Cato used to love rain.

It mean he could splash threw puddles on his way to training when he was a kid and that everything was so bright and clean after the storm had passed. He loved the smell, too, and the feeling of the droplets hitting his skin and soaking his clothes. It also reminded him of when he met her.

Cato had been walking home from training, enjoying the pitter padder of the drops as they hit the cement of the deserted street of district two, when a small girl ran into him. Her dark hair was wet and stuck to her face as well as her training uniform.

"Hey, watch where you're going" she had snapped. She was feisty and Cato had always liked that trait about her. It was one of the things that set her apart from everyone else and made him love her the way she did.

"You ran into me" he stated, not letting the girl's bad attitude ruin his day. "I'm Cato" he smiled and stuck out his hand.

"Clove" she said, shaking his hand and smiling herself. There was something about his rare smile that was so infectious. From that day on they were friends and later lovers. They're first date was even on a rainy day (not planned of coarse, but neither complained). For Cato rain was a simile for happiness.

Now Cato hated rain.

Clove had died on a rainy day. They were both reaped for the dreaded Hunger Games and believed they would win, together.

But Cato realised the rule change wasn't for them as he held Clove as she died, having her head bashed in with a rock by the tribute from eleven. He had begged her to stay with him, but she couldn't, murmuring one last "I love you" before her eyes fluttered shut and her canon sounded. He held her lifeless body and sobbed for what felt like hours and then it started to rain. It only made him cry harder and he clutched his love until he was sedated and the body ripped from his grasp.

And here Cato stood, in the backyard of his Victor's Village home, rain pounding on him with a gun pointed at his head. He was crying though his tears just looked like rain drops on his light skin. He was looking in front of him, at someone he could only see, his Clove. She looked as she did on their reaping: beautiful, perfect and just how Cato remembered her.

"Don't do it, Cato, please" she pleaded, but he only shook his head and tightly shut his light blue eyes.

"I'm sorry, Clove" he said and with that he pulled the trigger, ending his life.

A/N: so this is a three-shot (all spur-of-the-moment type one-shots) of three different AUs.

1) where Katniss and Peeta won the Games with Cato and Clove's son telling the story

2) where Clove won the Games and she's telling the story

3) where Cato won the Games and he's telling the story

Thought I'd clear that up and clarify that this is the last one and I won't be ripping your hearts out anymore. Hoped you liked them.