Prompt Post #7
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Please remember to place any Trigger Warnings in the subject line of your ( Read more... )
“My father came to visit me at Dalton on Thursday, and he showed up earlier than expected,” he says. “He walked in on me with another boy.”
He outlines the rims of the cup with the tips of his fingers. Kurt waits, a tad nauseous from the presentiment of something truly, truly bad.
“He disowned me right there and then, ‘cause, apparently, Smythes can’t be fags, therefore fags can’t be Smythes, that kind of logic. He also withdrew the tuition fee from Dalton immediately, forbade me to come home ever again and left.”
Sebastian is squeezing the cup very tightly now, dropping the pretence of being interested in the picture or anything else.
“I had to leave Dalton before the curfew: with my tuition unpaid, I had no rights to be on the grounds. And I, well, I have nowhere to go to. It’s warm in here, though, and they don’t pay attention to someone who doesn’t order anything if it’s as crowded as today.”
He stops talking and inhales deeply, his eyes unblinking and unseeing and shiny again.
“Oh God,” whispers Kurt. “God, Sebastian, I had no idea…”
You were always out, he wants to say. Everyone knew, you were hitting on everything that moves and has a dick, well, except for me. You were so at ease with yourself…
He stops himself before he can say any of this. Evidently, even if Sebastian himself had no problem accepting his sexuality, his family did.
“What about your mum?” Kurt asks, still whispering. He doesn’t want to think that Sebastian’s mother took the father’s side.
“I’d ask her opinion on the matter if I was a medium or something.” One corner of Sebastian’s lips twitches, and Kurt doesn’t like the thought of both a possible smirk and possible tears. “She died when I was, like, a couple of hours old.”
“I’m sorry,” Kurt says. “For everything, for both of your parents…”
“Now you know,” Sebastian interrupts. “And we can both be on our merry ways…”
“Wait! You said you don’t have anywhere to go. Do you have any money? Anything?”
“I had some things but I got mugged Thursday night.” That corner twitches again. “I’m thinking of selling my phone - it fell out of my pocket, I found it under a bench when they took everything else and left. Do you want to buy a new phone, Hummel? It’s working alright, although the screen is kind of cracked.”
Thursday night. It’s Saturday afternoon now. A shiver of self-disgust runs down Kurt’s spine when he remembers how smug and glad he was to see Sebastian looking like a wreck fifteen minutes ago.
“No,” he says. “No, I don’t want a phone. But you, um, you can stay at my place. You know. At least for a night. My dad won’t mind if I explain.”
Sebastian’s face is frozen in some expression that Kurt can’t really define. He looks like he’s about to either run or slap Kurt, and the only thing stopping him is the matter of choice.
Kurt decides not to wait until Sebastian comes to the obvious conclusion that he can do both if he chooses the right order of things, and says, hearing himself talk quicker and higher with every word:
“I mean it, you know. You can have dinner with us and sleep on the couch, and it’s not like it’s a hardship, I mean, if you aren’t going to kill us in our sleep, then it’s definitely be a hardship and a reckless decision, but you’ll do something stupid or die, which is stupid too, to be honest, if you stay outside for much longer, and your body will stink all over the town, and I’m sure you’ll become a ghost and will start haunting us just because you’re a jackass like that, and, well, I don’t want all that, do I?”
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