OCEANS BRAWL
𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿 | 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬
Pairing: Finnick x OC
❝ 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑛𝑜 𝑤𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑠, 𝑛𝑜 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑎 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑟.❞
— 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞, 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒔
SLEEP ELUDED KAIA. She lay in the too-soft bed, tangled in unfamiliar sheets, eyes fixed on the ceiling as shadows shifted across it. No matter how many times she turned over, adjusted the pillow, or squeezed her eyes shut in defiance, her mind refused to obey. It spun—racing ahead to the arena, to the Games, to the guilt gnawing at her for how she’d lashed out earlier.
Her anger had flared too quickly, a shield thrown up in the face of fear. And when that fear had nowhere to go, she’d turned it on the only people nearby. Now it sat in her chest, thick and lingering—like smoke after a fire.
Eventually, somewhere past midnight, she gave up entirely. The unfamiliarity of a room that wasn’t hers, the soft hum of the train beneath her—it was all too much. Slipping out of bed, Kaia shivered as cold air bit at her skin. District Four’s nights were warm, thick with sea breeze and salt. The train’s artificial chill sank into her bones, made worse by the thin, standard-issue sleepwear that clung to her like gauze.
She swallowed, she missed home already. But It also felt wrong to rest. Wrong to seek comfort when the clock was ticking down to bloodshed.
Wrapping herself in the plush throw blanket draped over the chair, she clutched it tightly around her shoulders and stepped out into the corridor.
A brief flicker of doubt crossed her mind. Was she even allowed to roam the train unsupervised? Were there rules for this sort of thing? But no Peacekeepers stepped from the shadows to stop her. No voice called her back. The only sound was the soft whir of electricity and the muted rhythm of steel gliding against steel beneath her feet.
She padded barefoot through dimly lit corridors, tension winding tight in her chest until she reached the viewing carriage. The room was quiet, the light from the massive screen casting flickers against the walls like ghosts. She sank onto the velvet cushions of the couch and, after a moment of hesitation, queued up footage from past Games.
She started with the most recent.
Last year’s Games had drawn little praise. Capitol audiences had found them dull—predictable. Most of the promising tributes had died too early, leaving a string of forgettable kills and a victory many considered unearned. A boy from District Six had won. Kaia remembered the name, vaguely. Not the face.
He’d survived by hiding. Lurking in the shadows, picking off tributes who unknowingly wandered into his path. It had nearly failed him in the end—his final kill, a brute from District Two, had almost gutted him. But somehow, Six had gotten in the last blow.
If you could call it luck. Kaia grimaced. The victor had been dragged out of the arena barely alive, his guts practically spilling out.
Her fingers drummed restlessly against her knee, the rhythm quickening with every passing second. It was easy to tell herself she could survive—to imagine being clever enough, fast enough, ruthless enough. But the more she watched, the more that fragile confidence withered beneath the crushing weight of reality. Even the strongest fell. Even the smartest bled. Skill meant nothing if the odds weren’t in your favour.
Eventually, the footage became too much. The blood, the screaming, the way their eyes went glassy when the cannons fired. She reached forward instead, plucking a sugar cube from the porcelain bowl on the table. They were scattered all over the train—Capitol decor or Capitol indulgence, she wasn’t sure. She popped one into her mouth and let the sweetness melt on her tongue, grounding her.
She couldn’t bring herself to watch more deaths—at least not now. Not when her stomach had begun to twist with unease.
Instead, she turned to the interviews. Finnick was right, most of the favourites were leaning into image. She studied them with the sharpness of someone whose life depended on it—because it did. Who became the favorites, and why? What words made the Capitol lean forward with interest? What posture made them applaud? She noted how some tributes played the charming underdog, others the aloof warrior. Every angle, every carefully chosen word, every costume—it all mattered, much more than she initially realized.
So focused was she that she didn’t notice the sky brightening, the shadows shifting with morning’s arrival. It wasn’t until a hand touched her shoulder that she flinched, heart leaping into her throat.
Kaia turned sharply.
Mags stood behind her, her small frame wrapped in a shawl, eyes gentle with understanding.
“You scared me,” Kaia whispered, letting out a breath that trembled. Mags patted her shoulder—a silent apology and perhaps something more. Reassurance, maybe. That it was alright to be afraid.
The guilt came rushing back like the tide—cold and heavy, dragging.
Kaia shifted on the couch, eyes darting to the floor. “I wanted to say I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “For yesterday. For how I acted. I didn’t mean to seem like I didn’t care. I know allies can help. I do. It’s just…”
The words faltered. Her throat closed.
Mags waited, patient as ever.
Kaia swallowed hard, then forced the truth out—raw and trembling. “It’s just… in the end, only one of us gets to make it out alive.”
She didn’t need to say anything more. Mags’ expression softened, her eyes darkening with quiet sorrow—filled with the kind of understanding that came only from having lived through what Kaia feared.
You could never fully trust anyone in the arena. No matter how close you grew, how many meals you shared or battles you fought side by side, it could all turn in a heartbeat. One moment of hesitation. One shift in circumstance. And the person at your back might become the one plunging a knife into it.
Yet some still formed bonds—real ones. Sometimes, those allies made it far. Sometimes, they made it too far.
Because in the end, only one could survive.
Kaia had promised her father she’d do whatever it took. That she would fight. That she would survive.
And to keep that promise, she had to be alone.
It would be easier that way—easier to kill, easier to sleep. If she kept her distance, there’d be no connection to mourn. No bond to betray. No need to wonder if the person she trusted would slit her throat while she dreamed.
After a long, silent moment, Mags gave a small gesture—an invitation to follow. Kaia rose without a word, clutching the blanket tighter around her shoulders as they made their way down the corridor. The faint hum of the train, the occasional flicker of passing lights through the windows, the soft tap of their footsteps—it all felt distant, like she was walking through someone else’s dream.
The dining car was already set.
A lavish spread of breakfast foods stretched across the table—steaming bread, fresh fruit glistening like jewels, eggs cooked a dozen different ways. It was decadent. Excessive. The kind of display that made Kaia’s stomach twist, not just from nerves, but guilt. How could she eat when others back home rationed their catch for days?
Odessa sat neatly at the table, a porcelain teacup poised delicately in her hands. Across from her, Dylan was making a mess of things, piling his plate high and shoveling it in with zero regard for etiquette.
“Ah, good morning, you two!” Odessa chirped, smile bright and polished, as if she hadn’t gave Kaia the wake up call she needed.
Mags silently waved. Kaia only nodded, slipping into the seat beside her escort with quiet hesitation.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice barely audible.
Odessa paused mid-sip, then gave a small nod of acknowledgment. “It’s quite alright,” she replied, her tone gentle. “Now let’s get you something to eat. You’ll need your energy—we’re only a few hours from the Capitol.”
Dylan perked up at that, eyes wide, cheeks full. “We are?” he asked through a mouthful of toast.
Odessa’s smile faltered. She looked at him like he was something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of her shoe. “Yes,” she said flatly, before turning back to Kaia with a far kinder expression. “Eat.”
Kaia didn’t argue. She reached for a small plate and selected a few items—fruit, a warm roll, some soft cheese. The flavors were bolder than what she was used to. Sweeter, richer. Even the bread melted on her tongue. And for a brief moment, she understood Dylan’s eagerness. Still, she forced herself to eat slowly, refusing to give in to the hunger that had hollowed her out hours ago.
“Where’s Finnick?” she asked quietly, glancing toward the empty seat at the head of the table.
“Where’s Finnick?” Kaia asked at last, her voice soft but steady, cutting through the quiet. She had made her apologies to Mags and Odessa, but there was still Finnick. He was the one she needed to face after how rudely she treated him. He was the one she wasn’t sure would forgive her.
Odessa turned back to Kaia with a smile that looked just a little too polished. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll turn up later,” she said lightly.
Kaia nodded, but doubt pooled in her chest like a stone sinking through water.
Across the table, Dylan let out a derisive huff. “Doubtful,” he muttered, not even bothering to mask the cruelty in his tone. “You probably annoyed him enough that he doesn’t want to see you.”
Kaia’s spine stiffened.
Mags shot Dylan a look—sharp and unmistakably disapproving. She turned back to Kaia with a gentle shake of her head, her expression softening. Don’t listen to him, it said. That’s not why.
And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Finnick just needed space. But still, the doubt lingered. Heavy. Quiet. Hard to shake.
Because he didn’t come.
Not during breakfast. Not in the hours that followed. And the longer the silence stretched, the more Kaia began to wonder if Dylan was right.
By midday, the group had scattered—Odessa returning to her notes, Mags retreating for some rest, Dylan vanishing with a snack in hand and a smirk Kaia didn’t care to interpret.
Alone once more, she made her way back to the media cart. The screens flickered to life before her, casting cold light across her face. She sank into the couch, wrapped herself in the same throw blanket, and resumed watching—forcing herself to consume the carnage reel by reel, death by death.
She finished last year’s Games, then let the system roll her into the next—ironically, it was Finnick’s. His Games were still talked about, still whispered about on Capitol broadcasts even overshadowing last years.
She remembered his Reaping Day vividly—everyone did. No tribute that young had ever stepped forward by choice. But at just fourteen, Finnick had taken the stage with an easy grin and a glint in his eye, playing the role of a boy chasing glory. He had swaggered into the Capitol spotlight like he was born for it, disarming them all with charm and boyish confidence.
His stylist had been brilliant, molding him into a symbol the Capitol couldn’t look away from— highlighting Finnick’s natural charm, sun-kissed, and smiling like he had nothing to lose. They leaned into his looks, into the softness of his youth and the strength behind his eyes, painting him as the Capitol’s golden boy.
And it worked.
He became an overnight sensation. An instant favourite.
So beloved, in fact, that he was gifted one of the most extravagant sponsor items in the history of the Games—a gleaming silver trident.
It was mesmerizing—and deeply unsettling—to watch him transform.
The footage showed it all: how Finnick shifted from the acting like an eager, wide-eyed boy trying to prove himself to the Careers into something colder. Sharper. A predator in disguise. The change wasn’t sudden, but the longer the Games went on, the more the mask slipped—and what lay beneath was deadly.
The Careers never saw it coming.
As the final days neared, Finnick turned on them before they could even think to turn on him. The easy grin he’d worn for most of the Games vanished, replaced by a hard-edged focus that chilled Kaia more than the bloodshed ever could. His seafoam-green eyes, once playful and bright, had narrowed—calculating and merciless.
He’d played them all.
Everyone believed he was harmless. Too young, too pretty. Just a pawn to be used until it no longer suited their strategy. The Careers thought they’d control him and then discard him, like they usually did with tributes of four.
They only realized their mistake when it was far too late.
The screen flickered as the trap unfolded—a brutal, efficient ambush. A net rigged to drop. Struggling limbs. Screams. And then Finnick, emerging from the shadows like a ghost, finishing what he’d set in motion with cold precision. No hesitation. No mercy.
Kaia sat frozen, breath shallow, heart pounding—not just from the violence, but from the cold, calculated brilliance of it all. The Capitol had seen a golden boy. But what he really was… was something far more dangerous.
A soft sound behind her broke the trance.
She turned, startled, to find him standing there—watching the screen in silence. His expression was unreadable, his face a mask far more controlled than the boy she’d just seen on the footage. For a moment, he said nothing, just stared at his younger self like he wasn’t quite sure whether to admire or mourn him.
Then he looked at her.
“We’re almost to the Capitol,” he said quietly, voice stripped of its usual warmth. “Come on. I want people to get a look at District Four’s tributes before you’re both taken to the Remake Center.”
“Finnick…” Kaia started, her voice catching as she finally tried to speak the apology lodged in her chest.
But he shook his head, cutting her off before the word could even form.
“Do it or don’t,” he said flatly, misreading her hesitation. “I’m just doing my job as your mentor—helping you get sponsors.”
His tone was cool, matter-of-fact. Not cruel, but distant. Professional. Like a switch had flipped and the charming boy from yesterday had never existed.
And just like that, he turned and walked away.
Kaia remained seated for a moment, staring at the place he’d stood, the apology still stuck in her throat like a stone. Maybe it was too late. Maybe it wouldn’t matter.
She reached for the sugar bowl beside her and popped a cube into her mouth, letting the sweetness dull the bitter weight in her chest. Then, gathering what was left of her composure, she stood and followed the path he’d taken.
Everyone was already gathered when Kaia arrived.
Finnick stood beside Odessa, both of them murmuring last-minute instructions to Dylan, who soaked it up with the eagerness of someone already picturing his name in lights. Finnick caught sight of her lingering at the edge of the group and gave a small nod—subtle, but not unkind. His expression, hard-edged softened just enough to be noticeable. He motioned for her to come closer.
“The train will roll through the Capitol first, give them a little preview before we hit the station,” he said, his voice calm, almost practiced. “Crowds will be waiting. Screaming fans. You’ll only have a few minutes, so make it count. Smile. Wave. Let them remember you before the chariots tonight.”
“Big smiles!” Odessa trilled, her Capitol accent bright and glittering like the jewels on her sleeves. “You want to charm them before you’re even dressed.”
Suddenly, light flooded the train car.
Kaia and Dylan turned toward the window, blinking as the view burst into color. The Capitol, the ruling city of Panem, came into view.
It emerged on the horizon like a mirage—grand and gleaming, just as she’d seen on television, yet somehow more overwhelming in person. Towering ivory spires pierced the sky, their surfaces polished to a shine so blinding it almost hurt to look at. Even Kaia, tense and wary, found herself drifting closer to the glass, pulled forward by awe she hadn’t meant to feel.
The city stretched endlessly in every direction, pristine and pale, its symmetry so perfect it felt unnatural. There was no dirt. No wear. No evidence of life beneath the gloss. It was beautiful—but in the way a glass cage might be beautiful.
As the train rolled deeper into the city, crowds began to form, spilling into the streets, waving eagerly. Their outfits shimmered with every color imaginable, skin painted, hair sculpted into impossible shapes. It was as if an entire kaleidoscope had exploded and come to life outside her window. It was loud. It was blinding. It was too much.
Dylan grinned widely, basking in the attention, blowing kisses, winking, soaking up every ounce of Capitol adoration like it was sunlight. But when the crowd began calling her name too—when signs for Kaia appeared and voices screamed for both of them—his smile wavered just slightly.
But then the shouts began to shift.
“Kaia! Kaia! Over here!”
Her name. Her name was in their mouths now too.
She froze.
Her throat constricted. Her hands hovered uselessly at her sides. She could barely breathe. So many people. So many eyes.
Still grinning for the cameras, Dylan yanked her to his side, his fingers clamping down tight—too tight. “Smile,” he muttered through clenched teeth, lips stretched in a brilliant display for the cameras. “At least act like you’re enjoying this.”
She forced a small smile. Then a wave. Tentative. Stiff.
The reaction was immediate. The crowd roared in approval, their volume rising to a near-deafening pitch. Encouraged by the response, Kaia relaxed her shoulders, waved again, even dared to smile a little more.
But the pit in her stomach remained.
“Dylan! Kaia! We love you!” voices shrieked from the mob outside.
Kaia’s smile faltered.
Lies, she thought bitterly. All lies.
These people weren’t cheering for her—they were cheering for the chance to see if she would live or die in the arena. It was all a game to them.
If she’d thought the noise before was overwhelming, it was nothing compared to the explosion of sound that erupted the moment Finnick stepped up beside her.
The crowd lost its mind.
The energy surged into a frenzy. The train vibrated with it. People screamed, some crying, others practically collapsing against the barriers. Kaia swore she saw someone faint when he blew a kiss toward the crowd.
Dylan’s grip loosened—finally—and Kaia pulled her hand back, rubbing discreetly at the red marks forming across her skin. Finnick hadn’t looked at her, hadn’t said a word, but she found herself steadied by his presence all the same, glad he drew some of the attention off of her.
When the train finally slid into the station and the screens darkened, cutting off the chaos outside, Finnick turned to them both. His expression was unreadable again—calm, composed, maybe even slightly impressed.
“Keep it up,” he said simply, nodding once. “They love you two.”
And that was it.
He turned and walked away without another word.
Odessa stepped in quickly to fill the silence, clapping her hands in delight. “Oh, that was perfect!” she beamed, launching into a breathless explanation about what came next—the order of events, how they’d be escorted to the Remake Center, the stylists, the prep teams—but Kaia barely heard her.
Kaia barely heard her.
Her gaze stayed fixed on Finnick’s retreating back, the apology still stuck somewhere in her throat.
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