Odesta+their baby first steps.
Finnick stared into his son’s wide, sea-green eyes and sighed out of sheer boredom. The boy hadn’t moved for a good twenty minutes, and neither had Finnick; they were both sitting on the livingroom floor, staring at each other. “You’re gonna miss it. It’s gonna happen soon, I can feel it in my gut.” Finnick told her wife, who’s nose was buried into a book on the couch. He could see her suppressing a smile upon hearing his words, shaking her head.
“I am not gonna miss it,” Annie answered, not even bothering to glance at her husband, “And you said that last week.”
For the past few days, their son had been making attempts at standing up on his own - wobbly and unsteady - feet, immediately giving Finnick the idea that the boy was going to take his first steps any coming day. It had been adorable to Annie, at first - both Noah and Finnick’s behaviour, their sea-green eyes wide, Noah’s with child-like curiosity and Finnick’s with sheer excitement.
But days went past and eventually turned into weeks. Annie had turned her attention to other matters, while Finnick was completely stuck, lost in the thought of seeing his son’s first steps and being there to witness it. He spent nearly his every waking moment with Noah, squealing out Annie’s name every time the boy did so much as attempt to stand up on his feet.
And yet, nothing had happened. Not yet, at least, said Finnick.“Ever the optimist, aren’t you,” he said to the Annie and rolled his eyes, then turning his gaze back to Noah in front of him. Annie snickered at her husband’s words again, her laughter soft from behind the book she was buried in.
“Optimist. Realist. The smarter one. Whatever you wanna call it, sweetheart.” Annie’s tone was snarky, her words clear about one thing: she knew she was right. She got up from the couch, placing her bare feet on the wooden floor and headed towards the kitchen.
Finnick sighed, staring into his son’s sea-green eyes with already fading hope. Please, he mouthed, do something.
And like he understood what his father wanted of him, Noah indeed did something. Slowly, he started seeking for the nearby chair for support, wrapping his chubby fingers around the wooden leg. He started pushing himself on his feet, inch by inch, until he was standing tall. Finnick suppressed an excited gasp and stared at the boy, not wanting to distract him with words. Noah stared at his own legs for a good, long moment.
Then he let go of the chair leg and took a step. And another. And another, until gravity took over and he fell back on his knees on the floor, all the while giggling with excitement.
“Annie, he did it! He took three steps towards me, he really did! Oh my god, Annie, you - you missed it!”
“I missed it?!” Annie’s voice was followed by a bunch of hurried steps when she ran back to the livingroom, where she saw Finnick and Noah giggling at each other like they had just witnessed something amazing. Which they had. “I. Missed. It?!”
Finnick started laughing at his wife’s expression; every possible emotion ran across her features in the matter of ten seconds. Disappointment, happiness, sadness, anger, defeat. “Optimist. Realist. The smarter one,” Finnick said, mocking his wife’s earlier tone, and she gave him a warning look. “You know, whatever you wanna call it, sweetheart.”
Annie shot him a dirty glare and said: “Oh shut it, Odair, or I’m gonna push you off the damn dock.”
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