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“I only threw this party for you, only threw this party for you. I was hoping you would come through.”
“In a room full of people I look for you, would you avoid me, or would you look for me too?”
The bass from the band is booming and the music is practically leaking out of the tavern by the gallons. The tavern is small, and lit only by the light fixtures on the wall. The dance floor is packed like sardines, and all the dripping sweat and flowing alcohol mixed into a musk that can't be replicated.
In the corner, Azzlore sits at a table by himself nursing a scotch on the rocks. Tonight he is wearing an outfit similar to his normal getup, a white button-up shirt with some almost-too-tight blue jeans, but instead of his signature ponytail he decided to let it all hang out. He even had a little five o-clock shadow growing on his face.
It had been a year or so since the Azurite Crew disbanded, and ever since they defeated Valco and his crew there was no need for their help.
With no more good deeds to be done, each of the party members had come to an agreement to go their separate ways. Arlinara planned to return to her father’s kingdom to help quell some of the civil unrest that had begun to spread, Lynx wanted to see the world that he was hidden away from all these years, and Finnick was to return to his home village and spend some time there before he set off on his world tour.
As for Azzlore? It left him back where he started.
Being with his party gave him a new purpose in life, a chance to change his fate, like he was wishing on a star.
But like all wishing stars, they crash and burn just as quickly as they begin to shine.
To add insult to injury, there was one stubborn bruise that refused to fade.
He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he had fallen in love with Finnick. It was a slow, gradual thing. Jane was like an anchor that had been dropped on top of him, quick, intense, and undeniable. But with Finnick, it was like drowning out at sea, one minute you’re treading water, and the next you’re fighting for air, and Azzlore was fighting for his life.
He never told Finnick how much he cared for him, he came close a few times sure, but he never had the courage to say how he really felt. So when it was all said and done, Azzlore left with a broken heart. Foolishly, Azzlore held out hope that maybe, one day, he would see Finnick again. And if he did, he would finally tell him how he felt. But for now, he was on his own.
For the first few months all he could manage to do was bounce around from island to island. He was a lost boy, trying on new lives to see which ones will fit. To keep some food on the table and a roof over his head he did a few mercenary jobs, they weren’t much, but they paid. After a couple months, he had to quit. Waking up every morning knowing he was going to ruin someone’s life that day started to take a toll on him. It just didn’t satisfy him anymore. He supposed that fighting people like Valco and trying to do some good in the world ruined jobs like that for him.
So, with nowhere to go and too much shame to try and return to his old life, he decided to retreat back to the only stable home he ever knew. It was a shot in the dark, because after all, he wasn’t sure what the state of his parents' old house would be in, if it was even there.
He managed to stow himself on a ship headed for Sapphire Island and before he knew it he was sailing back into that familiar crescent shaped harbor. He had to admit, walking through the streets of Sapphire City was eating through his nerves. Everywhere he turned it seemed like there was an unpleasant memory waiting for him, if not a memory of him digging through trash cans to stop the aching in his stomach, then it was a memory of the time he spent walking through the streets with his party. For a place with so many memories, he was starting to wonder why he came back in the first place.
Once he left the city it started to get easier, and the memories became less and less. The cobblestone streets and iron lamposts were replaced with grassy knolls and tall trees, and with a day or two's journey Azzlore had finally made it back to his home village. He hadn't been back there since the night his parents perished, and he didn't know what to expect.
His parents had settled down in a quaint hovel that sat overlooking a flower field. He could faintly remember spending summer days running around with them, picking flowers for his mother’s centerpiece that sat on their kitchen table. But after sitting empty for so many years, it was more than just a bit run down. The house itself had a caved-in roof and moss had completely overtaken the walls on both the inside and out. Despite the caved-in roof, everything was in the same place as it was the night his parents died. The building blocks that he had played with were still toppled over, the cabinets were still left open in shock, and the stain of his parents' blood was seeped into the floors.
It was all that was left of his childhood, and so with a little work he managed to restore it. The only thing that he couldn’t properly restore was the bloodstain.
It was a brutal reminder of why he was here in the first place, and what he failed to achieve for them. He set out on a quest to find the Nightingale Fortune, but he returned empty handed.
The stain brought him comfort knowing that in a way, they were still here. While their bodies were gone with the wind, their impact on this world still lingers. They did live here. They lived a life before his began, and in a way they will still be there long after he is gone, soaked into the floor. Forever immortalized, their blood is one with the foundation of his new home.
Once he had begun to settle in, the days started to pass. Soon the passing days became weeks, and the weeks became months. The monotony of quiet living made his days blur into a nonstop cycle of sunsets and sunrises. Before Azzlore could recognize it, he started to live a simple life.
Like clockwork, he would wake just before dawn, make himself a cup of coffee, and pace around his room. Just before he’d set out for the day he’d greet his parents who waited for him in the living room.
“Good morning Mom,” he’d shout over his shoulder while putting on his shoes,
“I’m gonna try and make you proud today, Dad,” he’d remark before he walked out the door.
When he came back late in the evening, even when he was three sheets to the wind, he would address them, “I’m home guys,” and every time he was met with the deafening silence.
It was a morbid ritual that he found himself participating in, but eventually it became second nature to him. It was almost like they were really there. Some days his mother was arranging the flowers he picked into the centerpiece, and his father sitting at the table, polishing his silver. Other days they were together, locked in embrace twirling around the living room to music that was never there.
It gave Azzlore some peace knowing that he didn't have to look over his shoulder, and that he could finally stop running. But the days were quiet in that house all by himself. All the time he spent on the high seas or completing quests, he spent it with others. It had been years since he was truly alone. At first, it was easy to ignore the loneliness he felt, fixing up an old house didn’t leave a lot of time to think about how alone you really were. But without something to occupy his mind the loneliness started to seep through the cracks.
Being by himself left him with nothing but a bottle and bittersweet memories to keep him company. It was already bad enough that he had turned to the bottle for company, but perhaps the worst company of all is the ghosts of his past that came to haunt him on especially intoxicating nights.
Some drunken nights he would have to face the people he harmed directly, like the council member’s daughter from Moonstone Island, and others that he never intended to hurt, people like Jane, Kaelthor, and even Finnick. The cruelest of all the ghosts that haunted him, the faces he was sure to see in his nightmares was his own parents.
Some nights he could swear that if you just walked out into his living room in the middle of the night, they were both there, arms open, waiting for him to join them.
When he wasn’t driving himself mad, he was in a tavern. Most nights he would drink enough to tranquilize a dwarf, and this night was no exception. But in between his drunken haze, Azzlore overheard talk of a lute-playing fire genasi that was making his way around his side of the archipelago, and the sliver of hope that died long ago, engulfed again into an untamable flame.
That boy was a performer in his soul, so there was a chance as any that maybe he would come through.
And so here he was, throwing a party in the hopes that his own special fireball would saunter in the door.
The crescent moon stretched its way across the sky, it’s a clear night with a cool breeze blowing through the foliage. As the night grew older, he started to get more nervous and the fire inside him started to dim.
He watched as all the people on the dancefloor shimmied and swayed with the rhythm, all the while the band was putting their all into the music they played. He had to give himself some credit, Azzlore knew how to throw a good party. Too well he thought, seeing as he can barely hear his own thoughts over the music.
Surely he’ll show. He’s never turned down a performance in his life, surely he’ll come through.
The lead singer's voice booms over the crowd, “Alright now, we’ve got one last slow song for the night, so fellas, if you’re making a move on a maiden, now's your chance.”
The lively tune that the band played slowly transitioned to a melodic one, and the rowdy partygoers were soon replaced with couples joining for a slow dance.
Azzlore’s heart sank at the announcement, and as he sat unmoved in his chair, it was getting harder to deny that his time was running out.
Maybe I was wrong. Finnick was never gonna show up. Why’d I even bother?
Azzlore can feel the stinging in his eye from the tears that had begun to well.
Composing himself, he wipes his eye and gazes across the dancefloor. Each couple was locked in an enchanting embrace and they moved across the room elegantly. It’s like each of them were in their own little world.
He remembered a time where he got to watch Finnick dance. How graceful he was without even trying, how his smoldering eyes scorched his soul so seamlessly, and how he wished more than anything to see it again, even for just a glimpse. As he watched all these happy couples, he tried not to let the pangs of jealousy overtake him, but thankfully there was always alcohol to drown out his sorrows.
Soon enough, the band’s melodic song faded out, and the couples mosied off the dancefloor.
The lead singer’s voice booms once again throughout the tavern, “Thank you all for comin’ out here tonight! We had the best time playin’ for y’all, but before we go, why don’t we put our hands together for the man who put all this together, Mr. Nightingale!”
He felt the drunken eyes of the patrons on him, and he sheepishly threw his hand up in a subtle wave. On the outside he seemed like the stoic tiefling that wanted to bring his community together, but on the inside he was screaming, because this might have been his last chance.
So just as quick as it caught, the flame of hope Azzlore held was suffocated by reality. Finnick wasn’t coming.
It would be a lie to say that he wasn’t disappointed, but a part of him knew it was a foolish endeavor. He threw back his scotch on the rocks and slammed the glass down on the table with a thud.
The thought of going home to the ghosts that haunted him was a harrowing thought, but at least he wouldn’t be alone.
Azzlore begins to rise from his seat and make his way to the door, but before he can clear the table, he hears a commotion.
Towards the entrance of the tavern, a group of people starts to form. He hears whispers from patrons running towards the door,
“He’s here!” one patron said.
“I wanna get his autograph!” said another.
At first Azzlore couldn’t make out much through the crowd, but almost like a divine intervention, the crowd split just enough to let him catch a glimpse.
It’s Finnick.
Azzlore can’t believe his eyes, it is really Finnick, and he looks just as handsome as he did the day they parted ways. He’s wearing a black button-up that was slightly unbuttoned, showing just the tips of the scars that adorn his chest. His pants are an obsidian colored leather, and the bottoms were flared and bedazzled to look like flames crawling up his legs. His hair is spiked like it normally was, but it looks like it was coated in some form of grease to appear damp.
It was obvious that he had gained some notoriety in the time they’ve been apart, he had people of all species fawning over him, begging for an autograph.
“Please, please, one at a time! There’s only so much of me to go around,” he stuck his hands out to gesture for the crowd to give him some space. With a swift motion of his hand he pulled a pen out of his pocket and began signing autographs, and while signing the autograph of a young sea-elf girl, he finally met Azzlore’s gaze.
Azzlore could’ve sworn that Finnick’s eyes had a hint of softness to them, but as quick as their gaze met it was broken.
Well, there’s no going back now. It’s do or die time.
The thought was terrifying, because now he had to keep his promise. He had always told himself that if he got the chance he would tell Finnick about his true feelings. And now here he was, not even thirty feet away. For being so close, he’s never felt so far away from him. It had been over a year since they had seen each other, surely Finnick had missed him?
He watches as the crowd in front of Finnick starts to thin out, and at the same time he can feel a lump forming in his throat. Maybe if he makes a beeline for the backdoor he can slip out and Finnick won’t notice?
Like they had a mind of their own, he felt his feet move away from the table, and he found himself retreating like he was losing the battle.
Just gotta get to the door, and then we’re fine. Make it to the door, and we can kick ourselves for this later.
Shouldering his way through the patrons, he has his goal in sight. Behind the bar there’s a hallway that leads to the backdoor, and from there he can figure out his next course of action, but for now he just needs to get the hell out of there before he says something that he would regret.
He stumbles off the dancefloor and barrels his way towards the bar, just before he’s about to cross the bar threshold, he hears a familiar voice behind him.
“Did you really think you were gonna leave without saying anything to me?” says Finnick, his voice sounding disappointed.
Azzlore stopped in his tracks. Time to face the music, he thought.
He slowly turns to face his accuser, putting his hands up in self-defense,
“Okay, okay, you got me,” he can feel the heat in his cheeks.
Finnick let out a dry chuckle, “You know your face turns a different shade of red when you get embarrassed?”
“What?” Azzlore scoffs.
“I mean it. It goes from this crimson color to a darker maroon, and it’s really obvious.”
“And here I was thinking that nobody could tell how I feel,” he rubs his hand on the back of his neck trying to deflect.
“Well, that’s where you’d be mistaken, old friend,” Finnick gives him a light punch on his shoulder, “You unfortunately read like an open book.”
Azzlore’s heart sank at the phrase “old friend”, but he has much bigger fish to fry; find a way out of this conversation as quickly as possible before he says something stupid.
Azzlore let out a nervous chuckle, “Yeah, I guess I do.”
There’s a bout of awkward silence before Finnick pipes up,
“So, what have you been up to?”
Oh nothing, Azzlore thought, Just seeing ghosts and drinking my sorrows away, how about you?
After what feels like an eternity, he finally speaks,
“Nothing much really, just doing things here and there…” his voice trailing off to a quiet whisper.
He darts his gaze around the room quickly to try and find a way to exit this conversation, this was going about as well as a dwarf talking to an elf.
That’s how it’s always been with Azzlore and Finnick, tension and mistrust. When they first met it was full of conflict and misunderstanding, Azzlore standing in the corner, as usual, and Finnick interrogating a man over his map. Something in his gut told him to make a pass for the map, at the time it was because he thought the map would lead him to treasure, now he knows it was to bring the both of them together, for better or for worse. If only he had realized that sooner, maybe he wouldn’t be trying to run away like a coward.
He stares at Finnick for a moment before he gets some sense to ask the question back.
“How have you been, Mr. Popstar?” his voice sounding slightly sarcastic at “Mr. Popstar”, which made him cringe inside. He does care about what he was up to, but in his mind letting Finnick read him again was giving him the upper hand in battle, and Azzlore has to win this war.
“I’ve been good,” Finnick replies, “I’ve gone pretty much all over the archipelago and beyond, now that it’s over I’m just trying to put down some roots, find a new beginning.”
Azzlore feigns ignorance. “Has it been that long already? It felt like yesterday when we all went our separate ways.” Trying to tell such a bald-face lie was risky—it had felt like nothing short of an eternity—but he needed more cover.
Finnick sighs, “Yeah, yeah I know. One minute we were fighting bad guys and the next we’re saying our goodbyes.”
He looks to the floor for a split second before he meets Azzlore eye, “So, are you gonna ask me why I’m here?”
Azzlore is taken aback by the question. It wasn’t unlike Finnick to cut straight to the point, but somehow he had got it in his mind that fame had changed him. It was nice to know that even after all this time, underneath all the glitz and glamor it was still the same Finnick that he fell in love with.
“Well I was, but you beat me to it.”
Azzlore took a breath before he finally asks the question, “So, what are you doing here?”
“Well,” Finnick begins, his gaze shifting from Azzlore to the floor and back to Azzlore again, “I came to see you.”
For a moment, Azzlore’s heart stops. To see me? He came to see me? Why the gods would he go all this way to see me?
He can’t get a read on Finnick. All he sees are golden eyes staring back at him, and it frustrates him to his core.
“I um… I uh…” he stammers, “You wanted to see me?”
“Yeah…” Finnick nods his head, “I did. I missed you.”
Azzlore gave a slight smile, “I missed you too.”
For a minute everything stood still. The music and the alcohol and the people all faded out into irrelevant oblivion. All that mattered to him was Finnick, more importantly, Finnick had missed him. Maybe he had a chance to be happy afterall, and maybe he was foolish to give up hope so quickly.
Before he gets the sense to run again, he finally takes a leap of fate.
“Do you want to go back to my place?” the words falling out of his mouth, quick, but not desperate.
“Yeah,” Finnick smirks, “Yeah I do.”
“Well then,” Azzlore bows and extends out his arm, “Lead the way wonderboy.”
“Why thank you,” he bows in response and takes the lead.
They both walk behind the bar, down the hall, and out the back door. Once they were outside, Azzlore felt the breeze on his skin, with the crescent moon hanging over the west horizon. He nearly waited all night for Finnick to show—thank Briarwyn that he did.
“My house is just a ways,” he points to the nearby hills on the horizon, “Just over those hills.”
They begin to walk through the grass with only the sounds of their crunching feet and whistling winds. For a while neither of them say anything, but soon enough Azzlore breaks the silence.
“I have a couple things to ask. Just two questions.’
“Well ask away,” Finnick replies, “Beats walking in silence.”
“Okay, first, how did you find me? And second, what is going on with that outfit?” Azzlore gestures to the bedazzled flame pants that Finnick is wearing.
“What’s wrong with it!?” Finnick defends, “I happen to think these pants are very stylish!”
“They’re… something for sure!” his voice loaded with sarcasm.
Caught off guard, he feels Finnick punch him in his arm, nearly knocking him over.
“Hey! I never said they were bad!”
“You didn’t have to, your tone spoke for you,” Finnick scoffs.
“Not true, I happen to think they’re quite nice. They look good on you,” he declares.
Finnick looks away for a moment before he drops the subject, satisfied with his answer.
“You never answered my first question,” Azzlore nags, “How did you find me?”
Finnick lets out a wry laugh, “It’s not that hard you know. There’s only so many one-eyed ram-horned tieflings running around this area, not to mention, I knew you wouldn’t go too far.”
“Oh really? Was it that simple?” Azzlore questions.
“Kind of yeah,” he replies, “It took some searching and asking around, but soon enough I stumbled upon the answer I was looking for. You found yourself a nice spot to settle down.”
More like hole myself up.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he mutters.
After trudging through grass for about twenty minutes, they finally reach the flower field that sits at the base of the hill where Azzlore’s house was. The field is full of bright colored flowers that range from red to purple.
As they walk up the hill, the house towering over them, Finnick pipes up, "It's a nice place.”
“Yeah, it was my parents' place.”
“You mean?”
“Yeah.”
Azzlore opens the front door and holds it open for Finnick, “After you.” He extends out his arm in an inviting gesture.
“Thanks.” Finnick slightly nods his head.
Finnick enters the front door and Azzlore follows him. The house was in the same state it was when he left earlier that night, some clothes littered the floor and some empty liquor bottles decorated the kitchen counter. The only light in the room emitted from a small lantern that sat in the center of the kitchen table, and it cast both of their shadows on the wall behind them.
I’m home guys. I brought a friend, hope you don’t mind.
Azzlore was a bit ashamed of the state of his home, but in his defense, he didn't plan on having any visitors.
“I’m sorry about the mess,” he blurts, “Didn’t think I would be bringing someone over.”
He starts to pick up some of the clothes on the floor by the fistful, and he shouts over his shoulder, “You can make yourself at home on the couch, I’ll get you something to drink.”
Walking towards his bedroom to deposit the dirty clothes, he walks over the bloodstain. He glances down at it for a moment before he gets the sensible idea to cover it.
Don’t want him to think I’m a maniac.
Walking to his room he hears Finnick’s voice over his shoulder,
“What’s that?”
Azzlore freezes for a moment before he picks up the pace to his bedroom. He comes back out trading the dirty clothes for a blanket, and he makes a beeline for the stain. He barely spits out a response,
“Uhhhhhh”, he stammers, “Nothing!”
“Are you trying to hide something?”
Shit.
He hears Finnick's footsteps approaching him.
“Uhhh, it’s just a stain in the wood, when I was renovating the place I couldn’t fix it. Nothing to worry about.”
He frantically spreads out the blanket to cover the problem, but the damage is done.
“Oh my god. Azzlore.” His voice full of shock. For a second you could hear a pin drop.
“Is that—”
Azzlore let out a deep sigh, no point in trying to hide it anymore. He slowly turned, blanket still in hand. Him and Finnick made eye contact.
“Yes, Finnick. It’s my parents' blood. Or, what’s left of it anyway.” he throws his open hand in the direction of the stain before he drops the blanket in the other and walks to the kitchen. He pulls a bottle of dark rum out of the cabinet and uncorks it before he throws it back.
“Why is it there—”
“I couldn’t get the stain out. I sat on the floor for hours trying to remove it, but it seeped into the wood.”
Azzlore takes another swig of rum.
“Why not replace it? Tear up the floor and put new wood in?”
“Because, as pathetic and morbid as it is, it’s all I have left of them. Of their memory. I’m getting old, Finnick. I can barely remember them as it is.”
“I um,” he stutters, “I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing, you don’t have to say anything.”
He looks to the ground in shame, and takes one more swig of rum before he speaks again.
“You still wanna stay?”
Finnick looks to the floor, then looks back at Azzlore.
Finnick’s words shock him more than anything did that night.
“Yeah.”
“Well then,” he pauses before he thrusts the bottle in Finnick’s direction, “Have a seat.”
Finnick and Azzlore settled down on the couch, each with a glass in hand and empty bottles covering the coffee table. The sun is starting to peak through the crack of the front window.
They spent the time catching up on what they had done in their time apart. Finnick talked about the tour, how great it felt to be praised for his performances, how he had little kids come up to him saying that they wanted to be just like him, and how when it was over he was sad, but happy to do something else. He told Finnick about how he bounced around from island to island for a few months doing mercenary work, and eventually found himself here restoring his parents house.
“I was honestly still surprised to see it standing,” he chuckles, “I was convinced that a storm had washed it all away or something like that. The roof was caved in and there was moss everywhere, but it wasn’t in terrible shape.”
They both laughed about their adventures, but suddenly Finnick’s face got this sad look to it,
“Have you been by yourself this whole time?” he asks.
“Kind of yeah.”
“It must have been lonely, in this old house by yourself.”
“I suppose so,” Azzlore pauses to take a sip of his drink, “It’s nice though. I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself.”
Liar.
“Do you really think that?” he questions, his voice sounding accusatory.
The sun is starting to come in more, it illuminated the bottom corner of Finnick’s face, turning his charcoal gray skin into a more graphite color.
Azzlores takes a sip of his drink, “Yeah. I do.”
Finnick looks disappointed, not surprised, not worried, but disappointed.
“I don’t know what I expected,” he murmurs.
“What?”
“I said I don't know what I expected,” his voice is louder now, angrier.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean of course you would do this,” he pauses for a moment, “Find the most emotionally destroying place to live in, hole yourself up like you’re a hermit, and continue to put on the facade that you don’t care about anyone else but yourself, when you and I both know it’s not true.”
His words cut like a knife. Once again, Finnick was hitting the nail on the head and reading him like an open book.
He slams his drink on the table in front of him, “I mean come on. How much longer are you gonna do this? Until you die? Until you inevitably drink yourself into the grave? How much longer are you going to lie to yourself?”
Why is it that this fucker knows exactly what I’m thinking?
Azzlore tries to defend his case, but can’t get the words out.
All that comes out instead is this,
“Finnick, I love you.”
He barely has enough time to realize what he had done before Finnick kisses him.
Azzlore can taste the rum on Finnick’s breath. At first the kiss is sweet, innocent, and light. They separate for a moment, but Finnick pulls him in for another. This one is rough, desperate, and deep. Finnick’s hands are in his hair, and then on his chest, and soon enough he is pulling off his shirt.
The sun is nearly shining through the window now, and it catches the rim of Finnick’s glass projecting the light onto the ceiling above them. To Azzlore, it almost looked like stars.
What happened next was a big blur, when it was all said and done they were laying on the couch, with Finnick laying on Azzlore’s bare chest.
Azzlore is staring at the ceiling counting the stars before he hears it.
“I love you too, Azzlore.”
They lay there for a while just holding each other, trying to soak in the moment. A part of Azzlore couldn’t believe that he was actually there.
Somebody better pinch me.
After some more silence and stargazing, Finnick speaks.
“For how long?” he asks.
“How long what?”
“How long have you loved me?”
“I dunno. For a while now.”
“Did you love me when we went our separate ways?”
Azzlore waited a few seconds before he answers,
“Yes.”
Finnick picks himself up off of Azzlore’s chest and looks at him. The sun’s rays shine behind him, darkening all of his features except his face. His golden eyes feel like they’re piercing though his soul.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have stayed.”
“I was scared. And plus, you all had things going for you. I didn’t want to mess it up.”
“You could have come with me.”
Azzlore sits up and shakes his head, “No. I had to let you do that on your own. Just like I had to come here.”
They both sit there on the couch, silent for a while. Both unsure of where the conversation’s going. Azzlore starts to feel nervous.
I don’t wanna fuck this up.
“I know you were alone for all this time,” Finnick begins, “But I’m here now.”
He pulls in Azzlore for a hug, and Azzlore finally starts to feel some relief. Finnick’s arms feel warm, inviting, like coming home after a long day.
A smile comes across Azzlore’s face,
“Yeah, I know.”
When they pull apart Finnick looks at him, and then looks to the window, which is now fully letting in the rising sun.
Azzlore’s smile fades, “You should probably go,” he suggests, “You’ve been here all night. I’m sure you have someone to answer to.”
“I don’t but you’re probably right,” He gets up off the couch and puts on his pants. He stands there shirtless for a moment, just staring at Azzlore before he grabs his shirt off the floor.
He starts to put it on and tells him something that made Azzlore’s heart soar.
“You know, I have room at the inn in the village if you wanna see me. I rented it for a few days.”
A smile yet again its way across Azzlore’s face,
“Oh yeah? Maybe I will.”
Caught by surprise, Finnick throws Azzlore’s shirt in his face, “I know you will.”
Stunned, the shirt falls into his lap and sits there for a moment before he finally puts it on. He gets up from the couch and puts on his pants as well before he walks Finnick to the door.
Azzlore holds open the door for Finnick once more, but this time he pulls him in for a kiss. This kiss is short, kind, gentle, a kiss that can only mean, “See you soon,”.
When they break Finnick laughs,
“So, will I see you?”
Azzlore flashes him a smile, “I’ll see you at eight.”
Finnick smiles back, “Until then.”