a/n [Two of five. Cato/Clove for Brookie.]
When the lights turn out, and the air is silent save for little breaths and heartbeats, a girl pads down a hall, sugar cookie in hand, and knocks softly on another's door. In the midst of night, it opens, and in she walks, cookie and braids and pajamas and all. Locked away in her mind, she reminisces. Warm beds and mother's kisses and blankets tucked up to chins. She wants her innocence back.
And when he looks at her, wide eyes and crumbs on her chin, he scowls, but lets her into the circle of his arms. After all this time, he knows better than to refuse her. She calls his name, softly, and he tugs her to his bed where they lay and dream of simple things. He kisses her slowly—her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her lips. With eyes closed, tomorrow is an eternity away.