Chapter Text
Sejanus could discern the metallic tang of blood permeating his mouth, a bitter testament to the Capitol's unrelenting brutality, which he had always been subjected to but never allowed to retaliate during his time in the Capitol. Guided with unwavering determination by the relentless Peacemakers, his journey felt like a descent into an abyss of despair. Days elapsed since the sun graced his vision, leaving his eyes struggling to acclimate to the harsh light that now surrounded him. Time appeared to elongate into an eternity of frigid, murky stone and unyielding wooden walls, with each passing moment marked by the conspicuous absence of any comforting presence. Panic clawed at him, threatening to overwhelm his senses, as he yearned for the familiar embrace of his ma and his Coryo.
The relentless heat of the sun bore down on him, searing his exposed flesh and intensifying the pain emanating from every open wound adorning his battered body. Perhaps, he mused, the sun would cook him before his impending death by hanging. The solitude pressed down on him, a weighty burden that served only to amplify the anguished screams of his tortured soul. A fleeting reassurance whispered within, acknowledging that at least he still possessed a soul, a contrast to the soullessness of figures like Dr. Gaul. Sejanus fervently hoped that Coriolanus, his cherished Coryo, would not succumb to soullessness. No, Coryo, with his inherent sweetness, could not possibly be devoid of a soul.
"I must see him," Sejanus ruminated, dredging up the final reserves of his resolve. It was a desperate entreaty reverberating in the depths of his consciousness. The possibility of one last rendezvous—a mere glimpse of the countenance that had plagued his every thought—served as a faint glimmer of hope amidst the encroaching gloom. With each step toward the impending abyss, he drew nearer to the precipice, yet his longing for that ultimate connection propelled him ever forward.
The noose, a fiendish manifestation of his impending demise, cast a foreboding shadow from the tree—the accursed hanging tree. He did not wish to meet his end in this manner. All he yearned for was a taste of happiness and a desire to ensure the safety of the people in the district. Coriolanus had been correct; he always leaped into situations without pondering the consequences. Now, the vision of his impractical dream—a white house nestled in the forest, alongside the river of District Two, where Spanish permeates the streets and Sejanus and Coriolanus revel in happiness on a sofa—would remain unrealized. He should depart this world peacefully in his sleep, alongside Coriolanus, slipping into the realm of dreams. Not this, not by means of a noose.
Then, the stark reality unfolded as the executioner's platform loomed ahead. Death was imminent. Unprepared for the finality of his fate, Sejanus grappled with the harsh truth—he was not ready to bid farewell to life. The assembly, an indifferent multitude, observed with detached curiosity as Sejanus approached the brink of his demise. The atmosphere grew dense with collective anticipation, the weight of the moment casting a somber shadow over the condemned man. He yearned for Coryo, his ma, and even his estranged father. Amidst the onlookers, Lucy Gray's gaze held a hint of tearful empathy. Sejanus pondered if Coryo mirrored the same emotion or if he concealed it adeptly. Coryo excelled at concealing his true feelings—his emotions, his minimal sustenance, and his physical frailty.
Sejanus's heightened senses intensified his desperate quest for a familiar countenance within the throng. A cascade of blonde hair, an otherworldly beacon amidst the sea of onlookers, remained elusive as he was relentlessly propelled forward. Each step brought him nearer to the inexorable embrace of death, and the palpable tension in the atmosphere echoed the tumult within him.
His bruised body bore the silent testimony of relentless torment, with vivid patches of purple and blue now marring what had once been pristine skin. These bruises served as a tangible manifestation of the darkness that had engulfed his days in captivity.
As the noose tightened around his neck, Sejanus experienced a peculiar blend of resignation and defiance. His search for the familiar face transformed into a desperate plea for solace, a final attempt to find reassurance amid the impending doom. The world condensed into vibrant images of blonde hair and blue eyes—the sole anchors in the swirling chaos of his final moments. And as the rope exacted its toll, everything dissipated into the unknown, leaving behind a battered soul yearning for tranquility.
Yet the hand of the executioner had not yet descended, and the anticipatory dread coiled tighter around Sejanus's racing heart. His breath quickened uncontrollably, a tangible expression of the fear that now engulfed him. No longer attempting to feign composure, he stood exposed, vulnerable to the imminent finality hovering over him. In these moments before death, the Capitol seemed to be relishing the torment, denying the rebels a swift demise. The rope pressed into his neck, and its fibers cut into his skin.
Amidst this harrowing ordeal, Sejanus couldn't suppress the surge of raw emotion, reminiscent of childhood vulnerability when he was the new kid on the playground, relying on the solace that Coryo once provided. Oh, to be eight again, facing childhood bullying rather than the specter of a rope. Clutching his wrist tightly, he resisted the urge to lower his gaze, hiding the tears that threatened to betray his façade. All he desired was one last glimpse, to fathom the emotions etched on Coryo's face. Sweet, kind Coryo. Pure as snow.
Please, Coryo, look at me.
Coryo, inherently kind, found himself once again subjected to Sejanus's unintended infliction of suffering. The weight of his actions bore down on Sejanus, and self-hatred clawed at his conscience. His eyes swept the crowd, searching for the telltale signs—blonde hair, blue eyes, and the sturdy frame of a tall man.
There, amidst the throng of onlookers, or perhaps standing right in front of him, Coryo appeared. A surge of relief coursed through Sejanus, swiftly replaced by a choked sob. "CORYO!" he called out, the feeble plea barely escaping his lips, drowned by the mocking Jabberjays. His gaze remained fixated on Coryo, a desperate attempt to preserve a connection that death threatened to sever. Please, just look back. Keep him safe. Though Coriolanus seemed within reach, Sejanus could not touch him, as if a barrier stood between them. Coriolanus, adept at erecting emotional walls, remained distant. Did Sejanus ever get the chance to tear those walls down?
The executioner proceeded toward the exposed lever for the trap door, and with impending doom closing in, Sejanus sensed his final breath on the precipice of reality. "Stay by my side," he implored, yet whether Coryo averted his gaze or if the plea was ever uttered remained elusive. In the throes of impending demise, distinguishing spoken words became a challenge. The rejection, akin to a myriad of blades, pierced Sejanus's already tormented heart—an unbearable reality that eluded his comprehension. Coriolanus, seemingly unable to turn away, became the singular soul privy to Sejanus's true self. Please, Coryo, you're the only one here who knows me.
"No, not right now," Sejanus beseeched within the confines of his thoughts. The anguish he had inflicted upon Coryo was too burdensome to endure, and the repercussions of his imprudence reverberated in the unspoken rebuff from his sole confidant.
"A fool, Sejanus; indeed, you are a fool," he chided himself inwardly. The awareness of the suffering he had inflicted upon those he held dear bore down on his conscience with immense weight. His contemplations extended to Ma, laden with the grief of losing a son; to his mother, grappling with the unimaginable agony of no longer being a mother; and to his father, a figure he could not bring himself to confront in his current state of despair. The enormity of the sorrow he had unleashed upon his family and friends formed an insurmountable burden as he confronted the inevitable clasp of death.
Yet, his gaze remained steadfast on Coryo's face—a love that transcended the boundaries of friendship. In the cold reality of the Capitol, Coryo was his sole confidant, the one person he could rely on in a world rife with betrayal and cruelty. A lump formed in Sejanus's throat, constricting his breath as the tightening rope intensified the struggle for air. Tears streamed down his face, an unrelenting testament to the pain he bore.
Even in matters of the heart, Sejanus found himself entangled in a web of agony. Love, like everything else, seemed destined to bring him suffering. Bloodied hands bore the weight of guilt for Marcus's demise, a betrayal that haunted Sejanus's conscience. He replayed the scene, recalling Marcus's refusal of the offered sandwich—a small act that sealed his destiny. Sejanus carried the weight of pain and death, burdened by the knowledge that Marcus's life was forfeited because of him. Coriolanus extinguished a boy for him. Sejanus besmeared poor Coryo's hands with blood. He made Coryo an aberration. He is no better than Dr. Gaul and Mr.Highbottom.
Amid the blazing sun, the wounds laid bare, and the imminent noose, external torment waned into insignificance. A persistent ring in his ears muffled nearby words. His undivided focus was fixated on Coryo, a tempest of regrets, and pondered possibilities that engulfed his thoughts.
As the floor dropped beneath him, Sejanus fought to maintain eye contact with Coryo, a futile attempt to preserve a connection that death threatened to sever. His last breath loomed, and in a daring act, he closed his eyes. The impending eternity in the darkness seemed inconsequential.
"Ma! Ma! Cor-" he screamed, panic coursing through him. His final plea echoed in the void, a desperate cry for his ma who would bear the burden of his untimely departure. Oh, Coryo. The mere utterance of his friend's name resonated with the pain of lost possibilities. He would even call for his Strabo
Coriolanus's glance met Sejanus's for a fleeting moment before quickly turning away. In that brief exchange, a depth of unspoken emotion passed between them. Sejanus's last sight before the darkness claimed him was the back of Coriolanus, an image forever etched in the canvas of his departing consciousness.
Sejanus violently surged into wakefulness, his nocturnal screams resonating ominously through the dimly lit chamber. The ethereal grasp of the nightmarish apparitions ensnared him, refusing to release their spectral hold as his mother, galvanized by the anguished cadence, hastened into the chamber.
"Oh, my sweet baby, are you okay?" She fretted, her mellifluous voice a salve to his beleaguered psyche. Sejanus could only nod and emit a plaintive murmur, yearning for solace within the consoling enfold of his ma's embrace. Tear stains adorned the fabric of her nocturnal habiliment, tangible proof of the disquiet that had assailed her filial scion in the clutches of a nightmarish reverie. The room exuded a somber aura as remnants of the phantasmagoric ordeal lingered, reluctant to dissipate in the aftermath.
His corporeal vessel yet undisturbed by the relentless jaws of the abyss, Sejanus found himself ensconced in the maternal haven, seeking refuge from the ephemeral terrors that had besieged his subconscious. Her maternal benedictions were tender caresses upon the tempest-tossed waters of his troubled soul. The cadence of her heartbeat, akin to a lullaby, sought to allay the disquiet that lingered in the recesses of his being.
"I yearn for Coryo," Sejanus murmured, his utterance a melange of sorrow-laden tremors and an ardent yearning. The scent of aromatic spices and the redolence of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, as his ma had always been the vigilant guardian of his nocturnal repose. Yet a disconcerting revelation cast a pall over this haven of familial solace.
"Oh, Sejanus. Who is Coryo?" His mother inquired innocently, and a frigid current coursed through Sejanus's veins. The sudden cognizance that Coryo, an integral constituent of his existential tapestry, remained an enigma to his ma, injected a disconcerting chill into the very marrow of his being. The phantasmal escapade might have spared him the spectral noose, yet it inexorably thrust him into a realm bereft of Coryo, beckoning the disconcerting query—can he endure existence bereft of Coryo's presence? In this surreptitious cradle of nocturnal reflection, Sejanus grappled with an inchoate longing, a poignant desire to have surrendered to the spectral embrace of the noose rather than traverse a world devoid of Coryo's tethering essence.