Chapter Text
Sejanus was on his phone a lot. It wasn’t uncommon to see him scrolling through texts, or on a video call with his ma, or sending photo after photo to her. That was just part of who he was. Even now, living on the other side of the country - New York was a long way from Colorado, after all, - he managed, somehow, to keep up a relationship with Ma Plinth that Coriolanus was equal parts enamored by and jealous of. Why did he get that, and not Coriolanus?
He had Tigris, though. She stopped by on her way home from work every so often, bringing Coriolanus a new, brightly colored fruit drink from the shop near Fabricia’s. After Grandma’am’s death, as elegant and far too proud as the rest of her life, the two grew nearly inseparable, through the hustle and bustle of Manhattan, and the piling rent payments. Snow landed on top, after all, despite the fact that at twenty and twenty three, the two were left with no other family but each other.
Enter Sejanus Plinth. Sejanus, who had stumbled - quite literally - into Coriolanus’ life with a cup of scalding coffee in his hands and frantic apologies gracing his lips. With stubborn, soulful brown eyes and a seemingly perpetual pout, it was hard not to feel at once annoyed by and infatuated with his presence. And he had, at one point, been little more than an annoyance to Coriolanus, offering to dry clean his blazer, rubbing his money in Coriolanus’ face as he bought him another coffee with a card emblazoned with the name “Plinth”, in striking capital letters.
Not quite billionaires, but rich, very rich, the Plinth family resided in the mountains of Colorado. Sejanus spoke of it almost wistfully, which Coriolanus couldn’t believe. Who would willingly brave the outdoors each morning just for a pleasant view? Sejanus had just laughed, splotches of color appearing high on his cheeks, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his smile dimpled his face.
It was hard not to fall in love with him.
After six months of dating, the two moved in together. Unsurprisingly, like much else about Sejanus Plinth, his apartment was overwhelmingly unremarkable. It was as though he strayed as far away from luxury as possible, still somehow maintaining a lavish lifestyle that a younger Coriolanus would have fought tooth and nail to call his own. Some nights, he swore he still was, as he sat in the kitchen, staring at the too-full pantry, wondering if the day to come would be the day that everything fell apart. He would keep it safe, cradled behind his ribs, and would tuck Sejanus next to his heart to keep him out of danger.
His therapist - the one that Sejanus had insisted he visit at least monthly, after a particularly rough argument the week after moving in together - told him that in part, some of his paranoia stemmed from household insecurity as a child. He still felt the pang of hunger in his stomach at the thought; Tigris, bringing home another leftover meal from Fabricia, who certainly hadn’t intended for it to feed three. The taste of the paste he ate when he was young, just to stop the pain in his stomach from the cramps of hunger.
Sejanus kept him fed. Cooked him warm meals when he got home from work after his classes. Kissed his forehead and kept his heart full, too, as they laid on his olive green couch, tangled together beneath a hand-knit blanket from Sejanus’ ma, only half-watching whatever was on the screen of the television. Each little quirk - his absolute hatred towards one particular weatherman, who claimed to be an amateur magician, but instead looked like “A rejected character from A Series of Unfortunate Events , Coryo, really. I’ve predicted when it will rain, and I don’t even have any of his technology, just a bad knee. I can learn magic! He’s not special”, the way he hummed while cooking, the way he would wrap Coriolanus in his arms when it got cold and the way he kissed him, like nothing else mattered, - just made Coriolanus fall deeper in love with him, in spite of himself.
They made Sejanus, but more so than that, they made him his .
There were the bad nights, too. The ones where Sejanus would hardly move from his spot in their bed, staring out the window at the street below as if he was contemplating jumping. It wouldn’t be a high jump - only four floors, not nearly the penthouse apartment that Coriolanus had expected -, but the ideation was there. Coriolanus felt like a fish out of water, floundering around for the right words to say to make the days less heavy. Often, though, he would settle for sitting in bed next to him, quiet classical music playing as he went through coursework, just to make him less alone.
They video called Ma every Saturday. Tigris came by weekly for dinner, to share new projects with Sejanus, who proudly wore a jacket she had made him, and told each and every person who asked where it was from that it was from his boyfriend’s cousin.
Boyfriend , Coriolanus had thought, with a fond smile, the first time he overheard Sejanus saying it to someone in a restaurant. That has a nice ring to it.
Things were good. For the first time in Coriolanus Snow’s life, things were good . Two years since they moved in together, and it was everything he had hoped it would be. Simple. Domestic. Comfortable. Luxurious, for a boy who grew up with the rent piling high and the threat of foreclosure on the family apartment looming somehow higher. Suited for a man who would one day become the president, but for now, was content to lay with his head dropped to the shoulder of his lover, listening to the radio as they laid together, warm, safe, and, above all else, alive .
It was raining that day, a heavy torrential downpour that Coriolanus had to walk home in. His shoes seemed heavy with water as he walked, squelching unpleasantly as he walked up the steps to their apartment. He kicked them off at the doorway, leaving wet splatters of water against the wall. His socks were soggy. Coriolanus decided that he would someday invest in better boots, but today would simply not be that day.
“I’m home,” he called, to no response.
It must have been one of the bad days.
That made sense, of course. Sejanus tended to get touchy during the late autumn and winter months, coming out of it with the sun’s return. Couple that with the gray day outside and the rain battering the windows, and it made for the ideal day for Sejanus to mope around and wallow in his emotions. He’s in the bedroom, then, Coriolanus reasoned, as he peeled his damp socks from his feet, hung his coat up on the rack, and made his way to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee with Sejanus’ too-fancy espresso machine.
A thump from the bedroom, and Coriolanus was now more certain than ever that Sejanus was in there. With the sputtering of the machine as it brewed, he headed into their room, knocking lightly on the door with the back of his hand. “Sejanus?”
“I’m here.”
Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
Sejanus cried often, something that had been more than a little difficult to learn throughout the first few months of their relationship. A sickly sweet gesture from Coriolanus, a bad day at work, a phone call that ended poorly, a phone call that ended with him missing his mother more than anything, anything could trigger Sejanus’ tears. But over time, Coriolanus had grown to learn, and tell the difference between each of his tears. The light, breathy sobs, interspersed with laughter when he was too happy and in love (and, sometimes overwhelmed in the best way by Coriolanus’ touch in the bedroom). The sobs that shook his entire body as he finally shattered and sank to the floor, back to the wall.
Then there were the silent tears. On the bad days. Coriolanus had learned early on how Sejanus needed to be treated throughout his “depressive episodes”, where he spiraled and did nothing except lay in bed and stare at the wall, almost comatose.
These, clearly, were the silent tears.
Worry painted Coriolanus’ voice, though he tried to hide it. “I’m making coffee, would you like any?” They had found - pardon the pun - common grounds over coffee, so Coriolanus reasoned it was a good enough olive branch for his lover to grasp.
The door creaked, and Sejanus’ melancholy face poked out. The man very nearly always had a pout plastered on him, and while sometimes it was for rather endearing reasons - a cute animal, as had been the case the day prior, out for a walk - this time it was certainly not. If it wasn’t the redness of his eyes, then it was the way he sniffed, looking forlorn as he looked at Coriolanus.
“I can make some tea,” Coriolanus offered instead, watching him carefully for a reaction. Sejanus’ face didn’t change much, but there was a lax in the tension of his eyebrows and forehead that made Coriolanus quietly breathe a sigh of relief. “If you’d prefer that.”
“Yeah.” Sejanus sounded wretched , his voice hoarse. Maybe it was a worse day than he had anticipated. “Mint, please.”
Normally, he would ask to help. Wrap his arms around Coriolanus' stomach and bury his face to his shoulder if it was a bad day, but be there , somehow. Now, he seemed like he wanted to curl inside of himself, disappear back into their bedroom and not come out until the sun did in the spring.
Coriolanus often felt ill-equipped to handle his incredibly emotional boyfriend. The two were at different ends of the range of emotional experience, with Coriolanus oftentimes responding to things in ways that would be described as “bad” and “wrong”, even “inappropriate” at times. On Coriolanus’ worse days, Sejanus always knew what to do. What to say, when he was certain the world was out to get him.
Coriolanus was never that emotionally intelligent.
They laid in bed together, the coffee mugs resting on the nightstand, side by side. Sejanus’ back faced Coriolanus, hunched, as he stared blankly out the window. Coriolanus’ hand rested on his shoulder, knowing better than to coax him from the state. Should he message his mother? Or ask Tigris, she would have some answer. Yes, he would do that - Sejanus always cheered up around her, and her birdlike presence would lighten up the apartment-
“Pa called.”
Coriolanus nearly missed the low scratch of his voice, the thoughts whirring through his mind enough to distract him thoroughly. He felt it, the vibration through Sejanus’ chest, more than he heard it, but the words were unmistakable.
Immediately, his mind picked up speed again, triple the pace. His father was calling. He only called when something was urgent. Ma hadn’t called, which meant that she a) didn’t know about this one, or b) was unable to. And if the option was b), with poor old Ma Plinth incapacitated in some way, then that would explain Sejanus’ tears, and if-
He was going places again. Sejanus needed him to be calm.
“What did he say?” Keep it calm. Casual. Nonchalant, but concerned. Coriolanus’ mouth felt dry. He swallowed, hard and fast, preparing for the worst. “Sejanus, is everything-”
“He’s flying in on Friday night for a conference.”
A pause.
Coriolanus could breathe again, if only barely. There was no grave news, no catastrophe that he wasn’t prepared to wade through. There was just a business trip, and the reality of what that must entail. Sejanus’ face was gaunt as he looked back at Coriolanus from over his shoulder. “He invited us out for drinks. To talk.”
The words hung heavy in the air, and Coriolanus felt…
Well, he wasn’t certain.
The relationship between Sejanus and his father had always been tense. The times that he had heard their conversations on the phone - few and far between - would consistently lead to either shouting, or Sejanus’ retreat back into the bedroom to stare numbly out the window. There was rarely a time when Strabo Plinth’s shadow didn’t haunt Sejanus, and Coriolanus knew that the pressure of his father to return home and follow in his predestined path of bureaucratic nonsense weighed on Sejanus more than he cared to admit. Even working part-time as a nurse and studying medicine full-time, Sejanus could never escape the idea of being a failure to the Plinth family name.
The intricacies of everything escaped Coriolanus. He could understand familial expectation - after all, his own parents had both died, and the Snow family name still held power in the political sphere. But besides the reassurances of Grandma’am that he would bring a new life and dignity to the Snow name, the only “expectation” had been to place food on the table and protect Tigris. His professors expecting much of him was nothing, certainly not in comparison to Sejanus and his issues.
Still. The idea that one man could hold so much power over another made something like resentment curl in Coriolanus’ stomach. The idea that Strabo Plinth , his hands soft from years of bureaucracy and ordering others to work for him, could be disappointed in his only son, who worked tirelessly to prove himself and help others, made Coriolanus’ hands ball into fists. They only loosened as he remembered Sejanus.
“What did you say to him?” His mouth felt foreign to him, like some traitorous thing that would run off any number of possibilities for how to approach the situation. He didn’t need to do that. Not here, not now, not when Coriolanus wasn’t even certain what Sejanus wanted.
Coriolanus bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.
Sejanus’ eyes grew glassy. His breath hitched, and Coriolanus was certain that he would burst into tears again before he responded, all in one breath, as if the words would burn him if he took any longer to speak them aloud.
“Are you free on Sunday?”