007. | drowned sorrows

❝𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘮𝘦

𝘪'𝘮 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥, 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘤𝘦❞

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 the following afternoon after her long and drawn-out walk, she found herself in quite the sulk. Cato's reaction to her plea that morning had both aggravated and embarrassed her, and she couldn't help feeling frustrated both at him for his rudeness, and herself for her stupidity. 

How could she ever, in such a fragile state of mind as she was in, think that Cato Hadley, of all the people in the world, could help her?

It was a foolish mistake to make, and one that she would most certainly not be making again. 

That morning, after the humiliation of her encounter with the ghost victor from across the street, she had not felt like facing anybody else. She debated making her way to the Training Academy to let off some of her built up steam through her knives, but she was almost certain that at the time of morning she had intended to go, Jax would almost certainly already be welcoming the floods of students through the double-doors. Given that she was now treated like the likes of a celebrity, she didn't exactly feel overjoyed at the idea of facing hundreds of screaming fans when all she wanted was to clear her head. 

Instead, she found herself wandering towards the neighbourhood that she had once called their home. A tiny little merchant community not far from the Square - where her father's workshop was located - that found itself free from the buzzing atmosphere of the crowded mining hubs. They were fortunate enough to live comfortably, like many in their district, but the small, dust-ridden building was still awfully modest compared to the Manor she lived in now. 

Seeing the house reminded her of an easier time, when her hands were clean and her mind was empty and the glory of winning the games was merely a dream. A time when her wrists were free from the manacles that had been so harshly placed. 

Perhaps this had always been her destiny - a life of entrapment and regret, or perhaps she was just bitter and ungrateful for the success that she had craved for her entire life. 

She found it difficult to judge. 

Still, if Clove's encounter with Cato that morning - or rather, her experiences with him as a whole - had made anything clear, it was that she could not, under any circumstances, end up like him. Drunk, lonely, depressed - that was the opposite of the life of glory she had promised herself, and she would not claim it. 

Clove Kentwell wasn't bound to a life of glory, but rather, she would have to make the glory for herself. 

When she pushed open her front door that late afternoon, she was met with an aroma of smells from the kitchen that filled her nose with glee. It was clear that her mother had been cooking, a proper meal as opposed to something simple like bread and cheese - something that she managed to do much more frequently now that they had been granted their newfound victor's wealth. When it came to cooking, Leta Kentwell had a gift, and the blend of rich and sweet smells and flavours filling the air excited Clove's stomach with delight. If nothing else could make her happy or calm her nerves, a decent dinner surely would. 

Her mother was hunched over the kitchen stove with a large metal pan and a wooden spoon, stirring what appeared to be some kind of meat and vegetable stew. Rhea sat watching her mother cook from the kitchen table, her schoolwork sitting untouched in front of her, pretending to throw the knife that had been laid out for her dinner. Her brother Jonas, unsurprisingly, was also collapsed into a dining chair with his feet propped up on the kitchen table, ignoring the fact that he was supposed to be in work. 

"There she is", Jonas chuckled when his sister entered the kitchen and dropped her untouched training bag in the corner of the room, "Panem's finest". 

Clove rolled her eyes, sliding into a chair beside him, "Be quiet - why aren't you at work?". 

"I took a holiday day", he shrugged, leaning back further in his chair and flinging his arms into the air in some form of bravado celebration, "I'm a free man baby". 

"No, you're not", she rolled her eyes for a second time and gave him a shove that caused him to yelp in pain, "You're a slacker, and you're taking Dad for a fool". 

"Oi", her brother shrieked, bringing his arms down from the air to clutch the area of his stomach that had just become victim to her fist, "There was no need for that - Dad knows that I'm not a slacker, I work just as hard as anybody else around here". 

Beside them, Rhea chuckled into her glass of water and twiddled her pencil between her fingers, as if she was steadying her aim and attempting to throw it at her brother. Leta Kentwell spun on her heels to wave her wooden spoon at her three mischievous offspring, all three of whom were supposedly a mature enough age to not need scolding for poor behaviour, though they still acted like children.

"Watch yourselves", she snapped before pointing her spoon towards Clove with an intimidating assertiveness, as though she were being called on in school, "Where have you been all day?".

"For a walk", Clove responded with little conviction. 

"A walk, all day? You were gone when I woke up this morning", her mother didn't turn away from her pot this time, but Clove could sense from the aggravated tone in her voice that she was interrogating her, not making light conversation. 

"Well, I was in a mood", Clove shrugged, "I needed to clear my head, so I went by the Academy for a while". 

"Then why did Nyx hear you arguing with Cato Hadley outside at the crack of dawn?", Jonas threw into the conversation so casually that it almost didn't resonate in Clove's mind what he had said for a moment, until her mother came flying forwards towards the kitchen table and sent her almost flying out of her seat. 

Her mother had always had quite the interest in the other victors of their district, given that she was bred from victor blood herself. A distant relative nonetheless, Leta Kentwell had remnants of gold flowing through her veins. Several generations of fallen tributes down the line, including Leta's own brother and Clove's own uncle himself, and Clove had finally gained another trophy for the Kentwell family cabinet.

It was with the utmost regret that Clove's mother had not had the opportunity to volunteer for the games herself in her youth, having been far too preoccupied dealing with her parents' grief and her younger siblings health after the death of her elder brother. But still, Leta drilled her desire for glory and triumph into her children instead, finding success in two out of three of the motley crew. 

The pride in her mother's eyes had been the thing Clove was looking forward to the most when she stepped forward and presented herself as a volunteer, the acceptance that she had spent her whole life craving. Her mother loved her regardless - she knew this, as she didn't love Jonas any less simply because he had chosen a different path, but still, she felt a stronger connection to her mother because of the triumph she knew her mother felt whenever her daughter's success was the chosen topic of the room. 

But still, with that pride came an overwhelming sense of pressure. 

"You did what?", her mother practically shrieked from across the table, causing her siblings to cover their ears, "You're supposed to be presenting yourself well in front of these people Clove, not making even more enemies". 

Clove threw her arms in the air in protest and leant forward to match her mother's glare, "Mom - he's a dick!". 

"That doesn't matter", Leta said in a slightly calmer, though still agitated tone, "you need to make a good impression, Clove. This isn't all fun and games, you know, the life of a victor - you have eyes on you all of the time, and starting arguments in the street isn't exactly the way to go about it". 

"I know", Clove sulked, folding her arms across her chest, "But you've seen the guy - he's crazy, he doesn't even leave his house most of the time and he treats everybody around him like crap. No wonder he has nobody left in his life". 

Her mother hummed along for a moment, and then paused, as though she were deep in contemplation. Clove's eyebrows furrowed in confusion at her mother's period of thinking, that intimidated her beyond belief - once her mother came up with one of her ideas, there was no other option apart from to accommodate them. 

"Well, if he's struggling that much", her mother walked back towards her cooking pot and turned the temperature of the stove down, "You should take him over some dinner". 

Clove actually broke out into a fit of laughter at her mother's suggestion, before pausing and looking forwards to meet her eyes, "Oh, you were serious?". 

"Clove", her mother scolded harshly, taking a metal container from one of the cupboards and beginning to scoop spoonfuls of stew out of the pan.

"Mom, the guy would barely say two words to me this morning and then he slammed the door in my face!", she continued to protest, attempting to ignore her brother's muffled chuckles from beside her, "What makes you think he's going to accept my offer of food?". 

"Because you're Clove Kentwell", her mother asserted, "and you don't take no for an answer". 

"You brought me what?", Cato Hadley grimaced at the tiny figure perched on his doorstep, her two hands clasped tightly around a bowl of stew. 

"I said", Clove rolled her eyes, "I brought you dinner - my mother made stew, and she insisted that I brought some over for you". 

His face twisted into an even more disgusted expression, something so vile she was almost tempted to smack him in the face - almost. Unlike when he had greeted her earlier that morning, he was wearing a shirt, though his manner was not any more welcoming than it was before, regardless of her offering. 

"It's stew - a peace offering", she continued when he didn't find it within himself to speak, waving the container towards his face, "To apologise for this morning, I shouldn't have woken you up so early, I guess I was just feeling a little headstrong or something - it's delicious?". 

Cato met her eyes and stared at her for a second, as though he was trying to psych her out, but her expression did not budge. Instead, she raised her eyebrows and nodded towards the meal, and he sighed. 

"Fine", he groaned, holding his hand out to take the container, but instead of placing the container in his hands the girl pushed past him and walked forwards into his hallway. 

Completely taken aback by the assertiveness of her forceful entrance, and slightly attracted to it, Cato allowed her to walk straight past him and into his home. He found himself even more baffled when she did not stop there, going to the liberty of kicking off her boots and walking directly into the kitchen, digging through his cupboards until she located two bowls. She took the stew, which was still scorching hot from her mother's pot, and dished it out evenly into the two bowls, splitting in half the bread roll her mother had sent alongside it, and pushed the meal towards him. 

When he continued to blink aimlessly in her direction instead of picking up his meal, she gave him a look from behind her bowl of stew, "What? Haven't you seen a girl eat before?". 

"Oh, I've seen plenty of women, don't worry", he smirked, but tossed the joke aside when all she did was scoff, "No - I just didn't think you meant that you'd brought dinner for us to eat together". 

He spoke the last word in a hushed tone, as though he were saying something crude or dangerous, but Clove ignored his odd behaviour, "Well, I haven't eaten either, she wouldn't let me eat until I brought some over to you - are you going to actually eat that or not?".

He huffed, before grabbing the bowl in front of him and beginning to wolf it down so vigorously that it seemed as though he was concerned the meal would disappear if he didn't consume it as rapidly as possible. In fact, given his enthusiasm to consume the meal, Clove couldn't be certain whether the boy had even eaten a proper meal in the last few days. Nevertheless, in little more than a few minutes, the entire bowl of stew was gone, and the bread roll left behind only a few meagre crumbs on the kitchen table. 

"Here", Clove pushed the bowl containing the remainder of her meal towards him, "Finish this". 

Cato looked at her with astonishment, "Are you sure?". 

"Yeah", Clove shrugged as though the gesture were nothing, but Cato felt the ice in his heart begin to melt, "I'm full anyway, there's no point in it going to waste". 

He fell silent after this, feeling completely void of any ability to speak, or perhaps he was just not used to having gestures to be thankful for, but luckily she thought nothing of his lack of response. As the baffled victor moved his spoon over to the opposite bowl and began to finish the meal, Clove stood up from her seat and moved back over to the kitchen cupboards. 

"Do you have anything in to drink?", Clove called from the opposite side of the kitchen, "I'm parched". 

"The cupboard on the left", he muffled through his mouthful of food, pointing towards the cupboard on the far side of the kitchen. 

She had to climb onto the kitchen counter to reach it, sliding her body across the marble countertop and pulling open the cupboard door to find three shelves stacked completely with bottles of liquor. 

"Not quite what I meant", she scoffed and turned to meet his eye, "Don't you have anything non-alcoholic?".

"It's that or nothing", he shrugged, "Why - don't think you can handle it Clover? Because we both know you can't". 

"Please", she rolled her eyes and pulled one of the bottles from the cupboard, not even bothering to question what it was, "Try me Hadley". 

"You really think you can out-drink me after last time, Kentwell?", he raised his eyebrows in pure intrigue at her determination, "You're just setting yourself up for embarrassment". 

He was right, of course he was right, and she knew he was right - it was a terrible idea, especially after the last time she had attempted to drink. But perhaps, given the ease of her anxiety on this particular occasion, and the large meal she had just consumed, she would stomach it a little better. Besides, there was no way in hell she was going to allow herself to humiliate herself in front of Cato Hadley any further that week. 

And so, she reached for a glass and poured a hefty amount of liquor out of the bottle, proceeding to chug it despite the burning sensation soaring down her throat. Shaking her head as she swallowed, she opened her eyes to see the boy before her showing nothing but astonishment, and perhaps admiration, but she didn't stop there. 

After the following two glasses had been consumed, and she was already beginning to feel a little dizzy, Cato began to join her. As expected, having adjusted much too well to his body containing alcohol, and despite being almost completely sober when they had started, Cato held his drink much better than she did, feeling hardly tipsy by the time she was practically falling at his feet. 

Several glasses in, but refusing to give in, Clove continued to drown herself in booze, though the speed of her consumption did appear to gradually slow down to casual sips. At some point, they had moved from the kitchen to the living room, where Clove had found herself collapsed on the velvet sofa. 

"This is so comfortable", she gasped dramatically in her drunken state as she fell onto the cushioned fabric, "like so comfortable". 

"Don't you have the exact same sofa in your own house?", he looked at her with a knowing expression, evidently amused by the knowledge that all of the houses in the Victors Village tended to be furnished in the exact same way, at least upon moving in. 

She narrowed her eyes and shot him a glare, "No - these are red, ours are blue". 

He chuckled, leaning back in the plush armchair that "the colour of the fabric doesn't affect the comfort of the sofa". 

"Ugh, you always have to act like you know everything, don't you?", she slurred from beneath her drink, which had now shifted from a modest glass to large swigs from the contents of the bottle, "You seem too know everything in the world there is to know about being a victor, and yet you won't help me". 

Cato stirred uncomfortably in his chair, but didn't say anything, leaving her free to continue to speak. 

"You act like you have everything figured out, about me, about yourself, about this goddamn world, and yet all you ever do is sit here and mope and drink and hide away from the rest of us", she took another chug from the bottle and swallowed harshly, her voice gradually becoming more and more slurred, "But I know that you know exactly how I feel, because you told me that at the Mayor's dinner the other night, and I know that you can help me, and yet you won't". 

The awkward silence continued, but given her drunken state, and Cato's consumption making him feel almost numb to the world, Clove didn't appear to notice. If she had been sober, she probably wouldn't have dared to speak such words to her fellow victor - challenged him, yes, but blatantly called out all of his toxic behaviour, perhaps not. She felt as though she had hit a nerve, but she was far too intoxicated to care, and so she continued to babble into the silence. 

"I'm just SO miserable all of the time", she droned on into her bottle, "I mean, I thought this was meant to be the best thing to ever happen to me, and yet somehow I feel like I never even came home". 

The tone in her voice had changed, and her eyes had begun to well up. Cato sensed the distress her own words had caused her, but he still couldn't bring himself to say a word, and so the room once again fell into complete silence. This time, neither of them spoke, but somehow just the option of each other's company made each of them feel more comfortable, whether either cared to admit it or not. 

It could have lasted five minutes, or five hours, Cato couldn't be sure - but when he finally found the courage to look up at the broken girl across the room from him, working up the conviction to speak, he found her instead softly snoring in sleep. He sighed, leaving the room for several moments before returning with a plush woollen blanket in his hands, draping the fabric over her in an attempt to shield her from the harsh winter chill. 

He wanted to shake her awake and instruct her to leave, but looking down at her pale and resting frame, having finally found peace, he couldn't do it. 

So instead, he removed the empty bottle from her hands and switched off the light, leaving the girl  to sleep soundly under his own roof, and doubting everything he had felt before her arrival.

He felt as though something had shifted inside him, like a weight had been lifted, and the thought brought him great unease. In that moment, he wanted to express that, despite his complete reluctance to do so, he felt that he cared for her, and perhaps he was inclined to help her after all. 

But even more so, he felt as though something oddly comforting had been struck against his chest. 

He felt as though he needed her. 

─── 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ───

Behold, you are not imagining things - Dani did indeed update Gasoline twice within a week! 

I've actually been on a total writing grind this week, I just started a new crossover fic for Peeta/Hermione, featuring a few of the Harry Potter characters in the Hunger Games universe (as crazy rebels hehe) - it's a super wild and fun concept and I'm loving writing it so far, so my energy will hopefully be mainly focused on that and this book for a while! I've also been completely spamming my new spam book with some random extra graphics and some facts to get to know me a little better, so if you're interested in staying up to date with my writing while nothing is being published, feel free to check that out. 

On another note, I was honestly a mess writing this chapter just because I love Clato so much, like I would honestly die for them. Cato is so soft at the end of this chapter as he slowly realises that perhaps they need each other more than he'd like to admit, and honestly I could cry for them. I hope you all enjoyed drunk Clove and soft Cato as much as I did (much more drunk and soft Clato to come).

Much love, 

Dani x