"It's Dean's shirt," she mutters, because it's easier to admit to that, to something which could arguably be interpreted as romantic rather than admit to the fact that she's running from the problem and from acknowledging it at all. Shrugging her shoulder until the fabric pulls from his fingers, Faye does her best to train her expression into something softer. Finnick hasn't done anything wrong, it must be strange for him to see her in such an aggravated state. If only she could calm herself down.

But her stomach turns again, and Faye frowns, leaning forward to rest her forehead in her palm, skin feeling slightly clammy to the touch. "Just not feeling great, okay? Hard to rock my usual when that's the case."