Fandom: Hunger Games
Character: Gale Hawthorne
Writter For: iu_fanfiction, Prompt: Ball and Chain
Summary: He left 12. Now, he lives in 2. Busy kissing other people's lips. Busy thinking of her.
Gale stares blankly at the ceiling.
Then his eyes turn to the calendar.
He closes them again, turns to his right side, and moves his arm away from the nape of the woman who shared his night. He mentally counts the nights, the number of women, the amount of bottles, sets of snares, years that passed by, memories of her, the number of their footprints on the snow, the times when he confided to her, the first meeting, Darius' comment on kissing, the times when she embraced him, the times when he did the same, the first time he cupped her cheek and claimed her lips, her kisses...
A heave escapes from his lips in attempt to cast the burden away. Though, what Gale finds is that he's drowning on everything badly than how he is before.
Gale stares back at the ceiling, now filled with thoughts and kept emotions.
He must be, at least, be happy for his bestfriend.
She's probably lying next to the bread boy.
Another layer of burden.
“Catnip,” he whispers before drifting back to sleep. “Please stop hunting me. I'm not a tribute.”
I don't know why I entitled this as “The Second Finnick”. I don't know, really. I don't. And I won't tell I cried, as in CRIED because of the ending. I just... can't accept it. Bitter me, really bitter me.