Chapter Text
The cafeteria in District Thirteen looked less like a place to eat and more like a holding cell for restless people with too much history and not enough patience. Everything was gray—the tables, the walls, the trays, even the food—as if color had been outlawed along with joy. The fluorescent lights hummed a steady, mechanical drone overhead, casting a harsh, sterile glow that made the space feel endless, oppressive, and entirely timeless. There was no morning or evening here, only the monotony of concrete and steel and the occasional clatter of a tray sliding against the table.
Katniss, Red, Finnick, and Johanna huddled in a corner, like a pack of caged wolves in a zoo that didn’t even pretend to be scenic. Their uniforms were crisp and gray, unyielding against the curves and lines of their bodies, and every weapon, every piece of lethal training equipment, had been confiscated for the day. Beetee had called it a “mandatory rest day.” To these four, it felt like a cruel joke, a punishment designed to make their muscles twitch and their minds simmer with frustration.
Red jabbed at the gray slop on her tray with her spoon, stabbing at it as if she could bore a hole straight through it to freedom. “No weapons, no training, no ‘distractions,’” she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with a blend of irritation and theatrical despair. “What exactly are we supposed to do? Contemplate the meaning of gray? Write poetry about concrete?” She let out a long, slow exhale, rolling her shoulders with exaggerated exhaustion.
Johanna groaned theatrically and flopped forward, her forehead thunking onto the table in a sound that could have registered on the bunker’s seismograph. “I swear,” she mumbled, muffled against the cold metal surface, “if I have to look at one more gray wall, I’m going to start chewing on the concrete. Just for a change in texture.” She rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck somewhere in her skull.
Finnick, attempting some semblance of composure, spun a coin lazily between his fingers, watching it catch the fluorescent light in tiny flashes of silver. “You already tried that,” he said mildly, leaning back in his chair with a smug half-smile. “You chipped a tooth. I think you’ve been banned from architectural dentistry.”
Johanna’s ears twitched under the gray hood of her uniform. She lifted her head, glaring at him with a mixture of fury and delight. “Oh, I remember! That was fun! You’re just jealous because you couldn’t get in on the chewing action without losing a nail or two.” She wiggled her hands like talons, gnashing her teeth for effect. “And admit it, Briar—” she jabbed a finger toward Red, who recoiled slightly, “—you miss the thrill of it too!”
Red’s fingers drummed against the table, her expression a carefully controlled mix of annoyance and indulgence. “Miss it? Absolutely not,” she said primly, though the faint twitch of a smile betrayed her. “I’m far too civilized to gnaw on anything that might be connected to my digestive system. Unlike some people I could name.”
Finnick laughed softly, tossing the coin into the air and catching it behind his back. “Some people? Who, now? That’s a pretty broad accusation, Red. Be careful—you’re practically daring her to chew on you next.” His eyes flicked toward Johanna, who let out a loud, unrestrained cackle at the idea.
Johanna’s laugh echoed in the cavernous gray room, ricocheting off the walls in little bursts of chaotic energy. “Oh! That would be the day,” she said, leaning forward, resting her chin on her fists, and grinning like a predator. “Red Briar, sinking her teeth into me? Please. I’d have to hold her down with my own arms first, and trust me—I have experience in wrestling things far heavier and uglier than you, sailor-boy!”
Finnick grinned, leaning toward her with a mock bow. “Well, if I ever need a referee in your inevitable gnawing match, I volunteer as tribute. Again.”
Katniss, who had been silently watching the chaos, pinching the bridge of her nose, shook her head slowly. She didn’t bother to speak, because these three were a force of nature and the cafeteria—gray, sterile, endlessly oppressive—was merely their stage. She could only imagine what the ventilation ducts might have thought about the noise, or if the low hum of the lights had grown resentful at being interrupted by such human chaos.
Johanna suddenly pointed dramatically at the ceiling. “And why is it,” she demanded, raising her voice just enough to draw curious stares from the other soldiers and cafeteria workers, “that we are trapped down here with no sunshine, no air, no distractions, and no weapons? Am I being punished for surviving? For existing?” She leaned forward so far that Red had to catch her shoulder to prevent her from sliding onto the floor.
Red groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Because Beetee has apparently decided that our brains need a break. From training. From life. From functioning as people. And somehow, gnawing concrete is not a recognized form of therapy.”
Johanna’s eyes sparkled with unholy delight. “Oh, fantastic. So we’re all just gray lumps in the dark, forbidden from exercising our muscles or our cleverness. I can see it now—months of careful planning, honing our instincts, poof! Gone. All thanks to Beetee and his eternal wisdom.”
Finnick leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the metal surface. “If it makes you feel better, Johanna, I think they took the weapons specifically to watch you spiral.” He smirked, though his eyes softened as they flicked toward Red, who looked equally disgruntled but far more composed. “It’s probably some kind of psychological experiment. The boredom is the bait; the chaos is the reward.”
Johanna’s gaze sharpened on him. “Finnick Odair, you’re practically a counselor disguised as a sailor. Have you always been this reasonable, or is it the gray walls getting to you too?” She leaned closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I mean, come on. No weapons. That is cruel. Absolutely, horrifyingly cruel. I might start a petition. Or a coup. Or both. And I’ll start with… hmm…” Her eyes darted to Red and Finnick in quick succession, resting finally on Finnick with a mischievous glint. “Oh yes, definitely him first. He’s too shiny anyway.”
Finnick let out a mock groan, resting his head on one hand. “I am too shiny? I’m literally gray from head to toe like everyone else. You’re just mad because my hair is still charming.”
Red covered her mouth with a hand to suppress a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re both insufferable,” she said softly, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. “The cafeteria doesn’t even need to provide entertainment when you exist.”
Johanna grinned, leaning back in her chair with a flourish of arms, pretending to be regal and disdainful. “Entertainment? Ha! I am the entertainment, my dear Briar. And the rest of you are merely supporting acts, unfortunate extras in my grand production of misery and boredom.”
Finnick leaned closer to Red, dropping his voice to a low murmur only she could hear. “I think she’s enjoying this too much,” he said, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Red elbowed him softly, shooting him a look that said stop agreeing with her.
Red murmured under her breath, though Johanna leaned closer, ears twitching like she could sense a secret. “Stop encouraging her.”
Across from them, Johanna was slouched so low she was practically melting off the bench, chin tilted toward the ceiling in theatrical despair. Her buzzcut had grown into wild, uneven tufts that made her look perpetually feral — like she’d just escaped something (which, technically, she had). She poked at her gray paste with the blunt end of her spoon, jabbing little dents into it with all the violence of a toddler denied dessert. Katniss sat beside her, elbows on the table, face resting in one hand as she stared listlessly at her tray. Her braid drooped forward like even it was tired of the day. Red sat across from them, chin in her palm, idly tapping her spoon against her plate. Finnick, beside her, was leaning back in his chair so far it creaked dangerously, arms folded over his chest and expression pure martyrdom.
It was the kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful — just heavy, dull, the sound of four people trying very hard not to go insane.
Finally, Johanna let out a loud groan that turned several heads. “Remind me,” she said, dragging her words like it physically pained her to speak, “why we’re not allowed to train today?”
“Because Beetee said so,” Finnick answered automatically, not looking up from his tray.
Johanna scoffed so dramatically it echoed. “Oh, right. Beetee said so. Guess that settles it.” She dropped her spoon, which clattered loudly on the table, and crossed her arms like a sulking child. “We’re prisoners. Fancy, gray-clad, underfed prisoners.” Red kicked her lightly under the table, though she didn’t look much more composed herself. “He’s right, Jo. You’d pass out if you took another hit to the ribs.” Johanna sat up straighter — immediately regretting it when her side protested. “I’m fine,” she insisted, voice a little too high-pitched to be convincing.
Finnick’s lips quirked into a grin. “Yeah, you look fine. Very ‘post-torture bunker chic.’ It’s all the rage.”
Johanna gave him a death glare that could’ve melted steel. “Says the man who spends half his day trying to flirt with his reflection in the metal trays.” Red snorted, trying and failing to hide her grin. Finnick looked wounded. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I’m on the side of whoever’s funniest,” Red deadpanned. Katniss finally blinked out of her fog, her voice flat. “You’re all children.”
“Children with deadly weapons,” Johanna said — then paused, frowned, and added bitterly, “Well. Formerly.” That earned a chorus of groans. “I miss my trident,” Finnick said, pouting just slightly, running a hand through his hair. “Do you have any idea how pathetic I feel without it? It’s like losing a limb.”
“You have limbs,” Johanna muttered. “You’ll live.”
Red sighed, resting her chin on her hand. “I miss my knives.” “Ha!” Johanna slapped the table. “See? I’m not the only one suffering.” Katniss gave a small shrug. “I miss my bow.” Finnick raised an eyebrow. “You?” Katniss nodded. “It’s quiet without it.” Johanna made a noise halfway between a groan and a laugh. “We sound like addicts.” Red raised her hand slightly. “We kind of are. They took away our coping mechanisms.” Johanna drummed her fingers on the table, restless energy radiating off her in waves. “They could at least give me an axe to look at. I wouldn’t even swing it.”
“Lies,” Finnick said. “You’d behead the first person who told you to calm down.”
“I am calm!”
“Sure you are,” Red said dryly, hiding a smirk behind her hand.
Johanna threw herself back dramatically, chair screeching against the floor. “This is cruel and unusual punishment. I’d rather go back to training. Or fighting. Or anything. At least blood has color.”
“Gray’s a color,” Finnick said unhelpfully, and Red smacked his arm. “It’s not even a good gray,” Johanna complained, glaring at the ceiling. “It’s the kind of gray that smells like hospital walls and despair.” Katniss blinked, slow and unimpressed. “You’re very poetic when you’re miserable.”
“Yeah, well,” Johanna said, slumping forward again, “misery’s all they feed us.” Finnick grinned faintly. “I think that’s literally true. Whatever this is”—he poked his spoon at his tray—“it’s just sadness in solid form.” Red leaned over and whispered, “I heard it’s made from the same stuff as the walls.” Katniss froze mid-bite. “You’re lying.”
Red grinned. “Maybe.”
Finnick leaned toward Johanna. “Bet you five ration credits you can’t make it stick to the ceiling.” Johanna perked up, grin wicked. “Oh, it’s on.” Before Katniss could stop her, Johanna scooped a glob of gray mush onto her spoon, took careful aim, and flicked. It splattered against the ceiling with a damp, revolting smack. Finnick burst out laughing, trying to muffle it behind his hand. Red lost it completely, face buried in her sleeve, shoulders shaking. Katniss just sighed — deeply, long-sufferingly — but the corners of her mouth twitched.
Johanna stared up proudly at her masterpiece. “Art,” she said. “Real art.”
A passing orderly stopped and glared up at the ceiling. “Who did that?”
Johanna didn’t even blink. “The ceiling did it to itself.” Red coughed to cover her laughter, and Finnick pretended to examine his nails. Katniss just put her head down on the table like she couldn’t believe she was associated with them. Johanna grinned at her. “Admit it. You’re having fun.” Katniss peeked up, one eye narrowed. “Define fun.” “Exactly this,” Johanna said, slapping the table once. “Chaos in the cafeteria.” Finnick tilted his chair back again, balancing it dangerously. “Beetee’s going to kill us when he hears.”
“Beetee’s not scary,” Johanna said.
Red smirked. “You say that now, but he’s the one with access to your medical files.” Johanna blinked. “He wouldn’t.”
“Would,” Finnick and Red said in unison. For a moment, all four of them just stared at each other — Finnick grinning, Red biting back a laugh, Katniss fighting not to smile, Johanna glaring suspiciously at everyone. Then Johanna slumped again, groaning into her folded arms. “This sucks.”
“Yup,” Finnick said cheerfully. “And we still have six more hours of it before lights out.”
Johanna lifted her head, eyes narrowing. “Nope. Absolutely not. We’re doing something. Anything.”
Katniss, sitting across from them, gave a quiet snort of laughter and poked at her food. “It’s not that bad.” Three pairs of eyes swung toward her like she’d just said she enjoyed being reaped. “Not that bad?” Johanna repeated. “Dude, this place is a mausoleum with better lighting.” Red flicked her spoon, launching a tiny blob of gray mush onto the table. “And no one’s allowed to carry weapons. Do you know how humiliating it is for a trained killer to be reduced to eating paste with a spoon? I feel like I’m in preschool.”
“Preschool for emotionally unstable murderers,” Finnick added. “We’d be the best class, though.”
Red elbowed him lightly. “You only think that because you’d charm all the teachers.”
“Obviously.”
Johanna made a retching noise. “Ugh, stop flirting. I’m bored enough to die already, don’t make it worse.”
“You could take a nap,” Katniss offered. “I could also swallow this spoon and end it faster,” Johanna shot back. Red hid her laugh behind her hand.
Every table around them was filled with gray uniforms and monotone conversations, people chewing in silence under the watchful eyes of District Thirteen's orderlies. No one smiled here. No one raised their voice. And for four people who’d once lived by adrenaline and rebellion, the enforced quiet was worse than combat. Finnick leaned his chin in his hand, voice droll. “You know what would fix this? A window.” Red arched a brow. “Finnick, we’re underground.”
“Fine,” he said. “A fake one, then. We’ll paint it.”
“Paint it with what?” Johanna asked. “Our crushed dreams? Because that’s the only color they allow down here.”
Katniss actually laughed — a quick, startled sound that made Johanna grin triumphantly. “See? Even Little Miss Symbol of the Revolution’s cracking. I give it two more days before she starts climbing the walls.” “I’m not climbing anything,” Katniss said, but her tone had betrayed that she was thinking of it. “You’re already halfway there,” Red said. “You keep staring at the ceiling vents like they’re sky.” Finnick chuckled, tossing his coin and catching it. “She’s not wrong. At least the vents don’t yell at you for existing.”
Red groaned and slumped against the table dramatically. “I miss my knives.”
“You miss your knives,” Johanna said, “I miss my axe. They’ve got it locked in some supply room like I’m going to murder someone.”
Finnick raised an eyebrow. “To be fair—”
“Don’t,” Johanna warned, stabbing her spoon in his direction.
He smirked. “—they’re not wrong.”
Red kicked him lightly under the table, though her mouth twitched with a smile. “You’re going to get yourself stabbed with cafeteria cutlery.” Johanna gave the spoon a threatening little flourish. “Don’t test me, Sailor Boy. I can make this thing lethal.” Finnick leaned closer, eyes glinting. “I’ve seen you trip over a chair.” Johanna threw the spoon at him. It bounced off his tray with a dull clank and landed in Katniss’s gray mush. Katniss sighed.
“I can’t take any of you anywhere,” she muttered.
“As if you’d want to go anywhere with us,” Red said, laughing quietly. “They’d probably confiscate your bow again.”
Katniss’s expression darkened slightly. “They already did.”
That earned a collective groan from all three of them. “This place is evil,” Johanna declared. “Pure evil, God is it bad I miss the arena-”
“Strictly speaking,” Finnick said, feigning thoughtfulness, “it’s more bureaucratic than evil. Very organized suffering.”
Red snorted. “What does that even mean?”
“It means,” Finnick replied, leaning back with exaggerated poise, “I’m dying of boredom, but in a disciplined and efficient manner.” Johanna dropped her head back and laughed so loudly that a passing orderly gave her a disapproving look. She flipped him off without missing a beat. Red covered her mouth, trying not to laugh, and Katniss muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “unbelievable.”
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time — it was almost warm, like the echo of shared rebellion.
Red was sprawled across the bench, elbows on the table, chin in her hands. Her daggers had been confiscated for “lunch hour safety reasons,” which only made her glare more venomous at anyone who passed by. Finnick sat beside her, his long fingers absently rolling a coin between them — one of the few bits of contraband he’d kept hidden in the seams of his uniform. Across from them, Johanna was slouched so low she was almost sliding under the table. Her buzzcut had grown out into uneven tufts, and she was stabbing a spoon into the gray mush like she was daring it to fight back. Katniss sat next to her, picking at her food in silence, braid hanging over one shoulder like a flag at half-mast.
It was the kind of silence that pressed heavy on your chest — not quite hostile, not quite peaceful, just… stagnant.
“Remind me why we’re not allowed to train?” Johanna finally muttered, her voice low and raspy.
“Because Beetee said so,” Finnick replied without looking up.
Johanna rolled her eyes. “Oh, Beetee said so. Guess that’s that, huh?” The four of them dissolved into small, tired laughter — the kind that came from deep exhaustion, but still felt like defiance. Moments like these were rare. Moments where the war, the Capitol, the rebellion — all of it — receded just far enough to let them remember what it was like to be human. Finnick leaned closer to Red, lowering his voice. “You know, I think Beetee’s trying to kill us by boredom instead of combat.”
“I might prefer mutts,” Johanna muttered. “At least they move.” Katniss hummed under her breath, resting her chin on her hand. “You’d think we’d be good at waiting, after all the arenas.”
“Yeah,” Johanna said. “But at least in the arenas, you could do something. Here? We’re just… furniture with trauma.” That earned a laugh from Finnick so sudden he had to press his knuckles against his mouth. Even Katniss cracked a small grin, shaking her head. “You’re impossible,” Red said, nudging Johanna with her knee. “That’s my charm,” Johanna said, flashing a wicked grin. Red rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. She’d been trying to coax moments like this out of Johanna ever since the rescue. The laughter didn’t erase the tremors that sometimes took Johanna’s hands or the way she startled at loud noises, but it was something. It meant she was still there.
Finnick leaned back on the bench, stretching his legs out under the table. “You know,” he said lazily, “if Beetee really wanted us to rest, he could at least provide better scenery. A window, maybe. Something not gray.” Red tilted her head toward him. “You want a window underground?”
“Sure,” he said, smiling faintly. “We’ll paint one like I said, sweetheart.” Johanna perked up at that. “I’ll draw a beach,” she said. “Just so I can watch you two cry about how much you miss the ocean.” Red threw a crumb at her. Johanna caught it, popped it into her mouth, and grinned like she’d won a battle. “Gods, you two,” Katniss said, rubbing her temple. “You sound like an old married couple.” There was a brief pause — one of those odd, heavy silences that fell when someone said something too close to the truth.
Finnick glanced sideways at Red. She was staring down at the table now, fingers tracing invisible lines in the steel. The tips of her ears flushed pink.
Johanna noticed instantly. Her grin sharpened like a blade.
“Ohhh,” she said, leaning forward. “Don’t tell me I struck a nerve.”
“Shut up,” Red muttered.
Finnick smirked. “Please don’t encourage her.”
Johanna’s grin widened. “Encourage? Briar, I thrive on this.”
“Thriving,” Red echoed dryly. “That’s what you call this?”
“Yep,” Johanna said, throwing her arms wide. “See me thriving in all this romantic tension?” Katniss groaned, resting her forehead on the table. “Someone save me.” Johanna ignored her, turning back to Red and Finnick with the kind of mischievous light in her eyes that usually meant someone was about to regret something. She drummed her fingers against the table thoughtfully, the corners of her mouth curling up. “You know,” she said slowly, “if Beetee wants us to take a break from everything…” Red gave her a wary look. “Johanna—”
“…maybe we should do something fun.”
“Define ‘fun,’” Finnick said.
Johanna leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Something this place has never seen. Something to remind these gray-faced people we’re still alive.” Katniss lifted her head. “You mean something that’ll get us in trouble.” “Exactly,” Johanna said cheerfully. Red sighed. “You’re terrifying when you sound inspired.”
“Good,” Johanna said, her grin turning feral. “Because I just had the best idea.” Finnick looked amused. “Should we be worried?”
“Probably,” Katniss muttered.
The spoon hit the tray again. Clink. Clink. Clink.
Johanna looked positively delighted with herself — the kind of grin that usually meant someone was about to get arrested, or kissed, or both. Finnick groaned. “Oh no,” he said immediately, dragging a hand over his face. “No, no, no. I know that look. That’s the ‘I’m about to make something explode for entertainment’ look.” Johanna ignored him completely, leaning across the table toward Red, who blinked at her like she was trying to translate another language. “You’ve got the hair,” Johanna said, motioning to the streak of red threading through her braid. “You’ve got the tragic romance thing going on. You even have the Capitol’s favorite merman hanging off your arm. It’s perfect.”
“Excuse me?” Red said, fighting the twitch of a smile. “What exactly are you implying?”
“I’m implying,” Johanna said, gesturing broadly with her spoon, “that since we’re stuck underground, dressed like sad concrete blocks, deprived of weapons and adrenaline, we might as well have some fun before we lose our minds.” Katniss stared at her. “Your definition of fun involves… fake marriage?”
“Ms. Revolution,” Johanna said, deadpan, “my definition of fun used to involve axes and tree sap explosions. They took those away.” She jabbed a thumb toward the nearest guard post, where an orderly Thirteen worker was watching them like one might watch a pack of wolves behind thin glass. “Now I’ve got this.” She wiggled the spoon between her fingers. “So yeah. A mock wedding.”
Finnick leaned back, smirking. “And who, exactly, is getting married?”
Johanna rolled her eyes like it was the dumbest question she’d ever heard. “Obviously you two,” she said, pointing her spoon between Finnick and Red. “District Four’s heartthrob and District Seven’s resident lunatic. It’s the only way I’ll survive this godforsaken bunker.” Finnick looked up, deadpan. “We’re already dating, Johanna. You can’t mock marry people who are actually together.” Johanna smirked. “Sure I can. I’m upgrading you. From nauseating couple to legally binding headache.”
Red snorted into her cup. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Thank you,” Johanna said sweetly. “Now shut up and let me plan your fake vows.”
Katniss leaned her chin into her hand, amusement flickering behind her eyes. “She’s serious. You should probably just give in now.” Johanna swung her legs over the bench like a restless child. “Exactly. You two are already unbearable—training together, sharing food, making the rest of us single losers look like tragic war orphans—and now that I’m bored, you’re my entertainment.”
Finnick smirked. “You could just say you’re lonely, Johanna.”
“Oh, bite me,” Johanna shot back. “I’d rather choke on Thirteen’s mystery meat.”
Red laughed, eyes bright despite the gray lighting. “You’re really doing this?”
“Obviously,” Johanna said, standing dramatically on the bench and gesturing with her spoon like a conductor. “You’re already halfway there. You bicker like you’ve been married for twenty years and you do that gross couple thing.” Finnick raised an eyebrow. “The gross couple thing?”
“Yeah,” Johanna said, “that thing where you look at her like she’s the last piece of real chocolate in Panem, and she looks back like she’s deciding whether to kiss you or kill you.”
Finnick chuckled low in his throat. “That’s… accurate.”
Red elbowed him. “Don’t agree with her.”
“I only agree when she’s right,” Finnick said innocently, and Johanna made a fake gagging sound. Katniss snorted into her mug. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but please, Johanna, continue. This is the most fun I’ve had all week.”
“Thank you, Everdeen,” Johanna said with mock formality. “Finally, someone appreciates art when they see it.” Katniss made a strangled sound between a laugh and a groan. “God, I missed you.”
“See?” Johanna said, spreading her hands. “Proof I’m good for morale.”
Red, cheeks flushed, crossed her arms. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re boring,” Johanna shot back. “Pick your poison.”
The air in the cafeteria seemed lighter suddenly — the low hum of machines and the distant echo of marching feet blending with their laughter. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, it didn’t feel like they were underground. It didn’t feel like war. It felt like… before. Johanna hopped up onto the table, ignoring the horrified gasp from a nearby orderly. “All right,” she said, hands on her hips. “Let’s get this over with before one of the supervisors reports us for having emotions.”
Red tried to hide her grin. “You’re serious.”
“I’m always serious,” Johanna said with a wink. “Especially when I’m not.” Finnick tilted his head, studying her. “You planning to officiate?”
“Damn right,” Johanna said. “Who else here knows how to give a speech without sounding like a propaganda video?”
Katniss raised an eyebrow. “You.”
Johanna smirked. “Exactly.”
Finnick leaned closer to Red, murmuring just loud enough for her to hear, “We could make a run for it.” Red’s lips twitched. “Where? To the next hallway? We’re thirty feet underground, golden-boy.”
“Still better odds than saying ‘I do’ in front of her.”
Johanna pointed her spoon like a dagger. “I heard that! And yes, there will be vows.”
“Vows?” Red said. “You’re making up vows?”
“Obviously.” Johanna jumped down from the table and began pacing in front of them like a commander before battle. “Finnick Odair, you’ll promise to stop leaving wet towels on the bathroom floor.”
“I—what?!” Finnick sputtered. “That was one time!”
“Lies,” Red muttered under her breath, smirking. Johanna spun on her heel, grinning. “And Red Briar, you’ll promise to stop pretending you don’t secretly love it when people make you the center of attention.” Red’s jaw dropped. “I— excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Johanna said, hands on her hips. “You love it. You’re a menace. Own it.”
Katniss nearly snorted coffee through her nose. “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”
Johanna turned to her. “You’re next, Everdeen.”
Katniss froze. “Next for what?” Johanna’s grin was pure evil. “Maid of honor.” Finnick’s laugh echoed across the cafeteria, warm and unrestrained. It was the kind of laugh that made Red’s heart skip — the one that sounded like sunlight over waves, impossible and real at the same time. “Fine,” Red said, giving in, throwing up her hands in mock surrender. “Fine! Let’s do your stupid wedding.”
Johanna cheered, loud enough that half the cafeteria looked over. “You heard the bride!”
“I am not the—!” Red started, but Johanna was already dragging a chair to the middle of the room like it was an altar.
“Odair, front and center,” she ordered.
Finnick sighed dramatically, standing up and adjusting the gray uniform that hung on him like a sad shadow of his Capitol suits. “Do I at least get a bouquet?” Johanna snapped her fingers, and Katniss — smirking now — plucked a few wilted cafeteria herbs from a condiment jar and tossed them his way. “Knock yourself out.” Finnick caught them with exaggerated grace, holding the limp sprigs like they were roses. “I’ve had worse weddings,” he quipped, stepping beside Red.
Red stared at him, trying not to laugh. “You’ve had weddings?”
“Capitol parties count,” he said. “They just forgot to tell the bride.”
Johanna rolled her eyes. “Tragic. Okay, lovebirds, face each other. Look longingly. Pretend you’re not both planning to murder me when this is over.” Johanna rolled her eyes like the very act of witnessing their affection physically pained her. “Tragic,” she declared, plunking her tray down and kicking one boot up onto the bench. Finnick, lounging back against the bench, didn’t even hesitate. “Pretend?” he asked, voice dry and teasing. “I’m very serious about the murder part.”
“Good,” Red said sweetly, tilting her head toward him, eyes glinting. “I’ll help you hide the body.”
Johanna slapped the table. “Beautiful. Romance isn’t dead—it’s just buried under a mile of concrete.”
Katniss, sitting across from them with her gray jumpsuit sleeves rolled up, didn’t even look up from her mug. “You’re all going to get us put in solitary,” she muttered, though her voice held the ghost of a laugh.
“Worth it,” Johanna said immediately. “I refuse to let this bunker be the death of my spirit.” She pushed back from the table, standing on the bench with theatrical authority, a plastic cup in one hand like a microphone. “All right, it’s decided. We’re doing this properly.”
“Oh god,” Finnick said, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is happening.”
“Yes,” Johanna said, flipping her shaved head proudly, “and you better act grateful. We are gathered here today—” she gestured grandly toward the cracked ceiling tiles, “—in the glorious cafeteria of District Thirteen. May its rations be bland, its schedules suffocating, and its supervisors perpetually constipated.”
A choked laugh escaped Red before she could stop it. “Johanna—”
“Quiet, bride,” Johanna said, holding up her hand like an officiant commanding silence. “You’ll have your vows soon enough.” Finnick pressed a hand to his chest, feigning solemnity. “I think I might cry.”
“You will cry,” Johanna shot back, “because I’ll make it that moving.”
Katniss rolled her eyes, trying to suppress a grin. She looked absurdly young like this—hair still in its braid, no bow or weapon in sight, just another bored soldier forced to share space with people too dramatic for their own good.
Johanna cleared her throat theatrically. “We come together, surrounded by our beloved friends—” she gestured vaguely at Katniss, who raised her eyebrows like don’t include me in this insanity— “to witness the sacred union of Finnick Odair, former Capitol darling, fish-bait extraordinaire, and Red Briar, District Seven’s feral menace and one of the only reasons I haven’t strangled myself in this hellhole.” Finnick was grinning openly now, his elbow resting on the table, chin in hand as he watched her. “Go on,” he said encouragingly. “You’re doing great.”
“Shut up,” Johanna hissed, waving her cup at him like a weapon. “You’ll ruin my rhythm.”
Red had her hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter. Her cheeks hurt from smiling. It was stupid—so stupid—but it was the first time the cafeteria felt alive. The first time in months that the air didn’t taste like recycled dust and fear.
“Do you, Finnick Odair,” Johanna intoned, pacing like a priestess, “promise to put up with this lunatic forever? To endure her knife collection, her constant humming, and the way she steals your socks?” Red gasped, feigning offense. “I do not—”
“You absolutely do,” Finnick said immediately, grinning, eyes flicking toward her with that familiar warmth that made the room feel less like a bunker. “And yes. I do.”
Johanna snapped her fingers. “Good boy.” She turned to Red, narrowing her eyes. “And do you, Red Briar, promise to tolerate his dramatic hair flips, his tragic love poetry, and his unhealthy attachment to rope?”
Finnick choked. “Excuse me?”
“Rope,” Johanna said firmly. “You’ve got a sailor kink and everyone knows it.”
“Johanna!” Red hissed, face flushed crimson as Katniss nearly spit out her drink.
“Oh, don’t even start,” Johanna said, waving her off. “You two make everyone here feel like extras in a Capitol romance broadcast.”
The whole table burst out laughing. Katniss actually doubled over, hiding her smile behind her hands. Even a couple of med techs at the far table were chuckling, though they quickly tried to look busy when Johanna glanced their way. Red, still breathless from laughter, leaned toward Finnick. “We are never telling anyone about this.”
“Agreed,” he said solemnly. “It stays between us… and the thirty witnesses.”
Johanna flopped back into her seat, looking pleased with herself. “You’re welcome, by the way. I just improved morale by at least fifty percent.”
Katniss groaned, though she was still smiling. “If Beetee asks what we did with our break, I’m blaming you.”
“Good,” Johanna said, stealing Katniss’s cup. “Tell him it was therapy.” The laughter faded gradually into that rare, fragile silence that meant safety — a small, fleeting moment where none of them were soldiers or victors or broken pieces of propaganda. They were just four people sitting in a concrete cafeteria, pretending that love and laughter could still exist down here, in the dark.
Finnick brushed his fingers over Red’s hand under the table, hidden from the rest. She didn’t look at him, didn’t need to. The warmth was enough.
Johanna, slumped back in her chair, watched them with an expression that was almost fond — though she’d never admit it. “You two are disgusting,” she muttered.
Red smiled faintly. “Love you too, Johanna.”
“Gross,” Johanna said automatically, tossing a spoon at her.
Finnick caught it midair, grinning. “She means it.”
Johanna rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “Yeah, yeah,” she said softly, voice roughened by the ghosts of everything they’d survived. “Don’t make me say it back.”