Author's Note: FINALLY! It's finished! I'm so sorry for the hiatus... my new job is keeping me terribly busy. I just want to thank all of my kind reviewers, like Fadi, Shinigami, AllenCampbell, Through Darkness and Light, alykat14, Fake David and Horror Cakes! That's not even to name all of them, and I apologize SO much if I forgot to list you. You are all so important to me, filling me with kind words and great criticism whenever I need it. I'm so blessed! :3 Anyway, I hope this chapter isn't lame. Please tell me if it is or if there's anything I need to correct. Please READ AND REVIEW! :D And most importantly, enjoy!

I always feel like I'm rising up from the dead when I wake up from a deep sleep. The grunting and groaning noises I make while fading into consciousness make me sound like a brain-hungry, undead cadaver. I'm sure I look the part, too. Sitting up in my sleeping bag, I rub my eyes and open my heavy eyelids. I'm not sure why, but the first thing I choose to watch is my shadow on the ground as I yawn and stretch. I can see by the shape of my silhouette that my hair has assumed a style that's normally only achievable by electrocution. Rubbing some of the stray hairs off of my forehead, I realize my skin is covered by a thin film of slick, pungent sweat. Back home, my brothers and I always used to tease each other about how gross we looked and smelled in the morning. But I'm sure the last thing they'd want to do if they saw me, at this moment, would be to joke around. Actually, I'm sure they'd want to beat me to a bloody pulp after the way I've treated Katniss, the way I'm still involved with the Careers, and especially the way I've been acting around Cato lately. I look down at the boy laying next to me. His body feels so warm pressed next to mine, which is probably the reason I'm sweating so much. Unlike the previous mornings, he hasn't eeked out a single snore. Instead, he's sleeping peacefully, soundlessly inhaling and exhaling. His hair isn't much more than lightly tousled, and he isn't odiferous at all. In fact, the slight scent of his natural musk is sort of charming. Truthfully, I'm almost embarrassed to have him wake up and see me like this. He's seen me in the morning before, but never looking this sweaty or rancid. I haven't bathed in three days, and I'm sure that's got something to do with why this morning is worse than the others. I comb my fingers through my hair, trying to make it look at least tolerable.

"Hey Peeta." I hear someone whisper.

Well, it definitely wakes me up. I jump, looking around the woods in front of me. Nothing. Twisting my neck to look behind, I find Clove, awake and attentive, sitting on the ground near her sleeping bag. She giggles, probably amused at my being startled.

"Oh, good morning." I say, my voice strained and groggy. Even though my state of panic lasted about two seconds, my whole body feels like I've just had a minor heart attack.

"Did you sleep well?" she asks.

I hesitate, not wanting to admit that I slept exceptionally well while cuddled up to Cato. "I guess so, did you?"

"I actually couldn't sleep." she says. "But it's okay. I just kept guard all night. I figured you guys would want the extra rest."

I muster a grin as decent looking as possible, hoping it won't be totally hidden by the overall offensiveness of my morning face. "Thanks. You could have woken me up if you needed a break from watching, though."

"It's fine, Peeta, really. Besides, you and Cato just looked too cute sleeping with each other!" she banters.

I chuckle. "Oh, come on. You know it was just unfortunate circumstance." Maybe I'm doing myself a favor with Twelve by saying it, but the tugging inside of me tells me how untrue that statement really is. I haven't even left my sleeping bag yet. Sure, I'd never admit to her that I held his hand under the polyester cover, but it felt like a lot more than just unfortunate circumstance. Still, I say nothing more.

"I know that. I was just joking." she says, her tone returning to seriousness. "Anyways, do you want breakfast?"

"Oh yes, that would be great. Thanks." I say, relieved we aren't discussing my sleeping situation anymore.

"I was so bored last night." she tells me, rummaging through her backpack. "I got the possum all roasted up, but somehow, I forgot I had to skin it and gut it first. So then, I had to wait for it to cool down before I could properly prepare it. It took an hour, but I did it. I probably made a few mistakes, though."

She strikes the wooden stick against the side of the box, making a small fire. She looks so... Happy. Undaunted. You'd think she was speaking at a baking seminar or something by her cheerful demeanor. You'd never guess she was a violent Career of the Hunger Games. I watch her skewer four portions of meat onto a stick and dip them in the flame, humming some tune I don't recognize. The sky overhead is brighter than usual, which indicates that it's mid morning. Clove was right. I definitely needed the rest. I feel like I've been sleeping with one eye open the last few nights, awake from the wee hours of daybreak until the end of a guard shift. But at the moment, my body feels rejuvenated. From inside the sleeping bag, I can feel that my foot is starting to heal. The pain has almost completely subsided.

A grunt rises up from the ground. Both Clove and I turn our attention to Cato, who is stirring next to me. He slowly rises up, going through the ritual of yawning and stretching. Except he looks nothing like a living corpse.

"Mhm..." he mumbles, rubbing his head. "Good morning."

"Good morning." Clove and I return, in unison.

"Breakfast is almost ready." She adds. "Can someone wake up Marvel?"

Cato and I both look at each other. It's difficult to believe that just twenty four hours ago, his perfectly intact eyes were dilated by toxic venom straight out of a horror film. I'm sure he's analyzing every troll-like feature on my face, as I'm analyzing every attractive feature on his. But instead of grimacing at me, he smiles kindly.

"I'll go wake him up." he says, seemingly obliged.

The warmth at my side turns cold as Cato gets up. It's kind of funny, the way he hobbles groggily over to Marvel's sleeping bag. Both Clove and I are watching him, waiting to see how he'll go about waking what lies under the massive heap of polyester.

"Marvel!" Cato yells, kicking the sleeping bag repeatedly. "Damnit, get up!"

I should have guessed it'd be something like that.

I can't help but laugh as Marvel jumps about three feet in the air, his eyes wide as tea saucers. He looks around in all directions, and it takes him a minute to realize that no one's really threatening him. Finally, he stares up at Cato, his eyebrows furrowed.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Marvel barks.

"Well, I wasn't going to gently nudge you like a lover, if that's what you were expecting."

Marvel rips himself out of his sleeping bag and stands up. "Yeah, well it'd be better than making me think someone was about to skin me alive or something!"

"Come on guys, pull it together." Clove interrupts. "I've got your breakfasts ready."

I guess we're all hungrier than we are stressed or tired, because next thing I know we're all flocked around her. She hands us our hunks of meat, then proceeds to put out the fire before eating hers.

"Thanks again, Clove." I say, trying to be kind in tone.

Cato and Marvel mumble something that sounds like "thank you", their mouths already full of the leathery meat. It's not much longer before mine is, too. Possum doesn't exactly taste good, but I guess a couple of starving, teenage boys like us will readily eat anything. None of us even talk while we gobble down our food. I'm pretty sure I'm malnourished, because the feeling of warm protein moving down my throat is enough to make me shudder in pleasure. I just wish the sponsors could just send down some of their delicacies instead, means that they're so wealthy. I'd rather eat roast duck and lamb stew than half-burnt possum in a heartbeat.

"Hey, we got any water?" Marvel asks, his mouth stuffed.

Clove pauses. Her face turns even whiter than it already was. "Actually... No. I-I used it to put the fire out." she admits, hanging her head a bit.

Marvel swallows. "Well, that was stupid of you. Now what are we supposed to drink?"

"I'm sorry, Marvel, please don't be upset... Putting the fire out was self-defense, right? That way other Tributes couldn't find us."

"That isn't the problem, Clove, we could take down another Tribute! We can't just take down dehydration, can we?" he says, with growing intensity in his voice.

The smile that was formerly worn on her face droops down into what looks like a muddle of fear and grief. "No... We can't." She answers, humbly.

"Hey, cool it, bastard!" Cato yells. "She made your fucking breakfast, and this is how you thank her?"

"She wasted our water supply, damnit!" Marvel hisses back, pointing at Clove demeaningly. Poor girl. She really was just trying to help.

"Can't we just go to the lake today and get some?" I propose. Surprisingly, everyone falls silent, their attention on me. "It's not like we have anything pressing to do today."

They pause, considering the idea. None of us really want to carry our weapons and supplies for two miles, as weak as we feel. But what choice do we have now? We're on the clock against our bodily necessities, and frankly, I can't think of anything much more pressing than that.

"I guess you're right." Cato shurgs, turning to Marvel. "Alright, let's start packing up."

Marvel rolls his eyes, but succumbs to Cato and rolls up his sleeping bag. Come to think of it, Cato's disposition is unusually calm today. Maybe he slept just as well next to me as I did next to him. But I try to bat those thoughts away - I'm getting too attached. And if I haven't clarified it with myself enough yet, this isn't a place to get attached to someone.

Finally, we've got all of our supplies either in our hands or on our backs. Cato leads the way, stomping carelessly through patches of groundcover. I guess it doesn't really matter if we're seen or heard at this point. The Capitol hasn't seen any deaths since yesterday morning, and I'm sure they're getting annoyed with how dull this year's Games have been. I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that whoever dies next won't be Cato, Katniss or myself. I don't really want Clove to, either. Marvel, well, I'm a little indifferent to. But I know that two of us have to die within the next few days. Sure, it crosses my mind a lot, bu it isn't an easy fact to face. I'm almost choking back tears even thinking about it. Death just doesn't look the same way here as it did back in Twelve. When someone was about to pass, we just knew it. We could see it. Usually they were old, sick or frail, and they seemed ready for their lives to end. No one would have ever expected any of the supple, shining teens who pranced on stage for their interviews to be mere hours away from not existing anymore. I didn't expect to survive this long, and the longer I live here, the more scared I become for myself. The Games get more brutal as time goes on, right? I'm barely surviving as it is.

"You know what?" asks Clove, bringing me out of my thought daze.

We make eye contact. "What?"

"We haven't bathed in three days. I'm pretty you could make bacon on my head from all the grease. Do you feel gross, too?"

I laugh. "To say the least. I'm sure the only reason we're not getting attacked right now is because we all stink so much."

She giggles. Cato looks back at us, his smirk plastered on his face.

"Yeah, really. That's the last time I'll let you sleep with my jacket, Loverboy."

Really, Cato? I'm not sure why, but I'm slightly offended by his joke. I understand it was probably all in good humor, but it just didn't sit well with me. I'm even a bit embarrassed, because I don't want him to think I'm normally as repulsive as I am today. I mean, I'm not very attractive, but my day-to-day appearance is very much aided by hygiene. But remembering my little self policy about attachment, I tell myself not to care.

"Oh, sorry about that." I say, chuckling hollowly. "I guess it's just a morning thing."

"Well, at least we won't have to smell like shit after we get back." he says, gruffly.

A moment of silence passes over us as we walk. Other than our footsteps pattering on the ground, the only sound available to the ear is the singing of the mockingjays. The woods feel so dead today, and with no pun intended. The sky is an overcast shade of gray, and the air is brisk and cool. The white light of the sun gives the treetops almost a charcoal-like shade, which makes it difficult to tell that they're green. I'm growing concerned for the rate my allies are deteriorating at, too. It's only been three days, but Clove's collarbones are already protruding out of her neck, and her ebony hair has lost its bluish sheen. Instead, it's stringy and greasy, basically plastered to her head. Marvel's jawbones are becoming more prominent, and the skin around his neck is beginning to hang from the weight loss. Cato is, thankfully, still virile and healthy. Still tall, stocky and attractive. Maybe he's lost a little bit of weight, but it's barely noticeable. I'm surprised at how well my foot's holding up through all this walking. Sure, it still hurts a little, but it's at least bearable.

"Shh!" Cato whispers sharply, stopping in his tracks. "I heard something."

We all stop as well, listening. I can't hear a thing, but Cato draws his sword, his eyes darting around warily. Without even thinking about it, I stand a little closer to him. I guess it makes me feel safer, somehow.

An ear-piercing scream from behind me shatters the silence. Marvel, Cato and I jump as we jerk our heads to look back where it came from. My heart stops for a beat as I catch sight of the red haired, fox-faced girl biting deeply into Clove's neck. She's got Clove's hands bound behind her back, making her unable to draw out her knives in defense.

"Cato!" she screams, her eyes filled with tears of desparation. "Help!"

It's bloody and horrific, but Cato marches straight up to the fox-faced girl and pierces her neck with the sword. She falls to the ground on her back, expecterant, with blood cascading out of her neck and mouth. Clove's neck is swollen and bleeding. Before I can even register what's going on, the girl is sobbing into my chest, still shaking. I wrap my arms around her back, but continue to watch the other girl bleed on the ground. Without hesitating, or even flinching, Cato drives the sword through her chest. The cannon booms immediately.

I shudder. Gosh, I hate witnessing death. That was just as gruesome as the District Six girl from the first night, if not more so. Apathetically, Cato wipes the blood off of the sword with his shirt. While most guys are decent enough not to hit a lady, he just doesn't seem to have any shame in killing girls. I don't blame him, though. Even if our situation didn't mandate it, he's got every right to be upset with the female sex. The things he's been through back home sicken me even more now, and I didn't even go through those trials myself. I guess I'm just pitying him. I heave a sigh, wishing my sensitivity for the guy would subside already. Clove is still clutching onto my back, but she's gradually calming down. Her sobs have retreated into sniffles, and her heartbeat doesn't feel near as fast. Cato and Marvel gather closely around us.

"You okay?" Cato asks, his tone maybe a bit too callous for the situation.

The girl asserts herself and pulls away from me, rubbing her wound. "I'm fine, but... My neck just hurts."

She pulls her hand away, revealing a purplish patch of swollen skin. I wince. I've definitely seen this kind of wound before. One time, a few guys at my school got in a fight, and one of them bit the other. I didn't see the entire thing, but after the Peacekeepers took the biting kid away, the other had an infection and immediately got taken to Mrs. Everdeen's house. I always thought it was disgusting, the idea of bacteria from someone's mouth festering in your skin...

"That looks really infected." says Marvel, blatantly.

"Well no shit, Sherlock." Cato snarls at him, feeling Clove's forehead. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I feel a little warm." she says, sitting on the ground. We all just stand around for a few minutes, contemplating what to do. Obviously, she's coming down with a peculiar reaction to the other girl's bite. It kind of dampens our plan to go to the lake, but it doesn't really matter to me right now if we go or not. Honestly, things are starting to seem a little eccentric right now. First of all, I can't believe that one of the other Tributes would approach the Careers, and pick such a poor attack method at that. I mean, I've seen that girl in the Training Center before the Games. She seemed like she could very well be a genius, the way she accurately punched in every code on the screen in the memory station. It just doesn't match up to the imprudence of biting someone when their allies are right there and well-armed. Secondly, I'm getting a little concerned with the growing dissent between Cato and Marvel. It didn't start getting intense until just now. It seems like everything out of their mouths is putting them at each other's throats. I can only hope that it doesn't literally end up that way. Not only so, but I'm starting to see that soft side of Cato again. Like the one he showed me back in the observatory. But this time, it's aimed at his District partner. Doesn't he kind of hate women, though? It almost comforted me to think that he did. But he's treating Clove abnormally well... Gosh, I really hope he doesn't have feelings for her... But why should I care?

"Well, this is just great." Marvel grumbles. "She'll need water, and if this is a legitimate infection, she ain't gonna make it to the lake."

Clove's eyes enlarge at his words. "I won't make it?"

"Now you're just scaring her, bastard!" Cato yells, proving my point. Can't he just hold his tongue for once? It'd certainly be for his own good.

"I'm just telling the truth!" Marvel shoots back in defense.

Cato narrows his eyebrows. "You're just being an asshole."

Marvel steps back, his arms folded defiantly. "You know what? I'm above this. Unlike you, I can see we need some time apart. Why don't I take the canteens, go to the lake by myself, and you two can take care of Clove while I get water?"

"Yeah, go ahead." Cato says coldly, without even looking at him.

"Alright, fine. I'll see you guys later."

As Marvel turns to walk away, I get this bitter feeling in my gut that we're not going to be seeing him anytime soon. I watch him run into the trees, until the sound of his footsteps have faded off. Truthfully, I wouldn't be too terribly upset if he were to die. He came off... Threatning. Like, he was so detached in attitude, that I wouldn't put it past him to spear us all in middle of the night just because he could. I'm almost positive he's at least thought about it. I even admit, the idea has crossed my mind before. But I could never do it. I see Cato tending to an allifcted Clove like a big brother right now, rubbing the antihistamine ointment on her neck. It's somehow relieving. But just the thought of putting spears through their chests makes me hate myself for even thinking it.

A huge shadow appears on the ground we're standing on. I'm almost positive I know what it is, but still, I tilt my face to look up. It's never a good idea to just trust your instincts on your surroundings when everything is literally out to kill you. But just as I figured, a silent, sizeable hovercraft is now hanging eerily in the sky above us. Clove and Cato seem to be just as intrigued by it as I am, watching intently as a huge net swoops down from under it. The dead, bloodied girl on the ground is encompassed by the net. Somehow, it attaches underneath her, as if by magnetic force. But after it does, our eyes follow as she's slowly lifted up into the dirigible, her long, red hair hanging down through the net. The aircraft zooms away, toward the back portion of the arena we haven't explored yet. Instinctively, I have a feeling that's where the other Tributes are hiding. And it's the last place I want to go.

"I feel really hot." Clove announces, fanning herself.

Cato's hand immediately is pressed to her forehead. "Yeah, you feel really warm. Let's hope Enobaria sends us some medicine."

I wonder if Haymitch would be so kind as to send some medicine for her. But, knowing him, probably not. He's probably fuming at the relationships I'm sustaining with the Careers, wishing one of us would just end it already.

"Do you guys need me to do anything?" I ask, just to be polite. But I truly doubt there's anything I can actually do to help her.

"Stay here." Clove says, longingly. Her cheeks have turned a pinkish red from the fever, and she's looking weaker by the minute. "Please don't leave."

"I won't. Don't worry." I reassure her.

"Thank you."

I think I'm finally starting to understand why Katniss volunteered as Tribute in Prim's place. Even though I never had a younger sibling, I think I know how it must be to feel the sense of responsibility and tenderness that comes with caring for someone younger than myself. I never imagined feeling anywhere near sentimental to anyone except Katniss, but these two somehow have me hooked at the heart. I can't even believe how much Clove's warmed up to me since I met her at the dinner. At a first impression, I chalked her up to just another arrogant, Glimmer-like Career girl without much of a personality. Now, I'm seeing her softer side, the young girl who probably feels just as frightened as I do here. I didn't know that much about her. I still hardly know her. I guess it goes to show how judgemental my mind can be. But I'm not even sure how young she really is.

"Clove, how old are you?" I ask.

"Thirteen."

I guess I was right. "I'm sorry, I was just curious."

The small smile creeps onto her face. She's laying on Cato's lap, and her wound has tripled in size. It looks like a tracker jacker sting. It's probably wrong to think this right now, but can't she lay on a sleeping bag instead? I guess it doesn't matter, though. She's practically a kid. Besides, I shouldn't be possessive. Just because I kind of like the guy doesn't mean I own him.

"It's fine." she says. "A lot of people think I'm fifteen or sixteen. But I think it's just because I can throw knives."

"Yeah, it's pretty impressive." I say, kindly as possible.

"Thank you." She says, beaming.

Cato is staring up at the sky, a dubious look of apprehension on his face. I miss talking to him at the Capitol. I just wish I knew more about what's going on in his head. I don't even care what we'd talk about, but I want to talk to him again.

"Hey, Cato," I begin, trying to find something to ask him.

He snaps back into reality, making eye contact with me. "Yeah?"

I finally conjure up my impromptu question. "Um... do you think Marvel's going to be okay?"

He and Clove look at each other, like they both know what the other is thinking.

"Well, probably not. It's not like he's going for a little stroll in the neighborhood." He says, uncaringly.

Clove sighs. "I hope he comes back."

"Why?" I ask.

"Well," she begins, which is followed by a pause. She's probably trying to contemplate a response. "He was always energetic. And he made me laugh. Plus, he was kind of cute."

Cato and I stay silent, reminiscing about the boy. Well, he's nowhere near cute, that's for damn sure. But he definitely was energetic - never hesitant to spear something. Or to argue with Cato. He was kind of manipulative, too. Even though he never said anything to defend his ownership of it, I'm sure Jayel is missing his spear right now.

"I hope he brings back a lot of water. I really need it. My head hurts." says Clove.

Cato looks at me, his eyes almost seem to search me for something to respond to her with. But my mind draws a blank as I stare into his face.

Boom. Boom.

The canon sounds twice. Immediately, I imagine the worst. Marvel and Katniss, both lying dead... Perhaps at each other's hands. Unfortunately, it makes sense. Their deaths were far too consecutive to have occurred separately. It's just coincidental that it happened as soon as he popped up in our conversation.

"Well Loverboy," Cato says, quietly. "I think that might have been the answer to your question."

We stare into the sky for what seems like minutes, just waiting for the possibility of seeing the hovercraft carry away the dead, unknown Tributes. The presence of death and the passing of time almost averts my thoughts completely away from thinking about how much I despise being called Loverboy. Clove calls me by my name... why can't Cato?

"I think he's alright." she says, hopefully. "Maybe he'll come back for us. He said he would."

"Well, for your sake, I hope he does." I say, trying to be sympathetic.

Hours seem to have passed by. The sun has slightly crept over to the western side of the sky, and we've done just about nothing all day. Panem must be dreadfully bored by now, watching us graze in the sun for hours on end. Thankfully, Marvel left the backpacks with the three sleeping bags and matches with us, so we've built a fire and set up camp. At least watching us try to survive makes for somewhat less of a mind-numbing program. But there's no sign of him at all, and at the rate he was moving at, he could have made a decent number of trips to the lake and back by now. Clove is still hopeful that he'll return, but Cato and I both seem to have the same sentiments that he was the reason for one of the cannon booms. I know it's the way I should feel, but it seems wrong not to care about whether Marvel lives or dies. What seems even more perverse is that I'm not a frantic mess anguishing over my "star-crossed lover". I don't want her to die, I really don't. But if she did, I'm considering myself lucky that I didn't have to witness it. That would have torn me apart.

"You guys hungry?" Cato asks.

"I am." I say, finally paying mind to the gurgling cries of my stomach.

"Me too." Clove says quietly. Judging by her grimace and pallor, her fever seems to have gone up.

"Well, it'll taste like shit, but I'm making dinner." Cato says, roughly. He reaches into one of the backpacks and pulls out the remainders of the possum. Skewering them onto a thick twig, he lowers it into the flame to grill. I really don't want to eat that again, as I'm sure no one does. But we can all use the extra calories and protein, especially Clove.

The barely convalescent girl is laying on top of her sleeping bag, trying to keep her distance from the warm aura emitting from the dull flame. Since the weather's beginning to cool down for the night, Cato and I draw nearer, until we're nearly shoulder to shoulder. I rub my hands up and down my arms and attempt to retain the heat. But being this close to the fire, I can smell the sour flesh of the rodent, and it's anything but appealing. Disgusting, even. Still, I'm hungry and I'll take what I can get. If living in Twelve has taught me anything, it's that beggars can't be choosers.

"This fire's so weak." Cato complains, rotating the stick to evenly toast the meat.

"Why do you say that?" I ask. The fire looks decent to me.

He sighs in displeasure. "Can't you tell? It's hardly even crackling, and it's a lot lower than the one Clove built."

I snicker. "So you're admitting that Clove can build a better fire than you?"

His smile-smirk makes its way onto his face. "Shut up, Loverboy."

I chuckle, but I don't think I can hold it back anymore. "Cato, can I ask you for a favor?"

He pans into a thoughtful silence. I can tell people don't ask things of him often, and I'm almost wishing I didn't. "What do you need?"

"Well," I begin, searching for the words. "I have a name. It's Peeta. Peeta Mellark. So can you, um, not call me Loverboy?"

His eyebrows narrow, and his face looks cross. I'm hoping that he won't get upset. Not that he'd have a right to, but he's just staring at me... Not speaking a word. It feels tense.

"Cato?" I probe.

He looks me straight in the eye, and much to my surprise, smiles a little. "Yeah. I'll stop."

"Thank you."

My face feels warm. I'm not sure if it's from the heat before me, or from Cato staring at me up close like this. Maybe I don't want to face my feelings, but I turn away from him. He can be so intimidating sometimes. I look at Clove behind me, and find that the girl is fast asleep. It's quiet right now, but her small snores are gradually escalating in volume. Is it really that late already? The sky is a purplish tint of twilight, and it doesn't even feel like we've accomplished anything today. The woods are still mysteriously quiet. It's not until now that I even notice the silence between Cato and I is sort of, well, awkward.

I think he notices it, too. Inhaling a deep breath, he stares at the ground. "So Clove's asleep?"

Can't he see it for himself? Maybe he's trying to make conversation, too. "Yeah, she is. Before she got a chance to eat, too."

"Well, it's not like possum is something worth waiting up for." He says, the sarcastic tone replenishing his voice.

The Capitol anthem breaks through the uncomfortable atmosphere. Immediately, we watch the sky, anticipating the faces that will appear. Please, Katniss, please don't show up here...

Marvel. The District Eleven girl.

"Damnit!" Cato shouts.

"Well, didn't you already figure he was dead?" I ask.

"No, that's not it. I burnt the meat. Gosh, I'm such a fucking moron." He grumbles.

I look at the fire. Sure enough, the end of the stick and the possum remains have disintegrated into a black ash. He seems to be pretty disconcerted with himself, cursing under his breath.

"It's okay, really. We can hunt tomorrow morning, right? Besides, like you said, it wasn't anything worth waiting up for." I say, my voice maybe a bit too chipper.

He shrugs. "I guess you're right. I was just... Hungry."

"Well, they don't call them the Hunger Games for no reason, Cato." I joke.

He chuckles a little. "True."

The fire has gained some strength from the meat and the twig. It's considerably higher, and the crackling has become more frequent. But the fire isn't the only thing becoming stronger and louder; Clove's nuclear-sounding snoring reminds me of the imminent fact that Marvel is gone.

"So how are we going to tell her?" I ask Cato, whose mind appears to be in a similar line of thought.

"Hell if I know," he says, thinly. "She should have figured it out on her own."

"Is she really that sensitive?"

He plays with what's left of his skewer, flecking it nervously around in the dirt. "Well, I didn't talk to her much at the Capitol. But from what I could see, yeah, she is."

"I understand." I say. "It's harder than you'd expect to talk to your District partner. Katniss and I barely said a word to each other."

"Yeah." He says, pensively avoiding eye contact.

For some reason, I instantly have a vivid flashback of the things we discussed over cigarettes in the observatory, back at the Capitol. His past. His mother. Oslo. I wanted to know more, and he seemed consent to telling me. I just wish Panem wasn't watching us, hanging on our every word. Because now, he's a lot more restrained.

"How did Oslo die?" I ask. I figure it's a safe enough question.

"Bloodbath." he responds, almost too quickly. "I don't think he wanted to win."

Finally, he shoots me a look that reassures me that he's purposely being evasive for the cameras. My intuition could definitely be wrong, but that's what I get from it.

"I'm sorry to hear it." I say, playing along.

He bites his lip, looking back down at the stick. "It's fine. By the way, Peeta, I'm, uh, sorry."

"For what?"

"For calling you Loverboy. You're right. It definitely was a stupid name. So I'm sorry." He makes the word "sorry" sound like something that smells bad. In fact, his entire apology sounds like one that a parent might force a reluctant child to give.

"It's fine, you don't need to apologize if you don't want to." I say, trying not to laugh at his poor attempt at basic etiquette. "But it's not just because it's stupid that I hate being called that."

...Damn it, did I really just open that can of worms?

"Then why?" He asks.

Without thinking, I do what my childlike inhibitions tell me to do: I tell the truth. "Because I don't really love Katniss."

He finally looks me in the eye, taken aback at what I've just said. "You don't?"

I sigh. I guess there's no turning back now. "No. I don't. Didn't she throw a wasp's nest on us and try to kill us? Truthfully, Cato, I never really did. I thought I did, but I don't. And, um, that's why I hate being called Loverboy. So I'm sorry for lying to you."

He bites his lip, looking at the ground. Is that a smile I see? "That's pretty brave of you to admit on public television." he says, after a brief hesitation.

"I'd say it was pretty stupid."

"Well, then I'll be stupid, too, because there's something I lied about, too."

The phrase makes my blood run cold, as all of the possibilities of what it could be run rapidly through my mind. "What is it?"

"I said I couldn't get a girlfriend back home. Well, I never tried."

It seems minuscule, but my cold sweat doesn't let up. I'm still confused. "What do you mean?"

He sighs, as if what he were about to say physically pained him. "I don't want a bitch, okay? I want...something else."

My heart begins to thump, and my mind begins to run in every direction it shouldn't be headed. "A guy?" I say, using a sarcastic tone as my defense for asking. But truthfully, it's exactly what I want to know. Could he possibly... be feeling the same emotions about me that I've been feeling about him?

"Yeah," he says, choking on his pride by looking up to face me. "Pretty fucking pathetic, huh?"

I pause for a bit. Because right now doesn't seem like reality. I wonder if he's feeling it, too. My entire body is tense, and my palms are sweating profusely. I realize just how close we were sitting. His face is only inches away from mine, and the sight of his eyes staring at my lips makes my blood boil in anticipation. The visions of that dream I had begin to float across my mind again. Am I getting too hopeful? Is this really happening?

"Not... at all." I manage to say, under all this heaviness.

Before I know it, his eyes begin to close. I don't know if I'm even in control of my own body, or if my emotions are. Because now we're leaning in, our faces tilted toward one another. My heartbeats feel louder than canon booms as I feel the sequence of a kiss unfold before me - first, his warm breath on my face, then, his hands resting on my shoulder, and finally, his lips pressed against mine. There's no stopping this moment... because it's beautiful. It's like every emotion I've felt for him is bursting into a blissful haze. I close my eyes and savor the feeling. It's so soft. Soft and slow, like maybe lying somewhere beneath all of his pride and confidence, there might have been a hint of doubt that I would object to it. But I wouldn't. It feels perfect. Maybe I would have never considered this before the arena, when social norms mattered. But here, they just don't. Whether anyone else considers it right or wrong, at the moment I couldn't care less. It feels right to me.

Finally, our lips bid farewell and our eyes meet. What is he thinking right now? Obviously, he's aware of what just happened. I just can't help but smile.

"I wasn't asleep last night, you know." he says, his lips curling upwards into a smirk.

Why would he say that after we've just kissed? "What are you talking about?" I ask.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

I take a minute to come down from my high of emotions, back down to earth. Oh, right... holding his hand... he was awake? "Oh, you were awake? I'm sorry about that, Cato."

"Don't be." he says, standing up. "Because I wouldn't have kissed you if you didn't."

Watching Cato dig out our sleeping bags, I can't even control the look on my face. Blushing. Smiling. Beaming. Just ten minutes ago, I told myself not to get attached. I didn't expect him to feel the same way. I didn't expect any of this at all. It's so surreal that I have to ascertain the fact that I'm not dreaming. As caliginous and haunting as the presence of death should be, I feel invincible up against it. Because even if a Tribute were to burst out of the woods and pierce an arrow through my chest, I will have at least experienced my very first kiss.