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Coriolanus would not degrade himself to bully the new boy, he wasn’t foolish enough to not understand the value in not showing outward hostility to someone who was bound to inherit so much money. Even at eight years old, he knew that staying away and playing cordial was the best avenue to take. Sejanus’ eyes were so big, he was doe-eyed and pathetic looking, the bag of gumdrops gripped in his hand an offer of friendship that no one would take. Coriolanus didn’t care to see it, his chest twisting in displeasure at the pitiful display. He had two gumdrops in his hand at the end of that day. Sejanus looked miserable, with dried smears of tears on his full cheeks, but at least he wasn’t crying anymore. He didn’t know, then, what consequences would his taking of the gumdrops have. It put everything into motion, linking them in a way that Coriolanus most certainly did not expect.
They were not friends, but they were on friendly terms, it was a loose definition of what was going on between them as the years passed. It was Coriolanus ignoring Sejanus, Sejanus offering him up a small smile whenever their eyes met, Coriolanus’ head tipping in response now and again; they ate together as they grew older, but it was unusual, and most of the topics of their discussions were about school, or about Sejanus’ disdain for the school, for the Capitol, for his father, for people like Coriolanus himself, even if he didn’t say it outright, or maybe he didn’t realize it. Sometimes, the boy would launch into a passionate tirade that Coriolanus found himself rather fascinated by, not what he was saying, no, but the passion that dressed the tone of his voice, he would go red around his neck, and his eyes would glint with rage, Coriolanus felt his stomach clench uncomfortably.
He did not know what got over him, when one day, after Sejanus offered him a slice of cake his mother (ma, he rolled his eyes internally) made for his sixteenth birthday, Coriolanus looked at him silently for a few moments. He said thank you, in a smaller voice than usual, wondering hungrily whether the flavor of the cake was vanilla, or perhaps chocolate, or something even more exotic. Sejanus’ lips curved into a smile, his eyes so large on his boyish face, and his neck looked a little red again; Coriolanus heard a buzzing in his ears, there was an uncomfortable feeling emerging, he was feeling itchy under his skin. He leaned up (curse Sejanus, he had a growth spurt recently) and pressed his lips against his, feeling his skin buzzing this time, what a curious sensation. He hadn’t felt much last time he kissed someone, that unnamed girl on a dare, with how fleeting it was, the kiss barely registered. He couldn’t even remember it, like it was a fever dream, something he conjured up.
Sejanus’ hand splayed on his waist and he had a large palm, or maybe it was Coriolanus’ waist that had barely developed, tapered and small. Their lips moved with inexperience, but there was eagerness, Coriolanus could feel it, from the way Sejanus pressed back, how he clung to his lip with his teeth, Coriolanus felt his neck heat up, felt this heat implode in his chest and flow down his body in ribbons. It was everywhere, and when he made a tiny sound he felt mortified, out of control, pulling away. He’d scurried away with a brazen, self-satisfied expression on his face. Counterfeit, but Sejanus didn’t know that. They didn’t talk about it afterwards. Sejanus didn’t try, and Coriolanus wanted to forget desperately.
Sejanus had not attended any reaping day, money got him out of that, too, but Coriolanus knew, with the tenth annual Hunger Games coming, that things would change, perhaps substantially. Sejanus was forced into it, and he was feeling perversely satisfied about it. Let him see. Let him not hide away, safe with his father’s money, free to act however he wanted, to disrupt, to be combative, because he had something to fall back on. But not this time. He wouldn’t deny that Sejanus was intelligent, and he thought he was brilliant at rhetoric; his father might have pulled strings for him to end as one of the twenty four students to act as mentors to the tributes, but he knew at least part of it was deserved, which, somehow, angered him more. He wished Sejanus was stupid. He wished he was, so that he would have yet another reason to hate him. He hated him because he was not stupid.
The Games were a nightmare. When he had to break Sejanus out of the arena, as they were on the brink of being killed, he felt like his life was nothing but a joke. How had he ended up here, having to rescue a boy who wanted to die? The money, the money and the prestige, and winning the Games, and the Plinth prize. It had to be all worth it in the end, Coriolanus consoled himself as he reeled and struggled with the fact that he had killed that tribute in the arena. Sejanus made him kill someone. He really was despicable.
Alas, things could never be so easy for him, could they? He was cursed with bad luck, and when the dean presented him with the proof of his cheating, he thought that was that. The panic threatened to engulf him. With his last money, he managed to be sent to Twelve. Lucy Gray; a shining beacon of hope in all this madness, she would look at him like he was still important, won’t she? He was her hero. At least, he hoped that she would if she were still alive. He’d never had darker thoughts than he did as he was sitting in his bunk bed, suicide having been a constant on his mind ever since he left for Twelve. This was not his place. This was not where he should be, where he was dull, another cog in the wheel, another face that people would take as being ordinary, when he was anything but ordinary.
Sejanus was the last person he expected to see, in this dingy, dusty place, but when he heard his voice, Coriolanus could not deny the sliver of hope that soared in him, couldn’t deny the warmth that seared him as he leaped at him, into his arms. There was one person who knew of his worth. It was going to be alright. It had to, it had to.
Sejanus could not stop making trouble. Really, he should have known. He should have known that he was even less likely to be kept in check here, now that he had some modicum of authority, of power, but he was going about things the wrong way, and he was going to pull Coriolanus down with him, he was going to be his downfall. Watching Sejanus, unfortunately, became a pastime of his, but even hissing warnings and a stern talking to did not seem to deter Sejanus in his frankly suicidal plans. His stubbornness knew no bounds, and he even had the gall to tell him that he didn’t need any rescuing, it was infuriating. He did wonder if a different, softer approach would help, if intimacy would be the path to getting that boy’s mind sorted out.
Coriolanus felt homesick. He knew he could appeal to Sejanus by losing that sharpness in his face, and purposefully moping around, and of course, even with their tense relationship lately, Sejanus noticed. He was a good friend, wasn’t he? He stood on the bunk bed with Coriolanus, an arm draped over his shoulder, he smelled of pine, fresh and tangy, and his breath was warm, he could feel it, sitting so close. He was consoling him, but Coriolanus was tuning out the words, his hand draping over Sejanus’ thigh, where the fabric of his pants was strained. He felt Sejanus freeze beside him immediately, and his heart beat over the sound of everything else around them when his head tipped, when he kissed Sejanus. It was for comfort, it was to pull him to his side again, it was to put him in his place, it was all of those, and Sejanus, just like last time, years ago, hardly hesitated to kiss him back. It was exhilarating, and it was exhilarating to know that Sejanus still harbored feelings for him, whatever they were, clearly Coriolanus could try and use them to his advantage. It was not the same boyish, more innocent kiss that they shared in the past, Coriolanus felt bolder, and Sejanus was even more proactive than he was, Coriolanus shamefully gasping when he felt the soft tongue prodding at his lips, delving past the seam of his lips.
He wondered if Sejanus kissed other people, before him, after him, he wondered, their chests were pressed flush and it was reckless, anyone could walk in. He wouldn’t be able to deal with the humiliation, but it felt so good, and he didn’t want it to stop. His groin throbbed, it was embarrassing, to feel so needy, but when his hand brushed up over Sejanus’ thigh and between his legs more accidentally than not, he felt Sejanus shiver with a violent jerk, a reaction so potent. There were voices outside the barracks. It was Sejanus who pulled away, and that made him feel markedly mortified, the way he had not been able to grasp control, to wrench himself away. The other peacekeepers spilled into the room, and Coriolanus left. He tingled from the top of his head to the bottoms of his feet, so uncomfortable.
He couldn’t say he didn’t expect Sejanus’ fate. When they took him for interrogation, he was sick with fear. He felt concerned, scared for Sejanus even, but he felt concerned for himself, too, knowing he would be next, knowing he would go to the noose, knowing that his name will amount to not even a whisper on someone’s lips, in time. With him, the Snow name was dead, and the thought sickened him. Worrying about Sejanus was not helping with his panic, and he pushed away thoughts of him as much as he could, face remaining mostly impassive when the Commander looked over to him, wanting to put on a brave countenance.
It was two days later, when they were told Sejanus escaped. Coriolanus felt his knees go weak. Escaped, how could he have? Did he tell them anything about Coriolanus? Where would he even go? They had peacekeepers looking for him in the woods, and Coriolanus breathed a sigh of relief when he was not among those who went on the hunt. That would have been too much to bear with. Another day later, the group of peacekeepers returned, and they said Sejanus was dead. They said he resisted, but succumbed eventually, and they burned his body. Coriolanus threw up in the bathroom, on his knees, shaking. His eyes burned, and he couldn’t muffle his sobs. What was he going to do?
He figured it out soon enough after, and decided to take the position the Commander offered him in Two. Lucy Gray told him she was running away, and as fond as he was of her, now with more opportunities ahead, he couldn’t go. He knew where his place was, and it was not in the woods of Twelve. Not in the woods where Sejanus died, where his body was incinerated, where his ashes seeped into the ground and mixed in grotesquely.
He could only be exhilarated when his destination was the Capitol. He could only be more exhilarated when Sejanus’ parents, grief-stricken as they were, took him in as a substitute son. It felt beneath him, but he also knew an opportunity when he saw one, and he wasn’t about to refuse. Things were looking up again. If he had any nightmares about Sejanus dying over the years, he ignored them. If there were dark brown eyes that he encountered that reminded him of Sejanus, he ignored them, too. He ignored his own heart, yearning for something he couldn’t understand, bursting into tears when a memory came to him unbidden. It was unbefitting. It was a waste of time to entertain ghosts of the past.
Coriolanus Snow was President of Panem. Rightfully, finally he was getting what he deserved. Riches and comfort, and power that was wielded with an iron fist. He was unstoppable. There was no one else who could lead Panem like he did, and he proved it, over the next years, increasing the districts’ dependency on the Capitol, helping with making the Games more cruel, more entertaining, the economy was booming. The rich got richer, and the poor got poorer, everyone getting exactly what they deserved.
The rumors of Thirteen surviving and even thriving were just that, rumors. Still, when he fixated on something, he couldn’t stop obsessing over it. If Thirteen were still around, he couldn’t sit around and wait for the enemy to strike. He wanted to know for himself, but now, as he found himself collapsed into the woods of Twelve, having been shot in his thigh, he dizzily wondered what was he thinking, coming here himself. How was he to know that the peacekeepers he brought along with him were filthy rebels? He didn’t even know how he managed to make a run for it, but he must have been running for so long now, his legs started to burn, the adrenaline wearing off, and sharp pain pooled in. There were only rows and rows of trees, and he was going to die here, to bleed to death on this wretched soil. He was panting, his chest heaved with harsh, sour breaths, and sweat trickled on his back, his shirt felt wet. No, he couldn’t, it couldn’t end like this.
He had to get up and move forward, maybe find someone, but even if he did find someone, why would they help? Coriolanus knew he wouldn’t help if he were in their place. The President of Panem, injured, that was an incredible advantage to have, they wouldn’t help, they likely would just kill him, maybe torture him, too, maybe prop him up somewhere after they killed him, like a trophy. His thigh twinged, he was going to get an infection and die. A wild animal will find him and he will die, bits of him torn out by massive jaws. Maybe it will be the elements. So many ways to die, so little to survive. He tried to stand up, but cursed in agony and fell down again. He heard rustling, and then footsteps, and his heart beat like a little bird trying to escape his ribcage, he couldn’t hide, he couldn’t move, there was nowhere to go, this was it. This was it, the mighty, fair President of Panem dying in the woods like an animal. What he saw first was the dip of a shoulder and the rifle resting on it, and then he saw the barrel of the gun, aimed straight at him. His thigh gushed with blood.
“No, no, I’m injured—” the stranger sauntered closer, and he looked up into his eyes immediately, fierceness in his gaze. Coriolanus almost fainted, all color drained from his already pale face, it was Sejanus, his hair was curly and a little long, and he looked rather uncouth with his beard, but it was Sejanus, it was Sejanus—
“Sejanus,” it felt thick in his mouth, like cotton on his tongue, his name, he’d said it over the years, of course, what with being around the Plinths, but like this it felt so strange, it tumbled out gracelessly, shocked.
“You got shot,” Sejanus said, like all of this was a normal conversation, as normal as it can be given the circumstances, and not like it was demented, which it was, was he an apparition? Was he real? “How do you know my name?”
Coriolanus stared. His eyes burned, and tears started to pour on his face, so undignified. Was he hallucinating? Was he dying, bleeding out on the floor of the forest right now and imagining Sejanus?
“Hey, hey. You’ll be okay,” it was Sejanus’ voice, unmistakable, quiet and comforting and deep. You’re gonna do great. He was still crying, sobbing more like it, unable to speak, gripped with fear, of dying, of Sejanus, of going insane. “It’s the pain, isn’t it? I have to carry you. I have some vaseline and some bandages for you.” He felt so lightheaded, his tears trailing down his neck, he couldn’t remember the last time he cried, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe.
He fainted.
When he woke up, he was instantly on alert. He realized he was not outside anymore, and as he looked down at his thigh he saw that it’d been cleaned. He had no idea where he was, and the surroundings didn’t provide much help, it looked like a cabin, or a shack of sorts, a little grimy, there was not much around and he was sitting on a blanket that looked tattered. Sejanus. Was it Sejanus? Did he hallucinate another face because of the pain? The door creaked, and he tensed, breath coming out in a rush when the man slid in, when Sejanus slid in, yes, Sejanus, but he couldn’t understand how. He looked at him like he’d seen a ghost, because he was, his eyes were wide and fearful when he approached, and he flinched back.
“It’s alright, we had some vaseline left. I don’t know if the bandage will be thick enough, but it will have to do. If you still got the bullet in you, I’m not going to dig around for it. You might get an infection, it’s better to leave it alone for now.” He had no idea what to say. Sejanus? How? Do you know who I am? Why don’t you recognize me? What happened to you? Despite the slightly scruffy appearance, he looked healthy and solid, and the beard suited him well enough. He looked handsome, even. His eyes watered again when Sejanus looked straight at him, and he had to avoid his gaze. It was too much. It was too raw, it made him feel sick to see those eyes again.
“Who shot you? Who were you running from?” He saw, from his peripheral vision, that Sejanus was assessing him, with as much subtlety as he could muster. He knew that he would figure out he wasn’t from the districts, even if he, for whatever reason, didn’t know that he had just saved the President from certain death. His clothes gave him away, his overall appearance and cleanliness, and the rings adorning his fingers.
“Something tells me you’re not from here,” Sejanus continued, and his voice seeped like warmth over Coriolanus’ spine. He wanted to hear his name in that voice.
“No. I ran into some trouble, if you can help me get back to Twelve,” the peacekeepers would take him in, and he should be properly taken care of, have a hovercraft arrive to whisk him away to the Capitol for his treatment. Sejanus seemed to contemplate this, humming.
“How did you know my name?” he asked, firm, and he could see, now that he dared to look into his eyes again, that there was suspicion.
What could he say? “You reminded me of someone. I was mistaken.”
“Someone named just like me and looking similarly to me?” Coriolanus nodded, knowing it was flimsy, but it was all that he could give, with his thigh burning, with his bones aching, with his panic and confusion of a magnitude he couldn’t control. Sejanus spoke again, and Coriolanus’ chest ached. It ached, and ached, and he almost wanted him to stop talking, to go away.
“You’re going to have to stay here for a few days. I have to clean the wound, and you’re in no shape to walk.” No, I can’t. You scare me. You’re a ghost.
“Where are we?” he asked, looking everywhere but at Sejanus, focusing on the hole he could see in his thigh, now with the skin cleaned off, it was grisly.
“I live close to this cabin. Even if I told you where we are, I don’t think you’d know,” no, he likely would know, but Sejanus apparently didn’t know that he would. “You’re safe. I’m a medic. I’ll take care of you.” A medic? His eyes burned again. A medic.. Make a difference out there.
“You live alone?” he felt compelled to ask, morbidly curious about everything and still scared out of his mind. Sejanus suddenly looked a little coy. Something twisted in Coriolanus’ chest.
“No,” he said, and his neck looked a little red, “I’ll patch you up, and I’ll come back later with some food. We don’t have much, but it should be enough for a few days. I barely managed to convince Darius to keep you here, but he means well. He’s just scared.”
Darius. “Darius?” he hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud, something uncomfortable tugging at his chest.
“My partner,” Sejanus said easily, but a little shy, maybe wary, too. Partner? His mouth felt bitter, and he looked at Sejanus straight on, catching those beautiful dark brown eyes. As lovely as ever. As big and doe eyed as that first day when he met him, more than twenty years ago.
“It’s going to hurt,” Sejanus warned, kindly, as he went on to rub vaseline over the wound, and then to bandage it up. Coriolanus hissed and twisted, and Sejanus looked at him with so much compassion in those eyes that he was forced to look away again. It was sickening.
“I’m going to be back later,” he promised, “I’m sorry I don’t have anything more comfortable to give you. I’ll come back with a pillow, I think we can spare one.” Coriolanus hummed, and slumped more against the wall of the cabin. He thought that he had to be imagining it all. He had to be hallucinating. Even with the pain, and with the dizzying confusion, he fell asleep.
He smelled food when he next woke up. Sejanus was still there. He was holding a bowl of what seemed to be soup and, given the circumstances, Coriolanus thought it smelled divine.
“You’re awake,” his voice curled around his heart, tight, like a vice. “I brought you some soup. I made it myself. There is meat, too, you need it to recover. Darius is a good hunter.. I just can’t do it.” Coriolanus almost laughed. How ridiculous. Bullseye, really wasting your talent.
Coriolanus ate the soup greedily. He could tell that it helped, because he felt more clear-headed almost right away. With that, he felt more capable of thinking about this, about what in the world was happening. Why was Sejanus here? How did he get here? Where was here? Who was Darius? Why didn’t Sejanus recognize him? How much did Sejanus remember? Who was Darius?
“You didn’t tell me your name,” Sejanus prodded, and his head hurt, because he realized that Sejanus trusted him just like that, not even knowing his name, even seeing his clothes. Foolish, kind Sejanus, it seemed that even forgetting who he was did not make him forget what kind of person he was.
“Augustus,” Coriolanus said, the first one that came to mind, and moved a bit. Moved his other leg, stretched a bit, he felt horrible, his shirt was dry now, but he felt grimy, and sticky.
“I’d say nice to meet you, Augustus, but I’d have preferred we met in better circumstances,” Sejanus chuckled, and Coriolanus’ jaw tensed. The noise had him clutch at the grungy floor.
The smell inside the cabin was not fetid, but it was stuffy, and somehow it showed on his face that he was displeased by it, when he took a few harsh breaths in. “I could leave the door open for a bit. I know it smells a little foul. It’s where Darius prepares the meat, usually.” He brought him into the slaughterhouse. Coriolanus almost gagged. “I would appreciate it,” he bit out.
Darius, again.
“You’re not very nice, are you?” Sejanus asked, and Coriolanus looked at him with wide eyes. Still, there wasn’t any hostility in Sejanus’ eyes, “It’s fine. I can imagine you’re in distress. In pain.”
“No. I’m.. thankful,” he breathed, defeated. He was, but he was plagued with so much confusion still, and the panic at the thought that he might not make it alive. There was still so much danger. He wasn’t safe. Sejanus nodded.
He came back the next day, to clean up his wound. The touch made Coriolanus squirm, in pain, but there was something else. Sejanus’ hands, large, and so delicate working on him, brought a shiver at the base of his neck. They had to be close for it, and seeing Sejanus’ face so up close was uncomfortable. He smelled of pine, fresh and tangy.
“How did you come to live here?” he asked, unable to hold himself back.
Sejanus’ eyebrows rose for a second, his focused face breaking into a brief, pained expression. “My past is.. complicated,” Coriolanus thought he would leave it at that, and he couldn’t have it. He needed to know more.
“Whose isn’t, right?” Coriolanus spoke companionably, putting on the charm. He hadn’t showered since yesterday morning, he knew his hair was in clumps atop his head, and he looked far from charming, but still, he had to try.
“Mm. I suppose. I’ve just been working as a medic for a while. I followed Darius here. We met.. some other place, after I was rescued.”
Rescued.
Rescued.
The peacekeepers lied shamelessly. He remembered how they came back with bruises, but he didn’t have time to contemplate on what that meant. He was devastated with heartache, he was mourning.
“Rescued?” Coriolanus inquired gently. Sejanus bandaged him up, his touch bringing more shivers down his arms, he could blame it on the cold. Sejanus looked uncomfortable. Coriolanus lifted his hand, gripped his jaw to tilt his head towards him, so their gazes met. He could see that Sejanus was startled by his sudden action. “You don’t have to tell me, it’s fine.”
“I don’t remember very well. I was beaten. I was beaten within an inch of my life, but I don’t remember who beat me, or why. I can’t remember much.. before that.” He wondered if he remembered his parents, or anything about his life before. About his time in Twelve. About Two. About the Capitol. He didn’t remember Coriolanus.
“Sejanus came back to me after a bit.. but I can’t remember my family name. But it’s alright. I go by Sejanus Stone, from Darius,” Darius, again. His teeth gnashed. It felt wrong. You’re Sejanus Plinth. You’re from the Capitol. You’re rich. You’re smart. You’re my.. friend.
“How long have you and Darius been together?” Coriolanus asked, failing to sound casual. It sounded as if he asked for his date of execution.
“A few years. He’s sweet,” Sejanus only said, with a smile on his face. Content, but there was something else there, too. Was he not happy? Was Darius mistreating him? Sejanus was still smiling. Coriolanus was all patched up again.
“What about you, Augustus? Anyone looking for you in these woods?” Coriolanus felt his whole body lock up uncomfortably. What a terrible subject.
“No.” His tongue stuck to the roof of his dry mouth, and Sejanus made a curious sound, a hum of wonderment. Why? Was he laughable? Coriolanus frowned. He reached for the bottle of water to relieve his parched mouth, and Sejanus reached for it, too.
“Ah, sorry. I was thinking of going back to refill it,” his fingers tingled where they touched. His chest hurt again.
When Sejanus came back the next day, his hair was short. “You cut your hair!” Immediately Coriolanus said, the beard was still intact, but the hair was cropped, not a buzz cut, not like when they were peacekeepers, but close. I don’t need you to rescue me, Coryo.
Sejanus smiled, coming in with more pillows and blankets, stuffing them under Coriolanus’ leg, to keep it a bit more elevated.
“Yes, my girls wouldn’t stop giving me grief for my longer hair,” Girls? Coriolanus felt his head spin. Was he hallucinating? Sejanus sat down, looked at his wound dutifully.
“I can’t say for sure, not one hundred percent, but it seems like the bullet didn’t hit any major blood vessels or bone. It’s looking good,” Coriolanus swallowed.
“Good,” he replied, feeling dazed. Children? Sejanus was a father?
“You could try walking today, or tomorrow. I don’t want you sitting for too long. I’ll help,” his ears were buzzing.
“Did you say girls? Earlier?” Sejanus ducked his head, smiling. It was gorgeous.
“Ah, yeah. Darius and I.. we have two little girls. They’re his nieces, but they’re ours. Their mother passed away.” That was that. Sejanus was never going to leave this place. Sejanus was not going to go back with him. When did he start thinking about it?
Coriolanus only realized on the fourth day that the peacekeepers that were with him might still be hunting him. He hadn’t thought about them at all, still reeling from the shock of being shot and Sejanus. If he was going back with Sejanus, they had to take that rifle that the man was carrying when he rescued him. Maybe they abandoned the idea, he thought, maybe they think I’m dead. A precaution never hurt. And Sejanus was so good with his aim, unless he forgot that, too. No. He was almost sure he didn’t. Just a hunch.
He tried walking later that day, Sejanus lifting him up to his side like he weighed nothing. His thigh ached, but it was not unbearable, especially with Sejanus taking the burden of most of his weight. It felt strange to lean against him. His arm went around his sturdy waist, clinging almost pathetically to him, and his eyes burned again. Sejanus spoke to him in that gentle voice, encouraging, and tears spilled on his cheeks, to his embarrassment. Sejanus wiped them away, assuming they were of pain, “It’s alright. You’re doing alright, Augustus,” Coryo, he pleaded in his head, call me Coryo. No one had called him that in more than a decade.
When they slumped to the floor after some walking, Coriolanus was breathing a bit harshly, but otherwise was rather pleased with his effort, with his progress. Sejanus had taken excellent care of him.
“Amazing. You’ll be good to go in no time,” Sejanus said enthusiastically, from beside him, and Coriolanus dropped his head on his shoulder. He remembered the last time Sejanus comforted him like this, back when he was homesick for the Capitol. Back when they kissed, and he tingled all over. He wondered if Sejanus’ beard would feel scratchy against his jaw if they kissed, or if it was soft. He wanted to touch it. Nuzzle against it.
“Are you going to accompany me to Twelve?” he said quietly, Sejanus already did so much for him, but that was how Coriolanus was, he always took, selfish to the marrow of his bones.
After a quiet moment, Sejanus replied, “Yes. You can’t go on your own.. maybe whoever shot you is still out there. But I can leave you somewhere close to Twelve. I can’t go there. I don’t go there.” He supposed here, wherever this was, was not the districts, unless it was Thirteen, but he didn’t think it was. It seemed to be a little isolated place, somewhere deep into the woods, shielded. He hadn’t heard any other voice other than Sejanus’, and one another man, once, which he presumed to be the dreadful Darius. He wondered again if Sejanus remembered anything about Twelve.
“You really don’t remember anything before you were rescued?” His head was still propped on Sejanus’ broad shoulder, and he pressed so flush against him, he could blame it on the cold, Sejanus allowed it, ever the gentleman.
“No. Sometimes I have dreams.. I don’t know. The trauma to my brain must have been extensive.”
“You didn’t want to investigate it?”
“I did, at first. But I was starting to fit in.. with the people who rescued me. I was feeling safe. I guess I was afraid to find out who I was, before. What kind of life I led,” Not a happy life, Coriolanus thought, you were miserable. And I only made you more so. “It doesn’t really matter now.”
You don’t belong here. You don’t belong here, it’s not right. This is not your place. Coriolanus smiled lazily when he thought about those times when the same thoughts flitted through his head about Sejanus. So long ago. District, not Capitol. He supposed time changed some things. He supposed finding out your friend hasn’t been dead for twelve years changed some things.
His head tilted in, towards Sejanus, on his shoulder, and Sejanus looked at him then. He was so close, if he swooped in a bit more he could rub his cheek against Sejanus’ beard. What he did instead was close his mouth over his, over the lips that gasped in surprise as soon as they were touched. Coriolanus always took, selfish to the marrow of his bones. He smelled tangy, but he tasted sweet. Despite everything, despite how insane this all was, Sejanus kissed him back, after that initial moment of surprise. He couldn’t believe it, but he took it, anyway, drinking up from those lips, a memory from years ago surfacing, folding itself over this new moment, how greedy he was then, how greedy he was now, how his body thrummed then, how his body thrummed now. Sejanus’ beard was soft, a caress against his jaw. Euphoric was not an accurate enough of a word for how he felt.
Sejanus pushed at his chest. He stood up in a haste, looking confused, and betrayed, maybe. Sad? Regretful? “That’s not the kind of repayment I want. I don’t need anything from you.” His voice was firm, but he could see that he was flustered. He wanted to kiss him again. He was reeling from it. Sejanus was gone before he could say anything.
He tried walking on his own that night, but he was still fairly weak. He wondered if Sejanus wanted to go with him to Twelve, still. He wondered what he was doing, and what was happening back home, or back in Panem, really. Were they looking for him? Did they apprehend the rebels? He was truly beginning to understand that Sejanus and his.. family were nothing but recluses. Sejanus didn’t even know about him being President. Darius hadn’t dropped by once, except for the first day he was here, Sejanus told him, but he was unconscious then. Not that he wanted him to drop by.
Sejanus came back with food the next day, but his words were scarce. He pushed him to walk more. He pushed him to do it on his own. It didn’t bode well. Sejanus held his arm, later in the day when he tried to walk. Soft-hearted Sejanus, he couldn’t help himself. Coriolanus smiled. Why did he kiss him back? He didn’t imagine it. There must be something there, an inkling, a spark. Sejanus brought him a pair of pants, and he could tell that they were not his, because they were not large on him. It felt repugnant to wear them, but he couldn't refuse, his own pants now in tatters, stained with dried blood. He knew they had to leave soon.
He wanted Sejanus to come with him, no, he needed him to. How happy would his parents be! How well he’d fit, right beside Coriolanus, his right hand, his advisor, his closest confidant. He could be a medic. He could be a doctor, in the Capitol, he could be anything he wanted. Coriolanus could kiss him when he wanted. Could wrap his legs and arms around him and merge with him, tie the fabric of their souls together so they would never be apart again.
He didn’t see Sejanus in the morning. When he came, barging in, he was panting. He dropped to the floor in front of him, looking like a lunatic, his eyes wide and frantic, “Coryo,” Coriolanus’ heart leapt into his throat.
His hands cupped around Sejanus’ cheeks, leaning in till his forehead pressed to his, “Sejanus,” Come with me. Trust me. Elation imbued every bit of him, of his body, his smile so wide it hurt, his gaze tender, focused, Sejanus was crying, “Coryo.”
They leaned in together, desperate, Sejanus’ tears, his tears, falling on their lips as they kissed and kissed, his chest ached, full, replete.
I’m taking you with me.