Cato dreamt of Marcus again.
They were in their Academy room, where passion had blossomed between them since their first kiss. Marcus was unrestrained with his affection, his gaze lingering, his kisses stolen, and their secret moments cherished. Bathed in moonlight, they sought solace in each other's breathless kisses and gentle caresses. Marcus held him close as if he could embrace the night itself. From their bed, they gazed up at the twinkling sky.
"I told the stars about you," Marcus whispered, bringing Cato's hand to his lips. His soft kisses brushed against Cato's rough skin.
"Why tell the stars about me?" Cato chuckled softly.
"Because I tell them everything. They guide me to what I need, and I believe they led me to you," Marcus murmured, his words warming Cato's heart, a place reserved for Marcus alone. His golden eyes shimmered in the moonlight as their lips met once more.
If Marcus were the sky, Cato wished to be his moon so the stars would forever speak of their love long after they were gone.
Cato was jolted from his sleep by a rap at his door.
Soft light seeped through the curtains as Ophelia's sing-song voice called out, "Cato! Rise and shine! It's going to be a big day!"
Letting out a groan, guilt settled in his chest as his mind lingered on Marcus—a familiar ache. His fingers toyed with the turquoise gem around his neck, seeking Cornelia's words for strength to pull him from his dark thoughts. Stars couldn't shine without darkness, but what he missed most were the stars Marcus had placed in his sky. He had lost something he'd never honestly had, yet the pain was real.
"You'll let your breakfast get cold!"
Cursing Ophelia's boundless energy under his breath, he considered asking her secret but decided against it to avoid her incessant chatter.
Dragging himself out of bed, he rubbed his stiff shoulders and changed into fresh grey boxers. He hastily put on the same black slacks and oxfords from yesterday, slipping into a clean white button-up and the black vest he found on the floor. His attire hardly mattered now; soon, they'd reach the Capitol, and his appearance would be at the mercy of some Capitol stylist. He only hoped they wouldn't turn him into a laughingstock.
Entering the dining car, Cornelia breezed past him with a smile, clutching a mug of black coffee before joining Ophelia. Ophelia's cotton candy hair was pinned in a tight bun, and she wore a black suit draped with a rich chocolate frock coat. The intricate patterns on it reminded Cato of the iron lattice at the Academy, his escape from reality.
Ophelia greeted him warmly. "Come, sit down!"
Cato settled into his seat as an avox presented him with a lavish breakfast: scrambled eggs, ham, and heaps of fried potatoes. The avox poured him a glass of orange juice and placed a basket of rolls before him. He eyed the spread warily, uncertain of his appetite.
Eventually, he took a tentative bite of potatoes, savoring the rich flavors of butter and garlic that melted on his tongue, dispelling any doubts about his hunger. Each mouthful was unexpectedly delicious as he devoured every bite until his stomach felt fit to burst.
Footsteps approached, and a chair slid beside him. Glancing up from his plate, he saw Clove sitting in her red beaded gown from the Reaping Ceremony. Her chestnut eyes looked swollen and tinged with red. A tense silence hung over the table as an avox served her a loaded plate like his own. She hesitated over her potatoes, pushing them around with her fork.
Cato wiped his lips, then looked at her. "Try them. They're good."
She met his gaze with uncertainty, cautiously bringing a forkful to her mouth. As she chewed the buttery bite, a spark lit up her eyes.
Then, she started eating slowly, stuffing herself with potatoes and eggs before turning to him with a mouthful.
"They're delicious. Thanks," she managed between bites.
A small smile tugged at Cato's lips as he finished his orange juice. "You're welcome."
His attention shifted to Cornelia, who nodded approvingly.
With a sly smile, she turned to Ophelia. "So, what's on the agenda today, Ms. Daytide?"
Ophelia flashed a mischievous grin, opening her planner. "We'll be arriving at the Capitol shortly. You both will undergo beautification treatments at the Tribute Center before the Parade. Afterward, there's the Tribute Banquet in the evening."
"Tribute Banquet?" Cato queried, setting his fork down on his empty plate. "I've never heard of it."
Cornelia met his gaze as an avox cleared her table. "It's not televised, but it's a dinner to honor the tributes after the Parade. It's an opportunity for alliances and socializing."
The clatter of cutlery drew his attention to Clove. She had tossed her fork onto her plate, dabbing her face with a napkin before discarding it on the half-eaten food. "Sounds boring. What are we supposed to do? Play games and dance? Lighten the mood?"
He chuckled at her words, finding her humor refreshing. Despite the haze of withdrawal she undoubtedly fought, he appreciated glimpses of her personality. However, Cornelia didn't share his amusement.
"It's a great honor. Try to enjoy it," she urged.
Fun wasn't the word he'd use. Nothing about this would be enjoyable. Whoever thought of putting the tributes together in a room and forcing them to be civil was either insane or brilliant.
The car plunged into darkness as the cabin lights flickered. Outside, the night had fallen, and they must have entered one of the mountain tunnels between the Capitol and the districts. A pregnant silence fell as an avox cleared the table before them. Grateful for the darkness and the train's rumbling, which masked his trembling, Cato felt his heart racing.
Was he even breathing?
He couldn't tell amidst the rapid fluttering in his chest. A gentle hand brushed against him, and he met Cornelia's gaze. She understood his anxiety—the impending doom of their approaching deaths.
The train slowed, and bright floodlights illuminated the cabin. Cato and Clove moved toward the adjacent window to catch their first glimpse of the Capitol. His anxiety melted away as he took in the scene—it was even more dazzling than he had imagined from television or assembly.
The cameras hadn't lied about its grandeur. Glistening skyscrapers soared into the sky in a spectrum of colors, sparkling cars glided down broad streets, and people with vibrant hair and painted faces thronged the sidewalks.
It was overwhelming. The colors seemed unreal, too intense to be true. It felt like stepping into a dream.
The crowd on the street eagerly pointed at them, recognizing a tribute train arriving in the city. Cato and Clove waved back with a mix of amusement and unease. It was unsettling to think that these people were excited about their potential deaths.
The crowd vanished as the train pulled into the station.
Ophelia beamed, quickly gathering her belongings into her designer bag. "Big smiles, everyone! Sponsors love smiles!"
Cato turned to exit the cabin, glancing back to see Clove standing by the window, her expression clouded with uncertainty.
He turned back to her as Cornelia and Ophelia stood at the doorway. He placed a reassuring hand on Clove's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Hey—are you okay?"
"Yeah, I just need a moment. It's a lot," she sighed, flicking her eyes toward him.
He nodded, offering a small smile for encouragement. "You've got this. Just smile and wave. They love us, remember?"
"Right."
Clove took a deep breath and followed him off the train. They rejoined Cornelia and Ophelia, who nodded approvingly, ready to face the cheering crowds. Their names rang out as Cato and Clove walked hand-in-hand, offering charming smiles and waves.
They were the darlings of the Capitol.
The journey from the train station to the Tribute Tower passed in a blur as Peacekeepers ushered them into windowless black trucks. Their silent journey ended at the Tribute Training Center—a towering structure that gleamed in the summer sun. Behind them stretched the Avenue of Tributes, adorned with large Panem flags fluttering from buildings and walls.
Cato and Clove were swiftly escorted inside, evading the swarm of reporters with their flashing cameras. The tower's grand atrium greeted them with crimson and gold banners, bathed in sunlight through rib-like balconies. Guided past a towering glass elevator, Ophelia led them through narrow corridors to their respective rooms.
He managed to mouth 'good luck' to Clove as the glass doors closed behind him.
Cato clenched his teeth as Gabriel, a young man with tousled maroon hair and tattoos above his eyebrows, yanked yet another strip of fabric from his leg, pulling out the hair beneath it.
"Sorry!" Gabriel piped in sympathetically. "You're just so hairy. Angel wants you as clean as possible!"
Grateful his eyes were closed, Cato hid the tears welling beneath them.
This tormentor had spent the last hour painfully removing every trace of hair from his body. He understood it was Gabriel's job, but each rip of his skin made him want to smash Gabriel's pretty face into the cold steel table.
"Good news! This is the last one. Ready?"
He nodded, taking a deep breath. Gripping the edge of the table, he braced himself as Gabriel yanked off the final swathe of leg hair in one painful tug.
A silent scream echoed in his throat while Gabriel chuckled.
"All done! Pain is beauty, darling," he quipped.
Gabriel and Samuel, an athletic man with caramel skin and dark violet hair, meticulously primed and shaped his nails. They trimmed his hair, scrubbed him with gritty foam that felt like it peeled off layers of skin, and plucked his eyebrows with precision, making him wonder if this was how chickens felt.
He refused to complain—out loud, at least.
"You're doing great, Cato. Almost finished, darling. Then we'll fetch Angel," Samuel reassured him, plucking stray hairs from his legs.
They finished by soothing his raw skin with lotion. Finally allowed to sit up, he felt their lingering gazes and blushed.
He wasn't shy about his appearance or physique, but their intense, hungry stares unsettled him.
"You look absolutely stunning! Like a marble sculpture!" Samuel beamed.
He realized he'd misinterpreted their gaze for admiration rather than something else. Despite their peculiar mannerisms, he could tell they genuinely wanted to help. Flashing them with a cheeky grin, he flexed his bulging biceps.
"More like... a champion," he quipped.
They both chuckled as the door opened, admitting a tall, slender man who could only be Angel. Compared to his attendants, Angel looked surprisingly normal.
Long, flowing hazelnut locks cascaded over his slim shoulders. A neatly groomed beard had a subtle golden sheen. He wore a simple black shirt and grey pants. A touch of metallic gold eyeliner framed his soft, fawn-colored eyes as Gabriel and Samuel exited.
"Hello, Cato. I'm Angel, your stylist," his voice bubbled with a lively cadence, devoid of the typical Capitol affectations.
"Hello," Cato responded cautiously.
Angel circled him without touching, scrutinizing every inch. Cato fought the urge to cover himself.
"District Two, never a disappointment," Angel commented, handing him a white robe from a nearby hook. "Tell me, Cato—why did you volunteer?"
As Cato slipped on the robe, Angel grabbed a vial of cream makeup and a small sponge, blending the cream onto his face with a gentle touch.
"It's what I was born to do," Cato started, only to be cut off by a light smack of the sponge against his cheek. Angel continued blending as if nothing had happened.
"None of that now. You don't have to lie to me, Cato. This isn't my first Games, and you're not my first Career," Angel said, lifting Cato's chin to apply a darker contour along his jawline.
Cato scowled. "I'm a Legionnaire."
"You are, indeed. But that title doesn't define your humanity, does it?"
"No, it doesn't," he admitted. Lately, that title felt more like a curse.
Angel turned toward him with a faint smile, brushing golden powder onto his cheekbones with a fan-like brush. "Come now, Cato. No need to be defensive; I'm on your side."
Cato furrowed his brow, a surge of frustration rising within him. What was with this man? Why couldn't he just paint his face and leave it at that? Maybe if he indulged him, he would stop asking so many questions."
"I volunteered... for my sister, Octavia. So she wouldn't have to," Cato confessed.
Angel paused, meeting Cato's gaze with genuine empathy. "I'm sorry you have to bear this burden."
Cato nodded slowly, the weight of his decision heavy in his chest. "Thank you," he murmured, a hint of vulnerability slipping through.
"I'm sorry you have to bear this burden," Angel nodded back, his expression softening. "You're stronger than you know, Cato. Let's make sure everyone sees that tonight."
As he styled Cato's hair, Angel picked up Marcus's token from a nearby table. "People in Panem may see Careers as mere instruments of combat, but do you know what I see, Cato?"
"A killer? A murderer?" Cato suggested bitterly.
Angel's golden eyes met his with a gentle smile as he draped Marcus's amulet around Cato's neck. "None of those. I see someone whose sorrow has turned into determination. I see... an honorable warrior—willing to sacrifice himself to protect his family."
The weight of the necklace felt like an anchor around Cato's neck.
"I see someone born with tragedy in their veins."
"Is that a good thing?" Cato quipped.
"It's not just good—it's powerful,"
Cato bore more scars than friends at this point.
The chains of Stone Bridge had been shattered, but true freedom still eluded him. Conversations with Angel reminded him of that. Memories of Marcus haunted him still. No matter how hard he tried to bury his emotions, Angel saw through him, sensing the cracks beneath Cato's stoic facade.
He wondered if everyone else saw it, too.
Cato and Angel shared lunch—a sumptuous meal of chicken breast in cream sauce with fresh peas. Each bite was a rare treat, even in District 2, where such meats were prized and hard to come by.
"So, what's the plan for the ceremony?" he asked, adjusting his robe around him, feeling exposed.
Angel's eyes lit up with enthusiasm as he set his fork down. "Eros and I have come up with a brilliant concept. You and Clove will be dressed as angelic warriors of District Two! You'll embody golden grace and beauty,"
Cato scoffed inwardly. There was nothing graceful about what they were trained to do nor about these Games.
Hours later, he stood dressed in an extravagant outfit designed to captivate the Capitol. A golden tunic adorned with feathers covered his chest and stomach, a matching skirt of golden strips hung just above his knees, and golden-winged boots hugged his feet. Underneath it all, a thin layer of black spandex hid his modesty from the eyes of Panem.
Angel placed a winged headband on his brow and handed him a small remote with a single button.
"Press this when you're out on the boulevard. I want the people to remember your face in the Arena," Angel said wistfully. "My beautiful angels."
Despite their past differences, Cato felt relief when Clove joined him. She wore an identical costume designed by her stylist, Eros. Both teams of stylists gushed over their creations, though Cato and Clove shared worried glances at their stylists' genuine excitement.
Their reunion was brief as they were swiftly escorted down to the lower level of the Remake Center. The Tribute Parade was about to commence, with pairs of tributes riding in chariots pulled by teams of four horses. Angel and Eros positioned them in their chariot before conferring privately.
"How did it go?" Cato asked, glancing at Clove. "Did they strip you bare like they did me?"
A rare smile softened her face, like ice melting in the sun. "I can't feel my legs, so I can only hope they've replaced them with bionic ones to help me win,"
"In your dreams," he teased as the parade music began.
Cato felt their chariot roll into position. He hadn't noticed Clove's pallor beneath her makeup until now. Withdrawal was still gripping her. He nudged her gently.
"Hey, try not to get sick on me. The Academy kids would love to see you hurling,"
Her eyes rolled with mock annoyance. "I'd rather die,"
As her color returned, she laughed. "We've got this, right? Just smile and wave."
He nodded with a grin as their chariot glided onto the Avenue of the Tributes.
The clamor of the Capitol's citizens lined the promenade as they began their procession toward the government building at the boulevard's end. Angel had instructed them to wave and smile briefly. They were to embody visions of grace and serenity amidst the other tributes. The crowd's energy surged as they called out their names. Cato's finger hovered over the remote's trigger in his pocket.
A rush of air signaled the emergence of two luminous, holographic wings sprouting from their backs. Golden feathers floated in their wake, dissipating seamlessly into the air.
The crowd's surprise turned to fervent cheers of "District Two! District Two! District Two!"
Cato grinned, catching their image on the giant screens. He couldn't help but feel awed by how striking they looked—like the angels of the Hunger Games, radiant with a golden beauty and grace.
The excitement ebbed as the tributes from District 12 replaced them.
A brunette girl with a heart-shaped face stood hand-in-hand with a blonde boy whose slicked-back hair and chiseled jawline ignited the crowd with fiery enthusiasm. A pang of envy gnawed at Cato's core. They would be his allies, but he couldn't shake the bitter jealousy.
How could they steal the spotlight? How could this damned boy outshine him?
From the crowd's cries, he knew the boy's name.
Peeta.
The Tribute Parade swept by in a blur as President Snow concluded his opening remarks. Cato's recollection of returning to the Tribute Center was hazy, lost in the whirl of activity as he trailed behind Cornelia, Angel, Clove, and their stylists back into the atrium.
Yet, amidst the orchestrated chaos, his attention focused on Peeta, the District 12 boy who had regrouped with his mentor and stylists. Initially fueled by anger, Cato's feelings morphed into an intense fascination as their eyes met in passing. Peeta possessed a muscular frame, though not typical of a Career, and a defined jawline that overshadowed his youthful appearance.
As their gazes locked, Peeta offered a faint smile—not a grin, but a subtle curl of the lips that tugged at Cato's thoughts. He found himself drawn to those wide amber eyes, sensing a haunting familiarity in their depth, reminiscent of someone from his past.
Marcus.
The realization sent a shiver down Cato's spine, stirring emotions. Jealousy dissolved into a warmth that tingled in his stomach, his embarrassment and disdain mingling uncomfortably.
Was he blushing?
"What is it?" Clove asked, her eyes glancing toward him.
"It's nothing," he dismissed, grateful for the shadowy veil of the atrium as they ascended to the banquet hall, now transformed from a stable.
Their loft on the second floor was more abundant than anything he had ever seen in District 2, adorned in sleek black, grey, and gold accents. There were so many buttons on the wall panel that he would have to spend hours figuring out what each one did.
A warm shower offered a brief reprieve, though the remnants of golden makeup swirling down the drain reminded him of Peeta's hair. That fluttering sensation in his stomach returned, a feeling he hadn't experienced since Marcus. He pondered the allure of Peeta—his handsome features and penetrating gaze that seemed to unravel Cato's thoughts.
Reflecting on his inner turmoil, Cato considered asking for Refrain to numb the unsettling warmth inside him. He dismissed the idea, scolding himself for being hypocritical. If Clove could control her feelings, so could he. He just needed a moment alone. His thoughts drifted back to Marcus. Memories of their time together at the Academy flooded his mind. The showers, not unlike the one he stood in now, were a sanctuary where their bond had blossomed.
Hot water licked against their tender skin. Marcus's warm, chiseled body pressed against Cato's rear as he felt his hand explore his body.
He started at the crook of Cato's neck, where tender kisses left him dizzy. The gentle kneading of tense muscles made his toes tingle as his fingers trailed southward. Marcus's firm hand squeezed Cato's breast.
A quivering moan escaped Cato's lips as he rolled his nipple between his finger and thumb.
A warm breath tickled the shell of Cato's ear. "Do you like that?"
Cato nodded, biting back the moan as Marcus engulfed his earlobe in a wet heat. He felt Marcus's throbbing member twitch against his bottom as the teen suckled gently, his teeth grazing the tender skin.
Cato's breath hitched as his hand traced the deep cut of his abdomen, fingers gliding over the sleek contours of his physique. Marcus's soft lips trailed along his neck, leaving a trail of sensations that ignited Cato's skin.
A stifled groan escaped Cato's throat as their lips met under the flowing water. Guilty images flashed in his mind as Marcus morphed into Peeta. Peeta's plush lips were full and swollen from their kisses, his blonde locks pressed damply against his forehead.
Cato felt himself getting harder with the pass of each pulsing second. He felt like cursing his name, only for it to fall tenderly from his lips as he curled his fingers along his length.
He didn't want these images to fade.
He groaned, imagining Peeta beside him in the steam. His breath hitched in anticipation as he imagined Peeta's hot breath steaming down his neck. His breath turned into kisses along his neck as Cato's hand, no, Peeta's hand curled around his erect cock.
Cato tremored under Peeta's touch as he bit down hard to stifle the moan from his lips. He considered stopping now, knowing he couldn't contain himself much longer. But he's too far gone to end it now; even if he wanted to, his blood was like fire in his veins, and Peeta was his only reprieve.
His fingers sped up, imaging the tingle of Peeta's tongue lapping the crook of his neck. He couldn't have been going for more than ten minutes, but he felt ready to blow. He longed to drag out this feeling, to keep Peeta's naked body beside him, next to his shaking, pulsing existence, but he knew the moment was almost up.
Cato's fingers moved faster, stoking himself to the point the friction was almost painful. He couldn't stop now. He lost his ability to breathe as his back and hips arched intensely as he climaxed, his seed spraying against the ebony tiles.
He bit his tongue, silencing the scream of his orgasm as it came through his body in rippling waves. For a moment, he forgot where he was, who he was, and his name- everything except for Peeta.
Then, all too soon, he stood in the shower, gasping for breath, trying desperately to calm his racing heartbeat.
Remorse flooded his chest, and he slumped against the cool tiles beneath the showerhead.
He curled into himself, knees pressed tightly against his chest, letting the water cascade over him, feeling the sting of tears mingling with the water.
How could he entertain these thoughts about someone he hadn't even spoken to?
Shame engulfed him, hollowing out his sense of self and releasing a flood of insecurities. He felt he had betrayed Marcus's memory.
What would Marcus think of him now?
Would Marcus be disappointed? Angry?
At that moment, nothing felt more excruciating than the realization that he was in love with a ghost.