𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒 | whatever i feel like

𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

*based off a Drarry fanfic, but I thought I could turn it into Clato*

Ever since Clove and Cato were little, they had nicknames for each other. 

When they were five and it was snowing, and they were playing in the snow, and Cato threw a snowball at Clove's little head. She was outraged and shoved him into the freezing cold ground. Clove held him down, complaining about how she could feel the ice sliding down her back. 

That was when Cato started calling Clove his snowball. 

He remembered when they were ten and it was poaring with rain, and Clove insited that they played in the grey puddles. Cato didn't want to, he never liked sky drool, as he called it, but when he saw the crushed look in Clove's brown eyes, he squished his dislike and went out and got splashed by his Clover. 

They both caught colds, but in both of their minds it was worth it. 

That was when Cato started calling Clove his fluffy cloud. 

It was when they were fifteen it was 30 degrees and Cato wanted to go to the beach.  Clove didn't want to that much but he insisted. Cato dived right into the glistening water but Clove stayed on the sand, lying on her pink and white towel. 

"Come on Clove!" Cato had shouted, beckoning towards her.
"No, Cato, I don't want to," Clove said, tossing her long, dark brown hair over her shoulder. He ignored her and tossed her over the shoulder, with her kicking and screaming. "Cato!" She screeched, struggling to get out of his strong grip. 

Cato had dropped her in the water, and they splashed around until their fingers were wrinkled and their feet were frozen. 

That's when Cato started calling Clove his heat.

He remembered when they was twenty, he walked in on Clove writing on a small piece of paper. She had been sitting on her shared living room, with her head resting on their blue couch. Cato smiled as he thought of Clove's blushing face , and her hand covering what she had written. He had asked to read it, and Clove slowly had handed it to him. He looked at the paper and glanced back up at her red face. 

"Will you be my boyfriend?" Cato had read slowly. 
Clove had stared intensively at the fireplace, red creeping up her neck. 

Cato had hugged her, and a small grin was etched onto her face. 
"So... is that a yes?" Clove had asked timidly. 

That was when Cato started calling Clove his girlfriend. 

They remembered the cheesy way, that when they were twenty-seven, Cato invited Clove over to a small waterfall just outside their town. It was candle lit and had a picnic with the finest food he could afford. Cato could never forget the shocked look on Clove's face when he fell down on his knee and asked Clove to marry him. 
She was shocked, and started crying, happy tears of course. Clove forgot to answer, because she was so busy, almost fangirling over the fact that the love of her life, Cato Hadley, wanted to spend the rest of her life with her. 
Clove could never forget the look on Cato's face when he thought that she was going to say know, and the happiness when she did. 

That was when Cato started calling Clove his fiance. 

Now they were twenty-eight, and as they are standing in front of all their crying friends, looking into each others eyes, with the sun setting over the beach, that Cato started calling Clove his wife. And that was the best nickname of them all.