A/N: PLEASE READ, VERY IMPORTANT. You might have noticed that I haven't updated in awhile, which is unfair of me, but I will explain. So, I haven't really been getting much a response for this story at all, and even though I really like it and I think it has a lot of potential, I'm thinking about discontinuing it. I'm really just getting no response to it, negative or positive. I worked really hard on the last chapter and put everything into it, and came away with just one review. So I'm asking you guys to please let me know if you think this fic is worth continuing. You can do this in a review or a private message, either is good. If you review, it doesn't even have to be about this chapter, it can just be the story in general, and if you think I should or shouldn't give up on it. Thanks you guys, just please let me know.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

After escaping into my room, I rip off my gray jacket and blue blouse. They make me extremely uncomfortable. I fumble around in the huge closet before I find a drawer that contains clothes for sleeping.

Of course, none of them are acceptable. Everything is tainted by the Capitol, complete with frills and ribbons and feathers and sparkles. The things they think are just exquisite. But this time I don't care as much, because no one will see me in these clothes. So, I quickly change into a nightgown colored the same cream as the rocks in the grass around my house, and get into bed.

Tomorrow, we go into the Training Center to actually train. Finally I'll slip into a sort of comfort zone for the first time since leaving District 2. I shift around in my bed, trying to find the position that's easiest on my arms. I'll really need them tomorrow. But then I find it, and I still can't sleep.

I realize that this is probably because of the dumb dress. At least on the train, they had pants for me to wear to sleep. I contemplate taking off the dress and wearing nothing, but that could have bad repercussions if someone else were to wake me up. It's unlikely that that'll be the case, but the idea is just not sitting well in my head. So there's only one option left.

I push myself to the side of the large bed and swing my legs off. With a small breath in, I stand up, and walk out of the room. It's late now, and everything is dark. But I can feel my feet transfer form carpet to wood, and I know I'm not in my bedroom anymore. So I take the path that my mind is mapping out, imagining this place in the daylight.

I reach his door and hesitate. He's most likely sleeping. Or doing something important like strategizing. And he'll undoubtedly think I'm odd, but his potential opinion of me doesn't faze me as much as my own discomfort at interrupting him. But despite this, I knock anyway.

I hear shuffling, and a pause. Something clicks, and a faint light creeps under the gap at the bottom of his door. And then the door is open, and I can just make out Cato's face in the light of his bed lamp.

I do register that he's not wearing a shirt, but all my life I've been trained to focus, and it comes in handy now. I won't give him the satisfaction of thinking that I care, that I'm a little girl, actually influenced by the appeal of bodies. Although his distinct abdomen muscles are threatening to invade my vision, I keep a straight face. I just look at the bridge of his nose instead.

He clears his throat, and I remember that it's time to speak. "Can I borrow a shirt?" I ask Cato.

It's just then that he notices what I'm wearing. He blinks, and the left side of his mouth quirks upward just slightly. "Sure thing, nightgown," Cato says. His voice comes out in a low rumble because he hasn't used it in a couple of hours.

My brows furrow, but I ignore the comment otherwise. Cato turns around and walks to the foot of his bed. He picks up a shirt from the ground and brings it back to me. When he hands it to me, he tells me "I'm not using it anymore," and I resist the urge to say that I know. "That all?" he asks.

I nod. "Yes."

His chin turns upward just so. "Well then," he rumbles, voice still working off sleep. "Sleep well, nightgown." Cato closes the door before I can protest the nickname.

With Cato's shirt in hand, I feel my way back to my room and lie myself gently down on the bed. My head hits the pillows and I sigh a little bit. Did I just get nicknamed after a Capitol garment? By Cato, nonetheless. Great. But I decide that if I want to get any sleep tonight, I'll put it out of my head.

I sit up and slip the nightgown off of my body. Then I toss it aside and slip Cato's shirt over my head. It's still just the tiniest bit warm. When I planned to ask him for a shirt, I hadn't expected him to give me one that he'd already worn, but I'd take what I could get. The rusty brown shirt was enormous on my little body, which was perfect.

I relax back into the bed, feeling a lot more settled now. It feels comfortable and nerve-wracking at the same time. I feel so much better, but there's also that pit of anxiety and disappointment in the middle of my stomach, because I think I might be starting to grow used to Cato. Not enough to call him friend, but enough to place some trust in him. And although I sense that I can trust him, he still confuses and surprises me, which is just more troubling. I should have him figured out by now if I'm going up against him in the Arena. And all for what? Nothing, in the end. Nothing is for anything, because one day everything will stop.

I ball the fabric up in my hand and begin to drift into unconsciousness. Tomorrow will be strategy, exertion, training, direction. So I let the black into my eyes.

A/N: This chapter was a little bit mroe of a filler chapter, just a few ideas that I couldn't refuse. I know it's not my greatest work, but I'm hopefully just geting back into this if my readers want that from me. Again, please review, tell me what you think about this. I would appreciate it so, so much.