Disclaimer: Clearly I don't own the Hunger Games, otherwise the series would have ended differently.

So, I really have no idea where this came from, but yeah, enjoy, I guess.

Cinna's gaze didn't leave the page, even as someone knocked on the door.

"It's open," he called.

He heard the door open, and Finnick walked in to find Cinna sitting with his ankles crossed on the bed, sketchpad on his lap, pencil continually on the move.

"Am I interrupting?" inquired Finnick, although he wasn't really concerned about bothering his friend.

Cinna finally looked up from his sketchpad. "Not at all."

"Mind if I...?" Finnick asked, indicating the remaining space on Cinna's bed.

Cinna smiled. "Not at all."

Finnick sighed as he dropped to the bed. He closed his eyes, bringing his hands up to his face, and ran his hand through the bronze mess of hair. Cinna gave his shoulder a sympathetic prod with his bare foot – as sympathetic as a prod could be.

"Busy day?" he asked, but he already knew the answer.

Finnick's eyes were still closed. "You know how it is."

And Cinna did. He could see the tension in Finnick's shoulders, and the makeup that was being used to conceal the shadows under his eyes, indicating that he hadn't had a good night's sleep in a while. He felt sickened at the very thought of what Finnick had to go through. It was the least Cinna could do to provide his friend with a shoulder to lean on whenever he could.

At that thought, Finnick sat up, and crawled to sit next to Cinna. He cuddled up to him, sitting as close to the stylist's side as he could, without making it uncomfortable, or squished. It wasn't quite his shoulder that Finnick was leaning on, but it was good enough. Finnick pulled a pillow to him, and hugged it, sitting with his legs up. He looked rather like a child, Cinna thought. The bronze haired victor quietly observing the other man, as he guided the pen's stokes across the page.

"Designs for the Games?" he asked, knowing that Cinna was excited to have the opportunity to prove himself as a head stylist, although he often didn't show it.

Cinna murmured in confirmation.

"Already?" Finnick teased.

"I like to be prepared," Cinna reminded him, adjusting his glasses. "You know that."

"I know," Finnick grinned. "Just teasing."

An easy silence fell over them, Cinna continuing his sketching, Finnick content with watching. He reached over, his arm curling around Cinna's shoulders. He brought one hand up to wander though Cinna's brown locks. After a while, Finnick looked up from the page to Cinna's face.

Cinna was a lot different to the usual Capitol citizens. It was a refreshing change, Finnick thought. And, maybe also why Finnick felt so drawn to him. His eyes traced the curve of his jaw, and made his way up to Cinna's green eyes. Not the the same sea-green of Finnick's, but a nice sort of forest green. He had on what Finnick called his 'concentrated face.'

He seemed so different from Annie. And yet, Finnick felt the same desire, the same want to please, protect and care for the both of them.

Annie.

God, he missed her.

He missed home, yes. But most of all he missed Annie. He missed the way her eyes would light up when she smiled, and how he especially loved it if he was the reason for her smile. He missed the expression of delight on her face when he returned home. He missed the way her body felt curled up to his, when they sat watching the sunrise in their spot in District 4.

"You look thoughtful," Cinna observed. He stopped sketching, and popped his pencil in his mouth, a habit he'd retained from childhood. "What's on your mind?"

Finnick looked away. "Annie."

Cinna took the pencil out of his mouth. "Oh."

Silence once more consumed the air. Cinna had met the girl once, when Finnick had invited him to visit his home in District 4. She was a fragile little thing, at least on the outside, but he knew that she was stronger than she looked. That there was another part of her that others often missed. She was pretty too, and while Cinna quite liked her, and greatly admired her for what she'd been through, he couldn't help resent her – but only a little, really – for she seemed to take Finnick's attention as much as Cinna had. But Cinna wasn't selfish. Not truly.

"I miss her," Finnick continued.

Cinna's gaze wandered over to his friend. "I know."

Finnick smiled. It was a genuine smile, not his cheesy Capitol grin, or fake sultry smirk. The one reserved for a few select people, Cinna knew. Not many people would understand. But Cinna did. He understood that Finnick had two different people pulling at him, and he didn't mind that he had to share him with Annie. He probably would've fallen apart a long time ago if he didn't have them.

He met Cinna's gaze. His hand stopped wandering, and the smile turned to an expression of tenderness. Finnick brought his hand down to light cup Cinna face, gently tugging the other man towards him. Yes, he loved Annie. But he loved Cinna too.

"Finn," Cinna started, but Finnick shushed him.

He pressed his mouth to Cinna's, closing his eyes their lips gently brushing at first. When Cinna relaxed into the kiss, Finnick deepened it. He parted Cinna's lips with his tongue, and half-smiled as he heard the small gasp that the action has elicited from Cinna. Finnick explored Cinna's mouth a little longer until, all to soon in Cinna's mind, he pulled away.

"You hungry?" Finnick asked, breathing hard, and still delighting in Cinna's slightly dazed expression. "You want to go out? This place just opened up and I've heard-"

"Nope." Cinna picked up his pencil a little shakily, and pointed to the design he was working on. "Busy."

"Fine, we'll order in," Finnick countered, leaning over Cinna to reach the phone. Cinna lifted his sketch pad, so Finnick wouldn't smudge anything. "What will you be having?"