-*** Training Day: 1 ***-

Cato's slumber was filled with disturbing dreams.

Blood stained the dandelion fields of his youth. Octavia and his mother's lifeless bodies crumpled beneath his father's feet. Anger surged through his being as he raised his sword to strike him down.

Only his face became Marcus's.

"Are you going to kill me again?"

Cato bolted up, yelling Marcus's name as his blade struck him down. His breath caught in his chest, struggling to calm his beating heart.

It had been five days since his death, and the golden-eyed boy still haunted his dreams. He cupped the stone pendant that hung against his bare chest, circling the smooth agate with his thumb and finding solace in its presence.

Dawn had broken through his windows; the grand skyscrapers were coated in misty, haunting air.

Cato's head ached, and his jaw felt tight from clenching in his sleep as he dragged himself slowly from the bed and into the shower, scrubbing a deluge of coconut foam into his skin as the steaming hot water assaulted him.

After drying himself and brushing his teeth, he found an outfit left for him at the front of the closet. It was a pair of tight black pants, a long-sleeved burgundy tunic, and black leather shoes. Next, he fixed his hair with some styling wax. It had been the first time he assembled himself since the morning of the reaping.

No golden makeup, no fancy clothes, and no luminous wings. Just Cato.

It calmed the worry that grew in his chest as he headed to the dining room. He was starving, and Cornelia didn't give him an exact time to meet for breakfast, but he hoped there would be food. He was not disappointed.

While the dining room table was empty, a longboard off to the side had been laid with at least twenty dishes. A young woman, an avox, stood by the spread. He asked if he could serve himself, to which she replied with a nod in assent. He loaded his plate with eggs, sausages, batter cakes covered in thick syrup, and slices of pink apples. He gorged himself, watching the sun rise over the Capitol.

Maybe in another life, the serene view would've captivated him. But today, it only served as a haunting reminder of his mission— his duty to win, bringing honor to his district and family name. He wondered if Peeta shared the same view; what did he think of it?

Peeta— oh, fuck.

Suddenly, he recalled his drunken misadventures of the evening. Stumbling to the rooftop— crying, and Peeta consoling him. Worse yet, when he drunkenly threw himself at the boy. A current of self-disdain rippled through his being as he groaned audibly.

He had kissed the fucking boy on fire.

He hated himself more than he already did. It was by far the most idiotic thing he had done. He wanted to throw himself off the rooftop as a shudder of embarrassment burned his cheeks.

You don't kiss your enemies— that was the cardinal rule; he had broken it, and internally, he was paying for it.

He filled his mug with a warm, chocolatey mixture and loaded his second plate with fresh rolls. Cato hoped he could push the thoughts of yesterday's events away by consuming himself with other tasks. He sipped the hot, sweet, creamy liquid as a shudder ran through him.

Fuck— that's good.

It was the second-best thing he had tasted in the Capital. He couldn't recall the first.

He sat alone at the table, soaking up the remnants of creamy bliss with his rolls. His mind wandered to his mother and Octavia. They would be awake by now. He imagined his mother preparing their breakfast of eggs and toast. Octavia was sitting at the table, reading one of her fairy tales about knights in shining armor. He wondered what they thought about his angelic debut.

He wondered what they felt when they saw the twenty-four tributes circled together, knowing only one could live.

Did they think the odds were in his favor?

Cato's thoughts were interrupted as the chair pulled out beside him. The screech of the chair made him flinch as he turned to find Clove. She wore a similar outfit as his, her brunette locks pinned into a tight ponytail upon her shoulder. Dark circles sat beneath her coffee-colored eyes.

In her other hand, she had a plate filled with batter cakes and plump strawberries. She placed her plate down, taking a seat. The avox servant brought her a glass of orange juice as her chestnut eyes shifted towards Cato with a smug grin.

"Sorry, did I scare ya?"

Her words dripped with sarcasm as he rolled his eyes. "I didn't hear you get up, that's all,"

"What can I say? I'm light on my feet," she said, plopping a strawberry into her mouth. "Where'd you go?"

He pushed around the crumbs of his scrambled eggs, his gaze returning to the orange-painted skyline. "What? You mean last night?"

"No, I mean right now. You had that glossed overlook in your eyes. Your mind wasn't here. It was elsewhere,"

Cato glanced back at her. He hadn't noticed the tiny freckles that peppered her olive skin. Without makeup, she looked much more like the girl she was supposed to be, not the woman they made her out to be.

"I was thinking about home. I was wondering what my mother and sister were doing," he admitted hesitantly. "Don't you wonder what your family is doing right now?"

He searched her eyes for an answer as she chewed on a bite of her batter cakes. He didn't want to pry into her life, but he knew if he and her were going to be at the end of each other's blades, he wanted to know Clove.

Not the person these Games were going to make her out to be. He owed her that much.

"My father is probably sketching some great idea while my mother tends to her garden. My older sister is probably still asleep. She stays up late studying until the sun crests over the horizon,"

He watched a smile slowly grow and fade from her lips.

"What is she studying?" he asked, soaking one of his rolls in his mug of chocolate.

"Anise wants to be a doctor," she shrugged, taking another bite from her syrup-coated cakes. "She figured there's enough suffering in the world. She wanted to help ease some of it,"

He smirked, taking a bite of his chocolate-soaked roll. "I'm sure your volunteering went over well,"

She averted her eyes, but that didn't keep him from seeing their lingering sadness.

"She had her objections… Anise never wanted me to go to Stone Bridge. She wanted me to go to school and become a productive member of District Two, whatever that means," she said, rolling her eyes with a huff as he pursed his lips.

"What would you have gone to school for?"

Clove took the final bite of her batter cakes, swallowing the morsel down with the last of her orange juice.

"Honestly, I wouldn't do anything different. I've always wanted to be a warrior," she smiled. "Ever since my father read me the stories of the Illiad, I've never wanted to be anything more,"

Her smile took him aback. Her genuine smile. Not the one she gave the reporters or the one she gave Cato when he asked how she was doing. Seeing the girl beaming about the fables told to the children in District 2 was relieving.

It made his lips twitch into a smile. "Do you have a favorite story?"

"The Tale of Perseus," she replied, her eyes gleaming excitedly.

He remembered the tale well. It was one of Cornelia's favorites. She told him often as a child.

"What was yours?"

"If we're sticking with Greek, I'd have to go with The Labours of Hercules," he smirked playfully.

Hercules' story resonated with him. The story of a warrior driven mad by a vengeful god, forced to pay penance for the death of his family's death by his hand. The thought has crossed his mind that the Games were some sort of divine punishment for Marcus's death.

"You're gone again," Clove repeated, snapping her fingers. "It must be nice to zone out into your little world,"

Cato shook his head, dismissing the statement. "I'm still here,"

"Then, what did I ask?"

He froze momentarily. "I-uh…"

Clove rolled her eyes at the older teen. "Would you go to school if you could do it over again?"

It was the same question he couldn't answer with Peeta. His answer wouldn't change for Clove. He was born for this. Aside from this life, he didn't know anything else. He wasn't sure if that made him a weaker man, but once the Games were done, he would have all the time in the world to figure out what he was good at. Just him, his mother, and Octavia.

"No, I don't think I would do it over again. I'm destined to be a Victor," he replied, shaking his head.

Cato had trained his whole life for these Games. The last few days may have crippled him, but it was meaningless if he didn't win. Marcus was more than that; he owed it to him to win. But perhaps he was searching for feelings that would destroy him, just like Hercules.

Clove's coffee-colored gaze met his as she smiled. "Then promise me one thing?"

"That depends,"

"You and I make it to the finale, regardless of alliances. But then, we fight to the death," she said, extending her hand.

His hand slid firmly into hers with a nod, for how could he refuse her the promise and honor of a warrior's death?

It wasn't long before Cornelia and Ophelia joined them. The pair bid them a good morning before filling their plates.

Ophelia wore a sparkling ruby sequin dress with a freshly contoured face adorned with garnets. Cornelia sat beside her, wearing a khaki pantsuit with golden floral prints.

The room was silent as they enjoyed their platters of batter cakes while Cato finished soaking the remaining chocolate from his mug.

As Cornelia finished her plate, she pushed it back with a sigh before taking a swig from her mug filled with dark coffee.

"So, shall we get started? First order of business- alliances. Haymitch has accepted our offer for District Twelve. For now, this alliance will be on a probationary period. I want you to observe them during training and report your findings to me at the end of the day,"

Cato's gaze shifted toward Cornelia. "What exactly are we looking for?"

"I want to make sure they're not going be dead weight. If they possess skills worthy of our alliance, we stay the course. If not, we cut our losses,"

Clove nodded, her gaze meeting Cornelia's. "What about the other Careers from District One and District Four?"

"Treat them like any other Career, feign your loyalty, make friends," she retorted, a sly smirk forming on her freshly painted lips.

He admitted his grandmother's plan was genius. Something could be appreciated about her foresight, having them feign alliances with one hand and secure them with the other. The chaotic mastermind before him was not the woman of his childhood; Cato wasn't sure who she was.

"Second order of business, training. Unless you have any objections, I'll coach you together. What're your thoughts?"

He exchanged a look with Clove, playing with the empty mug cradled between his fingers. "Shouldn't you coach us separately?"

"I tend to do things differently than the other mentors. You both hail from the same school, you've both had the same training, and you've both passed the same examinations to be here. You can see why I'd rather coach you together," she replied, her eyes lingering on her mug before shifting back toward her tributes.

"Unless you have some secret skill you don't want the other to know about,"

He shook his head. "Clove has seen me train. I don't have any personal skills," he replied, flickering his eyes toward his fellow tribute. "And I already know what yours is. I've heard the rumors, Bullseye."

It was true. Cato knew about the prodigy from the fifth-year class. The great-granddaughter of a victor. She had received her marksman qualification years beyond her peers. She even broke the Academy record for long-distance knife throwing, earning her the nickname Bullseye.

Cornelia cocked an eyebrow, sipping her dark-roasted beverage. "Alright then, so give me an idea of what you can do. I've read your files, but that's just what they write on paper. I want to know what you think you can do,"

Clove bit into one of the few strawberries that lingered on her plate. "I'm good at throwing knives, axes, pretty much anything that can be thrown,"

He gave her a questionable look. Good? Just good? No, he refused to let her humble herself. They were going to be judged on equal grounds.

"She's terrific. I've seen her throw. She can hit a moving target from over twenty-five feet with a knife,"

She raised an eyebrow, turning toward him. "What are you doing?"

"If she's going to help you, she has to know what you're capable of. So, don't underrate yourself,"

Clove's suspicious eyebrow turned into a glare. "What about you? I've seen your training. I watched you cut a training dummy in half like it was made of butter. I blinked, and it was on the ground,"

"Yeah, the instructors weren't too happy about that. They made me sew it back together as punishment for the use of excessive force. I still received high marks, though," he laughed, shaking his head.

Cato remembered Marcus had dared him to do it. He was surprised he graduated with all the antics they pulled. Worse yet, thinking about his laughter made his chest ache.

"That sewing skill could come in handy if you ever need to stitch a wound," smirked Cornelia, taking a drink from her dark beverage. "Now, I know neither of you can hunt. I know Cato has some basic understanding of what plants will kill you. What about you, Clove? Did your grandparents ever take you hiking?"

"No, we didn't do any hiking, but they did teach me how to triage venomous bites and stings," she said, shaking her head. "We dealt with a lot of snakes and scorpions. I can't make anti-venom, but I know how to slow the venom,"

"That is a handy skill indeed," she said, her lips pursing into a smile as her eyes darted between her tributes. "I've been meaning to ask; how did you know Cato and I were related?"

Before she could respond, Ophelia started choking on her batter cakes. She swallowed them, a burning flush erupting on her freshly contoured face.

"Related!?" she screamed, her high pitch echoing throughout the valued ceilings of their suite. "Cornelia! You should've told me!"

"Cats out of the bag now," she laughed. "It doesn't change anything, Ms. Daytide. Cato and Clove both have a fair shot at winning. That's what is owed to them as Legionnaires. My personal feelings will not hinder my decisions in their training,"

Ophelia's brow furrowed, her eyes darting between the pair. He noticed the growing look of worry behind her chocolate-colored eyes.

"Yes, of course, Cornelia. I was foolish to think such a thing," she replied slowly.

There was a hint of sadness that trailed from her words. It surprised him. Who knew their escort had a beating heart beneath her layers of gemstones and cream-colored makeup?

The frown on her face quickly shifted. "We'll ensure they're taken care of as best we can!"

"As we always do, Ophelia," Cornelia replied with a roll of her eyes. A smile tugged at her weathered face, her eyes shifting to Clove. "You were saying, Clove?"

She cleared her throat, feeling their mentor's gaze linger upon her.

"I did a report on you during school," she hesitated. "I remembered you married and changed your last name. I didn't need to be a genius to put two and two together,"

A smirk tugged at his lips. "What was the report?"

"Autobiography of a Victor," she glared, rolling her eyes at her older Career before lowering them onto the table.

"On the 25th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it. Cornelia was top of her class and was voted female Legionnaire at eighteen,"

"Kiss ass," Cato murmured, earning a swift kick to the shin from Clove, who remained unphased by his comment.

"Is that what they wrote?" Cornelia chuckled softly. "I'll be the first to tell you not everything you've read isn't true. Knowledge, like air, is vital to life. Like air, no one should be denied it."

She finished her coffee, sliding her mug for the avox to refill. "The truth is, I wasn't at the top of my class, but I wasn't the worst. My class voted me Legionnaire because the top of my class told them to. She was spiteful and hated me because I ushered kindness from someone she could not obtain. And so, I was thrown into the Games,"

Cornelia watched as the tributes across from her fell agape; even poor Ms. Daytide was utterly stunned.

"That's a tale for another night!" she cackled. "Now, here's my plan for both of you. I want you to show off your strengths. Intimidate your enemies with the extent of your training. During your private sessions, I want you to work on your weaknesses. That way, you're prepared to handle the situation when it arises,"

Cornelia's eyes lingered on Clove.

"Clove, while throwing knives are practical at a distance, you'll be vulnerable when your enemy is beyond your range or when they enter your space. So, in your private sessions, I want you to focus on hand-to-hand combat. Make your enemies think they've got you on the run when you're the one who has them cornered," her gaze shifted toward Cato.

"And Cato, the sword is the truest extension of any Legionnaire's being, but your arm can only swing so far. This leaves you vulnerable when your enemy is beyond your reach. So, in your private sessions, I want you to put down the sword and try your hand at something with distance. A bow, a spear."

"You're having us prepare to fight each other?" Cato asked, his icy stare unwavering from Cornelia's. "How does that help us?"

"Because if we play our cards right, the finale will come down to you two,"

Cato tried to shake his rising anxiety about meeting the other tributes as he and Clove descended the elevator to the basement training center.

The doors opened into an enormous gymnasium with weapons set in stands, various skill stations, and obstacle courses. They arrived early to size up the competition as they trickled in over the next hour.

Each tribute was pinned with a square cloth with their district number as they checked in. By the end of the hour, he watched Katniss and Peeta enter the tight circle as Peeta's eyes lingered upon him.

He took a deep breath, listening to the head trainer, Atala, describe the training schedule. He tried to block the blonde boy's gaze from his vision, but Cato felt his stare burning holes in the back of his head. He flitted his eyes around to the other tributes.

Besides Marvel, who stood nearly an inch taller than him, Cato towered in size over most of the other tributes. His stature was almost unfair, looking at the hallow faces of the boys and girls surrounding him.

Across from him stood a slender woman from District 4. She had long, dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes. Her thin frame did little to hide her defined muscles as Cato's eyes trailed along her arms and abdomen.

Beside her stood her district partner. He had the same striking sapphire eyes as his partner, but the resemblance stopped there. He had an athletic build with high cheekbones and an angular jawline that could rival Peeta's. His intense gaze scanned the room.

Cato's eye glinted at the boy from District 11. His ebony skin and wavy hair shined under the bright artificial lights. He's one of the giants amongst the few. Built like an ox, his face wore a look of unwavering determination. And most hauntingly, next to him stood a girl from District 11 who could be no older than twelve.

She had dark brown skin and eyes, but other than that, she was very much like Octavia in size and demeanor.

Looking at her made his stomach curl.

When Atala released them, Cato broke off for the sparing racks as Clove headed for the practice range. He grabbed the deadliest-looking short sword in the gym, the silver blade gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Adrenaline surged throughout his body as he positioned himself between three target mannequins while awaiting the instructor's whistle.

The ringing in his ears signaled his body to move as he amputated the target before him with a brutal downward slash. He recoiled, bringing the blade straight across the chest of the second target behind him. His fluid-like movements decapitated the third and first mannequin before plunging his sword through the trunk of the second target.

He hadn't used a blade since his duel with Marcus, yet the feeling of the weighted sword in his hand made his skin crackle with excitement. Scanning the training center, he watched Clove nail three targets from over twenty feet with daggers. Marvel was at the spear-throwing station with the boy from District 4. Beside them, Glimmer was testing her hand at archery.

Eventually, Cato traded the weapon for a baton to practice sparing with one of the assistants.

Though the young man was quick on his feet, he felt disdain for this type of practice. He wanted to cross blades with the ones he would fight in the arena, but they were forbidden from engaging in combative exercises with another tribute.

During his first morning break, his eyes lingered on the female tribute from District 4, who shared a mat adjacent to his. She was aggressive, so quick with her strikes that he had a time tracking her movements. Then, finally, he heard the crackle of her assistant's body armor from the sheer force of her blows. The attendant stopped her assault by submitting, throwing his baton to the ground. Her fierce stare met his, a sly smirk creeping across her face.

He understood the message loud and clear.

He was the attendant, and she was challenging him. Turning back to his assistant, he nodded at the man to ready himself. A sense of anger coursed throughout his body, refusing to be second best to anyone.

His strikes grew quicker. The man was struggling to block and dodge. Finally, he landed a harsh blow against his left arm, and the man let out a staggering, sharp groan.

Virtus et Honos.

His vision flashed back to the Academy. Their swords met each other once again, sparking like flint against steel. Crimson pulsed from his arm.

Virtus et Honos.

Kevlar and sweat became tunics and blood. The training center faded around him, shifting into the white marble of the sparing colonnade. The shining plexiglass and weathered face melted away, revealing the tireless golden eyes and handsome face that haunted his dreams.

Strength and Honor.

He plunged his blade through his abdomen. A spatter of blood coated his face.

But it's not Marcus's blood he felt, but his own.

A small shard of the faceguard pierced his cheek as his world shifted back. His attendant was on the ground, unconscious, as a medical team rushed in to retrieve him. Splintered glass jutted out from his cheek. His weathered face was red, and the cheek beneath his right eye was swelling shut from the force of his blow.

A trickle of blood ran down his face as one of the medics escorted him to a nearby bench. He didn't remember what happened in the ring, but looking around the room, all the eyes of the tributes were on him.

The worst of which was Peeta. The blonde boy was near the camouflage station with Katniss. His arm had been painted to hide against the tree's bark. The hollow stare of fear dimmed the light behind his amber eyes.

It was the same look Marcus gave him when he died.

The medic pulled the shard of glass from Cato's cheek, searing it with a strange gel-like glue that left barely any visible mark. So, this was the wonderous technology of the Capital; even the most potent remedies of District 2 stood ill in comparison. No questions were asked as they sent him on his way.

They're used to tributes hurting themselves— as long as they didn't break each other before the start of the Games, everything would continue as planned.

Cato rejoined Clove as they broke for lunch. Her attendants pull her knives from the wooden targets down range. She wiped the thin layer of sweat from her brow, turning toward the older Career as he approached.

"So, what was that?" she asked, a coy smirk growing on her lips.

"The girl from District Four challenged me," he retorted, shrugging his shoulders. "I had to set an example."

"Well, you didn't have to go that far," she laughed. "I'm pretty sure everyone thought you killed the guy,"

"Yeah, I might've got a bit carried away," he scowled, surveying the room.

It seemed like everyone had moved on from the debacle. His stomach growled with anticipation.

"Come on, let's grab some food,"

"You think they have more batter cakes?" she gleamed. "I could go for another round of those,"

"Probably not, but that's probably a good thing. You'll get fat," he laughed. He had forgotten how good it felt to laugh.

They made their way from the gymnasium into the dining hall. It was a large room made of painted brick with vaulted ceilings. A windowless chamber illuminated by artificial lights made a low humming sound. Food was arranged on carts around the room, allowing the twenty-four tribute to serve themselves before sitting at one of the dozens of round tables scattered throughout the open space.

The pair found themselves across from Peeta and Katniss at one of the food stations, serving a lamb stew and various loaves of bread. Cato scooped himself a big bowl, glancing upward to meet Peeta's gaze. The honey hues of Peeta's eyes traced along his face, dancing across the fresh mark that kissed his left cheek. His lips tugged into a small smile as their eyes met. The guilt of their kiss lingered in his mind, but something infectious about his eyes kept drawing him back in.

"You got a staring problem, Twelve?"

And the smile was gone, as was whatever moment lingered in the ether between them. Instead, his gaze flickered to Clove. Her glare burned holes into the side of Peeta's face, watching the boy retrieve some stew from the pot.

"It's Peeta, Clove," he scolded, biting his cheek. "Remember to play nice."

She pushed past him, rolling her eyes as she loaded some bread on her plate. "Mhm, whatever you say, boss,"

Cato shook his head, grabbing a few rolls for his tray. A smile had formed on Peeta's lips.

He followed Clove to an empty table. He sat beside the brooding girl, watching her hungrily destroy her stew. Marvel and Glimmer joined them shortly after, accompanied by the boy and girl from District 4. His gaze lingered on the piercing eyes and slender frame from District 4 across from him. "

What's your name?"

"It's Luna," she replied. Her voice was smooth, like soft velvet. "This is my partner, Reef,"

"I'm Cato. This is Clove,"

Luna's eyes trailed them like a cat toying with its food. "It's a pleasure,"

The Careers gnawed at their food and scraped their plates clean, their mundane conversations hanging in the air. Clove shoveled bread into her mouth beside him while Glimmer beamed over their outfits at the Tribute's Parade. Marcus and Reef discussed spear-throwing techniques. Reef was the son of a fisherman. He described how he and his father caught these monstrous sea basses and tuna off District 4. Cato had only ever seen fish in his books from school, but the way Reef described the sea made him wish to see it. Luna's gaze hadn't left him. Instead, she watched his every move, her eyes trailing his hands, arms, and face.

She was searching for something.

"Great job earlier," she smirked. "Even I don't have the brass to injure the assistants,"

"I think you're lacking in that anatomy, love," Marvel laughed, earning an icy stare from Luna.

Cato didn't respond to his comment, finishing off his bowl of lamb. His gaze flickered back toward the girl for District 4. "Thanks, you're not too bad yourself,"

A distant laugh shifted the table's attention to the pair from District 12. A nervous tickle crept up Cato's spine, watching the couple at a nearby table. Katniss giggled at something Peeta said. His bright smile shone beneath his lips.

He felt warm, seeing the divots form on Peeta's cheeks. Luna scoffed, a hungry grin forming on her slender face.

"It won't be so funny when I shove my sword through his throat,"

A defiant rage boiled up in his stomach. "You'll kill him when I say, got it?'

Her lips twitched into a smirk. "Oh— does someone have a soft spot for the welp from Twelve?"

"No," His icy stare met Luna's. "But I like to keep my options open— especially if I need to thin the herd."

"God, no need to be so intense! I was only joking..." She sighed, rolling her eyes as she dipped her bread in her stew.

His gaze broke from Luna, scanning over the pair from District 12. He would be the one who decides who would live or die.

And right now, Peeta was off the table.

After lunch, the Careers broke away once again. Reef and Luna made their way to the snare station while Clove and Marvel worked on starting a fire. Nearby, Cato and Glimmer worked together at the first aid station. Across the gymnasium, Katniss and Peeta tried their hand at the rope course.

Their lesson at the medical station was simple but effective. Their instructor covered valuable topics, like making a tourniquet and applying one if they lose a limp. How to set a broken bone, create a splint, and simple suturing. Glimmer took the opportunity to lay on the charm, having him sling her arm.

"Oh, yeah. Tie it tighter," she moaned, giggling at Cato's flush. He tied the final knot to secure her sling. He laughed at her bashfully, noticing Clove pretending to wretch over her shoulder.

"There, that should be secure. How does it feel?"

Glimmer pressed his free palm against her breast. "I don't know, you tell me?"

He swallowed, shakily not expecting her to act so brazenly. "I- uh,"

A loud thud shifted their attention, allowing him the opportunity to slip his hand from the mound of supple flesh. He stood with Glimmer to get a better look. Peeta had fallen from the rope course. A flush of embarrassment and frustration panged across his ragged face as Katniss knelt beside him. Marvel and Clove rejoined them.

A smirk lingered on Marvel's chiseled face. "Man, that's so pathetic. Winning this thing is going to be easier than we thought,"

"It's not fair at this point," Glimmer laughed, nudging Marvel playfully.

Cato turned to Clove, watching the girl scan the boy from Twelve. She didn't say anything, but she didn't need to. He understood as his eyes shifted to the boy lying on the ground.

Their alliance was crumbling.

First, District 4, and now District 1. The eyes of the wolves were upon them— and there was nothing they could do to help them.

They needed to help themselves.

Cato's gaze met Peeta's once again. He eagerly held his breath, watching the blonde rise from the ground. He hobbled over to the nearby weight rack, pulling the largest kettlebell from the bottom of the frame. He hurled the enormous weight effortlessly, slamming the ball against a spear rack that stood off Glimmer and Marvel's side.

The impact sent a handful of spears crashing to the floor. Glimmer flinched as Marvel took a few steps back. The smiles had fallen from their faces as they looked at Cato.

"Not bad," A smirk grew on his face, nodding at Peeta before returning to his fellow Careers. "Now, where were we?"

The next few hours of training flew by for Cato. He focused on medical training for the remainder of his afternoon, ending with a few spear throws between him, Marvel, and Reef. Spears were never his preference; Marcus was always better with them anyway. His throws were always off-center by an inch or two while they hit the marks dead on. But what he lacked in accuracy, he made up for in power by plunging his spear a few inches deeper through his targets.

A whistle rang throughout the center, signaling the end of the first training day. The pair from District 2 bid farewell to their new allies, ignoring Luna's intense stare as they made their way to the elevator.

Back inside their suite, Cato broke from Clove. Desperate for a shower to soothe his aching muscles. The cascade of heat worked wonders, unwinding the knots forming on his back as he scrubbed himself with a banana-scented foam. The scent reminded him of Marcus. It was his favorite fruit. They used to trade apples for bananas in the cafeteria whenever they could. He ate so many of him; the scent lingered on his skin and lips.

After drying himself, Cato slipped Marcus's token beneath a light blue V-neck before sliding on dark denim jeans and his leather shoes. Cornelia caught him before he could slip out the door.

"And where are you going?"

Like a child caught in the cookie jar, he smiled coyly. "Just grabbing some air,"

"Don't be long. Dinner is in an hour."

Entering the elevator, he pushed on the panel's top button, feeling butterflies in his stomach as he watched the rib-like railings race past.

Why was he nervous? There was no guarantee Peeta would even be there. Even so, he had to apologize for his actions last night.

Setting out onto the rooftop, the sunset glimmered in the distance, shrouded by an overcast sky. Rays of daylight danced through the skyscrapers below as the smell of rain loomed in the air amongst the trickle of windchimes. He walked down the well-manicured path, finding the couch beneath the pergola empty. The shard of glass from his broken champagne flute still scattered the tile like tiny diamonds.

Taking a seat beneath the pergola, he took in the last remnants of sunlight before the sun sank beneath the horizon. His finger instinctively reached for Marcus' token, circling his thumb along the polished turquoise as the sky rumbled above. The tiny agate did little to calm the stirring of guilt filling his chest once again.

He kept going throughout the day, pretending he didn't care, but it was tearing him apart. Life was still going on, and a part of him was terrified he would forget Marcus as the rest of the world had. Yet, he was doing better today, better than yesterday.

And then there are moments like right now where he's searching for him in the sunset.

"Hey,"

Cato turned, finding Peeta standing behind him. He had changed his clothes and showered since his time in the gymnasium. A light black jacket hung loosely around his frame above his white t-shirt and dark denim jeans.

"Hey,"

A tense awkwardness filled the space between the boys as they watched the sunset. He cleared his throat, shifting his gaze to Peeta.

"I'm sorry about last night. I drank a lot of champagne and don't know what came over me."

Peeta's brow quirked at him. "I didn't think you were that drunk, but I told you last night it was okay."

He wasn't that drunk, but lying was better than admitting the truth at this point. "It still wasn't right."

The blonde shrugged his shoulder, tracing Cato's face. "Are you at least feeling any better today?"

"No," he mumbled. "That's the strange thing about pain. It demands to be felt."

"Was that what happened earlier?"

His fingers slipped Marcus's token beneath his shirt. More questions. More delving.

"I lost myself." he hesitated, trying to turn away from Peeta's gaze.

His eyes were warm and inviting; the hesitation from last night had faded, and the light remained. Nevertheless, it made Cato feel guiltier about his actions from earlier.

"Maybe I'm just a bad person,"

Peeta looked over at him with a thoughtful expression. "There is no such thing as bad people, Cato. We're all just people who sometimes do bad things."

A small smile grew upon his lips. "You never done anything bad,"

Although, he wasn't sure if that was true. A sense of goodness surrounded the boy from District 12. He didn't feel that around the rest of the Careers— Cornelia, Clove, and Marcus were the only exceptions.

Kindness was a value most people lacked these days.

"Don't tell anyone, but I'm a thief." he smiled, pulling a crescent moon roll dotted with seeds from his jacket pocket.

"You stole some bread!" Cato chuckled, narrowing his eyes on the baker boy. "There's no way you took that."

"You're right," he laughed with a shrug— a crimson blush formed on his sharp cheekbones. "I got it from the order cart in my room. They're from District Eleven. You should try some- they're good!"

He ripped the roll in half, taking a bite of his as he handed Cato his half. The bread was dense but soft. The crunchy seeds added a wonderfully salty, buttery flavor, making his mouth water. They both sat back, enjoying the final remnants of sunlight as the sun began cresting over the distant mountainside.

"So, what do you think?"

His lips tugged upward. "It's delicious. How do you know so much about bread?"

"My parents run the bakery in District Twelve. I worked there after school. I mostly bake bread and frost the cakes."

Cato wondered how Peeta had such an impressive physique coming from District 12. He imagined lifting hundreds of pounds of flour and spending hours kneading bread built the blonde's broad shoulders and thick forearms.

"We don't have anything like that in Two," he said, shaking his head. "I mean, we have a bakery, but they only sell bread. Nothing sweet, but you can usually find something during special occasions if you can afford it. My mother doesn't bake but is an amazing cook. My father's a Peacekeeper."

"Do you have any siblings?"

"I have a sister; her name's Octavia. She's only ten, but I feel like she's already leaps and bounds ahead of where I was at her age. She loves reading and playing with her friends,"

A small smile danced across his lips. He missed her stubbornness.

"I wrote her every weekend in the Academy," The smile lingered, shifting his gaze back toward him. "What about you, bread boy?"

Peeta's lips twitched into a smirk, shifting his eyes toward him. "I have two older brothers, Rye and Nick. Though, it doesn't sound like we're as close as you and Octavia."

"Speaking of close, what's going on between you and Katniss? Is she your girlfriend or something?"

Peeta pivoted in his seat to face him. Cato's turned toward him, feeling the rays of the sunlight warm the side of his face.

"We're just friends," he replied, cautiously raising his hand to Cato's face.

It was solid and warm, like fresh bread. His fingers trailed along the wound below his left eye. "Does it hurt?"

The contact left him stupefied, leaning forward into the comfort of his warmth. His fingers left embers across the surface of Cato's skin, clawing their way across his body. The cobalt rings of his amber eyes glinted in the fading sunlight. Peeta drew his lower lip inward. His gaze was uncertain, yet it was brimming with a yearning curiosity.

Cato's words caught in his throat, feeling lost to the fire that threatened to consume him.

"N-No... uh, it doesn't hurt."

His eyes trailed along Peeta's plump lips, feeling himself inch closer as his hand left. A growing worry filled his stare as the sky rumbled above. The blonde exhaled a breath with a sigh, darting his eyes between Cato's lips and the space closing between them. A flush crept across his face.

"What're we doing?"

"I'm not sure," Cato whispered, feeling his fingers pulse as they slid into Peeta's warm hand. "But— I like it."

"It's nerve-wracking," Peeta muttered, shifting his eyes to their hands. "I-I never thought my first kiss would make me feel this way."

"Confused?"

He paused, grasping Cato's hand in what he thought was meant to be a reassuring squeeze. Instead, maybe it's just a nervous spasm. "Breathless."

Cato doesn't ask this time. The need in Peeta's eyes gives him the answer he wants. Soft raindrops fell against his head, leaning forward to capture his lips.

It's soft and sweet, but the hunger beneath it threatens to take over. Peeta's lips are tender and gentle. Flames dance between them as a sudden rush of torrential rain envelopes them. Cato pulled on his shirt to shift him closer, resting his hands on his firm hips. Nipping and suckling on Peeta's lip spurred a throaty groan as his arousal grew steadily.

The cold summer rain did little to snuff the inferno between their lips.

His heart pounded in his chest as Peeta pulled away. His shoes were now full of water. Peeta rose quickly from the couch, dragging Cato alongside him with a cheeky smile. "Come on!"

"Where are we going!?"

"Somewhere dry!" he laughed.

Their laughter and splashing footsteps echoed on the rooftop as Peeta led him to the other side of the dome. A small greenhouse was built on the side of the building. The glass panels fogged from the frigid rain as they found shelter amongst the flower beds and potted trees. From the branches hung hundreds of wind chimes.

Sodden from the storm, the two collided again, full of fire, passion, and warmth. Rain dripped from their skin as their hands feverously crawled over each other, exploring. Peeta's arms trembled, looping them around his neck, pulling him closer as his fingers caressed his blonde locks.

A throaty moan escaped Cato's throat, his fingers trailing along Peeta's muscular back. His heart raced in his chest so loud he was certain Peeta could hear it. Peeta was the sun. His touch was fire, scalding his flesh with desire. The smell of rain and salt mixed with the sweet vanilla scent of Peeta's shampoo.

It was dizzying.

Cato stumbled, finding an anchor with an empty workbench. Butterflies danced in his stomach, breaking their kiss to grip Peeta's waist before lifting him onto the table. Peeta pulled him back eagerly, reuniting their kiss with force as he wrapped his legs around Cato's waist. Cato's tongue slid over his lower lip, begging for entrance. His lips opened, a hearty moan growing in his chest as Cato bucked his hips against his. His groin twitched against the burn of their denim.

As their tongues met, Peeta's lips left Cato overwhelmed and deprived of air. He felt a groan of want ripple between them as Peeta's fingers trailed along his bulging shoulders. Their pulses raced one another, beating so fast he couldn't tell if it was his heartbeat or Peeta's.

Not that it mattered.

Cato felt like he'd been in a desert for an eternity, and Peeta was his oasis. And he was oh so thirsty. A gasp overtook them as they pulled away, breathing hastily like they had just finished a marathon. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Peeta's. His skin was soft and warm against his, finally dry from the fire between them. He slid his hands along Peeta's back and across his shoulders, grasping the delicate pair resting against his chest.

They sat momentarily, listening to each other's breaths and heartbeats mixed with the soft trickle of rain and wind chimes.

It was lovely to sit between comfort and chaos.

A/N: I hope you all are enjoying it so far! Do I think Cato is forming an unhealthy projection of Marcus onto Peeta? You bet! Grief is a strange beast. We all grieve in different ways. I'm always trying to think how I'd feel in this situation. I'm curious to see what you think! Please feel free to leave some feedback!

Your humble story-teller,

FLUX