Disclaimer: Nope. Don't own it.

You know us. We were never one for small talks.

We liked to pretend we knew each other—and others (hint: here's where you slip us a little praise for being such good actors) were fooled into believing so—when we hardly did.

Yes, we were from the same District, but what was the point? So were that little attention whore and her blonde wimp.

But they couldn't compare to us. No, not the slightest.

xxxx

Cato held back his chuckle the second Caesar Flickerman worked his magic and truth (not that it was an oh-so-great secret) slipped out. I could tell he was trying. Good God. The poor boy was so sweet, so honest, so straightforward. I'd never seen—or met (or wish I'd ever met)—a genuinely nice (ugh) boy as was Mellark.

I smirked at him, saying nothing, knowing he'd ignore me as usual. We were sitting in our seats, just backstage, watching the rest of them get on with the angles, words, twirls, and charms. Oh, it was ridiculous.

I wasn't a crowd-pleaser like Cato. That boy—just by the way he was built—could have an entire city in his hands. Or a pack of girls. He had to offer the public a mere smile, and they'd go crazy over pushing and beating each other to get in line for his autograph. Our charismatic killer, that's what our teacher used to call him back in Two.

I was the exact opposite. I suppose you could call me a creep (though that wouldn't be very nice of you, would it? Considering I'm taking my fair share of time out of training to talk to you…and my knives are getting a bit lonely without real targets to practice with...Oh, okay. You wouldn't? Good.), but I was always hanging in the back of classes, throwing knives. Yeah. Absentmindedly or intently. Seemed like it was all I did.

I didn't have many friends. I guess it kind of got into the way. People judged me as soon as they saw me, or exchanged a single sentence with me in a rare conversation (You should know by now that my knives did most of my talking for me. Or, well, a lack of.) Aloof. Cold. That was what they took out of it. And hey, why should I reveal myself to you when I barely know you?

So I got through. School, I mean. The training academy. Cato was set to volunteer that year. Everyone thought he was ready. Everyone wanted him to be ready. You can imagine what that amount of attention did to his ego.

Oh, now. Don't look at me like that.

I can read it in your eyes. You're thinking, "Sour grapes. You like him. You're going on this way because you could never have him."

Calm down. See, you're rushing there again.

You haven't heard the whole story.

I didn't like him then.

To me he was this arrogant, picture-perfect playboy of the district. I wanted next to nothing to do with him.

So why this…talk about relationship with him, you ask?

I'm getting there.

I lived my life outside of the spotlight, and he relished his inside of it. I was glad that was the way it was. To have something to do with him, even talk, disgusted me. Those girls fainting over him were my entertainment.

Then the Reaping came.

I was a Career, you understand, and I was expected to be prepared. I just…wasn't prepared for Cato.

Ok. I know I'm going back and forth here. Of course I knew. Along with everyone else in Two that it was his year. That he was volunteering.

But what I least expected (leave it to the Capitol to use fate as a tool to fuck young adults over) was the idea of me with him.

His hand was warm and strong, his grip deadly when we shook hands. He looked me straight in the eyes. I stared back, unflinching.

Bring it.

We still didn't talk.

Later, on board the train, he decided to start his invasion of my personal space.

"You're that girl."

I turned. He was leaning against the wall, eying me.

"What girl?" I asked, irritated. We didn't have to talk. It would be better if we didn't. We would kill one another to win the Games any day after the silly parade and interview and whistle sounded.

Cato chuckled. "The girl who would kill herself rather than talk to me."

He was handsome. I knew. Chiseled features. Bright blue eyes. Those things I could always hear girls whispering animatedly about in the back of some empty classroom. I suppose they'd die in my place, standing here, having the boy of their dreams waiting to talk to them, actually waiting to listen to what they have to say.

It wasn't awkward for me to talk to boys. It was no different. They were people. You could think I wasn't much of a romantic.

I stepped closer to him. "The rumors are more nasty than I thought. For your information, my life is of greater value to me than exchanging a few words with you."

He crossed his arms. Good. Biceps. "That's good to know."

I raised an eyebrow. As if that made a difference. I was about to step out of the room when I heard him mutter, "You're the second girl who's this calm talking to me."

Out of curiosity (seriously. just that.), I glanced back. "Oh, who's the first?" And telling you this now, I was trying my best to keep my sarcasm down. His tone was strange in a way I couldn't tell, a layer of him stripped away, maybe. I hadn't heard him say words that way (No. I am not a stalker. He's the flirty one.) before.

He had a little smug smile on his face for that one. For getting me back into the conversation. Huh.

"My sister," he said.

"Older or younger?" This was news to me. (Probably a fact featured in a prehistoric paper for his loyal followers). Besides, I couldn't imagine the 'brutal, bloody,' Cato with a sibling.

Hey, I really couldn't.

He looked away. "Younger. Kayla, thirteen."

My lips curved into an 'O.' "You miss her?"

His fist hit the wall beside him suddenly. He looked down. "Look, I'm not here to talk about that with you, whatever your name is."

And left.

Oh wow. There's your great and mighty Cato for you.

I didn't mind him not knowing my name, no.

That was good and well until we had to dress up for the fucking fancy parade everyone was making too big a deal out of.

I was doing it for my survival.

Yeah. I know what you're thinking.

I never thought I'd have to dress up to save my life, either.

xxx

A/N: AH. This was supposed to be a one-shot. Clove has more to say, obviously XD.

Up next: Cato's turn.

Let me know what you think and hope you've enjoyed it,

Each and every review, click, and hit make my day

Thank you so much for reviewing, clicking, and just stopping by,

Your ever humble fanfic writer :)