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Coriolanus wants you. Now that he's undeniably rich with the money of his dead best friend's family, he could spoil you. Give you what you deserve, this new beauty who fits in his world in a way that Lucy Gray never could. Someone who could be his beautiful significant other when he's finally on top. It doesn't even matter what gender you are, his power would be too great for anyone to deny him your love. He wants you to be his. And because he cannot tell you this, he will show you instead, by giving you the most wonderful Christmas present you've ever received in your life. At least, that's his plan. Unfortunately, nothing seems to fit. He has riches aplenty at his fingertips, but there isn't a single thing he can think of to buy you that conveys the depths of his feelings for you. Lucy Gray was a fling compared for the need he holds for you. You're so incredibly gorgeous, he knows you would make a wonderful partner on his arm, look lovely next to him in all kinds of important meetings. It drives him simply mad to see you every day and be unable to scoop you into his arms and run his hands over every bit of your body. It infuriates him that you are not yet aware that you are his.
Livia Cardew had been his other option for a romantic partner, and while he saw the benefits of binding himself to someone that he doesn't hold a scrap of care for, a tiny but powerful part of him is scared. To be alone forever.
So his plan to is confess, this Christmas, with a classy, expensive, and meaningful gift that conveys the depths of his attachment. Of course, he convinces himself, he doesn't need you to return his affections. He's a Snow, he'll survive whether you accept or reject him. At least, that's what he tells himself. Deep down, he fears that it isn't true. Despite the insignificance of Lucy Gray when observed alongside his devotion to you, the uncomfortably loose closure of it had left him on edge romantically, and he wasn't looking to experience any kind of refusal. On the surface, he is cold and calculated and held together, as smooth and flawless as his impeccably gelled hair. On the inside, he feels as if he is slowly fracturing. His only hope for this odd sensation of internal crumbling is perhaps you. On one hand, it may prove useful to be absolutely cold and unfeeling. On the other hand, he would prefer to have someone close to him. Just one person, that he truly loves, to keep him from going truly insane.
Yes, Coriolanus wants you. Desperately.
And so here he stands, perusing high-end jewelry shops and trinket stores in his free time between demanding classes under Dr. Gaul and spending time with you. Dr. Gaul selected you to study alongside him, the eldest child of an exceedingly well-off family with obvious potential for power and success and greatness to anyone who gave you more than half a glance. You're the picture of a romantic candidate: attractive and rich, unbearably desirable, accomplished but modest, generous but ambitious, kind but decisive. Someone to shine nearly as bright as him, but never put him in shadow. Almost as good. That's the key.
Coriolanus is rather lost on the present, honestly. He wants to buy you something you can treasure, perhaps something you could look back on and smile, on their wedding day or a particularly important anniversary. Something pricey and pleasing to the eye, a trinket that will become a family heirloom for generations, and his descendants will look back and be in awe of the obvious love he had for you. The issue lies in what exactly fits that criteria. Some gems are too gaudy, some keychains are too flashy. He needs subtly elegant and tasteful, not overtly show-offish or boastful in its expense.
His breath literally catches when he sees it. A silvery rose pendant on a brooch, almost white in colour. His gaze flicks to his boutonnière, an immaculate white rose tucked into his breast pocket. It almost matches exactly, the delicate swirl pattern on the jewel, the tender petals overlapping in perfect symmetry. When he looks closer, he can see miniscule diamonds glittering along the edges of the petals, adding a meticulous bling. It's a prime choice for his gift to you. Coriolanus doesn't hesitate; he asks the shop owner for the price, exchanges mindless small talk with the short man as he preps the treasure for transport. The seller really sucks up to him, commending him on his fabulous taste as he cautiously wraps the brooch in a black handkerchief. Coriolanus will replace that with one of his own later, to personalize it further. For now, he takes the package carefully and tucks it away, ensuring that it won't be harmed on the journey back to his newly renovated apartment.
He offers a nod to the shopkeeper, sliding the appropriate amount of money across the counter. It turns out to be more costly than he expected, but he isn't about to argue. He fears that haggling may result in an unwanted refusal to sell him the pendant, and while that could by bypassed with a thick stack of currency, he doesn't want to spend more than he has to. It's worth it, of course, the fee being absolutely favourable to please you, but Coriolanus is a rational man, and he doesn't want to spend more of Mr. Plinth's money than is necessary.
Coriolanus is fond of the winter season, the icy flakes drifting from the sky and coating every surface. He feels at home in the frozen land. Snow surrounded by snow. His shoes crunch in the crystal carpet, bag clutched tight in his chilled hands. He didn't bring gloves this morning, which might've been a mistake, but oh, well. He can't go back now, he needs to get to the library before class begins. The book-filled shelves are usually where he can find you, and this crisp Christmas morning is no different. You're perched in a cozy looking loveseat, curled up on one side and fully immersed in a thick novel.
You look up with a smile when Coriolanus takes a seat next to you, the old but fancy couch creaking in protest. Carefully, you slot your ribbon bookmark between the open pages and close the book, setting it aside. "Good morning, Coryo" you say kindly, and he offers you a genuine grin back. He's glad you picked up that nickname from Tigris; it's nice hearing it from your lips. This is nerve-wracking, to say the least, but the anticipation of seeing your face when you open the gift makes it all worthwhile.
"Good morning," he responds quietly, willing his voice not to shake. You reach into your bag, a twinkle in your pretty eyes.
"I have something for you," you murmur, pulling an elegantly wrapped package of smooth cream. It's thin and rectangular, about the size of a ruler. Coriolanus frowns, a spark of interest igniting in him. That's curious. He admits, he'd expected baked goods from you. Baking sweets and treats is one of your favourite pastimes, especially during the holiday season. As if on cue, you take another small paper box out, and a sugary scent hits his nose. How generous of you. "It's not much, so I baked something too," you say, a faint flush in your cheeks. By the stars above, he doesn't deserve you. You hold both boxes out, and he takes them slowly, setting the smaller one aside. That one's a mystery, he'll open it after.
Sure enough, a sweet, nutty scent floods the air the moment he cracks open the paper box. Cream pastries, twelve of them, bite-sized and delicate and perfect. Chestnut is his guess, and they look exceptional. And tasty; his mouth is watering already. Coriolanus wonders briefly if it's imprudent to taste one, then reasons that it might be insulting not to. He pops one into his mouth and literally has to suppress a groan. Your talent is beyond words. You're watching him hopefully, needing a positive reaction.
"Good?" you ask eagerly, and he nods, the taste coating his mouth with bliss. A satisfied smile finds your lips, pleased by his affirmations. You fidget with your uniform, staring at the floor nervously as he reaches for the rectangular box. Your eyes flick his warily as he slides the box open. His breath catches.
"...Oh," he breathes, gazing intently at the stunning fountain pen in the box. It's on a spongy bed, a dark, glossed wood body. There's a gold engraving on the side: his initials, and a very tiny heart. He swears you're going to melt his frozen heart. Coriolanus stares at the little 'C. S. ♡', the gold letters glittering in the dim library lighting. You're worrying your lip, watching him hesitantly, as if scared that he doesn't like it. As if he could dislike it. "It's exquisite," he finally manages, taking the pen out of its cream box. It's weighted slightly, and feels good in his hand.
"There's a few ink refills in the bottom," you instruct, gesturing vaguely at the box. Sure enough, when he pulls the white foam base out, three cartridges are sitting neatly in the bottom.
"...Thank you," he gasps, feeling a little breathless. He's just praying now that his gift is sufficient, since yours was so thoughtful and well-planned. You blush, smiling shyly, the relief that he likes it evident in your eyes. "I actually have something for you as well," Coriolanus murmurs, pulling the brooch from his bag. It's wrapped in one of his kerchiefs now, a deep crimson one. Soft and silky in his hands as he passes it to you. A smirk makes its way onto your face.
"Aw, look at you, all charitable like a district-born," you tease. Coriolanus bristles, knowing you're only poking fun, but still irritated. He's trying to maintain a stoic image, and it's so very difficult around you.
"Just open the damn present," he grumbles, feeling his cheeks heat. His heart is suddenly racing, wondering how you'll take the gift. Will you be able to see the blatant love behind the gesture?
You gasp audibly as you unwrap the silken cloth. He notices your nose twitch and grins to himself. He may have sprayed a touch of his luxurious cologne onto the handkerchief, just to really imprint his scent into your brain. Your eyes are wide as plates as you gape open-mouthed at the diamond brooch.
"Oh, Coryo, you shouldn't have," you say softly, sounding almost choked up. That's a win he wasn't expecting, but will take nonetheless. "It's lovely," you mumble, pinning it to your uniform lapel and admiring the beauteous white rose pin sparkling there. It compliments the deep red of the University uniforms nicely, and more importantly, it marks you as his. Everyone knows the symbol of the white rose around here, and now you'll proudly wear it too.
"Listen," Coriolanus mutters, feeling heat clouding his cheeks. Fuck. "You should know, the rose means more than just-" You cut him off with a hand on his mouth, index finger pressed to his lips. He swallows hard, staring blankly at you as you shift closer, moving the various present boxes out of the way and tucking his kerchief into your pocket. His Adam's apple bobs nervously, lips twitching against your finger.
"Can I kiss you?" you ask, so quietly he barely hears it. He wordlessly nods, lips parting under his touch to suck in a sharp breath before you're kissing him.
It can only be described as white roses, what kissing you is like. Sweet as the pastries you bake, delicate as a rose's petals, pure as the driven snow.