"I hate how I can't lie to you," Finnick sighs. They're lying together in Cinna's bed after some less-than-innocent acts; Cinna is half on top of him, and Finnick is running a hand through his hair, the other hand behind his head. Cinna's fingers are tracing loopy patterns on Finnick's sunkissed chest.
"I don't mind it," Cinna responds quietly. "It makes things a bit easier, with us both having no choice but to be honest. That way we both know there are no strings."
"I can't help but think, though. If I could lie to you, you could love me."
"Finn. It's fine. No pressure, remember?" Cinna looks at him with guarded eyes.
"Yeah. No pressure," Finnick replies and looks away, trying to convince himself that this is best; but he can't help the nagging voice in his head telling him he wants the pressure.
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timeasmymeasure
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"I don't mind it," Cinna responds quietly. "It makes things a bit easier, with us both having no choice but to be honest. That way we both know there are no strings."
"I can't help but think, though. If I could lie to you, you could love me."
"Finn. It's fine. No pressure, remember?" Cinna looks at him with guarded eyes.
"Yeah. No pressure," Finnick replies and looks away, trying to convince himself that this is best; but he can't help the nagging voice in his head telling him he wants the pressure.