Chapter Text
“What if this was our life?”
Lucy Gray’s grasp is little more than a caress, yet anchors him to the ground with a strength he would not have believed possible. The lake before them is a shard of sky, glimmering in the warm sun of the early afternoon. And there she is, beside him, eyes glistening, the embodiment of pure joy. Taking his eyes off her is impossible. And yet, he doesn’t know how to answer. It’s the first time he feels so hesitant in the face of something she said, little more than an awkward kid on the brink of stuttering under his teacher’s gaze.
A gust of wind scatters the scent of trees, of summer, all around them. Maude Ivory shouts gleefully. The Covey run to the pier, pushing each other and making a racket just like a flock of cloth-feathered birdies. The crowns of the trees dance, swaying, almost caressing the kids. Lucy Gray follows her family with her eyes, then shifts it toward him. Her smile reminds him of bright days, of his mother’s voice, singing as the sun caressed her bare back. Fragments of a past he rarely reminisces about. How long had it been since he dwelt on those memories?
Lucy Gray stands on her toes. Taking advantage of that moment of respite, she lays a kiss on his lips. Her eyes seem to shine even brighter, filled with a feeling he’s afraid to put into words.
“Let’s go, they’re waiting for us.”
She changed the topic on purpose, to give him some time to think about the answer, perhaps? Hard to tell. She precedes him, encouraging him to come closer with a smile, while slipping off her dark purple dress and shortening the distance between them and her ( their? ) friends. Maude Ivory raises her hand, a shower of splashes rippling the surface of the turquoise water. The others laugh, someone calls out his name. Another day of a summer that promises to be as hot as it is wonderful. One of Covey’s unforgettable summers, the ones she always talked about, barely holding back the excitement.
What if he truly learned to love that life?
Lucy Gray jumps into the water, her laugh so full of joy even nature seems to pause and listen. The Games tried to take away her love for life and beauty, tear away that infectious enthusiasm, and still failed miserably. Nothing you can take was ever worth keeping. Singing those words with her head held high, she always dragged the audience until they were able to forget their troubles, for a little while at least. Despite the nightmares, despite the constant, haunting memory of her dead companions, she had picked up her pieces one by one, keeping the ones that made up her true self close by her side, leaving out all the rest. It’s not easy, but she tried and keeps trying, without forgetting her kindness. And in doing so, she always leaves a space open for him too, to help him forget his past. Even if it was really her who had to bore the brunt of all that happened.
He took off his white t-shirt with a quick jerk, throwing it to the ground along with that thread of thoughts. Lucy Gray teases Clerk Carmine, ducking at the very last second to avoid a splash of water, then turns to him. She waits as he swims closer and clings to his shoulders, holding him as if they had been separated for hours.
“This could really become our life,” he mutters. At first, the voice uttering those words doesn’t even feel like his own. But Lucy Gray didn’t miss that. She brushes his hair, still short like blades of grass in early spring, a smile blooming on her face. A tiny one, almost as if she didn’t dare hoping too much. She brings her cheek close to his, taking a deep breath. She wants to add something, he can feel it, but that moment is just too fragile and precious to ruin with words.
So she just nods, knees tightening around his hips, the wet, dripping grasp of her fingers on his shoulders. Just staying like that, staring at the beauty of the lake on a sunny summer afternoon, is already something. It will be enough for now.
When he kisses her, a moment after, his lips are fresh. Lucy’s long, damp locks caress his face and, holding her closer, he starts to want more and more: an irrational need, one that makes him quiver deep within. But the Covey shout and laugh around them; they have just declared a new splash battle, and that tiny moment of intimacy can be resolved only by the brief brushing of their foreheads. Lucy Gray with an arm laced around his neck, her lips barely caressing his, a promise hidden in an invitation.
Clerk Carmine casts him a sideways glance. As soon as he realizes he’s been seen, he flashes them a mischievous smile, then hints a stroke to the right with his arm and reaches the tower formed by Maude Ivory and Barb Azure. Lucy Gray smiles against his lips, but doesn’t leave the haven of his arms.
*
The afternoon sun is a caress on skin still damp from bathing. From the barracks he only brought the towel they assigned him to wash himself in the morning, but it’s too soaked for use now. Lucy Gray rubs his head with one of hers, an orange fabric that smells of flowers left outside to dry during summer evenings. As it passes over his skin, he manages to catch a trace of that fragrance, breathing it in deeply. It smells good. Of home, in a way his house never did.
He closes his eyes. Tigris and the Grandma’am are two pictures as clear as they are distant. The scent of roses in the vase on the living room table, the clatter of the old sewing machine filling the foyer. An elderly voice always stumbling over the same notes, the comforting smile of his cousin as she serves him something tasty after weeks of tasteless cabbage and potatoes. Two places so different and yet they still coexist in some mysterious way, within the same country; when he opens his eyes again, the idea that they both exist has never seemed more absurd to him. He knows well what Lucy Gray wants from him, and she knows what he wishes for, more than anything. And yet the Capitol is waiting for him, along with what is left of his family, and his destiny. A call he may try to put off, set aside in the bright light of summer, but never truly stops filling his mind.
Lucy Gray rests her head on his chest, her gaze lost in the sky above them. Without even realizing it, she laces her fingers with his. So warm, the weight of her hand, so light. He loses himself watching her breathe slowly, chest rising and falling in her purple dress, hair still damp splayed across his white t-shirt. Humming something under her breath, she observes the water of the lake. Pleasing her would be so easy, calling Tigris on the phone that very evening and explaining where things stand. Promise her he would do everything in his power to find a comfortable place for her and Grandma’am to live in, start making plans for their relocation. The hard part would come later, but he would manage somehow. In the end, he’s had to deal with far worse.
That thought alone is enough to confuse him. How much of his true self would be in that decision, and how much of the person he hopes to become?
Lucy Gray murmurs something under her breath, words forming a song caught by the breeze and carried high, up to the treetops that are still dancing. He brushes her fingers, a gesture she immediately reciprocates. She lifts their joined fingers to kiss his knuckles, then squints her eyes, surrendering to the rays of the sun. Perhaps his need to return to the Capitol is nothing more than a desire caused by the shadow of his father, the evanescent figure who seems to take the best of him and turn it into something else, without him having any say in the matter. Perhaps he is there at Twelve to figure it out, to put it right before it is too late.
*
When evening falls, laughter slowly turns to mutters. The Covey swarm back to their homes, but not Lucy Gray: it’s their night off. Commander Hoff squared him briefly after that request, shooting him an eloquent glance from below up that he tried with all his might not to evade, but finally granted permission. He probably knows very well where Coriolanus goes every time he asks to leave and then disappears for twenty-four hours, he ponders, and an involuntary smile lifts the corners of his mouth. Lucy Gray notices and returns it, snuggling under the arm he has just rested on her shoulders. No show that night, the usual patrons at the Hob have already been warned. It is only fair you treat yourselves to a well-deserved rest, old Sally Ann had answered them, and her eyes betrayed a flicker of understanding.
They part ways when Maude Ivory and the others pass the edge of the forest, while he and Lucy Gray proceed to the other side of the lake, to the small house they have claimed as their own. The four walls of bare but cozy wood, furnished only with a bumpy bed, a table, an old yellow rug, two chairs and a small kitchen they always manage to operate with a good deal of patience.
Their home.
Whenever they are alone, having her all for himself is almost strange to him, far from the crowd claiming her three times a week at the Hob, stretching their arms towards the stage to brush against her dress while she plays, in hope to capture a bit of her glowing essence. What he wishes for is keeping a fragment of that light only for himself, stifling the obsessive thought of not wanting to share her with anyone. His, and no one else’s. A precious gift the world had already tried to corrupt once, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.
Lucy Gray raises her head against his chin, as if asking for a caress. Coriolanus answers by brushing her hair with his lips, letting those thoughts melt into the darkness of the evening.
*
They make love slowly, taking all the time they need, as if time doesn’t mean anything. His lips breathe sweet nonsense and words of longing in her ear. He had felt so lonely, so desperate when they took her away, after the Games were over. He wants her so much, so fucking much he can’t think of anything else, even when they’re surrounded by other people. Her moans cover that confession, but it still echoes around them, caressing their bodies.
They’re made for each other. That awareness makes his head spin, more intoxicating than the first sip of white liquor from a free evening spent at the Hob, all-encompassing. Her gaze almost touches him, gently; he can feel it even through the darkness enveloping the room like the softest of fabrics. The way she moans beneath him, the way he moves inside her, so perfect he loses all sense of time and space. She is so beautiful, so free, so happy. First soft, then tense, he fingers sinking into his back leaving traces that only he knows exist. His victor, his girl. His Lucy Gray. The woman he loves as he never thought he could love anyone.
“Coryo…”
His name changes when it’s her lips spelling it. Holding her, lifting one of her thighs in search of more friction is not enough; he needs her closer, to almost become part of him. He slowly slides into her, until he’s captured by the gentle grip of her numb arms. He allows himself to be taken in by her trembling legs, leaving a mark with his mouth on the softest spot of her skin, the one just above her breasts, just as she has left her signature on his shoulders weary from so many training sessions. He whispers her name as he moves her soft locks from her neck, sinking his nose into its intense scent, which lingers on him even when they are apart. His moans are a prayer for her ears only, a plea as hushed as it is surrendered. And being so close feels so good, until they become one.
The room around them almost seems to hold its breath.
“Coryo!”
When he feels her clench around him, so close to her climax, he needs to focus so as not to spill himself immediately. Hungry and devoted, he keeps devouring her flesh, one kiss after the other, lips brushing first over her collarbone, then on her nipples, circling them with the tip of his tongue only to force yet another gasp out of her. Her own prayers manifest as soft moans, fading in the darkness of that room that knows everything about them.
Don’t leave, Lucy Gray. Stay with me. Help me become something else, someone to be proud of. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.
Please.
Lucy Gray moans as if she’s singing. Hair disheveled and face flushed, beautiful as ever, held in his arms as if he’s afraid she might disappear any moment. She reaches her release short after he does, shaking like a leaf, but in happiness. He cradles her on his chest, then rests his lips against her hair once more, smiling with the feverish energy of the afterglow, both invigorating and destructive.
“I love you so much.”
Lucy Gray’s voice is just a whisper, but he knows already. Gentle fingers try to reach and caress his short hair, until pleasure finally takes its toll on her, her tongue incapable of forming words. The hair she loves so much will soon be hopelessly cut, just like every other week. “You’re just too perfect for me, you know that?”
“I know.” That witty smile of his. He can’t hold back when he is with her, but Lucy Gray knows that. Maybe she loves him because of that too, for still being the mentor willing to break the rules for her to bring her a rose before the Games started and a slice of bread cake during the hardest times. The only person who has tried to look beyond the mask of the performer, as bright as it is unattainable.
He touches her lips with barely a hint of a kiss. The hunger shaking him has not subsided yet, but he has learned to control it. Enjoying Lucy’s presence is an art; he must savor each moment like an unexpected gift, be careful not to waste a single moment of it. Seize every chance to have her beside him, live fully each evening at the Hob, each afternoon at the lake, with the same intensity as someone who has been ordered to leave for the Capitol the next day. But even so, it is hard not to be drawn in by her presence. Because the first time he entered that chaotic, noisy environment that is the Hob, his eyes settled on her and never stopped, not even the next times.
Her voice breaks the soft silence of the room, the slightest hint of uncertainty.
“What if they start looking for you?”
“They can do that all they want. It’s my day off.”
Lucy Gray laughs and, for a moment, he could swear it, the candle flame trembles to the same rhythm of his crazed heart.