Chapter Text
Sejanus was sixteen years old when he had his first kiss.
It wasn't elegant, nor was it very enjoyable. After all, it occurred within a janitor closet. Chlorine and bleach wafted in his face, and the overbearing aroma of chemicals teared up his eyes. Coriolanus was stalking back and forth, although he didn't have much room in such a small area. He kicked a broom and it torrented to the floor with a boisterous clatter.
Sejanus felt rather imperceptible. Because, despite this situation being entirely about Sejanus, his temper forcing Coriolanus to grab him by the collar and yank him aggressively into the closet, Coriolanus still found a way to make the circumstances spiral around himself. The more time Sejanus spent with him, the more he realized that Coriolanus wasn't the impeccable person he was made out to be. Yet, strangely, Sejanus was still drawn to him. And he fucking loathed it, and he loved it all the same.
"Do you know how to keep your damn mouth closed?" Coriolanus hollered, his voice echoing raucously against the wall. "I mean, can you go without stating your opinion for once in your life?"
Sejanus laughed bluntly, a bitter noise that sparked something dangerous in Coriolanus' eye. He ignored it, because he was sick and tired of the influence Coriolanus had over him. "I'm not going to apologize to you about this. In what fucked up universe would I have to apologize for standing up for children that are being treated like animals?"
"In this one, dumbass," Coriolanus muttered between his teeth. His complexion was crimson, red spiraling on pale cheeks. It was a hapless look for him.
He clenched his fists, nails digging into flesh. "You know that I'm District, Coriolanus. I can't just stand around and allow our classmates to make fun of the way these kids are dying in the games."
"Sejanus, that's just the way it is. You can't fucking change anything. Throwing fits and screaming stupid remarks just makes you look like a fool."
Sejanus slammed his knee into the wooden shelves continuously, rage contaminating his muscles. Aggression didn't usually run so deeply in his veins; his anger typically inspired words of vigor, not the yearning to bruise his entire being. He swiveled his head around, menacing as a savage animal. Like how the Capital viewed the Districts, the dwellings in which he was born.
He growled, "That poor girl from District 8 was beaten to death with a rock. The Gamemakers purposely provided no weapons. Instead, broken bits of brick, boulders, and twisted pieces of metal. They want the tributes to kill like animals. They want to further spread the message that those born outside of the Capital aren't people. It's sick, Coriolanus, and I know you can see this, too."
He yanked at his blonde hair and struggled to say anything. Sejanus had never rendered him speechless before; strangely, he was rather proud of himself in some twisted, vainglorious manner. Finally, he was capable of saying, "That's just the way the world works, Sejanus. Obviously I don't condone children fighting each other to the death, but it's merely the price of losing a war—"
"Innocent citizens, innocent children, should not have to suffer and murder each other due to a lost war!"
"A war they lost, Sejanus. A rebellion they commenced. What else were they supposed to expect?"
That was Sejanus' breaking point. Something within him snapped. There was no doubt in Coriolanus' statement, no lingering sense of hesitation. The assertion that those children deserved to suffer was something that Sejanus would never expect to come out of Coriolanus mouth, despite the circumstances of their upbringing.
Momentum surged his body forward and he grabbed the clothing stretching across Coriolanus' chest, pulling. Coriolanus hissed under his breath and pushed him back. Sejanus was too wrapped up in his emotions, too wrapped up in the fabric of Coriolanus' uniform, that he held on. He held on and brawled and thrashed and yanked like the District boy he was, aggressive and animalistic and everything that caused terror to run through the foundation of the Capital. Hot tears of desperation cascaded down his cheeks.
At the end of the day, Coriolanus was larger. He was stronger and actually functional. And Sejanus was delirious. So, it was not bewildering when Sejanus was pushed against the closet wall, face blurry with moisture. Newfound shame and embarrassment settled deep within the roots of his body, and he was utterly exhausted.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, the blue eyes gazing back at him softening.
"You know I care about you, Sejanus," he said.
"I know."
"You know I'm your friend. That I'll hear you out and talk to you about these kinds of things in private."
"I know."
Coriolanus' grip tightened for a few moments. Sejanus' breath hitched when one of his hands maneuvered upward to wipe dark strands of hair off his sweaty forehead. The other remained on his shoulder, grounding and affectionate. He said, "I agree that it is completely despicable and horrendous. The doings of the Capital, I mean. But that's the way the system is. And, sometimes, you have to please the system in order to make something of yourself, in order to survive. Do you understand, Sejanus? You deter the Capital's system, and you won't survive."
"Corio—"
A hand caressed Sejanus' cheekbone, then wrapped around his cheek. "No, Sejanus. Please, listen to me. The Capital hates rebels, they fucking despise them. And if you give off even the slightest indication that you disagree with the way they run things, you're screwed. You will not survive. You will die. They will make sure you die. You will not survive, despite your father's money, despite the anger you hold. Nothing will change that, Sejanus. Absolutely nothing."
A tear and his insanity slipped away simultaneously. Sejanus didn't know what he was thinking. Coriolanus was right, of course. He was always right. Sejanus wondered how a boy—a sixteen-year-old boy—could manage to always be right, to manage to know the correct answer to everything.
Coriolanus smiled knowingly, as if he simply could tell Sejanus had a change of thought. He wiped the lone tear away, and Sejanus wished he could unlock the abyss of Coriolanus' mind, discover all the fucked up and brilliant things spiraling in that pit of darkness. Because, how did Coriolanus urge him to willingly lean his face into the palm of his hand? And why were his insides floating and light while the world around him was oh-so heavy? Sejanus didn't understand this—he didn't understand anything—but he could tell realization settled on Coriolanus' face as he leaned in steadily.
Coriolanus smelled like roses and mint, and Sejanus was faultlessly dizzy.
Why were they here in the first place? Oh, yes, the District 8 girl was killed, and his classmate laughed. Sejanus took him by the shoulders and shook and screamed and made a scene. Coriolanus had sighed and dragged Sejanus out of the room and into the janitor's closet, and the argument sparked immediately, catching the entire area ablaze.
And now they were caught up in this moment. And Sejanus might be oblivious to many aspects of this fucked-up universe, but he wasn't that naive. He knew what was about to happen, and he didn't make any moves to stop it. Because, deep down, he was attracted to Coriolanus. And Sejanus despised it, and loved it all the same.
He loved the wavy twists of his hair, the cobalt pools of his eyes, his smell, his taller stature. The irritating ability he had to talk his way out of anything, the capability to make Sejanus feel alright with the whirlwinds of the world by muttering a few statements in his ear. He fucking despised it, despised it, despised it, but God, did he fucking love it.
So, when Coriolanus kissed him, he did nothing to stop him. Sejanus was gently pushed into the wall, his back against the splintering wood, the blunt pain contrasting with the softness of Coriolanus' lips. No, this certainly wasn't an elegant kiss, nor was it enjoyable, but Sejanus still let out a happy noise that was lost in the press of Coriolanus' mouth. He knew Coriolanus heard it, because his mouth turned up into a smile. He disconnected for a second to rediscover his breath, and he came right back, crowding Sejanus in the small space.
Sejanus ran his fingers down his sides, ultimately gliding back upward to wrap around his shoulders. Coriolanus had both hands cradling his face. As if Sejanus was delicate, fragile, an ancient ivory statue that desperately needed to be preserved. Sejanus couldn't smell the chemicals anymore. Instead, rose and mint corrupted his senses, and he couldn't get enough. He wasn't so sure how long the kiss lasted, but eventually he could no longer feel the splinters digging into his back. And despite how small the space was, with Coriolanus crowded against his chest, he felt like he could truly breathe smoother now.
Coriolanus pulled away, and Sejanus made a small noise of disappointment at his retreat. Coriolanus giggled boyishly, kissed his forehead, the tip of his nose, then stepped away. His lips were kissed red and his hair was mused, and Sejanus had never seen someone appear so imperfectly faultless.
"Why?" Sejanus stammered. He couldn't help but touch his tingling lips.
"Because," Coriolanus replied easily. "I wanted to remind you that at least one person in your life wants you to keep on living. I wanted to remind you that life is wonderfully comfortable."
Yes, comfortable. Being crowded against the walls of a closet was quite the opposite, but it certainly defined that kiss.
"Coriolanus—"
"I'm your friend, Sejanus—"
Sejanus' eyebrows wrinkled doubtfully. He was beginning to believe that everything that just happened was a qualm. One of Coriolanus' fucked up life lessons that pulled harshly at his heartstrings. "Friends don't make out in janitor closets, Coriolanus." Friends don't kiss each other fondly on the lips, the forehead, the nose.
Coriolanus was silent. He opened his mouth and no words came out, so he closed it. “I just—”
Without putting much thought behind it, Sejanus stepped forward and clasped his chin gently, forcing Coriolanus to look at him. “What? You can’t just kiss me and leave, Coriolanus. You can’t.”
“I wasn’t gonna leave, Sejanus,” he mumbled in reply, almost bashfully. Sejanus noticed the stardust of freckles splattered lightly over his nose and cheeks, the minuscule pimple placed above his eyebrow.
“Okay, then tell me why you kissed me. And don’t use fancy metaphors or whatever to talk your way out of this. You’re a teenage boy, not a poet.”
Coriolanus laughed. “When do I say anything poetic?”
“Um.”
“I can’t believe Tigris realized how you feel about me before I did. I mean, God, you’re so fond of me you might melt.”
“Coriolanus!” he exclaimed, although his skin transformed into the hue of lava, the blush on his cheeks erupting like a volcano. Stupid Coriolanus, always proven fucking right.
Coriolanus merely laughed again, and Sejanus’ hand fell back to his side.
“This isn’t about me,” Sejanus said. “This is about you. And I asked you a question, and once again, I’m not allowing you to talk your way out of it.”
Coriolanus groaned, but it was more nervous than bitter. “Fine.” He then grabbed Sejanus’ hand, placed it on his chest. The rapid sensation of his heartbeat radiated onto Sejanus’ palm. “Do you feel that?”
“Yes.” Sejanus could feel it pulsing through his entire body at this point.
“That’s how I feel about you, Sejanus.”
“Corio—”
Coriolanus placed his hand on top of Sejanus’, properly silencing him. “No, stop. Listen, because I’m not trying to talk my way out of anything. Sejanus, I’m not a villain. And I agree with a lot of what you have to say about the Capital and the Districts. But you have to halt being so ostentatious, because one day, it’s going to kill you. You can confide in me, I promise, but you need to stop screeching your opinion down the halls. Because it won’t be taken lightly, and I don’t want to lose you.”
Warmth cascaded through Sejanus. He turned his hand around and intertwined their fingers. Dragged Coriolanus’ hand over and kissed his knuckles. “Okay,” he whispered.
Hope flooded his blue eyes, dark and deep and wondrous. “Okay?”
He kissed Coriolanus softly on the lips, then leaned his head on his chest. Coriolanus wrapped his arms around Sejanus, holding him, grounding him, protecting him. Sejanus whispered, “This isn’t going to change my opinions. But if you really think I’m endangering myself, I’ll stop. I’ll stop if I know that, at the end, you have my back either way.”
Coriolanus rocked him side by side. “Of course, of course.” Sejanus wondered how a boy—a sixteen-year-old boy—could be so romantic, and then stopped thinking about it all together. Because it didn’t matter, really, it didn’t. Because Sejanus could think long and hard about it, analyze and observe Coriolanus’ every action and word, and still not even begin to understand the depth of his mind.
Sejanus despised how he would never be able to understand Coriolanus, but loved it all the same.