Chapter Text
The decision to seek her out had been on a whim. Well, sort of.
It was Clemensia.
While they had drifted apart, he'd have to be blind not to notice how odd she'd acted after her illness. It wasn't like her to act so cruelly, which made it so strange that she'd treat her tribute like such. A front, perhaps? But why?
And it was because of such lingering fond childhood memories that he sought her out once the games had ended.
If he were to be honest, there weren't enough words to describe how he still felt about her. And Iphigenia.
Once upon a time, they'd been Clemmie and Nia to him. The three of them against the world. Forever, or so they had hoped. Then school had started and then they'd slowly drifted apart until they were relegated to nodding at each other when they passed in the Academy hallways, whereas they would have once sat on the floor, hidden under tables and sharing desserts at parties.
Where had things changed?
Why hadn't he they tried harder to stick together?
It was this thought that had him reaching out, even when met with the news that she's reluctant to meet visitors, claiming fatigue or that she's still recovering from illness.
There was one thing that Clemensia forgot to account for — their parents were friends. And unlike them, their parents' friendship remained strong as ever. So when they inevitably met up for food each week, there were only so many absences Clemensia could claim before it seemed rude.
So when the opportunity came one afternoon at brunch, he took it.
"It's a nice day today, isn't it?" Plopping down into the free seat beside her, he idly wondered how she wasn't sweating like crazy in this heat.
"It is," she agreed. Before he could reply, she adds, "You're plotting."
"Me?" He feigns confusion. "I haven't a clue what you're talking about, Clem."
"The gleam in your eyes says otherwise."
"I'm appalled you'd think so lowly of me," he exclaims. "Me? Plotting?"
Now that gets a faint upward twitch of her lips.
While it takes time to get her to warm up, he counts it a success when by the end of the brunch, it's as if their friendship had never drifted apart in the first place. And he'd admit it out loud — he's missed her dearly.
So it was through this success that he's emboldened to reach out to Iphigenia. Alongside Clemensia, they seek her out — in the following weeks, the three of them are near inseparable, enough that when stuck at some government event, it is their eyes that he seeks out first when he has to listen to some official brag about their latest inane achievement or whatnot.
It is Clemensia's eyes that he seeks out when they scheme so that they won't have to watch Iphigenia wither away in her destructive revenge against her father.
Felix liked to think that he was succeeding — it wasn't every day that Clemensia let anyone call 'Clemmie' these days, not since fifth grade when she tried to get everyone else to call her 'Clem' or 'Clemensia' instead.
But as fate would have it, he and his big mouth ruin what was supposed to be a light-hearted moment between friends. His hand reaches out to stop her, only to accidentally tear her sleeve, revealing colourful scales of all things.
"Who hurt you?" are the words that spill out instead of the apology.'
The truth is an ugly thing.
Horror fills his veins as the truth of her 'illness' came to him in broken fragments through tears that Clemensia couldn't seem to staunch.
All that for a measly omission?
How dare they? How dare Gaul?
If his priority were not to soothe Clemensia's tears, he might have stormed off for answers. What right did any of them have to do this to her? While the Dovecotes weren't quite as influential as his family, they were just as old a family.
Anger fills him at the thought. Not at her, but for her.
Because what use was such an illustrious lineage if it couldn't provide protection?
What use was he as one of her oldest friends if he couldn't seek revenge justice on her behalf?
The only thing stopping him from demanding his great-uncle for an explanation — everyone knew that Dr. Gaul's backing was the elder man — was that Clemensia begged him not to tell anyone. She insisted that nobody could know, otherwise she'd be ruined forever. A tad dramatic, but he reluctantly agreed, if only because she was one of his dearest friends.
Were it not for this incident, he suspected that she'd have taken this secret to the grave. Not even her parents knew of the snake scales because he found it hard to believe that her parents wouldn't have done a thing after learning such. There had to be a reason why people believed that it was better to have a Dovecote on your side than against you.
Slowly nudging Clemensia out of her self-imposed isolation is a difficult and odd thing to achieve. Especially when his dear friend was a bit of a social butterfly in the first place. Everywhere she went, she seemed to know somebody.
But nobody ever said that he wasn't persistent. Easing her into interactions. Sometimes it was just him; other times, Iphigenia joined them. Eventually, it paid off in mid-August, when she agreed to join him and meet up with some of their other friends.
But if only she weren't so stubborn.
"Aren't you cold?" Felix knew it was more out of pride than anything that she hadn't brought a jacket — she didn't want to acknowledge that the snake bite had changed her. That she ran colder these days and was more sensitive to temperature changes — like when the sun went down.
"No. It's August, why would I need one?"
Clemensia has and always will be a horrible liar. But rather than exposing her lie outright, Felix reached for the thin jacket lying across the backseat of his car. "Of course." And about twenty minutes later, he draped it over her shoulders anyway once he noticed her absentmindedly rubbing at her forearms. "I heard there's a lot of mosquitoes nearby."
"Are there now?"
"You mean you haven't heard about those awful reports? Well, it's a good thing I have and came prepared."
"And here they said chivalry was dead," came her dry response.
A snort escaped. "Then they haven't met me. What kind of friend would I be if I left you at the mercy of such?"
When their friends later joined them, he ignored the pointed looks sent their way as they had been fond of sending them lately.
Festus, Iphigenia and the others imagined connections that did not exist.
Her stubbornness persists even when they are alone. Despite it being the middle of August, she remains unfazed by the heat, a trait that he heavily envies, for even with the windows open, Felix remained hot as ever. No amount of iced drinks could cool him down.
Watching Clemensia sip at her steaming cup of tea, unbothered, made the room feel even warmer if he were to be honest.
It wasn't until their hands brushed against one another that he realized that it was no wonder she could drink hot tea without breaking a sweat; she was cold as ice. “You’re freezing." Why hadn't she said anything earlier? He could have closed the windows. "I’ll go fetch a blanket–”
Before he could stand, her hand reached out, tugging at his arm. “No, don’t. It’s August, people will think I’m strange.”
“Who cares what they think?” Who were the staff to judge?
“I do. Besides, you’re warm enough.”
Then the greatest idea of all time hit him. “And you’re cold enough.”
Clemensia raised an eyebrow at that.
“I have an idea.”
"Will I regret this?"
He grinned.
In the privacy of his family's library, they don't have to worry that others will misunderstand their closeness. Tucked into a quiet nook, they can squish beside each other on the maroon velvet loveseat as they read to their heart's content.
They both benefited from the proximity — she didn't have to worry about being cold, and he didn't have to worry about sweating to death.
"Don't go so far," she protests lazily when he shifts.
"What am I, your personal space heater?"
"Yes."
With a theatrical sigh, his arm came to rest behind her shoulder so he could tug her closer until she was half sprawled on the couch, upper body leaning against him. "Fine. Happy?" Only she would be so daring as to name a Ravinstill as a space heater.
"Delighted."
The hours slip by quicker than he likes.
The number of books they go through slowly increases. At one point, Clemensia has developed a fondness for bringing along whatever overly dramatic novel she's come across so they can poke fun at the work.
"Then their hands brushed," she read in a scandalized tone.
"Without gloves? My, how bold!"
Her eyes glanced up from the book, meeting his. A second had barely passed before she burst into contagious giggles that had him following suit.
It is moments like these that he realizes how much he's missed having her around.
Felix only wished it hadn't taken a snake bite for them to realize that.
As September approaches, one thing is clear — this time around, he's not going to repeat the mistakes of the past and let his friendship with Clemensia fade away.
Not again.
A faint weight rested on him, jolting him out of his thoughts as he found Clemensia draped across his lap, head resting on his shoulder, and found her half-asleep. “Keep reading,” she mumbles.
“You look like you’re about to fall asleep.”
“So? I like hearing your voice.”
“Clemmie, are you trying to tell me that my voice lulls you to sleep?” He didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended.
Her head lifted off his shoulder so that she could properly scowl at him.
Felix had to resist the urge to laugh at how adorable her sleepiness made her.
“No, it chases off the nightmares.”
Oh. Laughing is the last thing on his mind now, and as he studied her expression, he wondered just when the last time she had a good night’s sleep was. Clemensia looked exhausted. “Come here,” he says softly, tugging her closer.
Come September, his dear friend remains stubborn as ever, insisting that most of the effects from the snake bite had faded away. He'd argue otherwise.
At this rate, Felix was certain that the sun had to rise from the West before she lost her streak of stubbornness.
But returning to the matter of the snake bites' effects, while some of the snake scales had fallen off over the summer, Clemensia remains cold as ever to the touch. He wished she'd agree to see a doctor about it — the ones under his family's employ wouldn't dare spill her secrets if he ordered them such, right?
Except Dr. Gaul is under your great-uncle's employ, whispers his mind traitorously. The reminder makes him scowl, spilling over to when he'd come across the woman on the grounds of the Presidential estate with his great-uncle.
"Uncle," he greets. Then, instead of greeting the doctor as he ought to, he turns on his heel and heads in the opposite direction, making a beeline for the estate library to return the book he'd returned on snakes — a good part of this summer had been preoccupied with research in this field due to Clemensia's circumstances. Save the scales, the coolness and the odd ability to hold her breath underwater a lot longer, there was little else they'd learnt about what lingering snakelike traits the bite had given her.
Furthermore, she still prefers smaller gatherings. By that, Felix meant that she preferred to keep gatherings to include him and Iphigenia, which he didn't mind, but it did mean that it was harder to persuade her to come out to larger gatherings.
And worst of all, Coriolanus is back in the Capitol. It must be Gaul's interference, appealing to his great-uncle to overturn the otherwise mandatory twenty-year service. Financial bribes from House Snow were out of the question based on what he heard Dean Highbottom share once — the Snows had invested all their money in Thirteen, which everyone knew was nothing but rubble these days.
With the blond's return to the city, their classmate tries to catch Clemensia's attention far too often for Felix's comfort. Unless Coriolanus planned to grovel as an apology, Felix was of the mind that Clemensia should forget the blond for good.
Iphigenia calls him dramatic for it, even going so far as to name him jealous at times. Rude.
Unfortunately for him, Clemensia doesn't share the same sentiment and doesn't exactly go out of her way to avoid Coriolanus. Though he wouldn't say that the friendship Coriolanus and she had returned to the same warmth as it'd once been, as she kept him at a polite sort of distance. Still, Felix thought that his friend was too quick to forgive.
"You look troubled."
At the sound of Clemensia's voice, Felix shook himself from his thoughts to find his dear friend staring at him curiously. "What? What do you mean?"
"Well, for one, I've been trying to catch your attention for the past five minutes. What's got you frowning like that?"
Oops. "Nothing, really." He couldn't tell her that he didn't think she should stay friends with Coriolanus of all people — that lesson had been learned the hard way back in grade school. An altercation on the playground started over how she was allowed to befriend whoever she liked without his permission. And while he was certain that Clemensia wouldn't get physical now that they were older, her temper was still a frightening thing.
The look she sent his way was full of disbelief.
Wanting to change the subject, he reaches out to grab her hand. As expected, they were freezing because someone had forgotten her gloves again. Honestly, Clemmie. "Maybe I'm just worrying about what might happen if I didn't carry spare gloves around?" Releasing his hold on her wrist, he reached for his leather satchel, pulling out a pair of grey gloves — her size, of course. "Really, I ought to start bringing them in the most wondrous of colours." But knowing her, she'd probably manage to make a garish colour look flattering.
"You'd do that to me?" Theatrically, she fluttered her eyes at him. Cute. "I thought we were best friends."
"Precisely because we're friends," he counters without missing a beat.
Her laugh rings out in the university courtyard.
Gazing out the window on a sunny November afternoon, the idea comes to him when he watches a woman across the street present a bouquet to someone he presumed was their partner.
Simple as the gesture was, he watched the stranger's face transform into delight upon being presented with flowers.
If that was enough to bring some joy, then perhaps…
His friend is a bit vain — or so Clemensia likes to claim herself as — but Felix thought that vanity wasn't a crime, not when she was one of the prettiest girls of his year. Is. Now that she'd physically recovered from the bite with only some lingering scales hidden under long sleeves, he thought she was as lovely as ever.
But his best friend wouldn't hear of it. She was as stubborn as she is charming, and by Panem does she have the latter in spades. There is a reason everyone calls it the Dovecote charm after all.
Picking up his pen, he flipped to a blank page in his leather-bound notebook. Ideas were bubbling to his mind's surface.
What better way to convince her that the snake bites didn't define her forever? That she was still his dear friend? Posing as her secret admirer allowed for the advantage of preventing her from brushing off his words as mere platitudes, as she tended to whenever he tried to tell her otherwise.
At breakfast, there is a small bouquet of white flowers whose sweet scent fills the room. "They smell lovely," she comments, taking her usual seat at the oak table. "What's the occasion?"
"I was hoping you could tell me," says her father. "They're for you after all."
"They are?"
He hums an agreement before taking a sip of his coffee. "They were brought up from the lobby where they'd been initially delivered. Lovely flowers."
Curious to see whether there was a note attached, she reached for the flowers. Up close, they smelled even lovelier. Whoever the sender was, they had good taste. Turning the bouquet around, Clemensia eventually found a slip of paper attached to the ribbon that held the flowers together. 'From your secret admirer.' Huh. She thought this was something that only happened in books and movies.
"What does it say?"
She turned the card so that he might read it.
"How exciting," interjects her mother, joining them at the dining table. As she sat down, Father poured a cup of tea from the teapot on his left. "Any ideas who it might be?"
At that, Clemensia shook her head.
"Exciting, I suppose. But if they ever get too much, let me know," says her father finally.
Mother chuckled, shaking her head in amusement, saying that he was being overprotective for that.
The question of who it might be lingers in her mind long after breakfast. Why now? She hadn't been particularly social over the summer. Not after that.
Nonetheless, she did appreciate the flowers, which led to her tucking a few blossoms into her hair with the help of some bobby pins. The sweet fragrance followed her throughout that morning, lingering even when she met up with Iphigenia after her afternoon class.
"Someone's in a happy mood today."
"The flowers," she explains, hand coming to point at the pinned flowers. "You'll never guess the story behind them."
"What do you mean?"
And so she explained to Iphigenia about her newly acquired secret admirer. As they walked down towards the library, they found their usual table free and set out their things as they waited for Felix to arrive.
"Do you think it might be jasmine?" asks her friend.
While their initial plan was to study, they got sidetracked on the subject of flowers, hence the botanical almanac that was open before them.
"It looks like jasmine," Clemensia conceded, but she was sure that the scent was different.
"Maybe it's a new species?" Iphigenia flipped a few pages, skimming the contents before pointing to another species. "Oh! What about neroli?"
Just as she opened her mouth, a different voice beat her to it, "Orange blossoms."
On cue, she and Iphigenia looked up to see Felix standing there, across from their table. When had he gotten there?
"Orange blossoms," repeated Felix, looking a bit flustered as he scratched the back of his neck. "We're talking about the flowers in Clemmie's hair, right?"
She nodded.
"Why are you guys looking at me like that?"
At the same time, Iphigenia posed, "How did you know that they were orange blossoms?"
"Because I've been working on a new project." At their continued stare, he added, "My protagonist is a florist." Nobody spoke for a few seconds. "They get asked about flower meanings a lot."
"So what meaning do they have?"
"New beginnings."
"That's sweet." Idly, her hand came up to her head, as if to ensure the flowers remained pinned in place. Reassured, she let her hand come back down on the desk as she gestured at her friend to take the seat they'd saved for him.
As the almanac was put away in favour of their studies, Clemensia couldn't help but think back to the flower's meaning. It was a hopeful message, one she hoped would unfurl kinder events to follow than the events of this summer had.
As the weeks pass, her secret admirer continues sending flowers her way every few days. And while the type of flower delivered varied, Clemensia had to admit that the orange blossoms were her favourite — both for their fragrance and for their meaning. At this rate, they just might replace wisteria as her favourite flower.
Usually, the deliveries arrive on her doorstep in the morning before breakfast. But recently, things had started to shift. They'd occasionally come hand-delivered by someone else during the day.
Similarly, the notes attached to the bouquets started to say more than 'from your secret admirer'. Nowadays, it was usually a quote from a musical work. Like last week, quoting a line from Il trovatore — Sei tu dal ciel disceso, o in ciel son io con te? Because of this change, she started keeping each of these notes in a purple box under her bed.
It was too bad she couldn't do the same with the flowers. Then again, perhaps it was for the best, as the daily deliveries would quickly clutter her room. It already smelled like a garden every time she walked in. Not that she would ever complain of the smell.
A girl could get used to being spoiled like this.
Her only real complaint — if one could name it such — was that she was no closer to discovering the admirer's identity than she had been at the very beginning. And it was in the quiet moments that she found herself pondering over who they might be. Or what they might look like. Were they tall? Short? Dark-haired? Were their eyes kind? Could it be someone that she knew well?
Such thoughts badgered her constantly — how many times might she have passed by them without knowing it?. Not even the barista who works at her favourite cafe on campus is spared from such scrutiny in her mind. But as handsome as the barista is, his scrawl isn't quite the same as the note that accompanied this morning's delivery of purple orchids.
"Admiration," Felix tells her, closing his almanac of plants when she comes to set their teas on the table. He's been ever so supportive in helping her find the meaning behind the flowers sent her way.
So far, all the flowers have positive meanings attached to them.
The morning rush for a quick pick-me-up is just about starting when they pack up their things to head to class. Passing by Livia and her cronies, Clemensia could just about pinpoint the second that the blonde narrowed in on the purple flower pinned to the back of her head.
"Another flower from your admirer?" sniffs Livia. "Really, Clem, if I were you, I'd be more concerned over why they still haven't revealed themselves."
It was too early to get into such squabbles. Or so Clemensia silently told herself.
In a voice that is purposely meant to provoke her, Livia turned to 'whisper' to one of her cronies, "They're probably hideously deformed if you ask me," causing a wave of titters.
Hmm.
"Or worse." Invidia doesn't even bother pretending to whisper. "A pleb!" The redhead was always far too enthusiastic to curry Livia's favour. "If I were her, I'd give them away so they wouldn't be associated with me."
More giggles follow.
Throwing her empty takeaway cup into the trash, she glanced at the redhead. "If you wanted a flower, you could have just asked." Giving her a cursory once-over, Clemensia added, "Purple doesn't pair well with envy." She didn't bother waiting for a response as she left the cafe behind. The nerve of those two!
So lost in her thoughts, she startled when she felt a sudden tap to her shoulder.
"Clemmie—"
At the sound of Felix's voice, Clemensia relaxed just to recall that she'd left him behind without a word. Oops. "Sorry. I didn't mean to leave you behind like that."
"Don't worry about it." He had a wide grin on his face, eyes gleaming with amusement. "But that sure was something."
"I don't know what you mean." With a sniff, she turned her head away and resumed walking across the courtyard.
"You're a horrible liar," he teased, easily falling into step with her. "Because if looks could kill, poor Invidia would have been six feet under already."
"Don't be dramatic."
"Says you. For a moment, I thought I was going to have to hold you back from committing a crime." When she said nothing, he cheekily added, "Still, I hadn't expected you to be so overprotective of your admirer."
"Don't tell me you agree with them." Pausing, she crossed her arms and sent her best friend a look.
Following her, Felix stopped in his tracks, turning to face her while raising his hands playfully in surrender. "Perish the thought, dearest Clemmie."
"Hmm. Oh, I don't know."
"Please?" When she didn't immediately respond, he woefully added, "How many lemon tart slices will it take to smooth things over? One? Two?"
She kept a blank expression, trying not to laugh at his dramatics.
"Seven? Ten?"
It was getting harder not to laugh.
"Must I buy out the entire store for you? Because I will if that's what it takes." He acted as if she demanded the impossible, which she wasn't, but it was fun to watch him sweat for it.
As they began walking again, cutting through the University courtyard, Felix was still offering up impossible amounts of lemon tarts to her — enough for five lifetimes at the very least — Clemensia spotted a familiar face. From across the courtyard, Coriolanus' hand raised to wave.
Her hand rose to mimic the gesture, only for a gentle pressure to grab her other hand. Surprised, she glanced away to find the culprit grinning widely at her.
Giving their connected hands a swing, he teased, "Honestly, Clemmie, you can't keep forgetting your gloves and expect me to pick up the slack like this."
Raising an eyebrow at him only made his grin grow.
"At this rate, I might think you're trying to flirt with me." The statement was delivered rather dramatically with a waggle of his eyebrows.
The utter ridiculousness of it all causes laughter to spill out. "You're ridiculous."
"And you love it."
As Felix tugged her along, it took her a second to remember Coriolanus. But when she turned back in his direction, the blond was no longer anywhere in sight.
Had it been childish to distract her like that? Perhaps.
But it'd been worth it to see Coriolanus scowl when Clemensia's attention had flitted away from him.
Besides, it'd been Uncle who'd said something about not letting opportunities slip by — although Felix had an inkling that his great-uncle had been referring to politics or something along the lines of business. Oh well. It's not like the same principle didn't apply here.
All in all, it was a good way to begin his Friday morning when all he had to look forward to later was lecture after lecture. And the weekly family dinner at the presidential estate.
As he and Clemensia parted ways, heading towards their respective lecture halls, his thoughts couldn't help but wander back to earlier this morning. Or more specifically, at how quickly Clemensia had jumped to his defence — even if she didn't know he was the secret admirer in question.
Perhaps the flowers had worked well since they'd given her confidence back.
The hardest part of all this, though, was surprisingly not keeping it a secret from her, but coming up with the daily messages he had begun to attach to the flowers. There were only so many references to musical works that he could pull.
Hence, his current foray into creative writing.
While dinner was still two or so hours away, Felix had no desire to make small talk with his relatives. Jove's stories about his girlfriends were always a bore. Frankly, he had little clue why anyone would think his elder cousin was a catch.
Tucked away in the quietness of the library, he jotted down potential ideas. But as Felix glanced down to review what he'd written, he couldn't help but scowl.
Each day I find you more enchanting than the next…
Without a second's thought, he crossed out the line. How would anyone, least of all Clemmie, take him seriously with this? No, he had to do better.
After some careful thought, his pen scratched against the paper once more.
I find myself envious of Morpheus. Why does he get to have you all to himself in the quiet hours of the night while I must be confined to the loneliness of my bed?
Better, he supposed. But not quite. It sounded too much like he was trying to court her.
Why was it so hard?
With a groan, he rested his forehead against the open notebook. Come on. There had to be something he could write. Reluctantly sitting up again, he stared at the pages of scribbles and crossed out lines for what must have been ages before a decent idea came to mind.
En amour, on ne dit pas que votre
No, not that either. He didn't bother finishing the idea, merely crossing out what he had written instead.
Perhaps he would be better off quoting some literary work. Getting up from his seat, he decided to browse the collection of books available.
There had to be something in here that could work.
An hour later, Felix was no longer sure that was the case.
Romance clearly didn't exist in his great-uncle's library. At least not the kind he was looking for.
So while he'd switched gears and found some quotes that could potentially work, he was beginning to wonder if any of the quotes would work. What if she took into account the context around the quote?
Would this mean that referencing Dracula was out of the question?
Sitting at the table, he stared at the quote for some time before he decided that, lovely as the quote might be, he wasn't going to take his chances.
Back to creative writing it was then.
Sitting at the desk, he wasn't sure how long he'd been working on things. But considering that nobody had come looking for him, he concluded that dinner wasn't ready yet.
Good, it gave him more time to work on things.
But as his luck would have it, the moment an idea comes to mind, his name is called out by his younger sister from down the hall. "It's time for dinner."
"In a minute." He had to get it down on paper before he promptly forgot it.
"Felix."
"I'll be there. Just start without me, Lucia."
"Felix."
He sighed at the drawn-out way she'd said his name. Sisters.