He hears her steps pause, and Finnick wants to turn around to check on her, but he's not sure if he can or not. She'd been so determined about watching, and apparently so relieved when he'd told her he would watch for her, that he can't look away. He just has to trust that if something really badly is wrong, she'll call out for him. So he stares out the window, his attention focused in the opposite direction to his gaze, waiting to hear her speak, or even move.
It's movement he hears, a resumption of the slow, uneasy steps she takes when her muscles aren't working properly, her old injuries from the Games never quite healed no matter what the Capitol would have anyone believe. He hears it, but he still doesn't turn, not even when he's aware of her presence at his side. He waits, while he hears her bend to pick up something he left, and then he feels the warmth of her side press against his arm. Very slowly, he lifts his hand, careful not to dislodge her, and presses it against the small of her back, his lower arm pressing against her.
"Hey," he says. "Feeling better?"
He suspects the answer will be no, but it's said for something to say.
no subject
It's movement he hears, a resumption of the slow, uneasy steps she takes when her muscles aren't working properly, her old injuries from the Games never quite healed no matter what the Capitol would have anyone believe. He hears it, but he still doesn't turn, not even when he's aware of her presence at his side. He waits, while he hears her bend to pick up something he left, and then he feels the warmth of her side press against his arm. Very slowly, he lifts his hand, careful not to dislodge her, and presses it against the small of her back, his lower arm pressing against her.
"Hey," he says. "Feeling better?"
He suspects the answer will be no, but it's said for something to say.