HEART OF GOLD | CORIOLANUS SNOW

𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 61

As Lilith stared at him, sheet-white and dumbfounded, Coriolanus forced himself to hold her gaze, forced his face to remain devoid of expression. It was a lot more work than he had predicted.

He knew she would come. (His confidence certainly had not wavered in the past quarter of an hour. No, not even when it had been the longest quarter of an hour of his life. No. Not. Even. Once.) He knew she would try to apologize. He knew she would try to make amends, try to redeem herself. But what was the point?

Apologies didn't solve problems.

She could be sorry all she wanted, and still, that wouldn't give her the power to rewrite the past. She would never be able to undo that night, never be able to take back what she'd revealed to him, so apparently subconsciously he had to wonder if she was even aware. He would never be able to unsee the despondency that flickered in her eyes when she had, with commendable casualness, proclaimed that boys didn't date girls because they were smart. He would never be able to unhear the hope that tinged her voice when she had, with all due skepticism, challenged him on his choice between smart and pretty.

She could be sorry all she wanted, and still, he would never forgive her.

It should have been a piece of cake to stare her down, to relish in her misery. If she wasn't so bloody bloodless she was the embodiment of a ghost. If she wasn't wearing a damned rainbow sweater.

Of all the days she could have worn the striped, pastel, furry thing covered in hearts...

Why did everything have to be so difficult for him? He would have been happy just to forget the whole incident, to forget that it was his moment of impulse that had led him down this rabbit hole. Why couldn't he have just sent her home and be done? What she did there, what she ate, whether it was nothing or even that deplorable sandwich, was her business, not his. But no. He had gone and made it his business, and for what? All because a part of him had something to prove? All because a simple sound had inflamed the part of him that had been deprived for so many years?

It could not resist putting her in her place. It could not let go of the chance to remind her that someone of her station did not get to go hungry, would not go hungry—not with him around. As if ensuring one girl was well-fed could change the fact that he had once almost starved to death.

Coriolanus wished he could erase those bleak, torturous days. He wished he could erase last night and all it represented. And really, how hard was it? It wasn't like videographic proof had been disseminated all across the country. If something of that scale could be hushed up, he saw no reason he, the best and brightest humanity had to offer, could not put this to bed.

When Lilith opened her mouth, surely to insist upon throwing herself on his mercy given her thoroughly wretched expression, Coriolanus had his retort ready. He was ready—until she surprised him.

"Do I still thank you for dessert, then?"

It was more of a squeak than a question. It was her turn to look innocent. Although, she also looked apprehensive, as if utterly afraid she had overstepped. Coriolanus had to admit: He was impressed. This girl had more sense than he ever gave her credit for. Furthermore, she seemed to have finally developed a sense of humour. He allowed himself a small smile.

"You liked it?"

She nodded, the corner of her lip twitching up shyly.

"I did, sir. It was lovely. Thank you."

The significance crammed into her last two words was not lost on Coriolanus. Delivered with eye contact and more sincerity and remorse than she had ever displayed, which was saying a lot, the expression of gratitude no doubt extended beyond a cup of burnt cream.