Finnick's face twisted into deep sadness as he listened to the boy speak. For that's what he was, wasn't it? Little more than a boy. And yet...not a boy at all. Like he'd been, after the game. A man and a boy at the same time, and neither of them fitting properly. Boys didn't see the kind of things they'd seen...they were the things that aged you faster than you ever thought possible. He'd killed a dozen other kids - more? Maybe - in an arena. What had this boy done? What had he seen? It hurt his heart in a way few things could, to know that he had suffered as well.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he said in a voice dripping with sincerity. If he'd found that out, he didn't know if he'd have been able to stand it. He'd probably have been lost deep in the pit of his own despair, lost forever. Knowing that he died before the victory was hard enough.
"How would you change it?" He asked, cocking in eyebrow in obvious curiosity. "I wouldn't even if I could. I die. But we win, and Annie lives, and bears our child. How could I hope for a better outcome than that? I'm not worth so much, really."