Finnick watched Gale, almost warily, as Gale sat down and started talking. He hadn't expected an answer, at least not one that seemed this real. He thought Gale was telling the truth, but then again, maybe he wasn't. What did Finnick really know about him?
"You don't get to make that decision for me," Finnick answered quietly. It was almost insulting. He'd had people make that decision for him time and time again, but they were usually at least people who had loved him for all of his life or people who had an economic interest in him. And he hadn't liked it then, even as he understood it. It was his life, and he had rarely gotten to make choices about the major things in it. Why shouldn't he have this one thing for himself?