I wake up at 7:30 the next morning, I quickly get up, take a shower, and get dressed. By the time I'm done, it's time to go.
As quietly as I can, I walk out to the elevator, Gucci, Brutus, Eno, and Cato would kill me if they knew about this, but they would probably be angrier if I woke them up. I take the elevator down to the ground floor and walk to the lobby.
Guess who's there waiting? I hardly recognize him. His clothes and hair are entirely different. He isn't wearing ridiculous Capitol clothes, just tan shorts and a light blue t-shirt. And his hair is spiked up instead of combed back. I have to use all my will power to avoid staring.
His face lights up when he sees me, "Good morning."
"Morning." I reply quietly.
"Ready?" he asks, holding his arm out to me.
"Mhm," I take his arm carefully. NOW, this is weird. Very weird. I'm 15. Seneca must be at least 20. 20! That's 5 whopping years! I think it might be illegal to be comepletely honest. I shouldn't be here... But Seneca is really good looking... Five years... And he seems to have a nice personality... Five years... I think I'll stay... Five years... But this could be seen as extremely inappropriate... Five years, Clove. Five stinking years.
While I was argueing with myself, apparently we reached the dining room. Seneca hold a chair out for me. I sit down, he sits next to me and he's awfully close. I find myself staring at his beard, it's amazing, all swirly and such. I pull my gaze away when I realize how creepy I must seem. Now it's silent.
He breaks it, "So Clove... Tell me a bit about yourself."
I sigh, almost completely ignoring his request, "Seneca, Mr. Crane, Mr. Head Gamemaker sir, why did you ask me here?"
I shifts in his seat, "Well..." he stops.
"Tell me, now, or I'll leave." I start to get up.
"No, please don't go," I sit back down, "Are you sure you want to know?"
I nod.
He exhales heavily, "Alright..." He rubs his temple slighty, basically saying, 'Give me a minute.'
I wait patiently.
"So... When you first arrived here... I saw you... And it's just.. Hard to explain.. But to put it simply... I like you, Clove. I like you a lot." He looks as me, waiting for a response.
I just sit there for a while, taking it in. How am I supposed to respond to that? So I reply as honestly as I can, "I don't understand how you can like someone when you don't know them... I'm flattered, I really am, but there's the whole age difference thing... And... Yeah.."
"You don't remember, do you?" he asks.
"Remember what?"
"I didn't expect you to, but we grew up together Clove. I know you."
I laugh, "No we didn't, I didn't know any Seneca's before I came here."
"My name wasn't always Seneca. They made me change it, in order to move to the Capitol. I swear, Clove, I used to live in District 2. We were neighbors for eight years.."
"What was your name before?"
"Blu," he replies shorty.
And now the memories come flooding in. Blu was the boy I had a crush on in grade school... And I did grow up with him, but he didn't look anything like Blu. Then it hits me.
It's the beard.
I nod slowly, impying that I now understand. What are the odds of THIS happening?
Twenty minutes later we've finished eating and we're walking around the apartment complex. During breakfast we talked and now I know that Seneca is Blu. Same personality, same laugh, he hasn't changed very much.
"I'd like to do this again," he says softly.
"So would I... But no one can know about it, okay?"
"Why is that?" he asks.
"Sen, you're 22. I'm 15. Do you know how much trouble I would get in? How much trouble WE could get in?"
"Good point," he sighs, "How about tommorow night?"
"Fine. But it has to be when everyone has gone to bed."
He nods, then looks at his watch, "You're training class begins in 10 minutes."
"Okay... I'll see you tommorow night then?"
"Yeah," he quickly leans down and kisses my cheek.
I feel my face turn bright red as I turn around and start walking back to the apartment complex.
On the way there, I think about everything that's happened. I realize it's wrong what we are doing. We shouldn't see each other again. Seven stinking years.
It's all so wrong.
But...
I kind of like it.
