Warnings: Domestic abuse (both emotional and physical), language, (mention of) rape, emotional infidelity, mental instability, sex

"Sebastian Benjamin Smythe," a low voice roars as Sebastian reaches for the doorknob. He holds it, but doesn't turn it, instead he waits for the voice to continue.

"If you walk out that door right now, it's over."

It sounds tempting, really, to just open the door and leave. Have it all be over, right then and there. But it doesn't work like that and Sebastian knows it. It isn't over, it won't ever be over, even if it is. It sounds cryptic, even in Sebastian's mind, but it makes sense. It makes almost too much sense and he doesn't trust it. It won't be over, it isn't over and it's not going to be over.

Sebastian doesn't even know for sure if he wants it to be over. If it's over it means he has nowhere to live, nowhere to go to. Nowhere to hide, really.

He'll think of something, he'll cover up the bruises and he'll tell people he had the flu for a few days. He knows he's staying, he knows he's not going anywhere, but still he keeps his hand on the doorknob. This time it's not him, he's not going to be the one to apologize first.

Sebastian is always the one who apologizes first, and granted he's mostly the one in the wrong, he's never the one to start a fight. So no, this time he's not the first to turn around.

He won't bury himself in those familiar arms and cry and say I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'll never do it ever again.

This time, he needs to hear those words before he'll utter them himself. I'm sorry Sebastian, I won't do it ever again.

He's heard it countless times, he's heard them from his mouth, from his own mouth, he's heard them when they were meant to be true, he's heard them when he still believed in them and when he hears them now he knows it will be a week or two before that promise is broken.

The promise is always broken.

He doesn't know why he lets it get this far, he used to be strong and independent. He used to live in freaking Paris and now he lives here, in thisshabby apartment with this man he doesn't even really love and still, he does everything this man tells him to.

He bends to his every wish, he makes sure he's quiet when he gets home, he makes sure to keep the beer in fridge. He fucking provides for this man and still he orders Sebastian around like Sebastian is a lost little boy. Which, just maybe, he is.

Sebastian starts counting the ticks of the great grandfather clock in the corner of the single room apartment, most likely the only valuable thing they own, which includes themselves. Sebastian isn't valuable, not anymore.

He counts, 1.. 2.. 3.. 4..

Nothing happens. Not daring to glance over his shoulder over to the double bed in the corner, the one where he knows someone's staring at him, he counts on.

5.. 6.. 7.. 8..

He hears movement behind him, shifting, but he keeps focused on the ticking of the clock, he promises himself that he'll leave, actually leave, if he reaches 60.

33.. 34..35.. 36..

Footsteps, coming closer, but still no voice apologizing. His hand on the doorknob tightens, completely ready to open it.

40.. 41.. 42.. 43

A heavy hand on his shoulder, it's a relief.

It's a burden.

44.. 45.. 46.. 47..

"Sebastian."

This time it's whispered and it's affectionate, it's the voice for which Sebastian will melt, any time of any day.

He doesn't need an apology, he doesn't need to hear those words, because he knows he is needed here.

If he leaves it's over. It can't be over, not more for him than for this man.

"I'm sorry daddy."

51.. 52.. 53.. 54..

There's still time for his father to make the final move. Sebastian's hand is still tight on the doorknob and his father has still not told him he's sorry.

"I know, son," his father says as he pulls Sebastian away from the door.

For a moment Sebastian's grip tightens, but eventually the hand on his shoulder is stronger than his will to change things, so instead he lets go and turns around, straight into his father's arms.

57.. 58.. 59.. 60

The minute is over, he's had his chance and there was no apology yet. Sebastian should leave. He will leave.

He relaxes in his father's arms, they're strong and warm and strangely comforting for someone who just gave him a black eye.

"Don't ever pull that on me again, do you hear me?"

The words sound venomous, and sends shivers down Sebastian's spine like they do each day, with every word that comes out of his dad's mouth. Only this time it's stronger, more real.

Worse.

"Don't you dare leave me."

"I won't," Sebastian hears himself say, "I won't leave you daddy, I'll stay right here."

Where is here? What does his father mean, here in his arms, here in this dodgy apartment? Here in Lima, Ohio?

"Let's get you some ice," his father says hoarsely as he pulls back from the hug reluctantly, crossing the dirty room towards the small fridge. The fridge that contains only uneaten microwavable food.

"Want some beer with that ice?" his father asks nonchalantly, as if it's the most normal thing in the world to offer your seventeen year old son, whom you've just given a black eye. A beer to go with the ice for said black eye.

"No, thank you," Sebastian mutters.

The clock is still ticking, far beyond 60 now, no apology.

"Come on, it's Saturday," his dad says, "it's not like you're driving back to Dalton in the morning."

Dalton. His safe place, home.

"I don't really feel like drinking right now," Sebastian mutters.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"Act like a normal teenager and drink this fucking beer, Sebastian."

So of course, he takes the bottle from his dad and opens it. He reluctantly drinks, he doesn't want to drink. He needs his head to be clear if his dad is going to drink anymore. His dad, whom he once idolized. Who he still idolizes. Doesn't every seventeen year old idolize his dad?

When his dad gets up to use the small bathroom on the foot of the bed, Sebastian almost empties his beer bottle in the sink. Not completely, his dad would never believe he drank that much in such a short amount of time.

He starts counting the ticks of the clock again. It's a thing he does now, the ticks of the clock keep him grounded, give him a sense of time.

He counts and counts and counts.

360.. 361.. 362.. 363

Sebastian thinks his dad might take a while longer, now he hears the shower run, so he throws the entirety of his bottle down the drain, busying himself with his brand new iPhone.

Better make sure his dad doesn't see it, he would probably just throw it against the wall and yell at Sebastian for still taking gifts from his mother.

He knows his dad doesn't agree with anything to do with his mom, hardly agrees to have her pay for Dalton, so he knows better than to tell his dad he only drives his shabby old car around the corner, where is BMW is parked to drive to school. He doesn't tell his father he has this brand new iPhone, nor that he has a MacBook in his room at Dalton.

Sometimes Sebastian thinks his dad is onto something when he comes home with proper food or enough beer to keep him happy for a week, but then he'll mutter little slut,punch him in the ribs and take the alcohol without a thank you. It should probably hurt Sebastian that his father is willing to take beer if Sebastian had sex for it, rather than when Sebastian uses his mom's money, but it doesn't. Not anymore.

987.. 988..989..990..

The clock ticks on and on and the shower is still running. Sebastian knows the water has run cold by now and decides that, if the shower is still running by 1000 he'll go knock on the door and ask his father if he needs anything.

No asking if something's wrong, because the word wrong would mean weakness and Sebastian will never ever imply to his dad he could be weak. He's not sure if he would survive if he did.

997.. 998..999..1000..

He scoots over to the foot of the bed, where he can reach the door and knocks on it softly.

"Daddy? Do you need anything?"

No answer.

"Daddy, do you want me to get you a towel?"

Still no answer, but the clock keeps ticking.

1020.. 1021.. 1022.. 1023..

"Dad, if you do not answer me in twenty seconds, I'm opening the door."

When that doesn't receive an answer immediately, Sebastian knows he's going to have to open the door, probably haul his father off the floor and into the bed. He's done it numerous times before, which is saying something - he's only lived with his dad since June.

1040.. 1041.. 1042.. 1043

Sebastian opens the door and finds his dad stark naked in a pool of sick, cold water still running over his body. He half laughs to himself, thinking how everyone at school is so quick to believe his dad is state senate Smythe. Oh, if only they knew.

He takes the shower head off the wall, winces as he knows it's freezing, but still washes the puke off his father's body before turning the water off.

"Come on," he says as he hollers his father up on his feet. Not that his father will wake up, the man is too far gone.

He hoists his dad arm over his shoulder and drags his dad out into the smelly room where fruit is rotting away on the small kitchenette counter, and dumps his dad on the bed rudely. It's not like the guy will wake up from anything right now.

He walks around the bed to make it easier getting his dad in a comfortable position. It drags a groan out of the man's mouth, but still no waking up. It's good he's groaning, though, something to know he isn't actually dead.

Sebastian towels his dad dry gently, with a towel that must not have been washed since Sebastian first moved in, maybe he should get on that. It's only seven pm after all, he should go to the launderette at the end of the road.

Yes, maybe he'll do that.

First he dresses his father, makes sure he is warm and comfortable. The man had just spend over ten minutes under a cold shower, after all. He gets some sweatpants that smell around the man's legs, takes one of his Dalton hoodies out of his suitcase and pulls it over his dad's head. It's nice, warm and clean, just came back from Dalton's dry cleaning. After Sebastian has pulled the hoodie completely down, his dad sighs and it's almost content as far as he can tell. He pulls his legs up and lies in fetal position, giving Sebastian the chance to take the duvet at pull it completely over his dad's limp and unconscious body.

Another 600 ticks of the clock have gone by when Sebastian is absolutely sure his father is comfortable, warm and unconscious enough to not notice Sebastian moving around the room frantically.

First he takes every single piece of clothing that is scattered over the floor and throws it by the door, to take with him. Then he empties the entire closet next to the bed, though silently and careful to not wake his father, and throws it by the rest of the clothes at the door.

Following to that he takes the suitcase he took home from Dalton and puts all his neat, clean clothes in his side of the closet. What his dad called his side of the closet on his first day back in Lima. It had maybe lasted two days before the entire closet was a complete mess. Two days before Sebastian noticed something was going on.

Of course, he'd known his dad had recently lost his job and that he wouldn't live as luxurious as in Paris, but it had been his choice because of Dalton, his dad had attended Dalton and it seemed like a good choice for him now, after what happened in Paris. Safe, and a home he didn't have in Paris anymore.

So he packed his bags and got on a plane to his dad. His father had warned him, told him things weren't looking up in Lima, that the economy was bad and he had lost his job. Sebastian didn't think much of it, it was only temporary to him, until his dad would find a new job and have enough money to rent a two bedroom apartment. He wouldn't ask for much, just a room for himself. Still, even if it wasn't much to ask for it was still too much. It took Sebastian about a week to find out his dad was a drunk, fridge full of beer and two bottles of Jack on top of it. There were uneaten meals next to all the bottles, and when those uneaten meals were still there three weeks later, Sebastian was pretty sure his dad lived on booze and pizza alone.

So now he is here, almost finding it normal to stand on top of three pizza boxes, with half uneaten pizza's in them, throwing dirty sticking clothes onto a pile by the door. It's not even a large pile, it will probably all fit into one machine because his dad doesn't own much, but it's still a pile of all his clothesthat need to be washed.

As gentle as he can, Sebastian strips the duvet from its cover, then he starts on one side of the bed to take of the sheet, before rolling his father over and getting to the other side. It's not even that hard to do it without his father waking up. The man is so out of it he probably wouldn't even wake if the epicenter of an earthquake was right under his bed.

They own no pillows, so there's no pillow case to strip and Sebastian dumps all the dirty laundry in his gorgeous leather suitcase. The one he brought home from Paris. Okay, yes, so they have two valuable things in this place, his suitcase and the ticking grandfather clock.

He zips the suitcase up, equally as quiet as he packed it, grabs his keys and walks out the door towards the launderette.

It's easy now, to just leave the house with his dad's stuff in his suitcase. He can leave without feeling guilty because he knows he'll be back before his dad wakes up.

Funny how not an hour ago he was almost ready to leave for good, and now he's taking care of this man again. Of course he is, he always will.

Sure, it's been only eleven months since he started to, but this man needs him and he needs this man. Sebastian knows he won't leave, not right now. Not as long as his dad is at rock bottom. Deep down he knows that's going to be a long time if they don't find any help, but they don't need any help. They'll get through it.

Sebastian will cover up his bruises and keep his father content, keep the beer flowing and the vodka in stock. He'll do stuff like he's doing right now, laundry and cleaning the room once his father is passed out. He knows there is a price to pay, but it's a price he's willing to pay to keep this man alive and well. As well as he can keep him, that is.

So he'll go out like he does now, with a black eye hoping he won't run into anyone he knows, taking his dad's laundry to get cleaned (only his dad's laundry, because his own he gets cleaned during the week at Dalton). He'll drop by the store to get some solid food to put in the fridge and then he'll get back to the launderette to put the washed clothes in the dryer, before he returns home with fresh sheets and clothes and puts them away.

After he's done all that, he grabs a garbage bag and throws away all the pizza and pizza boxes that are lying around, the rotting fruit goes with it, and the beer bottles too. He knows he isn't supposed to put glass in the trash but he does it anyway, they have to go and he doesn't have the luxury to be picky right now.

It's 9pm when he looks around the small room rather satisfied. Sure, the floor is still sticky with old knocked over beer and the flies that were hovering over the rotten fruit haven't completely disappeared, but the trash is gone and so are the filthy clothes that were scattered around the room. His dad can live for another week.

He changes into his pajamas before he takes the sheet and duvet cover out of his suitcase and he puts it back on the bed as carefully as he took it off two hours before. His dad won't even notice it was gone, probably won't notice at all that they are clean.

Sebastian contemplates getting another pair than just this one, so he doesn't have to take the risk to wake his father up in the taking it off and putting in on the bed anymore, but so far his dad has never noticed, so getting a second pair would probably just be suspicious.

He crawls into bed next to his dad, opens the small window, the only window they have, above the bed to get some fresh air into the room and flops down, using his arm as a pillow. He lies on his left side, his right eye is still throbbing with pain since he didn't actually put the ice on it for that long. It's uncomfortable, he lies on the edge of the bed as far away from his dad as possible, but somehow sleep claims him very soon.

Even if he fell asleep at no later than 9.15 pm, he wakes up rather late the next day. His dad is already up and sitting at the edge of the bed, nursing an almost empty bottle of beer.

Sebastian groans softly when he tries to turn onto his right side, his eye isn't throbbing anymore but it still hurts a lot. The sound makes his dad turn around and look at him.

"You going back to Dalton tonight?"

Sebastian wants to say good morning to you too,it's what he would've said to his mom if that's what she had said first thing in the morning, but his dad is not his mom and so he doesn't say it.

"Depends," he says instead, "on what you want."

His dad shrugs as if he doesn't care, but Sebastian knows he does, knows his dad doesn't want him to go to Dalton at all and at the same time wants him gone.

"Guess it's better if you drive tomorrow morning," his dad says, "give your eye some time to heal, it won't look as bad in the morning."

Sebastian nods, choking back his words on how bruises actually work. On how it might be bright purple and looking super painful now, he wants to tell his dad that tomorrow it will be five different shades of yellow, green and black and it will look worse but he doesn't. He knows better than to argue with his dad about the injuries that were caused by him.

"Why did you clean up?"

Because it was necessary, because one day you'll slip over an unfinished pizza and break your leg, because it smelled, because it's unhealthy.

"Dunno."

"How the fuck do you get through Dalton if you don't even know why you clean up."

"I just thought it would be nice."

"I can take care of myself, Sebastian."

He wants to yell, tell his dad he can't. He wants to dare his father to prove it.Prove it, show me that you can take care of yourself. Get a new job, lay down the beer.

"I know."

"You have to stop his fucking game you're playing with me." His dad says it with such venom that Sebastian knows to run. Now. Get as far away as he can.

Instead, he finds himself unable to move from the bed.

"I'm sorry," he says.

1.. 2.. 3.. 4..

He's not sure what he is counting for, not this time. He doesn't even know what exactly he said sorry for, he doesn't know what game his father means. What game is he playing?

"While you're at it I thought you could clean the bathroom, too."

His dad takes another large gulp of his beer and drowns it. Sebastian looks at the ticking clock, not even noon and his dad is drunk.

32.. 33.. 34.. 35

"Okay," Sebastian agrees when there's no elaboration as to why Sebastian would need to do this, he's not quite sure where his dad is going with this. His dad seems to forget what he asked Sebastian to do right away, though, as he gets up and locks himself in the bathroom he just wanted Sebastian to clean.

So instead, Sebastian gets up out of bed and dresses himself in a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt. It's May and it's unseasonably warm outside, which he doesn't mind so much, it's almost like he is in Paris again. Just almost.

"I'm just heading out to get some stuff," he tells his dad through the bathroom door, "so I can clean the bathroom when I get back."

His dad laughs, and Sebastian wonders what he's doing it sounds like he is nowhere near the toilet bowl.

"And how are you getting money to pay for those things?" his dad asks him, clearly from within the shower cabinet, but the shower isn't running.

Sebastian feels his wallet hanging heavy in his back pocket, where he keeps the credit card his dad can't know about. The credit card his mom is paying for.

"I'll figure something out," he answers instead.

"You little slut."

It hurts Sebastian less than it should, the way his dad sounds so fucking amusedwhen he thinks Sebastian is whoring himself out. As if he would spend his money on cleaning productsif that was the case.

Then again, maybe he would, because he would be fucking desperate if he would ever let it get that far. Thank the lord for his mom in Paris and the money she keeps sending him on a monthly base. Thank god for his dad thinking he's selling himself for it, otherwise it would just be confiscated for booze.

It's completely sad that he has his mom in Paris, in her beautiful apartment close the Montparnasse, with the beautiful overview of Paris and good schools around, but Paris isn't an option. Not anymore.

So instead of walking around Paris, France, with his head held high, enjoying the gorgeous weather it will probably have there today, he is here in Lima, Ohio, where it's not nice and warm but stuffy and sweaty hot, and instead of walking with his head held high he's facing the ground, walking towards his car and then quickly driving to some store where he knowsthey'll have something to make the bruises disappear.

"Do you have something to cover this up with?" he asks the girl behind the counter, gesturing to his purple and green shaded eye, and she eyes him with concern.

"You okay, honey?"

"Yes fine, just need to cover it up."

"Sure?"

"Sure."

She eyes him from top till toe once, before lingering on his face again, and then she walks away to somewhere in the back.

She comes back with a few different test bottles, asking Sebastian for his hand but he hesitates. He always hesitates nowadays, when someone wants to touch him.

"Come on," she says, "just give me your hand so we can see which of these fit your skin tone the best."

Oh. Right, she's a professional, he walked into an expensive shop and not a shady one. Even if it feels shady, trying to find something to cover up the black eye some alcoholic gave you. He knows it's ironic, that he's walking around with a credit card with pretty much no limit and a black eye some drunk guy gave him in a shabby apartment in Lima Heights, Adjacent.

"Okay, now…," She looks at him expectantly.

"Sebastian," he offers after a long and awkward moment of silence, "my name is Sebastian."

"Okay, Sebastian, my name is Lindsay."

He smiles, awkwardly again, he just really, really,wants to get out of here before he sees someone he knows.

Not that he knows all that much people in Lima, and especially not in this bit of town. He knows Greasy Jay who sells weed down his dad's street, he knows Gus the neighbor with the seven cats in the tiny one room apartment and he knows Santana Lopez, who lives five streets away in a far better house than he does. He's pretty sure she has her own bedroom even if she lives in Lima Heights. She can't find out about him living so close, though, she still thinks his dad is a state's attorney.

As Lindsay applies different kind of products on his skin, he stares at the clock over her head. He can't hear the ticking, but he does see it, which is almost the same.

She blabs on and on as he counts the ticks. He'll give her sixty seconds to let go of his hand again

1.. 2.. 3.. 4..

"Now this one is a little more expensive, but it will cover it better than the one I'll try next."

He nods, nothing more than that.

"So what you could do is blend them together and…," Sebastian just tunes out, keeps his eyes on the clock. He needs to get out of here, because every second spend inside is a second someone he doesknow could come here.

35.. 36.. 37.. 38

Like someone from McKinley, maybe even Kurt and Blaine. Ulgh, KurtandBlaine.He doesn´t want to run into Kurt and Blaine.

45..46.. 47.. 48

That is to say not here, he doesn´t want to run into Kurt and Blaine here, in this shop where he is buying new and good foundation to cover up his eye. He doesn´t want to see them until his eye is covered up.

Just, not when he´s looking like this. It's Kurt and Blaine he's thinking about here. The guys that forgave him for almost blindingBlaine, the boys who reassure him day after day that it really is nothis fault David Karofsky tried to kill himself (even though it so is). He does want to see them and he will, later, on their weekly Sunday coffee date.

57..58..59..60

"Just that one," he snaps and grabs something off the counter, which makes Lindsay stare at him with a hurt and surprised expression at the same time. Something in Sebastian's stomach squirms, he has to make it right. He always has to make it right when someone looks as hurt as this, otherwise it means trouble.

"The one you said suited me best," he corrects himself, "just that one."

Lindsay eyes him warily still.

"Are you sure?" she asks, "that one is the most expensive one."

He tries to appreciate her effort, realizes what he must look like, in a shirt that is obviously not the same dark color as it was when he bought it. Jeans getting too shor,t since he can't buy a new pair without his father getting suspicious. On top of that he does have a black eye that she can see wasn't caused by walking into a door. He understand why she doesn't think he can afford it.

"It's fine," he says and puts his credit card on the counter. He hates that he doesn't know how long he's been here now that he's taken his eyes off the clock. It's like without that knowledge he has no clue how likely it is he'll run into someone, now that he's lost track of timing.

She shrugs then, and handles the payment.

"Do you want me to cover that for you?" she asks and Sebastian thinks he might as well let her, she's obviously on to something and she's also probably better at covering things up than himself, so he lets her before he heads out to the Lima Bean.

When he gets there he sees Kurt and Blaine already waiting for him, tucked away on a couch in a corner no one ever really looks. Kurt is sitting straight, legs crossed and some form on his lap he's filling out. Some last minute college form, Sebastian figures. Blaine texted him two days ago that Kurt was rejected by NYADA.

Next to Kurt is Blaine, his loafers are on the floor and he looks positively like a married man, reading the Lima newspaper while his feet are tucked slightly under Kurt's right leg. To any passerby it may look innocent and accidental, Sebastian knows that's the closest to showing affection they ever get in public, it always looking accidental.

He hates it. If he was with Blaine, he'd hold his hand proudly and tell the world 'this is my boyfriend and I'm so in love with him.' Of course, Kurt's heart eyes already do that, but Sebastian is still allowed to dream about what he would do, right?

Not that he'll ever get Blaine, the guy is too hung up on Kurt, that much is obvious. So instead of wallowing in self-pity he sits down and acts like he doesn't care. He takes the coffee cup Kurt points out and takes a perfect large gulp before saying hello to either of the boys sitting on the couch.

"Long night?" Kurt ask and Sebastian shrugs.

"Didn't even go out," he says because he not making thatmistake of lying again. He's become pretty good at lying in the past months, but he's learned better not to lie about where you are when friends could be there as well.

It was a good call, too, because right at that moment he jumps from a strong hand on his shoulder and is completely ready to cover his face, but he hears Dave's familiar voice asking him why he wasn't at Scandals last night.

"Missed you bud," he says, "it's no fun without you anymore, only old guys looking at me as if they feel sorry."

Kurt looks up at Dave as he hands him the coffee cup that remained untouched until now.

"What do you mean as if?" he asks, "don't they just actually feel sorry?"

"They just want to get into his pants," Sebastian says and Kurt looks scandalous, but Dave shrugs and nods. Kurt looks like he wants to say something, but instead he just goes back to filling out his form and Blaine hasn't even looked up at all during the conversation and remains buried in his newspaper. Why a seventeen year old boy like Blaine can be so fascinated with a newspaper, Sebastian will never know, but he likes it.

He likes that Kurt judges him and Blaine smiles so brightly and he likes that Dave says he's missed him, even if they do spend most of their nights on opposite sides of the bar anyway. He likes this little group they've formed, almost like he is normal and belongs.

"Do you?" Dave asks Kurt.

"What, want in your pants? No David, we've been over this."

Not even then does Blaine look up. Sebastian keeps watching him.

"Not in my pants. Do you feel sorry for me. What do you mean 'don't they actually feel sorry for me'. Do you still feel sorry for me?"

"No."

"Then what do you mean?"

Kurt sighs and though Sebastian isn't looking, he knows the way Kurt rolls his eyes and honestly, he can't blame him. Every time this comes up Dave gets defensive and Sebastian understands why, but he also understands it frustrates Kurt to no end.

"I mean that after, you know, after what happened to you a lot of people tend to feel sorry for you."

"I thought we wouldn't bring that up again."

"You did," Kurt all but yells and finally Blaine puts the newspaper down and looks between the boys. Sebastian's gaze is broken, realizing he wasn't looking at Blaine but at his watch, ticking away the seconds, and now he's lost count again.

"Come on guys, let's not fight," Blaine says as he puts a hand to Kurt's shoulder. Kurt immediately relaxes when he feels it and falls back against the couch.

"Sorry," he mutters to Dave, "I didn't mean it like that."

Dave sighs and says he understands. Sebastian knows how in love with Kurt he is, and how easy it is for Dave to forgive Kurt everything he ever does wrong. It's because he still blames himself for everything that happened to Kurt and so Kurt can do nothing wrong.

Sebastian looks around, now he doesn't have a clear view of Blaine's watch anymore, and looks at his friends. Friends.

He can't believe he has friends now, and he has Dave to thank. Dave, who came onto him when he was trying to forget in Scandals, whom he insulted just because he could.Just because it was someone who would be as hurt by his words as he is by his dad's words. He had hurt Dave to feel better about himself. Nothing he said was meant, it was just something he thought would hurt the most and boy was he right.

Dave was easy to hurt, just point out his insecurities and you have hurt him. Just like Kurt, Kurt was easy to hurt. Go after Blaine and Kurt was hurt, simple and easy as that, Blaine was a tool and Kurt was the target.

Sebastian doesn't do that anymore, no matter how gorgeous he still thinks Blaine is, or how he still thinks Dave could use some work before guys will actually start to like him, it's different now. Now he has seen the lowest of lows in Dave's eyes, there in that hospital bed where Dave was so surprised to see him. That hospital where Dave had just agreed to be friends with Kurt, and right then and there agreed to be friends with Sebastian, and they all know Kurt and Blaine are a package deal, and now somehow so are Sebastian and Dave.

Not that they are together like Kurt and Blaine, Dave is too hung up on Kurt for that and Sebastian really is too wrapped up in his own trouble to even think about really being with anyone, but Sebastian convinced Dave and his father that Dalton is the best place for him to be and now they're in Dalton together. Dave failing his year because of everything that happened, Sebastian a junior, they still have a year to have all their classes together, as well as Warbler practice and they even assigned for being roommates next year.

Maybe Sebastian can convince Dave to stay at Dalton every weekend, if Kurt is gone to New York, Dave doesn't really have anything to get to Lima for anyway.

"So are you coming?" Dave's voice gets Sebastian out of it and he shakes his head heavily, despite it hurting his eye, to try and catch up.

"I have to get some sheet music across the street, for my audition?"

Oh, right, Dave has his Warbler audition this week. Super pointless, as it's the last week of school for Dalton, but Sebastian had insisted they let him audition before there were freshmen to beat next year.

Blaine stretches his legs over Kurt's, before he sits up straight and puts his feet in the loafers.

"I need to get something for my summer Six Flags audition," he says, "I'll come with you."

He looks back at Kurt longingly, as if he wants to dive in for at least a kiss on the cheek, but in the end he doesn't and just smiles. Kurt smiles back and goes back to filling out his form.

"You picking me up tonight?" Dave asks Sebastian.

"Oh uh, no I promised my dad to help him out with some stuff tonight, I'll pick you up tomorrow morning."

"I appreciate you taking the major detour picking me up every Sunday night, but you don't have to get up half an hour earlier for me. Give me the address and I'll be there in time," Dave answers but Sebastian waves it away.

"No, it's fine, I'll pick you up."

"Okay, whatever."

Sebastian watches him and Blaine walk out the door, while sipping from his now cold coffee, all the while feeling Kurt's eyes on him.

"What?" he finally snaps, because he still likes Kurt the least of their little group, and he is still super irritated that the Lindsay girl saw right through to him and he's mostly super agitated that Dave keeps asking for his home address, because one day no I'll pick you upisn't going to be enough anymore.

Kurt just shakes his head and goes back to his form.

Sebastian tries to ignore it, the way Kurt looked at him like he wanted to say something, ask something, because it's Kurt and his annoying flawless face that somehow is so appealing to Blaine. It's Kurt who knows his coffee order because apparently friends do. It's Kurt who looks at him like he knowssomething at it fucking hurts.

"I got a job."

Sebastian looks up at Kurt, surprised, because he thought that would be something that would've come up when they were talking with the four of them, not just the two of them.

And now Sebastian thinks about it, he wonders if there ever have been a two of them at all, and he's pretty sure the only conversation they had between the two of them was when Blaine got so fucking wasted at Scandals and Sebastian was telling Kurt how to take care of Blaine. Because that's the one thing Sebastian can do, take care of a drunken person.

"Oh," Sebastian answers, not really sure what it is he's supposed to say here, "congratulations?"

"Yeah," Kurt continues, "that's why I'm filling out this form. I have a lot of things to sign and promise for this job, it's quite an impressive one I have to say."

"Oh."

"I have to swear secrecy for this job. I can tell people I work there, but not who I work with or what happens inside of that building."

"Oh." Sebastian is confused now, but he doesn't ask, didn't Kurt just say he has some sort of form of secrecy code?

"Aren't you going to ask where I got a job?" Kurt asks.

Sebastian shrugs.

"I have three talents."

"Changing the subject when I don't ask what you want to hear?"

Now it's Kurt's turn to shrug.

"I have three talents, Sebastian, my voice, my ability to spot trends in men's fashion and my ability to tell when it comes from a bottle."

"Impressive."

"And that goo around your eye? That's pretty damn good, I'd say you're quite experienced at covering up bruises."

Sebastian swallows heavily, but continues to stare at Kurt, there's nowhere else to stare, there isn't a clock around and he forgot to put on his watch in his hurry this morning.

"I thought I'd just tell you I'm working at Amelia House in Sidney, Ohio. It's a 45 minute drive away from here. An hour and a half away from Dalton. It's a house where runaway teens can get shelter."

Sebastian bores his eyes deeply into Kurt's, trying to find out how much Kurt knows, and all he sees is a weird determinedness he cannot place the meaning of.

"That's really good for you," Sebastian says eventually, "sounds like a wonderful experience."

"I'm sure it will be," Kurt answers, "I start on Monday."