My Dirty Little Secret

Tristan sat on his bed, tears rolling down his cheeks, sniffing and looking at his hands. Thankfully his mother had believed him when he explained the drugs found in his locker weren't his, and she believed him again when he explained what Sebastian's father had probably done and she needed to worry more about him than where they would have to move for him to go to school. She'd been roped into a night-shift tonight, leaving him to get his brothers and sisters fed and in bed by himself, then sit and wait and let his imagination predict what tortures his beloved had gone through.

A soft knock on the front door down the hall brought him out of his thoughts. He leapt from his bed, praying it was who he needed to see most right now. He ripped open the door, and froze.

He was bruised, blood cleaned from split and swollen lips. His cheeks were raw and wet, shaking from head to toe with tears in his blackened eyes. He clutched his side, as if his ribs were wounded, shirt torn. He looked so young, so broken.

"Sebastian." That was all it took. He fell into Tristan's arms, crying, kissing his neck despite the pain, clinging to him as though his life depended on it.

"Tristan, I'm so sorry!" He moaned, so agonized.

"Shh, no, no, baby. None of that. It's alright. Shh… I'm not mad, it's alright." He looked him over, feeling him tremble, knowing that the damage he could see was probably nothing compared to what was beneath his clothes. "Darling, what did he do to you?" Sebastian shook his head.

"I don't want to talk about that," he breathed. "I have to leave first thing in the morning and I…we…I might not see you again!" He broke down again, trying to sob softly so as not to wake the children.

"Shh, okay, okay, then we…Come with me."

He walked him back to his room, sitting him down on the bed across from his mother's, who he had to share a room with, stroking his cheek. Sebastian dove for his lips, desperate to touch him for as long and as many times as he could before it was over. Tristan kissed him back, the reality slowly sinking in that he was going to lose him.

"I love you," he said. "I'll never be able to say it enough, but I love you. I love you so much!"

"I love you too," he nodded, touching his face, running his fingers through his hair, trying to commit all of this to memory. He shook his head again. "I don't want to do this yet. I want to…to make love to you one more time."

They were slow, gentle, needing and soft, just like that first time, both afraid, but so trusting of the other it didn't stop them. Tristan was more than cautious in taking off Sebastian's clothes, tears sliding down his cheeks as he looked at the bruises, scraped and cuts his father had inflicted on him. He kissed the abused skin, holding him. "You're beautiful," he assured. Sebastian scoffed a little, looking down at himself. Tristan caught his lips again, chaste and passionate all at once. "You are. Don't let anyone tell you differently."

Every touch was designed to memorize, praying that they would never forget one second of this night, or any night spent with each other, clutching, kissing and touching desperately. They could feel the ragged beating of the other's broken heart, the pain transferring between them with each kiss, any glance at the clock on Tristan's nightstand eliciting a quiet cry from both of them.

They held each other when it was over, looking at each other, kissing, not saying a word, hoping that if nothing was said then no time would pass and they could stay this way forever.

"Where will you be in America?" He whispered. Sebastian shrugged.

"He won't tell me," he admitted tearfully. "Where are you moving?" Tristan looked at him, his lips trembling.

"I don't know either. Maman's trying to find a place for us, but…" He shook his head. "It's hard but she wants me to go to a good school…"

"Shh," he soothed, stroking his cheek. "It'll be alright. Shh…"

"Not if you're not with me," he gulped. "If you're not here, I can't…" They kissed, keeping their faces close. "Sebastian, let's run away. You have your passport and I have mine, let's go somewhere far away where they can never find us. We can find some little village in Italy, live in some little flat. You can finish going to school and I'll get a job somewhere and it'll be quiet and perfect. Let's just go."

Sebastian cradled his cheek, using every ounce of willpower he had to speak again. "We can't, darling," he whispered. "We can't. Well, I can, you can't."

"No, no, Sebastian, I don't—"

"Who's going to help your mom?" He whispered. Tristan shut his eyes, lips trembling. The tears continued working down Sebastian's cheeks as he spoke. "Who knows everyone's favorite bedtime stories, huh? Bernadette? You and I both know she won't tell it right, and Willy will have a fit, won't he?" He urged, smiling softly. Tristan couldn't help but smile back. "And Sophie can't cook to save her life. They need you here, baby. I promise you, someday you and I will live in some little village in Italy where no one will ever find us and it'll just be you and me. I swear."

Tristan was sobbing in his arms again, so broken and afraid. Sebastian buried his face in his hair, crying himself, holding onto him as tightly as he could. "Shh, shh… If it's meant to be, we'll be together again," he breathed. Tristan nodded, wondering if he held onto him tight enough no one could ever take him away.

Hours passed, ticking by faster than any of them wanted it to. Tristan had dozed off, his eyes swollen from crying, still beautiful. The lump in his Sebastian's throat grew to record size when the sunlight started to peek through the windows. He sobbed silently, gently kissing his love's still lips. "I love you," he whispered, slowly slipping out of his arms so as not to wake him. "I'll never forget you, Tristan. Not ever. Please…don't forget me either."

He got dressed in silence, in such agony. He smoothed his hair one more time, tucking the blankets around him and kissing his forehead. "Goodbye."

He walked through the silent house, his heart absolutely shattered, pieces falling on the floor.

He was halfway across the lawn when he heard the door burst open again. "Sebastian!" He turned, catching Tristan in his arms when he ran at him, holding him while he sobbed into his neck. "You wouldn't have let me say goodbye?"

"I didn't want you to cry anymore," he said, so agonized. Tristan shivered in the early morning air, wearing nothing but his boxers and a T-shirt. "Here," Sebastian gently set him down, peeling off his lacrosse pullover and putting it on him. "Keep it," he whispered. Tristan sniffed, unclasping the silver cross from around his neck and putting it around his. "Tristan—"

"You don't to forget me if I don't get to forget you," he said, trying to sound playful. He touched his cheek. "This isn't goodbye," he said firmly. "We will see each other again someday."

"Promise?" He asked, voice cracking, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket; his father calling him. Tristan nodded, kissing him one last time. They put everything into that kiss, every ounce of love they could manage to let the other know how they felt. They broke apart, Sebastian still holding his face.

"I love you, Tristan Durand. I always will."

"I love you too, Sebastian Smythe."

He backed away, holding his hand until the last possible second, never looking away as he got into his car. He drove away sobbing, watching in his rearview as Tristan stood half-naked in the middle of his yard, falling to his knees and crying into his hands.

Sebastian looked down at the drink in front of him, swallowing the tears. That lump that had been in his throat had turned to stone and sunk to his heart a long time ago, leaving him cold, bitter and angry.

He thought about Tristan every day, about how he felt in his arms, the way he smiled and that sweet bashfulness. There were things that was starting to fade away. His voice, his laugh, little things that he so desperately wanted to hang on to. But the tighter he held onto them the faster they slipped away.

He shut his eyes, reaching inside his collar to toy with the cross around his neck, closing his eyes, too upset and depressed to bother with the other guys in the bar. Instead he would drink to numb himself, wait to sober up and the hollow pit to come back, loneliness and agony seeping through the scars in his heart before he went home and prayed his father had already gone to bed so he could get on with crying himself to sleep.

Just a normal night.

Blaine listened intently, his brow furrowed as Kurt spoke, his heart aching slightly for someone he'd almost detested moments before. The loss of someone he loved so much, it was no wonder he behaved the way he did.

"…And, God, Blaine, he looked so helpless and broken it…it was like he was a different person," he explained, looking just as sad as Blaine felt.

He shook his head. "There's gotta be something we can do." Kurt nodded, standing and going to the computer. "What are you doing?"

"Helping," he said, tossing Blaine his phone. "We're gonna make some phone calls.

Two weeks later…

Sebastian sat at the same stool, looking at nothing, his heart still hollow and ragged. He had nowhere to hide anymore, nowhere he could go where pain didn't haunt him. And he loathed it. He threw back the shot, knowing that even that couldn't numb his heart and his mind the way it used to, the way it did before he told Kurt everything and made it real. He hadn't spoken much these past few weeks, and he'd shown absolutely no emotion when he sang, discouraging the other Warblers, but he didn't react much beyond an "I'm sorry. Just not feeling it today, guys."

So here he was, still utterly depressed and wishing he could feel something, anything, besides this agony. But he didn't have the strength or the patience to deal with the other guys around him, many young and his type that he could take to his back seat and at least feel something different for awhile.

He ordered another shot instead.

"Hey," a voice said, body occupying the space beside him. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Thanks, buddy, but I'm not open for business at the moment," he said shortly, knocking the drink back.

"Not even for me?"

He turned, agitated and about to give this guy a piece of his mind. He froze, hearth thudding, stomach turned to ice.

"Tristan?"