#rimeoverreason

[d2sejanus--plinth]

the last time i saw you, you were going to say something... and then you stopped. (this could fit in where you feel is best!)

“The last time I saw you, you were going to say something.. and then you stopped.”

Coriolanus’ gaze was searching, and inquisitive, and for a moment Sejanus panicked. Last time, he let himself go weak, he let himself entertain stupid scenarios that would never come to fruition, that would never, ever happen because Coriolanus wasn’t like that, he wasn’t like him, he didn’t want to hear of any of his escape plans. Here, in Twelve, he could see Coriolanus not as constrained by what kept him so tightly wound in the Capitol, he could see him let loose just a bit more, and more and more of the actual person that he was unveiled itself. He didn’t know how to feel about it, at the beginning. He had almost worshiped Coriolanus, and he was still doing it, even with every new facet he was getting privy to, even with knowing that what Coriolanus really, really wanted was not to help these people, but just do his job well and hopefully get out of here and back to the Capitol as fast as possible. He could understand it, in some way, that he wanted to be back to something familiar. But in other ways, this knowledge felt like a thorn in his side.

They were lying close to the lake, it was getting a bit late and they should return soon, really, Sejanus could mention that and leave him wondering again, but he didn’t think it would work. The sun was dipping below the horizon, and the sky was more pink than anything; it was beautiful. 

“Did I?” he started off with a question, still trying to gather his thoughts. I’m going to leave, he thought, sorrowfully, happily, and I will probably never see you again. That one was a punch to the gut. Despite everything, aside from his mother, Coriolanus was the presence most constant in his life, in his thoughts. There were others, here, especially, he’d managed to get close to a few, but no one occupied quite as much space into his very being as Coriolanus did. Woven into the fabric of his soul. That was a bit of a comfort. He didn’t think he would ever forget about him. He wished he could take a keepsake, something other than that picture of the two of them in his box. He found an interesting rock on the soil, and played with it between his fingers. 

“I don’t remember. I don’t think it was anything important,” he evaded, tossing a weak smile Coriolanus’ way. He knew that Coriolanus wouldn’t let it go so easily, he was suspicious, he was nosy, he’d proved as much. He knew that Coriolanus had been watching him. How curious, when it was he that used to watch him, back to the Academy. He wished he could tell him, he wished he could tell him badly. There was still a flicker of hope that he might react differently than he had assumed in his head, but it wasn’t very encouraging. He tossed the rock onto the ground again, and tugged at Coriolanus’ dog tag sitting on his chest, playful, nonchalant, appearing nonchalant, anyway. He wished he could take it with him, that dog tag. He looked at Coriolanus — he looked good with the buzzcut, though he missed the curls, too, and his eyes were darker, a bit intimidating, still that beautiful blue. 

“I was thinking.. what if I left?” his voice shook a little, “I can’t do this anymore.” 

[2birds1song]

are you begging? is that it? are you begging for mercy? (For Lucy Gray)

➶ ┇ from: meme sentence starters. ➶ ┇ status: accepting.

࿐ yes, she was begging for mercy. and she HATED it. to come off so weak once the pleading words did cry out of her... came to learn that's what happens to an animal once it's been trapped and it's last instinct is to squeal when it's life feels threatened. but she wouldn't admit that despite entirely resembling a trapped fawn or a bird, instead brain scrambled to come up with a new angle, "like you did coriolanus, when all that debris fell on top of you and you almost burned to death if i had just decided to leave you there. an' this is how you repay me?" angrily spitting back as heart pounded against ribcage, holding back tears in poor attempt to feel or look less weak. jaw clenching, feeling her fists BALL up in anger, "why?" @rimeoverreason

[strywoven]

cont'd. / @rimeoverreason

Head tips , canting just slightly , and although her gilded mane is pulled back into a tight braid ( as is the requirement , of course , not a manner nor measure out of place ) , a few spools come undone , toppling loose over her brow and playfully teasing across her field of view as she gives him a c u r i o u s hum , ❝ Hm , right of course , only experimenting.  How silly of me to think otherwise. ❞ Hand lifts , grazing along the fine carve of his shoulder , one finger at a time curling into place like a bird hooking onto a perch ( her grasp on him is firm , possessive ) .  ❝ You are a l w a y s up to something , a l w a y s scheming … ❞ It sounds as if she’s chastising him , but the smile upon painted lips is unmistakable ; it’s more of a COMPLIMENT .

After a moment , Verona withdraws , returning to her place behind him , her hands folding together in front of her.  ❝ Care to share ? ❞  She asks , nodding towards what he was preoccupied with.  ❝ I’m quite curious what you’ve concocted t h i s time , Master Snow. ❞  After all , anything he does is to her interest , not purely because of her position but because she g e n u i n e l y cares about what he gets up to ( it has been like that since they were children , the girl always peering over his shoulder & eager to follow him about ; very little has changed as adults , dutiful once as his best companion & now as his beloved guard ) .

[inn0cencestrained]

[ LETTER ] for Lucy Gray

@rimeoverreason

It had been passed to her as she boarded the train to head back to 12, a red envelope that smelled like roses. It took everything inside the songbird not to crumble to the ground when she read, in Coriolanus's words, how he helped her survive- the great risk he took, and how he'd been caught. He said goodbye, that he had no regrets, and that he was so sorry for everything she had to go through in the Games and beforehand.

There was no song that comfort her, no words to describe her grief and guilt nor the trauma from the Games. There was no one who could understand, and the one person she'd felt she could rely on for comfort was now likely dead at the hands of the Capitol.

But weeks later, that supposed ghost had been standing in the Hob- alive and well...or as well as he could be.

"I was so certain they'd kill you," Lucy Gray whispers as her arms tighten her hug around him. "I kept your letter, or half of it at least. I tore off and burned the part about you helping me but I...I couldn't get myself to throw away the rest."

She pulls away to stare up at his tall frame. "....Why? Why would you risk somethin like that? Y-Your life? Everything you've worked for? Why would you do that?"

[corbcro]

The question entered his mind and turned within it, stirring up memories like sediment that had settled down upon a riverbed. They weren't memories of dreams, no, but memories of nightmares. They were ones that had him shoot up from his bed as a child with an unnatural pulse and cold sweat. Horrors that had plagued his sight while awake transformed into twisted and monstrous shapes while asleep to torture him ever the more. The biting, the clawing, the ripping of flesh and the pouring out of blood . . . his body felt it all in the depths of his subconscious. But did it all mean something? His tongue poked at the inside of his cheek, him becoming suddenly aware of how dry his mouth had become. "Sometimes I wonder," he mused, no loss of steadiness to his voice despite the violent churning in his head. // @rimeoverreason

“ shoot don't go leavin' me with just that for an answer, boy! gotta toss me a little more to chew on. ”

the boy's tone was light-hearted and teasing, concealing his genuine curiosity behind the question. little did he know the existential turmoil it triggered in the singer. kenny desperately needed the answer to be negative, hoping to hear it echoed from someone else, reassuring him that his desperation wasn't the sole force behind its existence. these days, kenny found sleep elusive, haunted by the persistent fear of the day his father's men come barging back into the life he had painstakingly built from the ashes. the burning sensation in his chest kept him awake, a constant reminder of the impending threat. kenny knew the day was approaching – all he could do was hope to outrun them long enough to finally expand his lungs and breathe freely, releasing the heavy burden he carried within the cavern of his chest beforer it did. it felt like the only dream his mind conjured when he finally drifted off, some nights hauntingly real, as if within arm's reach. he could almost taste the iron in his mouth and feel the pressure on his neck. most nights, jolted by the images his mind had crafted for him, he remained awake, fervently praying to anyone who would listen, pleading for more time. unless it all wasn't real. unless it was just his paranoia knocking his ribs because the meaningless of dreams.

[d2sejanus--plinth]

I'm up for carrying you the rest of the way, he thought shamefully, a blush blossoming on his cheeks despite his attempts to push it down, to not let the heat of embarassment take over, it was all futile, the image popped in his head and couldn't, wouldn't leave, taunting him, the manifestation of a very small part of his desires. He knew he shouldn't feel ashamed of having those feelings, and he wasn't, not about the feelings themselves, but about them being about Coriolanus, who was likely entrusting him to have.. well, appropriate, friendly feelings for him, and not those mutinous, defiant feelings of want. Of warm, so warm of an affection, so all-encompassing. "Understood," it slipped, a bit belated, still with that impression of a smile on his face, inevitably shy and hoping Coriolanus either wouldn't catch up on it or wouldn't pry, though, he had a distinct feeling that he won't — Coriolanus was smart, he was brilliant, but sometimes more trivial things escaped his scrutiny easily, maybe he simply didn't pay attention to them.

When Coriolanus asked him why he didn't like the thunder, he debated for a second whether to say the simple truth or maybe turn the conversation to something less depressing, but he didn't want to lie or deceive Coriolanus in any way, and so, he was telling him — he was telling him about how they were despised in Two, infamous, about how they were targeted, about how the thunder eerily reminded him of gunshots when his thoughts drifted a bit, when his line of thinking caught in those memories. Like an arrowhead of a fish hook, his thoughts lanced into that memory and couldn't let go easily, couldn't come out cleanly. Every time it happened, it left him shaky. Coriolanus was looking at him, and he was looking at him, too, with a bit of an awkward smile. What a topic to bring up, what a dispiriting little story. There was a tingling feeling that spread from his hand, where Coriolanus' hand overlapped his, and into his arm and into his shoulder, so potent, but Coriolanus was squeezing tight, tight over his hand, and asking him if something was wrong was at the tip of his tongue.

The moment passed for him to ask, when Coriolanus looked ahead, and instead he asked about the thunder, about the fear of the thunder. He started to wonder if it was a good idea to ask when Coriolanus seemed.. a bit off, tilted, and he figured it must've been another story like his own. Coriolanus mentioned the bombs and — it made sense. He continued to watch him, tried not to stare, but just watch gently as he spoke, his heart taking on a quicker pace when Coriolanus' voice tapered off. "Yeah?" He didn't even know if he wanted to encourage the rest of that phrase, stunned when Coriolanus did finish it. Stunned, shocked, his nose burning right away, tears springing to his eyes. A tear that fell at the corner of his eye and he quickly wiped away.

"Oh, Coriolanus." What could one say, to such a tragedy? Coriolanus was so young then. "That must have been so awful." He couldn't imagine — yes, their other family, their family friends, too, all abandoned them, but he still had his parents, it was inconceivable. Coriolanus was slowing down, and he seemed dazed, the noise of the raindrops seemed suddenly defeaning. "Coriolanus," he tried again, touching over Coriolanus' hand that was gripping the handle, so very delicately, looking at him, the need to comfort him was an almost a physical thing, he felt like he would die if he didn't. "I'm so sorry that—that happened. Oh, Coryo." The moniker slipped out, he'd called him that only in his thoughts, but he didn't care to be embarrassed now, he held the umbrella with his other hand, and his arm curled a bit tentatively over Coriolanus' shoulders, patting him lightly on his shoulder blade, in a rhythmic motion. It was what his mother did, when he embraced him when he was upset.

They stopped in their tracks. The raindrops were loud, hitting the pavement, but not as defeaning as they felt earlier. Another thunder cracked the sky, and his hand gripped involuntarily at Coriolanus' shoulder. He was touching him more than he'd done, maybe ever, but it was all so instinctive he couldn't have stopped himself.

It felt as if he was helping support a pillar, that if he were to let go of the umbrella handle the entire sky would fall down on top of them and crush them. It already felt like the air was being pulled out from his lungs as they continued to walk side by side with the thunder now almost a physical weight against them. But Coriolanus kept his breathing steady along with his hand, matching Sejanus' small smile with his own. "Just keep them in check, unless you're up for carrying me the rest of the way." There always seemed to be something extra just behind those deep brown eyes, some half-finished thought or action that continuously hovered about but never came in to land.

As Sejanus began speaking again he listened closely, the sound of the rain against the umbrella matching the tone of his words. A complimentary accompaniment that he'd have no problem listening to for the remainder of their walk. Though when he looked at him something caught in his throat when he brought up his family. As much as Coriolanus knew about how the Plinths were talked about there in the Capitol he was completely unaware of how they were treated back in their home District. He had a feeling it was far from pretty; the fact Sejanus' father got to where he was by aiding the Capitol would certainly not garner them any warmth from their own people, but the mention of gunshots pained an entirely new picture.

A picture not all too different from his own.

Coriolanus' hand dropped a bit down the handle, quite clearly hearing the echo of gunfire in his skull. Gunfire mixed with bomb detonations and parts of buildings collapsing. It took a moment for him to realize his hand was slightly overlapping Sejanus' and gripping the handle hard enough to turn his knuckles white. After a small shake of his head he let go, looking ahead though not focusing on anything. His stomach turned as he was asked the same question. Who knew that a simple walk home would result in such conversation. He'd been entrusted with his friend's story--friend? really?--and though he felt a burning rise up into his throat he wanted to get out what he'd kept to himself.

"The . . . it was the first big air raid here. I can still feel Tigris holding onto me, trying to keep me calm when she should've been the one being held. My mother should have been holding me but . . ." Coriolanus' voice faded as he continued to stare straight ahead, though the rainfall, as if he were looking far past the borders of the Capitol itself. A numbing sensation traveled downward from his head and his pace slowed. It was safe at home in his drawer, his mother's compact, safe and dry, and so he tried to imagine the smell of roses surrounding him, enfolding him. He didn't bother wiping his eyes even though he felt that particular pressure start to build behind them. "I was going to have a baby sister, I was supposed to, but," he stated before swallowing the lump in his throat, "but my mother couldn't get to a hospital so I lost them both."

He didn't care about not getting wet anymore. He felt like one solid wave of water had hit him straight on and stopped him dead in his tracks. He didn't want to look at Sejanus, didn't want to see how he was being looked at. All he wanted was for the walk to be over and to put that memory back into place. Back into the dark.

[restlesstigris]

It'd been stored in his drawer for years and even now, after he'd had it laying out at the foot of his bed for most of the morning, it still retained the light smell of roses. The orange color of his mother's wrap was the most bright thing in his room save for the bright white of the falling snow just outside his window. It was cold, well below freezing if he had to venture a guess, and the chill was strong enough to pierce through his father's robe (perhaps that meant something deeper but he wouldn't waste any thought on it.)

Though the thread had thinned a bit it was still one extra barrier against the gloom of the apartment. Draping it carefully over his forearm he stepped out into the hallway and proceeded to find Tigris by the window in the living room. He thought about saying something first but before he could get out some syllables his hands were already settling the wrap across her shoulders.

"If only our namesake could've been something like 'sunshine'," he finally said, offering a small joke to at least warm up the mood if they couldn't warm up themselves. But he kept his hands wrapped around her upper arms and took in as much of the cold as he could.

The winter always reminded Tigris of happier times. Of unboxing presents around the fire. Of her mothers gentle laughter, of her aunts and uncles warm apartment. It was not a warm apartment anymore. The cold trickled in from every crack and crevice left by the war. Tigris found herself with her eyes glued to the window, her nose tinted red with cold, the white snow falling and gathering at the edges of the apartment window begging to be let in. The small, crackling fire made of damp branches did not help their cold situation. She was only glad Grandmam was at somebody else’s nice and warm house.

There are hands settling around her shoulders before she can think, and Coriolanus has found his way to her. Her snowflake, she thinks, eyes blue as ice. His hands wrap around her, encasing the two in the golden orange shawl that looked like a sunset on a dark winter day. His joke about their namesake made her laugh, a gentle chuckle reverberating through the crackle and pop of the fire.

“I don’t know, Coriolanus Sunshine? Tigris Sunshine? I think snow is nice… both us and the stuff outside..”

Her voice is soft, like a breeze, as she leans back, letting him encompass her. Despite the shawl being thin- Tigris felt warmer already in his arms. She always could count on him to keep her safe, and warm, and loved. He cared the most about her. She felt so very loved.

[songbirdreaped]

"And did you think I didn't see you?"

lucy gray felt her skin crawl as she heard the words from that all too familiar voice. she froze in place, heart pounding in her chest as she swallowed nervously. ❝ i didn't, no. ❞ she answered honestly, slowly turning to face him. she could hear her heart beating loudly, blocking out all other sound. she clenched her jaw, trying to look strong even though she could feel her knees threatening to give out beneath her. she wanted to run, every inch of her was screaming for her to run, yet she couldn't.

[musingmemories]

@rimeoverreason sent: ❝ I'm fine. Of course I'm fine. I'm not allowed to be anything else. ❞ From Coriolanus to Lucy Gray.

Bitterness. Lucy Gray could hear it beneath Coriolanus’ soliloquy, words typically voiced to mean reassurance and sounded anything but. The initial I’m fine had Lucy Gray about to call Coriolanus out, knowing him well enough by now to know he wasn’t — that he didn’t need to lie, not to her — and tongue was rendered silent after the second I’m fine’s phrasing had been changed, followed by a remark she hadn’t been expecting: I’m not allowed to be anything else.

Oh how she could relate to that.

In fact, Lucy Gray felt majority of people might be able to. Allowed to do things, be things, feel things… more often than not they all seemed to be controlled factors in this world. All of Panem worked like puppets on strings, the Capitol their master. Including their own residents, it seemed, the veil between us and them becoming more clear the more time she spent with Coriolanus. But how the Capitol was run was entirely up to Lucy Gray’s imagination, a glimpse given when she’d arrived for her game, and afterward being a Victor.

Her expression was grim as a hand gently reached out to touch his shoulder, Coriolanus having come all this way to Twelve just for her… they had each other now. “You’re allowed not to be fine, Coriolanus, you know that… don’t you?” Had he never had the privilege? Mahogany orbs looked out toward the water, wind gently caressing her cheeks — a bit too cool to swim despite the sun shimmering through the trees for the time being. “Screaming under water’s helped me in the past. When I can’t find any other outlet and music doesn’t even cut it.” Rare, all her emotions feeling crammed all at once, unable to string them together individually.

Running her hand down the line of his arm, Lucy Gray found Coriolanus’, threading her fingers through the gaps and giving it a squeeze. “Wanna go for a swim? Water symbolizes clarity… and the cold might shock the system enough to restart it. Take your mind off things.”

[d2sejanus--plinth]

The pounding bass was barely an echo rushing past his ears. It was the same for the flashing lights that streaked across every surface, barely noticed by his eyes which were already dilated. Nothing could pull him away or otherwise distract him from the private entertainment he was currently a part of.

Nestled atop Sejanus' lap with knees like a vice against his waist and hands grasping loosely at his shoulders, Coriolanus was deep into his mouth. His throat stung from the drops of vodka he licked up off the other man's tongue and his head swam in a pleasurable lightness. Were it not for the hands that gripped tightly at his hips he felt he would have surely floated to the ceiling.

"It's a good thing you're to my taste," he breathed, dipping his tongue back into Sejanus' mouth, "I'm very picky when it comes to my drinks."

He zeroed in on this feeling. Everything around him, around them, outside of Coriolanus, was a blur, was insignificant. Coriolanus was a steady, dizzying weight on him, on his lap, and his tongue was delving into his mouth, so heatedly as if he was seeking for something, maybe his soul. He only had to ask for it. Shivers upon shivers struck him, and the daze of the alcohol was settling nicely over his conscience, but that was secondary, really it was Coriolanus who was.. really impairing his control. His lips curled around his tongue, sucking every drop of expensive liquor, his mind fogging further, his hands curled over Coriolanus' hips. His voice was hazy, but it carried enticingly to Sejanus' ears, and he was grinning, surely grinning like a fool, his eyes dark with desire, tongue sliding against Coriolanus' tongue eagerly, "Mm, what is next? Another thousand dollar vodka bottle?" His hands swept up, over Coriolanus' back, pulling him in, greedy, kissing his lower lip, and all over his jaw, "Think this is your new favorite way of drinking," he tilted back just to reach quickly on the table for another vodka shot, wincing for a second, it rushed to his head. He was tingling everywhere, the alcohol but most especially the superb man sitting in his lap were making him all excited, lightheaded. His mouth burned, his hand curled over Coriolanus' nape and brought him down into another feverish kiss, their teeth clashing a bit, it only made him laugh.

[d2sejanus--plinth]

@rimeoverreason

He wanted to die. Seeing Marcus, propped up like some grotesque toy, seeing, feeling the indifference from everyone else around him as they simply wrote him off as yet another tribute falling, he couldn’t help his outburst. He didn’t care, he didn’t care about anything at all anymore, his throat feeling raw and sore and his heart ferocious in his chest. He couldn’t stay away, he couldn’t stay holed up in his room, safe, no, he couldn’t allow this to go on anymore, there had to be something he could do, something to make everyone see how twisted and unfair they were being, how vile. The thought of letting himself be torn apart to shreds by those kids in the arena, the thought of being stabbed with Coral’s trident, the thought of being decimated in any form, none bothered him, if anything, they brought him some comfort; he’d longed for death many times, for a way out of here, and if this was the only way he could make it happen, then it had to be done.

Breaking into the arena was easy enough, and, with disgust, he thought there are benefits to being a Plinth, after all — he was here on a mission, to perform the last rites for Marcus, the boy who showed him kindness back in Two, to ensure he had food to eat on his way to the afterworld. It was jarring, seeing a dead body up close, bile rising in his throat, initially, but maybe it was a testament to how dead he felt inside already that soon enough he was numb, laying a hand on Marcus’ body, sprinkling bread crumbs gently along, all out of tears. He’d sobbed his throat raw before coming here, he knew it’d cut him when he spoke again — he was ready to die, oh, so ready, and he felt bad for Ma, his heart twisted at the idea of her seeing him die like this, but there was no other option. All that was left to do was to die.

He was smart enough to know he wouldn’t be left alone. But seeing Coriolanus there left him with a feeling of despair and apprehension, and fear, then, for the other boy. He urged him to go, and he felt his skin crawl when there were finally noises around them, when it seemed that the tributes were onto them. Despite wanting to die so badly, he couldn’t help the feeling of fear, feral and abject, couldn’t help the panic rising in his chest. Coriolanus’ words were mostly failing to stick to his brain, as rattled as he was, but the feeling of him so close did bring comfort, in a way. He was tempted to go, if only so that Coriolanus didn’t die, because he didn’t deserve it. He did, for being safe here when he was supposed to be at the Reaping in Two if things didn’t turn out how they did. Before he knew it, they were running, and his ears were ringing something awful. Then he felt the stabbing pain in his knee after his fall, and he thought, that’s it, but death didn’t come. He heard Coriolanus shout, and he looked on frightfully, dazedly as his friend bludgeoned one of the tributes, right into the ground. Coriolanus saved his life. He felt his arm go around his waist and they sprinted, with him limping all the way, barely making it before Coral caught up with them. Let the buying begin, he’d told Coriolanus as they parted ways, he falling into his mother’s arms, devastated, shaken, defeated. 

His head was throbbing, his chest, his knee. He didn’t want to take the painkillers, if only to feel something, something other than rage, but his mother insisted. His mind blurred, he thought of Coriolanus — Coryo — and if he was alright. Of course, he couldn’t be, not after what happened in the arena, and his heart squeezed at the thought, and he felt this warmth beneath his breastbone, in spite of all. His friend saved his life, and he’d never forget it. There was another person beside his mother that didn’t want him to die. He felt delirious, out of it, but he wanted so badly to know about Coriolanus, how he was feeling, if he was injured, if he needed help, help that Sejanus was now only even more eager to offer, to reciprocate. He felt better after a while, physically that is, and he made a request to his mother. He asked her to get ahold of Coriolanus, to bring him to the apartment, if he wished to visit. If he needed anything, Sejanus would give; Coriolanus gave him his life, preserved his life. He was thankful beyond what words can express, and there was also the rush of guilt, bitter in his throat. Of course, if he didn’t go into the arena, then Coriolanus wouldn’t have had to risk his life. Still, the ice around his heart broke away a little, allowing him to feel something else other than fear and rage: gratitude, affection. Longing, he figured, yes, he did long to see Coriolanus, to know he was as good as he could be. He could only wait.

[d2sejanus--plinth]

@rimeoverreason sent "What the devil have you been up to?"

"What the devil have you been up to?"

“What’s it to you, Coriolanus?” Coriolanus. He didn’t call him that very often. But he’d been pushed to the limit lately, the work at the hospital stretching on, it was stressful, his nerves felt raw and laid bare. So maybe he didn’t come back here for a few nights, maybe he asked a friend for company so he wouldn’t drink too much. Maybe he’d had to do too many gastric lavage interventions on too many avoxes; he wasn’t a toxicologist, but that wasn’t going to stop him from using the hospital’s resources on people who apparently had no rights, to help even a little bit. Many were coming from the lab where they tested new poisons, and while Coriolanus wasn’t directly in charge of it anymore, it angered Sejanus to no end that he wasn’t stopping all this cruelty, when he could, so easily. Coriolanus was President. 

And now he was questioning his absence. “What, you don’t know? The President doesn’t have eyes everywhere?” His prodding raised his hackles, and he wasn’t in the mood to be any sort of polite. Sometimes, he could barely look at Coriolanus’ face, filled with a rage that was going nowhere, burning, corroding his insides, a rage that was directed in equal measures at himself, too.

Sometimes he wanted to toss him around, to punish him, to give him even a bit of the pain that all these other people he impacted felt. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted to hurt him, and it felt shameful how much that thought excited him, how it stirred him. It still felt shameful, even as it wasn’t something new. The shame, however, was strongest before the action started; and the retribution felt so good afterwards. 

“You should be careful, Mister President. I think someone will break in tonight,” it was a code of sorts they had, his eyes darkened as he looked over at him, and he convinced himself more and more that it was an amazing idea. He was so wound up, so pent up that he felt entitled to take, and take and take, like Coriolanus always did. It was his turn. 

[d2sejanus--plinth]

His forehead rested against the still-cool shower tile while close to scalding water flowed down his back. Coupled with the consistent sound of the spray it was almost hypnotic, practically forcing him to loosen up. Coriolanus rarely had moments where he allowed himself to loosen up, to let go of the stresses of the day, but when he did he took full advantage of the seconds that continued to tick by.

A sudden cold draft made him tense up but it was soon replaced by a warmth that wrapped around his chest and dragged through his hair. Losing himself was almost a certainty now, letting his body fall into neutral.

"I don't know why I even have a stylist," he said, the words rolling slowly out, "you do just fine."

Coriolanus took long showers when he could really indulge. Sejanus readily encouraged him to do it more often, because he knew that it'd help with the tension in his body, that it'd help slacken the knot of thoughts in his head, leave his mind blissfully, quasi-empty. Sejanus had a habit to join him there, and this time, too, he rolled his shoulders to dispel some of the tension after his own day, put away his clothes and sauntered to the en suite.

It was a disarming sight. Always. It was precious, and he couldn't get enough of even the thought of sharing this kind of intimacy with Coriolanus, he dove into it with a starving heart. Walking onto the small rug he then slid the shower door and slipped in, eased into a loose sort of embrace, his arm around Coriolanus' torso, his hand splayed on his chest, the other in his hair.

A low, small chuckle passed his lips at the other man's comment, he sounded rather relaxed, it was wonderful to hear, he pressed a lax kiss to his shoulder, "You'd let me do your hair?" Coriolanus looked handsome when he wore his hair slicked back, but he looked more sweet looking with the curls untamed, at home. "Did you wash it yet?" the water was near searing, but it wasn't uncomfortable even as it wasn't his preference; it was soothing. "Kiss me hello," he urged, his chin wedged over Coriolanus' shoulder, his head tipping a bit, his nose bumping Coriolanus', his lips curved into a smile, anticipating.

[d2sejanus--plinth]

What he was holding in his hands was probably the most valuable thing he currently owned. He'd felt ridiculous even asking Tigris to get them when she was last at the market and had hastily taken back his request before she left. However she'd returned with them anyway, the sweetest of smiles upon her face as she'd handed him the bag. They weren't for him, though.

Coriolanus slipped one from the bag and palmed it before tying the bag back up (he deserved at least one). He could feel his hands getting clammy already which meant he had to do this quick, before his palm became sticky with sugar. Spotting the other in the hall was easy and fortunately--though it was often the norm--he was alone.

Stepping up behind him he lifted himself onto the balls of his feet, giving him just enough height to settle his chin lightly atop Sejanus' shoulder. "I thought you could use these," he stated as he handed over the bag of gumdrops, the words somehow flowing steadily despite feeling like his whole body was shaking.

The whole exchange was a blur and as Coriolanus pulled himself away he took a few steps backwards and placed the gumdrop he'd taken between his teeth, flashing a smile before turning and continuing on.

The whoosh of someone sliding behind him almost made him turn back right that very instant, but before he could, there was something— something happening with a quickness that overtook his. He felt someone's chin wedge into the dip of his shoulder and he froze entirely, confusion washing over his face, his eyes wide and curious and startled. His heart beat so strongly in his chest it felt like it pierced at his ribcage with each leap.

But he didn't have to wait long to figure out who was behind him. That voice. Unmistakable. Tendrils of warmth spilled down his chest, his stomach, a sense of wonder falling over him and, at the same time, tentative, carefully suppressed shakiness, giddiness. "Coriolanus—" he'd gone to turn his head, just a little, but again, Coriolanus was so swift, retreating after he put something in his hand. Sejanus quickly looked down, his face suffused with elation when he spotted what it was that he was given. Gifted.

Gumdrops.

He turned around in a jiffy, catching Coriolanus' smile, and tossing back a smile of his own, one that took over his face, that made his cheeks, soft with baby fat, lift high. Coriolanus had a gumdrop for himself, and he looked so.. mischievous. Sejanus' face burned. "Thank you!" He hoped he didn't sound too loud. He sounded happy, he could hear himself. He could feel his shoulder tingle, where Coriolanus' chin had rested, he almost wanted to scratch his fingers over it, to rub his palm there. It was not going to go away for a bit, he knew.

Looking down at the bag, he figured there really were too many gumdrops just for himself. A resolution was made, he will seek Coriolanus after class again. The gumdrops will be rightfully shared between them. Gumdrops. He wondered if this was just a random candy he'd picked, or if he remembered. Their first meeting. Gumdrops in his shaky, nervous hand. Those clear, inquisitive, beautiful blue eyes.

He'll have to ask him later.

[2birds1song]

* ❁  ─── continued from here | @rimeoverreason 🕊

❝ guess after all that anticipation you really can conk out anywhere. feel like i've been ran over by a log. ❞ almost sounded like the peaceful thing she was searching for was being plowed over by a log. ❝ and guess it helps i've fallen right asleep in some uncomfortable places 'lot of times already. ❞ lips twitched in an amused smile, he had no idea of all the uncomfortable makeshift beds she's had to build in her young life time. so this is almost like second nature, even though he still has a good point.

just as lucy gray was about to say she might find a minute of sleep but she's givin' up on finding any peace in these surroundings, the blond she's eyeing –– even down to absorbing his mannerisms with his knuckles bumping against each other –– decided to actually give her some good ideas. ❝ that's not a bad idea. ❞ the brunette compliments out loud, proud smile curling lips that reached the warm chocolate of her eyes.

❝ some peaceful memories . . . ❞ an image inside her head began painting itself to life almost right away, ❝ would remind me a lot of bein' out in those fields back home overlooking those tall beautiful mountains. especially in the spring time sittin' in a bed of fresh growin' grass, when everything's just startin' to speckle that vibrant lime green color. flowers popping up everywhere. there's a new life breathin' into the world. the birds are chirpin' happier and butterflies are dancin' around and i'm strumming along to my favorite song with my guitar. ❞

[d2sejanus--plinth]

@rimeoverreason sent ❛ i know you. how else do you think i found you so easily? ❜

Coriolanus was Head Gamemaker. There was a celebration, extravagant and excessive, so opulent that it made Sejanus’ skin crawl, so much money spent on such fickle things. He’d been mostly ignoring Coriolanus for the past few days, as soon as he was made aware of the upcoming change in Coriolanus’ title. Volunteering at the hospital, visiting his parents, meeting up with some friends he’d made at university, trying to block out what was happening, trying desperately to ignore it. Full control over the Games. The last voice to decide. The power to kill, and maim, and torture, without repercussions. A power so vast it was dizzying to think about. And yet, Coriolanus was only getting started. 

The party was held at the Snow penthouse, nicely redecorated, having been brought to its full former glory for a while now. Sejanus felt so out of place suddenly, among effusive, loud guests, still avoiding Coriolanus; he could have made an excuse to decline the invitation, he could have rejected it, but he couldn’t stay away. Even as he loathed this with every ounce of his being, he missed Coriolanus something awful, and he wanted to see.. what? If he was reveling in this new development? He most certainly was. He wanted to see him, his feet dragged here by his treasonous heart. Coriolanus’ gaze fell on him instantly as he held the first toast, as he spoke exuberantly about this new opportunity. His smile was blinding. Sejanus’ gaze was hard, and he felt on the verge of a panic attack.

As soon as Coriolanus was mingling within the crowd, he bolted out of there. He didn’t go home, no, instead, he found his way up to the roof, to the rose garden. After his grandmother died, Coriolanus had it tended to by talented gardeners. He snuck into the solar greenhouse, row after row of sumptuous white blooms in there, and the fragrance, oh, so staggeringly intense. It reminded him of Coriolanus. Stumbling, he immediately sat on the stone bench there, as he was starting to hyperventilate. He clenched hard over the edges of the stone he sat on, struggling to take in deep breaths, feeling lightheaded. His chest hurt dreadfully, and he attempted to squeeze down on it, a mantra in his head, that he was okay, it was just a panic attack, he was not going to die. It wasn’t his first rodeo, after all.

He summoned his most cherished memory here, a few years ago, Coriolanus sitting beside him on this very bench, pressing a rose into his hand so he could bring it back to his mother. A sneaky thorn had grazed his palm, and he remembered Coriolanus fussing a bit over it. He remembered that he was smiling so widely his face couldn’t contain it. He remembered Coriolanus looking at him, with a strange look on his face, and then leaning in. The smell of roses so strong around him, around them, and Coriolanus’ lips on his, somewhat needy, and cold from the time they spent on the roof outdoors, into the chilly early March. It was nothing short of perfection. He was perfect. 

His breathing slowed. When he looked up, he was looking into Coriolanus’ eyes, and he was sitting right in front of him. It must have been only minutes that he was gone from the party. “Go back to the party, Coryo,” he exhaled, his heart resuming its faster pace, “Why did you come up here?” Despite himself, Coriolanus was so close that he couldn’t help but lean into him, his head falling softly to his tummy, with a sigh, he’d missed being close to him so much that tears pricked at his eyes. 

I know you. How else do you think I found you so easily? He really must have been gone only a few minutes, and the idea of Coriolanus noticing that quickly made his stomach twist. He pulled back, but his arms curled around Coriolanus’ waist, almost against his own will. He looked up at him, a question in his eyes, ready to fly from his lips, “What happens now?” Not with this moment, not with them. What happens now, that you have this power? “What are you going to do?”