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Coriolanus Snow wasn’t one to feel anxious. The feeling of the uneven flutter of his heart is a foreign one as he forces his feet to move one in front of the other.

He strides down the corridor toward the hospital wing alongside a peacekeeper, matching his measured pace.

The pit in his stomach grew as the pair neared the doors. He hadn’t seen Clemensia since the accident, but he had lived it over and over in his mind: her strangled scream, the sickening way the color had drained from her face, her small frame fallen on the cold tile...

And after. Her body limp on the stretcher, the stillness so absolute he had believed, for a terrible moment, that she was gone.

His poor Clemmie…

The thought coiled in his chest, sharp and suffocating. He told himself it was sympathy, but another voice whispered that it was guilt. And he couldn’t silence it.

It’s loud and stormy in his head until the hinges creak as the doors swing open, snapping him from the memory.

The room struck him as cold. White walls, gray tiles, the faint tang of antiseptic and metal filling his nose.

And there she was. Impossible to miss. Her long, black hair he always admired spilled over the pillow like a dark river against the white sheets. A jarring contrast that made her look more fragile, more breakable.

Coriolanus’s breath caught sharply. Relief surged first, that she was still here, still breathing, but it tangled with guilt and dread until he could hardly sort one from the other. He felt hollow, unsettled, as if the walls themselves were leaning in, waiting to see whether he would confess or keep his silence.

He lingered in the doorway, his throat too tight to speak. For a long moment he could only stare at her, taking in the shallow rise and fall of her chest beneath the stiff hospital blanket. She looked so small there, swallowed by white sheets and metal rails. Nothing like the girl who had marched beside him, arm linked with his and a proud tilt of her chin.

Her eyes fluttered open, lashes trembling against pale, once rouge colored cheeks. She turned her head weakly.

“Coryo?” she whispers.

He sucks in a breath as she opens her eyes, revealing a yellow hue to them. Peeking out from the simple cotton gown by her collarbone, dry skin and scales?

He doesn’t ask. Keeps his expression neutral, if not soft as he takes her in.

Despite it all, she remains the prettiest girl he’s seen.

Still wordless, he stepped quickly to her side, pulling the chair closer. The scrape of its legs felt loud and too tentative in the quiet of the hospital room.

“Coryo…” she says again, and the sound of his name on her lips nearly unravels him.

“I’m here,” he piped up, leaning closer, as though proximity could somehow protect her. “I came as soon as they’d let me.”

“I thought…maybe you wouldn’t…” she trails off.

That stung a little. He pressed his mouth into a thin line, trying to find steadiness. “Of course I would. Don’t think that…”

But could he blame her? Snow wasn’t warm, exactly. Not to most people.

For a while, neither spoke. The monitor’s steady beep filled the silence, and the fluorescent lights hummed faintly above them.

Then he reached out, and rested a cautious hand lightly over hers.

Clemensia’s gaze lingered on him with unusual intensity, as though she were weighing something behind her pain. Finally, her voice broke the stillness.

“Why?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Why what?”

Her eyes were dulled from all the medicine, but he knew that look. “Why did you go along with the lie? To Dr. Gaul. You didn’t have to.”

He pursed his lips and shifted slightly, tightening his hold on her hand.

“Because…” he shrugs before he can even think of an answer. “We’re partners, Clemmie. Friends,” — he gulps — “I mean, I didn’t think twice about it. But if I’d known…” he falters.

“We should’ve been honest from the beginning. I should have been honest…” Clemensia adds.

Something inside him twisted. She wasn’t wrong, but honesty had never been a luxury he could afford. Not with Gaul. Not with the Academy. Not with life itself breathing down his neck.

Fake smiles. Fake friends. Upcycled clothing he passed off as new. So much pretending, it was exhausting.

He forced a small, rueful smile instead. “Maybe,” he said softly. His thumb brushed against her knuckles in a gesture he didn’t quite recognize as his own. “But that doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that you’re okay…aren’t you?”

He wanted to add you matter to me, but the words clung stubbornly to the back of his throat.

“I will be…” Clemensia murmurs.

Her eyes softened, glassy with something between gratitude and disbelief.

“I just…” she sighs tiredly, her eyelids drooping with the weight of exhaustion. She fought it, but her body betrayed her.

“Rest,” he whispered. “You need it.”

Her fingers curled faintly against his, the smallest gesture of trust, and he felt his chest tighten.

“Will you stay with me?” she asks, and how could he say no?

He should have pulled away. Should have left her to recover in peace. But he didn’t. He sat there, holding her hand, watching her breathing even out.

When she finally relaxed completely and her features softened, it put Coriolanus somewhat at ease.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling.

Despite the guilt gnawing at him, he could not deny the warmth that lingered in his chest, something dangerously close to longing, as he sat by her side.

Coriolanus stayed rooted in the chair long after Clemensia had fallen asleep. His hand still lay loosely over hers, his thumb resting against her knuckles. He was afraid to move it, to wake her up.

He told himself he should leave. That it’s okay to, now that she’s fallen asleep. It’d be smart to slip out before someone noticed he had lingered too long…

Instead, he let the quiet settle around him. The antiseptic tang in the air dulled with time, the hum of the lights faded into a backdrop, and his own body began to betray him with sleep.

His eyes grew heavy, lids fluttering despite his effort to keep them open. He told himself he would only rest them for a moment, just enough to steady his thoughts. But then the darkness pulled him under.

-

“Visiting hours are over.”

Two peacekeepers stood at his side, one having nudged him awake.

Coriolanus straightened immediately, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights. His neck ached from the angle he had slept in, and he rubbed it quickly as though to mask his disorientation.

“Yes, of course,” he murmured, careful to keep his tone respectful.

He glanced back at Clemensia — still asleep, her face pale but serene. He wished they’d let him keep sleeping. At least that way he wouldn’t be so aware of his chest aching.

He stood, smoothing his uniform, forcing his face into indifferent detachment.

The peacekeepers walked him through the corridor swiftly, and the door shut behind him with a soft click.

He drew in a breath, preparing himself for the walk back his apartment, only to find a figure already waiting in the shadowed bend of the hallway.

Dr. Gaul.

She smiled wide, and the gleam in her mismatched eyes robbed the air from his lungs.

“Well,” she said lightly, drawing out the word. “How’s dear Clemensia doing? Still among the living, I hope?”

Coriolanus froze at the phrasing, his eyebrows and lips twitching, but he keeps a neutral expression. “She’s… resting. The doctors say she’ll recover,” he says firmly.

“And you?” Gaul tilted her head. “How are you feeling, my boy? You look…tired.”

His throat tightened. She wasn’t asking out of care. She never did. This was a test, as was everything with her.

“I’ll manage,” he said finally, his voice low, careful.

“Mm. That’s good. You see, sometimes the body learns the hardest lessons better than the mind does…” she starts.

“Poor Clemensia has learned something very important, don’t you think? About truth…and consequences.”

Her words slid under her skin like ice. He felt his jaw tighten, but he lowered his gaze, hiding the flicker of anger that threatened to show. “Yes, Doctor.”

“Good,” she reached out, brushing her fingers over his sleeve with faux affection. “I only hope you learned it too. Lies, Mr. Snow, are venomous things. They always bite back.”

Coriolanus heard blood rushing in his ears, a sense of panic flooding over him.

It was no accident, and he knew that, but facing Dr. Gaul rattled him like he never had been before.

Anger replaces the anxiety and guilt. What if Clemensia hadn’t made it? Was she serving as Dr. Gaul’s guinea pig? Was there ever certainty she’d survive? He feels dizzy.