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The colour that frames his eyes was icy green once, not glittering gold. Finnick always said they complimented one another perfectly. He found it sweet (sweet, of all things) that Cinna insisted on wearing co-ordinating colours and similar styles of clothing to him. He laughed as Cinna carefully applied clashing shades to his bronzed skin and golden hair and called it art.
Cinna always paid special attention to Finnick’s eyes. His own eyes, dull brown and outlined in aquamarine (to match Finnick’s, always for Finnick), were not of interest. They were just another indication that he could never deserve a creature as beautiful as Finnick Odair. But Finnick’s hues of soft blues and venomous greens required an entire structure of bright powders.
Now the man standing before Cinna is a pale shadow of the glorious god he was before. He slouches against Cinna’s desk, too exhausted to continue holding up any pretence of his former magnificence (not with Cinna anyway). His eyes are closed, showing his skin-coloured eyelids, not a trace of Cinna’s careful handiwork still to show, so many years later. His cheeks and lips are clear and brown, no more body glitter and swirling paint.
“You look different,” Cinna says carefully, swallowing as he leans against the door frame. “I was so young back then, so inexperienced.”
“You made me look like a clown.” Finnick sounds amused more than annoyed, and Cinna figures it’s safe to walk into the room and sit down. His legs are shaking and collapsing in front of Finnick just wouldn’t do.
“Maybe, but you were the most beautiful clown anyone had ever seen,” he says. Laughing, Finnick opens his eyes slowly to find Cinna sitting at the desk he lounges upon. “I’m not sorry for doing it,” Cinna continues. “It was the only way I could keep you safe.”
“Safe? That’s a pretty word for it. What was safe about the constant paranoia, the beatings, the threats, the humiliation? You stripped away my charisma and replaced it with your art.” He’s angry now, glaring down at Cinna with a glint in his eyes.
“I masked you. You were just a boy-”
“So were you,” Finnick retorts.
“- and I turned you into a god.”
“A titan. There’s a difference.”
“Nobody hated you, Finnick.” It hurts him more than he expected it to, saying the other man’s name again, and his breath catches in his throat. He inhales deeply, staring at his feet. “Least of all I. I thought if I made you unapproachable, if I took away your charm, then...” Trailing off, he looks up to see Finnick's hand an inch from his face, a caress that won’t quite reach his cheek.
“I would be forgotten.” Finnick clenches his fist, pulling away from Cinna’s open face. His eyes suddenly sting and he digs his carefully polished nails into the soft skin in his palm. "Well you got that wrong didn't you." He laughs bitterly.
“I was an idealist.”
“You were young.”
“So were you,” Cinna says with a wistful smile. “I’m sorry it didn’t work.”
“It would never have worked. President Snow whisked me away to the house of another stylist the moment he realised that business was slowing down. Of course, I had no money to pay for his service, but he was perfectly happy to accept a very different kind of currency.” Gritting his teeth, Finnick clasps his other hand tightly around the wooden desk. “They turned me back into a boy, because that’s what the clients wanted.”
Cinna reaches towards Finnick’s hand. “May I?” At Finnick’s quick nod, he gently pries his fingers from the desk and holds his hand in both of his own. Kissing his wrist softly, he asks, “Why did you come here now?”
“The Quarter Quell. I am to be reaped. So is Annie. I’m sure of it.”
“Of course.”
“Katniss Everdeen.” The way his lips curl around the name make it sound like a question.
“Yes.”
“You did wonders with her. She can save us all. I just don’t know if she will.”
“You want to help persuade her.” Cinna sighs, holding Finnick’s hand closer. At his touch, Finnick’s other fist loosens and rests upon Cinna’s shoulder. “Please don’t.” He hates how weak he sounds, wants to tear away the shard of doubt lodged in his heart and crush it beneath his high-heeled boot. “Many will die.” It’s a feeble argument, and they both know it.
“You might die,” Finnick says, flinching slightly at the idea. Cinna tries to tell himself that it’s just a performance designed to seek out any weakness in his defences by pretending to care, but he knows Finnick too well for that.
“I’ve become used to the idea. I have no one to miss me. And the cause needs a martyr. But you. You need to live, for Annie if nothing else.”
“Why does that martyr have to be you?” Finnick asks, ignoring Cinna’s attempt to manipulate him in favour of life.
“I told you. No one will miss me. The Capitol made sure of that many years ago.”
Finnick says nothing, frowning slightly. Pulling Cinna to his feet, he wraps his arms around the stylist’s neck and kisses him sweetly, on the brow, on the cheeks, on the nose, and on the lips.
“It might work with your other clients, but it won’t with me,” Cinna says despairingly.
“It did once.”
“I was a cruel corrupt child of the Capitol once.” They both remember him, his thoughtless ways and selfish dreams. Cinna didn’t always revel in simplicity and rebellion. It was only after he met Finnick that things changed indefinitely.
“And what are you now?” Finnick manages to sound almost bored, even as his fingertips drag down Cinna’s back and his mouth traces a line down his neck, stealing a small moan from the other man.
“A... revolutionary. Or at least I’m... trying to be,” Cinna says between gasps, arching involuntarily against Finnick and breathing heavily.
“I think I like Cinna the Strategist even more than Cinna the Stylist,” Finnick murmurs silkily into his shoulder, breaking the spell unknowingly. Cinna pulls away, shivering, his skin cold without Finnick’s lips to keep him warm.
“It won’t work, I told you.”
“That’s because it’s real with you,” says Finnick regretfully.
“Annie...”
“Is everything to me, it’s true, but so are you.”
“This-" Cinna gestures to the space between their bodies. "This isn't real. I know you.” His voice is surprisingly steady as he tries to convince the both of them that he’s strong enough to resist the urge to melt back into Finnick's arms and weep.
“I gave up trying to put on an act around you the moment we met. I’m a strategist too, remember; I know when my shows don’t work.” He wraps his hand around Cinna’s wrist, tugging gently. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall in love.”
“I didn’t love you back then,” says Cinna.
“I know. I guess that’s why I was so drawn to you. The whole world was watching me, and here you were, doing your job without a second glance.”
“Oh there were definitely several long glances. Perhaps I’m just a better actor than you.”
“Maybe,” says Finnick, chuckling. “Could we go to your bedroom?” The request is strangely lacking in innuendo. There’s no seductive wink, or suggestive smirk. His face is honest and hopeful, cruelly undoing every single shield Cinna holds close to his chest. As Cinna nods, he rests his forehead against the other man’s, swallowing painfully. “Thank you.”
They lie, a tangled mess of sweaty limbs sprawled on Cinna’s bed, heads turned towards the window where a blanket of stars blinks wearily down at the Capitol. Finnick entwines their fingers, pressing a soft kiss against Cinna’s fingertips.
“You’re wrong, you know,” he whispers into the darkness.
“About what?” Cinna says, nuzzling into Finnick’s embrace.
“I would miss you, if you were gone. So would Annie. She loves you too.”
“I wish you two had never met me. Then you might be a little safer.”
“Cinna, you can’t worry about safety for the rest of your life. Annie will live; I’ll make sure of it. And I’ll make her the happiest person alive. But darling, let me tell you. When you go, I’ll be sure to follow soon after. It’s what she wants. It’s what I want. And I think it's what you want, even if you're too noble to admit it.” Finnick’s voice breaks as he speaks and Cinna wordlessly turns towards him, running his fingers through his curls.
“We’re going to die.” It's not a question.
“Yeah.”
“But not without changing the world.” Finnick smiles at Cinna’s words, closing his eyes.
It’s a day after the end of the 74th annual Hunger Games, and a week before Plutarch Heavensbee will take over from Seneca Crane and announce a plan that will kill them all. For now though, Cinna and Finnick sleep together and dream of woman waiting for them in District Four.