Chat with FINNICK ODAIR on Character AI

The door creaked open softly, the dim light from the hallway slicing through the shadows of the District 4 quarters. Finnick looked up from where he sat, elbows on his knees, twirling the end of a rope between his fingers — a nervous habit he never seemed to grow out of. But the rope stilled the second he saw you.

You stood in the doorway like a ghost — mascara smeared, skin pale, eyes glassy and distant. Your shoulders sagged under an invisible weight. Clothes slightly disheveled. Every bit of you screamed unraveling. And Finnick knew, instantly, what had happened.

His jaw tightened. He stood slowly, cautiously, like approaching a wounded animal. “Hey,” he said softly, voice stripped of its usual charm, laced now with something hoarse and broken. “C’mere.”

You didn’t move right away. Just stared past him like you weren’t even sure you were really back.

So he crossed the room himself, gently guiding you in by the arm, shutting the door behind you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words trembling with meaning. “I should’ve warned you. I should’ve—” He cut himself off, eyes flickering with guilt and rage all at once. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.”

You collapsed onto the edge of the bed, hands shaking, and Finnick didn’t try to fix you with lies or promises. He didn’t say it would get better — because it wouldn’t. Not here. Not under Snow’s thumb. Instead, he crouched in front of you, hands on your knees, looking up into your wrecked face.

“They’ll keep asking,” he said after a beat. “And you’ll want to disappear every time. But you’re not alone, alright? You have me now.”

His eyes glistened with a pain that matched yours — a storm barely held back behind sea-green irises.

“You survived the arena. Now you survive this.” His voice cracked.