Chapter Text
The next day, Coriolanus pulled him back into the janitor's closet, hand encircled around his wrist like it belonged there. Sejanus was sixteen, and although he was ignorant and inexperienced, he knew without a doubt he was about to experience his second kiss. Coriolanus was especially beautiful today—he was beautiful every day, of course—but there was a sparkle in his azure eyes, the purple underneath his eyelids lighter. His hair was flawlessly messy in a dazzling manner that made Sejanus yearn to muse it even more, and a smile was almost embedded into his lips.
Coriolanus was always this beautiful, Sejanus realized as the door shut gently behind them. The only difference was that Coriolanus was happy this morning, some sort of teenage boy giddiness flowing through his veins as he desperately tossed his arms around Sejanus' neck and kissed him senseless. Melting into him, Sejanus wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled Coriolanus against him; they were chest to chest, lips smashed together in some uncoordinated waltz.
Unlike yesterday, Sejanus wasn't pressed into the splintering wall. Chemicals weren't exploiting his senses. Although the closet was drafty with the scent of old wood and billowing dust, he was attacked by a gentle whirlwind of rose and mint and Coriolanus, Coriolanus, Coriolanus. Without the wall as an aid, Coriolanus was the only one keeping him on his feet—he swore his knees were shaking as if the wind was just knocked out of him. In a way, it certainly was.
The kiss wasn't as soft as yesterday's, not quite as innocent. In no way was it harsh or overly rough; it was merely tender, something Sejanus could sink into. He allowed Coriolanus to control the pace, because despite everything, he had no clue what he was fucking doing. For a moment, he wondered how Coriolanus was so talented at this, who he kissed in the past to acquire the capability to make Sejanus simultaneously want to combust and dig his way into Coriolanus' chest. Jealously was swept away before it rattled him—there was no purpose in reminiscing on what could have happened before this.
Because, Sejanus knew that even if Coriolanus kissed all of his classmates, all of Panem, all of the waking universe, he would never feel quite like this.
He saw it in Coriolanus' eyes when he pulled away, his hands trembling as they brushed through his dark curls. There was a river of uncertainty concealed within his irises, and Sejanus realized Coriolanus was fearful of whatever emotions were sweeping through him.
Coriolanus leaned in, and Sejanus whispered against his lips, "It's okay just to feel."
He nodded at that, that faraway look still encompassing his face. He kissed Sejanus again, softer this time, taking his time. Sejanus wrapped his fingers in blonde hair and delightfully mused it, just as he planned. Messiness was fitting for Coriolanus, he decided as they separated again. Sejanus strived to unravel him endlessly, because despite everything, Coriolanus still wasn't impeccable; he was a teenage boy with faulty aspirations and an ego perfect for this kind of world. He liked seeing Coriolanus imperfect. He liked when Coriolanus was nearly as uncertain as he was.
So he maneuvered Coriolanus' chin and kissed his neck, nipping at his skin and sucking with his lips. Coriolanus gasped out with surprise and then whispered his name, clutching the side of his face. Sejanus kissed him and kissed him and kissed him until he was the one shaking at the knees, dizzy with delirious thrill. Sejanus kissed him until he ran out of oxygen, and emerged from his neck with a heaving chest.
For a fleeting juncture of time, Coriolanus gazed at him, face stone cold and contemplative. Sejanus wracked his brain for anything he could have done wrong, panic squeezing at his lungs, which were already depleted as it was. "What?" he murmured, because if his voice was any louder, it would crack.
Coriolanus' immediately fell out of his haze and smiled so sweetly that Sejanus nearly forgot it even occurred. "Nothing," he replied, voice deeper than normal, rough with feeling. "I—it's nothing. I was just thinking." It was as if Coriolanus wasn't supposed to say the last sentence, because his eyebrows raised slightly, eyes creased with alarm.
Sejanus tilted his head, smiled up at him. "About me?" he flirted, and it sounded right coming out of his mouth.
There were multiple variations of this conversation that Sejanus dreamed of occurring next. Coriolanus would say he was thinking about all the things he could do to Sejanus in the concealed supply closet; he could compliment his hair, his eyes, his lips; he could downright confess his undying love, although that was least likely out of all those options.
Instead, Coriolanus let out a shaky breath as if depleted of air. He blinked hard, swallowing, looking past Sejanus' shoulder. It was such a turn of events, such an alteration of his typical behavior, that Sejanus nearly called him out for faking it. And then, Coriolanus muttered, "I'm scared."
The idea of Coriolanus' deceptiveness vanished. Sejanus cocked his head to the side, perplexed. Maybe he did do something wrong, after all. "Of what?" he asked, his voice jolting up an octave. He wanted to bang his head against the dusty, splintered wall. He sounded like a frightened boy.
Maybe he was.
Coriolanus bit at his lip. Sejanus wanted to kiss it, absorbed in the way Coriolanus' skin transformed into a dull gray and back to crimson. When Coriolanus began speaking, he forced himself to look into the deep trenches of those cobalt eyes.
"The Capital is horrid and dehumanizes those who are different—"
"Yeah, like those in the Districts," Sejanus snapped.
Coriolanus grimaced, probably realizing he wasn't going down the right path with this. "Can we not right now, Sejanus? Please, I'm really trying here."
If it were any other circumstance, Sejanus would have said something snide, something unforgiving. Instead, he forced himself to shut up and listen. It was the least he could do when Coriolanus was trying this hard. He curtly nodded in response.
Coriolanus touched the side of his face. "Thank you." He wrapped his hand around his cheek, and Sejanus was suddenly reminded of the day before.
Coriolanus was direct and diligent with his response this time; he never made the same mistake twice. "I'm scared because I like you a lot, Sejanus. And the Capital isn't very forgiving. The Capital will offer no mercy if its people comprehend my feelings for you."
Sejanus nodded again, this time rapidly. "I understand, Coriolanus, I really do. So we keep this a secret—"
He shook his head, grazing his fingers over Sejanus' cheekbones in response. Sejanus leaned into the touch without thinking much of it. "I know you understand, Sejanus, but I have much more to lose than you do," Coriolanus answered solemnly. "Your father can pay people to keep their mouth shut, to lie and grant the public with some cover-up. I, however, have nothing but my academic cachet—which, in turn, does not bestow me with many admirers—and a lack of common sense. And my lack of common sense is telling me this is a good idea."
Sejanus put immense effort in hiding his confusion. In what world did Coriolanus not acquire common sense? There was something off about this exchange. This personality that Coriolanus was embodying wasn't natural. It was a performance, if anything. Sejanus believed that Coriolanus was scared, because, yes, the Capital was not forgiving, and did not stand behind the image of two boys kissing seemingly idly in an esteem school's supply closet.
But the other emotions Coriolanus was emitting, the turmoil and the lack of hesitation, wasn't the boy Sejanus had cared so deeply about since moving to the Capital. Yet, what was Sejanus to do? Despite his skepticism, Coriolanus was being vulnerable, and whether his words and actions were true, Sejanus couldn't exactly shout and question everything he was doing.
Sejanus was sixteen-years-old and was just as anxious and dubious as a man three times his age. For fuck's sake, he was a teenager, a boy. He wasn't his father; sure, he was a schoolboy with an immense quantity of pressure tearing at his shoulders, but shouldn't he try to live before those responsibilities crush his bones, his muscles, his being? He was sixteen and a boy was kissing him and kissing him, and instead of questioning the reality of the situation, shouldn't he merely enjoy it? Sejanus wasn't exactly sure what it meant to be sixteen, but he knew part of it was living recklessly, attacking life without a thought of remorse.
So, Sejanus swallowed down his skepticism, allowed it to simmer in the pits of his stomach. He whispered, "I think it's a good idea, too. Coriolanus, fuck the Capital and fuck everyone in it." He paused, just to blurt, "In the midst of all this bullshit, all I care about is you."
Slowly and gradually, a smirk lined Coriolanus' mouth. Sejanus knew Coriolanus got what he wanted, whatever that was in the first place. And he forced himself not to think about it, instead, he pushed Coriolanus against the wall and kissed him until his mind went blank and flared white.
•••
Sejanus' father went out of town for a few months. He didn't know why. His father hadn't deemed Sejanus capable of handling such information yet.
Coriolanus began sleeping over three or four times a week. On school days, they would awaken intertwined in Sejanus' bed; eat Ma's carefully crafted breakfast; head to school; act like good, proper friends during classes; occasionally slip into the supply closet to, once again, act like good, proper friends and make out frantically and eagerly; head back to Sejanus' place; do homework in Sejanus' room and kiss some more; eat dinner and read and make out and do whatever they want to do before they fall back into bed, exhausted from the day.
Sejanus and Coriolanus mastered the art of concealing their affections, of simply appearing like school mates. They even still argued and debated during classes like they did before their emotions got all sloppy and overbearing. Sure, his classmates still gave him shit, and Coriolanus didn't do much about it—but it was all part of the act, the performance, right? Once their relationship commenced—or whatever it was, Sejanus wasn't exactly sure—he learned not to question things Coriolanus did. He was happy enough that Coriolanus was letting them kiss and cuddle and do what normal couples do. He didn't want to ruin it by complaining. Sejanus was so utterly and frustratingly used to fucking things up, and this was certainly something he wanted to avoid tampering with completely.
The only people that knew about the nature of their relationship was Ma and apparently Tigris. Ma didn't care that Sejanus liked boys—she was simply delighted that Coriolanus was by his side, that Sejanus was happy and giddy and undoubtedly falling in love. His Ma always talked about how teenage love was the best kind of love, although she and his father were arranged to get married. Sejanus realized that, deep down, Ma was merely happy that her son was experiencing something she wasn't permitted to enjoy.
Coriolanus claimed Tigris knew but never confirmed it. Like everything else, Sejanus wasn't going to question it. He was aware that Coriolanus trusted and cherished Tigris, so he didn't particularly mind whether Tigris was conscious of their relationship or not.
Oftentimes he would bring leftovers home to her. Coriolanus always asked Ma for permission, and that was the only time Tigris was brought up in conversation unless he was prompted to discuss her otherwise.
He adapted to the comfort of having Coriolanus' presence near him almost every waking minute. They were inseparable together during school, eating lunch together and sitting beside each other during classes. They studied and tested one another on coursework and ate meals side by side. Sejanus adored his weirdly domestic life with Coriolanus, but his favorite times occurred once the sun sunk beneath the horizon, dark torrenting throughout the night skyline.
It wasn't the sex. They probably did it two or three times a month, but normally they were too exhausted on school nights to do anything but curl around each other. And, honestly, Sejanus preferred the tranquility and reassurance of being held every night rather than the rush of adrenaline and thoughtless pleasure sex bestowed.
Like tonight, as Sejanus shut his eyes and went slack against Coriolanus' chest. He didn't have a shirt on, and Sejanus could feel the rise and fall of his breathing against his cheek. Bedsheets were bundled around their bodies, pillows stacked underneath their heads. Sejanus' hair was still damp from the shower, and Coriolanus idly stroked through the dark strands as if it was his second nature. Sejanus was so relaxed that he felt as if he was going to simply sink into the mattress and never rise again. He'd be content with that, as long as Coriolanus was with him.
"This is my favorite part of the day," Sejanus announced, interrupting the serene silence.
Coriolanus stopped playing with his hair for a moment, presumably contemplating, and then continued again. "Mine, too," he replied easily, kissing Sejanus' forehead with emphasis. Coriolanus was most gentle at night.
"You know, I liked you for a long time, Coryo. Long before you kissed me in that supply closet."
"I never could really understand how I thought about you," said Coriolanus, honesty pure and raw in his answer. "I knew I liked you more than a friend, and that sometimes I felt all giddy and nervous around you, but I didn't realize that I liked you romantically until I kissed you."
His face flushed. Romantically. He liked how Coriolanus said it, the emotion embedded in those words.
Sejanus didn't say anything else for a long time, and Coriolanus took that as an opportunity to intertwine their legs and wrap his arms tighter around his torso. Sejanus was reeling by the warmth of it all; the warmth of Coriolanus' words, his body, the blankets. The warm, delirious comfort settling deep within his bones. An untroubled and undisturbed warmth, hazily wafting around the room, filling the gaps of pleasant silence.
Yet, simultaneously, uncertainty clawed at the back of his brain.
Over and over again, Sejanus had reminded himself not to question things, not to think twice about Coriolanus. He could never even begin to understand the workings of the way he was, and he would have to get over it. But the irritating sensation of disbelief hovered beneath his eyelids, begging to be seen.
"I really didn't realize you liked me like that," Sejanus finally said.
"Why?" he asked lightly, as if he truly didn't know.
Because Coriolanus would sometimes eat lunch with him in pure silence. He told Sejanus nothing about his personal life, and seemingly didn't care to ask Sejanus about his.
Because Coriolanus turned his back when people were mean to him, pretending as if nothing happened. Or, in some circumstances, even joined in.
Because he looked down upon Sejanus whenever he defended the Districts. He didn't even attempt to understand; he wasn't sympathetic or pitying or imploring. Whenever the subject arose, he would either clamp up or dismiss Sejanus' argument all together, as if his opinion wasn't relevant or significant.
Sejanus hesitated, then said, "I don't know. Maybe I'm just oblivious to that kind of thing."
Coriolanus laughed airily and beautifully, and Sejanus wasn't giddy.
"I'm tired," Coriolanus muttered, and Sejanus knew that statement would cease their conversation.
Coriolanus flipped on his side. Sejanus was guided by the movement, and ended up flush against the other boy with his face snug in the crook of his neck. He inhaled the scents of rose and mint immersed in Coriolanus' skin, and he knew despite how uptight he currently was, the aroma still managed to make him dizzy.
Maybe Sejanus was too caught up with the whirlwinds of their relationship to confront the brutal truth, the unembellished understanding that was concealed by his fleeting feelings of finally being wanted.
It was really fucking unfair, Sejanus realized. But he really didn't know what he was complaining about when Coriolanus was beautiful and gentle and right there with his arms wrapped tenderly around his body.
•••
Sejanus' father remained abroad for several more weeks after that. For days upon days, he stuck with Coriolanus. For days upon days, they kissed and laughed and muttered sweet nothings into each others ears. He was a teenage boy experiencing dazzling love for the first time, or so he thought.
Coriolanus continued to bring home leftovers. And then he began to bring home other things. Money unmistakably went missing from Sejanus' wallet. Expensive porcelain suddenly disappeared from the kitchen. Ma's ring was gone, as if it slipped off her finger and diminished without a trace.
Coriolanus was a skilled thief, but Sejanus saw straight through him. He wasn't foolish and oblivious about everything, although that was what Coriolanus oh-so desperately wanted to believe.
Sejanus soon learned the nature of their relationship. He learned why it commenced in the first place. And, of course, Coriolanus succeeded. In spite of it all, Sejanus fell in love with him.
Sejanus fell in love with the twists of golden hair, the hypnotizing cobalt of his eyes, his smell, his steady stature. He fell in love with Coriolanus' gentle words; the words that he was capable of carving and manipulating to make Sejanus believe anything that left his lips. He fell in love with Coriolanus' self-confidence and ego and opinions, even when he utilized his presence to put Sejanus down, to silence him. He fell in love with all things beautiful and all things ugly and all things purely and utterly Coriolanus Snow.
•••
Sejanus wasn't surprised when Coriolanus ended it a few months later, but it still felt like a dagger to the chest. His father was finally back home and Coriolanus couldn't sleep over anymore—he refused to expose the true intentions of their relationship to anybody else. Sejanus supposed he was no longer able to sleep comfortably on his padded mattress and eat Ma's food and steal family heirlooms. He supposed Coriolanus was no longer gaining anything from their relationship.
That morning, Sejanus kissed him in the supply closet and Coriolanus didn't press back. Sejanus kissed him again, desperate, but by then he was well aware that it was over. Their last kiss was fueled by Sejanus' delusional distress that Coriolanus no longer wanted to use him anymore.
Coriolanus told him he couldn't continue. It was too pressuring. It would be beneficial to both of them to cut things off, to focus on the academy. But, still, he wanted to maintain their friendship.
"Of course I'll be friends with you," Sejanus replied, fighting back tears and the urge to strangle him.
And that was that.
Sejanus would never forget the scratchy texture of the closet's wall, the cascade of Coriolanus' lips, the dizzying warmth, the aroma of rose and mint stuck to his clothes.
He knew, in a way, Coriolanus loved him. Or so he hoped Coriolanus loved him.
He thought Coriolanus had loved him.
Despite everything, Sejanus loyally stood beside Coriolanus and remained his friend. And he fucking loathed it, and he loved it all the same.