The instant Cato drops into the ring his body is alive with energy. I've seen him do it a million times back in the Arena, but somehow it's different here. The dusty lighting is less clinical than the Training Centre, illuminating his skin and highlighting the contours of his arms and back, even beneath his shirt.
He circles with his opponent, who I now see is about his same size, but older and more weathered, not new to the scene at all. His stature is impressive, and there's a wily look to his face and his movement, but right away I know he's no match for Cato's technique and ferocity.
It makes it less interesting. I flip the knife carelessly, watching as the man lunges at Cato only to be devastatingly countered. The rest of the match is quick and effortless. As I watch it, my mind wanders back to what Tag said about Cato's pretty face. Even as he fights, the men are calling him pretty boy. It's strange, because I don't think of him that way. He's an obvious standout here, with his powerful build and youthful luster. He's a lot more taken care of than most of the people here, but even back at the Centre I've seen the girls stumbling for his attention. I never bothered to think about it much, because he was always too driven to succeed. He never noticed them and I never cared or questioned, but suddenly I realize he's not 13 anymore.
While he's distracted and easily winning, I take the opportunity to really look at him for the first time in two years. What I find isn't surprising, I've always appreciated it to some degree, but I realize the changing detail has escaped me somehow. Training has been good to him. Really good. His body is strong and astoundingly agile for his height and build. I knew that much already. What surprises me is how quickly I recognize what everyone else sees: the narrow waist, deep chest, and broad shoulders. His shoulders catch me especially. I've always liked the tilt of them, just arrogant enough and still completely unconcerned. Untouchable. Cato isn't just solid though. There's something undeniably aesthetic about him. I can't imagine what a strange duo we must look like side by side.
As his opponent surrenders and the announcer jumps inside the ring to raise Cato's hand, I shift my attention to his face; the clean angles, strongly shaped jaw, straight nose and soft mouth. His eyes are what catch me though, the same way they always have; intelligent and fierce, and oddly enough they are anything but cold. People always tell me my eyes are cold, feral even, but it's just one more thing to add to the list of what makes us opposites.
Cato climbs over the roping and heads back to where I'm waiting. I silently hand him his district token before he sits down, hastily dropping it around his neck as he does and flicking a small towel over his shoulder.
"That was small news. Cassius could have kicked that guy's teeth in without even thinking about it. I hope yours is better."
"Speaking of; who is this guy you're so eager to see me up against?" I heckle him aimlessly.
He smiles suspiciously and lifts his shoulders noncommittally in a way that makes me think he might be getting my vengeance more than twice tonight. "You'll see," he grins.