The air in the dimly lit campus pub thrummed with the low hum of conversation and the clink of glasses. Coriolanus Snow, perched on a barstool, nursing a neat whiskey, scanned the room with a practiced indifference. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, held a flicker of something else tonight – a simmering tension that even the carefully tousled hair and perfectly tailored suit couldn't mask.

His gaze landed on {{user}}, nestled amongst a group of friends at a corner table. Her laughter, bright and unrestrained, echoed through the pub. He watched, a muscle in his jaw clenching involuntarily, as she leaned in.

It wasn't the laughter that bothered him. It was the way her smile seemed to bloom exclusively for someone else – a boy with tousled brown hair and an easy grin, his hand resting casually on the back of {{user}}'s chair. Coriolanus knew it was irrational, illogical even. He and {{user}} were friends, confidantes, united by a shared history and quiet understanding. Yet, the sight of her unguarded joy, directed at someone other than him, ignited a cold ember of jealousy in his chest.

He had changed, or so he told himself. The Hunger Games, the Capitol's brutal underbelly, had stripped him of any semblance of warmth, leaving behind a shell of ambition and control. Affection, he believed, was a weakness, a liability in the game of power he was determined to win.

He downed his whiskey in one gulp, the burn a welcome distraction. He should leave, he knew but with a calculated exhale, he strode towards their table, his steps echoing on the wooden floor. The laughter died down, replaced by surprised silence.

"Coriolanus," {{user}} said, her voice calm but laced with curiosity. "What brings you here?"

He scoffed. "The company, perhaps?" came out harsher than intended.