#coryo

"Hello," he said again, because he was apparently capable of nothing else.

"I—" A giggle, soft and helpless. He had never heard her giggle before, not like this, at least. It did something catastrophic to him. "I'm out. With my friends. It's— we went to Marchetti's. You know Marchetti's?"

"I do not frequent Marchetti's, no."

"It's on the Corso," she whined, as if trying to convince him he did in fact frequent the club. "The one with the— the hanging lights, all gold, it's very pretty. You'd hate it."

"Probably."

"I had four drinks," she announced. "Maybe five."

"That's very forthcoming of you."

"I'm a forthcoming person." She enunciated the word as if he'd made it up. A pause. The music swelled behind her and then muffled, like she'd moved into a quieter corner. Her voice got softer. "Corio-laaaanus."

"Still here."

"Can you come get me?"

He was quiet for a second. Just one. "Is something wrong?"

She gave a dramatic sigh. "No, not really. My friends are all with guys, and… well the guys are annoying, and the drinks are expensive…" She cut herself off with a little hiccup.

He was already closing the trade proposal, already reaching for his keys — not his driver, he decided without fully examining why. Not tonight. He grabbed his coat off the chair.

"Stay where you are," he said.

"Okay," She sounded relieved in a way that he could tell she was smiling. "Thank you."

He hung up before she could say anything else.

Marchetti's was exactly as advertised.

Gold hanging lights, yes. A crowd of well-dressed Capitol C-listers and twenty-somethings brushing up on each other as some artsy DJ mixed songs he'd never heard but sounded vaguely synthlike. Something with too much bass. Not somewhere he could ever go. Not elite, not tightly exclusive enough to avoid paparazzi, stares, whispers. At least it was less suffocating, in that way.

The coat check girl recognized him immediately and had the grace to look terrified.

He found her at the bar.

She was laughing at something one of her friends had said, head tipped back, one hand loose around a mostly-empty glass, her dress a short thing with a low back, the color of deep water. She hadn't seen him yet. He watched her laugh for two seconds longer than was defensible and then crossed the room.

She turned, some instinct, and her face—

There it was. That thing. That specific, involuntary opening of her expression, like something released.

"Coriolanus," she said, too brightly.

He stepped close, quick, dipped his head toward hers. "Keep your voice down," he murmured, low near her ear. "I'm not exactly dressed for an anonymous Tuesday night at Marchetti's."

She blinked. Then looked him up and down — the coat, the cufflinks, the general unavoidable fact of him — and pressed her lips together against a smile. "Right," she whispered. Conspiratorial. Delighted. "Sorry. Hi."

"Hi." He straightened. "Ready?"

Her friends were watching with enormous interest. He was aware of the whispers even if he couldn't make out the words. He didn't need to. He'd been in enough rooms to know the specific frequency of wait, is that—

"—is that actually—"

"—yes—"

"—but she said a friend was picking her up—"

"—she voted against him in the general—"

One of them, a girl with silver-dusted cheekbones, was very clearly trying not to visibly react to the President of Panem appearing at their bar to collect her friend. He appreciated the effort."She called the right person," she smiled.

"Apparently," he said, which made her laugh.

He helped her off the barstool. She came off it sideways, heels not entirely cooperating, and his hand went to her waist automatically — steadying, nothing more, just making sure she didn't pitch forward onto the marble floor of Marchetti's, which would be unfortunate for everyone. She grabbed his lapel with her free hand and looked up at him and smiled, slow and warm.

"You came inside," she said.

"I wasn't going to have you standing on the street."

"You said—"

"I said don't wait outside," he reminded her as he guided her forward gently, hand still at her waist.

"Oh, yeah," she giggled.

"Say goodbye to your friends," he murmured, gently turning her to face them as she clung to the arm he had politely at her waist.

She faced them, beaming as she waved. Her friends waved with the barely-contained energy of women who would be dissecting this the moment the door closed behind them. He kept his expression politely neutral and his hand on her back and got her out the door.

The night air hit them and she inhaled deeply, tipping her face up for a second, and then turned to him and tucked her arm through his without asking, her hand curling around his forearm. He let her. She came up to his shoulder and she leaned into him slightly as they walked, compensating for the heels on the uneven stone, and he adjusted his pace accordingly and said nothing about it.

"Cold," she declared.

"Yes, it is. I told you to take my coat."

"You're warm though."

He said nothing. She pressed fractionally closer.

The car was a block down. She managed it, mostly — one near-stumble off a raised curb that his hand at her arm caught before she noticed it herself, and one pause where she stopped to look at a floral arrangement in a closed shop window with an expression of profound interest that had him waiting with what he privately considered extraordinary patience.

"Come on," he said eventually.

"They're beautiful—"

"They're carnations."

"Well yes," she said, as if this proved her point entirely. "I love flowers," she sighed dreamily.

He watched her. Allowed her to watch the flowers as he watched her.

He eventually got her to the car, and opened the passenger door. She looked at him and then at the seat and made a small deliberate effort to get in gracefully, which he tactfully pretended to observe nothing about. When she reached for the seatbelt and the buckle evaded her twice, he leaned across, took it from her hands, and clicked it into place himself. His face was approximately six inches from hers in the process.

She looked well. That was the problem. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold and the drinks, her lipstick mostly faded, a few strands of hair falling across her forehead. She looked soft. Happy-drunk, not sloppy. Which was its own kind of torture.

"Tell me your address."

She gave him the address in pieces, losing it twice before getting the cross street right.

He pulled out into the road.

Twelve seconds of silence.

"Where are we going?" she said.

He exhaled through his nose, which was the closest he'd come to laughing in weeks. "Your apartment."

"Oh." A beat. "Right. Yeah."

He drove carefully. He didn't usually — on his own, the car was the one place no one was watching and the roads in the Capitol at 2AM were empty and long, and he drove the way he did most things when no one could see: without restraint. But with her buckled in beside him he kept both hands on the wheel and the speed reasonable and took the turns smooth, none of the sharp decisive cuts he usually took through the Corso.

She didn't seem to notice, her cheek dropping against the headrest as she watched the Capitol lights smear by through the window. Gold and neon. He'd driven this route a thousand times and never looked at it. She was looking at it like it was beautiful.

"Coriolanus?

"Yes?"

"What if I don't want to go to my apartment?"

He hesitated. "Then you can tell me that."

She turned her head on the headrest to look at him. He could feel it. Kept his gaze forward.

"I want to go to yours," she said.

He said nothing.

"Coriolanus."

"I heard you."

"Then—"

"No."

She was quiet. He felt her shift in the seat, resettling, and he made the mistake of glancing over. She was looking at him with those eyes — wide and soft and slightly glassy from the drinks — and the expression on her face was not the face of someone asking a casual question. It was the face of someone asking something they'd been not-asking for a long time.

He looked back at the road.

"You've wanted to for months," she said. "I know you have. And I—" she stopped. "I want to. I really want to, Coriolanus."

"I know," he said. Evenly. With great effort.

"So why—"

"Because you're drunk."

"I'm not that drunk—"

"You are." The light changed. He drove. "And we're not doing this."

"We were doing it fine for—"

"That was different."

"How?"

He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. "Because now you're drunk and I'm stone cold sober and the answer is no."

She was quiet for a moment. Thinking, he could feel it. Then:

"Come on," she said, and her voice had dropped into something lower, something deliberate, and he felt her hand settle on his forearm where it rested on the gear shift. Light. Warm. "Don't you want to?"

"Take your hand off my arm."

She didn't. She traced one finger along the inside of his wrist instead, barely anything, and he was suddenly aware of every individual nerve ending in his left arm.

"Please," she murmured. "It's not complicated, you just—"

"I said no." Firm. Final. He kept his voice even. "And if you do that again I'll pull over."

She withdrew her hand. Sat back.

He turned onto the Corso, the familiar stretch of it, the lights of the mansions bleeding gold across the road. "Go to sleep."

"I don't want to go to sleep, I want—"

"I know what you want."

She went quiet at that. Something in his tone, probably. He hadn't meant it to come out like that — too tight, too much in it. He pressed his teeth together.

"Are you angry at me?" she said quietly.

Shit. "No."

"You sound—"

"I'm not angry." He glanced at her. She was watching him with something gone uncertain in her face, the confidence of a moment ago folded back, and she looked suddenly younger, softer. A little worried. "I promise."

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." She pulled at the hem of her dress absently. "I just— I thought maybe— I mean you're so—" she stopped, and laughed at herself a little, embarrassed. "God. Sorry. I know this is weird. It's weird, right? We're so weird right now. We're in a weird place and I just— I saw you and I—" she pressed a hand briefly over her eyes. "You're just very big and gorgeous and I've wanted to for so long and I'm sorry, I shouldn't have— I don't want you to be uncomfortable, I'm being mean—"

His voice came out gentler than he intended. "Stop apologizing."

"I just—"

"I'm not uncomfortable," he said. "I'm not angry. I'm not— " he paused, choosing. "I just don't want you to wake up uncertain about it. Something you have to piece back together the next morning and decide whether you regret."

Silence.

"I wouldn't regret it," she said, quieter now.

"Maybe not. But I wouldn't know that, would I?" He turned onto her street. "And I'd like to know."

He could feel her looking at him again. He didn't look back.

"Okay," she acquiesced softly.

When he looked at her she was smiling at something outside the window again.

He finally parked on the street outside her building, and came around to her side before she'd fully negotiated with the door handle. She took his hand getting out and then didn't quite let go of it, which he allowed.

She made it across the pavement fine. It was the stairs that presented the problem.

There were only six of them, leading up to the building entrance, but somewhere between the third and fourth her heel caught the lip of the step and she lurched forward with a small sound of surprise and he caught her from behind without thinking — arms around her, her back against his chest, her weight light and sudden in his hands.

"Oh," she said.

"Mm," he said.

She turned in his arms to look up at him, their faces close in the lamplight, and for a moment neither of them moved. He was very aware of his hands at her waist. She was very aware of everything, by the look on her face.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"Can you walk?"

"Probably."

"Probably," he repeated. He looked at the remaining stairs. Then he bent slightly, tucked one arm behind her knees, and lifted her. If she had any protests, she didn't voice them, letting her head drop to the crook of his neck.

He carried her up the remaining stairs without particular effort and set her down at the top with complete composure, as if this were something he did regularly. "Key."

She stared at him for a second, puzzled.

"To your apartment," he said again.

"Right." She opened her bag. Found it on the third attempt.

Her apartment was dark and warm, the particular specific warmth of a lived-in place. Something came barreling out of the dark with a scrabble of claws on the floor. Fig launched himself from somewhere with absolutely no sense of occasion, skittering on the floorboards in his frantic bid to reach her. She caught him, laughing breathlessly, burying her face briefly in his curls. The dog then transferred his attention to Coriolanus with equal enthusiasm, apparently harboring no grudge about the months of absence. Then the animal transferred itself entirely to him, paws on his knee, looking up with an expression of immediate and unconditional faith.

Coriolanus looked down at him.

The dog looked up at him.

He crouched and allowed it.

He crouched, because apparently that was happening, and let it sniff his hand and then his face when it decided to go further than invited. Its paws on his shoulders were slightly damp. It smelled like biscuits.

"He likes you," she noted, from where she was tugging off her shoes.

"He likes everyone."

"He really doesn't, actually." She stood, slightly wobbly, and padded toward her bedroom. "Fig hated my last boyfriend. Barked every time he came over."

"Good instincts."

She laughed from the other room.

He found a glass in the kitchen, filled it with water, found another and left both on her nightstand. She was sitting on the edge of her bed looking approximately forty percent asleep, her coat already discarded somewhere in the hallway. He picked it up on his way in and hung it over the chair in the corner.

"Here." He handed her the water.

She drank, obedient, looking up at him over the rim of the glass with those sleepy, soft eyes. The room was dim. One small lamp. She looked— he didn't finish the thought.

"Thank you," she mumbled sleepily, suddenly leaning into his chest and wrapping her arms around him loosely.

He hesitated, but cupped the back of her head and rested a gentle hand on her shoulderblades, just for a second. Her embrace brought in the cold air and the faint smell of something floral and sweet — her perfume mixed with whatever she'd been drinking.

"Lie down," he said.

She did, rolling sideways, and he pulled the blanket up over her with perhaps more care than was strictly necessary.

"Sleep," he murmured.

Mm." Her eyes were already closing. Fig circled three times at the foot of the bed and settled against her legs. "Coriolanus."

"What?"

She sighed, paused long enough that he thought she'd gone under.

"Don't go yet."

He stood there for a moment longer than he needed to.

The lamp made everything warm. She looked— she was—

He looked at her and the thing in his chest that he'd been pressing down for months sat there quietly, waiting to be named, and he refused. He refused, and he turned off the lamp, and he stood in the doorway for exactly one second.

Then he let himself out.

He sat in his car for eleven minutes.

He knew because he watched the clock without meaning to, the numbers cycling in the corner of his vision while he sat with his hands loose on the wheel and the engine off and the city doing its indifferent, glittering thing around him.

She'd asked him to stay. She'd asked him to come home with her in the car and he'd said no, and she'd apologized, I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, you're just so— and she'd looked at him with those drunk-honest eyes and he had stayed firm and unmoved and driven her home and carried her up the stairs and pulled her blanket up and it had been the right thing, it had absolutely been the right thing.

He started the engine and drove home through the gold-lit empty streets.

Did not sleep.

He went home, poured two fingers of something he didn't taste, sat at his desk with the trade proposal still open in front of him, and watched the city lighten incrementally from black to grey to the pale, reluctant gold of early Capitol morning.

At 5:30 he changed and went out.

He ran the Corso route. Six kilometers, the same circuit he'd run since coming home from his Peacekeeper days when his body had gotten used to the exertion. The city was quiet at this hour, just his security detail, the street cleaners and the early delivery vans and the occasional dog walker. He ran hard, fast enough to make his lungs work for it, and it helped him shut off his mind for at least forty minutes.

He'd been on a poster on this street. The infrastructure one. He passed the spot without meaning to — the column where it had been plastered, replaced now with something about the Spring Civic Festival — and his pace faltered for half a stride before he corrected it.

She'd rolled her eyes at it, probably, she hated his campaign. Told her friends she wasn't voting for him.

Then called him at 1AM because her friends were all with guys and the drinks were expensive and she wanted him specifically, for some cruel reason, to come get her.

He ran harder.

The gym was in the lower level of his building, private, nobody in it at this hour. He went through the routine mechanically — weights, then the bag, then weights again until his arms ached in that productive, emptying way. He was good at this. Discipline. Routine. Giving the body a problem it could actually solve.

He was not good at the other thing. The thing where someone tucked their head against his neck in a dimly lit hallway and said don't go yet and he stood there wanting to stay more than he'd wanted anything in recent memory.

He hit the bag.

She'd only reached out because she was drunk. That was the part he kept returning to, the part that sat worst. Sober, she kept the distance. Sober, she was careful, managed, aware of everything between them. It was only when her defenses went down that she reached for him. Which meant that reaching for him was something she was actively, consciously choosing not to do.

He couldn't blame her. He'd given her reasons.

He hit the bag again.

He thought about her waking up. Right about now, probably — the particular grey of early morning coming through her curtains, Fig shifting at the foot of the bed, that slow reluctant return to consciousness. He thought about the moment she'd piece it together. The shoes by the door. The water glasses. The blanket tucked. His name in her recent calls.

He wondered what she'd do with it. Whether she'd text. Whether she'd pretend it hadn't happened.

Probably the latter.

He wrapped his hands, started again.

He hadn't meant to come inside the bar either. He'd meant to wait outside, and then he'd pulled up and thought about her sitting alone on the street in a dress in the cold and had gotten out of the car instead.

He hadn't meant for any of it, if he was honest. Not the months of her. Not what she'd become in them. Not the fact that he'd sat outside her building for eleven minutes like some— like some—

He stopped.

Stood with his hands against the bag, breathing.

The gym was quiet. His reflection in the mirror across the room looked back at him, shirt dark with sweat, jaw set, and said nothing helpful.

He showered. Changed. Went back upstairs.

His phone was on the kitchen counter where he'd left it. He looked at it the way he looked at things he wasn't going to touch and then made coffee and stood at the window and watched the Capitol do its morning thing, all pale gold and pigeons and the distant sound of the city waking up.

He picked up the phone.

One notification. Her name.

He looked at it for a moment. Put the coffee down.

Opened it.

hi :) sorry for calling so late you really didn't have to come all the way out but i'm very glad you did

thank you for being very gentlemanly about everything lol. and fig thanks you too probably

are you busy this morning? do you want to get breakfast?

He read it twice.

Then a third time.

She'd woken up and pieced it together and her first instinct had been — this. An open door. Are you busy this morning. Like it was simple. Like she was choosing, clear-eyed and sober, in the morning light, to reach toward him.

The thing in his chest that he'd been refusing to name did something he was going to have to deal with eventually.

He typed back before he could think about it too hard.

I'm not busy.

Tigris lent him her quilt so that he wouldn't have to be ashamed of the poverty his family had fallen into since you were supposed to come to sleepover with him after the argument with your parents.

Cuddling up to your blonde boy, you tried to fall asleep, listening to his heartbeat. You frowned at the sound of it being a little faster than usual.

You lift your head and look at him carefully. His gaze is distant and thoughtful as he lazily draws patterns on your back as he presses you against his chest.

"Coryo?" you whisper, cupping his cheek in your hand tenderly and forcing those blue irises you have loved so much to look at you. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

He sighs long and presses a kiss on your forehead, the tip of his nose stroking your hair, as he is inhaling your scent. "I just... I just think about the fact that you deserve so much more. My grandma and Tigirs deserve much more than... this." he says with disgusting pointing at the room you were in.

"This..." you say, clasping your hands together and pressing a tender kiss to the back of his hand. "Is more than enough. You are all I need. And one day, when you are President of Panem or any other important figure in the Capitol, none of you will lack anything. This is a temporary state. You are too smart to be anything less than great, Coryo. You know it."

You see him hold back tears. He pushed your head onto his chest to rest his chin on your head. He is not crying. He almost never cries. But you know how close he is to it by the slight quiver in his breathing.

"I know I don't show it often enough... but you mean... everything to me. I can't imagine how I would go through these all without you by my side."

"I love you, Corio. Just promise me you won't forget this. What you went through, what you experienced. Don't forget your struggle. That's something you should never be ashamed of." he tenses at your words but leans in to kiss you passionately and hungrily. Putting all his unexpressed emotions into action and into that kiss that warmed you more than any blanket or radiator could ever.

"I promise. I will never forget how you kept me sane. When you were the only shelter I could go to and the only support that could bear the boundlessness of my troubles and doubts. How you were my only moonlight in the worst of my darknesses." you laugh softly, recognising part of his words.

"Quoting poets will get you nowhere, Coriolanus Snow." you say teasingly, rubbing your nose against him, at which he chuckles, licking his lips.

"Well... I've learned that in some situations, it gets me somewhere. And it's a very cold night tonight, don't you think? I can't let you freeze to death." he says as his hands go under your shirt—actually, his shirt that you stole from his closet.

"Well… I guess there's nothing left for me… but to place myself under your solicitous care." you sigh softly as he pins you underneath him, making sure the cocoon of blankets is still tightly wrapped around the two of you.

"I couldn't have said it better." he whispers and presses his lips against yours, stealing your breath countless times. He pulls away just a little to say against your lips, "You're mine. We belong together. No matter what."

He makes you shiver as you eagerly agree to everything he says. You don't realise how, in the future, you will curse every single intimate, sweet moment you shared with him.

Ironically, you realise how deep he has gotten under your skin the moment he returns to the Capitol, and you have to avoid him, not when he is sent into exile.

It was probably because when he was gone, you were too distraught to bother leaving your room, opening the blinds, or wiping the tears that somehow kept leaking from your eyes to notice how almost every place reminded you of him. If you could, you'd go back in time and tell yourself there's no point in crying over the asshole he's become.

Although maybe you already felt that your Corio was leaving, and it was a way of mourning him?

Anyway, you saw him everywhere. Not Coriolanus. Coryo. He stalked you in the library, the park, the cafe near the academy that you two and Sejanus liked to go to, and of course the Academy itself. Kudos to your parents for not letting him into your house. At least he didn't pollute your room with memories of him.

Involuntarily, you wonder if he also sees you, for example, in every corner of his apartment. Or maybe he renovated it beyond recognition to erase all traces of his past?

You didn't know.

And you didn't want to know.

The information about him that Tigris gave you when you met her at your house when Coriolanus was at the university for classes was sufficient.

Just because it didn't work out with her cousin didn't mean you would abandon your only real friend. And just because things didn't work out with her cousin didn't mean she would stop (more or less subtly) encouraging you to go back to him.

"We talked about you." she says, making adjustments to your dress that she made for your birthday party thrown by your parents. Another one of the unpleasant responsibilities.

"You and your grandma?" you ask, trying to avoid HIM as a topic as much as possible.

"No. Me and Coriolanus." she says, pinning something to your waist—some decorative strip of fabric or something—you're not sure; you're too focused on the window and the bustling city as you are trying to ignore her words. "You know… I think… I think I saw in his eyes… the old Coryo. For a brief moment, but… maybe if you came back to him, he would come back to himself too."

"I'm sorry, Tigris, but I think he went too far on his path to simply go back to who he was. Surely not because of me."

"I understand… I just really miss him." she says it in a soft, broken tone, and your heart breaks at it. You hug her with all your strength, uniting with her pain that you also felt so deeply.

"Me too." you whisper in her ear as she cries into your shoulder.

Tigris was a very strong woman. She always impressed you. You wanted to be as strong as her. But even the toughest had to cry sometimes.

After all, there comes a time when even the snow melts... even if only for a little while.

You held him tightly in your arms as Corio cried into your chest.

His grandmother fell ill. Hard. Without a doctor, she definitely wouldn't be able to get out of this on her own, and they didn't have the money to pay for one, let alone the medicines.

Your boyfriend spent the whole day planning, thinking, and getting any money, but it was not enough even to buy the cheapest antibiotic.

However, you didn't expect that after you found out it all from Tigris and ran to him as fast as you could with the chicken soup prepared by your servants and all your pocket money, he would start crying.

Coriolanus Snow cried like a little baby.

You handed the money and soup to Tigris, who, after feeding up their grandma, quickly ran out with her to the doctor. At that time, you were holding your boyfriend in your arms in the other room, who simply fell apart from his helplessness.

"Shh… it's going to be okay, Coryo. She will live, falsify that stupid hymn and hate me for not being enough for you just as she used to." your attempt to comfort him didn't help. If anything, he only cried more, holding onto you tighter and tighter.

"I should be able to take care of them... I should be the one taking care of you, not the other way around. I'm pathetic and weak. I'm not worthy of being called Snow."

"Hey, my sweet boy, look at me. You are strong. You are the strongest man I know. You are looking after me all the time; you literally give me everything you have, the last piece of your food, to keep me happy, safe, and full when I forget to bring a damn second breakfast from home or don't have time to eat something. You love me, and I love you, and that's how it works. We care about each other. And I have never, ever regretted being with you. Because what we have… is more valuable than anything else in this world. I trust you implicitly, and I will always be by your side. You are not alone with your problems and suffering. Not as long as I am here."

"But for how long will you stay? For how long will you endure with me?" he asks, and after one look at those a little red from crying, beautiful blue iris, you answer without a shadow of hesitation.

"As long as you love me and I can trust you. As long as I breathe. As long as I am in your mind and heart. I am not going anywhere, Coryo. Money can be earned, but what we have... you can't buy it. What I feel for you is more dear to me than any treasure in this world and I will never exchange it for anything else." you promise, stroking his hair tenderly to help him calm down.

You should've then wondered why he doesn't agree with you then. Why doesn't he say that he also feels this way and that he also values you more than money, glory, and honours?

But he blinds you by telling you for the first time that he loves you.

And you cling to him, wiping the tears from his face with your lips and foolishly believing that your love is pure and eternal.

Like a driven snow.

You knew this day would come someday. The day you let your guard down. But you hoped it would take a little longer before you came face-to-face with Coriolanus.

You are completely unprepared for this. You just freeze like a deer in headlights when you see his face at the end of one of the university's corridors as he walks forward, looking for something in his bag. Before you can even think about running away, he looks up, probably feeling watched, and his blue, icy eyes meet yours.

You both stand there transfixed, looking at each other, taking in the changes in your appearance since the last time you saw each other, which was after you broke up with him, when you saw how tenderly he treated Lucy Gray and how comfortable he was around her. And after someone politely informed you that he had kissed her.

"Y/N!" Coriolanus calls out to you and takes a step towards you, but you quickly step back and run through the crowd of people to get away from him. Unfortunately for you, he doesn't give up that easily. He never does. "Y/N! Wait!"

You have no intention of doing so. You run as fast as you can, bumping into several students along the way. You don't even bother apologising; you just run, hoping that Snow will stop being hot on your heels. Which, by the way, was a miserable dream after how fit he was after his training and the time he spent as a peacekeeper.

On the way, you notice a woman's bathroom and immediately run into it. You lock yourself in a cabin, thanking God or whoever is up that you managed to get an empty cabin and hide in it. You hear his quick footsteps and the door opening, followed by the screams of other women in the bathroom. You sigh in relief as you hear him obediently leave the room.

You're not leaving, though. You are not stupid. You know he's waiting at the door for you to come out. You decide to wait here until the end of the break between classes and hope that he will drop the idea of continuing to chase you and talk to you, and he will attend the lecture instead.

As the bathroom begins to empty, you realise that the next lectures must be soon. You stand silently on the toilet seat, listening carefully, waiting for the right moment to emerge from your miserable hiding place.

Just as you are about to reach for the doorknob, the bathroom door opens. You shiver as you hear heavy footsteps echoing off the tiles of the empty bathroom. And you think that you can smell the subtle scent of roses in the air.

"Come on, Y/N. I know you're here. I just want to talk."

Said the snake moments before eating the bird alive.—you think, mentally mocking how gentle he was trying to present himself. As if he could still be your Coryo.

"I have time. I can play hide-and-seek with you, if you want to. After all, you always liked to play this when we were kids. And you always lost."

You roll your eyes, listening carefully to his footsteps. He was opening the first cabin. You were in the middle one—the one a little closer to the door (and him).

"We'll have to talk eventually. You can't avoid me and ignore me, no matter how good you are at it lately. Let's stop this ridiculous, childish behaviour and go talk over coffee and some of your favourite cookies at the cafe near the academy. Just like the good old days. Well, this time all your orders are on me. What do you say?"

You would have snorted if it hadn't immediately revealed your hiding place to him. How dare he invite you to the place where you, he, and Sejanus spent the most time? To the place where your first unofficial date was.

He wanted to manipulate you, to make you believe that your Corio is still there and lives behind the façade of the rich, arrogant asshole he has become. But you knew better. His eyes told you everything you needed to know.

Even without Tigris' help, you realised that he... was a completely different person. He turned into somebody you only used to know in the past.

"Seriously? Still nothing? So you prefer the hard way, then..." he says, opening another cabin. You wait patiently for him to come to yours.

You breathe as quietly as you can, trying not to let him know which cabin you're in. You listen to his slow, measured steps as, with the incredible confidence and calm that is typical of him, he opens each cabin door, moving inexorably towards you.

Your heart quickens, beating madly, when you see his shoes in the whole, under the cabin's door. He reaches for the door handle, and before he can open it, you push the door against him with all your strength.

You hear him curse, taking a few steps back in a daze and holding his nose. You take the opportunity and run to the exit of the bathroom as fast as you can, not looking back.

"Fuck! Y/N! Are you insane?!" he shouts, running after you.

You reach the door just in time and slam it behind you, sprinting out of the university. You get in your car and drive away with your tyres screeching. In the rearview mirror, you see him leaving the building and following your car with a furious glare.

"I can't believe you invited Snow." you huff, fixing your makeup in the mirror. Your father is buttoning his cuffs, and your mother stands next to you, also putting the finishing touches on her appearance. "You hated him when we were together."

"He is an ambitious and clever boy. Plinth did well to make him his heir. You should reconsider whether he really is that bad. This match would have opened many doors for us. Not only among Plinth's allies but also among Dr. Gaul. God knows how she favours this boy. Who knows? Maybe one day he will be president of Panem."

"If so, I will run away abroad." you say it bitterly, putting your lipstick back in your purse and adjusting the necklace around your neck to make yourself look perfect.

"Don't be stupid. Snow wouldn't be so bad for you. Since you are our only child, we must marry you well. Make sure your husband doesn't blow our fortune in a week. And Snow is a thoughtful boy. He wouldn't let you live below the poverty line."

"And he's quite handsome." your mother adds, straightening your father's tie. "Still, he's not a womaniser. I heard he turned down the... special attention of Crane's daughter and a few other Capitol's girls. I guess he's been alone since your breakup."

"Hmm. Great. He wouldn't cheat on me with other snobs in the capital, but he would fuck with whores in the district. The perfect candidate for a husband." you scoff, walking with them to the next room, where the photographers were waiting to take a photo of you together.

“Language, Y/N. You are a lady. Besides, it is not certain whether he and this Lucy Gray actually had something between them. After all, she's a woman from the district.” your mom says this, smiling for the cameras.

The flashes blind you a little, but with your father's and mother's hands on your shoulders, you somehow manage to keep your pose, fake, pretty smile, and opened eyes.

Your father thanks them and leads you out of the room and into the corridor leading to the great hall where the ball was to be held.

"And even if he did, it's good that he had some fun. It will make him appreciate the treasure that you are and see that you are irreplaceable." he says, taking the box out of his pocket. He hands it to you with a warm smile. "Happy birthday, my treasure."

"We've already given her..." your father shushes your mother. You send them a confused look as you open the medium-sized box.

You find a tiara there. A small diamond tiara.

"It will match your dress perfectly." your father says proudly. You nod and walk to the mirror to put it on, despising the object in your hands with all your heart. You may look like a princess, but you've never felt so... disgusted with yourself before.

This feeling intensified even more when, after a toast and receiving wishes from several of your friends and more powerful families, you managed to sneak out to the balcony. Not long after you, all the single, young men of the richest family on the Capitol entered, with Coriolanus among them. They each took a cigarette and started smoking, gossiping about the events of the week…

And their topic of conversation was exactly what you were afraid of when you got that fucking tiara.

"Have you seen this? I bet they're pure diamonds. Old Y/L/N wants to marry her off so much that he's using every trick possible."

"He doesn't need to do much. She is beautiful in her own right. But this character… it's easier to train a dog than such a stubborn cow."

"What Snow? Are you now regretting that the Capitol's Diamond slipped from your hands? I heard she wants nothing to do with you. How unfortunate that it happened at the moment when you started to count in the eyes of the elite, and now you really have any chance of grabbing this precious gem for yourself."

The Capitol's Diamond. You shudder, thinking about the nickname you've been given.

That's what they called you. The sole heiress to your parents' fortune. Diamond of the Capitol, the best match in the city, with a dowry greater than any other woman. Anyone who won your hand was guaranteed to reach the top and success with your family's connections, your charm, beauty, and brain. And these vultures knew it perfectly well.

You were curious how the new Coriolanus would react.

Your Coryo only took advantage of your position in society when he had to. He didn't ask you for money or for you to convince your father to whisper a good word about him here and there. Maybe it was because of his pride; maybe he really didn't care. You have no idea. But Coryo despised that term as much as you did. You wondered if that had changed as well.

"I'm still in the game." he replies evasively, sipping his drink. The others laugh and he frowns in displeasure.

"Sure. Because the way she ran away from you today when you approached her with a gift says exactly that." they mock him. You see him clench his jaw, glaring at them coldly as he considers his next move.

"Enjoy it while you can. Your good mood will end when our cat-and-mouse game is over and the Capitol's Diamond hangs proudly on my shoulder." you huff, shaking your head in disbelief. You come out of hiding, and all the men on the balcony tense up and look at you in surprise.

Especially Coriolanus. Suddenly everyone is staring intently at the garden of your estate, too shy to look at you. Except Snow. He drills a hole into you with his gaze as he thinks of a way to undo what he said.

"Gentlemen." you scoff, walking past them and ignoring Coriolanus' glare. "For your information, I would rather live in one of the districts than marry any of you. Enjoy the party." you add sweetly, walking back to the ballroom.

The party is in full swing. You are talking to Thomas, using a sweet boy in a shameful way—to scare other men away from you. Just as you expected, they started flocking to you like flies to a fire.

So you chose the least spoiled of them. Thomas was nice and funny; you had a good time talking to him, and dancing with him was even better.

He wasn't rich; he wasn't part of the cream of society. You were really starting to enjoy spending time with him. And most importantly... he looked nothing like Coriolanus. He was nice for the eyes, but his dark hair, eyes, and sweet, shy personality made him drastically different from your ex. So he was the perfect break from your dramatic love life. Boring, nice change.

You danced to a waltz with him. He held you gently, close but respectful, not invading your personal space. He was a perfect gentleman. The man of your dreams.

If only Coriolanus' icy eyes weren't focused on both of you like a predator waiting for its prey to stumble, you would be able to enjoy Thomas' company to the fullest.

You are with him at the buffet, sipping drinks, when suddenly the last person you expected to meet here approaches you.

"Mrs. Plinth." you whisper in shock as he stands in front of you.

She looks—probably the way she feels. Nice on the outside and devastated on the inside. The dark circles under her eyes cannot be fully covered by makeup, and the deep black of her dress is a clear reminder of what she is still going through.

You can't imagine the pain he's going through right now. And you wonder why the woman decided to join her husband for your birthday party. Since Sejanus' death, she has rarely left their apartment.

"Y/N. Can I steal you from this young man for a moment?"

"Of course." you say, not even looking in Thomas' direction as you and Mrs. Plinth walk to one of the empty living rooms in your mansion. You close the door behind her and point to the couch. "Can I get you something to drink? Or to eat?"

"No. There is no need, darling. I just… I just came here to give you something." she says, pulling a thick letter out of her purse. "I… the letters from Sejanus are still reaching us. The flow of information between the districts and the Capitol is… very heavy and long. Especially when the peacekeepers are now checking every one of his correspondence. He sent it to you. Or rather, he wanted you to send it to him. Or rather, he wanted you to have it, just in case he couldn't… I'm sorry."

Your heart aches with sadness, seeing her on the verge of tears. She probably has no one to talk to about her son except her husband. After all, Sejanus was a traitor of Panem…

"He was a wonderful friend. The best one somebody could have. I could always count on him. Thank you for... taking the trouble to give me a letter from him. That... means a lot." you say, fighting the urge to hug the woman. The Capitol is not famous for acts of tenderness, mercy, or compassion. You had to keep up a facade. Always.

You take the letter from her and walk her to the exit. You give her one sympathetic look—everything you could afford in your position—and close the door behind her.

You sit on the couch and open the letter with trembling hands, trying not to look too closely at the way he wrote your name on the envelope. You know that will remind you of how you taught him how to decorate letters in his first days at the Capitol. Because everything here had to be perfectly beautiful. Even the fucking handwriting.

A bracelet falls out of the envelope and onto your lap. It is not particularly beautiful or sumptuous. It is a simple strap holding a peg-shaped pendant with some black, crushed stone placed behind a piece of glass.

You place it on the coffee table and open the letter with trembling hands. You already feel that after all this you will have to fix your makeup, which you will probably ruin with tears, but Sej's letter cannot wait until the end of the party.

Y/N, If you are somehow reading this letter, it means that I am not at your 20th birthday party, which makes me very sad. (You know how I love celebrating in your garden away from these Capitol's snobs.) Coming back, you know that I wish you all the best (along with Coryo. He's too big of a stick up his ass to write to you, even though he misses you and can't stop thinking about you. Take pity on me and write to this stubborn idiot, because I don't think I can stand another tirade about you and your perfection. Seriously. Our boy is getting mad because of this despair. I don't recognise him at all.) So, my dear friend, I wish you the best. I don't have any trinkets, interesting books, sweets, or anything suitable as a gift here, so I hope you'll be satisfied with what I came up with. I am not a poet, so don't laugh at me. I shall hear... or not. I made the bracelet, which you've probably already seen, myself. And that stone that is inside (and I hope it survived) is coal. I wanted to give this to you as a symbol of who you are to me. Everyone sees you as a diamond, something precious and beautiful. But for me and probably other people close to you, you are something more. This shiny diamond facade hides carbon. A simple coal, an ordinary soul like many others. But you made something more out of that ordinary coal. You are a diamond. Indestructible, the most durable of all. The purest form, preserved among the other gems and stones of the Capitol, because that's what all these power-hungry assholes are—coals that have decided not to change, to choose what is easy for them. I hope now you can see why I liked that nickname for you, diamond. So I hope you always stay true to yourself. No matter what. That's what I learned here, and I want to pass it on to you. Although I hope that by then the three of us will meet again in the Capitol. Do not wait for us both, Sejanus P.S. I miss you too.

You fold the letter and put it back in the envelope. You wipe away the tears that remain on your cheeks with your hands and take a few ragged breaths, trying to calm down.

You freeze when suddenly someone's arms wrap around you. The scent of roses hits your nostrils.

You get up from the couch like you've been burned and push Coriolanus' arms away from you. The feeling of sadness quickly turns to anger and pure fury as you stare at Snow.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you growl through a clenched jaw, extremely glad that there's a couch between you, or you'd hit him. And it was easier for you to explain your tears and smeared makeup than your red knuckles.

"Sweet, kind Plinth, giving you thoughtful gifts from beyond the grave. You love the dead Sejanus so much and ignore the living me. It must be hypocrisy on your part, don't you think? You accuse me of forgetting about Sejanus when you treat me so shamefully, worse than a dog. Should I die so that you can finally stop giving me the silent treatment and running away from me?"

"Believe me, you don't want to hear what I have to say to you." you huff, taking the bracelet and the letter. You hide them in the bodice of your dress and go to the mirror to fix your smudged makeup.

"You do not have to do that. Your boy isn't at the party anymore anyway." he says, standing so that you can see his reflection in the mirror.

"What?" you ask in surprise, turning to face him. You both stare at each other. In fact, you're only now getting a chance to take a good look at him. And you notice with dissatisfaction that the bastard found out from Tigris what your dress would look like, and he chose a suite so that both of you would match. "Where is Thomas?"

"Your little boy toy? Do you think he's enough of a distraction? That he can replace me? That he'll make you feel what I feel? Maby, that he can even protect you from me? Only I know you. I'm the only one worthy of your fucking attention and affection." you push past him, but he grabs your elbow.

"Touch me again and I'll cut off your hand and shove it down your throat." you growl, breaking away from his grip.

"Such aggression… I don't remember you from this side." he mocks you and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You step away from him and cross your arms, staring at him defiantly.

"I will ask you one last time. Where is Thomas?"

"Let's just say that your mother and I caught him stealing your jewelry. We were merciful enough to solve the matter quietly. You will never see that garbage on the ball or any gala again. Certainly not on yours."

"Were you the one who framed him for this?" his silence and the calculating, self-proud look of the cat that caught the canary (or, in this case, the snake that choked the mouse) tell you everything. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" you ask furiously.

You want to move past him, but he pushes you back, making you bump into the wall. He closes the gap between you in one step, pressing his chest against yours.

"You're mine. You've always been. You shouldn't lead this loser on or give him false hopes. We both know we will end up together."

"I broke up with you." you remind him, not caring about his intimidating attitude.

"A mistake I intend to fix." he says, leaning towards you.

His nose brushes against yours, and you shiver. You lift your leg, trying to kick him in the groyne, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees your sudden movement and grabs your thigh in a tight grip. If it weren't for the thick layers of material, he would probably leave bruises.

"You... you have nothing to fix. There is no longer us. I don't even know you anymore, Coriolanus."

"Don't." he growls at you angrily. You can see the desperation and madness in his eyes at the fact that you're using his name and that you wrote off your relationship. "It was always you. You were always mine, Y/N, and I was always your Coryo."

"Things are changing quickly. We are not the same, and now we have nothing in common, nothing to talk about."

"We have EVRYTHING to talk about. I still love.."

"DON'T!" you interrupt him. He freezes. You rarely shout, especially at him. That's why he takes a step back before putting on his impassive mask again. "Don't even say that. You have no idea what love is. Sure, you may feel attached and even desire me at some point, but you have no idea of unconditional, true love. So for old time's sake, leave me alone."

"What about you? Do you think you are so holy and blameless? That I'm the only bad guy? You lied to me. You promised you would stay with me, no matter what."

"I promised it to my Coryo. Not to you, Coriolanus. My Coryo died in District 12 with Sejanus—maybe even in the Hunger Games—when you let Dr. Gaul brainwash you in the name of fame, money, and position. You think that old hag didn't tell me why Sejanus is dead? That I don't know that your songbird has disappeared? That I would believe that Highbottom just got high or drank himself to death?" he clenches his jaw and fists at your words. You can see how furious he is, but he holds back, still controlling himself.

"Everything I did, I did for us. For you. For Tigris and Grandma." you laugh, wondering who he's trying to fool—himself, you, or both of you at the same time.

"No. You're doing it for yourself. Only for yourself, Coriolanus." he gets even more angry and pins you to the wall again. His cool blue eyes are raging with rage, and you try hard to push away the feeling of fear he has stirred in you.

"Do you want a reason to hate me? So you and Tigris can still gossip about my madness? Then maybe I should let this old man pursue her and sell her as a wife to one of them for good money."

"KEEP HER OUT OF IT! It's Tigris, Coriolanus! Tigris! The woman whose sacrifice you owe your entire fucking life to! A woman who went out of her way to give your ungrateful, selfish ass something to wear. Who sacrificed the love of her life in the name of maintaining the façade of Snow's wealth?! You can give a damn about me, Sejan, and even that little songbird of yours, but if you fucking ruin the life of your cousin—the only goddamn person who still cares about you—I promise you, in memory of OUR dead friend, that there won't be a fucking hole where you could hide from me."

You stare daggers at each other, both openly expressing your resentment towards the other. You have no idea why he still cares about you—is it because of your money, position, or some sick fantasy he has in his head, or maybe he actually still cares about you?

You don't think about it when a more important issue arises.

Suddenly, he grabs your face in both hands and pulls you towards him, greedily kissing you as he connects your lips after a very long time of separation. He caresses your lips with his and kisses you with such fervour as if he craves you like a hermit starving for water.

And for a moment, you feel like you were with Coryo, when all that mattered to you was the other one, when you could get lost in each other, forgetting about the rest of the world and the worries that were waiting for you.

And that's exactly what he's doing now. He makes you forget about anything but him.

You can't help but moan into his mouth as he presses his body against yours. When he releases his strong grip on your cheeks to grab you around your waist and press you against his body, his leg is between yours.

He kisses you more hungrily, groaning too at the familiar warmth of your body against him and the feeling of your soft, silky skin pressing against him. The scent of your perfume mixes, creating a perfect combination of roses and your favourite flowers. Your hands automatically go to his hair as you hold on to him and press him to you. You don't like the gel on your hands from his hair, but you ignore this new, irritating feeling by biting his lip.

You don't think at all. As well as Coriolanus. You both just kiss each other, your tongues joining, as you both let your desire for one another take control of the situation.

You only come to your senses when your lips break apart. You gasp, trying to breathe again, as he fucks your exposed collarbones with kisses. Your brain comes back to you as he leaves a hickey on your neck. He bites you, making you moan so needily that a wave of shame washes over you with his tongue, soothing the bite. You push him away from you and place your hand on your chest, trying to regain control over yourself.

"See? We belong together. There is no other way, Y/N. We are all we need."

"Bullshit." you gasp, trying to ignore the possessive, smug feeling blooming in your chest when you see his messy hair and your lipstick smeared on his lips. "Since you are that good in losing your memory, then forget about me too."

"I can't. I just can't. You think I haven't tried? That you don't haunt me every damn step I take? Everything I have and everything I know is saturated with you. With the memory of both of us. I forgot about what I had with that songbird and my friendship with Sejanus, but I simply CAN'T forget about you. I haven't spent a single damn day without thinking about you. NOT EVEN ONE. And I know you felt the same way. Do you know why I didn't kill that stupid boy who was clinging to you? Because I knew it would make you hate me even more. I was alone without you at 12, and you know how it ended. You are my conscience. Without you... there's nothing holding me back. Without you, there is nothing to distinguish me from the Hunger Games tributes. I have no borders, mercy, compassion, or anything that makes people human beings. And Gaul knows it. That's why she told you all of my crimes; that's why you're paranoid now that I'm someone completely different. But it's still me. I. Am. Still. Your. Coryo." he says it firmly, taking a step closer to you with each word.

"Don't turn me into a fucking cricket for your Pinocchio. I am not, and I do not want to be your conscience. I will not take part in your lies, games, and manipulations." you say as you both stare at each other, neither of you wanting to concede to the other in any way.

"I will have you. One way or another, but I will. Even if it is the last thing I do, I will have you by my side. Just where you always belonged. I promised you to be my First Lady. And I intend to keep that promise."

"You must become president first. And believe me, I will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening. Maybe you can't forget about me. But I can. I do not need you. I never needed you. How ironic to be able to lose the memories of everyone except the girl who will be the end of you, isn't it, CORIOLANUS?" you mock him, a smirk on your lips, making him a promise.

You walk past him, and this time he lets you go, knowing full well that he won't do anything more with you today. At least he got his kiss and a little taste of you, a reminder of the reward that awaits him when everything finally falls into place. When he finally has you in his arms and is at the top of Panem—his rightful place.

"The game has just begun!" he shouts after you, staring at you as you head towards the bathroom to touch up your ruined makeup. It gives you satisfaction to think that this bastard will probably have to clean himself up after your little make-out session, too.

You think that maybe Gaul was right about the Hunger Games being the whole world. But the reality was that there could only be ONE winner.

And among the people of the Capitol, only you and Coriolanus had a real chance of winning. It has always been like that. And even lost memories that do not want to go away so easily are proof of this.