𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 [𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫] 🔞

ɴɪɴᴇ: ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴠɪᴇᴡ

Coriolanus regained consciousness with a small jerk. "[Y/N]."

He found himself breathing out your name as he sat up in the hospital bed.

He hissed quietly, his back aching from the burns that the flames on his clothing had caused.

"Coryo, lay down take it easy." Tigris said, putting her slender hands onto his shoulders.

Coriolanus was relieved that she was there. He instantly felt the tension in his body leaving from her presence. He took her advice and leaned back, grunting. "[Y/N]... is she..?"

"She's alive. Her parents wanted her to be taken home to get treated by their family doctor." Tigris says with a reassuring smile.

He closed his eyes, his tense body relaxing. Thank God you were okay.

His throat felt so scratchy and dry from all of the smoke. He would have to ask someone for water later. His voice sounded hoarse as he spoke. "What happened in there?"

"They say it was a rebel bombing. From the looks of it, they were planning this for months. Marcus got out. There are Peacekeepers looking for him, but he has a better chance out there than in the arena." Sejanus says, his eyes low.

Tigris spoke to him carefully as if he was a child that she was not trying to upset. "People are terrified, Coryo. Everyone's locking themselves in their homes... four tributes and some mentors have died. It's all a mess."

"But the games are still on." Sejanus sighed.

He sucked in a hitched breath at this. Were the Gamemakers insane? Despite waking up on his own time, he felt exhausted. His body was weak and recovering. He talked to Sejanus and Tigris for a few more moments before they left him alone. He was glad to finally be alone and process what had occurred. Tomorrow, the interviews would take place. After that... it was game on.

Coriolanus yanked out the needle that had been stuck into his arm while he slept. He carefully stepped off of the hospital bed, adjusting the gown he wore. Cautiously, he began to move forward. He flinched from the pain in his body but continued to take small steps.

There was a broken mirror in front of him that he made his way towards. He caught a glimpse of himself in it. He scowled, hating what he saw. He was never really a fan of viewing himself in a mirror. He despised how frail and unhealthy he appeared with little muscle mass. Not only that, but what he hated most was that he was looking at the face of someone who went behind the back of the person he cared for most. That made his heart clench in his chest.

He breathed out through his nostrils loudly, frowning at the view of himself. He dropped to his knees, running his hands through his hair as he attempted to calm himself down. He couldn't bear what he did. He just wanted to cry to you so badly and beg you for your forgiveness. But at the same time, the Plinth Prize...

He couldn't understand why he was going in two directions at once. He was already striving to have both, what was so bad about that? Why did he feel so awful about himself. He shouldn't have this insane guilt. All he wanted was to win this prize and have you on his arm, then he would be set for life.

• • •

Your mind was foggy as you slowly came to, your vision blurred for a moment after you opened your eyes. Your thoughts were sluggish as you tried to make sense of what had happened. You tried to lift your head, but the movement brief wave of dizziness. You let your head drop back with a quiet groan. You closed your eyes again, the disorientation made it difficult for you to recall what had happened.

After a moment, you opened your eyes back up. The fog in your mind had subsided, allowing for you to recall the bombing at the arena. This made you sit up swiftly at once.