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Chapter Text

Coriolanus sat on the park bench and let the air grow cold around him. He told himself that it was the temperature that had him shaking, not the newest revelation from Tigris.

The taxes on their apartment were due in a matter of days. And they had no way to pay them.

With his and Lucy Gray’s victory in the Games, the Plinth prize was his, but he had no access to the funds. It was housed in a separate account to be doled out for educational expenses only. He couldn’t use it to pay the taxes. Coriolanus had been so focused on winning, so set on obtaining that prize as a way to fix his family’s situation that he didn’t even stop to consider that it may not be enough. So he had a full ride to the University. What good was that if he was living in some pitiful place on the outskirts of the Capitol?

Deep down, Coriolanus had been expecting to receive an Academy prize as well. Counting on it. How could he not? He had the best grades of anyone, had made the best showing in the Games. And he was a goddamn Snow. One of those prizes should have belonged to him, should have been in hand now for them to pay the taxes until he could get a prestigious job after university.

But Dean Highbottom had made sure that Coriolanus didn’t see a cent. Highbottom had threatened all kinds of things—revoking his diploma, sending him to the districts as a Peacekeeper. But Dr. Gaul had stepped in. Without her, Coriolanus would probably be rotting in some backwater district right now, but she’d plead his case. Thanks to him, these were the most successful Games to date. His suggestions would continue developing and improving the Games for years to come. She didn’t want to waste him in the districts as a nameless grunt.

In the end, her word carried more sway. She was the Head Gamemaker, the one who called the shots. She ruled that nothing Coriolanus had done was considered cheating as far as the Gamemakers were concerned. Highbottom had no say beyond his jurisdiction at the Academy. 

But that was what mattered. It was what kept an Academy prize out of Coriolanus’ hands.

So now he sat hunched on this bench, mulling over what to do. He had to scrape up the money to pay the rent within the next couple of days. That was the immediate issue. The next month, and all the months after that until he was done with university were too overwhelming to think about right now. He had to focus on this month. Where was he going to get the money?

He mulled over his options. His thoughts strayed immediately to the Plinths. They had far more money than they needed, more than they deserved, and a reputation for throwing it around. Coriolanus had heard whispers that Sejanus had faced his own risk of exile to the districts but that Strabo had paid a small fortune to keep his son from becoming a Peacekeeper. There was the new gymnasium for the Academy, plus a brand new research wing at the university for Dr. Gaul, and it was a poorly-kept secret that the bill for President Ravenstill’s new luxury hovercraft was footed by Strabo Plinth. All that money spent to keep ungrateful Sejanus in the Capitol and Coriolanus hadn’t received a penny for saving his life. Didn’t old Strabo have any idea how much he owed him?

But Coriolanus wouldn’t beg, just as he hadn’t the first time he had visited the Plinths’ apartment. If he didn’t have his honor, he had nothing. So the Plinths were not an option.

What else then? Coriolanus thought of Satyria. She liked him, and his success at the Hunger Games had reflected well on her, but he knew instinctively that she would not help him in this way. And he didn’t trust her to keep her mouth shut.

Possibly Tigris could beseech Fabricia, her employer. Would she give them a small loan, potentially to maintain the image of having an assistant who lived on the Corso? That was a long shot. There was very little evidence that Fabricia even noticed Tigris at all.

None of Coriolanus’ classmates or their families would do. They were all just more flapping mouths that he didn’t need.

So what did that leave? When he thought of discretion, Coriolanus only thought of Pluribus Bell. It wasn’t ideal, but Coriolanus knew he could rely on him to keep his mouth shut at least. And he’d proved that he still had some affection for Coriolanus after how he’d helped Lucy Gray with the guitar and the canned milk.

His mind made up, Coriolanus got to his feet. He was out of trolley tokens, so he would have to walk. He reached Pluribus’ nightclub half an hour later.

Coriolanus felt encouraged by the smile Pluribus gave him when he opened the door.

“I was hoping you would come by,” Pluribus said, “So I could congratulate you on your victory.”

Coriolanus put on his most magnanimous smile. “Thank you,” he said, “And I can’t thank you enough for the use of the guitar. It may have made all the difference with the sponsors.”

Pluribus waved his hand. “I was just happy to see it used. Your girl was incredible. Did you get to see her after she won?”

“No,” Coriolanus said, shaking his head. That was a disappointment, but he was trying to swallow it down. After all, what did he expect? For all his strategizing in the Games, she was still district. There was no future there. “They sent her back to Twelve as soon as it was over.”

The sympathetic look that Pluribus gave him was annoying—like Coriolanus was someone to be pitied—but maybe sympathy was the most useful emotion to him right now.

“It’s all in the past now,” he said, trying to work out how to pivot the conversation to asking for money without sounding desperate. “We have other things to worry about now.”

Fortunately, Pluribus had always been perceptive. A certain understanding lit in his eyes. He obviously knew about the taxes—it affected everyone in the Capitol—and maybe he had already been expecting Coriolanus to come to him. Well, at least it would save Coriolanus the embarrassment of explaining.

“I’d hate to see your family out of that place,” Pluribus said. 

“I think it would kill the Grandma’am to leave it.”

“And her beautiful roses.” Pluribus looked Coriolanus over, apparently thinking. Then he nodded slightly, like he’d reached a decision. “I can help you,” he said, “Give you enough to cover the taxes this month.”

The weight that fell off Coriolanus was so much that he thought he might actually be hovering above the ground now. But he kept his composure, kept his voice level. “We’ll pay you back,” he said.

Pluribus was already shaking his head before Coriolanus had finished speaking. “We both know you can’t,” he said, “It’s alright. But it can only be for this month. I won’t be able to afford it every time with the new taxes on my place too. You’ll have to figure it out from here.”

“Of course,” Coriolanus said, voice still measured. But he was burning on the inside. We both know you can’t. Who was Pluribus to patronize him like that, to imply that the Snows had nothing to offer anyone, that they were a charity case? It was an insult. 

Carefully though. Coriolanus was not about to ruin his chances here. Instead, he graciously accepted the money that Pluribus pressed into his hand. Thanked him profusely. And vowed to never have anything else to do with Pluribus Bell.

The joy and relief that Coriolanus felt after paying the taxes was short-lived. He’d bought them a little time, but the same amount would be due in a month. And he’d exhausted his only option. His only good one, anyway. Maybe there were a couple people he could still entreat, but that would only give the Snows a few more months. He had to figure out something more permanent.

“We’ll be alright, Coryo,” Tigris told him in the kitchen the morning after paying the taxes, when Coriolanus had already begun to spiral. “Wherever we end up.”

He didn’t agree. This was where they belonged, their birthright. Coriolanus couldn’t bear the shame of leaving it, of letting it be bought by the likes of the Plinths. Just the thought of Ma Plinth hanging her pathetic District 2 needlepoint on the wall made him sick.

The Plinths. Why did it always come back to them? Strabo Plinth replacing Crassus Snow as the foremost munitions baron in the country, Ma Plinth’s sandwiches feeding Lucy Gray when Coriolanus could not, Sejanus forcing Coriolanus to follow him into the arena. They represented everything wrong in the world, everything about the changing tides of the Capitol that threatened to drag the Snows out to sea. But they had money. Which Coriolanus so desperately needed if he was going to save his family from ruin.

As Coriolanus went for a long walk in the park, hoping the fresh air may encourage his brain to find a solution faster, he started to reconsider the idea of getting money from the Plinths. They still owed him for saving Sejanus. They hadn’t repaid him at all other than a few baked goods from Ma. Could it be worth it to go back there and try to meet with Strabo again? Maybe Coriolanus had been too subtle before. Maybe if he made his intentions more clear, the man would understand. And pay up.

The very thought turned Coriolanus’ stomach. 

As if Coriolanus’ rumination had conjured him, Sejanus was suddenly before him on the path. He looked miserable, but then he always looked miserable these days. It bothered Coriolanus because, unlike him, Sejanus had nothing to be miserable about. He had a father who could buy him the world, while Coriolanus would be in the districts right now if not for Dr. Gaul’s intervention. 

Sejanus looked up and noticed Coriolanus. “Oh, hey Coryo,” he said. The nickname still pricked at Coriolanus. He resented the notion that Sejanus thought he deserved to be so familiar. And yet, maybe that familiarity could come in handy. 

Coriolanus adopted a friendly expression. “Hello,” he said, putting a hand on Sejanus’ shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

Sejanus gave a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t know,” he said, “Better since the Games ended, I guess. Now I can just try to pretend they never happened until next year.”

Though he nodded, Coriolanus couldn’t help hoping that most in the Capitol wouldn’t be trying to forget the Games so quickly. More specifically, that they wouldn’t forget his part in them. He’d started to grow used to the looks of recognition when people passed him on the street, the approving nods. He liked it. But to Sejanus, he said, “It’ll be easier next year. You won’t have to be involved.”

That earned him another shrug. And something else. A lip quiver. Dear god, what did Sejanus have to be so upset about? 

“It’s just—” Sejanus’ voice broke and he buried his face in his hands. Coriolanus slid his arm over Sejanus’ shoulders and gave a quick glance around. The park wasn’t too crowded, but he didn’t want to risk anyone seeing him with a weeping man.

“Come on,” Coriolanus said, tugging Sejanus slightly to get him to follow. “We can talk about it.”

Fortunately, Sejanus came along without resistance. Coriolanus led them off the path and to a bench that was secluded in some trees. The perfect place for Sejanus to have a meltdown without prying eyes to link it to Coriolanus. Still trying to seem accommodating, Coriolanus pulled Sejanus down onto the bench, patting his shoulder while the man cried.

“It’s terrible,” Sejanus whispered once he’d shed out his tears. “It was bad enough the other years when everyone pretty much ignored the Games. But now people are still talking about them. They’re getting excited about next year. It’s sick.”

Frankly, Coriolanus couldn’t see how people being excited about the Games was much of an issue. Wasn’t it better if they were such an event? Something to look forward to rather than something to dread? And it didn’t hurt that he and his fellow mentors would always have their own part in the Games memorialized. Everyone would remember how they were the ones to turn the Games into something special.

“And home is hell right now,” Sejanus went on, “My father is still so angry at me for going into the arena, and for not taking the Games more seriously. I think he sort of blames me for everything that happened with Marcus.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Coriolanus said, “You had no idea he’d try to run away.”

“Yeah, try telling my dad that,” Sejanus said bitterly. He looked at Coriolanus, who could see tears still clinging to his lashes, binding them together in wet clumps. “Did you know the government wanted to send me away as a Peacekeeper?”

Of course Coriolanus knew, but he feigned surprise. “What?”

“Yeah,” Sejanus said, sniffing. “My dad said he was barely able to change their minds. And you better believe he’s holding that over my head.”

So would I, Coriolanus thought. If he ever had a son that caused him half as much trouble as Sejanus, he wasn’t sure he’d be willing to spend the fortune that Strabo did to clean up after him. But maybe he would. To preserve the Snow name. Which is what it all came down to in the end. Coriolanus knew he had to do whatever it took to keep his family afloat.

“I almost wish he’d just let them take me,” Sejanus admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Take him where? The districts? “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. I’m not Capitol, you know I’m not.”

“You are now,” Coriolanus said, even though he didn’t believe it. He rubbed a steadying hand over Sejanus’ shoulder. “You belong here. With us.”

Sejanus clearly didn’t believe him. Not that Coriolanus could blame him for that.

“Anyway, how could you leave Ma behind?” Coriolanus asked. “You’d break her heart.”

At the mention of his Ma, Sejanus’ face softened. “I know,” he murmured. 

More than anything, Coriolanus needed Sejanus firmly on his side. Needed his trust. Without it, he would have no hope of getting anything out of the Plinths. So he chose his words carefully, infusing them with a tenderness he did not feel. “I wouldn’t want to lose you either.”

What happened next was entirely unexpected. They were already sitting flush since Coriolanus had kept his arm around Sejanus’ shoulders for the entire conversation. But if possible, Sejanus shifted somehow closer and put his head on Coriolanus’ shoulder. All he said was, “Thank you, Coryo.”

What was happening, exactly? As the silence stretched out, Coriolanus was at a loss. He could hear Sejanus’ breathing, could feel the even rise and fall of his shoulders. Surely this could only be a positive thing. For Sejanus to be leaning on him so literally, so entirely, it had to mean that Coriolanus had his complete trust. Which was exactly what he needed. And yet, something about it felt so odd. This move on Sejanus’ part could very well be only an act of friendship, but something about it seemed like more, or at least other than that.

If so, Coriolanus was out of his depth. He was frightfully inexperienced when it came to matters of the heart. He didn’t think he could really remember feeling anything for anyone before Lucy Gray. Certainly he felt nothing more than disdain for the boy beside him. But was there a chance that Sejanus felt something for him? And if he did, how to use it?

Coriolanus’ mind went tumbling off through the possibilities before he could reign it in. When he’d thought about it, he’d always pictured himself marrying into another one of the families that made up the old guard of the Capitol. He wouldn’t need any of them for status, but they could offer something in the way of financial security that his own family desperately needed. But now Coriolanus imagined a world where he married into the Plinth family, became heir to that seemingly unlimited fortune. His own Snow name was untouchable enough to survive a match to a district-bred line, especially one that carried that much money. The name would maybe even be enough to convince Strabo to welcome the pairing, as desperate as he seemed for the kind of status it would bring. It could be the perfect solution to Coriolanus’ problem.

But he was getting ahead of himself. He had no real evidence that Sejanus cared for him at all beyond friendship. All he was basing any of these fantasies on was a head on his shoulder. But he would keep his eyes open, search for any sign that Sejanus may feel something for him, look for any little spark. And if he found it, he would play it for all it was worth. 

Snow lands on top.

Chapter Text

Sejanus was jolted out of his thoughts when he heard a soft knock at his open door. He’d been watching the cars on the street make their steady progress far below his window, thinking about the Games, about Marcus. There was little else that he thought of ever since the Reaping. He looked across his room at Ma standing in his doorway. Even now, after ten years, it was strange to look across so vast a space. Their house in District 2 had been large by district standards, one of the statelier homes in the main town. When he would go visit his friends in the villages, their homes had seemed cramped to him back then. But relative to the Plinth’s apartment in the Capitol, their home in Two was tiny, Sejanus’ old room a shoebox. And even this apartment was modest by Capitol standards, which was why his father was so dead set on a place on the Corso.

Ma was watching him with a slight crease between her eyes. She was worried about him. But she also understood the reason for his melancholy in a way that his father never would. Ma missed home just as much as he did.

“Hey, Ma,” Sejanus said, voice coming out rusty with disuse. How long had he been sitting at his window? He’d sat down first thing after breakfast and now the buildings across the street were casting long shadows across the pavement. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Ma said, “Coriolanus is here to see you.”

Sejanus couldn’t help the slight flutter in his stomach at Coriolanus’ name. It was stupid, and probably pointless, but he’d been harboring a small crush on Coriolanus for at least a year now. Maybe not so small anymore. He’d done his best to tamp it down over the last couple of weeks while he’d watched Coriolanus falling for Lucy Gray, but it had been hard to suppress when Coriolanus came after him in the arena, when he’d been so nice to Ma, when he’d let him cry on that park bench.

Ma gave him a faint smile when Sejanus shot to his feet. She at least had some inkling of his feelings, had picked up on the way he talked about Coriolanus. 

“Where is he?” Sejanus asked.

“By the front door,” she said, moving out of the doorway to let him through.

Sejanus nodded and moved quickly, a little too quickly in his eagerness. He only paused when he saw Coriolanus standing in the entryway, studying the art on the wall with an easy confidence. Sejanus took advantage of the few moments before Coriolanus would notice him to observe the other man. There was a grace to the way Coriolanus carried himself, a surety and belonging that Sejanus was certain he himself would never feel. Not here. But Coriolanus was born to glide through the thorny society of the Capitol.

When they were little, Coriolanus had seemed about ten feet tall in Sejanus’ imagination. It had been something of a shock a few years ago when Sejanus had realized he was taller than Coriolanus. Sejanus supposed it was his strength of character that made him seem so mighty, not his actual physical stature. 

Likely noticing him for the first time, Coriolanus’ pale eyes flitted over to Sejanus. He smiled, and it put that nervous flutter back in Sejanus’ stomach.

“Hey, Coryo,” Sejanus said, forcing himself to be casual. “What brings you here?”

Coriolanus took a few steps toward him. “I came to see if you wanted to go for a walk,” he said, “I figured you could use the fresh air.”

Sejanus could. He hadn’t left the house since he’d run into Coriolanus in the park a few days ago. “I’d love a walk,” he said.

Nodding, Coriolanus moved back to the door, stopping when he saw Sejanus wasn’t following.

“I’m just going to tell Ma where I’m going,” Sejanus said. Coriolanus looked over Sejanus’ shoulder, eyebrows raised, and Sejanus followed his gaze to see that Ma had followed from his room. “Oh,” he said, cheeks coloring. “Never mind, then. I’ll see you later, Ma.”

“Please join us for dinner when you’re done,” Ma told Coriolanus.

He gave her a radiant smile, one that made Sejanus feel weak in the knees. “I’d never miss a shot at your cooking.”

Down on the street, Coriolanus turned one way, putting his hand lightly at Sejanus’ elbow when Sejanus made to head the other way. He’d thought maybe they were going to the park, but he let Coriolanus lead him uptown instead. Coriolanus’ hand left his elbow as quickly as he’d placed it there but Sejanus could still feel the pressure of his touch. 

Easy, he told himself. You know he doesn’t feel that way about you.

Sejanus kept shooting sideways glances at Coriolanus as they walked. The other man’s face was smooth and impenetrable, like it was carved out of marble. He had an easy expression, occasionally returning the nods of passersby. Everyone seemed to know Coriolanus, especially as they got closer to the Corso. They greeted him, parted for him. No one spared Sejanus a second glance.

Times like this made Sejanus almost understand why his father cared so much about elevating their status. There were things that money couldn’t buy, things that were only available to those who carried a name like Snow. But they were things that didn’t really matter to Sejanus. He didn’t want admiration from the people of the Capitol, didn’t crave their respect. 

As one group of Academy aged girls passed by, Coriolanus acknowledged their tittering with a nod and a smile. Then he glanced at Sejanus, who hastily schooled his expression into something indifferent. He couldn’t risk Coriolanus seeing what he really felt. Which was jealous.

“They know me from the Games,” Coriolanus said, gesturing vaguely at the people passing by. His voice was apologetic, but there was a faint note of satisfaction there too.

“Well, you pulled off something incredible,” Sejanus said, “Helping Lucy Gray win.”

At the mention of her name, there was a momentary flicker in Coriolanus’ expression. Then it was gone again, face as impassive as ever. Sejanus had always had a hard time figuring out exactly what Coriolanus was thinking. He got the feeling that there was a whole world inside Coriolanus’ head that he didn’t let anyone see. And what Sejanus wouldn’t give for a glimpse inside. 

“Do you miss her?” Sejanus asked, even though he knew he probably wouldn’t like the answer. 

Coriolanus was silent for a long moment. Just when Sejanus thought he wouldn’t answer at all, he said, “Yes. I think so.” Another pause. “It’s hard to work out. Really, when it comes down to it, I hardly knew her at all. But for that brief moment, our destinies were inextricably linked.”

Sejanus let that percolate in his head. He hadn’t felt that way about Marcus. Their pairing at the Reaping hadn’t felt like an act of destiny. It felt more like a death knell. But he supposed it made sense that it was different for Coriolanus. Maybe he’d had hope that he would have a real future with Lucy Gray if she won. It made Sejanus’ stomach twist to remember witnessing their final goodbye before she went into the arena. He’d had to look away because he’d wished for nothing more than for Coriolanus to be kissing him like that. 

Which had made him incredibly guilty. Because shouldn’t the happiness of his best friend be the most important thing?

For now, Sejanus covered his misery with a smile, putting a platonic hand on Coriolanus’ back for just a moment. “Who knows? Maybe they really will bring her back next year for the opening ceremonies.”

As he spoke, their feet brought them onto the Corso. Immediately, instinctively, Sejanus’ eyes lifted to the magnificent buildings. He knew he shouldn’t be swayed by them, knew that they still showed evidence of the wartime devastation, knew that they stood for everything he so disliked about the Capitol. But he couldn’t help it. They were beautiful. And this was where Coriolanus lived, so surely it couldn’t be the root of all evil. 

Coriolanus caught Sejanus’ eye. “Nice, aren’t they?” he asked carelessly. But Sejanus could sense the pride there. 

“Amazing,” he said. His eyes traced the intricate detailing on the nearest building. “I can see why my dad wants to move here. Which building is yours?”

Were his eyes playing tricks on him, or did Sejanus see Coriolanus’ shoulders tense? His eyes flitted quickly to a building before shaking his head. “Oh, you wouldn’t want to see where I live,” he said. 

“Why not?” Sejanus asked. “I can’t believe Ma’s been there and I haven’t, when you and I have been friends for ten years.”

“Really, it wouldn’t be very interesting for you. The Grandma’am is always rattling on about something or other, and Tigris always has some project taking up space, and—Well, it’s just not worth seeing.”

If Sejanus didn’t know Coriolanus to be unflinchingly cool, he would almost believe that he was panicking. But why would he care so much about Sejanus seeing where he lived? Sejanus tried to remember if Ma had mentioned anything about it. To his recollection, she had said that the architecture was grand but that the place itself was spare inside. He’d heard stories about the shortages in the Capitol during the war, how even the most illustrious had been forced to sell off their furniture to afford food. Was it possible that the Snows had never been able to buy it all back? That they were among the very number that Sejanus’ father predicted would soon be unable to hang onto their homes on the Corso?

It made Sejanus reevaluate everything he knew about Coriolanus. But of course, it didn’t change how he felt at all. He’d never been interested in Coriolanus because of any wealth or status it could bring him. No, it had entirely to do with the fact that Coriolanus was the only one of his classmates to treat him like a human being. That he was so good despite his Capitol upbringing.

So Sejanus didn’t push it. Not until they had begun to make their way back to the Plinth’s apartment. He lifted his hand as if to brush against Coriolanus’ arm, then thought better of it and let it fall. Coriolanus noticed the movement and looked at him. “You know you can trust me,” Sejanus said quietly.

Coriolanus met his gaze for a long moment, unreadable. Then he softened. “I know.”

Inside the apartment, the air was filled with the smell of simmering meat. Sejanus watched the way Coriolanus’ lips curved upward as he breathed it in. Ma turned from the stove to look at them as they entered the kitchen.

“I hope you’re alright with stew, Coriolanus,” she said, eyebrows pinching. Ma loved Coriolanus, had felt an instinct to protect him ever since he’d rescued Sejanus from the arena. It made Sejanus’ heart melt to see how much Coriolanus returned her affection.

“Stew is wonderful,” he said warmly. 

Looking pleased, Ma turned back to the stove to stir the contents of the pot. “Sejanus, will you set the table?” she asked, tilting her head toward the kitchen table. She never called on the Avoxes or used the formal dining room when his father wasn’t home. Tonight, he had a late meeting and wouldn't be back for dinner. Sejanus was more than happy to eat in the much cozier kitchen.

Once Sejanus had set out the places and sat down beside Coriolanus, Ma brought over the stew pot and set it in the middle of the table. She also brought over a loaf of bread that she must have made earlier that day.

“So, Coriolanus,” she said as she sat down. “Have you decided what you’ll be studying at the University this fall?”

“Yes,” Coriolanus said, nodding. “I’ll be studying genetic engineering under Doctor Gaul.”

Ma’s eyebrows shot up. Sejanus would have been just as surprised if he didn’t know that Coriolanus had excelled in the subject at the Academy, being placed in the advanced classes. But he understood Ma’s reaction. Though she’d never interacted with her, Dr. Gaul unsettled Ma. Sejanus thought she was sadistic. He planned to stay as far away from her as possible.

“How about you, Sejanus?” Coriolanus asked, either not noticing or ignoring Ma’s expression. “What do you plan on studying?”

Ma recovered in time to answer for him. “Oh, he’s still making up his mind.”

Sejanus frowned. It wasn’t true; he knew exactly what he wanted to study. It just didn’t line up with what his father wanted him to study. And since his father would be the one paying the tuition, his word carried weight. Coriolanus noticed the frown and lifted his eyebrows in question. Sejanus shook his head slightly. He didn’t want to get into it in front of Ma. He hated putting her in the position of having to take sides between himself and his father.

I’ll tell you later, Sejanus thought. Fortunately, Coriolanus seemed to get the message and didn’t press it. He was so good like that.

As they ate, Coriolanus and Ma kept up a friendly conversation. Sejanus tried to pay attention, but he was starting to slip back into his head. The mention of Dr. Gaul had him thinking about the Games again, had him wondering what kind of horrors she would subject Coriolanus to in her lab. His thoughts were just starting to turn to his own future at the University—whether it would be chosen by him or by his father—when he heard the sound of the front door.

“Oh, hello dear,” Ma said, looking over Sejanus’ shoulder. He turned and saw his father standing in the doorway. Strabo surveyed the scene, eyes moving from the stew to the remaining heel of bread to Coriolanus, who had sat up straighter. Ma twisted her napkin in her hands. “I didn’t think you’d be home until late.”

“The meeting wrapped up early,” Strabo said, frowning at her. “If we have company, I’d prefer that we receive them in the formal dining room.”

“It’s just Coriolanus,” Sejanus said, feeling the need to defend Ma. 

Strabo turned his frown to his son. “Whoever the guest may be,” he said, nodding at Coriolanus. “That’s why we have the dining room.”

There was a moment of silence where no one seemed to know what to say. Then Ma said, “Would you like to join us? We can move to—”

Strabo shook his head. “I have some reports to look over,” he said. “Good evening.” Without another word, he was gone. 

The dinner was muted after that. Once his bowl was empty, Coriolanus pushed his chair back. “I should get home,” he said, standing. “Tigris will be wondering where I am. Thank you for the wonderful dinner, Mrs. Plinth.”

Ma smiled. “Oh, you’re very welcome, dear.” She got to her feet, collecting his dishes and taking them to the counter. “I’ll call the car to drive you home.”

“No need,” Coriolanus said, “It’s a lovely evening. I’d prefer to walk.”

“I’ll walk you down,” Sejanus said, getting up quickly. 

He followed Coriolanus out into the hall and pressed the button to call the elevator. Coriolanus leaned against the wall while they waited for it. “So what do you really want to study at the University?”

Sejanus glanced back at the door to his family’s apartment. “If I have any say at all, I want to study medicine.”

“What’s the issue with that?”

“My dad would rather I study something that will prepare me to take over the business someday,” Sejanus said. “But I’m not interested in munitions. I’d rather heal people, not blow them up.”

There was a ding as the elevator doors opened. Sejanus filed in, then glanced back to see the contemplative look on Coriolanus’ face. “Do you think that’s dumb?” Sejanus asked as the elevator doors closed behind them. 

The elevator had sunk three floors before Coriolanus answered. “No,” he finally said. “It makes sense for you. I can’t really see you making decisions behind a big desk somewhere.”

Nor could Sejanus. It wouldn’t be good for him at all. Ironically, it would be a perfect fit for Coriolanus. Sejanus pictured him behind a glossy mahogany desk, reviewing reports and giving orders in his calm yet authoritative voice. It was a surprisingly vivid image. 

He smiled and hoped it would make what he said next seem less depressing. “Sometimes I think you would have been a better Plinth heir than me.”

Coriolanus smiled too, and his seemed more genuine. “Probably.”

The elevator doors opened, depositing them into the lobby. Sejanus walked with Coriolanus out to the street where they lingered on the sidewalk. Coriolanus put a hand on Sejanus’ shoulder, making his heart skip a beat. “Good luck with all that,” Coriolanus said, eyes flicking up in the direction of the Plinth’s apartment. “I hope you get to study what you want.”

“Thank you,” Sejanus said. “And thank you for coming by. You’re a good friend.” 

Just a friend, he reiterated to himself. He needed to remember that. But before he could talk himself out of it, he stepped closer to Coriolanus and pulled him into a hug. The smaller man fit so well within his arms, his head tucking so perfectly into the crook of his neck. Sejanus felt the brush of Coriolanus’ curls against his skin. It made him shiver despite the warm twilight.

“I’ll see you around, Sejanus,” Coriolanus said when he pulled away. 

“‘Night, Coryo.”

Sejanus watched Coriolanus until he disappeared around the corner, trying desperately to hold onto tenuous control of his heart.

Chapter Text

“Can I get your help on something?” 

Tigris looked up when Coriolanus spoke. She was huddled at the table, mending a hem for the Grandma’am by the looks of it. Coriolanus wasn’t sure how long she’d been working there as the night grew darker outside the windows, but surely the weak candlelight couldn’t be doing her eyesight any favors. If all went to plan, soon they would have no need for candles to save pennies on the electricity anymore. 

Tigris was scanning Coriolanus’ clothes, maybe looking for a reason why he would be asking her for help. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Coriolanus sat across from her. “I need your advice,” he said. She had more experience than he did when it came to love, even if it wasn’t by much. Lucy Gray had been different. Whatever was between them had grown out of a mutual need for survival. Wooing Sejanus would require far more calculation.

“Alright,” Tigris said, setting down the Grandma’am’s blouse and watching him expectantly.

How to start? Surely Tigris, who knew him better than anyone, would never believe that he, a Snow, would ever go for someone like Sejanus. She’d call his bluff immediately. Then again, maybe not. Hadn’t she accepted what he had with Lucy Gray without question? Just because that situation felt entirely different to him didn’t necessarily mean that it did to Tigris.

“Have you ever thought that Sejanus Plinth might have feelings for me?” he asked.

Tigris looked at him, eyebrows drawing together just slightly. The candle flickered between them. “Yes,” she said eventually. “I’ve thought that. The way he gravitates to you when there are a lot of people around.” 

That was hardly evidence of anything. All it meant was that no one else could stand Sejanus and he knew it. 

“I know if I were him,” Tigris went on, “It would mean everything to me that you saved me from the arena. If he does like you, then that could only have cemented things.”

Coriolanus hadn’t considered that. Maybe some good did come out of that nightmarish experience if it could help him now. But this was just confirming what he was fairly certain of already. He felt confident that Sejanus felt something for him, Coriolanus just needed to determine how best to proceed with the knowledge.

Gently, Tigris placed her hand over his. “Why are you asking, Coryo?”

This was the moment. The one that would determine whether she would believe him and could therefore be counted on for help. He didn’t have a plan for what he would do if she didn’t. 

“I think that I might…” This was humiliating. He couldn’t even say it. But he had to if this was going to work. He’d have to admit it to people. And deal with the fallout. “I think I may have feelings for him too.”

“Oh,” Tigris said, eyes widening. Her hand twitched on his. “I haven’t noticed that.” Of course she hadn’t. The idea was laughable. He would need to invent some reason for the sudden switch. Before he could get too far along that train of thought, she asked the question he absolutely did not want to hear. “What about Lucy Gray?”

Only Tigris knew him well enough to read the emotion in his face. He’d become good at arranging his features into pleasant neutrality—his society mask—but he had the hardest time fooling her. Her own face softened, eyes filling with sympathy. 

“I think I could have loved her,” Coriolanus said, honest for the first time in this conversation. “But I’ll never know for sure, because I doubt I’ll ever see her again.” And perhaps here was an angle he could play. “Sejanus has helped me, though. I can talk to him about her, and he understands how I feel, and why. He makes it all seem so much more bearable.”

Of course, Sejanus did nothing of the kind. But it worked on Tigris; her eyes actually seemed to be getting watery, though that may have been the fault of the candle. “I completely understand,” she said, giving Coriolanus’ hand a squeeze. “I know it must be confusing, having feelings for both of them at the same time.”

Coriolanus latched onto that. “It is. That’s what I wanted your help on, really. What do I do?”

“It sounds so simple, but I think you’ll really have to just follow your heart.”

“I don’t think it sounds simple at all,” he muttered.

She gave his hand another squeeze. “I know,” she said. “But that’s love for you. The heart never makes things easy.”

“No.” 

This wasn’t helping. He needed actual advice on how to make Sejanus fall in love with him enough that his family would be willing to pay the taxes on the penthouse. More than that, he needed to accomplish it before the taxes became due again next month. It wasn’t exactly a small feat.

He tried a slightly different tact. “How would you recommend I get closer to Sejanus?” he asked, “As you can imagine, I’m a little out of my depth here.”

She removed her hand from his and planted it under her chin while she considered. The only sound was the faint crackle of the candle and the buzz of the refrigerator running.

“You might not like it,” she said after a while. “You don’t really show the real you outside these walls, but opening up to him is probably the best way to get closer to him. Vulnerability can go a long way.”

Ugh. Vulnerability. It was such a useless word to Coriolanus, practically synonymous with weakness. All it did was give a person’s enemies the ammunition they needed to bring them down. But perhaps Tigris did have a point. Allowing Sejanus in might make him believe that Coriolanus trusted him. There was just the small issue that it would mean having to actually reveal parts of himself that he wasn’t sure he wanted Sejanus to see. 

For instance, Tigris’ words outside these walls were turning over in his head. At some point, he was going to have to let Sejanus know how desperate the Snows truly were, probably even bring him over to the apartment. After all, how could Coriolanus hope to get any money for the taxes out of Sejanus if he didn’t know why they needed it? But the idea was horrifying. Admitting to Lucy Gray that he didn’t have an easy way to feed her had been much simpler. At the time, Coriolanus had more or less believed that she would be dead within the week, taking his secret with her to her grave. And now she was in 12, which was practically the same thing. Sejanus was here, in the Capitol, with every opportunity to give him away. 

But would he? That was the real question. It wasn’t just a matter of whether or not he could pretend to trust Sejanus—could he actually trust him?

Tigris was shaking her head. “I said you wouldn’t like it.”

“I don’t,” Coriolanus said, “But it doesn’t mean that you’re not exactly right.”

Coriolanus put his hand over his glass, declining any more posca from the Avox. He’d already had half a glass and didn’t want his head to start feeling fuzzy. Clemensia and Festus both allowed their glasses to be refilled.

They were at a new restaurant that had opened within the last month a few blocks away from the Academy. Not being able to afford it, Coriolanus wouldn’t have come if Festus hadn’t told them that he would be buying. His treat as celebration for Persephone agreeing to become his girlfriend. 

Apparently, love was in the goddamn air all over the place.

Festus lifted his glass, clinking it against Clemensia’s full one and Coriolanus’ half-empty one. “The future is bright, my friends.”

Clemensia returned his brilliant smile. She was looking significantly better in the time that had elapsed since the Games. Her eyes were back to normal and her wide collar only revealed some discoloration. No scales. The more she recovered, the less guilty Coriolanus felt. 

“How did you find out about this place, Festus?” Clemensia asked. Coriolanus followed her eyes as she looked around. The place was opulent, crystal chandeliers hanging delicately from the ceiling and cutlery inlaid with jewels. It was the kind of place that had been everywhere in the Capitol before the Dark Days but hadn’t been able to survive the war. Now though, establishments like these were coming back. For those who could afford it.

Festus took a sip of posca and set his glass down. “All the wood came from my family’s holdings in Seven,” he said, waving his hand to capture the whole room.  “We were invited to the grand opening.”

If only the Snows had invested in building materials, they could be as rich as the Creeds right now. He wouldn’t have to give the Plinths a second thought. It was only the fact that Festus was his best friend that kept him from feeling bitter.

“It’s lucky that we have you to let us know which places are on the up,” he said. Festus acknowledged Coriolanus’ lifted glass with a gracious head nod.

“Anywhere else opening soon that we should know about?” Clemensia asked. 

Festus’ eyes cast upward while he considered. “I’d have to check with my father for the full list of places under construction right now,” he said, drumming his fingers on the glossy wood of the table. “The only one I can think of off the top of my head is that old nightclub—the one with the guy who used to sell on the black market. What was his name?”

“Pluribus Bell,” Coriolanus said. He didn’t mention that Pluribus still did sell on the black market. The Creeds had likely had no need for anything so illicit since the Dark Days.

Festus snapped and pointed at him. “That’s it. He ordered wood for a new stage and some booths, I think. My dad gave him a discount because we desperately need a better night life in the Capitol.”

There was no arguing that. There was hardly anything to do after dark ever since the war, all the clubs and theaters and gathering places having closed with precious few of them back in business. But Pluribus reopening wasn’t good news to Coriolanus. He’d already sworn the man off. When the nightclub reopened, he’d have no choice but to make show there. Especially if it became a popular spot among his peers at the University.

“When is it supposed to open?” Coriolanus asked.

Festus shrugged. “Not sure. Probably not for a while. He only just ordered the wood.”

That gave him some time, at least.

“I’m excited that the symphony is playing again,” Clemensia said, “My family bought season tickets in our old box.”

The concert hall had made it through the war, though at the time it had been converted into a makeshift shelter for Capitol citizens forced to evacuate from the outer parts of the city. It had been fully restored a year or two ago but nothing had been performed yet. There had been too few people able to make up the required ensembles. Now though, posters had been put up around the city announcing that the symphony was returning, starting next month. 

“Is your family getting your box again?” Clemensia asked. Before the war, the Snows' box had been next to the Dovecotes'. Coriolanus and Tigris would wave to Clemensia from across the gap before the lights went down. 

“No,” Coriolanus said. “The Grandma’am has trouble getting out of the apartment so it didn’t seem worth it.”

“Oh, you and Tigris should get it though,” she said, “It would be so fun seeing you there.”

“I’ll see what Tigris thinks,” Coriolanus said, as if it was something they could possibly find the money for. “It may be that all the box tickets are already gone.” At least, that’s exactly what he would tell Clemensia if she asked again.

An Avox came around to bring them dessert, a delicate mousse that melted in Coriolanus’ mouth. Once the gold-rimmed plates were cleared, he and his friends went to the entrance where Festus settled the bill. Out on the sidewalk, Coriolanus and Festus made to head home, but Clemensia stopped.

“I’m sleeping over at Lysistrata’s tonight,” she said, “So I’m heading the other way.”

Coriolanus wasn’t sure when she and Lysistrata had become such close friends. “Alright,” he said, “Good night, Clemmie.”

“‘Night, you guys,” she gave them both a wave before heading off. Coriolanus and Festus headed the other direction, toward the Corso. 

Festus had a certain light and bouncy air about him. They passed a small public greenspace where flowers sent their perfume into the warm night and he gave a dreamy sigh. “I’m so happy,” he said. 

“Thinking about Persephone?”

Festus nodded. “What else?” He elbowed Coriolanus. “Did you ever think she would go out with me? Her with me?”

Coriolanus shrugged. Honestly, he tried not to think about Persephone much at all. He’d been relieved when Festus told him she wouldn’t be joining them for the celebration dinner. Cannibals weren’t high on the list of people he’d prefer to share his table with.

“What’s wrong?” Festus asked, squinting at him. Sensing his lack of enthusiasm. “You’re not still hung up on your tribute girl, are you?”

“Of course not,” Coriolanus said. It was even true, mostly. He’d hardly thought about Lucy Gray since his conversation with Tigris a few days ago. “That’s well in the past.”

Looking unconvinced, Festus shook his head. “Something’s eating you, though,” he said, “Don’t think I can’t tell.”

Coriolanus only shrugged again. He couldn’t tell Festus about Sejanus. Not yet, at least. It would come out eventually, but hopefully it would be when the Snows’ situation was less precarious. Revealing such an alliance with the Plinths would be sure to alienate some of the prominent Capitol families. When it happened, Coriolanus needed to make sure he was in a position where it wouldn’t matter.

He needed to be powerful enough to keep them on his side.

A day or two later, Coriolanus was just thinking he needed to manufacture another meeting with Sejanus when the man called him. 

“Coryo!” Tigris called from the kitchen. “The phone’s for you!”

Coriolanus set down his half-polished shoe on his desk and made for the kitchen, skidding slightly in his socked feet. Tigris lifted her eyebrows at him as he accepted the phone, gesturing to his forehead. 

“Hello?” he said into the phone as he stepped back to check his reflection in a mirror. There was a smudge of shoe polish on his forehead. 

“Hey, Coryo,” Sejanus said. 

Preoccupied as he was with the mark on his forehead, it took Coriolanus a moment to remember what he was doing, to remember that this was exactly what he wanted. “Sejanus, hi,” he said, a second too late. “How are you?”

“Alright.” There was silence on the other line for a drawn out pause. Then, “Not great, actually. I think I need to get out of the house for a while.”

There was nothing for Coriolanus to clean the smear of polish with. He didn’t want to stain his clean white undershirt and he didn’t think his hand would be very effective. Wait, what was Sejanus saying? 

“I was thinking of going for a walk or something,” Sejanus went on.

Right, getting out of the house. Maybe now was the time to take Tigris’ advice about opening up.

“Well, why don’t we—” Tigris was there with a wet rag, dabbing at the spot on his forehead. Before he could second guess himself too much, he told Sejanus, “Why don’t you come over here?”

One clean forehead and two fully polished shoes later, Coriolanus was waiting for Sejanus at the front door. Why exactly had he asked Sejanus to come here? It was far too soon. Their relationship wasn’t yet on sure enough footing. Perhaps Sejanus would take one look at the bare apartment and decide he wanted nothing more to do with the Snows. But how likely was that? Sejanus didn’t show the same social climbing tendencies as his father. He’d been dragged into the midst of the Capitol elite, not fought for a place there. No, he would hopefully be as unfazed by the Snows’ situation as his Ma had been.

There was a knock at the door and Coriolanus waited one beat, then two, before opening it. No need to seem eager. Sejanus stood looking miserable, of course, but brightened somewhat when he saw Coriolanus.

“Please, come in,” Coriolanus said, stepping back and holding his arm out as if he were welcoming Sejanus into a grand palace and not a mostly empty apartment.

As Sejanus stepped into the entryway, he glanced around. His eyes did not register nearly as much surprise as Coriolanus would have expected. Had he already put two and two together from whatever Ma may have told him and Coriolanus’ own caginess when the subject of the Snows’ apartment came up the other day? There had been that moment at the end of the walk when Sejanus told Coriolanus that he could trust him. 

Well, Coriolanus was about to find out how true that really was.

“I’d give you a tour,” Coriolanus said, closing the door and ignoring the creak of the hinges. “But there’s really not much to see.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Sejanus said, “I don’t need a tour.”

Coriolanus gestured toward the table and Sejanus followed him there. It was one of the few places to sit in the penthouse besides the ground. The Grandma’am still had one relatively nice upholstered chair in her bedroom where she would sit in the evenings. It had been deemed too threadbare to be worth much if they were to sell it, so they kept it in order to give the aging woman a comfortable place to spend her time. Otherwise, the places to sit were limited to their desks or the dining table. 

“Is everything alright at home?” Coriolanus asked.

Sejanus shrugged, staring at his hands folded in front of him. Honestly, did he think Coriolanus enjoyed dragging the latest complaints about Sejanus’ poor, woeful, lavish life out of him? Why bother coming over if he wasn’t even going to talk about it? Still, this was what Coriolanus had signed up for. He had relegated himself by choice to a life of putting up with Sejanus’ outlook, and he would see it through. All he had to do was take one glance at the sparse room around him to strengthen his resolve.

He put his hand on Sejanus’ back, between and a little above his shoulder blades. Underneath the soft fabric of his shirt, he could feel the hard ridge of Sejanus’ spine. At the contact, Sejanus looked over at him. “You know you can tell me anything,” Coriolanus said gently. 

Sejanus’ face relaxed by a few degrees. “You’re probably sick of me complaining.” Well, at least he was self-aware. 

“Not at all,” Coriolanus said. He made slow circles on Sejanus’ back with his thumb. The gesture was completely foreign to him, almost ridiculous, but it had the desired effect. Sejanus continued to soften under his touch. “I want to hear every horrible thought you have.”

At that, Sejanus let out a tiny puff of air. “Probably not all of them,” he said quietly, maybe more to himself than to Coriolanus. Then he shrugged again, the movement tugging at the fabric under Coriolanus’ fingers. “It’s more of the same really. I can’t seem to get over everything that happened with the Games. I—I have nightmares about them.”

That, at least, was something Coriolanus could relate to. They weren’t frequent, but on more than one night he’d found himself back in that arena with the pack closing in. “So do I.”

“Really?” Sejanus asked, eyes widening. “That makes me feel less alone, somehow.”

Oddly, it had the same effect for Coriolanus. If he could set aside the fact that Sejanus was the whole reason he even had to go into the arena in the first place, it did comfort him to know that it was haunting Sejanus too. It made his own fear feel less cowardly.

“Ma suggested I see a therapist to help with everything,” Sejanus said, “I started that up last week, but it’s not helping at all. It’s propaganda, not therapy. All he talks about is how lucky I was to be a part of the Games, and how much we need them to control the districts. It makes me feel like I’m back in the lab with Dr. Gaul and her rabbit.”

Hippity, hoppity. Coriolanus may have gained a grudging respect for Dr. Gaul, but he couldn’t imagine a worse therapist. 

“Can’t you just find someone different?”

Sejanus shook his head. “This is the one my father picked out. I doubt he would pay for anyone else.”

“Well, maybe once he gets the diatribes out of his system he’ll start actually being helpful.”

“Maybe.” Sejanus didn’t look convinced. Which was fair, considering Coriolanus didn’t really believe what he was saying. 

They sat in silence for a while, Sejanus still hunched over the table, Coriolanus’ thumb still making circles on his back. The air grew heavy and unbearable, though that was likely the heat. They couldn’t afford to control the temperature in the apartment, so it tended to hang onto the heat in the summer and embrace the cold in the winter. Outside, there was probably a breeze blowing as the sun began to set.

“Do you want to see my grandmother’s rose garden?” Coriolanus asked. 

Sejanus startled slightly, possibly lost in thought before being brought back by Coriolanus’ voice. He looked around. “She has a garden here?”

“On the roof.”

Coriolanus stood, leading Sejanus to the narrow staircase that granted access to the roof above. The heavy door at the top was propped open with a brick as it had the tendency to stick and the Grandma’am wasn’t strong enough to force it free. Coriolanus pushed the door all the way open, holding it so Sejanus could step through before letting it swing back again.

As hoped, the evening air was cool and fresh. A faint breeze played across Coriolanus’ face, lifting his curls off his forehead. He took a deep breath, inhaling the comforting scent of roses. He looked over at Sejanus, who had moved to the side and was now staring in wonder at a bush overflowing with blush pink roses. The garden was perhaps not quite as staggering as it had seemed to Coriolanus when he would come up here as a small child and all of the plants were ten times bigger than he was. But even now when he was fully grown, the roses were impressive. Some of the bushes still cleared even Sejanus in height. 

Coriolanus stepped back so he could take in the sight of Sejanus admiring the Grandma’am’s pride and joy. Perhaps it was the pleasant night air, or perhaps it was the perfume of the roses that always made Coriolanus feel calm, but there was something somehow attractive about Sejanus right now. He’d never had reason to consider it before, but it sunk in now as he watched Sejanus among the greenery and blossoms that the man he was plotting how to seduce was good-looking. He was tall and lithe, his athletic frame contained neatly within his soft-looking clothes. Sejanus looked over his shoulder at Coriolanus and his face that was more relaxed than Coriolanus had seen in a long time was nice too.

Maybe there would be a certain appeal to this beyond the monetary gain it would bring his family.

Pushing down his revelation so it wouldn’t distract him, Coriolanus moved toward Sejanus. “Come see the view,” he said, taking Sejanus’ elbow. Together, they wove through the maze of roses until they reached the edge. There, Coriolanus let go of Sejanus and leaned against the barrier so he could look out at the city. 

Sejanus left out a soft “Oh,” at the view. From here, the remnants of war-time desolation weren’t quite so obvious. The setting sun set all the glass windows of the Capitol blocks stretching out before them on fire with rosy gold. Beyond that, the choppy surface of the lake glittered. And above everything were the mountains, regal and imposing. They always made Coriolanus feel safe, enveloped as they all were by those stone giants.

“It’s beautiful,” Sejanus whispered, made reverent by the scene before them. 

The Snows may not have had furniture, but they still had this. The Plinths couldn’t see anything like this from their apartment. And even if they did move onto the Corso, they wouldn’t be able to enjoy the sunset from a rooftop that overflowed with roses. That belonged to the Snows, and the Snows alone.

After a minute or two, Coriolanus risked a glance sideways to find that Sejanus was already looking back at him. Those soulful brown eyes of his seemed impossibly dark in the fading light, his face golden. Sejanus’ expression tilted toward guilty, like he was embarrassed to have been caught staring at Coriolanus. In a second, he would be turning away, maybe suggesting they go back inside to break the tension. The moment would be shattered. 

Coriolanus couldn’t let that happen. 

Before Sejanus could turn away—and before Coriolanus could lose his nerve—he leaned in and kissed Sejanus. Their lips met only briefly before Sejanus was inhaling sharply and tugging away. For one awful moment, Coriolanus thought that he had horribly misjudged everything. Then Sejanus was taking Coriolanus’ face in both hands and pulling him back in. He kissed Coriolanus with a ferocity that Coriolanus had rarely seen him exhibit. When he’d spoken out against Dr. Gaul at the biology lab. When he’d thrown a chair at the screen at the opening of Games. And now, when he was kissing Coriolanus in a rose garden.

It was no use trying to compare the kiss to the others Coriolanus had experienced. He’d been too drunk to remember much about the girl in the alleyway. The kiss with Lucy Gray had been slow and steady but had also carried so much finality. It had felt like a last good-bye. This kiss with Sejanus was entirely different. A beginning rather than an ending. 

And with any luck, a hopeful omen of good things to come.

Chapter Text

Coriolanus let Sejanus be the first to break the kiss. When he finally did, they were both a little breathless. The evening had grown darker around them, the inconsistent street lamps below becoming apparent as the sun slipped below the mountains.

As he looked into Sejanus’ brown eyes—heavily lidded and so, so close now—Coriolanus realized that he had no idea what the etiquette of this situation was. It was something of a shock to him, as impeccable etiquette had sustained him for most of his life. But now he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Should he say something? Wait for Sejanus to? 

Well, Coriolanus had made the first move by kissing him. Now it was Sejanus’ turn.

“Coryo,” Sejanus said, his voice low and soft and filled with a longing that did strange things to Coriolanus’ insides. The nickname was still exasperating, but somehow less so. Annoyed with himself, Coriolanus ordered himself to stay composed. The last thing he needed was Sejanus getting to him. 

Sejanus’ hands were buried in Coriolanus’ hair, tugging lightly at his scalp as he shifted his fingers. “I—I didn’t know if you felt the same way,” Sejanus breathed, “I hoped, but…”

“I do,” Coriolanus said, “I…” He stumbled over what to say next. He’d only just kissed the man; he couldn’t pretend to declare love to him yet. Anything else felt inadequate. I like you. I have feelings for you. The doors your wealth will open are so irresistible, darling. 

Fortunately, Sejanus didn’t seem to require any more words from him. Instead, he leaned in again. Their lips hadn’t quite touched when there was the angry squeal of door hinges. Coriolanus whipped his head around in time to see Tigris emerging from between two rose bushes. Her eyes widened when she saw how they were standing, Coriolanus with his hands on Sejanus’ hips and Sejanus with his hands in Coriolanus’ curls.

“Oh!” she said, frozen in place. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Coriolanus stepped swiftly back, breaking the embrace with Sejanus. He could feel his cheeks burning. Stupid, so stupid to be this embarrassed. Tigris was the one person who he’d told about this, so it was certainly better that she’d caught them over anyone else. But still. It was mortifying. 

Tigris appeared to give herself a small shake. “I was wondering if you wanted dinner?”

In fact, Coriolanus did want dinner. He’d had little other than cabbage and dry bread since his meal with Festus and Clemensia the other day. There was only the issue that having dinner now would mean Sejanus seeing how they ate. But it was too late to fool Sejanus into believing the illusion of their prosperity now anyway. The choice had been made. And Coriolanus was all in, had cemented it here on this roof. No going back now. 

He mustered up a smile for Tigris. “I’d love dinner.”

Downstairs, Coriolanus set out their finest china on the dining table. Maybe it would help to liven up whatever pitiful meal they’d be enjoying. He only set three places; apparently the Grandma’am had already eaten and gone to bed. That was probably for the best; Coriolanus hadn’t yet worked out a way to explain his relationship to a district boy to her. The longer he could put off a meeting between her and Sejanus, the better. 

Coriolanus sat in his usual seat as Tigris brought over the food from the kitchen, stale crackers and salmon dip that was about to go off. Leftovers from some party of Fabricia’s that Tigris had been instructed to throw out. While Tigris carefully divvied up the crackers and dip between the three plates, Coriolanus couldn’t help comparing this meager offering to the heavenly stew he’d eaten at the Plinth’s apartment. Would Sejanus even be able to stomach any of this after a lifetime of Ma’s cooking?

He risked a glance at Sejanus and saw that he was watching Tigris dish up the food with a thoughtful expression. He accepted his plate without complaint. He ate it all even though the salmon was too pungent and the crackers stuck in Coriolanus’ throat.

Tigris, who had appeared too sheepish at having interrupted them to have spoken at all during dinner, cleared away the dishes and then disappeared to her room as soon as they were finished eating. In her absence, the penthouse seemed all the more empty. Night had come on in full force outside the windows, with only a single candle in the middle of the table and the reflected streetlights providing illumination. 

“I’m sorry I ate your food,” Sejanus said quietly, eyes still fixed on the center of the table. 

Coriolanus shook his head. “Don’t be,” he said, “I’ve eaten enough of yours.”

A crease had appeared between Sejanus’ full eyebrows. “I didn’t realize this was how it was for you.” He finally looked over at Coriolanus. “I should have been helping you a long time ago.”

Coriolanus bristled at the thought of Sejanus taking him on as a charity case. He wanted to earn his way into the Plinth’s wealth, not have it parceled out to him out of pity. But he stayed impassive, lifting a hand to Sejanus’ forehead to smooth out that crease with his thumb. “You didn’t know,” he said, making his voice much kinder than he felt. “We don’t let anyone know. You’re the only one I’ve ever brought over here.”

“Ever?”

“Since I was little, anyway. Since we sold off most of the furniture.”

Sejanus looked around at the dark, barren space before looking back at Coriolanus. “I want to help,” he said, taking Coriolanus’ hands and leaning into him. “How can I help?”

Oh, Sejanus, Coriolanus thought, You have no idea how much you’re helping already. What he really said was, “You don’t have to do anything. Just don’t tell anyone the truth, alright?”

“Of course not,” Sejanus said. His eyes were so wide and earnest that Coriolanus believed him. Sejanus wasn’t the gossiping type, anyway.

The moment felt right, so Coriolanus stretched out his neck and kissed Sejanus, who returned the kiss eagerly. Coriolanus was already getting used to this. He hadn’t been sure if he would even enjoy kissing a boy, but he found he didn’t mind the steady pressure of Sejanus against him, the suggestion of stubble on his chin. It was different, but certainly not unpleasant.

Again, Coriolanus let Sejanus be the first to move away. “I should get home,” he said, “Ma will be worried.”

He rose from his chair and Coriolanus followed him to the door. Sejanus paused in the open doorway and turned back. “I mean it about helping you,” he said, taking Coriolanus’ hand quickly and squeezing it once. “I’m going to figure something out.”

Then he was gone.

The buying that Coriolanus had been waiting for ever since he rescued Sejanus from the arena had finally begun. He woke up the next morning to find that a large box of food had been delivered to their doorstep. Together, he and Tigris went through it on the kitchen table. Right at the top were a few loaves of Ma’s bread, jars of strawberry jam, and a tin of cookies. Below that were things that would last them a good while—flour, oil, rice, potatoes, dried beans. Not lima, thank the heavens. Beside the bag of flour was an insulated cold container that they opened to reveal fresh vegetables, a whole ham, and a side of beef wrapped in paper. When was the last time they had eaten anything like that at home?

There was an envelope tucked to the side that contained a recipe for Ma’s beef stew, a short note in Sejanus’ handwriting that said it was the best he could do on short notice but that there would be more to follow, and best of all, a small stack of money. It was probably meant to buy more food, but it would be enough to pay next month’s taxes with a little left over to spare.

One more month. He’d bought them a whole extra month. And if this was what Coriolanus could achieve in a couple of weeks, then they’d be swimming in it by the time the following month’s taxes came due.

Setting down the jar of jam she’d been holding, Tigris threw her arms around Coriolanus. “You know, Coryo,” she said, squeezing him tight. “I think you falling for Sejanus might be the best thing that’s ever happened for this family.”

“I think you might be right,” Coriolanus agreed.

He meant to capitalize on the delivery, especially since it brought the promise of more. He stayed just long enough to have a slice of bread spread with the precious jam, then made for the Plinth’s apartment. Once there, an Avox answered the door and led him to Sejanus’ room at Coriolanus’ request. 

It was immediately apparent that Coriolanus had come over too early, or perhaps Sejanus had simply been up late putting together the food for the Snows. The bedroom door was ajar, so Coriolanus pushed it open and found that Sejanus was still sleeping. Not particularly wanting to wake him up, Coriolanus took the opportunity to look around the room. It was relatively tidy. The only thing that appeared to be out of place were the shoes sitting in front of the half-open closet, probably the ones Sejanus had worn last night. There was a bookshelf that contained what looked like a mixture of school books and fiction. At the very bottom were a couple of volumes on weapons manufacturing with perfectly straight spines. Clearly never opened.

There was a desk against the wall opposite the bed that housed neat stacks of papers. Coriolanus recognized some of them as old school assignments from the Academy. Next to those were what appeared to be journals, with a container of pens and pencils beside those. Tacked to a board above the desk were photos going back several years. There were pictures of a younger Sejanus, some on his own and some with his Ma. A few were class photos—Coriolanus saw himself and his classmates from the Academy featured. Others of these were unfamiliar to him; maybe they depicted Sejanus’ classmates from District 2. He didn’t bother checking to see if he could spot Marcus in those.

Other than one stiff family portrait, there were no photos of Strabo.

Besides the photos, the walls of Sejanus’ room were relatively bare. There was only a mirror hanging near the door, and a large painting of some unfamiliar mountains over Sejanus’ bed. Probably some scene from District 2. Coriolanus crossed to the window beside the bed, curious about the vantage. To his satisfaction, it was a perfectly ordinary view of the apartments across the street and the cars passing below. A sliver of the lake could just barely be glimpsed through a gap in the buildings. It didn’t hold a candle to the Snows’ view from their penthouse.

As Coriolanus leaned against the sill, his foot accidentally scuffed against an air vent, the resulting clang reverberating around the still room. The even sound of Sejanus’ breathing cut off jaggedly, followed by his surprised cry. Coriolanus turned to see Sejanus sit bolt upright, eyes wide. 

“Coryo!” Sejanus gasped, clutching his chest. He had on a gray shirt that must have been old because it was so worn that it was nearly translucent. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” Coriolanus said, “I didn’t want to wake you and I got curious about your room.”

He could see Sejanus’ cheeks coloring, hands gripping his blanket and pulling it higher over himself. “You know, watching me sleep is pretty creepy.”

Damn it all. Now Coriolanus could feel his own cheeks heating. “I wasn’t watching you,” he said, cringing at the defensiveness in his voice. 

“Sure, Coryo.” Sejanus smiled for the first time. His hair was a mess, all flattened on one side and sticking up on the other. “So what are you doing here, then?”

Right. Coriolanus straightened. “I wanted to thank you in person,” he said, “For the food.”

“Oh,” Sejanus said, running a nervous hand through his hair. All it accomplished was making it even more untidy. “It was nothing.”

Coriolanus bristled at that. The implication that what amounted to more food than Coriolanus had seen all at once in the penthouse since before the war was meaningless. That a Plinth didn’t even need to consider such paltry things. That completely turning the Snows’ situation on its head was a tiny act barely above notice. It was insulting. 

Sejanus must have noticed Coriolanus’ expression, because he quickly amended. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not nothing,” he said, twisting his blanket. “I just meant that I don’t mind doing it. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Two warring instincts screamed at each other inside of Coriolanus. The first resented Sejanus for being able to feed his family so easily when Coriolanus could not. It told him he should hate the man and stay as far away as possible. The second recognized that survival sometimes came at a cost. In this case, bowing his head and accepting aid from the district-born likes of Sejanus. And facilitating that required getting closer. 

So Coriolanus got closer.

He sat on the bed next to Sejanus and slid his arms around him, planting both hands on Sejanus’ far shoulder. Almost hesitantly, Sejanus let go of his death grip on the blanket and put an arm around Coriolanus’ waist.

“It means a lot, you looking out for us,” Coriolanus said. 

“I feel awful that I haven’t done anything sooner,” Sejanus said, brown eyes wide and earnest. “If I’d known—”

Coriolanus shook his head. “You don’t have to feel bad,” he said, “You didn’t know. And even if you had, it’s not your job to take care of me.”

Sejanus leaned his forehead against Coriolanus’. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to,” he murmured.

The proximity was foreign to Coriolanus. He wasn’t used to someone so entirely in his space like this. Even with Lucy Gray, they had been separated by bars more often than they hadn’t been. Their kiss the last time they had seen each other was the only time they had been physically close like this, and it happened so suddenly and been over so quickly that Coriolanus hadn’t really had time to consider the nearness. And at any rate, he had been rather preoccupied. By the farewell, by the Games, by his own desire. 

Now, there was nothing to distract him from the press of Sejanus’ skin against his forehead, the weight of his hand at his waist, the juxtaposition of toned muscles beneath soft cotton under Coriolanus’ arms. The feeling of a body right beside his where usually there was none. 

He couldn’t decide if he liked it.

Sejanus pulled away from Coriolanus, smiling somewhat sheepishly. “I want to kiss you,” he said, “But I need to brush my teeth first.”

That made Coriolanus laugh. A real laugh, not a forced one. He moved so Sejanus could climb off the bed. “Go,” he said as Sejanus brushed past him. “We’ll see how I feel when you get back.”

With a grin shot over his shoulder, Sejanus slipped out of the room. The open door brought a scent that hadn’t been apparent before—breakfast. Someone was frying bacon. Despite the jam bread he’d had before leaving, Coriolanus’ mouth began to water. He hesitated for just a moment, wondering if he should wait for Sejanus. Then he decided against it, going off in search of the food instead.

Ma was standing at the stove in the kitchen, moving scrambled eggs around with a spatula. She glanced over as Coriolanus entered and then started. “Oh, Coriolanus!” she said, “I didn’t realize you were here!”

“I’m sorry to startle you,” he said, “I came to thank Sejanus for the delivery.”

She smiled at him. “I’m glad it found you alright. Did you see I put a recipe in for you?”

Coriolanus nodded. “I’m eager for my cousin to try it out,” he said, “Though I’m sure no one could pull it off quite like you.”

Ma flushed with pride. Before she could answer, Sejanus appeared at Coriolanus’ side. His hair was damp, having been combed into submission. As he put an arm around Coriolanus, he gave off the minty scent of toothpaste. 

“Good morning,” Ma told her son cheerfully. To Coriolanus, she asked, “Will you join us for breakfast?” 

“I would love nothing more.”

Coriolanus was certain that it was the best breakfast that he had ever had. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that his spirits were so high. Ma loaded his plate with bacon, eggs, fried potatoes, and toast. She gave him extra servings of everything even when he pretended to refuse. Knowing that Tigris and the Grandma’am were likely having their own proper breakfast at home for the first time in a while made it all the better.

After eating, Coriolanus and Sejanus left Ma to her corner and retired to Sejanus’ bedroom. As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Sejanus slid his arms around Coriolanus and kissed him. Coriolanus hated the way he had to tilt his head up to meet him. It was a small comfort to remember that Sejanus had always been the tallest boy in their year at the Academy, but Coriolanus still detested the reminder that he wasn’t as tall as he should have been. He had the districts to thank for that. And Sejanus had being district to thank for his height, for his growth that was never impeded by starvation.

Coriolanus broke the kiss, careful not to let his resentment show. Sejanus didn’t appear to notice, a soft smile on his face. “I’m glad you came over,” he said, “So I know that last night wasn’t a dream.”

“It wasn’t,” Coriolanus said. It felt inadequate, so he added, “But maybe that’s the real reason I came over, to check for myself.”

Sejanus laughed. Coriolanus tried to think when he’d last heard such an easy laugh from the man, but couldn’t remember one. He was usually so downtrodden, especially recently. Well, all the better for Coriolanus. The mirth was short-lived though. Sejanus’ face grew serious, eyebrows drawing together. 

“What about Lucy Gray?” he asked.

It had been naive of Coriolanus to think that Sejanus wouldn’t bring her up. What did he expect Coriolanus to say? That he’d forgotten all about her in favor of Sejanus? It wasn’t true. And Sejanus probably wouldn’t believe it if he acted like it was. The truth was that Coriolanus still cared for Lucy Gray and he maybe always would, but he was being realistic about the fact that he would likely never see her again. Maybe only if they brought her back for the Games next year like everyone kept saying. Holding onto his feelings for her wouldn’t do him any good. If only that knowledge made it any easier.

He couldn’t tell Sejanus that he still felt that way about her. Or could he? Would he accept what Tigris had said, about having feelings for both of them at the same time? It would probably be more believable than acting like he didn’t care for her at all anymore.

Tread carefully, he told himself.

“I really like you, Sejanus,” he said, feeling that it was important to stress the point. “And I liked Lucy Gray. Our time together was short but it was intense—everything so life and death. I expect that the effect of that won’t go away quickly.” He took Sejanus’ face in both hands, looking into his deep brown eyes. “But I need you to know that however I might have felt—or still feel—for her doesn’t change how I feel about you at all.”

Sejanus looked intently back, searching Coriolanus’ eyes. Then he nodded slightly. “Okay,” he said, “I understand. I’m sorry if I’m making it harder for you to figure things out.”

Coriolanus shook his head sharply. The last thing he needed was for Sejanus to pull away now when he had finally broken in. “You’re not. I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

That finally put the smile back on Sejanus’ face. He leaned in and kissed Coriolanus lightly.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m not.”

Chapter Text

In the wake of being kissed by Coriolanus, Sejanus skipped two therapy sessions.

They always made him feel worse anyway. And something about finally letting Coriolanus know how he felt—and finding out that Coriolanus miraculously somehow also felt the same—had quieted Sejanus’ brain enough to convince his parents that he didn’t need to go. Officially, the appointments had been rescheduled but he was hoping that he wouldn’t need to go back to that claustrophobic office at all. 

But the round of nightmares he experienced only a few nights later proved that sharing a handful of kisses with the boy he liked was not enough to heal the damage the Games had done. When he woke screaming, Ma gently suggested that maybe he should move his next therapy appointment up, or even go to a doctor that could prescribe some medication to help him sleep. Sejanus’ father thought he might need something to distract him and suggested that Sejanus join him at his office to start learning the business as a way to occupy his time until the University started. As with every time Strabo made this suggestion, Sejanus turned it down. He’d rather go slowly mad at home than have to learn about all the latest ways of causing death.

On a rainy Saturday afternoon—rare in this otherwise dry August—he lay in his bed staring up at the ceiling. He had to keep blinking away the image of Lamina driving her ax into Marcus, of Coriolanus bashing Bobbin’s brains in, of Brandy’s body slowly swinging from the crane at Arachne’s funeral. Disjointed memories of everything he’d seen fed to him out of order and without respite. He hadn’t bothered getting out of bed. He’d see them just as well wherever he was. 

Distantly, the sounds of the apartment filtered into his awareness. Faint conversation between his parents. The phone ringing for the third time today. The vacuum cleaner running in the next room over, then the one next to that. The doorbell.

His bedroom door opened. He didn’t bother looking to see who it was. It could have been Ma checking on him, or Strabo here to tell him that he needed to get out of bed. It was maybe even late enough in the day to be getting on dinner time so perhaps they were here to call him to the table. Instead, there was the soft sound of the door clicking shut and footsteps crossing his room. Coriolanus entered his field of vision, his pale hair appearing more like silver in the gray light.

Sejanus covered his face with his hands. He didn’t want Coriolanus to see him like this. It made him feel so pathetic, so weak next to Coriolanus who he’d hardly ever known to show a crack in that cool demeanor. 

He let out a shaky breath when he felt Coriolanus’ hand brushing the hair back off his forehead. Coriolanus didn’t say anything, just ran his fingers through Sejanus’ hair while Sejanus felt tears start leaking out of the corners of his pinched-shut eyelids. So stupid. What was he even crying over? Coriolanus seeing him like this? The Games? The fear that he hadn’t been able to shake since they started? No, since they moved to the Capitol. That’s when all of this began. 

There was a rush of cool air as his blanket was pulled back, quickly replaced by the feeling of Coriolanus’ body as he climbed into bed next to Sejanus. Startled, Sejanus removed his hands from his eyes as Coriolanus pulled the blanket back over them. Coriolanus propped himself up on one elbow, putting his other hand out to clear away Sejanus’ tears.

“What are you doing here?” Sejanus asked. His voice was almost too hoarse to be made out so he cleared his throat.

Coriolanus’ thumb traced over Sejanus’ cheekbone. “I haven’t heard from you in a few days, so I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he said, “Now I see that you’re not.”

Sejanus shook his head automatically. “I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously not. Tell me what’s wrong.”

The underlying authority in Coriolanus’ voice when he gave the command made Sejanus shiver. That was something else that had always set him apart at school—when Coriolanus spoke, people listened.

“The nightmares have been bad,” Sejanus muttered.

“About the Games?”

He nodded. “All those people we watched die. I keep seeing it all play out again whenever I close my eyes.” Even as he said it, the image of the District 1 tributes being gunned down as they tried to escape came vividly to his mind. “Not just when they’re closed.”

“I wish I could make all those bad memories go away,” Coriolanus said, hand moving back into Sejanus’ hair.

“It’s not possible,” Sejanus said. He reached up and touched one of Coriolanus’ silvery curls falling over his ear. “But maybe you could distract me?”

Grinning, Coriolanus bent down and kissed him. In kissing him back, Sejanus realized how starved for human contact his self-imposed isolation had made him. Desperate to be closer, Sejanus’ hands found Coriolanus’ hips. He tugged Coriolanus on top of him. The motion made Coriolanus gasp and Sejanus started to pull away, worried he’d gone too far. But Coriolanus just kissed him all the harder, hands fisting in Sejanus’ hair.

When Coriolanus finally pulled away, it left Sejanus feeling disoriented. “Is this helping?” Coriolanus asked.

“What?” Sejanus wasn’t sure he could remember what they’d been talking about before. All he seemed to be aware of was the weight of Coriolanus on top of him, the feel of Coriolanus’ hips under his hands.

Laughing, Coriolanus extricated himself from Sejanus then got off the bed entirely. Sejanus had to bite his tongue to keep from whining for him to come back. 

“Actually,” Coriolanus said, “If you want a good distraction, it might be best to get out of the apartment.”

Sejanus sat up, the action leaving him lightheaded. “What did you have in mind?”

“There’s a get-together tonight at a restaurant near the Academy,” Coriolanus said, “It’ll be a few of our classmates—no one too horrible, I promise.” He took Sejanus’ hand, face softening. “But only if you’re up for it.”

Sejanus looked past the concern in Coriolanus’ expression and saw how badly he wanted to go. He noticed for the first time how Coriolanus was dressed—not formally but certainly more nicely than usual. He knew that Coriolanus would stay in with him if that’s what he wanted, but Sejanus didn’t want to deprive him of a night out. Not when Coriolanus was being so good to him. Besides, it sort of gave Sejanus butterflies to imagine going out to a restaurant with Coriolanus. Like a date.

“No, you’re right,” he said, “It would be good to get out.”

Coriolanus brightened. “Glad you think so,” he said before leaning in and kissing Sejanus.

Half an hour later, Sejanus had showered for the first time in days and gotten dressed. His parents seemed pleasantly surprised when he said they were going out, Strabo instructing him to take the car. Coriolanus appeared all too happy to oblige, climbing into the back seat after Sejanus and leaning forward to give the Avox the address to the restaurant. As the car pulled onto the street, Coriolanus took Sejanus’ hand. The rain had lessened, but drops still pattered against the window.

“I should let you know,” Coriolanus said, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “I haven’t told any of my friends about us yet.”

“Oh,” Sejanus said, not sure what Coriolanus was getting at.

“I haven’t figured out how to tell them,” Coriolanus said, glancing at him and squeezing his hand. “I will eventually, I promise, but for now, do you think we could just…take it easy? In front of them?”

Sejanus didn’t really know what that meant. Figured out how to tell them what? What was he worried about them knowing? Whatever it meant, it made Sejanus’ insides twist. Like Coriolanus was embarrassed to be with him, like it was something he had to explain away. Coriolanus must have noticed Sejanus’ expression because he cupped Sejanus’ face in his hand, touch gentle. 

“I’m sorry, Sejanus,” he said, “I wish it were different. But you know how they are—they’re not like me. A lot of them are still prejudiced about you for being from the districts. They’ll come around, but I can’t just drop it on them without preparing them.”

Really, it wasn’t surprising. Sejanus had always known that his classmates didn’t particularly like him. Coriolanus was right about being different from them—better. Sejanus didn’t want to do anything that would hurt Coriolanus in the twisted, arbitrary rules of Capitol society that he never quite understood. And he trusted Coriolanus. If he said that they should pretend to just be friends tonight, then he had a good reason. And Sejanus believed Coriolanus when he said that they would eventually know the truth.

“Alright,” Sejanus said, “I understand.”

“Thank you.” Coriolanus kissed him, which made Sejanus feel a little better.

The car ride put them at the restaurant a little early, so they huddled together under the awning out front. They only had to wait for a minute or two before Festus Creed was getting out of a car hand in hand with Persephone Price. They both greeted Coriolanus warmly, then Festus gave Sejanus a slightly stiff handshake. Persephone didn’t acknowledge him at all. Soon after, Lysistrata Vickers arrived, hopping out of a car and saying hello to everyone with equal enthusiasm. Even Sejanus. But then, she’d always been one of the people who was relatively nicer to him.

“Who else are we waiting for?” Coriolanus asked Festus. 

“Just Clemensia,” Festus said.

While they waited for her in front of the restaurant, Sejanus felt acutely how on the outside of this group he was. It didn’t matter that all of them had been in school together for a decade, he was still other. They had their own jokes, their own way of speaking to each other that dripped Capitol elite. He may have mostly lost his district accent since moving here, but he’d never quite managed to slip into that superior way of speaking that his peers had. 

For the first time, Sejanus also started noticing how much of a front Coriolanus put up for his friends. The easy confidence, the air that nothing could ruffle a Snow, the projected idea that everything in the world was at his feet. Only Sejanus knew how precarious things were for him. It was somehow flattering that Coriolanus had let him in when the others were still in the dark. It meant everything to him that Coriolanus trusted him so much, and he was determined to do whatever he could to deserve that trust.

Clemensia finally arrived, slightly out of breath and black hair dripping from the rain. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she panted, straightening the strap of her bag and rearranging her collar. “I completely lost track of time.”

Coriolanus smiled at her as he gripped the restaurant’s door handle, pulling it open. “You’re lucky we were out of the rain, Clemmie,” he said, holding the door for the group to file in. “Or we may not have forgiven you so easily.”

Inside, an Avox led them to a table for six. Coriolanus immediately claimed the seat at the head of the table. Sejanus sat in the spot to Coriolanus’ left, Lysistrata taking the seat next to him. Festus and Persephone sat across the table from them with Clemensia at the foot. The Avox passed out menus and then left with a shallow bow. 

“What was that thing I got last time?” Clemensia asked, flipping over her menu. 

“Didn’t you get the oysters?” Festus asked. 

“That’s what I got,” Coriolanus said, “And you ate half of them. Clemmie got the chicken cordon bleu.”

Clemensia made a sound of recognition. “That’s right.” She poked Lysistrata’s arm. “What are you going to get? Do you want to split two things?”

While the group perused their menus, an Avox came by to fill their glasses with posca. Sejanus lifted his to take a sip, then found himself downing half the glass. He didn’t care for it at the best of times but always found himself craving the stuff when he wasn’t feeling well. That was probably from all the times Ma had given it to him when he was sick as a kid. He took another large gulp before noticing Coriolanus watching him with raised eyebrows.

“That stuff is stronger than it seems,” he said mildly. Embarrassed, Sejanus set his glass down. Coriolanus gave a tiny nod, then turned his attention to the Avox that had returned to take their orders.

Sejanus knew he should have been hungry, not having eaten anything that day and very little the day before. But nothing sounded good to him, so he just asked for a cup of broth to go with the bread provided at the table. Coriolanus frowned at that but didn’t say anything. 

Throughout the meal, Sejanus found himself unable to keep his focus on the conversation. He’d tune in momentarily to hear Lysistrata detailing the path she hoped to pursue at the University (medical, like her parents. Maybe she and Sejanus would be classmates if things worked out for him) or Festus talking about the reconstruction progress of an old nightclub. The posca kept pulling Sejanus’ attention. Despite Coriolanus’ disapproval, Sejanus drained his glass and started on a second one. It wasn’t like he was the only one. Everyone else had gotten theirs refilled as well except for Coriolanus, who had barely made a dent in his. 

It was catching up to Sejanus too quickly—he was aware of that. His empty stomach wasn’t helping. The lights had taken on a shimmery quality and his cheeks were starting to feel hot. He found himself staring at Coriolanus and unable to make himself stop. And why should he? In the warm light of the dining room, Coriolanus’ hair was closer to spun gold, his eyes like diamonds. He laughed at something (what was it? A joke from someone—maybe Persephone or Festus? Sejanus wasn’t paying attention to anyone else besides Coriolanus) and the sound traveled through Sejanus, settling with as much glow as the posca in his belly.

Sejanus was the moth. Coriolanus was the flame.

At some point, Coriolanus got to his feet, saying he was going to find the restroom. In his absence, Sejanus couldn’t make sense of what he was doing here. He tried to listen to the story that Clemensia was telling about something funny she’d seen on the trolley earlier, but all he could think about was Coriolanus. He got abruptly to his feet, stammering out something about needing the restroom too and went off in search of his flame. 

Inside the men’s room, Sejanus found Coriolanus washing his hands at the solid gold sink. He looked at Sejanus as the door shut behind him. It only took three steps for Sejanus’ long legs to cover the space between them, hands gathering up the front of Coriolanus’s shirt. 

“Sejanus,” Coriolanus said, eyes flicking to the door. Unable to find it in him to care about being seen, Sejanus ducked his head and kissed him. Coriolanus allowed himself to be kissed, his still-wet hands finding Sejanus’ hips. But it wasn’t long before he pulled away. “You’re drunk, Sejanus.”

“No, I’m not,” Sejanus said, voice coming out petulant. He wanted Coriolanus to be kissing him, not lecturing him. “I’ve only had two glasses of posca.”

Coriolanus shook his head. “And you’ve barely eaten anything,” he said, straightening a lock of Sejanus’ hair that had fallen out of place. “You need to slow down, darling.”

The word darling hit Sejanus like a punch in the chest. Certain he would lose his mind if he didn’t kiss Coriolanus immediately, he pulled the other man back in. Coriolanus offered no resistance, hands sliding up Sejanus’s spine as Sejanus pressed him up against the marble counter. 

It had been far, far too little time when there was the pointed sound of footsteps on the other side of the door. Before Sejanus was even aware of what was happening, Coriolanus had slipped away from him, already at an entirely different sink by the time the bathroom door swung open to admit Festus. Coriolanus’ demeanor was unruffled, his face impassive as he leaned toward the mirror and adjusted the angle of one of his perfect curls. He looked casually over at Festus and smiled. 

“We can’t all three be in here at the same time,” Coriolanus said, “The girls are going to think we’re up to something.”

Festus laughed. “Not my fault I have to piss.” He moved past them to a stall, not sparing a glance for Sejanus. That was a relief, since Sejanus was certain he wasn’t playing this off nearly as well as Coriolanus. 

Unsure of what else to do, he washed his hands at the sink he was standing in front anyway. Coriolanus moved to the door but waited for Sejanus to dry his hands before they went back out into the restaurant together. At their table, Sejanus found that his glass had been refilled since they’d been away. Without a word, Coriolanus swept it gracefully to his own place as he sat, leaving Sejanus with only the barely touched broth and a cup of water. 

Sejanus wasn’t entirely sure if the gesture made him feel patronized or cared for.

When the Avox came by with dessert, Sejanus made an effort to eat some. The custard tart along with the few bites of bread he’d eaten were the first solid food he’d put in his stomach in a while, and it helped bring his mind a little clarity. The lights had stopped seeming quite so shimmery, at least.

After everyone was finished, they went up to the front of the restaurant, falling into a line to pay for their meals. Sejanus stood at the end by Coriolanus, who shot him a quick look. In the glance, Sejanus saw the question that he knew Coriolanus would never ask out loud. He leaned into Coriolanus, speaking softly enough not to be heard by Lysistrata ahead of them. “I’ll pay for you.” Coriolanus squeezed his hand briefly, then let it go just as quickly.

“We should make this a regular thing,” Festus said once they were all back out on the sidewalk. The rain had subsided, leaving the pavement glossy and the air smelling clean. “Every month. Who knows how often we’ll see each other at the University?”

Coriolanus clapped him on the shoulder. “Good idea.”

A car pulled up that Festus and Persephone got into. As it pulled away, another slid in to take its place that Lysistrata got into. After a rapid exchange through the open door, Clemensia climbed in after her, waving to Coriolanus and Sejanus over her shoulder.

“It’s a beautiful night,” Coriolanus said as they watched the car disappear around the corner. “Shall we walk?”

He was right—the air was cool and fresh as they set out toward the Plinth’s apartment. Streetlights reflected off the glistening pavement, making the city seem almost magical. It was rare that Sejanus ever found the Capitol beautiful, but tonight it seemed that way. He’d only ever thought so when Coriolanus was by his side, like that night when they looked out at the view from the Snow’s penthouse. The night Coriolanus had first kissed him. As they walked, Coriolanus slipped his hand into Sejanus’. Yes, the world could indeed be a lovely place.

They arrived home all too quickly. “Will you come up with me?” he asked. There was no point to it really; it would probably make more sense for Coriolanus to go straight home. But he smiled.

“Of course.”

Upstairs, the apartment was dark. Ma was probably in bed already. But the light was still on in his father’s study. He heard Strabo calling for him to enter as they passed the cracked door. Sejanus did as he was told, Coriolanus following beside him.

Strabo was standing by the empty fireplace. He frowned at his son as he looked him over. Sejanus thought that the food and the walk had sobered him up enough, but his father had an eagle eye when it came to this kind of thing.

“Have you been drinking?” Strabo asked.

Sejanus hated the quiet disappointment in his voice, hated even more so that Coriolanus was here to hear it. “Just a little posca,” he said.

“He had it on an empty stomach,” Coriolanus added, “I made sure he didn’t drink too much.”

Strabo gave him an appraising look. Sejanus had been on the receiving end of too many of those looks and wanted to save Coriolanus from it, tell him he didn’t need to help him. But Strabo just nodded slightly.

“Thank you,” he said, “And thank you for taking him out with you. I keep telling Sejanus that he needs to make more of an effort to connect with his peers.”

Maybe Sejanus hadn’t sobered up quite as much as he thought, because he wasn’t able to stop his snort. Strabo looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Well, it’s not like any of them have made any effort to connect with me,” Sejanus said, defensive.

Inexplicably, Strabo looked back at Coriolanus expectantly, like he wanted him to confirm or deny Sejanus’ assertion. 

“I’ll admit that there are those who have their prejudices,” Coriolanus said, sounding like he was choosing his words carefully. He took Sejanus’ hand, looking in his eyes but addressing Strabo. “But if he keeps coming to things like this with me, I know they’ll come around.” Sejanus got the creeping sensation of being surrounded on all sides. How was it possible that Coriolanus was teaming up with his father against him? “The group we went out with tonight is a good place to start, especially Festus and Lysistrata.” Coriolanus looked back at Strabo, squeezing Sejanus’ hand faintly. “In fact, if Sejanus ends up studying medicine with Lysistrata at the University, I have no doubt they’ll become best friends.”

So Coriolanus was not actually teaming up against Sejanus. He was playing a different game, one that involved getting in Strabo’s good books in order to fight for Sejanus. Always helping him. Always saving him.

And apparently, it was working. For the first time, Strabo was regarding Coriolanus with something like approval. “That’s an interesting point,” he said. He left his spot at the fireplace, coming forward to lean a hand on his vast desk instead. “You mentioned you were fond of music, didn’t you?”

Coriolanus blinked once, then nodded. “Yes, I did. I am.”

“I’ve reserved a box at the symphony for my family, but there’s plenty of room in it. Would you like to accompany us?”

“Which box is it?” Coriolanus’ tone suggested that the question was an idle curiosity only. But Sejanus felt his hand clench.

Strabo checked a paper on his desk. “Box five,” he said, “The season starts next week. Will you join us?”

Hand still clenching Sejanus’ tight enough to cut off the circulation, Coriolanus smiled. “It would be my honor.” Then he frowned slightly. “Only, I’m not sure I would have anything suitable to wear.”

Strabo waved his hand. “That’s not a problem,” he said, “I’ll send our tailor by.” He turned from them then, clearly a dismissal. Sejanus pulled Coriolanus from the room, the other man’s smile back on his face and seeming much more genuine than before.

Back in his bedroom, Sejanus let go of Coriolanus’ hand. “What was that about?” he asked.

Coriolanus tilted his head to the side. “What was what about?” 

“Asking about the box number,” Sejanus said, “It didn’t seem like you liked the answer.”

“Oh,” Coriolanus said, jaw working slightly. “No, it was fine. Just—that used to be my family’s box. Before the war.”

And now the Snows could no longer afford it while the Plinths could. No wonder it was uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” Sejanus said, unsure what else to say. Or what he was even apologizing for, really.

Coriolanus smiled. “Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He took Sejanus’ face in both hands and kissed him. “Especially if you let me weasel my way in.”

Sejanus smiled back. “It’s not weaseling if we all want you there.”

“Good.” Coriolanus kissed him again, just once. “Now you should get to bed, and I should get home.”

Some part of Sejanus that was probably still being influenced by the posca wanted to ask Coriolanus to stay. To sleep curled in his arms to keep the nightmares at bay. But he didn’t. Instead, he pulled the other man in, holding him tight. “Good night, Coryo,” he murmured into his curls. 

“Good night.” Coriolanus pulled away and brushed his thumb over Sejanus’ cheek. “Dream of something nice, alright?”

“How about I dream about you?”

Coriolanus’ laugh traveled from the top of Sejanus’ head down to his toes. “Good plan.”

Chapter Text

Coriolanus inspected himself in the full-length mirror, satisfied with what he saw. Tigris had been working when the Plinth’s tailor came by earlier that week, but now she was here to admire the finished product. She hovered around him, pointing out elements of the deep burgundy suit that her designer’s eye picked up on. Her comments were sophisticated observations about the stitching and fit, but Coriolanus cared most about how the suit made him look imposing. Someone to be taken seriously. 

He reminded himself of pictures he’d seen of his father.

The symphony opened tonight, and Coriolanus was accompanying the Plinths there. It made him feel better if he imagined it the other way around—bringing the Plinths along with him to the Snow’s box. Sejanus had invited Tigris and the Grandma’am as well, but both had declined. Tigris had work for Fabricia to catch up on, and Coriolanus suspected that the Grandma’am had no interest in spending an evening with Ma Plinth.

Despite himself, Coriolanus found himself looking forward to the company. Ma was simple but doted on him. Strabo was interesting—controlling, but likely workable. He seemed to be coming around to Coriolanus, realizing just how many doors a Snow could open for his son. Which brought Coriolanus to Sejanus himself. He was more complicated, as were Coriolanus’ own feelings toward him. There could be no doubt that Sejanus cared deeply for Coriolanus, possibly even loved him. What surprised Coriolanus was the intensity of Sejanus’ desire. He hadn’t expected Sejanus to kiss him the way that he did, with so much passion and desperation. And it was nearly as surprising to Coriolanus that he was able to reciprocate so easily. Perhaps even enjoyed returning those fiery kisses. 

Coriolanus wasn’t quite sure if he was attracted to Sejanus. In a physical sense, he thought he probably was. There was no denying the appeal of Sejanus’ tall frame and how it felt to be encased in his strong arms, the depth of his soulful eyes. He was oddly beautiful in a way Coriolanus had never cared enough to look for. But on the other hand, Coriolanus couldn’t imagine anyone he had more philosophical differences with. Sejanus could be so preachy about the Games and the supposed wrongs of the Capitol. He still pined for District 2 and acted like leaving was the worst thing that had ever happened to his family.

It grated on Coriolanus’ nerves. And he worried that it could pose a problem for their relationship in the future. For now, Sejanus seemed to be happy to set those differences aside. But eventually, it would catch up to them. Coriolanus had no interest in condemning the Capitol—saw little to condemn beyond the most trivial of issues. Like the rats that ran rampant, the rubble that still languished in the streets. Contrarily, Sejanus was hellbent on decrying the customs of their city. Would they reach a point where Sejanus would expect Coriolanus to choose between him or the society he held dear? If Coriolanus married into the Plinth fortune—which he intended to—would it come at the cost of his moral code?

Coriolanus was getting ahead of himself. That was an issue to be dealt with when it arose, not tonight. And at any rate, he had a significant amount of faith in his own strength of will. If anyone were to make concessions, it would not be him.

At precisely the agreed upon time, Coriolanus watched the Plinth’s car glide neatly to a stop in front of the building. He didn’t go down. No need to give them the impression that he was waiting with his nose pressed to the window for their arrival. Instead, he waited until there was a knock at the door and went to answer it. Sejanus stood on the other side. His eyes traveled up and down Coriolanus as soon as he opened the door. Coriolanus felt his posture straightening, knowing that he presented a striking image. 

“I—uh—” Sejanus stammered. 

Coriolanus grinned. “Ready to go?”

“Right,” Sejanus said, giving himself a slight shake. “Yes. Let’s go.”

Throwing a wave to Tigris over his shoulder, Coriolanus took Sejanus’ hand and went with him into the elevator. It still felt luxurious to be able to push a button and smoothly descend rather than trundle down flight after flight of stairs. He felt a slight tug on his sleeve and looked down to see Sejanus fingering the dark fabric of his suit. 

“You look really nice, Coryo,” he said softly, “The new suit. It looks good on you.”

His praise didn’t mean nearly as much as Tigris’ had, but Coriolanus still smiled. “Thank you.” He straightened the lapel of Sejanus’ suit. It didn’t seem brand new—it may have been the same suit that he wore to the reaping, but Coriolanus couldn’t be sure. “This looks nice too.”

Sejanus’ cheeks were pink as the elevator doors slid open. Coriolanus took his hand and squeezed it but dropped it again before they exited the building. Who knew which neighbors were peering out of their windows? Instead, Coriolanus directed his focus toward the Plinth’s car where the driver was holding the door for them. Following Sejanus, Coriolanus climbed into the row of seats behind Ma Plinth and Strabo. Both were finely dressed, and as ever, it looked wrong.

Traffic—so rare ever since the war—grew thick as they drew closer to the Capitol theater. The car navigated surely through the fine vehicles around them and deposited them before the ornate building. Clearly no expense had been spared in the theater’s refurbishment. Coriolanus supposed that this was the kind of project that the new taxes allowed for. With his own family’s situation on steadier ground, he began to grow hopeful about the Capitol’s reconstruction. Even excited when he thought about the possibility of his city returning to its former splendor.

Inside, the lobby did not disappoint. Soaring ceilings boasted intricate gold metalwork, finely carved statues inhabited every alcove, and the very floor seemed to sparkle beneath their feet. Coriolanus must have seen representatives of nearly every prominent Capitol family milling around, some who he had known from the Academy and some who had been too old or too young to have attended at the same time as him. He felt at home among them. But when he glanced sideways at his companions, he saw that both Sejanus and his mother wore twin looks of apprehension. Both of them fish out of water. Only Strabo appeared unperturbed.

There were places in the lobby to buy drinks and hors d’œuvres, but there would be Avoxes to wait on them in their box so their group bypassed the counters and headed for the grand staircase. Although it had been well over a decade since Coriolanus had been to the theater, he still remembered the way to his family’s box. He refused to think of it as the Plinths’.

The box itself was as he remembered even if some of the finishings were new. Four plush velvet seats had been set out, and Coriolanus knew that more could be procured if needed. There was a small table beside each chair waiting to be filled with beverages by the Avoxes. 

Coriolanus looked across the divide and saw the Dovecotes in their box, just like when he was little. Clemensia turned and saw him, face brightening as she waved. Grinning, he waved back. When she saw who he was with, she looked confused. He just shrugged. Not like he could explain. Then he caught a glimpse of Lysistrata—with the Dovecotes for some reason—and waved to her as a distraction. She smiled at him, apparently unconcerned by the company he was keeping.

All the better.

Coriolanus’ attention was diverted when an Avox appeared at his shoulder, offering a glass of posca. He declined it, requesting a glass of lemon soda instead. It sort of reminded him of the hospital, but it was still preferable. He needed a clear head to navigate the social snarls that tonight was certain to bring. 

Drink in hand, he sat in the seat beside Sejanus. Coriolanus was pleased to see that Sejanus had turned down the posca as well. Interesting as it had been, Sejanus getting drunk at their dinner last week had threatened the secrecy of what they were doing. Coriolanus didn’t feel like managing it again tonight. Not when there were so many people here to see it if Sejanus got careless. 

As if on queue, Sejanus’ hand slipped into Coriolanus’. After a moment’s hesitation, Coriolanus decided not to pull his hand away. The walls of the box were high enough to shield them from prying eyes. 

“I have something to tell you,” Sejanus whispered, leaning close.

The lights were starting to come down. “What is it?”

“I’ve worked it out with my dad, sort of,” Sejanus said, “I don’t know if he’s completely on board with me studying medicine, but he’s agreed to let me take some preliminary classes this fall.”

That was actually something of a surprise. Coriolanus had hinted about it to Strabo last week but he’d thought it would take more than that to convince him. And not only was it surprising, it was concerning. Was this a sign of Strabo giving up on Sejanus? No, that couldn’t be the case. Not after he’d spent so much money to keep him in the Capitol. Something else was going on.

“That’s great,” he told Sejanus. Whatever the reason, Coriolanus saw no reason to share his musings. 

Any further conversation was cut short as the program began. Try as he might, Coriolanus couldn’t seem to remember much about the symphony itself from when he was a child. The luxuries were what had stuck out to him, not the performances. But now he was here on the dime of a man who believed he had inherited a great love of music from his mother. He would need to pay attention so he could speak meaningfully about it later if questioned. 

Fortunately, the first song was the very same that he’d been hearing every morning since birth. Gem of Panem. It was vastly different than the Grandma’am’s warbly rendition or the tinny version they had played for him to sing along to at Arachne’s funeral. This was rich and full-bodied, ringing out with all the power that their great nation’s anthem deserved. It sounded to Coriolanus as if the instruments were playing inside his very chest, thrumming along his breastbone. Never in his life had the anthem brought a tear to his eye, but tonight the stage lights blurred as his vision grew watery. Perhaps he had inherited some sentiment for music from his mother after all.

After the anthem came other songs that sounded familiar to Coriolanus but that he couldn’t place the names of. Probably he’d heard them over the radio station that the Grandma’am was so fond of. The songs’ sound was certainly improved when played live. The radio made everything come out flat and staticy, but here Coriolanus could hear and feel every instrument. With a pang, he thought of Lucy Gray, who would probably be able to break down the music in a far more sophisticated way than he could with his rudimentary knowledge. There were probably names for every movement, reasons behind every note that tied into a broader musical tradition that he knew nothing about. And she probably did. 

Sejanus’ hand was heavy in Coriolanus’. But Coriolanus wasn’t thinking about Lucy Gray. He would never see her again. 

When the lights came on for an intermission, Sejanus nudged Coriolanus. “This is good,” he said, “I’m glad you came.”

Coriolanus could feel the cracks forming in his society mask and worked to regain it. Thinking of Lucy Gray right now was a very bad idea. He didn’t need any distractions. He smiled for Sejanus. “So am I.” He reached over and put his hand over Sejanus’. “Any excuse to spend the evening with you.”

The lights were still too dim to tell, but Coriolanus felt certain that Sejanus was blushing. Crisis averted.

When Coriolanus left the box to find the restroom, he was almost immediately intercepted by Clemensia. She gave him a hug that he returned with some trepidation. As they broke apart, she beamed at him. “I’m so glad you came!” she said, “It’s just like old times.”

“Just like when we were little,” he confirmed.

She cocked her head to the side. “But what are Sejanus and the rest of his family doing with you?”

“Never mind that,” he said. Better to deflect. “I noticed Lysistrata is with you. The two of you seem to be spending a lot of time together.”

Clemensia actually blushed. “Lyssie’s been a lifesaver,” she said. Her voice dropped. “I was such a wreck after those snakes. She’s been helping me through it. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

The two of them together made perfect sense. Both so kind, so intelligent. They certainly made far more sense than Coriolanus and Sejanus, which was why it was a relief when she didn’t bring it up again. After a few more exchanged pleasantries, she returned to her family’s box and Coriolanus visited the restroom. On his way back, he was confronted by an entirely different party. Strabo.

In the shadowy and mostly shielded alcove that led to box five, Strabo pulled Coriolanus aside. Coriolanus couldn’t imagine what this was about. He couldn’t have possibly figured out that Coriolanus’ feelings toward Sejanus were less than genuine. He hadn’t told a soul, and he’d done a very good job of pretending.

“I wanted to thank you for coming with us,” Strabo said. Coriolanus relaxed marginally, but he still got the feeling that this was about more than that. “I don’t think Sejanus would have come if you hadn’t.”

“My sincerest thanks for the invitation,” Coriolanus said, inclining his head. “I always loved the symphony when I was small.”

Strabo nodded, seeming distracted. He looked at the door to their box as if he could see his family on the other side. “I’ll admit, it took me a while to make up my mind about you. In truth, your father and I never cared for each other, and it was difficult to look past that. But I see that you’re far more charitable than he was. He wouldn’t have given my son the time of day.” The dig at his father stung. Who was Strabo Plinth, a district man, to pass judgment on a Snow?

Careful, Coriolanus told himself. How he proceeded here could very well dictate his relationship to Strabo moving forward. “No, he had very strongly held beliefs about the districts,” he said, “I hope that I am able to rise above those prejudices.”

“As do I.” Strabo looked him over. “And I hope that you can help Sejanus. He’s never really been able to find his place here. I’ve tried to help him assimilate into Capitol society, but he’s resistant to it. I’ve never seen him make as much of an effort as he has since seeing you.”

If a single dinner and a visit to the symphony was the most effort Sejanus had ever put in, then he was truly in dire straits. How was it possible to eschew every luxury that had been laid at his door? Sometimes he made it so difficult for Coriolanus not to resent him.

“I’m happy to keep bringing him out of his shell,” Coriolanus said, “He’s been so miserable recently, and I think getting out more will cheer him up.” Then he saw an opportunity and jumped on it. “Although I must admit, there are events like this that I may not be able to afford to take him to.”

Recognition flickered in Strabo’s eyes. “Don’t worry about that,” he said, “Anything you need, I’ll give you. Maybe we can arrange some sort of allowance.”

It was more than Coriolanus would have dared to  hope for. He could feel his heart leaping, but he made sure he exhibited nothing but graciousness as Strabo procured a large wad of cash and placed it in Coriolanus’ hands. “That should be a start.”

Coriolanus gave a slight bow as he tucked the money into the inside pocket of his jacket. “Thank you, sir,” he said, “I’ll put it to good use. As I said, it will do Sejanus good to get out of the house.”

“I agree. And hopefully taking some classes in medicine will help his mood as well.”

“Is that why you decided to let him?”

“One of many reasons,” Strabo said. He seemed unwilling to elaborate. No matter. It wasn’t like Coriolanus believed he’d won the man’s confidence after such a short time. But he intended to before long. “Speaking of which, can I count on you to keep an eye on Sejanus while he’s at school?” Strabo glanced in the direction of his family again. “Sometimes he can be too outspoken for his own good. I don’t want a repeat of the debacle at the Games.”

Debacle was putting it lightly. Both of them had nearly been killed. Still, it was good to have the confirmation that Strabo hadn’t forgotten what had transpired. “Of course,” Coriolanus said, “I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.”

“Good.”

With that, the lights began blinking, signaling the end of intermission and this conversation. They both reentered the booth, Coriolanus claiming his seat beside Sejanus. Aware of Strabo’s eyes on him in the dim light, he took Sejanus’ hand. Then he kissed Sejanus’ cheek, hoping Clemensia’s eyes were turned away in that moment. Under his lips, he could feel Sejanus’ face curving up into a smile. Before Coriolanus could react, Sejanus was turning and kissing Coriolanus outright. Coriolanus forced himself not to jerk away immediately. He let the kiss last two seconds, then three before pulling away. Sejanus gave him another smile and turned his attention back to the stage where the music was starting up again.

As subtly as he could, Coriolanus looked over at the Dovecotes’ box. He thought he saw the whip of Clemensia’s hair as she turned away from him. No telling what she had seen.

And only time could say what the fallout would be.

Chapter Text

Coriolanus sat at the table, reviewing his finalized University course schedule. The term started Thursday and he had received the list by mail along with a note from Dr. Gaul that she had hand-selected the courses for him. There were classes in genetic engineering but also classes in politics and war strategy. All things that would help him in his Gamemaking internship, which she had also enrolled him in. Clearly she intended for him to become a Gamemaker. He hadn’t initially seen the appeal of that, but now the Games were becoming more prominent in Capitol society. It could be a good starting point for the career in politics that he aspired to. 

The Grandma’am sat across the table from him, sipping a cup of tea that Tigris had prepared for her. Tigris was just placing a second cup in front of Coriolanus when there was a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” he told her when she started to make toward it. “Sit.”

To his surprise, he found Festus on the other side of the door. After the surprise came panic. Festus hadn’t been to the Snows’ apartment since before the war, back when they still had ample furniture. He couldn’t see it like this. Quickly, Coriolanus slipped out into the hallway and shut the door behind him. 

“Festus!” he said, feigning nothing but excitement. “What are you doing here?”

“Tell me why,” Festus said, “As your best friend, I had to hear from Clemmie and Lysistrata about you kissing Sejanus at the symphony.”

Coriolanus’ stomach turned icy. He knew Clemensia had seen something last night. And now she was spreading it. Should he deny it? Festus didn’t seem horrified, which was a small miracle in itself. Maybe it was better to own up to it. The story would have to come out anyway sooner or later. How then to explain?

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said, “It’s still new. I don’t really know what it means yet.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

Coriolanus shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. We haven’t exactly talked about it.”

Festus gave a slight chuckle. He didn’t seem angry that Coriolanus hadn’t told him, which was good. He also didn’t seem perturbed that Coriolanus was with Sejanus. That was either comforting or insulting. Didn’t Festus expect better of Coriolanus than this? But he wasn’t about to push his luck.

“I didn’t even realize you were into guys,” Festus said, grinning. Coriolanus had to laugh at that. Nor had he realized it, if he was honest. He’d never paid much attention to anyone that way until recently. It was a summer for firsts all around.

“It sort of just happened,” he said.

“What about Lucy Gray?”

Why did people keep asking that? Did they not think he had the capacity to get over a girl from the districts? A girl he had only known for a couple of weeks. The worst part was that they were almost right.

But all he said was, “What about her?”

Festus lifted his hands in surrender. “Never mind. Sorry to mention it.” He clapped a hand on Coriolanus’ shoulder. “I’m happy for you, man. Seriously. I mean, your choice of partner is sort of…unexpected. But I can kind of see it.”

It was probably the best reaction Coriolanus could hope to get. Confused and begrudged acceptance was better than outright rejection. He would take what he could get.

Furthermore, it occurred to him that if word was getting out about his relationship with Sejanus, he needed to iron out what exactly that relationship was. He needed to be on sturdy ground—that was more defensible.

“Thank you, Festus,” he said, making a decision. “I was actually just headed out. Can I walk you down?”

Down on the sidewalk, Festus hit Coriolanus’ arm. “Shit, I almost forgot,” he said, “I also came to tell you that the construction on that nightclub I told you about is done. There’s going to be a massive party there on Friday night to celebrate term starting. You in?”

Coriolanus grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Great,” Festus said. As he started walking away in the direction of his apartment, he called over his shoulder, “Bring Sejanus.”

Strabo would be happy about that. Coriolanus headed off in the other direction, toward the Plinths’ apartment. Having left all of his things inside the penthouse before this spontaneous outing, he didn’t have any trolley tokens with him. He would have to walk. He’d only been reaping the rewards of being with Sejanus for a few weeks and he was already getting used to the luxuries. But he’d spent most of his life walking to get around. He could handle it this morning, even if it was shaping up to be a sweltering day.

At the Plinths’ apartment, he found Sejanus in his room, bent over a book at his desk. He straightened when Coriolanus entered.

“Coryo, hey,” he said, smiling.

“Getting a jump on coursework?” Coriolanus nodded to the thick book in front of Sejanus.

“Oh,” Sejanus said, looking down at the book with a contemptuous expression. “No. This is a book on munitions. My dad told me he didn’t want my schooling to get in the way of my education on the family business.”

Coriolanus rested his hand lightly on Sejanus’ shoulder. “I see.”

“Yeah. So now I have to read this and report back.”

Reaching out, Coriolanus flipped the book closed so he could look at the cover. It was the type of thing he was actually somewhat fascinated by. Munitions had been his own family’s business once. “Want me to read it and then summarize it for you? That’s what I did for Festus in school when he didn’t want to do the assigned readings.”

Sejanus laughed. “If I didn’t know you were joking, I would seriously consider taking you up on that.” He pushed the book away. “So what are you doing here?”

“I can’t just come visit you for no reason?” Coriolanus moved back and sat on the edge of the bed. He took a breath. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

Swiveling in his chair to face him, Sejanus searched Coriolanus’ face. He looked apprehensive. “Oh.”

“About us.” Sitting had been a bad decision. It made Coriolanus feel too vulnerable. He stood. That was definitely better. He crossed to Sejanus, putting his arms around his neck. Coriolanus liked being taller than the seated Sejanus. It made this easier. “I really like you, Sejanus,” he said, “I want to be with you.”

“You are with me,” Sejanus said, putting his hands at Coriolanus’ waist.

In for a penny, in for a pound. “I want you to be my boyfriend.”

Sejanus’ eyes widened. Then his face broke into a smile. “Oh,” he said, “I want that too.” He stood, towering over Coriolanus again. Well, it had been nice while it lasted. He leaned in and kissed Coriolanus. The kiss was not quite as hungry as some of their others had been, but it carried the same underlying desire that Coriolanus found so intriguing. He had never known what it was like to be so wanted in this way. Lucy Gray had depended upon him for survival, so it had been hard to distinguish what about her emotions had been love for him and what had been a will to live. 

With Sejanus, Coriolanus knew the other didn’t really need anything from him. There were certainly things that his Snow name could offer, which Strabo had recognized immediately, but Sejanus didn’t seem to care about any of that. He just cared about Coriolanus. 

It was intoxicating. And dangerous. 

Coriolanus broke the kiss. He needed to remember what he was doing here. This was about establishing what their relationship was and determining how best to present it to the rest of society, not about feelings. Those could only get in the way. 

“I want to tell people that we’re together,” Coriolanus said, “Some of my—our—friends already know.”

Sejanus’ smile had only grown wider. He had the faintest dimples when he smiled this big. “Who knows?” he asked.

“Clemmie saw you kiss me last night, and Lysistrata may have as well. Either way, she knows now too. And they told Festus.”

“Okay,” Sejanus said, nodding. “So what’s your plan? Call up Lepidus Malmsey to make an announcement on Capitol News?

Coriolanus laughed. “Well, that would probably be fastest.” He wished Sejanus would sit back down so he didn’t have to keep looking up at him. “I just don’t want to hide it anymore. There’s a party at Pluribus Bell’s night club on Friday that I want to take you to.”

“Like a date?”

Never in his life had Coriolanus been on an actual date, but he nodded. “Exactly like that.”

Smile bigger than ever, Sejanus pulled Coriolanus in and held him tight against him. In this position it was impossible for Coriolanus not to rest his head on Sejanus’ shoulder. There was something comfortable about it, anyway. And why shouldn’t he? He’d made his bed, shouldn’t he be allowed to lie in it too?

Classes at the University started on Thursday. Coriolanus had two classes before lunch—the first of which was genetics with Dr. Gaul. It went surprisingly well; he found he was happy to be learning from her again. And she seemed all too excited to have him back under her scrutiny. The second class of the day was taught by a professor who looked to be the Grandma’am’s contemporary and never spoke below a shout. But the subject matter seemed interesting: the economics of war, which really seemed to just be a charitable way of saying war profiteering.

At lunch time, Coriolanus met with his friends on the quad. Sejanus and Lysistrata showed up together, fresh from one of their pre-med classes. All smiles, Sejanus put his hand into Coriolanus’. By now, their immediate circle all knew that Coriolanus and Sejanus were boyfriends. Many of the students passing by gave them curious looks. Some were their former classmates from the Academy who knew them personally, and others surely knew them by reputation. Then there were other students who didn’t give them a second look. Those would be the ones from the outer circles of the Capitol who had scraped their way into the University. They didn’t matter.

There were several dining halls on campus, or nicer establishments just off the quad for those who could afford it. With Sejanus and his deep pockets at his side, Coriolanus now counted himself among that number. Their group went to one such restaurant that looked promising. As they found a table, Coriolanus surveyed the other patrons. He recognized many faces from the Academy, from his grade and the next few grades above him. With some displeasure, he nodded to Livia Cardew and Pup Harrington at a table not far from theirs. Unfortunately, rubbing shoulders with the elite meant occasionally encountering those he didn’t like. Still, the crowd here was promising. It would be a fine place to hold court. 

Right now, the most important thing was showing that he was unashamed to be seen with Sejanus. He had to convince them that a Plinth was a worthy partner for a Snow, however unlikely. He couldn’t appear unsure of himself or it would invite ruin. Unbidden, Lucy Gray’s words from the zoo returned to his mind. Own it.

Coriolanus removed his hand from Sejanus’ so he could drape his arm over his shoulders instead. Ignoring the others’ conversation, he leaned in close. “So, how have your first classes been?”

Sejanus smiled, apparently pleased at the attention. “Really interesting!” he said, “The subject matter’s going to be hard, but I’m excited to learn more. And the professors are good so far, too. They’re not too…”

He trailed off. Coriolanus nudged him. “Too what?”

Glancing at their companions, Sejanus dropped his voice. “Nothing’s felt like propaganda,” he said, “Not like at the Academy.”

What did that mean? Nothing at the Academy had felt much like propaganda to Coriolanus, not since the war anyway. But he forced a smile. “I told you that you would like the University better.”

“You did,” Sejanus said, “And you were right.”

“I’m always right.”

The food was excellent—pressed sandwiches with perfectly crisp edges. Coriolanus almost felt sorry for the poor students who had to eat at the dining halls that surely could not hold a candle to this. He maintained contact with Sejanus throughout lunch, making sure that their elbows or shoulders were always brushing. He was aware of every eye upon them but ignored the looks. Better to appear above it all. Tomorrow night at Pluribus’ club, Coriolanus would make a point to talk to some of his peers, to answer questions, but not today.

If Sejanus noticed the whispers, he didn’t say anything. 

After lunch, the group returned to the quad before splitting off to their different classes. Coriolanus had a political science class that Clemensia was also in. Lysistrata was off to the library to study before her next class later in the afternoon. Sejanus would be joining Festus and Persephone in a business class, as decreed by Strabo. Coriolanus knew that Sejanus would prefer that his schedule be entirely dedicated to medicine, like Lysistrata’s, but this was the trade-off he had agreed to. In return for being allowed to study what he liked, he would also have to take a few classes in what Strabo dictated.

Before they parted, Coriolanus made a point to give Sejanus a proper goodbye. He moved in close and put a hand on Sejanus’ face before noticing his dark expression. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m not looking forward to this next class,” Sejanus said.

“I know,” Coriolanus said, trying to sound sympathetic. “At least you’ll have Festus and Persephone with you.”

Sejanus dropped his voice. “They don’t really like me,” he said, “They only put up with me because of you.”

“That’s not true,” Coriolanus said, even though it probably was. “They just need to get to know you better.”

“Maybe,” Sejanus muttered. He didn’t sound like he really believed Coriolanus. But Coriolanus wasn’t really worried about Festus and Persephone. Festus especially was one of the friendliest people Coriolanus knew. He would never go out of his way to be terrible to Sejanus.

Coriolanus wasn’t sure when he’d started caring how other people treated Sejanus. Probably around the time Sejanus started belonging to him.

“Even if it’s really terrible,” Coriolanus said, “Remember that it’s only the one class. The rest of your day after that is all medicine related, right?” When Sejanus nodded, Coriolanus gave him an encouraging smile. “See? You can make it through one class. And when the day is over, we get to ride home together. You can distract yourself by thinking of that.”

Sejanus gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Coryo,” he said, “That does sort of make me feel better.”

“Good,” Coriolanus said. He kissed Sejanus. “Now go, before we’re both late.”

On Friday night, Coriolanus had to remind himself that he had signed up for Sejanus’ mood swings to keep himself from getting annoyed. Dealing with a man who regularly consigned himself to his bed was still far preferable to dealing with starvation. So when Coriolanus found Sejanus huddled under his covers when the party at Pluribus’ nightclub was already in full swing, he swallowed down his frustration and got in bed next to Sejanus. 

“You should just go without me, Coryo,” Sejanus said, voice barely audible, his back to Coriolanus. 

“I’m not going to do that.” Coriolanus slid his arm around Sejanus. Like it or not, he couldn’t go to the party without Sejanus. Their public appearances needed to be together to cement their relationship in the public eye. Going alone would defeat the purpose. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

Sejanus was silent for a long moment. Coriolanus could hear the muffled sound of cars passing on the street below. People no doubt having a much better Friday night than he was shaping up to. “I was stupid to think I could do this,” Sejanus finally said. He turned his head so Coriolanus could see the outline of his features. “I thought that studying medicine would make me feel better, but it’s not helping.”

“Because the business classes are terrible?”

“Not just that.”

“What then?”

Sejanus let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s everything. It’s—I just thought I’d be able to make a difference, you know? If I became a doctor. I thought I could help make things better.”

Coriolanus shook his head. “It’s only been two days,” he said, “I don’t think anyone expects you to have cured any major diseases yet.”

“I know,” Sejanus said, voice bitter. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?” Coriolanus couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice. He didn’t understand what Sejanus thought he should have accomplished after just a handful of classes. 

Rolling over, Sejanus faced Coriolanus. “Even if I become a doctor—which might not even happen because my dad might change his mind—who will I be helping? Not the people who really need it.” His eyes got distant. “We read these statistics in class today about causes of death in the Capitol versus the districts. The number of people who die out there because they get hurt at work and can’t get proper treatment, or because they get sick and don’t have the right medicine, or because they just keel over and die from starvation—it’s staggering. And I don’t think they’re telling us everything. There are plenty of districts we don’t really even have numbers on because no one cares enough to keep track of them.” He looked back at Coriolanus, eyes intense. “Who’s helping them? I won’t if I become a doctor. They’ll just keep me and all the other University graduates in the Capitol where we won’t do any good.”

There were plenty of reasonable rebuttals that Coriolanus could think of: the districts had their own local healers; there used to be better doctors in the districts before they were pushed out during the Dark Days, every University-trained doctor was needed in the Capitol to treat all of their own maladies since the war. All the fault of the districts and the war they started, not the Capitol. But none of that would be helpful to bring up right now. Sejanus wouldn’t listen, and it would probably just push him away. Coriolanus would need to be more subtle in countering him later, when he was in a different headspace. For now, he slid his hand into Sejanus’ hair. 

“You don’t know how things will be by the time you graduate,” he said, “Things might be different. And even if they’re not, with all your family’s money, you could probably start some foundation to help whoever you want.”

Sejanus sagged, the energy from his tirade visibly leaving him. “I doubt my dad would sign off on that.”

Coriolanus curled his fingers in Sejanus’ hair. “He might. Strabo’s alright. And anyway, he’s not going to be the one calling the shots forever.”

“Are you trying to cheer me up by reminding me my dad’s going to die someday?” 

Realizing how that sounded, Coriolanus tried to back track. “No, I—” But Sejanus was finally smiling. “I meant more that he’ll retire. But whatever makes you feel better.”

Sejanus laughed. “Thanks, Coryo.” He tilted forward and kissed Coriolanus. “I mean it. I’m sorry I’m so…you know. Thank you for being here for me.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” Except one place that they were very late for. Coriolanus brushed his thumb over Sejanus’ cheekbone. “Do you feel up to going out? For our date?”

Face falling again, Sejanus shook his head. “I’m really sorry, Coryo,” he said, “I don’t think I can. You should just go yourself and leave me here.”

“I told you, I’m not going to do that,” Coriolanus said, “I don’t want to go without you.”

Brown eyes wide and pleading, Sejanus twisted his fingers into Coriolanus’ shirt. “Then will you stay? Please?”

Shifting closer, Coriolanus wrapped both arms around Sejanus. “Of course,” he murmured into his hair. “Anything you want.”

Chapter Text

Coriolanus almost forgot Sejanus’ birthday. 

He knew, absently, that it was toward the end of October since they’d spent the last ten years in school together and it had certainly come up at some point. It just wasn’t something that Coriolanus had bothered to think about until Ma Plinth made an off-hand mention of it one day a month or so after the start of term. The two of them were in the Doolittles’ old apartment, which the Plinths had just bought. They were having it renovated before moving in, and Coriolanus and Tigris had both offered to weigh in on the styling. Tigris had better instincts when it came to aesthetics, but Coriolanus always knew what would look best in the eye of high society.

“I was hoping this place might be ready to celebrate Sejanus’ birthday next week,” Ma said, holding up two different wallpaper samples to the light. “But I don’t think that will be possible.”

Coriolanus silently blessed her for mentioning the birthday. It could have been disastrous if it had come and gone with no acknowledgement from him.

“The left,” he said, tapping the better sample. “I didn’t realize you were planning a big celebration.”

“Oh, well, we’re not really,” she said, rifling through a stack of a few more wallpaper options. “It’ll just be the four of us, of course, then I thought maybe he could invite a few of his friends from the University.”

The issue with that idea was that Sejanus didn’t really have many friends at the University besides Coriolanus and maybe Lysistrata. None that really counted, anyway. Sejanus had mentioned a few people from his classes that he got along with, but they were nobodies. No names from the outer circles whose parents had jobs like florists or hair stylists or security guards. Sejanus needed friends of much higher caliber than that if he was going to be an adequate companion to a Snow.

Ma held up another sample. “Are you sure this one isn’t better?”

“No, the first one is far superior. It sends a much better message.”

“Oh.” Ma set the sample down like she hadn’t been aware that wallpaper could send a message. This was the kind of people that Coriolanus was dealing with. Ma turned to him. “Since we’re not ready to host here and since our other place is in such disarray, I was wondering if you might be willing to host at your home.”

Perhaps unconsciously, Ma’s eyes flicked up to the ceiling, toward the Snows’ penthouse. It was true that the Plinths were in no state to host at either of their residences. This place wasn’t done yet, and their old apartment was undergoing its own set of improvements to get it ready to sell. But Coriolanus wasn’t sure that the penthouse was really the best venue either. With Strabo’s money, he’d been able to stay on top of the taxes and begin to furnish the place like how it had been before the war. But there was still a long way to go before he would be prepared to host guests. Even if they were as insignificant as the Plinths and Sejanus’ lower class friends.

Perhaps there was an opportunity in this, though.

“It might be an option,” he said carefully. Ma was relatively safe, but he still couldn’t come right out and say what he wanted. “Although it may still be a little empty for our needs.”

“I can talk to Strabo,” she said, “I’m sure we can provide whatever decor we need. Maybe we can go up and take a look at the place.”

That was the first part. The second— “And my grandmother can get easily overwhelmed by too many people. I think we’d better make it a small affair. Just us, plus I’m sure Sejanus would be happy if we invited Lysistrata.”

Ma nodded. “I’m sure you know best.”

Coriolanus smiled. He was sure of that, too.

The evening of the party, Coriolanus stood in the entryway of his apartment, surveying the scene with satisfaction. The last of the decorators had just cleared out, with Coriolanus’ guests set to arrive any minute. Of course, the entire apartment hadn’t been fully furnished; there were plenty of rooms whose doors would be staying firmly shut. But the entryway, the dining room, the two most prominent sitting rooms—those had been utterly transformed.

Coriolanus himself had undergone something of a transformation, having gotten a brand new suit tailored for the occasion. Now that he could afford it, he intended to take every possible opportunity to expand his wardrobe. This suit was dark blue to complement his eyes. The fitting had been overseen by Tigris, so he knew it was perfect.

Tigris emerged from the kitchen with a tray of drinks. She was wearing a new outfit of her own. Coriolanus had insisted that she have it, tired of seeing her in the same drab old things she was always running around in. Knowing that she would never stay still long enough for her own fitting, Coriolanus had come home with bolts of fine fabric that she could make into whatever she liked. Tonight, the result was a simple but elegant rose-colored dress.

“I’m glad you agreed to stay for the party,” Coriolanus told her as she set the tray of drinks on a sideboard. 

“I’m glad you talked me into it,” she said, “Though I’m still worried that I’ll be intruding.”

“You won’t be.”

As planned, the gathering would be small. Sejanus and his parents would be there, along with Coriolanus and Tigris. The Grandma’am had declined the invitation, preferring to stay in her room. She still didn’t care much for the Plinths. Beyond the two families, Coriolanus had only invited Lysistrata, who had in turn asked if she could bring Clemensia. That only increased the concentration of high brow attendees, so Coriolanus had agreed readily. Unfortunately, Ma had also slipped in an invitation to one of Sejanus’ low brow classmates without Coriolanus knowing. By the time he had found out, the friend had already told Sejanus he was coming, so it had been too late to do anything. Coriolanus did not relish the idea of such a guest, but at least he wasn’t the worst of Sejanus’ new friends. His father was a florist, which was pitiful, but his mother worked in an office close to the City Circle. If Coriolanus had to welcome riffraff into his home, at least it could have been worse.

There was a knock at the door. Coriolanus opened it to admit Sejanus and his parents. They had also brought along an Avox to act as server who was currently holding a truly magnificent cake that must have been made by Ma. As Tigris greeted the others and showed the Avox the way to the kitchen, Coriolanus put his arms around Sejanus. 

“Happy birthday, darling,” he said.

Sejanus smiled and kissed him. “Thanks, Coryo.”

Taking his hand, Coriolanus led Sejanus to the dining room. Earlier that day, he’d made place cards with the guests’ names and assigned the seats. He’d put himself at the head of the table, of course. Sejanus may have been the guest of honor but this was still Coriolanus’ home. He’d put Sejanus to the seat at his right with Tigris next to him and Lysistrata and Clemensia across from them. Strabo had been given the seat at the foot of the table as a show of respect, with Ma at his left next to Tigris since she was most likely to be nice to her. The outer circle classmate had also been relegated to that end of the table, mostly so Coriolanus wouldn’t need to interact with him.

It took another ten minutes for the remaining guests to arrive—the classmate from the outer circles unfashionably on time and Clemensia and Lysistrata appropriately a few minutes late. As they took their seats, Tigris emerged from the kitchen and claimed her spot while the Avox followed with their first course. The Plinths had spared no expense on the food, but Coriolanus had finally reached the point where he no longer had to notice. He felt no need to gorge himself on the dishes that were brought out, had no fear that this meal might be his last. Instead, he was able to focus on the company. He devoted part of his attention to a conversation with Lysistrata about the reconstruction efforts in the Capitol, but mostly, he was overcome with a swelling of pride. 

This was home. He was here, at the head of the table. Host to a party that contained at least a few important players in society.

It was where a Snow was meant to be.

After dinner, they retired to the formal living room, the one with the grand windows overlooking the Corso below. This was where his family and their guests used to watch the parades going by. Coriolanus settled into a plush armchair by the fireplace. It was one of many new pieces only moved in today, but he lounged as if it had always been a fixture of their home. Sejanus dragged over a fauteuil and sat beside Coriolanus.

Sejanus took Coriolanus’ hand as Strabo claimed a nearby chair. As Strabo struck up a conversation with Coriolanus about his classes, Coriolanus kept part of his attention on Sejanus who was pointedly ignoring his father. When Strabo was distracted by something his wife said, Coriolanus leaned over to Sejanus. 

“What’s wrong?”

Sejanus frowned. “What do you mean?”

Coriolanus gestured between Sejanus and Strabo. “You two seem chillier than usual.”

“Oh,” Sejanus said, “It’s nothing.” His frown deepened. “He keeps trying to talk me into flying back to Two with him next time he goes to check on production.”

“Isn’t that what you want? To go back to Two?”

He looked back at Coriolanus with a mix of desperation and misery. “Not like that.” He glanced at his father, who was still turned away. “I don’t think I could bear the way people would look at me if I go back as a traitor. I’d rather return as one of them.”

Coriolanus shook his head. “Isn’t it a little late for that?”

“You don’t think I know that?”

The anger took Coriolanus by surprise. Less the emotion itself and more the fact that it was directed at him. He was used to Sejanus’ pointless complaints against his father and the Capitol, but he’d never aimed that vitriol at Coriolanus. It annoyed him. He had nothing to do with Sejanus’ situation or his dissatisfaction with it. 

A moment later, Sejanus’ face softened. “Sorry,” he murmured, “I know it’s not your fault.”

“No, it’s not.” Part of Coriolanus wanted to punish Sejanus for the behavior, to turn away from him for the rest of the night and make him fend for himself. But it was the man’s birthday. Coriolanus could spare a little leniency on today of all days. So he reached up and tucked back a stray piece of Sejanus’ hair. “You’re lucky I like you so much.”

That earned him a faint smile. “I tell myself that every day.”

The party guests slowly filtered out. First, Sejanus’ classmate that Coriolanus was certainly not sorry to see go. Not long after, Ma and Strabo left, promising to send the car back to pick up Sejanus whenever he was ready. Clemensia and Lysistrata stuck around for a few rounds of cards before bidding them good night. Once the girls were gone, Tigris wished happy birthday to Sejanus one last time and then turned in.

By that point, it was late. Coriolanus knew he should send Sejanus home and go to bed. But he wasn’t really tired, and it didn’t seem like Sejanus was either. He sort of wanted to see where the night might lead. Plus, he still hadn’t given Sejanus the gift he’d spent so long picking out.

“Do you want to go up to the roof?” Coriolanus asked. 

Sejanus smiled. “I was hoping you wouldn’t kick me out.”

Coriolanus kissed him on the cheek. “Never.”

The hinges creaked in protest as Coriolanus pushed open the door to the roof, the cold night air rushing in. He hadn’t been up here since he’d brought Sejanus here over the summer. It had been much warmer then. Maybe coming up here now was a bad idea. But Sejanus was the kind to care about romantic gestures. Giving him his birthday present at the site of their first kiss was just the sort of thing he would eat up.

Sejanus huddled close as Coriolanus led them through the maze. It made it harder to walk, but at least Sejanus’ tall frame blocked the wind. As soon as they reached the edge of the roof, Sejanus took Coriolanus’ face in both hands and kissed him. It was like that first kiss, with all the ferocity that never failed to take Coriolanus by surprise. Most of the time, Sejanus seemed so gentle, so restrained. Too prone to speak his mind, perhaps, but never vicious. 

Sejanus kissed Coriolanus like he had something to prove and everything to lose. 

After a while, Coriolanus pulled away. “I did actually bring you up here for a reason,” he said. He hated how breathless his voice sounded. He couldn’t afford to lose face like this. He had to stay in control.

“Kissing me isn’t a good enough reason?”

“It might be,” Coriolanus said, “But I had something more specific in mind. It’s still your birthday, after all.” He reached into the pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a small velvet pouch, holding it out for Sejanus. 

The other man stared at the pouch. “What is this?”

“A gift. You’re supposed to open it.”

Sejanus took the present and tugged open the drawstring top. He reached in and pulled out a long silver chain. The faint moonlight caught on the pendant, a tiny silver rose. “It’s beautiful,” he said.

“I know you probably don’t wear many necklaces,” Coriolanus said, “But I thought maybe you could wear it under your shirt. To remind you who you belong to.”

“Who I belong to,” Sejanus repeated softly, eyes on the rose pendant as it swayed in the wind. Coriolanus held his breath. Had he come across as too possessive? Perhaps Sejanus did not want to be possessed by Coriolanus. That could certainly prove problematic. But then Sejanus smiled faintly, fingers undoing the clasp on the chain. “Will you help me put it on?”

Relieved, Coriolanus draped the chain around Sejanus’ neck and redid the clasp, hands fumbling in the frigid air. Once it was secured, Sejanus drew back his collar and dropped the pendant against his skin. Then he wrapped his arms around Coriolanus, pulling him close. The embrace was welcome against the cold. 

“Am I allowed to kiss you now?” Sejanus asked. 

Coriolanus looked into Sejanus’ eyes, nearly black in the darkness but just as inviting as ever. “If you must.”

He lost track of how long they spent on the roof. By the time they broke apart, the moon had risen above the mountains and the tips of Coriolanus’ nose and fingers were like ice. His insides were warmed through, which bothered him. He was supposed to be keeping a cool head. If being kissed by Sejanus evoked a physical reaction in him, it could lead to complications. But Sejanus’ eyes as he looked back at him were devastatingly soft. Sending him home immediately before Coriolanus could do anything stupid would be far safer, but Coriolanus found his lips forming the words before he could pull them back in.

“Do you want to stay?”

Chapter Text

Do you want to stay?

The question rushed through Sejanus right down to his belly. They hadn’t shared a bed since the first week of school when he was so miserable and so desperate not to be alone. He’d asked Coriolanus to stay then to keep the nightmares at bay. Sejanus’ mind had been so far away that he hadn’t really registered much of what it had been like. Nothing notable had happened.

Now? Sejanus’ mind was clear. His heart was pounding. Coriolanus’ eyes were wide open, lips parted. 

Do you want to stay?

“Yes.”

Coriolanus smiled. There was something about the way he looked in the near darkness of the roof that made Sejanus’ breath catch. His curls were more like silver in the moonlight, his pale eyes almost gray. The scent of roses all around, the scent Sejanus had always associated with Coriolanus ever since they were kids, was probably not doing anything to make Sejanus feel any more rational.

He touched the small lump in his shirt where the rose pendant Coriolanus had given him was nestled against his skin. To remind you who you belong to. 

Sejanus found he really liked belonging to Coriolanus.

Hands intertwined, Coriolanus led them back through the roses and down the stairs. Sejanus had never been in Coriolanus’ bedroom before and wasn’t sure what he was going to find. It turned out to be large but sparse, much like the whole penthouse had been before Sejanus’ father had started giving Coriolanus money to furnish it. Apparently, none of that money had been spent on this room. It made sense to Sejanus. Coriolanus was so selfless. Of course he would make sure that the rest of the apartment was made over before he would allow any of the money to be dedicated to his own space. It was just like him.

And Sejanus knew that there was a part of Coriolanus that cared a lot about appearances. So it made him feel honored that Coriolanus would allow him into an unfinished room.

Sejanus’ heart leapt into his throat as Coriolanus removed first his suit jacket and then his pressed white shirt, hanging them neatly in the wardrobe. He didn’t stay shirtless for long, pulling on a pale gray undershirt. Sejanus found himself torn between respectfully averting his eyes and not being able to look away as Coriolanus started to unbutton his dress pants. Ultimately, Sejanus’ baser instincts won out and he kept watching Coriolanus slide out of his pants.

Like he could sense the acrobatics going on inside of Sejanus’ stomach, Coriolanus grinned over at him while he hung the dress pants on a hanger. “I’d lend you something to sleep in,” he said, “But I doubt anything of mine would fit you.”

In his head, Sejanus gave some unruffled, witty answer. In reality, he was unable to say anything, too consumed by the fact that Coriolanus was standing half-dressed in front of him. The dawning realization that Sejanus was not about to be offered anything to sleep in aside from his own boxers was certainly not helping. At the extended silence, Coriolanus lifted his eyebrows. 

“Do you need help, darling?”

Coriolanus moved close to Sejanus, hands lifting to the buttons of his dress shirt. Sejanus didn’t think his heart had ever beat so fast or so loud as it did when Coriolanus started smoothly undoing the buttons as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He could probably hear Sejanus’ heart, could probably feel the pound of it through his fingers. It was so odd—most of the time Sejanus felt like he was in several places at once, his brain turning over so many decisions and futures and identities. Now, he was only here, overwhelmingly present in his body that was being so gently touched by Coriolanus as he undressed him. 

Coriolanus pressed a light kiss to Sejanus’ jaw. “Relax,” he murmured.

Sejanus let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

Somehow, he managed not to have a full-on heart attack as Coriolanus neatly folded his clothes and set them on the otherwise empty desk. Sejanus even achieved a smile when Coriolanus slid his arms around his neck and pressed up against his chest, bare other than the rose necklace. “That’s a good boy,” Coriolanus said softly, fingers curling into the hair at the base of Sejanus’ skull. This close, Sejanus had to tuck his chin to meet Coriolanus’ eyes. “I’m nothing to be scared of.”

“I know,” Sejanus said. He rested his forehead against Coriolanus’. “I’m just scared of fucking this up somehow.”

“Don’t be.” When Coriolanus kissed him, slow and deep, Sejanus felt some of the anxiety in his chest loosen. This was Coriolanus, he had to remind himself. Who in the world could he trust if not him?

Despite himself, Sejanus was tired. Part of him wanted to force himself to stay awake all night—just to see what would happen. But the rest of him was exhausted. So he broke the kiss with a good deal of reluctance and turned to Coriolanus’ bed. He recognized the quilt on it as Ma’s handiwork. The sheet beneath that was threadbare but soft as he crawled under it. Coriolanus followed, resting his head on Sejanus’ shoulder. Sejanus’s skin heated as Coriolanus trailed his fingers lightly over Sejanus’ chest and eventually settled with his arm around Sejanus’ middle. 

“Goodnight, darling,” Coriolanus murmured, nose brushing Sejanus’ jaw. “Happy birthday.”

As Sejanus drifted off, he felt positive that it was the happiest he’d had yet.

Sejanus knew without being able to see that he was back in the arena. Even in the pitch black, he recognized the smell of the dead earth that someone had told him used to be grass, the lingering hint of acrid bomb smoke that was probably more imagination than anything. The stench of dried blood. 

High above, a cloud moved and the arena filled with weak moonlight. He saw Marcus’ body, huddled and broken exactly where it had fallen. Sejanus walked toward it, barely able to feel his own limbs. He knelt before the body. He’d done this before. He’d done this a hundred times already.

But it never changed anything.

He wished that knowing it was futile made it any easier. It didn’t. If anything, it made it harder. As he sprinkled breadcrumbs over Marcus’ battered form, he felt all the rage of seeing him strung up for the first time. As if he was something less than human. As if he was a dangerous criminal instead of a scared boy just trying to survive. 

Sejanus heard voices from one of the shadowy tunnels. This part was always different. Sometimes it played out just like it really had, with Coriolanus coming to get him out before the tributes showed up. Sometimes the tributes attacked first and then Coriolanus came in halfway to help fend them off.

Sometimes Coriolanus never showed up at all.

Tonight, Sejanus watched the tributes creep out of the shelter of the tunnel and pick their way over the rubble in his direction. There were always four, but they weren’t always the same. Most nights, they were the same four that had chased them the first time—Coral, Mizzen, Bobbin, and Tanner. Other nights, any one of the other victims of the reaping were swapped in, including the ones who had died before making it to the arena. The group was still far away and it was dark, but Sejanus thought he recognized the one who’d been shot after killing Arachne.

In the back of Sejanus’ brain was the part of him that knew he was dreaming, but it was buried deep under the rest of him that was just as terrified of this place when he was awake. When he saw the pack getting close, he couldn’t force himself to stand his ground, to try to talk to them. 

Something animal in him took over and he ran. 

He found himself in a winding set of tunnels. He never saw the arena’s real tunnels, but his mind helpfully supplied a labyrinth of concrete passageways lined with dripping pipes for him to sprint through. He could hear the pounding footsteps of the tributes behind him, echoing off the walls. He became increasingly desperate for an exit to the tunnels as he heard them approaching. He wondered if that’s how the tributes had felt during the Games, hopelessly looking for any way out while the other tributes and starvation and the poisonous snakes had closed in. The thought made him want to throw up.

Finally, he saw light up ahead. He ran mindlessly for it and ended up tumbling down a harsh slope. Disoriented, he sat up and brushed himself off. The sounds of pursuing footsteps was gone. 

Sejanus looked around, blinking against the bright lights. Floodlights. He was in the zoo, he realized, in the same exhibit where they’d locked up the tributes. The same one Coriolanus had fallen into. Except Coriolanus was nowhere to be seen.

But maybe that wasn’t true. Sejanus let his eyes move past the bars of the cage to the faceless Capitol crowd beyond. There was movement from somewhere further back, traveling further up until Coriolanus broke out into the front. He was dressed in the Academy uniform, pressed and perfect. He wrapped his hands around the bars and watched Sejanus silently, like he was expecting him to do something. 

Sejanus crossed quickly to the bars, stopping in front of Coriolanus. “How do I get out?” he asked. 

Coriolanus shook his head. “You don’t,” he said, “You can’t.”

“But you got out. Someone had to have let you out.”

“That’s because I’m Capitol.” Coriolanus smiled, a colder one than Sejanus had ever seen on the other man’s face. “Do you really think the Peacekeepers will open the doors? You’re exactly where you belong.”

Sejanus shook his head. It didn’t make sense. Coriolanus would never say anything like that to him. Out of everyone, Coriolanus was the one who believed he belonged in the Capitol, that he deserved to be here. He wouldn’t tell Sejanus that he should be in a cage, even if that was what so many of their peers believed.

Even if that was what Sejanus sometimes believed about himself. 

The Capitol crowd was laughing. It didn’t matter. Sejanus didn’t care what any of them thought of him. Their vitriol was meaningless. It only mattered that Coriolanus was looking at him so coldly, so callously. Sejanus couldn’t handle that part. 

“Please,” he begged, putting his hand over Coriolanus’ on the bars. “Coryo. Don’t leave me in here.”

When Coriolanus’ laugh joined the rest of the crowd, Sejanus backed away. The noise kept growing. Too much, too much, too much. Sejanus covered his ears, pinching eyes shut. It didn’t block anything out. The cacophony just got louder and louder, Coriolanus standing out the most of all. It was hell.

“Sejanus.”

Opening his eyes, Sejanus tilted his face and saw Coriolanus looking down at him by the gentle light of the moon. It took a few seconds for Sejanus to pull himself out of the dream. It wasn’t real, he told himself. Whatever fears Sejanus’ sleeping mind had given voice to, the waking Coriolanus cared about him. He regarded Sejanus now with nothing but concern.

“I’m sorry,” Sejanus whispered, voice hoarse, “I was having a nightmare.”

“Back in the arena?” Coriolanus asked.

Sejanus nodded. “And then the zoo. In the cage.” He didn’t mention the part Coriolanus had played. There was no point.

The other man brushed the hair back from Sejanus’ forehead. “I’ve had that one a couple of times myself,” he said softly, “It’s a hopeless feeling, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Sejanus could feel the beginning pinpricks of tears in his eyes. His voice wavered slightly as he spoke. “It makes me—I can’t stop thinking about the tributes, you know? How they were stuck there, starving for days. How all they knew was captivity before they died.”

Except Lucy Gray, he didn’t say. He didn’t like the look that came over Coriolanus anytime someone mentioned her. He believed that Coriolanus cared deeply for him—everything that had transpired in the last month and half was evidence of that—but Sejanus was sure there was still a part of him that cared for Lucy Gray too. And maybe it was unfair of Sejanus to be jealous of that. It had been a completely unique situation; he realized that. A desperate connection born out of the horror of the Games and cemented by trauma. How could Sejanus compete?

He also tried not to think about Coriolanus’ lingering connection to the Games. It was unfathomable to Sejanus that he could bear to attend his Gamemaker internship after everything they had experienced, after they had witnessed just how awful the Games were firsthand. They’d had an argument about it at the start of the school year when Coriolanus had tried to tell him about what he’d been doing and Sejanus had told him he didn’t want to hear about it, had asked how he could stand it. Coriolanus’ defense had been that he was trying to make changes for the better, like getting the tributes more humane conditions before going into the Arena. But at the end of the day, all Sejanus could care about was that the Games still resulted in twenty-three dead kids. Two-hundred and thirty now, after ten years. It made him sick to think of Coriolanus getting involved.

Coriolanus didn’t say anything. Maybe he knew the thoughts going through Sejanus’ head and didn't want to argue either. Softly, he brushed away a tear from the corner of Sejanus’ eye that he didn’t realize had been threatening to fall. The gesture made him feel guilty for thinking those things about Coriolanus. The Games weren’t his fault. The internship wasn’t really his fault either, prescribed by Dr. Gaul as recompense for Coriolanus’ interference. Sejanus had learned about that well after the fact, unaware at the time that Coriolanus had faced some of the same threats of exile that he himself had. 

One more thing that united them. 

Sejanus shifted towards Coriolanus who responded in kind, wrapping an arm around Sejanus’ waist. His fingertips were cold against Sejanus’ bare skin, but he didn’t mind. It was still a thrill just to have Coriolanus touch him like this. 

“I wish I could make your bad dreams go away,” Coriolanus murmured. He pressed his lips lightly to Sejanus’ jaw. “I wish you didn’t have to deal with them.”

Sejanus put his arms around Coriolanus and held him close. “I know,” he said. Tilting his head, he kissed Coriolanus. Perhaps there was some desperation to it, a need to be as connected as possible, to hold onto the safety it made him feel. Not for the first time, he imagined himself and Coriolanus far away from the Capitol. Far away from everyone. Maybe a cabin in some distant mountains where it could be just the two of them. No violence, no hierarchies, no expectations. 

“I love you.”

His quiet admission was almost unconscious, almost forgotten if not for the way it made Coriolanus freeze against Sejanus. The other man pulled away slightly, regarding Sejanus with his pale eyes.

“You love me?” Coriolanus asked, flat voice not betraying any emotion. It made Sejanus nervous, but he didn’t regret what he’d said. He meant it.

Unable to find his voice now, he nodded. Coriolanus smiled. 

“Good.”

He kissed Sejanus then, more intensely than before. The passion of it made Sejanus’ pulse spike. He became acutely aware of how tightly they were pressed against each other, of how little clothing either of them were wearing. Even still, he slid his hands under Coriolanus’ shirt, tracing the hard ridge of his spine. Without Sejanus being entirely sure who had initiated the movement, he found himself on his back with Coriolanus over top of him, hands fisted in his hair.

Sejanus felt like he had been lit on fire. He couldn’t seem to control the sounds emanating from the back of his throat. The way his body was reacting. He might have been embarrassed if he wasn’t so, so preoccupied.

Far too soon, Coriolanus pulled away. It was only slightly, just enough for Sejanus to see his eyes again. Coriolanus was breathing heavily. Only then did Sejanus realize just how breathless he himself had become. His chest rose and fell rapidly, heart hammering. He wanted Coriolanus to be kissing him again.

Instead, Coriolanus pulled back another inch or two. “I love you, too,” he said quietly. “I thought it was only fair for me to say it back.”

“Only if you mean it,” Sejanus breathed, voice unsteady.

They were so close that he could practically feel Coriolanus swallow. “I do,” he said, “I love you.”

Once again Sejanus felt tears starting in his eyes. He kissed Coriolanus again, gently, like he might scare him away. 

“Good.”

Chapter Text

Coriolanus woke with a pit in his stomach that he couldn’t quite locate the reason for. He regained consciousness slowly, first becoming aware of the pale morning light filtering through his eyelids, then the weight of the quilt on his back, then the feeling of an arm around him.

He opened his eyes. Sejanus was still asleep, face peaceful in the gray light. It was early yet; outside, the sun would not have crested the mountains. But it was still bright enough for Coriolanus to see every dark eyelash laying against Sejanus’ cheeks, to make out the glint of the silver chain ending in the rose pendant laying on his chest. 

A symbol of how Coriolanus had tied them together, for better or for worse.

Perhaps that was the reason for the sick feeling in his stomach. A line had been crossed, one he couldn’t go back over. Sejanus had said that he loved him. And Coriolanus had said it back. 

In a way, Coriolanus felt like he was back in the Arena. Circumstances beyond his control had shoved him to Sejanus’ side, and his survival still relied on the other. Coriolanus’ life was in Sejanus’ hands as much now as it had been then. And his way forward was the same. To emerge triumphant, he would say and do whatever it took, spin whatever lie he had to, cheat his way out.

Whatever the cost. Snow lands on top.

Sejanus’ eyelids fluttered and then opened. Coriolanus watched those brown eyes float briefly around the room before settling on him. Sejanus’ lips curled upwards. 

“Hey,” he said, voice a little rusty but warm.

“Hey,” Coriolanus said, his own sounding flat and cold by comparison. To compensate for it, he laid a hand on Sejanus’ cheek and kissed him. Sejanus met him eagerly, pulling him somehow closer. Coriolanus tried to lose himself in the kiss. But he couldn’t seem to turn his mind off. The words that had been exchanged last night—and what they meant for his future—weighed too heavily upon him. He found his hand trailing down Sejanus’ throat, finding first the chain then the pendant. His fingers brushed the contours of the rose petals. Their familiar shape was grounding.

Sejanus pulled away a fraction. “I love you,” he breathed against Coriolanus’ lips.

Don’t say that, Coriolanus wanted to say. You shouldn’t love me. Not when I’m only using you. Your love is a weapon I will use to carve out your heart.

But he didn’t say that. Because he needed Sejanus’ love as much as he needed his family’s money. The two would lift him up, would cement the Snow legacy into what it was always meant to be. He couldn’t continue his ascent if he didn’t foster Sejanus’ love, if he didn’t convince the other man that his own feelings were nothing less than genuine. Really, it was only fair to let Sejanus believe that he loved him back. Discovering the truth would destroy him.

It was far too cruel. And Coriolanus wasn’t cruel.

So he clutched the rose pendant tight between his fingers and smiled. “I love you too.”

“I hate these sorts of things,” Sejanus muttered in Coriolanus’ ear. Coriolanus only nodded, not looking at him. For surely the dozenth time that night, he wished that for once in his life Sejanus could try not to be completely miserable about every good thing that happened.

It was a few weeks after Sejanus’ birthday and they were attending an event at Strabo’s office. His business had recently acquired a formerly district-owned chain of factories in Two, one of the last real oppositions to the Plinths’ monopoly in the district. Tonight was the celebration of all the profit it would bring. At that very moment, Strabo was giving a toast to his underlings to mark the victory and all his son could think about was how much he hated it. 

Coriolanus pushed down the resentment. This win was his too, he reminded himself. An increase in the Plinths’ fortune was an increase in his own, even if Sejanus didn’t appreciate it. 

“After the toast,” he murmured back, “You can give me a tour. I’m sure this place has a lot of dark corners where we can distract each other.”

Rather than answer, Sejanus pressed closer to Coriolanus and gave him a smile that bordered on devious. Despite himself, Coriolanus’ heart fluttered at the look. He may not have felt any true love for Sejanus; the man may have annoyed him to death more often than not, but Coriolanus would have been lying if he said that their stolen moments didn’t excite him. He enjoyed their kisses, the feeling of Sejanus’ hands on his skin, the heat of their bodies intertwined. If only Sejanus weren’t so much taller than him, he would have had nothing at all to complain about.

Perhaps that was why, twenty minutes later, Coriolanus made Sejanus sit at the head of the table in a darkened conference room before kissing him. He sat on Sejanus’ lap and stretched out his spine, relishing the way Sejanus had to crane his neck to meet his lips. It felt right for Coriolanus to be the one inclining his head, to be condescending to someone so literally and figuratively beneath him. It felt good.

He wasn’t sure how much longer it was when he finally broke away, hearing the sound of footsteps approaching. Sejanus, unaware or simply unconcerned, leaned forward and kissed Coriolanus once more before Coriolanus got off his lap. He slid into the seat adjacent to Sejanus just as the conference room door opened, the lights coming on automatically. Strabo appeared, looking back and forth between the two. Clearly not fooled by the few feet of distance now between them.

But he made no comment on it. Instead he said, “There you are.” Making a beckoning gesture, he opened the door wider. “Come with me. There’s some people I want to introduce you to.”

Sejanus made a face. “Do I have to?”

“I didn’t mean you,” Strabo said evenly. He nodded at Coriolanus. “You.”

Coriolanus straightened. “Who are they?”

“Some old associates of your father. They asked about you.”

Excitement bubbled up in Coriolanus, but he kept his demeanor steady as he rose from his seat. “I’d be honored to meet them.”

Sejanus looked back and forth between his father and Coriolanus with a slightly confused expression. “Should I come too?” Strabo’s hesitation was brief, but long enough for Sejanus’ face to slam shut. “Never mind,” he said. He got to his feet and brushed a quick kiss against Coriolanus’ cheek. “I’ll be at the banquet table. Find me when you’re done, Coryo.”

Without another word, Sejanus was rustling past his father and disappearing down the hall. Strabo let out a small sigh as he watched his son leave. In it, Coriolanus could hear a lifetime of long suffering. Is that what he too would become after enough time with the Plinths? 

But never mind that. He was too eager to meet the people Strabo wanted to introduce him to. He followed Strabo back in the direction he’d come.

“These men,” Strabo said as they walked, “They were your father’s business partners in Thirteen. Obviously any further development there is off the table, but they’re eyeing some factories in Three.”

Coriolanus had done enough reading to know that there was a great deal of potential in weapons manufacturing in Three. Except for the Capitol itself, it was where the best innovation happened. “Sounds like a promising opportunity.”

Strabo nodded. “I agree.” He bowed his head in acknowledgment to one of his underlings as they reentered the crowd. “And they need capital to get set up,” he went on to Coriolanus, “But they’re…hesitant to work with me.”

That was understandable. Who wanted to split profits with an investor from the districts? But Coriolanus was starting to understand Strabo’s motive for bringing him into the conversation. “You want me to talk them into accepting your money,” he said.

A faint smile played at Strabo’s lips. “In so many words,” he said, “They were impressed, and perhaps a little surprised, to hear that I have a Snow in such close acquaintance. They greatly respected your father, and I believe you have inherited many of his gifts.”

He said gifts like it pained him to admit any positive traits in old Crassus. All the same, Coriolanus took it as a compliment. As a child, his father had seemed to him to be a force of nature. That anyone might see the same in him was high praise.

Strabo stopped in the middle of the crowd, looking at Coriolanus head-on. “It’s not just that I want you to talk to these men,” he said, “I want you to take part in this.” He gestured vaguely, encompassing the office as a whole. “You’re bright. You have a head for it. I know you’ve been reading all those books I can never get Sejanus to take interest in.”

Coriolanus followed Strabo’s gaze to where Sejanus was taking a glass of posca from the banquet table. Ma hovered nearby, shrinking away from the other guests.

“His heart lies elsewhere,” Coriolanus said, not sure why he felt the need to defend Sejanus. “All he wants is to heal people. He doesn’t mean to disappoint you.”

“I know.” Strabo’s voice was resigned. “I’m starting to see that I can’t win this one. But I’m also seeing that it may be for the better.” He cleared his throat, like he was having difficulty getting the words out. “Someone will need to take over my business someday, but it doesn’t have to be my son. Especially since it seems like you might become my son sooner or later.”

Coriolanus’ heart leapt into his throat at all the implications there. That Strabo wanted him for an heir, that he saw Coriolanus and Sejanus getting married, that they would have the man’s blessing if they did. He had to fight back the giddy smile that wanted to take over his face. Everything was coming together perfectly. 

“I’m honored,” he said, voice calm and collected though his insides were jumping for joy. “It would be my privilege to join you.”

Despite what he’d said, Sejanus was nowhere to be found after Coriolanus had finished speaking to his father’s old associates (the conversation had been relatively brief but promising; they’d set up a meeting for the following week). Coriolanus didn’t see Sejanus at the banquet table. He made two laps of the office, even going back to that conference room, but never encountered Sejanus. When he asked Ma, she said that she hadn’t seen him since he’d taken the posca and disappeared.

Alone, Coriolanus turned his attention back to the member’s of Strabo’s office. He struck up conversations, making an effort to learn names. If he was going to be taking on a role here, it would be prudent to get to know the lay of the land.

It wasn’t until the event was winding down and guests were beginning to trickle out that he finally saw Sejanus again. The other man slipped into the room, his hair slightly windswept like he’d been outside. Coriolanus extricated himself from a conversation about requisitions and made his way over to Sejanus.

“There you are,” he said, taking Sejanus’ hand.

“Have fun?” Sejanus asked flatly. His breath carried the sweet scent of posca.

Coriolanus dropped his hand and took a step back. If Sejanus was going to speak to him that way, then he deserved no affection. Sejanus seemed to realize his mistake and took a step forward, hands outstretched in a conciliatory gesture. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I know it’s not your fault.”

But Coriolanus wasn’t in the mood to be forgiving. He turned on his heel and started walking back toward the center of the room, which had already thinned considerably. Avoxes were gathering, packing up food and clearing away chairs. Coriolanus could hear Sejanus following him but didn’t acknowledge him. He was so tired of Sejanus taking out his paternal gripes on him. Bored to tears of his abysmal attitude. Tonight had been an excellent night for Coriolanus; he’d finally been brought into the fold by Strabo and made some important connections. But rather than be allowed to celebrate he would have to spend time comforting Sejanus over being snubbed for something the other man didn’t even want in the first place. It was so completely ridiculous.

He was stopped by a hand on his arm, forcing him to turn around. Sejanus’ face was pleading. “I’m sorry, Coryo,” he said, “That wasn’t fair of me.”

It wouldn’t be hard to placate Sejanus. A kiss and a few words about everything being alright and the whole sour moment would be behind them. But Coriolanus didn’t intend to let him off that easily. There had to be some kind of punishment, some kind of lesson as to how he would allow himself to be treated. He hadn’t forgotten the incident during the Games when Sejanus had thrown that chair. The man had an unfortunate penchant for outbursts that Coriolanus had to curb as soon as possible.

He shook off Sejanus’ hand and crossed his arms. “You can’t keep doing this. You can be angry at your father all you want, but you can’t lash out at me just because you’re too scared to take it up with him.”

“I’m not scared of him.”

“Prove it, then.” Coriolanus jerked his chin in Strabo’s direction. “Go tell him how badly you wanted to meet those men.”

Sejanus shook his head. “I didn’t want to meet them.”

Coriolanus threw up his hands in exasperation. “Then why the hell are you so mad at me?”

“I’m not, I—” Sejanus buried his face in his hands and took a deep breath before emerging again. “I didn’t like being written off. I already know I’m a disappointment to my father without the very pointed reminder that he favors you more than me.”

Part of Coriolanus was tempted to twist the knife by telling Sejanus what Strabo had told him about the future. But he couldn’t. In large part because if he pushed Sejanus too far, the other could very well want to call it quits. Coriolanus wasn’t confident that he’d built up enough rapport with Strabo yet not to be dropped if Sejanus no longer wanted him. Plus, Sejanus looked so miserable. Coriolanus didn’t want to pile that much more on, however annoyed he was.

So he said, “I didn’t ask for that.” He let his voice be gentler than it had been. 

“I know you didn’t.” Sejanus took a hesitant step toward Coriolanus, who didn’t retreat. “I love you, Coryo. You’re always looking out for me, and I’m always taking it for granted. I’m so sorry.”

Coriolanus let Sejanus hang for a couple of moments, watching the desperation build in his eyes. Then he relented. “You’re forgiven,” he said. He closed the distance between them, the scent of posca once again prevalent. When he kissed Sejanus, the taste of it was on his lips. One more bad habit that Coriolanus would have to break him of. But not tonight. He’d done enough discipline. He wanted to move on to celebrating his wins. He pulled back from Sejanus. “I love you too.”

When Sejanus smiled, there was a degree of relief to it. He glanced around at the nearly empty room then back at Coriolanus. “I guess we should get out of here,” he said. His brows knit together. “Do you still want to come over to my place?”

That had been the plan, but perhaps Sejanus was worried that plans would have changed with this most recent tiff between them. But Coriolanus had already decided to forgive, and regardless he would be happier in Sejanus’ bed than alone in his own.

So he took Sejanus’ hand. “Lead the way, darling.”

Chapter Text

The New Years party was already in full swing by the time Coriolanus walked through the entrance of Pluribus Bell’s nightclub, hand in hand with Sejanus. It was barely nine-thirty, but the club was packed, the dance floor a whirl of gyrating bodies. The line out front had stretched halfway down the block, but Coriolanus had paid off the bouncer to bypass it. The act may have been redundant; Coriolanus had a sneaking suspicion that Pluribus had told his staff to let him in without question. But Coriolanus had no desire to owe the man anything else. 

Coriolanus edged his way through the writhing crowd, Sejanus in tow. They cleared a gaggle of giggling girls and then saw Festus and Persephone at a table. It was Festus’ standing table, something Coriolanus knew from the handful of times he’d managed to drag Sejanus along with him to the club. Festus held court here every Friday night, reserving the best spot with easy access to both the bar and dance floor, and a nice view of the stage. While other club patrons—many of whom Coriolanus recognized as their classmates from the University—had to jockey for position, Festus lounged luxuriously in his prime booth. Coriolanus slid now onto the plush velvet seat beside Persephone who scooted down to make room. He flagged down the attending Avox to bring him a lemon soda before turning his attention to his friends.

“Great music, isn’t it?” Festus asked, raising his voice to be heard. He had an arm across the back of the seat behind Persephone, the other hand swirling a glass of some amber drink. He looked entirely at ease. And why shouldn’t he? This was his domain. Jealousy prickled in Coriolanus at the thought of it. He would have preferred to share this spotlight, but it had been hard enough to convince Sejanus to come tonight, let alone try to get him here every week. But Coriolanus had plenty of other places where he shined brighter than Festus. He could allow the other man this one concession.

At Festus’ prompting, he turned to the band performing on stage. They were certainly splashy; each costume sparkled from thousands of stones, the drumset spouted out the occasional burst of flame, and Coriolanus was pretty sure that was a real parrot on the bassist’s shoulder. The music was loud, but there wasn’t much else to say about it. The lead singer wailed into the mic, his words entirely indistinguishable. They were nothing compared to Lucy Gray, but Coriolanus supposed her ballads wouldn’t quite fit the mood of the party, anyway.

The Avox returned, setting the lemon soda in front of Coriolanus. Sejanus looked up at her, the hesitation evident in his demeanor. He was always so timid about giving orders to Avoxes, so convinced that he was somehow bothering them. As if it wasn’t their whole job to serve. 

“Could I please get a glass of champagne?” he finally asked. With a slight bow, the Avox disappeared.

“Where are Clemmie and Lysistrata?” Coriolanus asked the others, hoping to distract from Sejanus’ stilted behavior.

Persephone nodded toward the dance floor. “Dancing.”

Coriolanus followed her gaze to where the two girls were moving to the music in the middle of the floor. They seemed to be shutting out the rest of the world entirely, all their focus on each other. Lysistrata had her arms around Clemensia’s neck, Clemensia with her hands on Lysistrata’s hips. It was sweet to see. 

Once again the Avox reappeared, placing a glass of champagne in front of Sejanus. On another night, Coriolanus may have objected. Sejanus let alcohol get to his head far too quickly. But he would allow it tonight, on the biggest holiday of the year. Besides, there were so many drunk people all around that Sejanus would hardly stand out. And Coriolanus would still keep a close eye on him so he wouldn’t do anything to make a fool of himself. Reputation still mattered, whatever time of year it was.

As he sipped his soda and absently listened to the music, he noticed Sejanus looking over his shoulder with an inscrutable expression on his face. Coriolanus glanced back to see what had grabbed his attention, not immediately noticing anything out of the ordinary. Then his eyes caught on a new display on the wall—or at least it was new as of the last time they’d been to the club a month or so ago. On the stretch of wall adjacent to the bar, someone had hung up many of Pluribus’ beautiful instruments. Right in the center was a perfect golden guitar. There was a tiny plaque underneath it; Coriolanus couldn’t read it from where he was sitting, but he didn’t need to. He was certain that it said that this was the very guitar Lucy Gray had played at her interview. He would know it anywhere.

And from the look on his face, Sejanus knew it too.

So what? Coriolanus had given Sejanus no reason to be jealous, not since before the two of them had gotten together. And Lucy Gray had gone back to District Twelve nearly six months ago, probably never to be seen again. Was Sejanus really so threatened by her that he couldn’t handle the sight of a guitar she’d once held for the lengthy expanse of a singular evening?

And yet, the sight of it was like a punch to Coriolanus’ gut. He’d done his best to put Lucy Gray out of his mind, relegating her to a place in the past where she couldn’t affect him anymore. But the guitar brought her once again to the present. He thought of her rainbow dress, her rich voice, her hands clutching his shirt as she kissed him. He could not forget her so easily. And despite himself, he missed her.

He allowed none of this to show on his face, calmly sipping his lemon soda and not looking at Sejanus. Festus and Persephone did not seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, remarking on the outfits of other party guests and the new availability of fine jewelry in the Capitol. Coriolanus half listened while keeping an eye on Sejanus through his peripheral. He took note of the moment Sejanus finally looked away from the guitar and knocked back his champagne in a single gulp.

“Do you want to dance?” 

Coriolanus finally turned to Sejanus, seeing the uncertainty in his eyes. Though he didn’t have the faintest idea how to dance, he smiled and took Sejanus’ hand. He would need to do his best to assuage his doubts, put any ideas about Lucy Gray out of his mind. Jealousy would not help either of them; it would make Sejanus miserable and could in turn put Coriolanus on the out. As ever, the goal was to make Sejanus believe that Coriolanus loved him, had eyes only for him. So he allowed himself to be led onto the dance floor.

Once there, it became evident that Coriolanus had no clue how to go about dancing. The crowd swayed around him, apparently entirely unselfconscious in the way they moved their bodies. They had no inhibition, which made Coriolanus uncomfortable. He didn’t like that he seemed to be the only one who had no frame of reference for what to do. It made him feel out of control. Even Sejanus showed no hesitation, facing Coriolanus and dancing like nothing bothered him. Which Coriolanus knew to be a lie. But he couldn’t be the only one who was stationary, so he had to give something a try. He ended up watching the people around him and copying whatever they were doing. He thought he was doing a pretty good job faking it until Sejanus started laughing.

Indignant, Coriolanus looked back at Sejanus. “What?”

Sejanus was shaking his head. “You have no idea how to dance, do you?”

Coriolanus drew himself up to his full height, which still fell a few inches short of Sejanus. “It’s not as if I’ve had many opportunities to learn,” he said, crossing his arms. In fairness, they had received dance lessons at the Academy. For one semester their sophomore year, they’d all been required to learn the formal dances that still cropped up at the occasional feast or gala that were coming back into fashion after the war. Coriolanus had a vivid memory of Sejanus floating around the gym with Domitia Whimsiwick. By contrast, Coriolanus had stepped all over Livia’s toes until she’d demanded that they assign her a new partner. He’d fared much better with Clemensia. At the very least, he could hold his own in a ballroom. But he had the sneaking suspicion that it wouldn’t go over well if he started waltzing now.

“It’s not really something you learn,” Sejanus said, stepping closer. “You just need to feel the music. Let go a bit.”

That was supremely unhelpful. And a little horrifying. Coriolanus prized poise and decorum. He wasn't in the habit of letting go. And yet, he also valued appearances. If the occasion called for dancing, he had to make an effort. 

Clearly sensing his hesitation, Sejanus took Coriolanus’ hand. “What you really need is a drink.”

Before Coriolanus could put up any resistance, he was being tugged along to the edge of the dance floor where Sejanus flagged down a passing Avox holding a tray of drinks. He took two, passing one to Coriolanus before downing the other. Coriolanus eyed his own with suspicion. It was bright green, almost glowing in the neon lights. 

“C’mon, Coryo,” Sejanus said, leaning into him. “Live a little.”

With a sense of resignation, he knocked back the drink and shuddered slightly. It was incredibly sour and burned like acid going down but settled with a pleasant heat in his stomach. Whooping, Sejanus took the empty glass from him and dropped it along with his own on a nearby table. Then his hand was once again in Coriolanus’, pulling him back into the throng.

“Alright,” Sejanus said when he stopped moving, raising his voice to be heard over the music that only seemed to be getting louder. “Now just feel the music.”

Honestly, Coriolanus wasn’t really sure he knew what that meant. He tried to decide if he could feel the music. Certainly he could feel the beat of the drums in the ground beneath his feet, could feel the buzz of the bass in his chest. Was that what Sejanus meant? And now Sejanus was slipping behind him and taking him by the hips so all he felt was the press of the other man’s body against his own. He felt the weight of his hands. He felt the heat, the unbearable nearness of Sejanus’ presence. He felt the sensation in his belly build into a fire that raged through him, setting his whole body alight with burning desire.

In that moment, Coriolanus finally let go.

He was no longer in control of his own movement, allowing himself instead to be guided by Sejanus’ hands. A wiser Coriolanus, one who was less inebriated (though he knew that the alcohol he’d ingested was only a small part of his current intoxication), would shout at him to get a hold of himself. That Coriolanus would grab him by the shoulders, shake him, and remind him that sloppiness invited ruin. But this Coriolanus, the one he had become in this moment, ignored all his better instincts and flung his head back onto Sejanus’ shoulder. He leaned heavily into the other man and felt the hot press of Sejanus’ lips against his exposed neck. 

For quite a while, longer than he would have thought himself capable of had he been giving it any thought at all, Coriolanus was able to quiet his mind. His world consisted only of his own body, the one pressed up behind him, and the thrum of the music. His mouth found Sejanus’, kissing him with an ease and almost laziness that he so rarely experienced. He could have happily stayed in that state of blissful mindlessness all night.

Except, unbidden, the desire in him coalesced into something he could give a name to, something that demanded his attention. Lust.

As soon the word slammed its way into his head, Coriolanus broke the kiss. He could see his own lust reflected back at him in Sejanus’ half-lidded eyes, could sense it in the way Sejanus slid his hand and splayed his fingers low on Coriolanus’s stomach. There was definite intent to the motion, so too in faint rocking of Sejanus’ hips. There was an invitation.

But with the primal want came another feeling—doubt. Was it wise to go down this road? Could Coriolanus claw his way back if he did? He had to keep his head. It was vital. He had to think things through rationally. But how could he hope for pragmatism when his hand kept going back to Sejanus’ hair, his lips back to Sejanus’ jaw? Was it even worth resisting? No, of course it was. He needed clarity. Sanity.

He was given the perfect opportunity when the music stopped. Ears ringing, he didn’t make out most of what the voice over the intercom said, something about the next set coming on at eleven. Had they been there that long already? Recorded music began to play over the speakers as the lights came up part of the way. Many in the crowd kept dancing, but Coriolanus took the chance to step away from Sejanus. Distance was good, but not readily available in these tight quarters so he took Sejanus’ hand and led him off the dance floor. 

Festus and Persephone were no longer at the table, probably now somewhere back on the floor. Coriolanus didn’t bother to check for them. Instead he followed Sejanus to the bar, declining another drink but not putting up any resistance to Sejanus getting another one. He felt a little dizzy. And slightly underwater. It was an unnerving feeling. He really needed to clear his mind, to get fresh air.

As soon as Sejanus had finished his drink, Coriolanus half dragged him toward the little alcove that led to the bathrooms and, more importantly, a door to the outside. It let them out into a tiny little fenced-off outdoor area. It had clearly been missed in the renovation process, sporting a jumble of rusty tables and chairs and an assortment of badly weathered decorations that may have been set pieces at some point. Besides a small group gathered around one of the tables and a pair shooting up morphling by the fence, there was no one outside. Coriolanus led Sejanus behind a large fake plant and peeling wooden sign where they were entirely hidden from view. From back here, he could believe that they were really alone. It was a welcome change after the crush of bodies inside the club.

Already the cold night air was making Coriolanus feel better. He felt like he could think more clearly. But while the fog was lifting from his mind, he found that very little had changed in terms of how he felt. He still wanted Sejanus.

“I love you,” Sejanus said, voice low, hand lifting to brush against Coriolanus’ cheek.

Shut up, Coriolanus wanted to tell him. He had to think things through, and Sejanus talking made things harder. He saw Sejanus drawing breath to say more, so he kissed him just to quiet him down. 

The question Coriolanus kept coming back to was what could be the harm? He kept turning it over. Was there harm? Yes, allowing himself to get caught up in desire for Sejanus could be a distraction, but hadn’t he already mostly achieved his goal when it came to winning Sejanus over? He’d gotten the money to pay the taxes on the penthouse, to replace the furniture and make repairs, to buy a new wardrobe, to fund the life of luxury that befitted a Snow. He’d gotten Strabo’s approval and a place in his empire. Sejanus belonged to him. All there was really left to do to seal the deal was marry Sejanus, and wouldn’t this just get him closer to that? It was still too soon for a proposal, but at this pace he could probably pop the question in a few months. Then his future, the Snow legacy, would be secure. 

Of course, there were his goals that were not necessarily monetary in nature. He wanted to reshape the Games into something memorable, wanted to rise through the ranks of the Capitol. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to become president someday. Lusting after Sejanus could still distract him from focusing on those ends. But didn’t plenty of politicians still have families, love lives? And anyway, what damage would a night or two of passion do to what he saw as a long and illustrious career ahead of him?

So, when Coriolanus asked himself the question— What could be the harm? —the answer he kept coming back to was none at all.

Chapter Text

Despite himself, Sejanus let out a gasp when the sun broke over the Rockies, flooding the hovercraft with morning light. Though it momentarily blinded him, seeing the sun rising from this vantage point was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever witnessed. It silhouetted Strabo and Coriolanus where they stood talking at the window, the latter’s pale hair turning into a glittering halo around his head.

The only reason Sejanus had agreed to come to Two was because of Coriolanus.

He missed his home more than anything, but he’d come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t really his anymore. The people of Two hated his family—hadn’t Marcus’ refusal to acknowledge him been evidence enough of that? Sejanus could never go back to the house he always thought of as home even though he’d spent less time there than in the Capitol. He could never again run down the street with his friends, oblivious to the war raging around them. He would never belong there again. Just like he would never really belong in the Capitol either. 

If he couldn’t return to Two as a resident, then he didn’t want to go back at all. He’d always told himself it would be too painful, had told his father the same every time he’d been invited to join one of his business trips. But now Strabo was opening up the metaphorical doors of the family business to Coriolanus, who had readily agreed to come along. And when Coriolanus asked Sejanus to come too, how was Sejanus supposed to refuse?

Especially after New Years.

It was less than a week since the New Years party. Something had shifted that night, which Sejanus hadn’t really been expecting. It had been a slow start; there had been the jarring reminder of Lucy Gray on the wall—which he knew Coriolanus had definitely taken more notice of than he had let on—and the revelation that Coriolanus was a terrible dancer. But then like a switch flipping, Coriolanus had finally seemed to give himself over, had dropped the mask of dignified coolness he always wore in public. And then they’d gone outside…

The night air had been frigid against Sejanus’ skin, but he’d barely noticed. He’d been too wrapped up in Coriolanus, literally and figuratively. Sejanus’ back had been against the wall, an uneven brick digging into his shoulder blade. More importantly, Coriolanus had shoved both hands up under Sejanus’ shirt, burning fingers pressing into his skin. One of Coriolanus’ hands had slid up his chest to grip the rose pendant that Sejanus hadn’t taken off since the moment he’d received it.

“I’m so in love with you,” he’d breathed as Coriolanus had started pressing kisses to the underside of his jaw.

“That so?” Coriolanus had murmured, raising goose flesh on Sejanus’ ribs as he’d hiked his shirt up higher. Sejanus had felt the graze of Coriolanus’ teeth against the soft spot below his ear. “How in love?” He had nipped the corner of Sejanus’ jaw. “How badly do you want me?”

Sejanus had let out a sound that he didn’t think he’d ever made before, some guttural marriage of a gasp and a moan. It had quite likely had everything to do with the way Coriolanus had shifted their bodies even closer together, his knee hitting the wall between Sejanus’ legs. It had brought into sharp relief how very hard both of them were, the dizzying reminder that Coriolanus could have somehow wanted this as badly as Sejanus did. Operating more off instinct than anything, Sejanus had pushed his hips off the wall to grind against Coriolanus’. He’d felt a bit like fainting when Coriolanus had answered with a breathy moan in his ear. Desperate to hear it again, Sejanus had slid his hand into the negligible space between them to take hold of Coriolanus. The other’s moan had become more punctuated, accompanied by a faint, “Yes.”

It had struck Sejanus that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. He’d barely even kissed anyone before Coriolanus, certainly no one that mattered. He’d never touched a person in this way before. But there had been something bolstering about the sounds that Coriolanus had been making, something that had made Sejanus feel courageous. So, hands shaking, he’d fumbled for the buttons on Coriolanus’ pants. He had loosened them in something like a trance, had once again taken hold of Coriolanus, bare flesh to bare flesh. 

Coriolanus’ fingers had dug into Sejanus’ skin hard enough to bruise while Sejanus had worked him. “That’s good,” he’d panted in Sejanus’ ear. When he’d found his release, his forehead had fallen on Sejanus’ shoulder and they’d stood like that for what may have been a moment or may have been a lifetime. Sejanus had wrapped his arms around Coriolanus, trailing one hand up and down his spine. Eventually, Coriolanus had lifted his head and kissed Sejanus, deep and slow.

Then he’d gotten on his knees.

Sejanus’ own knees had turned to water. His head had fallen back against the brick wall as Coriolanus had carefully unzipped his pants and tugged them down, disbelief and earth shattering arousal warring inside him. “Coryo,” he’d whispered, looking for the first time back in the direction of the door to the club. “What if someone sees?” They had been hidden by shadow and those dirty old decorations, but it would not have been hard for someone to come outside and stick their head around the wooden set piece. To see Sejanus on full display, Coriolanus before him.

“Let them,” Coriolanus had said easily, fingers grazing over Sejanus and making him gasp. “Let them see who my boy belongs to.”

Those words had made Sejanus’ entire body burn. Nearly as much as when Coriolanus had finally taken him into his mouth. Sejanus would have thought he would have known all about Coriolanus’ mouth for all the time he’d spent being kissed by it. He had thought he had already fully familiarized himself with Coriolanus’ lips, his tongue, his teeth. But this had been an entirely new experience. Uncharted territory to discover. As he had learned the inside of Coriolanus’ mouth all over again, he had forgotten about everything else. He had forgotten about his fear of being seen, he had forgotten Lucy Gray, he had forgotten about his anger at his father. 

For one shining moment, he had almost forgotten about the Games.

When he had finished, it had taken quite a while for any of the world to re-register to him. First had been Coriolanus wiping the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief. Then it had been the rough, cold bricks at Sejanus’ back. Then the music pulsating through the club walls. Sejanus had still not caught his breath by the time Coriolanus had stood and kissed him, slowly piecing him back together.

They had gone back inside eventually. They had counted down to the new year with everyone else. They’d gone home—to Coriolanus’ apartment specifically but it hardly mattered since they lived in the same building now—and there had been more. So much more. They hadn’t slept until the sun had started to rise over the Rockies, the same sun and the same mountains that Sejanus now watched through the hovercraft windows.

He couldn’t hear what Coriolanus and Strabo were talking about from where he was sitting. He doubted he wanted to, anyway. He didn’t understand why Coriolanus had taken such an interest in Strabo’s business ventures besides the fact that his own family had dealt in munitions before the war. It seemed a tenuous connection, so at odds with everything else Sejanus knew about Coriolanus. Really, none of it made much sense to Sejanus. Coriolanus getting so invested in weapons manufacturing, Coriolanus leaving Dr. Gaul’s genetics classes in such high spirits, Coriolanus making thoughtful notes in a binder emblazoned with the words Eleventh Hunger Games. 

It was all so Capitol. So heavily tied to the acts of violence and oppression that still plagued their society. So seemingly unlike the Coriolanus that Sejanus knew. When they were together, Coriolanus was sweet and attentive. He listened to every dark thought Sejanus had and led him back to the light. That was the real Coriolanus. Wasn’t it? Or was that too a mask that he wore? Did Coriolanus allow anyone to see who he really was?

Sejanus was interrupted from his reverie by Coriolanus sitting in the seat beside him. Coriolanus leaned over and brushed his lips gently against his cheek. “Are you alright?” he asked, taking Sejanus’ hand. “I know this can’t be easy for you.”

Sejanus shook himself internally. What was he doing, doubting Coriolanus’ authenticity? Of course this was who he really was. 

“I’m alright,” he said. He frowned at the mountain tops passing below them. “Well. Not really, I guess. It feels so strange to be going back. I never thought I’d see Two again.”

“Maybe it will be good,” Coriolanus said, taking his hand. “You’ve spent the past decade building it up in your memory. I think you’ll get there and realize it’s not as idyllic as you remember.”

Sejanus considered this. Maybe Coriolanus was right. The Plinths had left Two when Sejanus was only eight years old. As many details as had emblazoned themselves in his mind, what if there were things he was remembering wrong? He knew Two wasn’t perfect—no place was. What if he got off the hovercraft and it didn’t feel like home at all?

He spent much of the rest of the ride in silence. Strabo eventually came and sat with them, drinking seltzer and reengaging Coriolanus in a conversation that Sejanus tuned out immediately. Instead, he continued watching the peaks below them, keeping hold of Coriolanus’ hand. It was almost a surprise when an expressionless voice came over the intercom and told them they were beginning their descent. All in all, it was a short trip. Two was only separated from the Capitol by the Rockies. It was a little jarring for Sejanus to experience what a relatively insignificant ride it was to get back to the place he’d spent so much time longing for. He cast his mind back to the reverse of this journey, when he’d come to the Capitol as a kid. It had felt longer then. But he’d been so young then, and terrified out of his mind.

Now, he watched in perfect stillness as the hovercraft nose tipped down and he saw the town he’d been born in for the first time in over ten years. The Justice Building caught his eye first, its marble dome poking out above the rest of the buildings. The rising sun glinted off the metal train tracks beside it, streaking away towards the mountain. Sejanus strained his eyes trying to find the rooftop of their old home, but he couldn’t discern it from here. 

After a few moments, he lost sight of the town entirely as their view became taken up by the mountain. He realized that they were heading for an entrance carved into the mountain face a third of the way up. When his family had lived here, this had only been a mine, but Strabo had told him about how military operations had begun to take over the space after the stronghold in Thirteen was lost.

When the hovercraft glided to a stop in what Sejanus realized now was a hangar, he watched a pair of Peacekeepers come out of what was perhaps a control room and cross to them. Strabo stood, gesturing for the others to follow. Out in the hangar, he spoke with the Peacekeepers who seemed to know him. Sejanus and Coriolanus were asked to provide their citizen IDs and were then given ID badges.

It became evident right away that Sejanus would become lost in here for the rest of time if not for their guides. The stronghold was a roughhewn maze of weapon caches, glowing screens, what looked to be Peacekeeper training facilities, and plenty of winding passageways that split off towards depths unknown. The space was gargantuan, like they had hollowed out the mountain, but in some places walls were put up that towered over the people yet only spanned a fraction of the way to the ceiling. Occasionally Sejanus caught glimpses of the stone walls of the cave and saw tunnels leading deeper into the mountain. Clearly this imposing cavern was only one of many such areas in this network.

Massive as it was, Sejanus felt claustrophobic. Aware that it made him seem weak, he reached out and gripped Coriolanus’ hand. The other man gave his hand a quick squeeze in return but otherwise seemed engrossed in what the Peacekeepers were saying as they conducted their tour. Sejanus clung to Coriolanus, tuning everything else out. 

Eventually they made it to one of the sides of the cavern where a metal platform was anchored to the wall a story high. The Peacekeepers led them up the stairs and waved them toward a man who was waiting by the guardrail. He was tall and imposing, his hair clipped close in a military fashion. He introduced himself to Strabo as some commander of something but Sejanus couldn’t focus on what he was saying. Instead, he had punched in the gut by the man’s district accent. The Peacekeepers who had led them here were probably from the Capitol, but this man was born and bred District Two, no doubt about it. Sejanus didn’t realize how much he had missed that way of speaking, how it would rend his heart to hear it. 

Coriolanus let go of Sejanus and stepped forward to shake the man’s hand on Strabo’s prompting. To Sejanus’ surprise, he was asked to do the same. After a few exchanged pleasantries, the man asked Strabo to join him in his office, pointing to a door in the cave wall that Sejanus hadn’t noticed before. 

Strabo nodded and turned to the other two. “Coriolanus, perhaps you’d like to join us. Sejanus—” Father and son regarded each other for a moment. The smallest of sighs escaped Strabo, only a slightly pronounced exhalation. “It’s up to you,” he said finally. “You can sit in if you’d like, or you can visit the town.”

Sejanus’ eyebrows lifted. He didn’t realize he’d be given the choice. He’d assumed he’d be relegated to some unimportant hallway until they came to collect him. If he got to see the actual district at all, he thought it would be after all the business was concluded so his father could supervise. But this was an entirely new and unexpected opportunity.

“I’ll go into town,” he said, trying not to sound too eager. Strabo gave a curt nod and turned back to the commander. Coriolanus frowned at Sejanus, who tried to read the intention behind it. Was he unhappy to be splitting up? To be facing the business meeting alone? Sejanus wasn’t sure.

“Are you sure you don’t mind going off by yourself?” Coriolanus asked. 

Sejanus shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. He touched Coriolanus lightly on the shoulder. “Maybe you can come join up with me when you’re done here.” 

Coriolanus’ eyes flicked toward Strabo and the commander, who had already begun moving into the office. “I guess we’ll see,” he said, “It may not be up to me.” He pressed a quick kiss to Sejanus’ cheek. “I’ll see you later, love,” he said before following the others. 

Alone now except for the Peacekeepers, Sejanus felt all the more uneasy in this strange underground labyrinth. “So, uh,” he said to the guards. “How do I get out of here?”

“I’ll escort you,” one of them said brusquely. Nodding to her companion, the Peacekeeper beckoned for Sejanus to follow. 

Once again he was struck by how terrifyingly lost he would become in this place without a guide. She led him back through the stone maze until they reached what looked like a train station set into the cavern walls. The Peacekeeper exchanged a few words with a guard posted at a control booth. The guard waved them through. “You’re right on time for the next train,” he said as they passed.

Sure enough, there were lights approaching through the tunnel as they got on the platform. A few others were waiting already. There were far more who streamed out of the train cars as soon as it opened its doors. People starting their shift, Sejanus realized. This must have been the train that ran from the town square into the mountain. He had to reorient himself, having gotten completely turned around in the maze. He’d thought they were on the other side of the mountain entirely. 

“This train will take us to the Justice Building,” the Peacekeeper told him as they entered and claimed seats along the side. “Unless you want to carry on past that stop, I suppose.”

“The Justice Building is fine,” Sejanus said. The doors slid closed and a moment later the train slid a little jerkily out of the station. He hadn’t really given much thought to what he would do out in the town. He’d been so focused on getting out of the claustrophobic mountain that he hadn’t stopped to consider that he didn’t really know this place anymore. His childhood streets, sure, but he didn’t trust his memory to guide him anywhere else. That was where the Peacekeeper came in, he guessed. 

He felt a definite sense of relief when the train broke free of the tunnel. He squinted against the sudden surge of sunlight flooding into the car. It wasn’t much longer after that when the train was screeching into the station. The Peacekeeper got to her feet before it had fully stopped, Sejanus joining her beside the doors.

As soon as they opened, the smell of home hit him like a physical blow.

It was a dizzying rush, overwhelming. The pine, the mountain air, the taste of overnight rain. Completely unbidden, his eyes filled with tears and he blinked them away before the Peacekeeper could notice. He followed her out into the square, reeling at how much was coming back to him that he’d forgotten. Long lost days playing outside the school building before he was even old enough to attend, digging holes in his aunt’s backyard, Ma keeping a tight hold of his hand as they took morning walks among the trees. 

He caught a sudden whiff of cinnamon sugar and his head turned by some long-buried instinct to the bakery on the western part of the square. He’d forgotten that bakery even existed but now all he could think about was their cinnamon rolls that he would beg his parents for anytime they were in this part of town. 

“Anything in particular you’re interested in seeing?” The Peacekeeper asked him.

He nodded towards the bakery. “Maybe some breakfast?”

Inside, the scent was even more pressing. Part of him felt the need to sit down before his knees gave way to the crushing weight of childhood memory. Instead, he ordered a dozen cinnamon rolls from the man behind the counter who boxed them up and handed them over. The Peacekeeper declined a roll but Sejanus ate one right there in the store, remembering so many times just like this when he was so much smaller. He would take the rest back to Ma. Maybe it would bring up as many memories for her.

Back out in the square, he was at a loss for where to direct the Peacekeeper to take him next. Part of him wanted to see his childhood home while another part was scared by the thought. What if it was different than he remembered? What if whoever lived there now looked through the window, saw him staring back, and then cursed his Plinth name for daring to set foot back in this district? That part maybe scared him the most of all.

Then an idea occurred to him. “Will you take me to my aunt’s house?” he asked. He recited the address, memorized from the number of times he had seen his mother write it on envelopes and packages. It was only a few streets over from Sejanus’ childhood home. Maybe he could build up enough courage at his aunt’s place to eventually make his way over.

Things grew increasingly surreal as they got closer. These were the streets that Sejanus had known the best, that had been printed on his heart. He couldn’t believe how small they seemed. He wasn’t sure if that was just because he had grown or because he had gotten accustomed to the grand avenues of the Capitol. He sort of hated to believe it was the latter. He didn’t want to see the world through a Capitol lens, didn’t want to look down on all other ways of life. So he chose to believe it was just his added height.

He stopped for a moment when they reached his aunt’s house, taking it in. This too seemed smaller, the doorway narrower than he remembered, the porch shallower. But so much of it was just as he had known, like the pine tree in the front yard that towered over the house or the little statue of a dog nestled among the flowers. Taking a breath to steady himself, Sejanus climbed the porch steps and knocked on the door. The Peacekeeper followed like a shadow. He felt a little apprehensive about showing up with her at his heels, but there wasn’t much alternative.

After a long, drawn-out moment, Sejanus heard footsteps on the other side of the door. It opened and he looked into the face of a woman who he hadn’t seen in real life in over ten years. For a second she looked confused, then lit up with recognition.

“Sejanus!” She cried, immediately pulling him in for a hug. 

Cornelia was a little taller than Ma and a little thinner, but otherwise they were almost identical. He was unable to control the huge grin that came over his face at being reunited with her. She beckoned him in immediately, not seeming phased at the presence of the Peacekeeper. They followed her into the kitchen where she put out teacups for them. As he sat, Sejanus saw a needlepoint hanging above the stove that matched the one in Ma’s kitchen. The sight made him smile even bigger.

“I had no idea you were in Two,” Cornelia said, filling a kettle with water.

“I just got here,” he said. “My dad’s here on business and I joined him.”

She made a face as she put the kettle on the stove. His aunt may not have cut them off the way that so many others in Two had when they left, but there was certainly no love lost between her and his father. “Is he dragging you into that already?”

“He’s trying to,” Sejanus said, grinning. “I’m not making it very easy on him.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” she chuckled. “Now, tell me all about University. Your ma says you’re studying medicine?”

He told her all about his classes, giving the Peacekeeper a sideways glance before bringing up any of his more critical thoughts about the Capitol. He tried to sugarcoat it a little for her sake, but Cornelia seemed to catch on. He asked her for details about life in Two, hearing the slight note of desperation in his own voice. She obliged him, giving updates on friends he’d known as a child, families that had been in his old social circle, neighbors that he’d almost forgotten existed. 

He treasured every word of it. 

It was several hours later before they got an update from the mountain stronghold. The Peacekeeper stepped away momentarily and then came back to let him know that Coriolanus was done for the time being and was asking about meeting up. 

“Should I tell him to come here or would you like to go back?” The Peacekeeper asked. 

Sejanus turned to Cornelia. “Would you like to meet my boyfriend?” he asked. 

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, of course!” she said, “Your ma has told me all about him.”

“Okay,” he said, smiling. He turned back to the Peacekeeper. “You can tell him to come here.”

It was perhaps a little under forty-five minutes later that Sejanus heard the sound of a car on the street outside. He got up from the table to meet Coriolanus out front, feeling the need to prepare him before meeting his aunt. He wasn’t completely sure why. Perhaps just because he knew that it was a bit more of a leap for Coriolanus to walk into this district way of life than it was for Sejanus. 

Coriolanus was just getting out of a sleek black car when Sejanus descended the porch steps. The Peacekeeper driving the car gave a nod but didn’t get out. Apparently the one in the house was enough to guard both of them. 

“Hey,” Sejanus said as Coriolanus approached, the other man’s eyes taking in the house. “This is where my Ma’s sister lives. We used to come over here all the time when I was growing up.”

A surprised-sounding laugh erupted out of Coriolanus as he stared at Sejanus. “Darling, you’ve reverted,” he said, putting his hands on Sejanus’ shoulders. “You sound just like you never left.”

“Oh,” Sejanus said, frowning. He hadn’t realized that he’d slipped back into the speech patterns of his childhood. He guessed being around his aunt had unearthed it. “I didn’t even notice,” he said, making a deliberate attempt to say it in his Capitol accent. It felt wrong somehow, even though it was how he’d been speaking for years. Being here made it feel unnatural, he supposed.

Coriolanus kissed him. “That’s more like it,” he said. He stepped back and took Sejanus’ hands. “Now why don’t you introduce me?”

Unsurprisingly, Cornelia loved Coriolanus. He was as magnanimous with her as he was with Ma, profusely complimenting the lunch spread that she’d put out for them. He answered her polite questions about the work he was doing with Strabo and even spun his studies at the University into something that didn’t sound completely horrible. 

While she cleaned up their lunch dishes, Coriolanus put an arm around Sejanus. “Have you already been by your old house?” he asked.

Sejanus shook his head. “I couldn’t seem to work up the nerve.”

“I think it would be good for you to see it,” Coriolanus said, “It’s like I said on the hovercraft this morning. You’ve been building it up so much in your head. Seeing that it’s just a house would probably give you some closure.”

Frowning, Sejanus considered that. His childhood home wasn’t really just a house, was it? It was more than that, carried more than that. He’d lived the first eight years of his life there. He’d been so happy there. And it felt a little hypocritical for Coriolanus to be saying that to him, given how important his own family home was to him. But that wasn’t fair. Coriolanus was just trying to help. He couldn’t have meant it to be dismissive.

Coriolanus touched Sejanus’ cheek. “Come on, love,” he said softly. “Would it make you feel better if I was there?”

Sejanus sighed. “It always does,” he said.

Smiling, Coriolanus pulled him to his feet. “Then let’s go.”

The goodbye with Cornelia was almost harder this time around than it had been when he was a kid. He’d been so little then, not really understanding what was happening. This time he was more aware of the distance and years between them, of the distance and years yet to come. They hugged for a long time, Sejanus unwilling to be the one to let go first. But eventually he was promising to give Ma her love and was following Coriolanus out the door.

Coriolanus made to get back into the car he’d arrived in, which was still parked out front, but Sejanus pulled him the other way. “Do you mind if we walk instead?” He asked. “It’s not far.”

“I don’t mind,” Coriolanus said, following. “Lead the way.”

The black car, now containing both Peacekeepers, crept along behind them as they walked, but Sejanus didn’t really mind. He found it preferable to them being able to listen in on their conversation. It made Sejanus feel less self-conscious about pointing out little details to Coriolanus as they went along. There were so many things he didn’t realize that he had held onto, so many half-forgotten stories that were rebirthed in their retelling. 

He grew silent when they turned onto his street. Not just a street, he thought. There was something sacred here, something intangible in the air that breathed life back into him. Not just a house, he thought as the home he’d first been raised in loomed in front of them. It was just as he’d known it, down to the uneven shingles on the left side of the roof and the red flowerpots on the front steps. He could picture Ma emerging out of the front door at any moment to water the geraniums, could picture his father striding up the path. For a moment he could almost imagine he saw his own child face peering out of his bedroom window, observing them just as he’d always observed the passersby on the street below. He saw an alternate version of his life play out, one where they’d stayed in Two, in this house. He watched himself grow up right here. And then he followed that life beyond, saw himself with a strange man who wasn’t Coriolanus, saw himself bringing over kids to meet their grandparents.

He felt a hand on his face and started. Pulled abruptly from his trance, he turned to Coriolanus. The other man brushed a tear from Sejanus’ cheek. Sejanus hastily wiped away the rest of them. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d started crying.

“Sorry,” he said, not sure what he was apologizing for. 

“It’s alright,” Coriolanus said, “I understand.”

No, you don’t, Sejanus wanted to say. Coriolanus had never left anywhere, was still living in the same place he’d been all his life with all the same people. He couldn’t possibly understand what it meant to leave behind a piece of himself and to find it again after so long. 

You’re not being fair, he reminded himself. Coriolanus couldn’t help the way his life had played out any more than Sejanus could. At least Coriolanus was here. At least he was trying. 

Sejanus kissed him. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too,” Coriolanus said, rubbing his thumb over Sejanus’ cheek. “Do you need more time?”

Sejanus looked at the house, at the apparition of his child self and his parents and his adult self and the little District Two grandkids that never would be. 

“No,” he said, “Let’s go.”