HEART OF GOLD | CORIOLANUS SNOW

𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 118

There were few better places to drink than King's if you wanted company. Or the illusion of company.

Drinking alone in a private room on a Friday night was both more and less pathetic than drinking alone at the bar on a Friday night. The latter meant you had the money but not the girl. The former meant you really had the money and still didn't have the girl—and didn't want people to know.

Coriolanus wasn't alone. He wouldn't be, as soon as Festus got here. He tried to be understanding toward his best friend's tardiness: He was a father. Babies were unpredictable; little Maia seemed to have caught a flu. His wife was hormonal, albeit not as hormonal as she used to be. He had been summoned at the last minute. The fact that he was coming at all ought to signify their friendship. Coriolanus, however, wasn't in a very forgiving mood, let alone an understanding one.

No, he was in a very, very foul mood, and he wanted to get very, very drunk.

Funny how a lifetime's practice of self-control could be so readily undone. Hunger definitely drove people to the brink. As did heartbreak, apparently.

By the time Festus arrived, Coriolanus had already consumed almost three-quarters of the bottle of brandy he'd ordered. Staggering to his feet, he raised a freshly refilled glass and cheersed his friend in the air. Some of the alcohol seemed to slosh over the rim, and a cool sensation licked his hand where it had spilled.

"What the hell, Coryo?" demanded Festus, steadying him before he could fall flat on his gorgeous face and ruin it.

"If I get drunk," said Coriolanus, as he was steered back onto the velvet seat, "get me home. And don't let me do anything stupid."

Festus snorted. "It's too late for that."

Coriolanus laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. He laughed until tears formed in his eyes.

"Is this for Viviana?" asked Festus dubiously. He started to pluck the glass from Coriolanus's hand, but Coriolanus snatched it back, upsetting more of the spirit onto his pants, creating a patch of cold on his thigh.

"Her name—" Coriolanus drained what remained in his glass, letting the mouthful of liquid burn his throat. "—is Lilith."

Festus was so stunned he didn't move. He certainly didn't stop Coriolanus from pouring himself more alcohol.

"Like, Gold?"

Coriolanus indulged in a huge swig of brandy that brought fresh tears to his eyes.

"Yes," he choked out, his oesophagus on fire.

"Like, Midas Gold, Gold?"

"Yes," he growled. "Like the colour. Like the bar. Like Midas freaking Gold, alright?"

The strength with which Coriolanus hurled his glass should have smashed it to smithereens, but his aim was awry. Instead of striking the wall, it thunked against the upholstered back of the seat, landed on the burgundy cushion, and rolled casually off onto the floor with another dull thud. Not even a crack. He really was pathetic. And now, he was crying.

Breathing heavily, he slumped back, tilting his head up and shutting his eyes in hopes that the tears wouldn't shed. But he couldn't seem to do anything right these days. Maybe he could still blame the liquor.

"Woah, slow down," said Festus warily. "When did this happen?"

"What does it matter?" snapped Coriolanus, remembering what he'd done in that dreaded hospital room.

"I'm just trying to understand. Is that the real reason you weren't invited for his birthday?"

"No." Coriolanus suppressed a grimace. "He hated me already. I was telling the truth."