In an interview after the games, he was asked what his biggest weakness was. He had paused for a second, not prepared for the question. The lights in front him were blinding, illuminating the chatshow host sat opposite, a pink middle aged woman with too many surgeries and tired eyes. "Uh," he croaked, his throat dry. A sheen of sweat began to form on his forehead, the make-up slowly sliding down his face. "Well," he chuckled awkwardly, shifting round on his chair. His collar was too tight. He tried tugging on it with his fingers, only to leave a slight wet patch on the material from where his hands had gone clammy.

"Big headed, are we?" The host grinned, and the live audience laughed simultaneously, a high, fake laugh. The voices were in sync, almost like one creature, and for a second he felt like they were, like some wretched monster engulfing him, suffocating him.

He doesn't remember what he said. Something about spears, which was a lie because after a sword spears were his best weapon. He wanted to tell her the truth, that his biggest weakness lay six feet under and she'll never come back and it was all his fault and why didn't he protect her why was it him and why, why, why did these thoughts flood him, making it hard to breathe and feeling like his lungs were about to burst. Why did his throat bleed after spending all night screaming into a pillow and why were his fingernails coated in blood - her blood? No. His blood from scratching at the walls trying to get out but he can't because the hell he is trapped in is inside his head, his very own four walls. Why did nobody come to help?

This is not what they promised. They promised fame and wealth and happiness. Eternal happiness. They promised that they would bring out the best of each other, as they paired them up as training partners aged nine and seven. And they did, and perhaps that was the only time the Academy would be right, because they also told him that he'd forget about her. And how can you forget someone who means that much to you? Someone who you have laughed with, fought with, got drunk with - loved.

He didn't realised how much his world revolved around her, not until he hears her ear-splitting scream, not until he saw her with her head smashed in, lying and twitching on the grass, not until he was screaming her name, the most helpless he's ever been. Not until he was on his knees, rocking her back and forth, begging her to stay because this wasn't the plan and they could both go back and please, he loved her. Not until his heart was throbbing louder than that fucking cannon, the useless word spilling out of his mouth over and over and over again. Please.

In his first interview after the games, they don't show that scene. They don't show how he breaks down, crying and screaming and not letting go of her lifeless body, tears and snot streaming down his face, with somebody's - he doesn't think who's - blood on his face. Too fragile for a brute from Two. But they show how he churns his sorrow into anger and his anger into power, and when the boy from eleven makes the mistake of showing up again, all he can hear is her helpless cry, her last word, ringing in his ears. "Cato!" And he sees red. He sees it over and over again, squirting from the other boys eye, cheek and where his left hand used to be. He sees it stained in the tall grass, dying the trodden grain crimson.

He sees it when the three of them are on the cornucopia. He sees it as he pushes the girl into the dogs below, he sees it when he slices the boys neck. And it disappears suddenly, because those are her eyes and how dare they put them onto a wolf, she was so much better. She is so much better.

Because she had been more than just a training partner, more than somebody to slice dummies next to. The first person he would seek approval for anything, the only person he could completely trust, the only person he would ever be completely comfortable around. His first kiss, his first girlfriend, his first ex. The first person he got stoned with. The person he stood on stage with. The only person he had ever been proud of.

And now, he sits on a bench in the icy January wind, deep within Victors Village. He stares at the statute of him, bronze, stood tall and proud, like a Victor should be. Two's moto below it, engraved onto the stone floor - Power, Pride and Perfection. And he misses her more than ever, but "she wasn't good enough and she didn't make it. Get over yourself." But he doesn't and every day he wonders why, and even on his wedding day and the birth of his firstborn, he knows that he is dead inside and just wants to crawl up under the covers and never come out.

So when he dies, he is buried next to her, which sparks a small outcry and nothing more. And on his grave, Power and Pride. And on hers,

Perfection.

AN

im tired and its 2am and i haven't checked it but i love Cato so much so here you go ((even though nobody asked)) reviews are cool