"Oh," he laughs, "I'm sure I'm not the first guy to tell her that."
He hates treating Annie like an object, like any one of the pretty, useless women he has to flirt for in the Capitol ay time he's there, when she's been the strength behind him for so long, the face he sees when he wakes from the nightmares, the touch he'll accept when any other would make him flinch, but this is the game he plays, has played for Annie's sake since he'd gotten her through the Games, since he'd shielded her on her Victory Tour, and every time he's in the Capitol.
This is the person the Capitol wants, all toothy smiles and seductive manner, and he hates the mask every time he has to wear it, but he wears it so often sometimes it's hard to shed it, to remember who he really is underneath the Capitol's webs.
(Annie reminds him, the nights he forgets.)
He leans forward, elbows on the table, his foot brushing against Annie's again to remind her that this isn't him, that this is the game they both hate, the trap he's been woven into by Snow. His eyes go half-lidded, his voice dropping from its usual boyishness to something far more seductive.
"I think I could handle going with you," he says, smirking.
(He can't dare to look at Annie. He knows she hates this game.)
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He hates treating Annie like an object, like any one of the pretty, useless women he has to flirt for in the Capitol ay time he's there, when she's been the strength behind him for so long, the face he sees when he wakes from the nightmares, the touch he'll accept when any other would make him flinch, but this is the game he plays, has played for Annie's sake since he'd gotten her through the Games, since he'd shielded her on her Victory Tour, and every time he's in the Capitol.
This is the person the Capitol wants, all toothy smiles and seductive manner, and he hates the mask every time he has to wear it, but he wears it so often sometimes it's hard to shed it, to remember who he really is underneath the Capitol's webs.
(Annie reminds him, the nights he forgets.)
He leans forward, elbows on the table, his foot brushing against Annie's again to remind her that this isn't him, that this is the game they both hate, the trap he's been woven into by Snow. His eyes go half-lidded, his voice dropping from its usual boyishness to something far more seductive.
"I think I could handle going with you," he says, smirking.
(He can't dare to look at Annie. He knows she hates this game.)