Disclaimer this is only based off the books bcz I hate Glato ️ If the writing is bad then please don't be mean abt it because it's my first time writing fanfic in 3 WHOLE YEARS so be gentle with your criticisms lmao; only real ones remember my old fics before I disappeared (directed at Cami my Clato-loving besty)! I had to write this despite my sleep schedule begging for a break. But Clato is more important than sleep xoxo

also forgot to mention English isn't my first language so any mistakes are probably due to my brain confusing which language I need to use lol. Let me know if that's noticeable.

Without further ado, happy reading!

Chap 1 / a prologue of sorts - daybreak

Writhing underneath her clutch, fury stained Cato's vision blood-red. How dare she? How could this girl do this to me? Embarrass me like this in front of the whole school? Thoughts like these only fuelled his tantrum more as he flailed his limbs out in every direction to escape her grasp. But, no matter how hard he tried, the girl still. Wouldn't. Fucking. Budge. It was laughable - Clove could barely tip the scale at 50 kilos soaking wet and couldn't reach the ceiling lights of the auditorium even if she stood on her tiptoes. Cato had at least more than 20 kilograms of pure muscle compared to her, and had been at this school for 11 years, longer than she, so why was he finding this practice match so goddamn difficult? His ribs ached as he laboured to control his breathing, and he could hear giggles echo throughout the auditorium. Their laughs resounded in his head. What's their problem? Do they find my struggle fucking funny? He looked up at a digital stopwatch that was looming over the hall and, sure enough, the countdown timer was running out. Now that there was a crowd forming, they started chanting down the seconds until the fight was over. Until Cato would inevitably lose.

'What's the matter, pretty boy? Are you scared?'

What the fuck did you just say? Cato had reached his tipping point. Summoning all his remaining energy, an overwhelming force took over his body and he shoved Clove off him with all his might. A guttural roar escaped his lungs whilst he heaved himself up and left the girl on the floor. As time ran out, Clove didn't even try to get up anymore. There was simply no point: she had lost, he had won. Cato threw her a glance as she regained her breath, still dizzy with effort. Her eyes met his, and a smirk played across her face. See who's funny now, he thought, resisting the urge to kill her then and there. It wasn't the first time he'd had those thoughts either, especially towards her. Clove infuriated him. She was such a vicious opponent in such a tiny body, a surprisingly good fighter found beyond her appearance. She was his biggest fucking nemesis. He had lost track of how many times they had sparred for hours on end with no apparent difference between their skill sets. No obvious winner. No superior one.

No Victor.

Yeah, it was good to have a little competition, but even the trainers who set them up in the first place deemed Cato and Clove's rivalry to be a bit too much. Still, for them it was never enough.

Cato was snapped out of his rage by his instructor ordering him to shake hands after the fight. Of course: this was meant to bridge the gap between them and to develop a relationship of sorts, as the academy had wanted them to. Grudgingly, he put his scarred hand out between him and Clove, glaring at her. She returned the favour, but not without mouthing a quick, wholehearted 'fuck you' to him. This made him chuckle. However annoying she was, and as insufferable as he got sometimes, they knew each other like the backs of their hands. Every heartbeat, every rise and fall of her chest as they fought; every single miniscule movement of hers was familiar to him, and the reverse was true for Clove. He squeezed her hand as if to say 'fuck you too', looking her dead in her inky eyes. Blinking slowly, she flashed a sickeningly-sweet, toothy smile, just to piss him off. 'Congrats.' It made his mind wander back to the past, as nostalgia's tendrils tugged him back to a time years ago, still fresh and gleaming in his memory like snow outside a child's bedroom on a school morning.

Though she had joined the academy halfway throughout the year on a scholarship, Clove's initial arrival had stirred up quite a commotion. Before her lessons had even started she was so skilled with a knife that the blades themselves were afraid of her, and after gossip got out about the time she almost gouged out August Farlow's green eyes in what was meant to be a 'friendly' fight, her peers started calling her 'Midnight', because the colour of her own was as pitch-black as the sky at night. (Yeah, they really called her that because they'd say her soul was coal-black like the miners from 12, but no one ever told her that; probably for the better. Unless they wanted to end up like poor August.) It wasn't long before she started climbing up the ranks of her year group, winning tens, then hundreds of practice fights consecutively. She was bored. The other kids in her year group weren't posing much of a threat to her at all: every time she went up against someone, new academy records would be set. Fastest knockout. Strongest under-13. Most improved fighter. Every couple of days she would come home with a new certificate, a new trophy, with new rumours spreading between other classmates like wildfire. Eventually, word got out to the older year groups. The trainers wanted to challenge her. They wanted to test her, to see if she was really as powerful as people said she was. The kids there wanted to fight her, to see what she could do, because after all, what on earth could a kid as small as Clove really do?

A mere three weeks after she started attending the academy, another myth had gotten out to the masses: the legend that Clove Kentwell, fittingly nicknamed the 'Midnight Fighter', the newbie, was set to fight Cato Hadley, the 'Rising Sun' of District 2.

Clove had first seen him when she was 12. All sideswept blond hair, flawless skin and charming smiles; to say he fit the beauty standard would've been an understatement. Girls in the training hall would straighten their posture, let their hair flow down gracefully from their ponytails and begin to show off their skills a lot more when he'd simply enter the room. However, Clove was immune to his built-in magnetism. She didn't think he lived up to the hype. The cockiest kid in Panem, Cato had left a sour taste in her mouth; he always found something to brag about and everyone always found a way to lap it up. Despite this, he did have some talents that were noteworthy. At that time, at 13 years old, he was easily wielding the heaviest swords that District 2's finest training academy had to offer with the highest skill anyone had ever seen in years, and was thoroughly regarded as the District's newest up-and-coming Hunger Games star. This list of accolades only added to Clove's hatred of the boy. And she was to fight him in a week's time? It was going to be easy as pie.

Cato hadn't seen the girl yet, but he'd heard horror stories about her.

'Dude, I heard she tried to kill her coach at her last school,' his friend Felix warned him, a tone of pure panic in his shaky voice. Nonsense, thought Cato. Even if she did, he could easily overpower her if it came down to that. That skinny build and those thin limbs: he could snap her like a toothpick without breaking a sweat. 'I'm just saying, it's your funeral. Do whatever you want.'

A week and a half of training later, they were both ready for the fight. They had each heard tales of how the other brawled, however neither one of them was phased.

Clove looked up from her lunch to meet her friend Livia's eyes. She was babbling about how lucky Clove was that she was fighting Cato for, like, the billionth time, but she had no interest in listening to this, so she played with the salad on her plate until Livia would get bored and change the topic after a while. She looked around the massive dining hall, at the panelled grey walls and fluorescent lights that hung over her head. Her gaze strayed over to the 13-year-olds' section, where she saw Cato laughing raucously with 3 other boys surrounding him. Struggling to contain her excitement, she grinned at herself. She couldn't wait to show him who's boss. At the same time, Cato turned around to face her, sending her a scowl that made her spine shiver.

'Can I ask you a favour?'

'What is it, Liv?'

'Tell me how muscly he is after you've fought him, okay?' Clove actually spat out her water at Livia's strange request. What the hell? 'I'm being serious! It's not funny, Clo!' she giggled, sheepish because of her reaction.

'Sure, I will. By the way, while I'm at it, should I ask if blondes are his type? Ooh, and if he has a girlfriend?'

'Yes, please!' Livia responded eagerly, apparently not picking up on what Clove thought was very obvious sarcasm. Tutting, Clove focused her attention back onto her food. Livia was a nice girl, truly, and she had her funny moments. But her obsession with Cato was a little hard to put up with at times, and sometimes she felt jealous of Livia. In spite of the fact that she wasn't particularly strong, or quick, unlike Clove, she had killer looks, and boys would practically throw themselves at her feet. Who could blame them? Her strange but gorgeous combination of curly blonde hair and warm brown eyes captivated the guys in their year; add in her slender physique, blemish-free face and wealthy parents to the mix, and you get the lure of Livia. If only she could get herself out of the Cato-shaped hole she'd dug herself into and let her crush go, she could do alright.

'Clo? Can you hear me?'

Clo's too busy imagining what that boy's blood would look like spilled, splattered messily on concrete.

Harsh sunlight descended on the platform in the back of the academy. Cato made his way over to where the fight was supposed to take place, exuding an air of self-assurance. An aura of I'm going to fucking win this thing. With his posse of friends following closely in tow, it looked like a scene from a thriller movie; Cato dragging them along with him like they were his bodyguards. If anything, the others were more nervous than Cato was. Just as he prepared himself, as his hand was gripping the sword that ached to be freed from the sheath by his hip, Atticus grabbed Cato by the shoulder, turning him swiftly around. 'She's fucking crazy. Do your worst.'

'Yeah, Cato, rip her to pieces!'

'Guys, relax,' announced Cato, certainty in his voice and a glint of madness in his eye. 'I'll give the bitch what she deserves. No less, no more. Alright?' He's greeted with silence from his gang. 'I said alright?' he repeated, and a chorus of agreement arose. He was their self-appointed leader. They all knew that well, and so played along. Only God and Cato knew what would happen to them if they didn't.
He took his place on the stage of sorts: it had enough room for at least 30 people to stand and watch if they wanted to, but somehow over 50 were gathered around. All for him. Murmurs flew around the makeshift arena as Clove leered at him from the opposite side of him. Glittering in her eyes, the light reflected back to his gaze as stars in a pool of night sky. Which was ironic because it was 2 in the afternoon. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about her eyes… disturbed him. It could've been the palpable dirty looks she was tossing his way, like he wasn't worthy of more than a single second of her time; it could've been how he couldn't see any fear in her eyes, making this the first time he had encountered someone who wasn't scared of him; it could've been anything.

They took 4 steps towards each other, as was expected before a fight. Cato outstretched his arm and offered her his hand, just pretend you respect her; she gracefully took it. It never did make any sense to him, the tradition of a handshake before a fight, but he still went through with it.'You wanna know why they call me Rising Sun?' he asked, hoping to make an impression. It'll be even more memorable when he'll use this same line in the actual Games.

'Because if I look at you for too long, I'll turn blind.'

With his hand still in hers, she sprinted forward and blindsided him, making the crowd let out a collective gasp. She was nimble, and faster than him, so thus she had managed to pull him down on the tough concrete. Tumbling and falling on his back, Cato watched the world turn crimson as it had done so many times before. 'What the fuck is your problem?' he screamed, his voice gravelly and low in the hope to intimidate her. Clove jumped a little at this thundering voice right in her ear, but her hold on him was steady and she managed to keep him pinned to the floor despite his best efforts to get up on two feet. With both his wrists being held down by one of her dainty, but calloused hands, she used the other to carefully grab her smallest knife. What was she gonna do, waste her best knife on just Cato? No way. She needed to get into his head, and this knife was perfect for the job.

'Is Blondie having a hard time getting up?' Clove waved the knife in front of Cato's face, which was twisted into a grimace. If looks could kill, Clove would not only have died on the spot but she would've eternally damned in the afterlife as well. As if she knew this, she lowered her knife down to Cato's cheekbone, pressing the edge of the blade gently against his skin as the cool steel made him flinch. He wasn't resisting anymore. Good. She moved the knife down to his jaw, deciding to fuck with him a little more. 'Damn, your jawline is nearly as sharp as this knife,' she taunted, practically begging him for a reaction, but he still wouldn't give in. The kid was stronger than she thought. 'I wonder which is sharper though… shall we find out?'

This was it, she gloated to the audience inside her brain. What I've been waiting for. To make him hurt!

Refusing to look into his eyes, she sunk her knife into him, carving a deep line into his then-unmarked skin. Dragging a line along his jaw, Cato watched as Clove's eyes lit up whilst she watched ruby-red escape from him. From where her delicate knife had once danced. It fell towards the nape of his neck, dripping on the floor and staining the grey gravel dark red. Clove was an artist: her knife was the brush, Cato being her ever-so-steady canvas, and his blood painting the floor, her hands, his face into gorgeous rubies like the ones made in District 1. But much to Cato's credit, he never cringed once at the discomfort she was causing him, only whimpering at the beginning and then settling down. Granted, Clove tried not to look at him at all, feeling his gunmetal-coloured eyes drill their way into her head. God, what is wrong with him?Does he think he can just stare me down like a psycho? Like it'll stop me? She was just focused on the blood. She believed it was absolutely beautiful, much to the spectators' horror. Once a deep gash had formed along the right side of his face and the bleeding stopped, Clove decided she had played this game long enough. To leave Cato seething with fury was all she wanted, and boy did she fulfil her desire. Ending the fight once and for all, she got up off him and let him steady his breathing, then tended to his wound. She turned to face the crowd, which at that point mainly consisted of people her and Cato's age groups, but some older faces were there as well. They were smirking at her, nodding in silent approval. Alas, as long as she would have liked to stay there, forever in their admiration, it was the end of their training day. No one wanted to hang back after 3PM and face Enobaria's wrath, so they packed up their things and left. Even Livia, who had been on her practically bouncing off the walls with anticipation throughout their battle, waved goodbye to Clove, gave her a thumbs up and a cheeky grin that Clove was certain meant 'you just lived out my dream'. The guys Cato came with had left as well, dragging their heels along the floor as they mumbled reassurances to each other. It was just the two of them now. Cato cursed her out in his head, fucking bitch this and I'll fucking kill her that as he sorely touched his scar.

'Some day, I'll want a rematch.' His voice rasped and he almost choked on his words, but he meant every bit of what he said.

'Let me know when you're ready, and I'll be up for it,' Clove responded, leaning to pick up her knife and promptly left Cato alone. Walking home, she realised she never did ask him if blondes were his type.

Reading back on this chapter as I'm about to post it is lowkey making me hate it but I'm still posting it because I poured my blood, sweat and tears into this for a whole week trying to get it finished.
Anwyay, as you can tell this is very much an ENEMIES-to-lovers story. A whole lot of emphasis on the enemies. But I'll only be going into their hatred in this brief prologue because I just want to get on with their actual romance
If anything sounds clunky or I've made a mistake don't hesitate to message me or leave a review!
I just love writing authors' notes because it feels like I'm talking to nice little friends. But I'm gonna have to stop here, friends!

As always,

May the odds be ever in your favour,

Andi :)