The injuries from the arena still haven't healed completely; much to Finnick's irritation as sitting still was not his forte. Every second he was made to perch in that measly hospital gown felt like the clock was ticking slower on purpose just to torture him. For the youngest ever victor, it felt pretty pathetic to be cooped up like a bird in a cage because of some stupid injuries.

The air? Stale. The lights? Flickering. The vibe? Dead. Much like most of his friends, ironically.

You thought that perhaps telling him that Beetee had made a new trident from him would distracted him from the dull pain that's pounding in his head...

But you didn't think it would work this well.

The air around him crackled in unadulterated excitement that could almost make his ruffled hair stand on end. It was obvious by the way he was bouncing his leg that the moment you gave him an opening, he would burst out in nothing but that flimsy gown to test out the new trident and honestly, you didn't feel like dealing with him doing his usual teasing 'I'm better than you' flaunting when there was an actual risk of everyone finding out if he was lying. So, you make a small side comment about him putting on some actual clothes before testing out the trident, not expecting much to come of it.

Pearl white teeth flash in front of you, his lips tugged in that familiar lazy smirk before both of his hands drop to rip the gown from his body- Zero hesitation or shame -leaving him in just his underwear.

"Why? Do you find this distracting?" He drawls out, damn well knowing the answer before he even utters the question.