Finnick sat down across from her as he waited for the water to heat up. When she first started to talk, he felt a frown pull gently at the corners of his mouth, but he masked it almost immediately. Her words were familiar enough to almost coax a sense of deja vu; they were ones he said to himself frequently, a mantra when the visits in the Capitol became too long, when the idea of doing anything other than remaining in bed in Four seemed impossible.
He would have let it go if it hadn't been for her comment about knots later on. The sentiment could have been a coincidence, but not the knots.
"Knots?" he echoed, and his voice sounded a little off kilter, even to him. Less of the practiced voice, and more of his original District Four accent bleeding through.
He could understand her sentiment about worrying about everyone though. For all their differences, they had their parallels. He was fairly certain that their propensity to feel responsible for everyone around them, for the survival and well-being for all of their loved ones was part of that. There was a reason he had been trapped in the Capitol right from the get-go. Yes, he was attractive. Yes, he was young. But he had a large family, and then he'd had Annie. He'd never required the lessons that many of the others did, because the notion of losing a single member of his family was unbearable. He was more obedient than any of the others; he put on a far better show. He had never just survived in the business Snow had put him into; he had made it thrive.
He knew he could tell her that there was nothing they could do here. But he also knew that counted for nothing. It came as no comfort to him; it didn't keep him from obsessing over Annie every moment, wondering how Snow would work at taking her apart. It hadn't stopped him from crying when he was certain that Katniss wasn't about.