-*** Training Day: 2: Part 2***-
The shock was evident in Peeta's wide eyes as they darted across the pendant in Cato's hand. The look heightened Cato's anxiety, quickening his heartbeat. His fingers trembled, bracing for Peeta's attack. His body shook with nerves.
"Y-You killed him...?" Peeta swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady to hide his horror. "...why?"
Tears stung Cato's eyes, tucking the pendant beneath his shirt. His voice cracked as he spoke. "I-I didn't have a choice…"
"Cato, there's always a ch—"
"There wasn't for me!" he spat, gritting his teeth. Peeta recoiled from his words. "They didn't give us a choice…"
His words trailed off softly. A few tears broke, along with a sob hidden by the wind chimes filling the air. "It was the final munera, our final obligation to provide a service to our academy."
He bit back his lower lip, which threatened to quiver. Even now, as he and his walls crumbled, he fought back his emotions. He didn't want Peeta to see how broken he was. The boy sat before him, quietly soaking in his words as they fell from his mouth.
"Marcus and I fought… h-he didn't submit—" he muttered softly. "He could've conceded— he would still be alive, but there's no honor in surrender."
He wiped the tears from his face with his sleeve, fighting back the sob in his throat. Peeta's unwavering stare left him unsure of his feelings.
"They made me fight him… and I won."
Cato tasted his blood, biting his cheek to hide the cry that choked his throat. He could stop the sobs but couldn't hold back the tears as they fell down his face. He recoiled, feeling Peeta's trembling hand touch his cheek, gently wiping away his tears.
"Cato," Peeta whispered. "I… I'm sorry..."
Fear flashed across his eyes, trying to keep his voice calm as he spoke, though it was apparent how upset he was.
"You think… I would leave over that?" he asked quietly. "What they did to you was barbaric— and I am so sorry..."
His racing heart calmed, feeling Peeta's soft hand cup his cheek. "You are not at fault here— do you understand that? You were a victim here, not the cause."
The blonde leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Cato's. The shock in his eyes grew more prominent as the baker boy pushed his skin against his. His broad arms pulled Cato into his embrace. Peeta knew about the darkness inside him, and yet he still looked at Cato like he was the sun.
He didn't deserve his kindness, but Peeta was willing to give it—unconditionally. They sat there, listening to the gentle sounds of each other's breath as sunlight danced across the glossy panels of the greenhouse. Cato pressed his face into Peeta's shoulder, breathing in the smell of his skin. His warm embrace coated him in a fog that made him feel safe like he could melt into his arms and forget the world's worries.
He would do anything to stay in this lavender haze.
"Peeta…" he mumbled against his shoulder. "Can I see the rest of your drawings?"
"Yeah… whatever you want to see,"
Cato shifted, resting his head against his shoulder. Peeta's fingers slowly flipped through the pages of his sketchbook. His eyes scanned each page, taking in the immense detail of Peeta's sketches. His artwork was beautiful. Each page told a different story—fields of flowers, broken buildings, skyscrapers of the Capitol.
"You're terrific, Peeta."
Peeta's lips smiled against the top of his head. "Thanks. Delly taught me how to draw when we were younger. Then, I started using it in the bakery."
"She's a terrific teacher."
He chuckled, flipping the pages as Cato noticed something on the parchment. "What was that?"
He tried to flip back the page that Peeta held firmly.
"H-Hey! Let me see!" he huffed.
"That one isn't finished…" Peeta replied shakily, flipping through pages of the Capitol's buildings.
Cato lifted his head from Peeta's shoulder, narrowing his eyes on him as he inched closer. "Peeta, will you show me that drawing… please?"
His words trailed off like a beg, making Peeta's face burn red. He watched the boy bite his lip as he swallowed… hard. Then, he took a deep breath, nodding as his eyes averted from Cato's gaze.
"Alright..."
Peeta unsteadily flipped through the sketchbook again, reaching the pages behind Haymitch, Katniss, and Effie.
It was him.
Most of him, anyway. Half of the portrait had been completed. Cato's eyes danced across the parchment, taking in every fine detail of his pencil strokes. The drawing was from yesterday. He recognized the design of the V-neck he wore. The intensity of his gaze, the delicate shading of his skin, and even the intricate droplets of rain that kissed his face.
No one had ever drawn him before... it was beautiful.
His heart soared as his lips tugged upward, turning back toward Peeta. "You're amazing, Peeta."
Peeta's mouth curled into a grin, his gaze meeting his.
"Cato," he said. His voice was barely above a whisper. "Can I ask for a favor?"
"Of course."
He closed the sketchbook, setting it off to the side as he leaned forward. He reached out, grasping Cato's hands with his own.
"Can I... kiss you...?" he whispered gently.
His face burned. Cato's heart raced in his chest. The way Peeta stared at him was like the hottest of fires burning blue. Cato's eyes darted to his mouth, brushing their noses against one another as they remained a heartbeat away.
"Peeta, you don't have to as—"
Peeta's lips crashed down on his, taking him in a breathless kiss. He gasped from the force, reaching out in search of him. His fingers gripped his blonde locks, dragging him closer. Peeta wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him onto him.
As they fell back on the ceramic tiles, Peeta's kisses became harder and rougher than before. A carnal hunger grew between them as Peeta gnawed and suckled on Cato's bottom lip, eliciting a moan from the Career's lips. Peeta bucked his hips beneath him, his breath becoming hoarse and strained as his arousal grew.
Lust poured from Cato's eyes as he pinned Peeta's wrists above his head. He straddled his waist, fighting to control his impulses, but the hungry look in Peeta's eyes was intoxicating. A low groan emanated from Peeta's throat as he rolled his hips against Cato's. The friction of their growing arousal met the barrier of denim. Peeta didn't struggle as Cato held him down; his submission only aroused Cato more.
Cato felt Peeta's desperation—his passion. He let himself sink into it, embracing it. The Capitol and the Gamemakers couldn't take this from them. His tongue danced with Peeta's, intensifying everything. Peeta's breath shook as his hand ran along the skin beneath Cato's shirt, exploring his taut chest muscles. His lips quivered against Cato's, rolling the sensitive bud of his nipple between his finger and thumb.
The world around them faded into nothingness. There was only the heat between them, the desperate need in their touches, and the way their bodies moved in perfect sync. Peeta's fingers traced the lines of Cato's muscles, and every touch sent shivers down his spine. Cato's lips trailed from Peeta's mouth to his jawline, then to his neck, where he nibbled and sucked, leaving a trail of marks.
Peeta's gasps and moans grew louder, more urgent. Cato wanted to consume Peeta, to be consumed by him. His hands roamed over Peeta's body, feeling the curves and planes of his form.
Cato shifted, straddling Peeta's side. His fingers trailed southward across Peeta's abdomen while his mouth moved to the crook of his neck. Peeta's rapid heartbeat pulsed beneath his tongue as he suckled and nipped at the tender skin.
Cato's fingers danced near the edge of Peeta's waistline, dipping below the elastic of his boxers to tease the soft skin beneath. Peeta trembled, looking up to see Cato biting his lip as he arched his head back, his face a mixture of bliss and hesitation.
Cato released Peeta's wrists, moving his hand from his waistline. Propping himself up on his elbow, he trailed his hand along Peeta's jaw as his breathing steadied. His eyes were closed, and a fine layer of sweat glistened across their skin.
"Peeta…" he whispered, gently cupping his cheek. "Are you okay…? We don't have to do anything you don't want to."
Peeta's amber eyes flickered open. "It's embarrassing…."
"Kissing me…?"
Peeta's eyes widened at the disappointment on Cato's face.
"No, no, no… God, no," he exhaled with a chuckle, reaching out to push back the blonde locks that framed Cato's forehead. A crimson flush formed on his cheeks. "I-It's the sounds… I make. It's… embarrassing…"
Cato grinned, leaning forward to place his lips beside Peeta's ear.
"I like the sounds you make," he growled, trailing his hand along Peeta's jaw. He cupped Peeta's chin, dancing his thumb across his swollen lower lip. "I want to hear you…"
Cato engulfed Peeta's earlobe, twirling his tongue around the supple flesh before gnawing at it. Peeta's moans kissed Cato's thumb, and he arched like a bow against him. Cato hungrily assaulted Peeta's neck, suckling and biting marks into the tender flesh of his clavicle. Peeta's needy whines and pants encouraged him further, his nails raking against Cato's back.
Finally, Cato's fingers dove beneath Peeta's waistband, stroking his length through the cloth barrier. Peeta's groans vibrated against Cato's forehead as he left a third mark on his collarbone. He wanted to taste more of him—all of him.
"C-Cato…," Peeta groaned, bucking his hips against Cato's hand. "Please…."
Cato's breath caught in his chest, hearing Peeta beg for him. His member ached against the denim barrier. Cato's body growled in response as he retrieved his hand before crushing his lips against Peeta's. He pulled back, sucking on Peeta's plump lip, causing him to let out an audible whine that made him throb.
His hungry eyes met Peeta's.
"Are you going to help me take off these clothes? Or am I going to have to rip them off?"
Peeta nodded eagerly, sitting up to strip Cato of his shirt before taking off his own. They scrambled to remove their jeans and shoes, then collided again, their hands roaming the newly exposed skin as their lips melded together. The black boxers they wore did little to hinder their curious hands as they teased each other through the cloth barrier.
Cato broke from Peeta's hungry lips, his azure eyes glowing drunkenly as Peeta gave him a confused look.
"Lie down," he barked, trying to steady his breath.
Peeta bit his lip, nodding as he followed Cato's instruction. He rolled his body backward to lie on his back. Peeta's bare chest rose and fell rapidly, strained by his arousal. Cato leaned forward, leaving shaky kisses along Peeta's chest and abdomen. His anticipation grew as his fingers gently tugged Peeta's waistband, dragging the cloth down his hips and past his legs before tossing it aside.
He grasped Peeta's glistening length, flicking his tongue out to stroke the tip. Peeta shivered from his touch. Tasting Peeta's bitter essence, Cato suddenly wanted more. Peeta gasped, his fingers gripping Cato's hair as he widened his lips, allowing him to take more of Peeta into his moist mouth. He took him in slowly, bobbing his head in a delicate, rhythmic pattern. Peeta's breath became ragged as he felt Cato's tongue run along the underside of his shaft while watching him move his head up and down.
"More…" Peeta cried, pleading for Cato to take him completely.
Cato flicked his tongue out, drawing Peeta deeper into his mouth. He exhaled loudly, his hot breath tickling Peeta's wet member and drawing a shudder from him.
"Oh... f-fuck. Please, don't stop..."
Cato drew Peeta in until his lips reached the base. Peeta whimpered with pleasure, feeling his member press against the back of Cato's throat. Cato moaned against him, stroking himself while Peeta's length repeatedly slammed against his throat. The vibrations caused Peeta to sob with passion.
Cato's eyes locked with his. They were drunk with lust, his hair curled between Peeta's fists. Peeta's breath hitched in his chest as his legs began to shake, feeling his impending climax.
"C-Cato… ah… I…I'm-m gonna…" he stammered.
Cato quickened his pace, stretching his jaw to its limit as he vigorously pumped himself. Peeta gripped his hair, releasing a flood of salt and rain into his mouth. Each swallow drowned him in ecstasy. Cato trembled, feeling his world explode into shards of molten light as hot ropes of seed squirted against his abdomen onto the tiles below.
They rode out their climax together. The moment was fleeting but unforgettable as Peeta slackened against Cato's exhausted tongue. Cato pulled away, feeling his heart thud in his chest. Their eyes met—a smile tugging at the baker boy's swollen lips.
"You're… amazing…" Peeta huffed, the lull of exhaustion hanging on his words.
Cato lays beside him, pushing their tangled clothes into a makeshift pillow. Pulling Peeta against him, they watched the sunset on the distant horizon through the glossy windows of the greenhouse. Peeta rested his head against Cato's shoulder, trailing his fingers along the love bite marking his neck.
"We should probably get going…" Peeta yawned, trailing his fingers along Cato's chest.
Cato smiled, wrapping his arm firmly around Peeta's waist. "I think I want to stay right here. We've got a while."
Peeta's lips smiled against Cato's shoulder. "We have until sunset."
"Right, until sunset..."
The air in the greenhouse was warm, lulled by the sound of the chimes that hung from the trees. Cato's eyes felt heavy… the rhythmic sound of the wind chimes and Peeta's breathing...
A sharp pain in Cato's shin startled him awake. Darkness had fallen inside the greenhouse. His eyes adjusted, focusing on the black flats worn by—Cornelia. Her weathered face wrinkled into a scowl as he gently shook Peeta awake.
"Now, isn't this a surprise?"
Peeta quickly scrambled to cover himself as she turned away. Her voice was commanding and firm. "Peeta, I suggest you get dressed and return to your floor. Cato… you stay behind."
The pair divided their clothes, dressing quickly.
"Do you want me to stay?" Peeta asked, pulling on his cobalt-colored shirt. "She doesn't look happy."
"That's just part of her personality," Cato laughed, pulling up his jeans. "I'll be fine… you should go."
The blonde gave him a small smile, handing him the grey V-neck crumpled on the floor. He planted a peck on Cato's cheek.
"Good luck," he whispered, quickly passing Cornelia through the doorway's threshold.
The silence of the greenhouse was broken by the soft trickle of the wind chimes as a warm summer breeze danced through the potted plants and flowers. As Cato pulled his shirt over his head, Cornelia stepped closer.
"I know my daughter didn't raise you to be a fool, Cato," she spat, slowly inching closer. "What were you thinking? Sleeping with the enemy?"
"W-We… we didn't sleep together! W-We… I-I…h-he's…"
"What about the Games?" Cornelia howled.
"I-I don't know…"
Cornelia lunged forward, fury and disappointment seething from her icy eyes. "Do you think for a second that boy will protect you? He's going to sacrifice you the moment he senses weakness!"
"H-He's not like that!"
A harsh slap filled the tense air as a stinging pain danced across his face. The feeling made tears well in his eyes.
"Stop living in a fantasy!" she screamed, pained by the guilt of striking her grandson. "I can't lose you too, Cato!"
She wiped the tears stinging her eyes, stepping back. "I-I'm sorry… I lost my temper…"
His fingers traced his left cheek where her hand struck him. The shock of her blow left him speechless. Cornelia had never struck him before. "Who… who did you lose?"
"Everyone, Cato. I lost everyone…." Cornelia crossed her arms, examining the rose bush filled with white rosettes. "Come on, let's get some air."
The pair shifted from the greenhouse, moving beneath the comfort of the pagoda overlooking the sparkling streets of the Capital. A clear sky gifted them with the luminous light of a waxing gibbous as Cornelia pulled a silver flask from her purse, taking a hefty swig before offering it to him.
"Peace offering?"
He eyed her suspiciously but accepted the container. Taking a large sip from the flask, the liquor burned his throat, causing him to choke. She accepted the container back with a laugh.
"When you've lived the life I have, the harder stuff doesn't faze you anymore."
Her gaze trailed back to the horizon as Cato turned to her. "During my tenure at Stone Bridge Academy, I became friends with a boy named Maximus… he would steal pomegranates and eat the seeds with me under the colonnade of the training grounds. His girlfriend, Amata, wasn't too… excited about our friendship."
"Amata? Like, Instructor Amata?"
"That's the one. Why do you ask?"
He sighed, turning toward the skyline. "I guess it makes sense why she made my life hell."
Cornelia frowned, taking a swig from her silver container.
"When the orders for the second Quarter Quell came down, the honor of determining the votes was granted to Stonebridge Academy. Amata wanted to make an example of me to the other cadets. Her father was the Drill Master, and she thought I was trying to take Maximus from her. Amata conspired with a majority of the female class to vote for me. Little did she know Maximus was at the top of the boys' class... they voted for him because he would win. We were both selected as Legionnaires…"
Her eyes fell upon the flask in her fingers. "I didn't stand a chance against him, but Maximus was different. He was like the sun—warm and bright. His smile could light up a room."
She paused, slowly bringing the flask to her lips.
"Maximus and I… we… we fell in love. I was young and foolish—a girl whose dreams were too big for this world... In the end, there was no great battle. There was no honor. He knelt before me, and I executed him," she said softly, taking a stiff swig as tears welled in her eyes. "I killed him… your real grandfather…"
The soft trickling of wind chimes filled the space between them.
Cato's mouth drifted open. "You… what?"
Cornelia nodded, her ocean eyes meeting his. "After the Games, I found out I was pregnant. I ended up marrying a nice stone cutter who was none the wiser. Then, your mother was born."
Her gaze trailed back toward the city skyline. "I'm telling you this because I don't want you to repeat my mistakes. You and I both share the pain of killing someone we love…"
He froze. His eyes trembled beneath her gaze. "I-I…"
"I think it's time I told the truth, Cato," Cornelia sighed, her sad eyes turning back toward him. "I knew about Marcus, and you were still taking your Refrain…"
It was like a bolt of electricity surging through his chest. His head swirled with emotion. "How… how did you know?"
"The headmaster at the academy contacted me…" she whispered. "They're always watching, Cato… they knew you were using again, and he asked me… what I thought would be a fitting punishment. I told them to have you fight someone you cared about."
A growing tremble captured his limbs. His world was breaking. It was like his heart was ripped from his chest all over again. The sickening sense of betrayal choked his throat. His fingers felt numb.
"No, you… you didn't… you wouldn't... " he whispered like a sob. "...why?"
Cornelia's eyes fell, trailing back toward the skyline. "To uphold your honor."
Lies. The venom of rage dripped from his words, shaking his body.
"You mean your honor!" he spat. "Marcus is dead because of you! You wanted to protect the fantasy of your perfect family!"
Cornelia didn't flinch at his words, watching the tears well in his eyes.
"You and I both know that's not true…" she muttered softly. Her gaze hardened, taking a hefty swig from her flask. "You didn't follow their rules and were punished… that's how their game works, Cato. Do you think you'll ever be free of them? The Academy? The Capital? Even if you win the Games, you still play their game. What do you think happened to my parents? My husband? The Capital took them from me when I didn't play by their rules!"
Cornelia took another swig, stowing the metal flask in her purse. "There are no winners, Cato. There are only survivors. It'll be easier if you just play along—don't be a fool like me."
"A fool… no—there are only bastards like you!" he screamed, rising from his seat. A dull ringing filled his ears. His heart pounded within its cage. "Y-You… them… there's no difference! You're both—the vile sum of the earth, and I fucking hate you!"
Cornelia stared at him wide-eyed as he raced down from the rooftop. His rage drove his dull limbs. The despair in his heart fueled him to reach the elevator. The glass cube became a prison. He punched the button to his floor, shattering the electronic panel.
A bright crimson seeped through the split skin of his busted knuckles as the world contracted around him. His breath became ragged, his vision pulsing from his frantic heart. How could she do this to him? Cornelia—his grandmother, had betrayed him. He felt his lip tremble, biting the insides of his cheeks. She was his second mother. Someone he loved more than words could describe. Someone he trusted with his whole being. His safety net.
It was gone.
The net was singed by flame.
The memory of Cato's love for her was obliterated, leaving him cold as tears trickled down his face. Besides the copper that filled his mouth—all he could taste was her betrayal.
His world went black as his emotions took him.
-*** Training Day: 3: ***-
Cato didn't remember falling asleep that evening.
As he awoke, his jaw ached from clenching in his sleep. His knuckles throbbed, feeling the dried blood caked between his fingers. Did he even dream? He couldn't recall.
The events from yesterday raced through Cato's mind as he remained in bed. Beams of light trickled through his curtains. He cupped Marcus's stone pendant that hung against his bare chest. The dried blood cracked, circling the smooth agate with his thumb. Emotions clouded his mind, thinking back to the intimate moment with Peeta amongst the flora and fauna of the greenhouse. His newfound disdain for Cornelia snuffed out the lavender haze.
Worse yet, his newfound hatred for Stonebridge Academy. The school had instilled in him a deep sense of pride in his district - his heritage. It was about serving the capital and striving to be the best. Cato struggled to rebuild his shattered reality.
He wasn't a true Legionnaire.
Cato hadn't earned his title through merit alone, yet his redemption would be granted through bloodshed. His sins would be washed clean by the blood of his enemies. No, it wasn't that simple. He wouldn't—couldn't forgive them. Not for what they did to him. He hadn't felt this cold since Marcus's death. Then, he thought of Clove and how she was thrown into the fire for nothing more than sport. There was something cruel knowing neither of them deserved to be there. Their worth had been measured by the lengths they would go to ensure their victory. Their ends justify the means.
Was this what it meant to be a Legionnaire?
A dullness ached in his chest as he scanned the room around him. Dried blood smeared against the blackened brick beside his bed. Chips of stone were scattered across the floor. Cato deduced it was his blood. Whatever he vented out during his blackout, he painted it across the walls.
He rose from his bed, forcing himself into the shower, bombarded with a cascade of steam and scalding water. The torrent stung his back, turning it red as he scrubbed the dried blood from his busted knuckles. His fingers traced faint ridges of Peeta's claw marks that raked along his shoulders. Even though a smile tugged at his lips, the cold shudder from his frigid heart overtook him. His being was filled with a hollowness that radiated with rage as he lathered himself with familiar banana-scented soap.
After drying himself and brushing his teeth, he changed into tight black pants before slipping Marcus's token beneath the long-sleeved burgundy tunic. He put on his black leather shoes and headed to the dining room.
He found Ophelia, dressed in a plaid dress of crimson and gold, sitting across from Clove. Fetching a light breakfast to settle his uneasy stomach, he sat next to Clove. Her eyes lingered over the bruises and scabbing on his knuckles.
"What happened to you?"
He glanced her way, taking a bite of his toast smeared with strawberry jam. "Don't worry about it."
Breakfast moved quickly as Cato and Clove left for the gymnasium without signs of Cornelia. Not that he cared. He was glad to be rid of her. The pair descended the elevator silently. Clove stole glances at his hands as the world shifted around them.
"Rough night?"
His icy stare glared at her. "I said drop it."
"What's stuck up your ass?" she scoffed, crossing her arms.
"It's none of your business."
The intensity of her eyes met his. "You don't get to do that—"
"What?"
"Switching yourself off because you think it's convenient."
He rolled his eyes. "I'm not on Refrain."
"No, you're not," she said, averting her gaze. "But putting up walls isn't helping with whatever you're dealing with, especially since I'm trying to keep you alive."
Cato gritted his teeth as the elevator stopped at the gymnasium. He reminded himself of their agreement. That was the nature of their relationship—a deal. Nothing more.
"It's fine—I'll deal with it."
"I'm sure you will."
Entering the gymnasium, the activity of the Careers was stagnant. Luna and Reef had taken to the sparing mats to stretch out before the Private Training sessions. Glimmer and Marvel homed in their practice with a bow and a spear while the rest of the tributes scrambled to accomplish last-minute training. Cato and Clove stretched out amongst the training mats near the pair from District 4.
He found Peeta and Katniss amongst the fire starter station. As Marvel and Glimmer approached, he fought to pull his gaze from the boy. They probed him and Clove on last-minute advice to better their scores. He shut them out, leaving Clove with the burden of entertaining the duo from District 1. He hyper-fixated on the boy from District 12, watching his silhouette shift into Marcus and back to Peeta again. He clenched his jaw, feeling the rage stir inside of him.
The rage shook his being— but he couldn't understand why everything felt so cold. He was a puppet drawn on the strings of false hopes and empty ambitions. In a world where there are two kinds of people, one staying in their proper place and the one with their foot in the other one's face— could he ever be happy again?
Perhaps Angel was right.
Some people were just born with tragedy in their blood.
The morning disappeared as Cato's mind lingered, finishing his stretch. He and the rest of the tributes were corralled into the cafeteria, where they would wait to be called back for their private sessions. As he waited, his heart rang out in his ears. His gaze darted between the floor and Peeta. The blonde hadn't looked at him all morning, adding to the growing worry in his chest.
Glimmer had already been called back ten minutes after Marvel, which meant Cato was on the docket.
What was he going to do? Did that even matter? Did any of it matter? The sharp ring grew in his ears. The harsh tone pierced his eardrums, deafening him. His breath grew heavier, trying to block out the ringing as he closed his eyes.
Then— it was gone.
Cato opened his eyes to find the chamber empty. His eyes scanned left and right, finding the chairs of his tributes vacant.
"I thought you wouldn't be another pawn in their game."
His eyes shifted to the figure before him. The dullness of Marcus's amber eyes shook his core. A sly smirk painted his lips, crouching before him. He still wore the gold and crimson tunic of Stonebridge Academy. The blood from his wound had dried.
"Did you miss me?"
This wasn't real. Cato pitched himself, trying to break the illusion of the dream, but he remained. He had seen flashes of Marcus's ghost before him, but here he was. His voice choked, and he felt tears stinging his eyes.
"W-Where… where did you go?"
Marcus leaned closer, entwining his hand with his. His fingers were frigid. "I never left. I'm always with you, Cato."
The light in his eyes was gone, flashing a smile seeping with crimson. The devil was in his eyes. "Y-You're lying—"
Cato trembled as he leaned forward. The heavy stench of iron and copper filled his nostrils. "No, Cato. You're the only one lying here… When are you going to wake up?"
"I'm not sleeping—"
His hand shook as Marcus grasped it tightly. His breath was cold against Cato's face. "Stop lying… You need to wake up."
Cato's breath grew ragged from the stench of rot and iron.
"I'm no—"
Marcus's lips were upon his. They were void of the heat and passion he was used to. The cold flesh aggressively smothered his mouth. A trickle of wetness dripped down his chin, trying to move back. His limbs were frozen. Air choked in Cato's throat. His eyes fluttered closed. Cato couldn't breathe. He desperately tried drawing breath through his nostrils to no avail. A sharp pain radiated through his left arm. He was going to suffocate.
His world grew black as he felt his consciousness slipping from his grasp.
"Cato!"
His eyes opened lazily. The bright artificial lights of the atrium and the flashlight beaming toward him stung his eyes. A young woman from the medical team examined him. She was the same one who pulled the plexiglass from his cheek.
He raised his hand to his lip, examining the wetness from the underside of his lower lip to his chin.
Blood.
His blood.
His body tensed as he turned to scan the room. His limbs felt like they were weighed down with concrete. A pulsing ache radiated from his arms and his lower lip. Looking to his left, Cato's gaze met the horrified looks of his fellow tributes who remained seated. Luna grinned at him, reveling in his pain as Reef and Katniss shared an equal look of confusion. Peeta pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes on him. He sat on the edge of his seat, frantically scanning his face.
"Are you okay?"
He met Clove's wide eyes, staring at him like a doe in a meadow. His head ached terribly, buckling forward to rest his forehead in his palms.
"What happened?"
"My preliminary examination indicates you had a seizure." The woman responded, grabbing an intricate machine from her bag. "Hold still. I need to scan your cranium to verify you're not hemorrhaging."
"Wouldn't that be terrible?"
Cato sat back, allowing the nurse to examine him with her strange-looking mechanism. He listened to intricate beeps and shuttering sounds as if she were taking a photograph.
"My scan doesn't indicate any bleeding, but it did reveal abnormally high activity within your deep limbic area, basal ganglia, and anterior cingulate gyrus. These areas aid in processing emotions, learning, behavior regulation, and controlling autonomic motor function."
The nurse stepped back, setting the machine down in her bag as she rummaged through a lockbox fixed with vials.
"These components makeup part of your sympathetic nervous system— a network of nerves that helps your body activate its "fight-or-flight" response. The over-activity of these areas often indicates someone dealing with post-traumatic stress," she said, her hands calmly rummaging through the box.
She stood, holding a needle filled with a clear liquid in her right hand. "I'm going to give you a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor to stabilize your mood,"
He glared at her, feeling the blood from his lip crust against his chin. "No."
"Are you refusing treatment? Further stress on your neural pathways will cause more profound seizures."
"I said I'm fine."
"Very well,"
The nurse disposed of the syringe, grabbing her bag to leave as she disposed of the medication in a sealed container within her kit. "I must report any medical findings to the Head Gamemaker and your mentor. I must also inform you that your prognosis is poor without treatment."
"My welfare is the least of their worries— as is it yours."
An electronic voice rang out in the cafeteria. "Cato, House Marcellus— District Two."
Cato rose from his seat, feeling the intense weight of his body shift as his limbs worked back alive. He turned to his tributes, taking in their looks of disdain, pity, and unease. His gaze fell into a glare, feeling the rage of his embarrassment seep forth as he clenched his fist.
The blood dried against the skin of his throat, moving toward the door. His gaze caught the uniform lines of the glossy laminate tiles.
Perfectly aligned— a place for everything and everything in its place.
A place for everything— the Captial, the Districts, the Games.
Everything in its place— an endless tessellation.
Everything was not in its place. Cato was so drained… apparently, even his body was tired of him. He was exhausted, molding himself to the will of others. He had spent years conforming to their ideals, becoming an instrument of their entertainment.
He had lost his grandmother and murdered his best friend—
They sent an addict to be his partner—
They let his mother be beaten—
They filled Octavia's mind with propaganda glorifying their District—
A smirk played upon his lips, stepping through the doorway's threshold. Finally, he understood what Marcus meant. He had been oblivious to the fact he was asleep. But he was awake now. If they wanted his mind, they would have to break it. If they wanted his body, they would have to pay for it. If they wanted his blood— they would have to fight for it.
Entering the gymnasium, weapon racks hung throughout the stands that scattered the chamber. Seneca Crane and the Gamemakers sat idly, tall cocktails filling their glasses as they homed in on his movements, anticipating his performance.
Cato bowed his head, listening to their murmured whispers as gasps of surprise as they took in the blood smearing the underside of his chin.
"Cato, House Marcellus— District Two."
Seneca Crane observed him as an attendant whispered something in his ear. Cato's eyes glimmered, meeting the great sword beside him. He felt his arm tug towards it, freezing as he held still. His heart rang out in his chest, realizing the implications of what he was about to do. His fingertips pulsed as his breath hitched in his chest.
Marcus wouldn't give them the satisfaction they craved, nor would he…
He refused to play anymore.
Cato placed his right fist firmly upon the center-left of his chest, with his thumb facing outward. The precise posture you would take if you were driving a knife into your heart— the salute to self-sacrifice. The Legionnaire salute.
He would give them nothing more. They deserved nothing more from him. His cold eyes met Seneca Crane. He felt an ever-growing disdain for his performance as the seconds ticked by.
Cato's glare was unwavering. Anger and misery ignited his limbs, keeping him frozen as he searched Crane's face. The seconds turned to minutes as his demeanor froze. Venom lingered behind Crane's dismissal. A low smirk crept upon his lips, walking out of the gymnasium.
Marcus would be proud of him.
Dinner among the members of District 2 was silent.
Cato had changed into a comfortable pair of dark blue jeans and a grey button-up. They feasted on a succulent roast with garlic, string beans, and roasted potatoes. Cornelia had been informed of his seizure and refusal of treatment, but the older champion said nothing. The dining room was filled only with the sounds of cutlery on porcelain plates.
He had time to process what the nurse had said earlier. Any further stress was unavoidable, especially in the Hunger Games. Perhaps that was why Cornelia remained silent. They both knew, deep down, that this was a death sentence. He accepted it for what it was. He would die in the Hunger Games, or his body would kill him.
Either way, Cato was a dead man walking.
After dinner, they moved to the couch in the living room to watch the results of the day's private sessions. Every corner of Panem would be tuning in to see how well each competitor was ranked. He sat at the corner of the lush couch, watching Caesar Flickerman's powder-blue hair shine under the artificial lights as he announced the scores. Clove's silhouette appeared on the screen.
"From District Two, Clove of House Valentius, with a score of— Ten."
Cornelia and Ophelia were overjoyed, huddling around Clove. Then, Cato's silhouette appeared on the screen.
"From District Two, Cato of House Marcellus, with a score of—" Caesar grimaced. "One."
His world froze. He had done it. Cato had pissed off the Gamemakers to the greatest extent possible. A smirk pulled at his lips. Cornelia appeared before him, glaring intensely.
"What did you do!?" she hissed, cocking her hand on her hip.
"What didn't I do?" he replied coldly, shrugging. He pursed his lips. "Shouldn't you be happy? One less problem to worry about."
Cornelia's rage shook her body. "You're a fool… your death is on your shoulders—not mine nor Clove's."
"What a shame."
"Do you think this is a game!?" she snapped, fire filling her voice. "Your life is on the line, and you're going to sit there and act like it's nothing!?"
"It is a game—at least, according to you." Standing from his seat, his stare didn't break from Cornelia's. "I'm done playing."
Cornelia's eyes flickered, and she gritted her teeth. He turned from her, heading toward the door. "You'll die!"
"I'm dead anyway!"
Cato left the suite, making his way toward the elevator. He entered the glass box, resting his head against the wall as the world shifted around him.
The summer air was balmy, much like yesterday. He crossed the rooftop, heading toward the greenhouse as dark clouds lingered above, feeling the trickle of rain as he approached the shimmering glass walls. The smell of fresh grass, roses, and rain filled Cato's nostrils. Finding the greenhouse empty, he waited for what felt like an eternity, the heavy summer rain keeping him a prisoner.
He sprawled out on the floor, listening to the patter of water splashing against the concrete. He watched the droplets bounce off the glass roof above him.
Peeta wouldn't come, but he was hopeful. The sweet primrose scent did little to quell the loneliness in his chest.
Finally, he heard the splashing of footsteps against the tiles. Cato didn't bother moving, figuring it was either Clove or Ophelia sent to retrieve him.
"Can't you see I want to be left alone?"
He felt droplets on his forehead, peering upward to find the baker boy from District 12 kneeling above him. The deluge outside had soaked Peeta's grey V-neck and jeans to the core. He held his sketchpad underneath his armpit. Cato sat up, turning toward him.
"H-Hey, are you okay? I didn't think—"
Cato cut Peeta off, crashing his lips against his. His lips were soft and soggy from the cool rain. Cato tasted the lingering sweetness of honey and chamomile on his tongue. The fire in his chest spread across his skin as Peeta wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him closer as the sketchbook fell to the ground. The numbing rot within his heart slowly faded.
Their lips melded, and their hands roamed. Words could not describe the relief the baker boy's lips brought him. Cato found salvation in the noises Peeta made and how his name rolled off Peeta's tongue as he breathlessly kissed his neck.
Amid his chaos, there was Peeta—