Klavier promises, before he leaves for Germany, to write. That he'll make sure to get something out as quick as he can, so at least Sebastian has an address. "That way we can both send things back and forth. Try not to miss me too much until then, ja?"
And he doesn't, at first, too busy with the beginning of the school year to do much else but patiently ask his father every day if there had been any mail for him.
The first time he'd asked, Blaise had laughed about "who would even waste the paper on you?"
Sebastian didn't quite get the joke, but he laughed along anyway. "Klavier, of course! You remember I told you about him, pops! He's going to send me stuff while he's away."
"Is that so?" Sebastian felt a rush of joy go through him as Blaise studied him carefully. He'd really only mentioned his friend once or twice before, but he would have talked about him more often had he known it would be one of the rare times his father actually paid attention to what he was saying.
And after his father's earnest promise to keep an eye out for any letters, he can't help but feel a little disappointed for the both of them as time passes and Klavier still hasn't written him. At first it's easy to excuse. Sebastian has been busy with the start of the school year, so it only made sense that Klavier would, too, and even more so because it's a new place. Even as the weeks go by and he's surely written something, Germany is very far away after all, so obviously it's going to take a long while for anything to get here.
In the meantime, there's school, and while he's doing well academically (of course; he is the best), he is more lonely this year. It's always been hard for him to make friends when everyone is so intimidated by him. Not to mention how often he would say something, clear and confident, that everyone would agree with in the moment, only for them to later turn around and say something that would twist his insides with the realization that he'd said something wrong, but never be given enough to know where it was he'd actually messed up. With Klavier, it had been different. Sebastian still said things with him and only later realized he'd misinterpreted part of the conversation, but Klavier's reaction had never been to make him feel bad about it.
And it's only now that he's without him that Sebastian realizes how much he'd treasured their meetings in the hall, shared glances in their classes together, the countless unhurried conversations tucked away in some corner of the quad after classes. He sits alone in one of their usual spots one afternoon, and wonders if Klavier is thinking about him too.
Sebastian's old excuses have just begun to run thin as midterms start, sending a new rush of hope through him as he thinks that Klavier must be planning a letter, wants to write, but is simply too busy.
And every day, without fail, he continues to ask his father if there has been any mail for him. Even if with every 'no' his heart sinks, mood just a little harder to salvage each time. One night, his father asks if he's sure that Klavier actually said what Sebastian thought he did. He protests that he is, but spends the night going over that last conversation with Klavier countless times, looking for some kind of sign that he might have been wrong. Even then, though, he eventually pushes past it. He knows Klavier better than that, and he trusts his friend to follow through with his promise. And besides, it's only been a year or so that he's known Klavier. It isn't as though he's never been without him.
Right as these self-reassurances seem in the moment, they don't change the fact that soon after, Sebastian finds himself crying in the little-used storage closet in the back of the theater department. He trails off into sniffles as an uncomfortable pit grows in his stomach. For a while he can't place it, until a bell reminds him of the time and it dawns on him that it's been a while since he'd last disappeared for most of the day and still been alone. Were it the past year, Klavier would have noticed a few classes in and, realizing that he wasn't coming back, would have clambered his way over around the props to sit down next to him.
Sebastian curls up on himself and tries to comfort himself with thoughts of what Klavier might say to him, were he here. All it succeeds in doing, however, is bringing up memories of the past and making him feel far worse. He misses Klavier's confidence and warmth that manages to soothe him merely by his presence, misses the way he'd casually lean against him or put an arm over his shoulder, misses how easy he is to talk to and actually feel comfortable about it. He just misses Klavier so much.
Going home only provides a different backdrop to be miserable on. Only pausing for the moment of empty disappointment of finding that there is still no letter for him, Sebastian trudges up to his room. He stares up at the ceiling. Now that he's gone and acknowledged what's bothering him, he can't stop thinking about it. Because as he goes over the thoughts that have been in the back of his head since the start of this school year, there's something else to the feelings that he can't quite grasp. Some indefinable other to the longing for his friend's company that he's left puzzling over for days. And as he starts writing letters he knows he can't send yet (because pretending to talk with Klavier is better than nothing at this point), he finds himself with pages upon pages of trying to explain in words that never quite fit, struggling to communicate what's going on because all he knows is that he misses Klavier with a feeling that he doesn't understand but he knows that it hurts.
And it's in that desperation that he eventually finds himself going to check for mail himself one afternoon because he just can't stand the waiting any longer.
"What are you doing?"
Sebastian flinches, a hand stuck partway in the mailbox that he withdraws, the lid clattering shut as he shoves his hands under his arms. "I was just checking to see if there was anything…" he trails off as tears start to form.
His father narrows his eyes at him, and for a moment, Sebastian's worried he's done something wrong again. But then Blaise's eyes widen, and he throws his head back with mocking laughter. "Y'know, every time I think you can't be more of an idiot, you keep surprising me. It's been months and you still expect he's going to write to you." He grins the same eager way that always seems to accompany criticisms or some kind of punishment for Sebastian. "You honestly thought he would ever love you?"
The words strike him with a force that might have almost been better were it physical. Sebastian whimpers, then bursts into tears. He dashes to his room, his father's laughter echoing behind him even as he slams the door shut and collapses onto the bed. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, he repeats to himself. Pops is right; he's only been lying to himself about the letters. There was no way someone like Klavier would ever really want to be around someone like him. Klavier was simply too kind to say anything about it in person and took the opportunity to easily cut things off as soon as he was away. And then…
He chokes out another sob, clutching onto his pillow. For so long he's searched for words to what he's been feeling, and now that he's gotten them he only feels worse. Because his pops is right about that too. Klavier can hardly stand to talk to Sebastian, that much is obvious now. The idea that Klavier could love someone like him…it's pathetic, and Sebastian even more so for falling for him. Sebastian tucks himself as small as he can and resolves to bury his feelings and force himself to accept that they could never be reciprocated.
Blaise scoffs as he looks over the day's mail in his office. Among the pile is another of the now-familiar letters, neatly addressed in purple ink and bearing marks of international postage. He flicks open his lighter and sets it to burn with no small satisfaction. This boy has proven to be more than a little of a thorn in his side – he had never expected the letters to continue months into receiving no response. But as he dusts the ashen remnants off his desk, he doesn't even bother hiding the smile from knowing that at least after that conversation, he won't have to worry so much about hiding them from his idiot son anymore.
