"I didn't ask it."

For all Finnick's immediate sarcasm, it's something of a relief that all the sign says is something as superficial and ridiculous as a comment on his taste for sweet things. He's always had a linking for sugary or honeyed things, but the life of a victor in the last ten years has made it much easier for him to indulge it, as he's done here tonight with ice cream and on many occasions in the Capitol when admirers have tried to impress him with treats. That thought might be a little jaded, but there's still a genuine enjoyment in savoring sweetness.

It's not something to be ashamed of, nor one of the many many secrets Finnick wants to hide. That doesn't mean that he likes it being revealed like this; when privacy is as hard to find as it is for a victor, the infringement is one in a long series, but no more welcome for its frustrating familiarity.

What is welcome is the gesture from the stranger, indicating a passage that looks like it might get them out of this room. Finnick can't always leave a party when he's fed up with it, so now he plans to, since nobody seems about to tell him he can't.

"Thanks," he says, his voice low. "You coming too?"