#cloveniss

"Gale is officially not coming back."

Clove wishes she could say this comes as a surprise, but it does not. If anything, it is a dull ringing in her ears, like someone's phone is bleating and they're just pretending to ignore it. The noise is akin to a nail-grating whine that digs underneath her skin.

Except the phone has been ringing for four weeks, and she is ready to rip her flesh off her body.

The suit sitting on the opposite side of the board table plows ahead, adjusting the lapels of his jacket as he speaks. "His team has finalized the paperwork, and as of tomorrow, March 13th, for all legal purposes, he will no longer be attached to The SeventyFourth."

Beside her, Glimmer rolls her eyes. "So why the hell did someone post the Twelve cover this morning to our Instagram?"

"Roxanne is contractually obligated to post to the band's Instagram at minimum once per month."

"Well why couldn't Foxy post that picture of Gale's bare ass? It's the least he deserves after he ditched us."

Across the table, the suit lowers his wire-rimmed glasses. "Ms. Dillon, Mr. Hawthorne provided you all with a formal resignation letter upon his entry into rehab. I'd hardly call that ditching."

Glimmer falls silent.

A formal resignation letter is pushing the envelope considerably. Emmett's still of the belief that Gale doesn't know how to form more than two complete sentences.

Really, they'd forced his hand. They couldn't keep pushing back tour rehearsals to accommodate for his broken heart. At some point, something had to give, and Clove would go to her grave with the truth if anyone decided to ask questions about her call history.

"You're drunk," Foxy warns as Clove starts fumbling with her phone, trying to get the face identification to do its singular job and recognize her as the owner. Apparently, when she's drunk, Apple tells too much of a difference between freckles and specks of glitter and deems her as another person entirely.

"Yeah, no shit."

Foxy's fingers start trying to pry the phone gently from Clove's grip, but Clove immediately swats her hand away, all but clocking her in the face with the point of her elbow as she wrestles herself out of Foxy's proximity. "Stop it," she spits venomously. "If no one else in this fuckin' group is gonna tell him the truth, then I will."

"Clove..."

Clove's face draws up into a tight line. "Foxy," she mimics. "It's bullshit."

"I'm not disagreeing with you, but—"

"But what?" Clove snaps. Her face falls, come on scrolling in her irises as she glares at her publicist. "Rox, this is shit and you know it. Katniss didn't do anything to him, he's a pussy who can't accept that he has always been and never will be anywhere but her friend zone. And now he's making the band suffer because he's suddenly twelve?" She huffs. "We named the album after the number of songs, not how old our fuckin' guitarist acts."

Foxy is silent, lips pressing together in an attempt to suppress the riot act she's dying to read Clove, but knows that ultimately, she cannot. As long as it doesn't grace the top searches of Google, it's out of her hands. Clove's always been a fish in her hands, slipping and darting from her grasp. Every time she thinks she's got Clove, there's a narrow escape back into the pond.

Clove manages to unlock her phone and gets into her contacts, finding Gale's name and violently pressing the call button. Every drone of the phone ringing only heightens her blood pressure.

"What the fuck do you want, Clove?" Gale answers on the third ring, his words slurred together. "'M not hashing this out with you."

"Oh, the hell you are," Clove snarls into the receiver. Beside her, Foxy is now physically biting down on her fist. "You're going to stop acting like a little bitch, you're going to pull your head out of your ass and you're going to be at rehearsal tomorrow. We are not waiting around on you to get over yourself."

"Fuck you," he groans.

"Know who else I fucked? Kat." The silence on the other end is so profound, she wonders if he hung up on her, but she knows she's got him by the throat. She almost wishes he could see the smug grin that so effortlessly drapes over her lips. "While you were whining after every show about whether or not she'd ever give you the time of day, I was with her in all those hotel rooms—"

"Shut up—"

"—and tour bunks, between her legs, making her say my name—"

"God, you are an insufferable cunt—"

"—and guess what? She didn't think about you once! Not one mention of you, ever!" Clove sneers into the receiver, a low laugh rumbling from her chest. "C'mon, Hawthorne, you didn't seriously think she and I wrote honey because we'd caught a marathon of the fuckin' L Word one night and thought it'd be a cute idea for a song."

There's more silence on Gale's end, so Clove takes that as her invitation to keep prattling on. "So if you're gonna be mad at anyone in the band, don't you dare be mad at Katniss for going out on dates with someone that is perfectly kind and normal and sane like she's got every right to. Be mad at the person who was fucking her behind your back for eight months knowing full well how you felt about her. I didn't give a shit about bro code, I don't regret it, and I'd fucking do it again."

"I can't believe you."

"Believe it." Clove switches hands, pulling the phone away from her ear and putting the receiver directly up to her mouth. "You better fucking be at rehearsal tomorrow morning, or you are out." Gale doesn't have an opportunity to protest; she forcefully ends the call and then throws the phone haphazardly over her shoulder. She hears the soft bounce it makes when it lands somewhere on the couch behind her.

Clove bends down, reaching for the shot glass she'd discarded and tossing it back. Foxy just stares at her with wide eyes, wordless. "What?" Clove asks calmly as the tequila carves a neat path down her throat. "I'm expediting the process."

"Yeah," is Foxy's hollow intonation, unsure of what the fuck to say. It's a good thing she said enough for the both of them, then.

Gale was never the favorite in the band. Once upon a time, he'd been tolerable. Those were the days when Madge was on keys, of few but meaningful words and they were opening for nobodies, when it didn't matter the way it does now. And then she left, and Emmett recommended they give one of his sister's friends a listen to see if she'd be a good fit. Katniss was, of course, and everyone loved her. Gale loved her the most, in a way that he was stuffing napalm into all of their cracks that he all but promised to come back and ignite later.

Clove knows she probably put more than just a toe or her neck out, telling Gale the truth, but it was just that: the truth. He never bothered to do anything about his insufferable crush on her, and that was far from Clove's problem. It became her problem when he dialed the dramatics up to an eleven and let the band get in the crosshairs. Twelve was their most successful record to date, got them nominated for three Grammys, and the Twelve tour sold out in minutes.

So, yes, it very much mattered when Gale started saying he couldn't be in the same room as Katniss and pushed tour rehearsals back. And then it really was her problem when he broke his hand after punching a wall, a direct result of their phone conversation, and pretended to go to rehab just so he could punish her by making everything screech to a grinding halt.

She really, really hated him.

"Furthermore—" Clove's never heard anyone use the word furthermore in a conversation that was not scripted by Shakespeare — "Within the terms of his release, Mr. Hawthorne would not be officially released from his contract within the band until a suitable replacement was lined up with the approval of the label."

"Yeah, what about the band's approval?" Marvel says, the steady rap of his fingers against the wooden table never faltering. "Imagine the label's still mad at me for that time I wrecked that golf cart—"

"—they probably are," Katniss chimes in.

"—and they give us someone worse than Gale as a dose of our medicine." He glances around the table at the rest of them, looking for support. "I mean, it's more than just a business arrangement. This is somebody we have to live with, in cramped conditions, for the next seven months. Do you want one of us to become a serial killer?"

"Mr. Dillon," the suit says in a disapproving tone, lowering the wire-rimmed glasses on his nose to glare. Marvel winces, slouching back into his seat; underneath the table, Glimmer has stomped on his foot as hard as she can manage, arms now folded across her chest and a triumphant smirk on her lips that she does her best to water down for appearance's sake. "Considering your own contract and moral clauses, I highly doubt that will be an issue."

"So, what are you saying?" Glimmer asks. "We don't get to pick our new guitarist?"

"It's not just a guitarist, from my understanding. If I'm correct, Mr. Hawthorne also did male lead vocals for the group's latest record."

"That's something Marv or Thresh can do." Clove sits up a little taller in her chair, finding herself nodding along with Katniss's suggestion.

The suit, on the other hand, is skeptical of this. "That may well be true, Ms. Everdeen, but it's of the label's perspective that Mr. Hawthorne's replacement should be able to replace him entirely."

Clove sighs. This is veering on the borderline of asinine and aggravating, and she's got shit to do. Namely, get her band in rehearsal, now that they are apparently back on track. "Okay," she interjects, lifting one of her hands. "So Gale's out, and now we've got to wait on the label to find someone to replace him, and we'll probably figure out who it is once Rox's contract obligates her to post it on the band Instagram. Is tour officially on?"

Suit clears his throat. "Tour is on, yes." He begins ruffling through the stack of papers he has spread out around him. "According to Mr. Abernathy and Ms. Trinket, replacement dates with the venues are in the process of being finalized. The European shows are, I believe, the only ones still up in the air. My understanding is that you will play Amsterdam instead of Po—"

"Okay then," Clove deduces with the clap of her hands. "So when do we start rehearsals? Is the plan still to open in Glendale?"

"Yes, but..."

"And do we have to actually wait for the label to tell us who's joining, or are we allowed to make recommendations and audition people we like?"

"I like that," Marvel nods fervently. "At least gives us some say in the matter."

"And that's how we found Katniss," Glimmer adds, thumb jambing in the direction of their now slightly blushing keyboardist. "She was a perfect fit."

Emmett shrugs. "Told y'all I had good taste."

"That you did, Threshie."

The suit looks visibly uncomfortable where he sits, Clove's sharp eye narrowing in on his body language. It takes only a second to conclude why he's behaving as though his tie is choking him. "We're not going to get to audition anyone, are we?"

Marvel's neck nearly breaks. "What? Why?"

Clove's eyebrows shift upward, and Suit opens his mouth. "Per the terms of his release from his contract, Mr. Hawthorne would not be able to officially leave the band until a replacement was lined up. It's my understanding that we are meeting today because the label signed a new lead guitarist to The SeventyFourth last night, and the paperwork for Mr. Hawthorne's departure was processed and finalized early this morning."

The dull ringing is back in her ears, but this time, everything around her sounds as though it has been plunged into water.

Quite a bit of her disdain for Gale stemmed back to the way that he made Katniss feel (read: like shit, and Clove hated to see her down), but the reason Clove could not stand him, even for the sake of professionalism, was the lack of control she was able to exercise regarding his mere presence. She's always in control, even when others think she's not.

It's why the rest of them throw the baton her way when it comes to leading the charge — and the band — without a complaint. It's because she gets shit done. She doesn't mind making hard decisions that must be made, starting difficult discussions that need to be had. Everyone in The SeventyFourth has always had a fair say, but typically it all boils down to Clove.

She's been doing this twice as long as the rest of them. She's seen shit, and while it doesn't make her better than any of them (she will never be able to play piano like Katniss, or make even the stoniest person crack a laugh like Marvel, or be half the woman Glimmer is or have the rationale Thresh has in any given moment) it incentivizes her to make sure The SeventyFourth is the best it can possibly be. And Gale was the weed that no matter how she tried to rearrange or disguise she simply could not prune. Gale was a force outside of the things she could control. She'd certainly thought about it, but there was no way to physically make him show up for rehearsals. There was no way to quell his broodiness. There was no legal way to be rid of him unless he did it on his own terms.

The only thing that could possibly be worse than having the tour continue to be delayed is hearing that they have already found his replacement, and Clove's got no fucking clue who they could've picked to invade her family.

Slowly, the conversation around her pokes and prods at her bubble.

"I'm calling Haymitch," is the first thing Clove hears clearly, Katniss spinning the chair around so her back is to Suit with her phone already out, unlocked, and mid-dial.

"That's not necessary, Ms. Everdeen, but if you'd like."

Marvel is halfway across the table with how far he is hunched over. "Why weren't we privy to that information? We should have at least been told that the label would be out looking for people; I mean, for fuck's sake, we've all been doing nothing for five weeks. We could've been looking on our own for someone to take his place."

Suit seems to be sweating, even if he's doing a damn fine job with his poker face. "These were terms mentioned in the contract when The SeventyFourth signed with Rose Garden."

"Are you telling me that I don't know how to read?"

"I'm saying that this should not come as a surprise had you read your contracts."

"Those are like the goddamn terms of service," Marvel grumbles. "Nobody reads them!"

"Marvel, shut up," Glimmer says in lieu of smashing his foot underneath her Louboutins for the second time. "You're making it sound like we're stupid."

"Well, we might as well be."

"How far are you from the Garden?" Katniss is saying into the phone, hand cupped around the receiver so Haymitch can hear her. "Did you know that they were finding someone to replace Gale?"

"When do we get to meet them?" Thresh asks, perhaps the calmest of them all. It's why he is the threshold for all of their bullshit: nothing rattles him. "Since they're officially part of the band, we shouldn't be left in the dark. If tour's back on, we need to get into rehearsals."

"I'm glad you asked." The voice does not belong to the suit, but rather a sandy haired man that has burst through the conference room doors with a phone still tucked against his cheek, broad smile across his face. He winks at Katniss, who is staring back at him with her mouth agape. "We wanted to make sure you all were in the same room first," he says, hanging up the call. "And here you all are."

Haymitch.

"What the fuck, Haymitch," are the first words out of Marvel's mouth. "You couldn't have told us?"

Both of Haymitch's hands lift in mock arrest. "Wasn't allowed to." The look he gives Marvel is utterly patronizing. "Can't read the contracts for you, I can only tell you to read 'em carefully." Marvel's eye is now twitching.

"Okay, so who is it?" Clove snaps, already nauseous with the back and forth and stalling. "Who's our new guitarist?"

If it were possible for Haymitch's smile to grow, the upward curve of his lips would be carved in his skin. "So glad you asked." He turns slightly, arms gestured out to the side. "May I introduce — or, for some, reintroduce to you..."

Clove's vision goes red, and she vaguely feels as though she might be sick.

"SeventyFourth's newest guitarist and male lead, Cato Hadley."

She’s checking our supplies again. She keeps doing this, as if something might have changed without her knowledge, despite being the only one who touches her backpack. Still, I suppose it’s a task that keeps her hands occupied. Something I sorely wish I had right now.

My stomach ties itself in knots when I watch her. I’m not sure I fully understand what that means. I’m not afraid of her, she is no threat to me yet the feeling is close enough to fear to leave me breathless.

Of course I could still be sick from the fever that had me shivering and weak mere days ago. Perhaps part of my addled brain still believes her to be the bloodthirsty career I once thought she was.

There’s not a lot of light inside the cave. Clove is sitting by the entrance, angling her bag so the shaft of sunlight shining through the foliage above is enough to see by. I watch her closely from my place atop the sleeping bag we share. My fingers drumming slowly against my knee as I try not to notice the way the sun dances across her skin illuminating the many freckles that are scattered across her face.

Memories of the previous night flood into my brain. Her smaller body pressed against mine, seeking warmth. My arms wrapped around her, her soft breaths tickling against my neck. My mouth feels dry all of a sudden.

I force my gaze away from her, reaching for the bottle of water to my left and taking a long swig, Why is my heart beating so fast? I take a deep breath as I lower the bottle, my eyes instantly drawn back to Clove.

She glances up, as if sensing my eyes on her. My throat constricts, the sun shines in her eyes. I don’t think I’ve noticed how many shades of green are in those irises before. It’s like staring into the canopy of the forest back home on a summers day when game is most plump and my belly full.

Her brow furrows, her head tilting to the side very slightly. I offer a shaky smile, placing the bottle down. “You ok?”

“What?” My voice comes out as more of a squeak.

“You ok?” Clove repeats, her lips twitching in what I can only assume to be amusement.

“Yeah I just…”

“You’re staring,” she points out bluntly, her eyebrows rising, “again.”

“Your eyes are pretty.”

It takes a moment for my brain to catch up with my words. My face flushes and I’m finally able to look away. Why did I say that? My heart pounds erratically against my ribs, I’m sure it’s about to burst out of my chest.

“Um, thanks.” Clove’s voice sounds strained, if I’m not very much mistaken her cheeks are as red as mine must be. I nod, not sure if I’m able to form words right now.

The sound of shuffling makes me jump, I look up, breath catching in my throat to find Clove crawling towards me. I raise my leg to stop her advance and she pauses, her face inches from mine.

“I think all of you is pretty, I mean you’re eyes, they’re like a storm...I um.. I mean….” Clove stutters out, a vaguely panicked expression crosses her features. Being this close to her seems to have short-circuited my brain and I don’t think I could move even if I wanted to.

Slowly the meaning of her words registers. My mouth falls open slightly as I stare at her in disbelief. She thinks I’m pretty? Why does this realisation send a jolt through me?

She licks her lips, eyes flicking over my face, lingering on my lips for just a moment longer before she meets my eyes. “Can I kiss you?”

Her voice is quiet. A tinge of uncertainty leaking through the confident façade she’s trying badly to put up. She wants to kiss me? This can’t be real. Somehow I must have fallen into a dream.  I cannot comprehend that a girl as beautiful as her would want to kiss someone like me.

Clove frowns, her eyes shining with something I cannot read. She begins to pull away but my hand shoots forwards of it’s own accord, grabbing her hand and locking our fingers together like they were always meant to be intertwined. I want to kiss her, the realisation takes me by surprise. It shouldn’t, it makes all the sense in the world that I’d want to kiss her.

I glance down at her lips hoping I haven't ruined the moment. My breath catches in my throat as I try to formulate a response. “Yes.”

Clove smiles nervously then leans forwards.

I only have a moment to panic over my own inexperience before her surprisingly soft lips are pressed against mine. I gasp, closing my eyes and returning the kiss after only a moments hesitation. She tastes sweet, like nothing else I have ever experienced. I know I won’t be able to forget this moment for as long as I live.

All too soon she pulls back, I gaze into her eyes, transfixed by the warmth within them. I’m sure if I keep looking at her I’ll pass out right here yet I cannot bring myself to look away.  

“Wow.” I breath, she laughs at that. A sort of playful chuckle that causes my heart to leap and my head to spin. I’d do anything to hear that again.  

“Definitely wow.” She agrees, she releases my hand, pulling away slightly and brushing some hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.

“Can we do that again?”  I ask hopefully, wanting more of that wonderfully sweet taste. Wanting more of her.  

Her eyes widen and she inhales sharply, for a moment I think she’ll refuse but then her cheeks turn red and she nods, shooting a pleased grin my way that has my heart tying itself in knots.

She leans in more confidently this time. I’m feeling braver too as I bring a hand up to cup her cheek and close the distance. Her skin is so smooth, so perfect. I move my lips with hers slowly. My head whirrs and a strange warmth spreads through me.

When we part, to my horror, a giggle escapes me. Clove joins me. Her laughter leaves my head spinning. I’m sure later I’ll be embarrassed by how I’m acting but right now I can’t quite bring myself to care. I pull her closer, clumsily pressing my lips against hers.  

She tenses and for a moment I wonder if I’ve done something wrong. But then she relaxes, arms coming around me drawing me closer until I’m pressed against her. Time seems to stop.

Nothing else matters but Clove. In this moment I’m able to forget everything but her. The games are a distant memory as I wrap an arm around her back, pulling her closer. The taste of her lips on mine and the feeling of her body pressed against me.