Hello :) So here it is. I feel like I should offer an apology, I tried to get this up quicker, but life got in the way. There are a lot of things going on here, which can somtimes make it exceedingly difficult to concentrate on anything, so even when you don't here from me, rest assured that I am still working on things :)
Erm, just a bit of background: In this story Nick, Jeff, Trent and Sebastian are all juniours (Just because I imagine the former three as being a little younger than Kurt and Blaine, and to my mind it seems unlikely that Sebastian would transfere to Dalton for just his final year. Could happen of course, but I call creative liscence)
The chapter tile is taken from Hoobastank's The Reason. It seemed fitting that each chapter should be named after a relatable song :') especially since the title(s) are just one long lyric themselves.
A word: Don't judge Nick too harsly ... you'll see why :)
Disclaimer: I do not own any thing. I make no profit.
Chapter One
I'm Not A Perfect Person
Regret was not a sympathy with which Sebastian was well acquainted. In his experience, life was both too short and too well verdant in opportunity for misery, to extol time in despondent self-examination. A person did what they did, whether for reason or impulse, and that was simply the end of it. No preordainment, no fate, no destiny, no covert sense to random events – just furtive figures parading in a seedy world. No, he had given up upon regret long ago.
So, when he was besieged by a queer hollowness – a void which pressed itself brutally against his being – and found only distraction in his practice regimented mind; taking the guise of a single scene, repeated as if on continuous loop, he did not recognise the characteristics for what they proponed.
All he knew was that he had blown it – without a shadow of doubt. His one chance to get with a decent guy; to be respected. To experience the high of love, romance, as opposed to alcohol infused lust, which lent the practice momentary significance … which lent him momentary significance.
Sebastian wasn't sorry for a lot of things, but he was for what he had inadvertently done to Blaine. Had fickle chance not interposed, and things proceeded as planned, his mood would have been more attuned towards elation; a lone figure upon the golden field of victory. Kurt could go and screw himself for all the head Warbler cared; he deserved everything that was coming to him. But Blaine …
Kurt hadn't won. Not by a long shot.
So maybe Sebastian wouldn't have Blaine by the end of the year – the realization assaulted him like a lash of pain driven straight to his heart – but that Nationals title was a certainty, and he could only imagine how much its loss would infuriate the former counter-tenor, who, from what Sebastian had heard tell, changed his allegiance with more frequency than his jimmy-chews, in order to side with the winning team.
If Sebastian had not hated his guts, he would have admired his tenacious commitment.
But, one day, one day, Blaine would want more. More than stolen touches, side-long glances, and the gentle caress of partnered lips; holding back. One day, those things would cease to be enough. And Sebastian would make sure he was available to take up the slack when that day eventually arrived.
Thought he had only just re-entered the confines of his sparse single room – the perks of a late transfer – he turned once again to vacate it. Red food colouring still staining his hands like blood.
He headed across town, leaving his blazer on. No-one noticed what you were wearing anyway. No-one ever noticed anything.
Seven am came round all to eagerly for Jeff's approval, having spent the entire night in fitful snatches of sleep. He groaned and shut off the alarm with a clumsy swipe. It fell upon its face unhappily, the jarring motion transforming the diminuing sound.
Reluctantly sitting up, he opened his eyes to a brand new day, before, blinking, yawning and pushing his tousled tresses off his forehead, he gazed blearily around the circumference of their shared dormitory, expecting to find something out of place.
His gaze instantly alighted upon Nick; the source of his enduring concern, and his brow furrowed. It appeared as if Nick had finally managed to fall asleep, mores the pity.
The duvet was creased and strew liberally, until a goodly portion had spilled onto the floor, and its remainder barely incubated Nick's feet where he lay, curled fastidiously against the wall. The pillow it appeared, had also taken a swan dive, or else had been cast asunder in the epitome of frustration. There could exist no sight more out of place than that.
Usually, Nick was as sedate as a log in slumber, while Jeff was the more active sleeper, with a horrible tendency to kick – room with someone for a year and you got to know their habits better than even they knew them themselves. He spent the night as a dead weight in the centre of the mattress, usually angled towards the local of Jeff's own bed, from where the two had fallen asleep talking … unless of course, something was troubling him.
Jeff hadn't needed a sleep sparse night to tell him that much, when mulling over the events of the previous evening.
He had lost count of the number of occasions on which he had been himself awoken by Nick's fitful tossing, or the sound of an exasperated groan. Each time, he had called Nick's name gently into the night; an invitation to talk, and each time, Nick had remained unresponsive, until Jeff, unable to sleep for worry himself, threw back the covers and succeeded the distance between their beds with purposeful strides. He had, however, found Nick asleep, or else feigning sleep convincingly enough to make Jeff loath to disturb him. So the blonde had trudged wearily back to his own bed, resigning himself to a night of silence and interruption.
Now, in the amber light of dawn, he tired again.
Snagging the blanket from where it lay discarded at the foot of his bed, he wrapped it tightly around himself; determined to preserve the remnant warmth and comfort of sleep for just that while longer, before padding over to Nick's bed and falling bodily onto the mattress, so that its sleeping occupant was jostled none to politely.
"Rise and shine," Jeff yawned.
To his credit, Nick stirred convincingly; stretching and blinking dazedly.
In truth, he had lain awake for the past four hours, reliving a myriad of scenarios again and again in his mind, until each found reconciliation. By his wishful reckoning; he had confessed his part in the slushie incident to Jeff, who had reacted with calm disappointment. Fast-froward a meagre allowance of days, comprised of meaningful if tense silence and tactile atmosphere, and after learning that Blaine was none the worse off for the unfortunate incident, Jeff had only been to eager to forgive him his part in it. Both were then assured that Nick, through the experience, had grown sufficiently shrewd enough not to fall into the trap of Sebastian's mind games again.
That had been the most favourable outcome of his coinage, but in the furtive hours, Nick had also comprised several decidedly less so, before the practice had become too painful, and he relented it altogether.
Why couldn't reality allow one to bypass the gritty stretches of life as easily as imagination? Learning the lesson without the hardship. Necessity was an abstract without heart.
"I'm awake," Nick assured him with a sigh.
Seeking consolation, he turned to face Jeff, only to receive a mouthful of blonde hair from where the taller had nestled his head into the crook of Nick's shoulder; a sign that he felt Nick slipping away from him. Physical proximity a poor substitute for emotional identification.
"Did you manage to get any sleep last night?" Jeff asked, with ill-concealed concern.
Nick could feel the warmth of Jeff's breath upon the exposed skin of his neck, and ironically he shivered, confused at why he found the simple sensation incredibly distracting.
"A little," he lied pitifully, and Jeff called him upon it. Nick was playing the avoidance technique.
Not one to be swayed, Jeff manoeuvred until his head rested instead upon Nick's stomach; his world rising and falling with each inhalation. From this vantage, he could observe the brunette without abridgement; witnessing the precise constitute of each expression as they blossomed and faltered. Nick shifted uncomfortably, the movement sowing aspersions of doubt that Jeff didn't want to confront.
"What's wrong?" He pleaded gently, but with marked desperation, eyes beautifully solemn; the picture of a doe. "You know you can tell me anything, Nick. Even if I don't always understand, I will always listen."
Those words were meant as a comfort, but all they did was wound. How could Nick find it in his heart to hurt this boy? Once by careless action, and now again, by the confession of such. Surely it marked a sacrilege?
"I know." He tousled Jeff's already dishevelled locks fondly, savouring these last few moments of bliss, as if their propensity was already an overdraft. "I'm just afraid of what you'll say when I tell you."
Jeff frowned, admittedly slightly daunted, before challenging passionately;
"Tell me anything in the world and I promise I won't judge you." His eyes were so full of sincerity that Nick was forced to look away before he drowned in it.
"I won't hold you to that," Nick's smile was full of pain, and devastating to the blonde; a damn stretched taught around an uncontainable sea, "because this time, I don't think you'll be able to do anything but judge me."
" … Whatever it is, I'll forgive you," he pledged blindly. Though his conviction was strong, Jeff felt timid, those words outweighed by unknown factors greater than himself.
"I hope so."
"Nick." He tried to lay his hand upon Nick's wrist, but the brunette flinched and pulled away. Hurt, Jeff continued regardless, "you're honestly an amazing person, and nothing will ever make me believe anything less than that. You're the kindest, most –"
"Go and get ready," Nick interrupted him softly but tersely, "and then I'll tell you. That way you wont have to stay in the same room with me longer than is necessary." It was said with such self directed venom as Jeff had never heard before spoken by those lips.
Though it was nothing less than a miracle and certainly endearing that Jeff could perceive still those virtues within him, when he himself had long since resigned them to ash; the ruins of a fallen character, that moment only made them harder to hear, because they represented all the good that was about to be renounced for the benefit of truth.
Jeff intoned some obscure sound of protest, burring his face deeper into Nick's stomach, wishing now, retrospectively, that he could retract his offer of confidence. Certain that he would rather remain ignorant and hold onto everything they had in that moment, for its very existence seemed under threat.
"Go on," Nick insisted, giving his shoulder a slight shunt, "I'll even let you have first rights on the bathroom."
His attempts at humour and normality fell miserably short, not least because Nick never abdicated his self instated bathroom privileges, not even for Jeff. In a few hours, the world had shifted, and they were left swaying, wondering where everything had gone askew.
The fragrant stream did nothing to sooth Jeff's consternation. And the isolated intermission did nothing to help Nick prepare for his impending disgrace. So, when the two came back together, Jeff fully readied and Nick still clad in the loose fitting bottoms and off-white tee he wore to bed, hair a beautiful mess, it was with solemn expressions and a sense of encroaching upheaval.
Reluctantly, Jeff took a seat upon the edge of Nick's bed, which the latter had still not seen fit to vacate, despite the waning hour, and looked upon the face of his best friend with fierce disquiet.
Nick however, kept his gaze averted, trained upon the floor, wringing his fingers with ever more abrupt motions. He took a deep breath, which sounded more akin to a shiver.
"What I need you to understand first is that; I never meant for it to go so far. I never meant for anyone to get hurt. You have to believe that..."
He spoke so lowly that it was a few moments before Jeff realized he was even speaking at all. And when he eventually lifted those downcast eyes, they were so full of implore and remorse and their intensity exceeded even that of the sun. It was a sight both remarkable and terrible.
"Nick ..." Jeff swallowed nervously, unable to tear his gaze away for all the wont in the world, "you're starting to scare me."
"I know. I know. I'm sorry," Nick's voice quailed with regret. "Jeff … I was involved in the attack on Blaine." As he admitted it, he put his head in his hands, despite their violent trembling, unable to face Jeff's reaction.
"W – what?" His tongue barely formed the necessary sounds. How? … Why?
"And worse … It was my idea."
The hang-man earned himself another pair of boots as the perpetrators scream cut short.
One minute of pregnant silence slipped masochistically into two, into three, into four, and appeared content to keep on accumulating. Finally, Nick had to look up. Somehow, the silence was worse than anything his mind had coined at liberty, even worse than disappointment, or outright anger.
Jeff hadn't moved an inch. It was as if some ambitious sculptor had rendered his likeness in wax, and life itself was simply the pieces instillation scene, for his eyes were voids; beautiful, but with no intelligent feeling behind them. He did not even appear to breath, though his trembling alone betrayed the fact that he did.
Was the moral thing necessarily the right? Or would it have been kinder to let Jeff endure in ignorance, even when he deserved the truth? But even then, what was kind, wasn't always right, and what was right didn't offer too great a consideration to kindness.
"Jeff …" He reached out cautiously, as if to grasp the blondes arm, but Jeff tore away from him in turn, standing abruptly. His expression was overcome with some painful emotion which had not yet found substance.
"Don't touch me," he warned in a tone that Nick had never heard him utter before, and least of all to himself. Though, in direct paradox with its brutal abrasion were Jeff's eyes, which elected that moment to showcase animation; pools of soul shattering betrayal and irredeemable hurt: exactly as Kurt's had been when cradling Blaine's stricken form, and no less potent.
"It was only ever meant to be a prank! No-body was supposed to get hurt; least of all Blaine," Nick cried desperately, shaking his head with sickening fervency as if the denying gesture would somehow transform reality into a liar. "I didn't know Sebastian would put something in it. I didn't even know he would aim it at Kurt specifically. If anything, it was just supposed to startle them … give us an edge."
He hung his head in shame. What good were excuses now, when he didn't even believe their conviction? But yet he felt honour bound to present them, a weak form of reparation, because to say nothing seemed like admitting that he didn't care enough even to want Jeff to forgive him. And that thought was unbearable, for it would mean that there was nothing left to redeem.
"Why?" Jeff stuttered out, his voice thick and almost incomprehensible with repressed emotion, " … Just – Why? Why even do it in the first place?"
"I don't know!" Nick exclaimed in despair, dragging the tips of his fingers roughly over his face, "Because I'm a fool!" Because Sebastian was a fork-tongued adder, and a smooth criminal to boot. Because persuasion was a compelling language all of its own, and one to which, with enough provocation, every person would yield. Because Nick, it seemed was easily manipulated.
"See, I told you you wouldn't be able to help but judge me," Nick sniffed with a bitter smile, that was more of a masquerading grimace. "I judge me. I don't think I've ever been so stupid in my life."
If he had expected sympathy, he didn't receive it.
"What happened to you, Nick? These days … you're like a stranger to me." Jeff spoke to the floor, and Nick wished that that same spot would open up and swallow him whole, for he couldn't remember ever feeling like this before, and if he had the choice, he wouldn't willingly again. "The Nick I knew wouldn't side with Sebastian, wouldn't betray his friends. My Nick was noble and true and – I wish he'd come back."
Jeff shook his head, sighing heavily, as if the words he spoke were redundant; said of the past in a hopeless present. Wordlessly, he crossed the width of their dormitory, grabbing his satchel and wrenched open the door, without looking back.
"Jeff – wait – please!" But the implore was in vain, for Jeff was already gone. This being the straw that broke the camels back.
"No-one was ever supposed to get hurt," he repeated uselessly to the empty room.
~ * … * ~
Jeff's chest ached so fiercely that it felt as if someone had punched a hole through it with a fist of barbed wire, leaving the wound tattered. Torn between anger and grief, he fought for each ragged breath like it was his last. He had to keep moving, if only to fool himself that he could escape the reality, even as it affronted him undeniably:
He had lost him …
He felt dizzy, reeling from the shock of it, the comfort of pretence stripped away. He had fought too hard and too long to be defeated this way; in an unlikely turn of events that none had foresaw. His ears welcomed him to a soundless world, because Nick had been his music. There were no words apt enough to describe the extent of his devastation. No sense imbued in the myriad of emotions which played him as effortlessly as Figgero.
He did not see the embossed door ricochet off the panelled walls, quailing in forceful wake. Did not even feel his hands push it, nor the force of body he must have extolled. Had he behaved in such a flagrant manner last year, he would have called to him the attention of Dalton Academy's entire student population, but nowadays it seemed that somebody was always raging about something, and the effect was rather diminished.
Students were beginning to file out of their rooms now and make their way down to the canteen in waves of idle talk. Their sheer volume oppressing his hostile mood, hiding his powerful turmoil in its bulk. A few, however, stopped him with concerned questions:
"Hey – Jeff! What's wrong?"
"You alright, dude?"
"Whose upset you?"
And to each, he replied with one undifferentiated assurance;
"I'm fine," barely considering the words he was saying. And he smiled so that his cheeks ached with the effort of sustaining it against their will.
He repeated those two syllables so numerously it seemed, that had he been a gullible person, he probably would have believe himself, resigned his distress, and joined them in breakfast. But as it was, neither party were convinced.
He absconded to a disused office, one of only three which locked from the inside. It had been found by Nick and himself in Freshman year, during an obscure and certainly disallowed game of hide and seek between a group of overexcited peers who were revelling in the freedom of spending their first half term away from home.
He just needed time to think, away from banal routine … He just needed Nick.
Jeff was too agitated to sit, and so he paced; aggrieved, until the stretch of floor he fastidiously traversed, grew fraction by fraction, more polished than the rest, beneath his feet. Sitting down meant he would have to confront what had happened, and he didn't think he could do that.
He wished he could cry, until every tear ran dry, attain a state of apathy and rebuild their friendship from there, but tears belong to a less advanced spectrum of grief, one which did not know betrayal, and so he found them inaccessible.
The pains of one witness unified with a second benefactor, marking everything else meaningless. An impersonal misery, which obscured the finer details of itself.
Nick had changed since Sebastian's arrival, and, though it pained Jeff each time to admit it, not for the better. Everything from his mannerisms to the way he styled his hair had suffered an overhaul to better represent carbon copies of their rising star.
At first, Jeff had even found it mildly amusing; that Nick was suddenly so infatuated with this new suave image, when Jeff knew and loved him for the amazing idiot he had always been. But then, when they showed little indication of reappearance, Jeff began to miss those wayward locks; the way they fell into his eyes – and by extension, the boy who wore them.
Almost overnight, Nick grew serious and reckless as one. He began to ditch classes, turned up late if he even turned up at all, and refused point blank to turn in assignments; homework being one venture too extreme. He also became generally unpleasant to be around, having in reserve, or so it seemed, a smart comment for every occasion, which he was not reserved about sharing: loudly and obnoxiously. It was like watching a mini Sebastian-in-training, only without the charm and criminality. A dog barking at its own reflection in the river.
Despite his frustration, loyalty was something integral to Jeff. Each day he had waited patiently for Nick outside of room 109, enduring in loose union the latter's daily sessions of detention. He had persistently and practically wrote Nick's own assignments for him, when Nick himself refused even so much as to look at them. During those trying periods, Jeff had at least forced his friend to act as scribe for the secondary thoughts – with limited results – because he would ensure that Nick do something, even if he was unwilling to extol his own.
And though the process was liable to end in combustion, he had refused to relent, because once the novelty was over, it would be Nick, not Sebastian, who had to pick up the pieces and rebuild his own wanton destruction, and Jeff would minimise the collateral, even if he could do nothing else.
When he had asked Nick; 'why,' a simple clarification for reason, which should have been forthwith, Nick could never seem to offer him an answer any more enlightening than; 'because'.
Jeff knew why, but he wanted to hear Nick say it. Because Sebastian exuded an air of charisma that made people stand up and listen. Because his presence alone, demanded the attention of any congregation. Because he embodied leadership, impression, mystery, charm … all those things that Nick, feeling lost in the crowd after a fourth consecutive solo defeat, coveted. Those desires which Sebastian then exploited to his will.
In those difficult weeks, Nick also became consumed by concerns of what people thought about him: everything he did, he did for laughs. And while he and Sebastian grew closer day by day, until they were all but indistinguishable from one another, Nick only pushed Jeff further away. He was forced to watch everything he had loved about Nick being desecrated from the inside out, until his best friend was barely recognisable.
But Jeff had not been prepared to surrender. He continued without respite to appeal to Nick's better nature; that integral part of him which, for the moment, was being overshadowed by reckless and ridiculous notions. Sometimes, Jeff was even convinced he had succeeded in getting through to him, for Nick's actions would waver and become subdued for a day or two – before Sebastian reasserted his dominion, and the balance was over-thrown. Other times, however, he wondered why he even bothered, when the situation was clearly hopeless.
Most days, he could fool himself into believing that piece by piece he was winning Nick back, when really, inch by inch he was losing him. But without risking open confrontation, there was only so much he could do, for to challenge Nick directly was to lose him, and if Jeff deserted him, who then would be there to stand upon the brink and pull him back when all of this was over?
Everything else Jeff could take, could grit his teeth and weather if he had to. But when the way they interacted with each other changed, with no foreseeable reverse, that marked a liberty too far. He could not pretend otherwise that that had hurt, and the poison ran deep.
Nick barely looked at him, and even when he did, it was with something of dissatisfaction, that made even Jeff second guess himself. They saw each other only in passing, for Nick seemed always to have some other engagements, which severely limited the time they spent together, even as room-mates, and if Jeff didn't know any better, he would have sworn that Nick was avoiding him. They spoke little and the silence was distended with disquiet meaning – stopped watching movies together, curled up on a makeshift mattress in the centre of the floor, stopped passing notes in class, debating which teachers would triumph in hypothetical situations of varying humour, and instead sat like effigy's of stoic silence. And, when Jeff had laid his head upon Nick's shoulder; pounding with residual tension from the unceasing effort of keeping his insistently wayward friend on the straight and narrow, seeking only the smallest modicum of comfort, Nick had shrugged away from the contact, as if it were something unbecoming.
Then, in the wake of last nights senseless violence, they had clung to one another instinctively, foregoing the trials of the past few months, unified, brought together by their concern for a fellow and transformed. For one nights reprieve, Jeff had bore witness to the triumphant return of the very Nick he had thought long lost, albeit, one exceedingly troubled.. Though he knew it was folly, Jeff had began to hope. Now, not even twelve hours later, and his perfect representation lay once again in ruins. How was that fair?
From the depths of his pocket, his phone began to ring. With fumbling movements he extracted it and read, redundantly, the caller ID. Nick.
With the influx of moisture blinding him, he pushed the phone away from his person, across the length of the desk where he had finally alighted He couldn't face talking to him, not yet, and he knew that even if Nick didn't relish that, he would at least respect it.
It ceased after just five rings: merely testing the waters.
Nick's reaction the previous night now adopted new and tarnished connotations, his confrontation with Sebastian especially significant, full of loaded words. The anger with which he had lashed out, had in truth, a more inward directive. It was the culmination of shame, betrayal and bitter self-loathing: a strike against himself as much as against Sebastian.
Jeff didn't know what to think any more. He couldn't find it within himself to be angry, because everything just hurt too much. It was a stray disappointment which afflicted him most prevalently, made worse for its fortitude, for even the most flagrant passions diminished and had their end; consumed by their own energy, but this, this would endure. It was too much to forgive, too great to forget … But it was Nick …
~ * … * ~
Nick arrived in Biology fifteen minutes late, not even trying for discretion.
"Looks like we'll be spending time together again, Mr Duval," Mr. Barns' apathetic voice called tiresomely from the front. He didn't even so much as glance up from the current stack of papers he was marking. This small exchange had become somewhat of a ritual, and one that no longer necessitated active participation.
A few heads turned to regard Nick with expectant anticipation, and the room as a whole adopted an air of nervous agitation, waiting with bated breath for the deliverance of some choice witty remark which never came.
Instead, Nick simply grew uncomfortable beneath their scrutiny, forcibly aware that his eyes remained still too swollen, his appearance too dishevelled and his demeanour too morose to not excite whispers.
This time, his tardiness had not been intentional. It had taken all the strength of will he possessed to drag himself – even a quarter of an hour late – to class, when all he wanted to do was hide away from the world and wallow extensively in his own self exacted misery and shame. Seeing Jeff, he knew, would hurt far too much, even if it was no less than he deserved.
But Nick was already too far behind – thanks to his own foolishness, he was practically flunking every class – and that knowledge meant that hiding away wasn't an option. Maybe it was too little, and came too late, but in one brilliant flash of red, he had seen the error of his ways, thought there was no doubt about it, he had taken the difficult road to revelation.
So, for the first time that semester, he shunned pretentiousness and simply answered with procedural deference:
"Yes, sir." Taking his seat.
He concentrated then, harder than he had done in a long while; endeavouring to distract himself, to prevent his person from being swallowed whole by the pain, but the conviction of a distraction can sometimes be a distraction in itself. And, before long, he found that he was actually concentrating upon the task of concentrating rather than the material being delivered – as was his aim – little of which he understood anyway. His notes befittingly reflected the disjointed quality of his mind – useless even for the effort.
Such was the intensity of his focus that it was a half hours theory and one failed practical later before Nick even realized that Sebastian was not in attendance.
He would have hoped that Sebastian had developed shame, or at least, had a jaw discoloured enough to make him suitably adverse to emerging, but where the head Warbler was concerned, he just wasn't that optimistic. In truth, his absence rung more sinister than humbled.
Nick's own hand hurt like hell, which would accordingly excuse his near illegible writing, and though it's colourful appearance drew the attention of everyone within a twelve seat radius (and would undoubtedly continue throughout the day, to fuel the wild aspersions of all those not in the Warblers, and party to what had occurred between its members) the victory was still worth the cost.
He was called upon for an answer and he didn't have it. Mr. Barns knew he didn't. Rather than stutter through the threads of fictitious knowledge, he simply admitted his ignorance, cheeks flushing momentarily with embarrassment. He guessed he deserved that, he had been kind of a jerk. But in that moment, he made a pact with himself; the next time, he would know.
Briefly, he thought of Kurt and Blaine, in the full acknowledgement of his wrong-doing. And for hurting them, he hated himself; loathed so passionately that it was a knife pushing between his ribs, seeking to puncture his heart in reimbursement.
If only he had kept his mouth shut! He may not have thrown the slushie, but he had done something much worse; gave the idea inception, and there was no denying; this was entirely and irrevocably, his fault. That residual guilt may have been a less acute agony than what seeing Jeff's betrayal and disappointment had cost him, but that did not mean that it was any less potent.
Jeff …
He counted down the minutes until time would force them to confront each other, struggling to piece together anything close to composure. Anything thereafter would be like another twist of the shaft, whether Jeff ignored him or saw fit to shout until he was hoarse, it would all just hurt the same. His heart, he knew, would compel him to comfort the amazing boy, to reach out and take his hand, whisper everything was okay, whose sorrow worked upon him with more finality than death. But his head would caution him, imposing responsibility, repugnance and repentance. He hated to see Jeff upset, how ironic then, that he was the cause.
The phone had rung five times; Jeff always answered on the second. That was evidence enough that he didn't want to talk, or at least, not yet. Nick accepted that. He would bare his retribution without complaint, if only it certified that one day, he would get him back. This was him making amends; starting again.
He left biology with an assignment he didn't know how to do.
Everything felt strange, like its familiarity had been lost, nothing had changed, but yet, everything was different. If felt like he had been walking around with his eyes closed for eight weeks, existing in some parallel reality he had come to regard as home.
Briefly, he considered that people would think his change of heart a temporary fixture, a failing of nerve in the absence of Sebastian. The thought irritated him – he had been associated with Sebastian for far too long already.
Nick's first assumption had been correct. When he walked into English – actually on time, and wouldn't that cause a stir among the faculty – he found Jeff had relocated to the empty seat beside Ian in the second row. Ian appeared bemused by the abrupt company, never having had an extended exchange with the blonde Warbler.
He bore no qualms in admitting that that hurt, but if Jeff needed space, then he would have it.
Jeff kept his eyes determinedly averted as Nick passed, but even then, the latter perceived the slight tremble in his lips, which meant he was fighting back violent emotion. Nick held back tears of his own, completely heart-broken. The last thing either of them needed was to draw more attention to their current predicament, when rumours were probably already rife.
Nick took his usual seat at the back, feeling all the encumbrance of loneliness. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say to make what was wrong, right. He couldn't change the past, as much as he would have given anything to, and there was only so many ways any one person could say sorry. It was all up to Jeff, and Nick held out for hope, it being the only thing he had left, even if forgiveness was more then he deserved.
The presence of the other was a discomfort for them both, half because the nature of their confrontation made it difficult for them to co-exist in the same room, without rubbing salt into the already agonising wound of memory, and half because the silence between them contravened some integral part of their beings, waxing unnatural.
They stole glances when they thought the other wasn't looking, though granted Nick had the on high advantage, and did so with greater ease. Glances full of accusation, pain, confusion, disappointment and need. Glances full of regret, sadness, guilt and the compulsion to console.
They each ran through scenarios in their minds as if imagination was going out of style. All those things which had been said, and all those things they wished they would have. Until it all became too much for one to bare.
Half an hour after the lesson had began, Jeff asked to be excused, claiming he felt sick. No-one would willingly contest that assertion given his current pallid appearance.
Nick watched him go, feeling, if such a feat was possible, even worse than before.
It is invariably true that at some point in your life, someone will hurt you, whether by actions and words made against you with intent, or by narrow-minded ignorance and folly, whose impulses bare far-reaching consequences. But when that somebody was your closest friend, the first person you found the confidence to place your faith in after loosing it to so-called humanity, then that injury was not one taken lightly. Already reeling with the shock of what had came to pass the previous night, the world subsequently seemed to look on even more unkindly, even more uncivilized.
By lunchtime, things had only continued to deteriorate, and if the saying; 'it has to get worse before it gets better,' wrung true then maybe he could take heart from the fact that surely, there couldn't be that far left to fall.
Jeff had failed to show for their next class together, and that concurrently concerned and devastated Nick more than he cared to admit, because, exceptional circumstances or not, Jeff would not normally skip out on school: he was too much of a swot. So that meant, either he was actually sick, or he was avoiding Nick at all costs. And neither one of those eventualities were particularly preferable.
His mood was only further soured when, sitting alone in the canteen, forcing down a meal circumstances had marked unappetising, he spied Sebastian; as undeterred as ever. Nick was sorely disappointed and a little indignant to note that not even the merest shadow of a bruise blemished his jaw in retribution testament.
He swore colourfully, causing several innocent bystanders to look on with disapproval. He had thrown every ounce of strength he possessed into that punch for goodness sake, and it was no meagre stock.
The only modicum of comfort he could draw in refund was found in the ridgidness of Sebastian's expression, and the tightness surrounding his eyes, which, even if appearance didn't betray it, boasted pain. Good. Nick hoped it hurt with all the acuteness of a flame.
Sebastian's gaze found him, and to say that it was gloating was like calling a tiger a house-cat. Nick's defection, for all it's moral upstanding, did not matter, because Sebastian was still on top.
Nick threw away the remainder of his lunch uneaten, because a smug Sebastian was enough to put anyone off food indefinitely.
Exiting the canteen, Nick identified Trent threading through the crowd, and before Nick had adequately committed himself to feigning sensory impairment, the sassy Warbler called his name in salutation, and he had whirled round in answer; a deeply rooted response. A single glance told Trent all he needed to know.
~ * … * ~
For the latter half of second period, and the whole of third, Jeff had taken sanctuary in the library – easily Dalton's finest attribute. Given its sheer breadth and prolific alcoves and recesses, one could lose themselves in there for hours; alone in the physical sense, and never more surrounded in the semantic. For every trial and tribulation of life, people found here words of comfort. It was his retreat, his sacred place, his secret in plain sight.
Currently he sat curled up on a chaise, which fronted a window overlooking the grounds, his favourite spot. And on his lap, he nursed a rather worn copy of; The Fellowship Of The Ring, feeling for the first time since he had come to Dalton, thoroughly miserable.
He had tried, but he just couldn't do it. Seeing Nick's pain and self-torture, even in the just-served wake of noisome wrong-doing, was almost as bad as living his own hurt twice over. Everything echoed with confusion and frustration, and both were contesting for dominance.
He was angry, was upset, was disappointed … but he was also, possibly against caution, sympathetic. What that perfidious action must have cost Nick to perform was incomprehensible; what it was still doing to him was evident.
It had been obvious from the start that Sebastian was manipulating Nick – just as he played everyone else unfortunate enough to fall for his charms, to his own advantage. Not that the latter would have listened to the implore of reason even if Jeff had been bold enough to offer it – so, therefore, wasn't it possible that Nick's uncharacteristic dissoluteness was simply a result of Sebastian's influence? More than that, wasn't it probable? Therefore, did he deserve to be punished for something he had been more than likely coerced into doing? Did a lack of responsibility negate the action? Was there any point in indulgent hypothetical but to build up hope to be shattered.
Love and friendship were a blindness and deficit, as much as they were coveted, as much as they were strength. We would forgive the reciprocal of either anything, a liberty not even the right thinking man in the jury box would extend indiscriminately. So, even as Jeff's devastation burned bright, it resolved into hope, resolved into absolution.
He knew he was making excuses, but he just couldn't believe it – that his Nick was capable of something so underhand. It contravened everything he knew about the brunette, so maybe it wasn't true. But no matter which way he looked at it, Nick had still confessed, and there was no escaping the fallout.
He didn't want to feel like this; alone, wretched, like someone had cut off his right arm and neglected to inform him of the difficulties of life without it. He just wanted Nick back, for things to be again as they once were, before Sebastian came. But they were empty wishes, all of them, because to forgive Nick, no matter how his heart yearned, felt like a betrayal to Kurt and Blaine, and Jeff was loyal to a fault.
Kurt's silence was enduring. No matter how frequently or seldom Jeff checked his phone there was never an answer. And that resolute silence only made him feel ever more agitated the longer it persisted. Surely by now they would know whether something was wrong with Blaine or not? Jeff had played no part in what had happened, so why didn't he deserve the right to know whether his friend was okay?
He had just reached the part concerning Elrond's council, and as he read, he considered the benefits of spearheading a similar effort here at Dalton, to answer the threat of arrogance as oppose to Mordor. He certainly wouldn't contest a movement to throw Sebastian head first into Mount Doom.
Satisfying thoughts aside, his attention was recalled to reality as footsteps approached and ceased before him. He looked up: Trent.
"What are you doing here?" He asked with mild confusion, voice rough from disuse, frowning slightly.
He did not possess the energy for pretence, and Trent deserved better than that anyway. Besides, it wasn't a particularly difficult feat to work out that he and Nick had suffered a discord, the very fact that they were not together in that moment was evidence enough. Being that as it may, however, Jeff was suspicious of Trent's motives, though he was sure they admirable nonetheless.
"Would you believe it if I told that I come here everyday?" Trent asked with an air of conspiratorialism.
"No." The answer was flat.
"Then you're an excellent judge of character and I commend you." Trent moved to take a seat on Jeff's left.
"Catch," and he tossed Jeff a freshly baked cookie; white chocolate chip. The residual warmth of which still clouded the sealing cellophane.
"Not allowed to eat in here," Jeff protested with weak feeling. He had skipped breakfast, and the biscuit smelt so good. His stomach rumbled traitorously in response and he knew the argument was lost. Trent grinned.
"I wont tell if you wont," he promised, before producing one of his own.
They ate in silence, stealing glances down the aisle, ready to whip away their stolen confectioneries at the slightest indication of the eagle-eyed librarian, their vantage point allowing them an unobstructed view of the front desk.
When Trent did not presume to reinstate the conversation, Jeff asked him with reluctance, finding it strangely difficult to wrap his tongue around the name:
"Did Nick ask you to come and find me?"
He looked up from underneath his lashes timidly, unsure of whether that thought constituted an irritation or endearment. Maybe Trent was an acting go-between?
"No." Trent's expression was completely earnest, and somehow, Jeff believed him. "I saw him just now though – he had a face like a wet weekend. Kind of like yours actually." He fixed Jeff with a knowing gaze;
"What's going on, huh? You two are usually inseparable …"
Jeff stared down at the floor, suddenly inordinately interested in the characteristic swirling patterns, which blurred together or became distinct depending upon ones focus, biting his lip nervously. He trusted Trent, that wasn't the issue, but he just didn't know if he could hold his composure in regaling, and he wasn't prepared to go to pieces in public, when it would only succeed in making things worse.
A problem shared may have been a problem halved, but it was also a problem doubled, the two independent pieces chafing against one another, and that was where it got messy; a confusion of secondary opinion.
"Hey, if I'm being too nosey, don't hesitate to tell me to mind my own business," Trent prompted, when the silence endured, holing up his hands to suggest he would not be offended. What could possibly have happened to come between two such steadfast friends?
"No, its – you're not, erm …" Jeff spoke as if from a great distance, as if he had locked all essential parts of his being away for the purposes of confession, leaving behind only those physical elements necessary to transform the effort into sound. His eyes saw nothing but the haunted images of memory.
"It – It was Nick's idea … to slushie Kurt, I mean … and he was involved, in the – in the attack."
"What?"
There existed no superior words potent enough to adequately surmise his sentiments of shock.
"Yeah. I dunno … he told me this morning. I knew there was something bothering him, but not … not this." Jeff shook his head absently, and for all the action communicated a sense of disbelief, it seemed a movement primarily designed simply to affirm that the appendage still indeed rested upon his shoulders. For everything else seemed adverse.
Trent found credulity a little unwilling also. So this was the dark secret that had so tortured Nick the previous evening? The brunette indeed had had a right to look nauseated, because this was bad. Had his fight with Sebastian then, been merely a deflection technique; a pantomime to distract away from the guilt of his own reprehensible action? And you thought you knew a person …
He looked at Jeff who appeared so small before him – and that in itself was no mean feat – so defeated, so timid, as if he had reverted back to those initial days at Dalton, which marked him out as the quiet, introverted boy, encumbered by the weight of oppression – or at least, was part way there. It was a heart-breaking sight.
He knew Nick meant more to Jeff than just a friend, more than a brother. He had seen the way they looked at each other – the very way he wished someone would look at him, but for whatever reason, the two appeared wilfully oblivious to the very evidence. But even is nothing else was clear, how much they needed and depended upon each other, at least, was.
He gently laid a hand upon Jeff's shoulder, words, for only the second time in his life failing him. What could he possibly say anyway? There had to be some great speech, maybe even tucked away in one of the vast volumes which surrounded them, that when spoken would absolve everything, but he wasn't that well read, and each kept their secrets possessively concealed, removed from him, forcing him to stumble blind.
He would get to the bottom of this, because it didn't make any sense, and if last night had taught him anything it was that, if the puzzle was erroneous when it should have been comprehensive, then it meant you did not have all the necessary elements at your disposal.
"He said – that no-one was supposed to get hurt … It was just meant to be a prank, and that, he didn't know Sebastian was planning to put anything in the slushie," Jeff said with quiet desperation, as if the words were a lifeline, to which he was clinging without restraint, though they were merely a repetition.
"Do you believe him?" Trent asked in a forced neutral tone.
Jeff looked at him fully for the first time, eyes brimming with sincerity; a testament Trent didn't honestly believe Nick deserved at that point.
"Yes." And then, in the next breath:
"But it doesn't change anything, does it? Blaine still got hurt."
Trent perceived his conflict of loyalties instantly; an over-complication added to an already sensitive issue. He had no impart of wisdom to offer, only a compulsive need to console, to at least somewhat lighten the burden Jeff had taken it upon himself to bare, because to see the blonde Warbler so dispirited marked a worldly dishonour. When Jeff asked whether it changed anything, he was really asking.
He could answer with either conviction or kindness. He chose kindness.
"Maybe it does. What Nick did was wrong and cruel, and I wouldn't have thought him capable of it in a million years … but I guess we have to give him some credit; it was brave of him to come clean. To tell the truth even when he risked losing you because of it. Most people would have just carried on living the lie, praying they never got found out. If you want to put a value on friendship then there it is, there aren't many people who would do the same.
"Don't get me wrong, I've seen the way he's been acting lately – a regular chip off the ol' Sebastian block, and it was an eyesore to begin with. He's been reckless, obnoxious and frankly unpleasant to be around, that being the better days. But, maybe this means he's finally seen sense; maybe this is his way of making amends; by coming clean. No-body's perfect, I guess, and we've all done things we're not proud of, thought admittedly, I've never nearly blinded someone." The last part was said a little too sourly for preaching redemption.
He didn't honestly believe the words, but Jeff needed to hear them, and that was all that mattered in the moment. He needed to know that his faith found shelter in a vessel outside his own, even if the light was nothing more than a reflection, because otherwise, it seemed but an empty and hollow ideal.
Lying didn't come natural, least of all to a friend, but what was the alternative? He would not be the one to cause Jeff even greater anguish. Besides, he would have it out with Nick sooner or later, some time when Jeff wasn't around to hear, and he wouldn't be holding back for the sake of the brunette's feelings. There was more than one innocent party in this entire sordid affair.
"But, I can't forgive him." The sound was small, barely even audible, "and I can't talk to him … not yet."
Life has a peculiar habit of imposing coincidence upon unwilling parties, and in this instant, it did not disappoint. For, no sooner had Jeff spoken those words, than Nick wandered defeatedly into the library. They could see him from their vantage point, even if he couldn't see them in return.
Immediately, Jeff blanched, and began gathering up his belongings with careless abandon and evident preoccupation, unable to remain even in the same vicinity. But was his aversion due to the abhorrence of Nick's actions, and therefore, on principle, or more due to the fact that it almost constituted physical torture to linger in the same room as Nick and yet not speak to him? A distinction more blurred had never existed.
"Jeff, wait …" but he was already gone.
Trent groaned. Seriously, these days their lives owned more drama than 90201. And TV series glamorised it inordinately.
~ * … * ~
Nick scanned each aisle as he passed: Jeff had to be in here somewhere. This was his retreat, his shelter when things got too real.
Or, perhaps he had seen Nick enter, and had left already, meaning the latter's search was futile. That thought hurt.
He didn't know what he had intended to say, if indeed, he had intended to say anything, but he just needed to make sure Jeff was okay, or as okay as the current circumstances would permit. Even a single glance, stolen around Shakespeare's complete works would have sufficed, but it seemed the world did not even owe him that much.
Surrendering, he sat dejectedly at one of the four empty communal tables, burring his head in his hands. Why did the worst days of your life seem to drag on forever? It was like some perversive irony.
He didn't even possess the resolve to look up as footsteps approached – they were not Jeff's and that was all he cared about – and their owner took a seat opposite.
"So …" Trent.
Nick didn't even waste the breath on asking from whence he had came, that tone was indication enough. So Jeff had been here, and left upon his arrival. He sighed to keep from breaking.
"You know." It wasn't a question. Nick finally looked up with the movement of a world wearied man who had seen too many hardships. He couldn't find it in his heart to blame Jeff for taking Trent into his confidence; he knew how heavy the burden of truth was to bare alone. He could never find it in his heart to blame Jeff for anything.
"Have you completely lost your mind? What were you thinking?"
Trent, contrary to his straight forward nature, had held back in Jeff's presence, pushing aside the passions of scorn and indignation with monumental effort, in order to offer some small modicum of comfort to the blonde who had appeared too fragile to weather the angry remarks of another, directed towards one for whom he was still seeking salvation. But no more. Trent was going to lay a few home truths on the line, and they would not make for favourable hearing.
"I think it's pretty obvious that I wasn't thinking," said Nick flatly, as if emotion was a concept too painful to explore. "Otherwise I would never have been so stupid." He balled his hands into fists, ignoring the pain it cost him. He welcomed Trent's anger, anything else but his world of silence, because it forced him to confront head on, that which he would still otherwise endeavour to run from: the flaws of his character.
"You're a hypocrite, you know that? You lash out a Sebastian for something you were part of yourself. You talk about friendship, but yet you seem to have no problem turning against the people you would claim to care about when the moment suits you. You're selfish Nick, and you destroy everything good around you."
He was angry for himself, and angry upon Jeff's part also, both of which lent a potency to his speech which he did not necessarily feel. Caught in the heat of the moment, his words cut like slivers of ice.
"I know." The answer was defeated. He didn't even try to defend himself.
"Then do something about it!"
Their discourse attractied unwelcome glares from the library assistant, which were covertly hostile, and so they lowered their voices accordingly, at least having the good grace to look sufficiently admonished.
"Don't you think I've tried? Don't you think I've gone over those things again and again in my head? Don't you think that if I could take it all back, I would in a heartbeat?" Despair turned to desperation, his eyes as wild as the sea caught in the throes of a storm.
"But then … why?"
"Because …" Nick hesitated for a fraction of a second before relenting any pride he had left intact, "because Sebastian got to me"
It was the first time he had admitted that truth aloud, the first time he had offered it as an excuse to in any way negate his own part in a forced situation, though, here in the seat of hero's, away from ambiguous speeches and twisted logic which would seem innovative, it waxed a weak one.
He hadn't told Jeff because he was ashamed, never wanting the blonde to think any less of him for being taken in by a silken tongue – as it turned out, in protecting himself in one respect, he had later effectively decimated Jeff's every favourable opinion of him anyway.
"Everything I did, it just – made me feel like a somebody for a while, instead of just a voice in the background. It was nice. Turns out though; it wasn't worth it. Not really." His tone was sour and his eyes shone with regret, no truer image of repentance had there ever been seen on the face of man. But Trent still remained indignant:
"So you got passed over one too many times for a solo; big deal! Jeff and I have never had one, and yet you don't see us throwing out weight around like some toddler denied his own way," Trent challenged.
In truth, he could sympathise, but as of yet, he wasn't prepared to, still too appalled.
It was disparaging to be turned down again and again for solo's, to be piqued at the post every time, to be told that your best just wasn't good enough, to feel like your moment in the spotlight would never come to fruition while all those around you, it seemed, realized their dreams one by one, taking your share for their own. And under Sebastian's leadership, things were only made worse, because then it felt like everybody had to be heard, and it meant you were less than nothing it you were not. Being in the Warblers was meant to be fun; a unity of brothers, but it had not been that for a while.
"You asked me why I did it," Nick reminded him despondently, tracing his finger over the convoluted lines of the tables natural grain with slow, deliberate movements, "so I told you. I never said my reason was a good one."
"No. It's a terrible one."
Trent groaned, even despite himself, the zeal of anger which coursed through his veins lending steel to his words was beginning to ebb away, diffused by the pitiful sight Nick presented, and left in its wake was a less combustible frustration. Clearly Nick regretted his actions, and if that much was true already, then what good would lecturing him achieve but to make the chastising party feel better? It was more compassion than Sebastian had shown at least.
"Okay, but I still don't understand how. Jeff was more than a little vague on the details –"
"Is he okay?" Nick latched onto the name as if it were a life preserver tossed out to the drowning man.
Trent raised an eyebrow, which roughly translated into a not unkind; 'what do you think?' before elaborating:
"He's devastated; barely holding it together. He thinks he's lost you, and I'm not just talking about last night – it feels like you've been gone a while." The truth for all it's acclaimed virtue, was an ugly creature.
"I know," Nick chocked, coughing to hide a sob, persisting in tracing the natural patterns with ever more fervency. "It feels like I've been walking round in a dream." And then, looking at Trent, so that the full and earnest extent of his anguish was laid bare;
"I never meant to hurt him. I never meant to hurt anyone."
And suddenly, Trent believed him, and more than that, pitied him.
"I know … He still has faith in you, you know? Even despite all this. It's not too late to make things right."
Nick offered him a watery smile – which spoke more than words could supply; a chance of redemption – the first he had found the will to muster for what seemed like a life age.
Trent returned the gesture heavily. How did someone so usually optimistic succeed in looking so vulnerable? It was disconcerting to say the least.
"So, I'm guessing Jeff didn't give you too much opportunity to explain yourself then?" Trent assumed, trying not to sound too harsh in the abrupt reversion to topic.
Nick winced nonetheless and shook his head. Had the situations been reversed, would he have stuck around for an explanation? Probably not. Had honesty really been the best policy? Because so far, all it had seemed to provide was hurt.
"Do you want to try me instead?" Rhetorical.
He didn't, but he would, if only to ease the burden of his conscience, if only to soothe the aching of his heart into some semblance of submission. He sighed, this was not an explanation that he would relish.
"I guess it all started with Sebastian's phone-call to Blaine. He must have got it out of him that the New Directions were planning to do MJ at Regional's. I don't know, I wasn't really listening, Sebastian's conversations are full of innuendo's; it's really uncomfortable. When he got off the phone, he was agitated, but sort of, in an excited way. He said something about it contravening competitive spirit for them to do Michael at both their Sectionals and Regionals. But, I don't know, he kind of spun it, made it sound like we were always intending to do Michael first, and they stole the idea.
"Then, he disappeared for a couple of hours. And the next thing we all know is that there is going to be a Jackson-off between us and New Directions, the winner securing the rights to perform MJ.
"We were all talking, and that's how it came about; Sebastian, Flint, Curtis and me, after Warbler practice. Laughing about ways we could gain the upper hand, stupid things, you know? Smoke screens, paint-balls and costumes. Things that were amazing in theory but would never really happen. But the idea of pranking them kind of stuck, I guess, and took on a life of its own. Sebastian's been pretty sour since he learned they beat us at last years Regionals by using original songs. But I just thought it was all hot air.
"I remembered what Kurt had told us: about how people got slushied at McKinley, and the irony was too much to resist. Most of their pranks were just cruel, while … while Sebastian said mine was clever. But it was just banter, completely hypothetical. I never realized it would go this far. It was never supposed to.
"Then, before we enter the parking lot, Sebastian pulls me aside and says that in the last few bars Flint will hand me a paper bag, and all I have to do is pass it to Curtis, who in turn will pass it to Sebastian himself. It didn't make any sense, but yet I didn't think to question it. Whatever it held, I trusted Sebastian. Ha! Wasn't that a mistake?
"So, when Flint hands me it, I pass it on. Sebastian pulls out a slushie and – … the rest you know." Nick bowed his head in shame.
Meanwhile, Trent just stared at him aghast. An expression that could have been no more animated even if, after seventeen years of pretence, someone had revealed to him that chocolate was a fruit and budgerigars were really amphibious reptiles, and the descendants of dinosaurs to boot. Then, all at once he smiled, thought there was a vibrant edge of exasperation to it.
"You are an absolute imbecile and you drive me insane! I honestly can't decided whether I want to throttle you or hug you!"
"W – what?" Nick stammered in slow confusion. That wasn't exactly the response he had envisioned.
Trent waved his enquiry aside with the air of a man stood eagerly before discoveries gate, trying each of his keys systematically.
"So, you didn't know Sebastian was planning to slushie Kurt until he pulled it out of the bag? You didn't even know what you were handling?"
"Well, not actu – " Nick began uncertainly, frowning, before Trent cut him off kindly, if impatiently.
"You never intended to be part of their callus prank?"
"No, Kurt and Blaine are my frie –"
"And you defiantly didn't know that Sebastian put something dangerous in there?"
"No. Never."
Trent threw up his arms for revelational emphasis, before Nick countered;
"But it was my idea."
He could not accept the mitigation, even as it was offered. Could not by rights, accept pardon, when, despite all those things Blaine had still gotten hurt, and he and Kurt both, still were left to pick up the pieces of something that should never have been shattered. If only he had kept his thoughts to himself. If only he had done a million and one things differently, then none of this would have ever happened.
"Yeah," Trent scoffed heartily, "because I'm sure Flint and Sebastian were so subdued during this debate. You said it yourself; their pranks were cruel. Even if you hadn't spoken up, they would have still done something underhand and you know it. And maybe Blaine would have wound up in the hospital, even more worse off."
Nick refused to meet his eye. But, he had believed …
Never had he wished so ardently that a conviction would be found erroneous, but now that a new perspective offered him a chance at redemption, he found himself hesitant. He clung to that guilt, that horrible responsibility as if it were an extension of himself, an element he was loath to relinquish. Why?
Encouragingly, Trent reached across the table and grasped hold of Nick's shoulder, grinning broadly, though there was something of sorrow in its constitution, as if Nick's resistance pained him. He squeezed it tightly for a second, as if to reinforce truths housing in reality.
"Let it go. None of this was your fault, okay? The only thing you're guilty of is trying to see the best in people, even when they don't deserve it. And being absolutely abysmal at explaining yourself," Trent amended, raising an eyebrow, "seriously?" Nick shrugged resignedly, an embarrassed smile alighting upon his lips. Trent just shook his head, still in shock, before impressing with feeling: "So stop beating yourself up already. If you want to be angry at anyone, then be angry at Sebastian, because the blame for all of this rests at his door."
It took a few minutes for those words to make their mark, but eventually, Nick's shoulders sagged, as if they were abruptly relieved of a great encumbrance, and its removal left them weaker for the burden: adolescent again, stripped of a man's worries.
Only then, did it become startlingly and truly apparent just how much this entire affair had affected him; consumed him and devoured him, until he appeared colourless and hagged, temporarily old beyond his years. He seemed less than himself, in presence and in baring, and the black smudges beneath his eyes betrayed that the had not slept peacefully for a while. In short, he looked beaten. But even in apparent defeat, there was a spark which ignited, that bore him again to fortitude.
And even as Trent watched him, taking in these things without regiment, he questioned the perception of his own soul, for how could it ever lead him to doubt the integrity of Nick Duval? It was exactly as he had thought: there was more than one innocent party in their entire sordid affair, and some were still yet coming to light.
"But, Jeff …" And there was the self admonishment again.
Trent just shook his head, torn between laughter and exasperation. Typical. Having had his unfounded guilt absolved, Nick's first thought, of course, was for Jeff. He hoped that never changed.
But even without the charges Nick had branded upon himself, all of this remained a sticky situation, full of delicate feeling, and possibly destructive impulse. Jeff yearned to hear this truth, but yet, would he allow himself to listen?
"I'll talk to him," Trent promised, understanding immediately Nick's inclination and predicament, eager to reunite the two souls fate should never sunder. Right now, the truth spoken from the horses mouth would seem to be a lie.
Nick nodded, letting out a sigh of relief, thinking that he and Jeff both should really give Trent greater credit; he was a friend like few others. Then, he grinned without restraint, feeling for the first time in a long while, like himself again. And to traverse that so familiar, and so recently lost sight of territory was akin only to running gaily through the hills of Eden. He was at home in himself, and he had found it in being true, from then onwards he knew, Sebastian's sway over him was broken. With new hope kindled again in his heart, he began to believe that somehow, everything would turn out right.
"I owe you an apology," Trent spoke earnestly and without pride. "It was wrong of me to jump to conclusions. I should have made sure I had the whole story straight before flying off the handle with a bunch of wild accusations." And then, on a subdued and certainly more affectionate note;
"I didn't mean what I said. You're not selfish, and you certainly don't destroy everything good around you – you enhance it."
Nick just shrugged, grinning in acceptance of the extension. He would be fooling himself to say he would have reacted any differently, knowing what was at stake.
"You were just looking out for Jeff. How can I blame you for that when I would have done the same thing? For all you knew, I was behind it. I thought it was my fault too."
"You know, he never really doubted you. Not for an instant. It's not so often you'll find a person who holds out so persistently on faith." Trent told him, head cocked to the side, all the better to survey Nick with. Nick smiled shyly.
Jeff would have remained faithful to the end, and even beyond, whether the judgement went ill or not, because friendship with him, once won, was never relented. Because anger was fleeting, and his friend a person so much greater than one foolish mistake, and not forever held to ransom of it. But his loyalties would have always been divided, and his heart would have always been torn, for in keeping one half, he was eternally estranging the other.
Nick knew this because for Jeff, he would have done the same. Nothing was forever, and the strength of their bond marked any discord fleeting.
It was only by a chance wandering, that in the radiance of proven innocence, Nick's eye's fell to look upon the floor, and more specifically the footwear of his fellow. There was a distinctive lack of polished leather and a corresponding preponderance of softened suede that seemed extremely out of place.
"Trent, are you wearing slippers?" Nick frowned.
"I am," he admitted without shame, lifting up the leg of his trousers so Nick could see them in all their glory. To the sassy Warbler's credit, they at least mimicked regulation footwear but for the fact they were slippers.
"Ever seen a blister the size of a golf ball? No? Then count your blessings, I won't give you a visual. These were the only things I could walk more than two steps in. Notice I didn't say comfortably." He tried to sound sour, but it just came out humorous.
Nick felt bad for him, he really did, because that sounded like it hurt, but he couldn't resist the jibe;
"Well you did walk nine miles in new -"
"Don't even say it!" Trent looked momentarily mutinous, and shivered at the memory.
They left the library, walking side by side as equals of truth to rejoin the rest of the world.
Out of nowhere, Trent's hand came up and smacked Nick sharply upside the head, in a gesture that was completely unexpected.
"Ow! What was that for?" Nick scowled regarding the other Warbler with a side long glance. He ran his fingers across the abruptly tender spot. There may have been no violence behind the swipe but boy did it smart, the motion dishevelled his hair further, seeming now comparatively untameable omitting the liberal use of gel.
"Because between you and Jeff I swear I'm going prematurely grey!" Trent threw his hands up with passionate despair. "Don't ever do anything like this again!"
Nick preserved his humble silence. He had been warned.
~ * … * ~
Throughout the remainder of the day, things got both better and worse, though sentiments of improvement were subject to relative interpretation.
Wasn't it a convoluted irony that the lesson immediately proceeding lunch was one of only two that the four shared together; Maths. And the sum of trigonometry and dispute was laborious to say the least.
Nick graciously declined Trent's offer of company, impressing upon him to remain close by Jeff's side instead, while he opted for himself the furthest table at the back; raised above the others on a platform: all the better vantage for surveying the room at large.
If Sebastian was going to start something, then it's inception would be here and now, while the covert wounds of humiliation were still raw, and Nick didn't want Jeff or Trent to be caught in the crossfire. Enduringly ill at ease, he wished that they were in another classroom altogether, for he didn't put heroism past either of them.
For the first time, he realized that he had actually taken Jeff's warning to heart, and the revelation surprised him, for he felt now that he knew Sebastian's motives better in opposition than in camaraderie. Though, he reserved no concern for himself.
He resolved to tarry after the lesson ended, offering Sebastian an opportunity, if he was indeed so inclined, to confront him in the absence of any sensitive parties. No-one was ever going to get hurt because of him again.
The sense of relief which Nick felt when Jeff entered the room was indescribable, as if he had been waiting with bated breath for the return of hope. As if the earth had spun adversely on its axis, and Jeff's presence alone reversed the polarity, instilling reason again into chaos.
Just shy of being tardy, the blonde muttered an apology to Mrs. Sedden, who looked upon him kindly. But yet everything from his demeanour to his expression seemed aggrieved, uncertain, oppressed. And blinded by the realms of his own elation at Jeff's distant company, it was a few moments before Nick suitably remembered that Jeff still believed, as he had, not two hours ago; that the slushy incident had been almost exclusively Nick's fault. This mornings events felt like the escapades of a secondary persona tried on for size; lines read by an actor.
Respecting Nick's wishes, Trent immediately caught Jeff's attention, and motioned for him to take the empty seat beside. Jeff's smile was heartfelt, if brief, and he moved to comply with a palpable relief; as if in his mind, he had built this moment up to be so much worse than what truth found it. He did not appear to notice Nick, who had abdicated their usual seating for a loftier roost, though his eyes did linger momentarily upon the space they would have otherwise occupied, and Nick thought he perceived regret in that gaze, before they were turned resolutely to the front.
In all probability, it had been something close to three hours since Nick had last seen Jeff, yet it felt like a month. And during that time, it seemed like a weight had grown upon his heart, which only became more burdensome the longer they were apart. At first he had justified it as the affective encumber of their discord, found physical release, but now, he was not so sure, it felt more … wholesome than that.
To hold Jeff in his sights waxed a comfort and indulgence now that he was released from guilt. To know that he was okay, relatively speaking, with the obvious soon to be resolved, that he was still there; the beacon of hope and trust, whose light could be diminished but never defeated.
Words themselves could not accurately convey just how much he meant to Nick – the world itself was worthless in his eye compared. When he laughed, it seemed the summer should be evermore. When he cried, that six billion people should cast down their responsibilities in tributary grief. When he sang, that the world had existed in silence before, anticipating the dawn of sound. And when he danced, that the very earth should surge in appreciation. Jeff was his everything.
The lesson commenced, and there was no sign of Sebastian. What that signified was elusive, but certainly no encouragement.
Trent and Jeff spoke intermittently, sometimes indicating an equation upon the page before them, sometimes discussing with abandon, issues which in no way contributed to the degree identification of an angle. Nick watched them with a sort of reserved satisfaction and sadness, he had forgotten how long it had been since he had last seen Jeff looking so at ease.
Though Nick followed the theory with strict attention, and would have even gone so far as to say, understood the practice, he was denied his one golden opportunity to absolve some of his now less than favourable reputation, by his abused hand, which had now seized up unforgivingly in the meagre period of disuse. Oh he gave up!
The profit was not worth the pain, but, determined like never before, he slipped the pencil into his left hand and laboured on as best he could. Ignoring the fact that the scrawl resembled that of a careless four year old armed with a board marker, then the endeavour was a success. He hoped at least he would score points for trying – it was more than he had done in a while.
Half an hour into the lesson and still no whisper of Sebastian abounded. Nick had only just managed to convince himself that the self-important Warbler was not going to grace them with his presence, when the door opened to admit him.
Well, it was probably a good thing that he was no betting man then, Nick thought, shifting uneasily.
Sebastian converged upon Mrs. Sedden's desk, taking her into his confidence for a moment, before she nodded sympathetically and motioned for him to take a seat, free of penalization.
He did not have to search for Nick in the sea of faces, he already knew where to look, and as he passed the penultimate desk of the third row, he levelled a glare at him, grinning sinisterly.
Nick swallowed convulsively. If that look did not portend trouble then he did not know what did. Somehow, his courage was harder to scrape together in the familiar setting of home, lacking the tang of passionate injustice.
They sat, like four oppositional compass points, rank with disharmony.
Jeff and Trent grew uneasy as one, Sebastian's presence was a threat to peace itself in their minds. They had missed the exchange, but that didn't mean they were ignorant of it; imagination was the fuel of life.
Nick could feel their tangent glances upon him, almost boring in their intensity, but he dared not return them, for that which was given in reassurance, could come back and haunt him in encouragement. This was his fight, no-one else needed to be involved and he would not suffer them to be …
The lesson continued unabated, unconcerned with the humanitarian discord staffed by four of its number.
As the bell rang, and everyone body else hastened to their last lesson of the day, Nick made a show of meticulously completing his last equation, until the classroom emptied of all but four stragglers beside himself.
Trent sidled over to him, and he did a double take, cursing himself passionately for not having paid closer attention to who lingered in the room beside Sebastian and him. It seemed there had been one too many extraneous variables for his plan to be executed seamlessly, and there was no chance to back down now. He quickly tried to work out a strategy, but found his cunning unwilling.
Trent looked slightly guilty as he spoke, biting his lip;
"Jeff's going to room with me tonight. He asked, and I couldn't exactly say no, go sleep in the hall. Sorry." He gave Nick an apologetic look, "but it gives me the perfect opportunity to talk to him," he offered up in compromise
Nick nodded resignedly distracted, knowing it was for the best but hating it anyway. There was a certain amount of helplessness involved in having someone else fight your corner, and he didn't relish the lack of control it awarded him over his own destiny, at a time which was so pivotal. A mouth to speak your truth with different words. He trusted Trent, but nevertheless, it was no substitute for telling Jeff himself.
Under the oppression of his own regret and self-loathing, he had found Jeff's anguish unbearable to observe. But in liberty, it was made so much worse.
And then, Sebastian was upon them – hawk in the sights of prey. Undiminished and as insufferable as ever.
"What do you want?" Nick demanded, before the taller Warbler seized the opportunity to speak. Beside him, Trent folded his arms resolutely, demonstrating that neither of them had any patience for games.
"It's not what I want, but what you can do for me," he said with unriled simplicity, which aggravated the situation more effectively than reciprocal hostility.
"Why would we want to do anything for you?" Nick scoffed with derision.
Sebastian moved towards them, his superior height as threatening as his stance; his voice acid smooth and loaded:
"Because it seem to me like you've forgotten who's actually in charge here, and that's a dangerous thing to forget. It can make you powerful enemies, but luckily, I'm not that petty." He smiled, an expression as reassuring as the desert was wet.
Nick and Trent exchanged significant glances. Even if he wasn't that petty, he was certainly that spiteful. They remained silent; waiting, and Sebastian complied, after building sufficient tension.
"What? Did you think you would just undermine my authority and get away with it? Decide suddenly that everything I've given you wasn't worth it?" He smiled brutally, "Those solo's came at a price Nick, and the payments come due."
Nick swallowed heavily. Sebastian was one boy, just three weeks Nick's senior. What made him so malicious? What made him so intimidating?
"What do you want?" Nick repeated again, harshly, bolstered by the fact that his voice neither quailed nor betrayed his prevalent unease.
"To help you." No stranger words had ever been spoken by that cruel mouth.
"Why?" Trent demanded, immediately suspicious.
"Because contrary to popular belief, I'm a reasonable guy." Nick and Trent snorted derisively as one, they had seen no evidence of that. "And I'm willing to overlook your insubordination, and offer you a compromise. One which should suit all three of us."
Nick didn't trust anything that would benefit Sebastian in the same bracket as Trent and himself, but he also was not prepared to spend the rest of his school career continually looking over his shoulder, fretting about when and where and how Sebastian would exact the retribution he had decided was his right to take. He seemed like the sort of guy who would foster grudges for a lifetime.
So begrudgingly and against his better judgement, he listened, knowing even before the words were spoken that he was not going to like what he heard.
"In exchange for your co-operation and compliance, I'll forget the entire affair. You do what I say, when I say it and every-bodies happy. The Warblers get back on track, and we take Nationals: win win." He sold it like a pro, but it was an unrighteous campaign.
"So, what?" Trent scoffed, "we become like laps dogs, to be ordered around at will? No thanks, find someone else."
"Yeah," Nick echoed boldly, "you'll have to kick us out first, and good luck winning Nationals without us."
They were inspiring sentiments, but Sebastian didn't appear in the least dissuaded. On the contrary, he seemed triumphant, smug even – as if he kept in reserve, one more ace in the hole, and he was simply biding his time to reveal it, waiting for the most advantageous moment, which would be soon in the coming.
Nick and Trent despaired, because in a war of words, no-one could best him. His composure was too insensitive, too impenetrable, and to him, everything was a game, whose triumphant victor was always its instigator; himself.
"You really think that you're not that easily replaced? He shook his head as if the notion was an epiphany to him.
"So, do it then," Nick challenged recklessly, at a loss for any other come back, and refusing to be beaten, while Trent nodded his conviction beside.
"No. That would be too easy." Heaven forbid, thought Trent sourly, rolling his eyes. "I thought you might be resistant, so I'll sweeten the barter. How about this: do what I say, or else, Jeff will be kicked out in your stead." He smiled serenely.
"WHAT? He has nothing to do with this!" cried Trent outraged.
"Do you seriously want me to punch you again? Your issue's with me. Don't you dare take it out on him.!" Nick shouted fiercely. His protectiveness of Jeff forcefully aroused.
Sebastian offered him a peculiar look, as if perceiving something for the first time, before his gaze slipped doubtfully to regard Nick's abused knuckles.
"Nice bruises," he remarked conversationally, smirking.
"Nice concealer," Nick returned smugly, Sebastian's sense of superiority momentarily dissuaded.
For, in such close proximity as they were, Nick could see it easily; worn thin, clumped and grainy with prolonged use, and through its coverage was visible the mottled purple, blue, green and yellow of subcutaneous bleeding.
The satisfaction that perception elicited was was not communicational to words – his strike against Sebastian had not been ineffective after all, Sebastian had just been too proud, or too afraid to show that he had been matched. What he could not conceal, however, was the way in which that deep ache caused him to mis-sound certain phonetics (even if it was to an infinitesimal degree), nor how it transformed what would have been a smirk, into a grimace.
"So, what do you say?" Sebastian prompted after a moment, supremacy restored. Even if his composure was temporarily distracted, he still had the upper hand in their debate, and knew it.
Nick didn't say anything, torn once again between his head and his heart. Trent abdicated the decision, whatever Nick chose, he would support.
To give in would mean they were playing right into Sebastian's hands, granting him willingly a power over them he could never have freely attained otherwise. But to refuse meant Jeff had to pay the price, for something he was not even privy to, and that seemed so much worse than anything Sebastian could impose upon them to perform. If by surrendering himself, he could keep Jeff free of Sebastian's manipulative control, then, to Nick, it was worth it.
Sebastian shrugged, and was moving fluidly towards the door before Nick could even dredge up his voice. His gait left no room for error; this was no light mockery in which he indulged.
"Wait!" It was all he could do to force the words around barred teeth, "we'll do it."
There was no indication from Trent of any contention, and Nick was gratefully humbled. Just as they had pledged the night before; they had each others backs, come what may.
"And here I thought you'd be unreasonable," said Sebastian smoothly, and without turning, he vacated the room.
As soon as he was gone, Trent forcefully upset a chair to his right, venting excessive frustration, while Nick just stood there completely numb, having extolled too great a stock of passion that day already, and left with nothing more to give.
"Do you think he gets a thrill out of messing with peoples lives?" spat Trent, disgustedly.
"'Course he does. It's like some sadistic pleasure to him," muttered Nick darkly.
Just as he had extricated himself from Sebastian's influence, he had slipped right back under, and this time it was with eyes wide open, which made it all the more formidable.
~ * … * ~
When Nick returned to their shared dormitory, it was to find Jeff already gone, and that various miscellaneous objects had been removed.
Aside, everything else was the same; as if Jeff had merely stepped out for a second, but for that contingency, which only seemed to echo the sense of absence louder. He resigned himself to a night spent in solitude; the first since Sophmore year, when Jeff had been vactioning with his family.
If he was really that loath to be alone, then he could have gone to one of the common-rooms – irrespective of the time of day, the oak panelled walls rung eternally with the clamour of student voices – and the not infrequent outbursts of song if four or more Warblers happened to be present at any one time. But there was really only one persons company which he desired, and they would not be there, so he defected.
Instead he took some positive decisive action in trying to salvage his academic career, and avoid flunking altogether.
Delving into his and Jeff's secret, if not restricted candy supply, he extracted a Crunchie bar and a handful of Pear Drops (exclusively Jeff's idea, though he had to admit, he was warming to them) and poured over his numerous text books and assignments for several gruelling hours, until the lines ran together and the words marked a single grey blur before his eyes.
He understood little of what he read, and laboured through the frustration with difficulty; making slow progress, until, discarding the greater bulk of work as presently impossible, he concentrated solely upon and completed a single English essay, long overdue. His progress was further hampered by the tedious practice of one handed typing.
English was the one thing he seemed to harbour an aptitude for, and sitting there blankly, he recalled with vague remembrance, certain important aspects imbued within William Golding's famous Lord Of The Flies, and subsequently spent an hour and a half building his critical analysis around them. If he was lucky, it might just be enough to scrape him a C-, but it was a step in the right direction at least.
His abrupt re-commitment to school work served a dual purpose, for it distracted his attention also. Whatever Sebastian was planning boded ill for them all, and Nick hated to be his instrument, but at least Jeff's position in the Warblers was, for the moment, made safe – and though Sebastian may have, in his blinkered ignorance denied it, the Warblers would suffer a deficit without him, and not just harmoniously.
Though Sebastian's words existed within him as a burdensome unease, he refused to give the amoral Warbler the satisfaction of knowing he had unnerved him, and that conviction was indifferent to solitude or company.
At ten pm sharp, he fell, still fully clothed, into bed; completely exhausted. But there he found no rest – Jeff's absence was everywhere; a figure in the dark.
Where was the movement? The rustle of polyester sheets as he turned over three times before succumbing to slumber. Where was the permeating sound of respiration, the integral rhythm of the night? For Jeff never snored, but merely in deep sleep, breathed heavily, as if he had ran a mile in his dreams. Where was the whispered goodnight? That single phrase which held so many other things unsaid.
Everything was wrong and malcontent didn't sleep.
Furthermore, that ache in his chest, which he had became aware of only for the first time that day, was steadily graduating towards the most acute end of unbearable, making it hard to breathe, hard to think, and think of anything beyond that which was currently lost. Jeff had always been important to him, in those early years a brother, and lately, even greater than that.
But he had never realized before; just how much he cared about him, to what lengths he would go to to ensure the safety and happiness of that one amazing person. Just how integral he was to every aspect of Nick's being, and just how much he needed him, as if a part of himself have been given up for Jeff's safekeeping, meaning he only felt whole; complete, when the blonde was at his side.
Abandoning pretence of restraint and his own bed to boot, he slipped under the covers of Jeff's. They were cold, but they still smelt like him, enough to fool his docile senses into believing he lingered there, just out of reach.
Nick told himself repeatedly that if he were merely to stretch out a hand, he could run his fingers through Jeff's soft blond locks; as he had done that one time when Jeff was sick and inconsolable about missing his fourth solo audition. If he were but to move an inch to the right, he would find Jeff curled close beside him, almost as if some unconscious portion of his mind begged proximity. That if he were to open his eyes in the dawns light, it would be to have them fall upon the face of an angel, a countenance more beautiful than beauty itself …
… And then, it came to him. Like an explosion in the otherwise black sky, bringing into being with its energy, the light of a million stars.
… Holy Crap! … He loved him …
~ * … * ~
Trent returned from his salvage mission with arms laden. He spilled the various cases onto the bare mattress and began grouping them accordingly, while Jeff, who had been otherwise occupied by throwing up individual kernels of popcorn and catching them in his mouth, converged upon the scene, having already polished off the better half of the bowl in Trent's absence.
"So, we've got: Action, Violence, Comedy, Horror, Rom-com – hmmm, don't remember who gave me that one but we should definitely hang out more often – Crime, Adventure, Fantasy, Musical, War and Detective." He gave an appreciative whistle, "Well, aren't we a diverse bunch."
Jeff immediately made a grab for the fantasy selection, grinning wryly when Trent just rolled his eyes in resign. Pirates of the Caribbean; Curse of the Black Pearl, Eragon and Clash of the Ttitans. Pirates it was then.
He moved eagerly towards the TV before Trent could offer up any protest, executing a decidedly accurate Jack Sparrow impersonation.
That selection surprised no-body.
Heaped in haphazard comfort upon the floor was every spare pillow they could secure between here and Thad's room. Though it wasn't the same, the custom in itself was observed as a testament to Jeff and Nick's own movie night practices; reminiscent of everything good they shared. An ambiance abounded which urged one both to forget and remember.
To the naked eye, which never sought beneath the surface, the scene would appear sincere enough, but all it necessitated was thought to start picking away at the threads, and it soon became apparent that the whole thing was merely a front.
In gratitude, Jeff strove to conceal his moroseness which despoiled very kind intention and refused to abate even in the absence of effective event, leaving him feeling like a fraud. Meanwhile, Trent fretted incessantly over the twisted nature of Sebastian's scheming, and his own oh-so-recent appointment into it, determined in his own right, and sworn upon Nick's to protect Jeff from the knowledge of that which hung in the balance.
As a result, both parties were distracted – a deficit which worked in the favour of each, for the preoccupation of one prevented them from espying the concerns of the other, and suitably pre-empted awkward questions.
They watched the movie in silence; Jeff stretched out upon his stomach, humming along to particularly memorable sections of the soundtrack, and Trent with his back braced against the pine bed-side table, thoughts a million miles away.
He endeavoured to compile the perfect speech which would fill the requirements of his self-taken-upon task, but every time, the words seemed wrong, too pre-existent, too rehearsed and therefore not solicitous, and that was excluding any external difficulties which may arise.
If Jeff was disinclined to listen, then Trent would have no choice but to make him by any means necessary, because Nick had wagered every hope on the whim that Trent might succeed where he would invariably fail. The pressure of acting in someone else's stead was so much greater than acting in your own. He was last chance saloon, and wasn't that encouraging, Trent thought dryly, no pressure them.
It was, therefore, half way through the movie, a full bowl of popcorn and copious, if questionable unions of junk food later, before Trent was even half way satisfied with his approach.
With an overwhelming sense of consternation, he turned towards the blonde, who moved his lips in sync with the words, his accompanying expression a form of comic relief in themselves, which gave Trent heart.
"Jeff, I need to talk to you about some –"
He stopped abruptly when Jeff's phone gave a harsh, waspish vibration, a momentary square of illumination in the otherwise dark and Jeff practically dived to retrieve it.
Okay … ? Trent frowned.
Heart pounding with nervous anticipation, making it almost impossible to draw breath, Jeff unlocked the keypad with fumbling fingers.
One New Message: Kurt.
He text back … He text back! Only with the greatest reserves of will did Jeff resist the compulsion to punch the air in victory. He had never doubted it, not even for a second, but none of that diminished the glory of receipt.
It was short, succinct, and by a lesser man, could have been taken in vain. Two words long, and yet it inspired in Jeff immeasurable joy.
It read simply: 'We know.'
Kurt and Blaine believed them.
Sebastian could go an fall into a crater for all Jeff cared, because friendship was divine and more powerful than any measure of poison he could induce.
But, encouraging though the reciprocal exchange was, it still brought him no closer to ascertaining how Blaine fared … those screams. Jeff shivered. The former Warbler must at least be out of any immediate danger for Kurt to text back at all. Kurt was nothing if not a person of priority, Blaine being his number one. But assumptions made no concrete allusions to fact, and he was through dealing with them. So, abandoning over-cautious sensitivity, he ventured to ask, without adornment:
'How's Blaine? We're all thinking of you both.'
He sent it feeling a lump build within his throat; chocking him, and his vision blur with excess moisture even in the darkness. Nick couldn't be behind this. Couldn't be it's instigator.
It was a few moments before Jeff realized how Trent's gaze lingered upon him; questioning but unpresumptuous – a voice without voice, and a communication as effective. It begged the question: what have I missed?
In regaling the exchange, Jeff refrained from looking him in the eye as he spoke Nick's name in conjunction with their own innocence. A wish in longing, a prayer for the redemption of pain. He needed that belief, and he did not trust it to others.
It was there Trent found courage, and abandoning meticulous caution and carefully constructed argument, which he had spent the better part of two hours establishing, he instead appointed his heart to speak: guide of will and truth, vessel of sincerity.
"Jeff, do you remember me saying that we've all made stupid mistakes, and that no-bodies perfect?" The blonde nodded, from those words he had drawn particular encouragement; they had given him the strength he needed to believe. "Well, Nick made an incredibly stupid mistake, only – it's not the one you're thinking …"
And as Trent enlightened him, Jeff's expression grew as radiant as a super nova blotting out the stars, because it was not often one found support for hope. Everything he had refused to believe, was everything which had been tried untrue.
And, in the midst of the two possibly worst days of his life, he smiled without restraint, because despite in-numerous opposition, his faith in Nick had been rewarded.
Never fear, our loveable duo are reunited in the next chapter :)
Hopefully that was okay for you all, about five times during writing it, I just stopped and thought, gee, what if people hate me for writing this, what if this dissapoints them, or is not what they imagined. The curse of overthinking.
Any questions, do not hesitate to ask :) I welcome anything you have to say.
I'm about half way through the second chapter on paper, so I'll give it a couple of days and then start typing up what I've already got. I can't give a date when it will be done by though, sorry.
As always, thank you for taking the time out to read :)
- One Wish Magic.
