Azalea Rose Willow loves three things above everything else:
summer, the only season that mattered in her mind.
singing, alongside the comforting embrace of her guitar.
but above all, the easy camaraderie with the boy who lives next door to her, and...
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Exhaustion finally began to pull at their eyelids after what felt like an eternity. Sprawled out on the various couches and armchairs, they tried in vain to find sleep. The air crackled with a tension that transcended their usual bickering. Worry for Lukka, along with the weight of their punishment, hung heavy in the room.
Tossing and turning, Trishia grumbled, "This is the worst sleepover ever."
Annie, propped up on the couch with an ice pack strapped to her throbbing ankle, winced at the movement. "Speak for yourself," she countered, "at least I have a legitimate excuse to be horizontal."
"Remember that time? When I tried to sing one of Azalea's songs, but butchered every single note?" Bruno said, trying to light the air a bit.
A ghost of a smile flickered on Azalea's lips. "You sounded like a dying cat serenading a garbage truck."
Bruno threw his head back and let out a snort of laughter. The sound, however, died in his throat as Finnick, who had been fixated on Azalea, shot up from the floor.
A suffocating pain constricted his chest, a panic attack bubbling up like a forgotten nightmare. He couldn't take it anymore - the worry about Lukka, the jumbled emotions churning inside him, the sight of Azalea laughing with someone else.
Without a word, Finnick stormed out of the room, slamming the back door with a force that rattled the windows. The silence that followed was deafening. Everyone stared at the empty doorway, processing the sudden outburst.
Azalea, the first to react, rose to her feet. "I should go check on him," she said, concern etched on her face.
But Trishia reached out and grabbed Azalea's arm. "Leave him be," she said, her voice surprisingly gentle. "I'll go."
Azalea hesitated, clearly torn. But Trishia, despite her usual barbs towards Finnick, held a surprising amount of respect for his discomfort. Azalea nodded slowly, sinking back down onto the floor.
The back door creaked open, a shaft of light briefly cutting through the inky blackness of the night. Trishia stepped out, her silhouette stark against the faint glow coming from inside. She spotted Finnick huddled on the back steps, head buried in his knees, gasping for breath.
She rushed towards him, concern overriding her usual snark. "Finnick, what's wrong?" she knelt beside him, her voice softer than he expected.
Finnick flinched at the sound, but slowly raised his head. His face was pale, his eyes wide with a raw emotion that surprised Trishia. He took a shuddering breath, trying to regain control. Each ragged inhale seemed to be a struggle, his chest heaving dramatically.
Trishia didn't hesitate. She crossed the distance between them, her voice calm despite the storm raging inside her. "Hey, Finnick," she said gently, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay. You're gonna be okay."
