I know, 2 fics in 2 days? Absolutely crazy. But I started this a looong time ago, and I know, the writing style kinda changes in the middle, but whatever.

(I didn't edit or read over much because I'm stupid and anxious to upload. so don't blame me for my WEIRD writing and over-descriptiveness of appearance. because I love Clove and Isabelle Fuhrman.)

I really don't know how to perfectly capture Clato, and honestly I could do a lot better, but I was anxious to upload this...so here it is!


nobody like her

Summary : There was nobody like Clove, and Cato appreciated it.

He remembered seeing her a couple of times around the training center when he first started training to become a Career. She was younger than him, two years, he believed, yet she was already such a great fighter. She could throw knives better than anyone he'd ever seen, with the deadliest accuracy and speed combined. She was a small girl, but strong, fast and agile. Before long, he had fought her and lost, a first in his life. She merely smirked, and he challenged her again and again, with both of them winning equal amount of times.

There was a quick, mutual agreement between them to respect each other as equals, and he left her alone. He soon made a name of himself by besting many of the trainers, becoming a favourite to win the Games. She, also, made a name of herself, for being the best knife thrower in the district.

She wasn't particularly pretty or striking, but she was different. She had sparkling green eyes, which flashed dangerously when she was angered, long, dark brown locks that reached to her waist and a splash of freckles across her pale face. He had met other girls in his district far more beautiful than her, but somehow she seemed to shine above the rest of them.

He found himself to be intrigued by this girl, or Clove, as he learned later on. She had a mysterious and terrifying air around her. People moved away from her when she came near them, and she was generally avoided, but he knew that people were terrified of this girl. He himself was not scared, but mystified and curious.

In the school that he attended, he ruled with an iron fist. He was admired and fawned by many, and was sure to establish the position as most popular in the school.

Even though Cato was so harsh and evil, it was hard not to like him. Although he was so cruel and seemingly bloodthirsty, he was also charismatic and charming. Cato had a competitive spirit that everybody seemed to like. At times, he could even be nice, and it was then that his features were the most striking—blues eyes and blond hair, added with a strong, muscular body from all the training.

It was easy not to like Clove. Clove was, in a way, a lot like Cato, in her competitive spirit and cruelness. She, too, seemed to be cold-hearted and uncaring. Clove, however, never let her emotions get the best of her and never showed any emotions. It was all just the same, blank façade all the time.

Clove was not well-liked. But Cato liked her. He thought of her as friendly competition, maybe something more. His mind was too wrapped around training and the Games to care more about anyone. One thing that he knew was that he liked her because she was so different from everyone.

Clove liked Cato as well. There was something about him—some spirit that matched her own, that she so identified with. They were so similar, and yet so different. And it was okay, because their relationship worked.

Sometime later, they began to form a partnership that would last until their deaths. They began to train together, every single day until the sun was dipping into the west and the training center became dark and mysterious.

Strange things began to fill in Cato and Clove's mind. Both of them started thinking about the other more and more often, and less and less about killing and cruelty and the Games. Cato's mind filled with strange images of Clove's long, silky black hair and wide set eyes. He began to think more and more about the way her mouth quirked up when she won a fight and even the tiniest bit of sweat that glistened on her cheeks after practice.

Things seemed to be heading straight up for the both of them. Cato became happier and nicer, while Clove suddenly chose to be friendlier to the rest of the world. For a while, life was great.

Then disaster struck, in the form of something both of them once thought would be a blessing.

The Hunger Games.

On the day of the Reaping, Clove made Cato promise that if one of them went to the games, the other would volunteer. Cato quickly agreed, as he couldn't bear the thought of losing the only person that truly, truly, understood him.

When Clove was Reaped, she looked straight at Cato and her eyes glistened with something that only he understood. Then she nodded.

They had expected to win the Games easily. Sadly, life didn't turn out the way they wanted to. But it never really does that, does it?

Nobody really understood them. In essence, they were both truly loners. However, they found solace in each other, and that was what really mattered.

This is short enough to be a drabble, which, I think it is, but whatever. I'm not good with long fics.

Please review! (and don't favourite without a review, which I can't stress enough. it seriously bothers us fic writers)

Have a nice day! :)