Finnick was always in a suit.
Sharp. Perfect. Untouchable.
But what I felt under my fingers now was nothing like that. The fabric was smooth, soft, loose against his body. Silk. His usual nightwear.
My thoughts tangled instantly.
Why didn't he go home? Why is he here… like this?
The more I tried to make sense of it, the more confused I became. My hands moved again, slow and uncertain, tracing over him as if that would give me answers.
Instead, it made everything worse.
I paused, startled by what I felt.
This… felt different.
I had seen his body before, but touching him like this was something else entirely. Solid. Defined. The kind of strength that didn't need to be shown to be known.
I used to think all those descriptions people gave were exaggerated.
They weren't.
My fingers drifted lower without thinking, following the lines of him, the shape of his body—
Then—
A low sound broke the silence.
