. Just to satisfy your own curiosity. There’s no way any of his old friends would tell you now, they all split off after what happened.
An echoing boom, a sudden cry, and an ugly splat-
What happened, oh god what happened-
“Hey there Fish, you alright?”
You blink, clearing the images from your mind. Images and memories that you were trying your best to forget. That's the whole reason you came out here! To get some fresh air, some privacy, to clear your mind, and to do a little sketching of the water.
You clench the worn leather sketchbook in your hands as you focus on those in front of you. Finnick Odair is now standing about 6 feet in front of you, hair sagging in front of his face and dripping water all over the sand. You can see his eyes behind his wet locks crinkled at the corners, staring right at you with a look you can’t quite decipher.
“Um, I’m sorry… what?” you ask bewildered.
“I asked if you were alright? You’ve been staring at your notebook for the past 15 minutes like a fish out of water.”
“Oh,” You hadn’t realized you’d been spaced out that long. The memory started pretty innocent but started to spiral after a while. You take a deep breath, trying to rid yourself of the familiar sick feeling that's been haunting you as of late. “I’m alright… just trying to think of uh, what else to draw." You lie.
Finnick blinks at you, and swivels around to look at the horizon, hands on his hips as he playfully squints his eyes. “Well I’m not sure how much longer you're gonna have any light to draw with, the suns gonna set in about 15 minutes.” He’s right. The sun is much lower in the sky, and everything's starting to get dimmer.
“Hm, I guess that works out for me then.” you shrug looking down at your sketchbook with a small smile, “I can’t think of what else to draw, and you can only sketch seagulls so many times before you get sick of them.” You feel a bit odd after saying so much.
When was the last time you spoke a full sentence to someone other than your mother?
Finnick's smile broadens, “I bet… you definitely need a more interesting subject to make full use of your artistic abilities.”
You chuckle “To what artistic abilities are you referring to? Because I hate to inform you, but most of what's in this book is chicken scratch.” You blurt out, embarrassed of your art.
“We both know that's not true. I’ve seen your stuff in class, the things you sketch, they’re amazing!” I guess this shouldn’t come as such a shock. You're both in the same class and you have had some of your projects hung in the classroom, but the idea that he had noticed your art makes you flush.
“I was particularly fond of that one picture you did of Mr. Bask as an angry tortoise.” His eyes have taken on a mischievous quality.
“What? How do you know about that?” You had hoped no one had seen that one, a brief angry doodle after Mr. Bask had gotten on a kid's case about being too slow putting away his things.
“I was lucky enough to pass you by before you threw it away. I gotta say, the symbolism of that piece is really quite poetic, bravo really.” He says, clapping his hands together.
“That's embarrassing…” You say turning, your hands begin gathering up your few things.
“Ah- you know a tortoise stole my hat once?”
You freeze, and look back up at him. Finnick's wide eyes are glued to where your hands are picking up your things before he tears his eyes away to meet your gaze.
“Really..?” You can’t really imagine how a tortoise would be able to do that, but the mental picture of Finnick chasing and hollering after one makes you want to laugh.
“Really… and I can tell you that story while you draw me.”
Your brain halts, seemingly unable to follow the direction this conversation is going.
“You want me to draw you?”
Finnick nods his head enthusiastically, stepping away and begins to strike a few ridiculous poses in rapid succession.
“Of course, I’m sure I make a far better model than some seagulls.” he flashes a grin.
You can’t help the playful scoff that escapes you.
“Not by much.” You tease tilting your head to the side, taking your time to theatrically size him up. Usually when people ask you to draw them it bugs you, but he seems so earnest and excited. And you’d be lying if you said you never glanced his way in class, wishing for an opportunity to sketch his handsome face. “But if you insist… I mean, I guess I don’t mind.”
You're not sure how it's physically possible but Finnick's smile stretches even further, and it's pretty blinding. It’s almost so bright as to make up for the quickly diminishing light.
“Okay but if I’m going to do this, it's gotta be quick. You're the one who said that the sun was about to set.”
“Right, right… of course.” He suddenly gets more serious, as if he actually doesn’t want to squander this opportunity.
“This won’t be anything fancy, so don’t get your hopes up.” you mutter, trying to set expectations low so he won’t be disappointed with the end result.
“I promise, anything you make is incredible.” Finnick says with a gentle smile, his sea-foam green eyes gazing at you intently. He’s now settled on a pose. One hand combing through his hair with the other relaxed at his side. Most people when they pose are a bit stiff and awkward at first. But of course Finnick is a natural, you're not surprised.
You're so focused on analyzing his proportions that his last comment flies right over your head.
You’re about 10 minutes in, the general outline of your drawing is done along with a few beginning details when you stop. Finnick’s really only just begun his tortoise-hat-thief tale, yet he’s been making you laugh your head off these past 10 minutes with the dramatic set-up alone. The two of you have been studying each other intently. You, to capture him in your drawing. Him, to memorize your every reaction to his story.
But you fail to notice that.
By now, you can’t keep drawing though. You want to, badly, but the lighting now is so bad that anything you draw would be completely incomprehensible. You don’t want to tell him that. You don’t want this odd encounter to end. You’re sure this was just a one-time-deal. Some sort of spur of the moment thing for him, that in the end will mean a lot more to you than it does to him.
But you really wish that wasn’t the case…
Reluctantly you interrupt Finnick’s story.
“Hey Finnick, I wish I could keep this up, but I can barely see my fingers… let alone my drawing.” You say with a sad smile. “You can keep what I’ve done so far, but it isn’t finished.” You stare intently at the pages of your sketchbook, not looking him in the eye.
“Well, you can just finish it next time.” He responds simply.
A moment passes, when you open your mouth to say something. You’re not really sure what you're about to say when Finnick keeps going.
“-I mean, you don’t have to, but if you want we can meet up here again. I’ll finish the story, and you finish the drawing. I’ll even bring you something as payment for your work.” He says, wagging his eyebrows up and down.
You stare at him for a minute, trying to sense if he was being serious, that this wasn’t theoretical or a joke. But all you find in his expression is hope, and maybe a touch of nerves.
“Sure, I’d like that.” you are full on grinning at this point. You are aware that maybe you should be trying to hide your eagerness, but you don’t care. “When should we meet up again?”
You expect him to say next week, today's the last day of the weekend before we have to go back to school. So when he immediately replies tomorrow, your worries about looking like the eager one disappear.
“That is, if you don’t have anything else going on. I’ve noticed you often help your mom in her classroom after school, but do you think if you asked she would let you come out here?”
“...Yeah, I don’t think she would mind.” It's common knowledge that your mom is a teacher at the local school, but he said he noticed you.
You need to get a grip.
“Tomorrow after school it is then.” He lifts his arms over his head, stretching from the static position he had been stuck in.
You too, stretch as you stand up from the rock you had been sitting on, now gone cold. Your head is buzzing slightly, with shock and with happiness as you absentmindedly grab your things. Once everything’s gathered you turn to the opening of the overgrown trail back home and find Finnick waiting for you there.
You briskly walk over to him, not wanting to make him wait any longer. You wonder if you should try and start a conversation, but you can’t think of anything to say. Just when you are starting to get uncomfortable Finnick, as usual, thinks of something witty to say. He has the remarkable ability to get you talking, and before you realize it you're sharing a story of your own with him about a watercolor-drinking water mishap. He’s laughing hard and shaking his head by the time you reach the end of the trail.
Neither of you live terribly far from the other, but you are in different directions. So this is where you say goodbye.
You both hesitate for a moment.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” You say with a gentle smile.
“Yeah, looking forward to it.” He grins at you, turns around and begins bounding off in his direction. You begin doing the same, when you hear him call your name.
You turn back to find him already looking at you, his smile has turned into a smirk. With both hands over his mouth he hollers:
“Don’t forget to bring your swimsuit tomorrow!” Then he promptly spins right back around and hurries off. Leaving you standing there, shocked.
You may not be built for the sea. But maybe, you can make an exception this one time…