Clove

The train ride to the Capitol was torture, even if it was only a day. The two tributes of district two were dead silent, cold and stoical expressions on their faces. They both obeyed their escort's orders and mentor's trainings. The two people who had once shined and emitted energy had become expressionless as a stone.

At night, Clove couldn't sleep. She laid there, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about what would happen to her and Cato in the arena. If they would become enemies, if they would be allies. Most of all, she wondered what would happen to the steady bridge that had been built between them. Would it stand there, unharmed? Would it shatter and disappear like her heart?

There were so many questions to be asked.

And there were so many answers.

Cato

Cato couldn't sleep that night.

He had tried explaining to her, he really did. But every single time the timing seemed wrong.

He had wondered what would happen to whatever they had. If the wall that had once existed between him and Clove would be built again, this time maybe permanently. If he could ever apologize to her for everything that went wrong between them. If it was too late.

If he was going to die, he didn't want to die thinking Clove hated him.

They both knew the other was awake.

So they both figured– maybe it was time to talk. Both couldn't bear the tension that was building between them as every single minute passed.

They met in the hallway.

Minutes pass in silence, the tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"I'm sorry," Cato starts, his eyes searching for any type of expression in Clove's face. "I–" he gulps. "I just want you to be safe– to be the victor, even if it–"

"Cato," Clove cuts in.

"Even if it means death. I can't watch you die from behind the screen, and I won't be able to hold the guilt. I would rather die knowing you're safe and–"

"Cato."

Silence fills the air once again. Clove's eyes are filled with emotion, staring straight at him.

She should have known. She should have remembered that the only person Cato cared and trusted was her. She felt strong arms wrap around her protectively, and all she could do was letting all the uncertainty go in tears. She was crying like a wimp, but she couldn't care less.

Her guarding wall– the wall she took so many years to carefully build– was burning down in flames.

All that was left were ashes, black as sadness.

The world was shattering.

And all they could do was

nothing.