They had been stealing glances all night. Glances were the most they could take without an alibi. A few times they had to find one on the spot. An occasional stare was worth the lies.
Cato spent most of the night trying not to stare at Clove in her interview dress. He only committed the crime once, caught by Marvel waiting for the interviews to start. His alibi was that he had never seen her in a dress like that before. The casual dresses they wore for the reapings were the fanciest he'd seen her. It was true. Partially. The fact that he would have stared at her in a burlap sack, all the same, was irrelevant. Marvel was convinced. The brutal girl he thought Clove to be wouldn't wear this dress.
Clove lasted longer. She could handle only taking glances until dinner. His suit jacket was off, but he hadn't changed into a different shirt. Just rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned his collar. It was as if he was testing her. Asking for him to pass the rolls turned into a wordless stare. She looked at him for multiple seconds longer than she should have. Left it to be played off as her being tired. Another alibi wrapped up in their crime.
Excused from dinner they went their separate ways. Reuniting only when the rest of the floor was dark. Cato pushed Clove into the bathroom adjoining her room. Turning the shower on as hot as it would go. The water hitting the tile would drown out anything they said. If anyone even cared to listen. The heat would cause
They had to talk away from the others. Talking meant that they cared about each other. Caring meant weaknesses. Weakness meant death. No one could know about the things they did.
They had to truly love each other to still allow themselves to care knowing how their story was ending. Though not truly illegal, the way they cared for each other was a crime in its own way. Both of them secretly wishing it was the other's favorite.
They had only had each other for years. Cato had a reputation for breaking things. And people. Clove hung back in the shadows. Willing to do whatever necessary to win. They didn't attract friendship. Besides who looks for friends in individuals who would likely be dead before their nineteenth birthday? Most of the careers formed friendships in childhood when they were still too young to understand the futility of their situation.
They started as sparring partners. Cato had just hit a growth spurt, tall and slender. Still round in the face at only nine. Clove couldn't have weighed fifty pounds soaking wet. She was a year younger than him but even among others her age she was small.
They knew of each other before that day. Tops of their respective age groups. But they never interacted. The first time they fought he blacked her eye knocking her to the ground and she drew blood when biting his wrist unwilling to lose. Somehow that formed a lifetime of friendship between them. A friendship that didn't stop at friends even if they insisted it did. It would be easier for them to lose the other if they thought they didn't feel the same way. Mourning a friend would be easier than mourning a lover.
The Cato from earlier in the night was gone. The arrogant boy who acted as if he had already won the games had broken down into fragments. His eyes were wide and frantic. The broken boy who only came out around her. "You shouldn't even be here. We were never supposed to be in that arena side by side." He was like an injured animal. Violent in fear, not nature.
"One injury and they move you up a year. They ruined everything. Everything." By this point, he was truly shouting. Clove's palm finds his chest distracting him for half a second to gesture towards the door. Telling him to quiet down without saying the words "We never should have been in the same year." The words rolling out of his mouth sounded closer to tears now that he had quieted down.
When they were younger the games hadn't been a sore subject. Caring for the other wasn't a crime then. They could have both been victors. Cato had always been meant to volunteer for the 74th hunger games. Clove on the other hand wasn't meant to be a tribute until the 75th or 76th games. They dreamed of winning back-to-back games. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Their childhood dreams had been turned into only dreams. Stolen by reality.
The broken boy was angry and so was the girl. They just showed it in different ways. Clove was self-destructive. Quiet. Acting without a second thought. Cato was just destructive in general. Hurting himself and everything in his path.
The mirror shattered when his fist met the middle. He had thought ahead enough to cover his knuckles with a rag. They would bruise but they wouldn't bleed. Any other time he would welcome the sting of the glass, but tonight the games were too close. He couldn't take an injury.
"That boy from twelve admitting his love for his district partner gets pity. The Capitol loves the idea of star-crossed lovers from district 12. If I told the crowd that the girl I loved had come with me, everyone would have laughed in my face. What career was stupid enough to fall for their partner?" He was laughing now. Not a humorous laugh but one without emotion behind it. It was a laugh meant to stop tears. "They'd say 'careers don't have feelings but it was a good strategy' and send us along. No one would question if there was even a possibility that I was being honest. A career falling in love might as well be a crime."
Clove is stuck on the word 'love'. It was the way she felt for him. Going into the games she told herself that he didn't feel the same way. Love made things complicated. She doesn't mention the word. If they talk of love they will break down. She says the only thing she can think of. "So we kill them." It was a comfortable topic. They were desensitized from death at a young age. It was an easier subject than love. "The boy will lead us to fire girl. We'll kill her, and then we'll kill him. Their blood will be on our hands. I'll make sure of it."
There is nothing more for her to say. It will not be alright. They will not be okay. At least one of them will be dead in the coming weeks. The only thing that had left was revenge on the star-crossed lovers of district 12. Not personally but for the fact that the star-crossed lovers got to share secrets, they never could. It wasn't much, but it was what they had left as a team.
She turns off the water. There is nothing left to say. No conversation would make this better. There was nothing that they could fix. Everything was crumbling to dust. She leads Cato out of the bathroom to sit on the edge of her bed. They will sit there in silence until they feel comfortable leaving each other. The next time they talk will be after the games start.
They both knew going into that arena that they'd be the other's greatest weakness. One of them was going down, but they'd be doing it at the other's side. They could only hope that it wouldn't have to be at the other's hands. This was their punishment for their favorite crime.