You were just supposed to be an undercover bodyguard.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Your role had been carefully defined in hushed tones and discreet conversations. Clove’s parents had orchestrated it, sending word through channels meant to avoid the Capitol’s scrutiny. You were to volunteer at District 7 under the guise of a trainee. But your true purpose was singular, precise: protect Clove Kentwell.

Nothing else mattered. Her safety was your priority. You weren’t meant to be noticed. You weren’t meant to interact unless necessary. Your family’s reward would be silent. That was the transaction. The arrangement was cold, transactional, and deliberate, designed to keep all hearts uninvolved. It was meant to be simple.

Yet, simplicity was a lie.

It started with small things. You noticed the way her eyes lingered a little too long, the way her attention drifted in your direction even when she was supposed to be practicing or listening to instructions. You told yourself it was nothing, that she was just aware of her surroundings. But then the stolen glances that ended in a sharp intake of breath. The subtle shifts of posture whenever you approached or moved near her. Her lips would press together, though she tried to mask it.

There was something inside her that she could not control… kept drawing her gaze to you even when she had no right, or reason to do so. You flowed from one challenge to the next with grace honed through repetition and instinct, and she watched.

Her breath hitched.

It was subtle at first,a quiet hitch that came when she thought you weren’t looking, when her mind betrayed her and her body reacted before reason had the chance to catch up. The way her fingers tightened against the handle of her practice weapon, the slight tremor of her shoulders, the tiny shifts in weight as though she wanted to move closer but feared the consequence.

Even as she tried to focus on her own training, her mind betrayed her. The angle of your shoulders, the rhythm of your breathing, the curve of your form as you lunged or twisted or balanced she noted it all, often unconsciously. Her pulse quickened in those moments, and she found herself thinking about things she would never admit aloud. Thoughts she could never speak, desires she could never own without exposing herself to ridicule, risk, or distraction.

It was impossible to turn away. You were dangerous. And she was drawn to it. Not to the danger itself, not to the threat, but to the way you embodied it without pretense, without calculation.

Her eyes followed your curves instinctively, almost as though her body was mapping you, learning your shape, memorizing every movement so she could anticipate, predict, understand. Every tilt of your head, every flicker of your gaze, every motion through the obstacle course held her in place, chained by curiosity and some unspoken, forbidden fascination.

She reminded herself that none of this mattered. She reminded herself that you were here to protect her, that you had no obligation beyond survival and duty, that nothing personal could exist here. And yet, even her hands betrayed her. She would tighten her grip on a spear or her weapon unconsciously, knuckles whitening, nails pressing into her palms as though to remind herself that she was in control. She wasn’t. Not when you moved like that, not when your presence filled the air around her, not when your every gesture radiated strength, confidence, and a quiet, undeniable allure.

She wanted to look away. She knew she should. But she couldn’t.

And you, moving through the course with fluid precision, unaware of the storm you stirred in her chest, made her want everything and nothing all at once.

Her breath hitched again.This time, she didn’t attempt to hide it. She noted every subtle line of your body in motion, she knew she could never fully tame it.

You were meant to be the protector. But already, without words, without intention, you were making her feel exposed.

And she hated it. Yet she couldn’t stop.