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He woke up with a shaky, hungry breath. His chest expanded as he took in air with greed, and his head spun, as if he was breathing in too much oxygen at once. The air going down his throat and into his chest was stinging. His hands groped at the sheets at his sides, and in a second his hand was held, sure, thick fingers wrapping around his hand, a low, quiet voice filling the space, tingling by his ears.
“You’re good. You’re good, Coryo,” his vision was patchy, as he blinked more and more the blind spots dissipated, “try to breathe normally. Slow it down.”
He did as he was told, gulping more breaths, holding so tight onto Sejanus’ hand he was sure he was crushing it.
“It’s Monday. You slept for thirteen hours, after you collapsed from your fit.” Fit, Sejanus called it, he couldn’t remember much, just bits and pieces, but even as light flooded his eyes and he could now see his surroundings, he felt off-kilter, shapes and lines not making any sense to him. He winced, splayed back against sumptuous pillows, and finally his head turned to his right.
Sejanus felt shapeless, too, but even so, even with the confusion muddling his brain, he could see his red-rimmed eyes. Did he sleep at all? Sejanus usually didn’t, whenever he had to monitor his condition. He wiggled his toes, unfurled his clenched fist, but still held onto Sejanus’ hand with his other hand. He looked up, and then in front of him, and he felt that his pulse was normal, albeit a little quick, a pitter-patter to his throat.
“Your vitals look okay. Your blood pressure is a little high.. I will take it again later,” Sejanus’ voice faltered, and he cleared his throat. Coriolanus still hadn’t said a word, his throat feeling sandy. Gritty, he knew he burned down his throat when he ingested the latest poison, and he was a bit apprehensive to find out whether it affected his voice box or not.
“Se—Sejanus,” it wasn’t easy to say, and his throat ached. It was a duller ache however, the ache at the end of a cold, blunted, toothless.
“Don’t try to talk too much. You’re in pain? Nod if it’s sharp and shake your head if it’s duller,” Coriolanus shook his head obediently, and Sejanus looked over him, his eyes wide and attentive, the grip of their tangled hands now slacker, with his other hand Sejanus patted down his stomach. No pain there, thankfully, more than anything he felt a bit faint and lightheaded, and the world still had no definite contours. That was an odd lingering side effect, he will have to mention it to Sejanus later.
His clothes stuck to his skin, and he could tell that he sweated a lot, whether in his sleep or before. He was aware of the clinging feeling of them, uncomfortable and wishing to wash up, to get rid of the gross feeling. “I filled up the tub for you, love.” Sejanus anticipated his needs. It was nearly frightening how precise he was with that, how, over the years, he’d learned every habit, every want, every triviality so intimately.
How they could talk without words.
Coriolanus’ thumb slid over Sejanus’ wrist in a caress. “You think you can walk with my help?” Coriolanus nodded. Weakness gripped him all over, but if he had a crutch, if he had Sejanus to support him, he thought the way to the bathroom should be manageable. Sejanus curled his arm around his waist, and he was up. His knees were collapsing, and he was plagued by vertigo, nausea rising dangerously into the cage of his chest.
Sejanus noticed, and he felt the comforting touch of his fingers cradling his jaw, “You want to go back to bed?” But Coriolanus shook his head no, opening his eyes just as Sejanus tilted in to kiss his damp forehead. It was a bit of a more challenging trek than he thought it would be, but eventually they made it to the bathroom, and Coriolanus careened a little to the side as Sejanus let go of him, but quickly held onto the sink.
He was undressed in a bit of a hasty, more perfunctory manner, he guessed Sejanus didn’t want him to spend that much time on his feet just yet; still, it felt caring, and he knew, even as he didn’t see, that Sejanus made sure to fold his clothes before putting them away. In another minute, Sejanus took his hand, and guided him into the tub, the water a little cool, and he submerged right up to his shoulders, he plunged into it with a hefty, relieved sigh.
The fragrance of orange blossoms wafted into the room. Sejanus must have lit up a candle.
Sejanus didn’t waste another second as he squirted some shampoo into his palm and slid his hands in Coriolanus’ hair. It was relaxing, Coriolanus closed his eyes gently, lulled almost to sleep again with Sejanus’ tender touch. He thought he heard a little whimper from above him, his stomach tightened with discomfort. Sejanus never got used to him being sick, but he didn’t understand why Coriolanus had to do all of this himself. He would never understand, and that was a point of contention that they came back to now and again, more and more rarely over the years, as Sejanus figured out that he couldn’t break his stubbornness on the matter.
Coriolanus needed control. Coriolanus needed to know everything, to know how everything worked. Coriolanus couldn’t get distracted, even as his heart twinged when Sejanus asked him again to stop doing this to himself.
The poison had become an intimate friend. The poison brought Sejanus back, when they had to stay apart to make any rumors evaporate into nothingness, to dispel his late wife’s worries. He was desperate for Sejanus, devoid of his sloe-eyed beauty and that sweet mouth for weeks, and it was that grief that prompted him to pour the liquid contents of a vial into his teacup, to gulp it down in fervent swallows. And Sejanus had to take care of him, Sejanus had to stick by him again, because how could he not? He was poisoned, and he needed his doctor.
Sejanus rinsed his hair, and Coriolanus leant back against the tub. He watched as Sejanus slid to the floor, as he sat by the tub. Coriolanus propped his hand on the edge of the tub, palm up, and Sejanus reached out, held his hand. His head braced gently to the edge of the tub, as well, his eyes all big and a little dewy when he looked straight on at Coriolanus.
“You shouldn’t sit inside for too long, the water was cool to begin with,” it was endearing, how he seemed to want to distract himself, to not say anything about how he felt, to simply busy himself with the minutiae of taking care of Coriolanus. It was endearing, and it made his heart pound, too. With guilt.
“Help me up, darling.” His voice sounded more clear, if a little abrasive, he peered down at Sejanus, at the small, gorgeous smile that popped on his lips. His body felt weak and impotent, but Sejanus was right there, holding onto his waist, getting a pair of fresh pants on him after drying him up, dabbing softly at his skin. He stumbled forward clumsily and pressed a grateful kiss on his lips.
No one else could see him like this. He couldn’t take it.
When they were back in bed, Sejanus having discarded his shirt, as well, he curled up to his side, their legs tangling. His pale hands slid up, cupped Sejanus’ face, and it was only now that he could finely shape reality in his mind: this was reality, and this was the splendor of Sejanus’ face, the correct shade of his eyes, the proper curve of his mouth. It all started to make sense around the pillar that Sejanus was, always unchanging, always trustworthy— the whole world unfolding around him, much less important, but now not confusing anymore.
“You had shark teeth,” he murmured, his gaze just taking him in, glazing over his dark eyes, the lines at the corners of his eyes, his cheeks, his moles, the shape of his mouth and lips, his strong chin and jaw. Cataloging them all was so comforting.
“Shark teeth?” Sejanus’ hand enfolded his waist.
“A shark mouth. It was not quite so handsome as this,” his fingers traced the outline of his lips, all chewed up and a little slick. He must have bitten them in his fretfulness, at the height of anxiety.
“Were you worried?” Coriolanus asked. Sejanus blinked, a shine in his eyes.
“Always.”
“You cried.” His thumb stroked briefly at the corner of his eye. “You always cry,” he said fondly, feeling almost perverse about being happy that Sejanus cried. No, not happy. Perhaps reassured.
He saw the bob of Sejanus’ throat as he swallowed, heard it click. “You hallucinated for a while.” He knew Sejanus must have dutifully monitored and written everything down.
His fingers splayed on his cheeks, and he leant in to kiss him, soft and sweet, and grateful. When he hallucinated, it was always about Sejanus. It was about Sejanus leaving him, or Sejanus, monstrously transformed, attacking him. Sometimes it was about Sejanus dying.
His hands squeezed at Sejanus’ face, and his head tilted in until their foreheads touched. They breathed together, and he could feel Sejanus’ body go more lax against his.
“Are you hungry?” Sejanus asked, slurred, and Coriolanus’ lips curled up. What a hefty thing he’d placed upon a singular person: his stability, his well-being, physical and mental, all depending on the man that held him in his arms. What a foolish thing he’d done.
“Not really. But you are sleepy,” his fingers traced along the line of Sejanus’ jaw, it seemed that as soon as the tension left his body, Sejanus went languid, and his body recognized its urgent need for sleep. His sweet face buried to his chest, and Coriolanus nuzzled into his hair.
No, not a foolish thing. Probably the best thing he’d done in his life.