Title: Creeping On A Stranger
Word Count: 5,311
Summary:
Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents.
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with Glee, FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.
Warnings/Spoilers: None in particular for this chapter.


Sebastian spends a week observing those around him with a scrutiny he hadn't previously used. He becomes almost obsessed with scoping out possible boys who might be interested in fooling around, although the most important factor in deciding their pursuable worthiness is whether they seem capable of keeping their mouths shut afterwards.

By the end of the week, he's got a few people on a rough list that he dare not write down in case Clarington finds it. He begins suspecting a freshman a few doors down except he doesn't think he's come out yet. He's on the small side and so baby-faced that he looks like he's a prepubescent twelve year old. Sebastian's not sure he'd get hard even if the boy was the best lay ever, purely based on feeling like he'd be screwing a kid. There's a sophomore he notices in the rush to Chemistry that he begins watching closer. It's not hard to tell that the boy is so alarmingly gay that he may as well toss rainbows and glitter at anyone who passes. The thought leaves Sebastian with a wrinkled nose, because he's fairly certain that any association with that will be as good as coming out. The navigation to understanding – or accepting – his sexuality is still far from taking place.

It surprises him what he sees once he starts looking, yet he's not sure how interested he is in any of them. He's not sure if it's because one seems too shy to express himself while the other is ridiculously over the top, or because they're private school boys with more money than sense, or because maybe he isn't, in fact, gay. He compares them to the two sophomores from Westerville High he'd hooked up with and he's no longer certain whether he had feelings for those boys or not. He can barely even remember their faces.

Occasionally, he allows himself to compare the boys he's noticed with Blaine.

The boy in question has perked up considerably in his latest text messages and phone calls, detailing his improved recovery to Sebastian. He's proud of Blaine – why wouldn't he be? – but he starts realising he's miserable and isolated from those he truly cares about. Hearing about Blaine taking tentative steps forward makes him want to see Blaine using the rails to support himself while he builds strength in his weak left leg. Hearing about Blaine improving the fine motor skills of his left hand makes him want to see Blaine picking up cups and balls.

He isn't just miserable and isolated though. He's increasingly horny and unsatisfied, the case in point when he wakes up with his hand down his pants three times during the week. It's like his dick knows his interest in sex has returned and his hand is interested in coaxing him to remember just in case he forgets again. Thankfully it was still dark when he woke and he could hear Clarington snuffling quietly in his sleep. He'd struggled with willing his erection into wilting and jerking himself off to at least gain some brief satisfaction.

He's definitely starting to feel the urge to have someone else's hands on him though, which leads him to looking up gay clubs in Ohio on his phone late one night when he's certain Clarington is immersed in a book. It takes him an agonisingly long time with his shitty reading abilities to piece together that there's a club a couple of hours away in West Lima, which turns out to be pretty pointless since he lacks a car as well as the permission required to leave at night. He closes the search page with a huff of frustration and slams his phone against the bedside table in his haste to take a shower.

He's not sorry that it makes Clarington jump and stare at him over the pages he's been reading. He blames his roommate for sparking this desire in the first place.


"How do you do it?" he asks on Wednesday night, splayed across his bed while trying to read a section of his Chemistry textbook on his own. His fingers have been smoothing over the pages to hold the words steady but he's been incredibly distracted since he started. Despite his improving fluency in understanding how to rewrite chemical formulas, it's hard when all he's thinking about is his dick. He should probably be relieved by the fact Clarington has been scratching his pen on exercise books at his desk for hours rather than being too close.

"Do what?" Clarington says, his pen pausing above the page. Sebastian wonders what he's been working on.

"Relieve your…tension," he says carefully, trying to appear unaffected rather than eager. "If you aren't bi, then how do you see girls?"

Clarington's pen lowers as he looks over his shoulder. A wicked smirk curls his lips, his eyebrows arched high. It makes Sebastian worry about what he might have unleashed. "It's taken you two months to finally feel the squeeze?"

"You're avoiding the question," Sebastian says bluntly, deflecting Clarington's question as easily as his own had been deflected. He refuses to concede he's horny and he definitely isn't going to admit anything about his sexuality.

Clarington laughs, the sound easy and free, like he knows exactly how Sebastian feels anyway. He turns his chair to focus on Sebastian more intently. "Sometimes you can set up a rendezvous with a Crawford girl. It helps."

Sebastian's eyebrows rise. Crawford is a long walk through the gardens. To his knowledge, there's nothing between the school except acres of grass and trees. Where sexual trysts could occur is a mystery to him. The snow had slowly begun to thaw and turned into a slushy wetness that soaked through any shoe that wasn't properly waterproofed. In the middle of winter, he couldn't imagine any Crawford girl or Dalton boy tramping through the cold just for sex. Were they smuggled inside the school walls? Did they screw against a tree? Or on a blanket on the ground? Or in a tent? That set up a more important question – How could anyone hold a boner when it was so goddamn cold?

Clarington continues his explanation as if Sebastian isn't turning the information over and over in his head. "Other guys I know have an unspoken agreement to help each other out when it's needed. Blowies or handies are relatively common around here."

Sebastian chokes on swallowing his saliva and gapes at his roommate, every other piece of information long forgotten. It makes him start thinking about every boy he passes on a daily basis, every boy he goes to classes with. Do they have that agreement in place? "But it's Ohio."

"And?" Clarington prompts with a confused expression, as if their state has anything to do with it. Sebastian thinks their state has everything to do with it.

"Doing gay stuff is like… Aren't they afraid of getting beat up?" he says, feeling desperately out of his depth. He doesn't want it to seem like he's homophobic but he can't help thinking about the fear he'd felt when those sophomores had been on their knees back at Westerville High, or thinking about Blaine and the reasons for the injuries he'd suffered. He wonders if Dalton is truly so accepting that it could be a safe haven for the wounded boy when fall rolled around. He's not sure what he'd think if Blaine ended up at his old high school. He already knows it isn't the safest environment.

Clarington is looking at him oddly, as if an extra three heads have sprouted from his shoulders. "We're in a school that abhors violence and bullying," Clarington explains patiently, like he's talking to a toddler. It's a logical argument that makes Sebastian feel foolish for failing to understand that there are boys who engage in sex without strings all around him. Yet Clarington's words ring slightly false when Sebastian recalls the first day they met.

He wonders if he could come out here, if he could acknowledge what he's done with guys in the past and be accepted rather than receive a bashing. Maybe no one would even care. Maybe he'd been wrong about the pretentiousness of this place. Maybe the odd collection of snobby brats were more accepting and less interested in who you slept with than he'd expected. Maybe there were more who'd be willing to help him with his problem than he'd thought. Maybe he could-

Clarington interrupts his musings again. "If you're after something, I can set you up with people who can take care of it," his roommate says, his face impassively calm considering they're discussing sex with… Sebastian's honestly not even sure if Clarington's suggesting a girl or guy. "Unless you're a virgin, in which case it becomes more complicated."

Sebastian shakes his head, dog-earing the page in his textbook and shutting its covers. Is he allowing himself to be set up? He's not sure. He doesn't know what Clarington is thinking. "I'm not," he says eventually, unsure why it matters to clarify that. He's also not entirely sure what his roommate classifies as virginity or not. Do blowjobs count? Because although he's attempted to read about it and watched porn, he doesn't have any practice with actually…well, fucking someone.

Clarington shrugs, his hands steepling together in front of him and looking over them just like Wilson does. It makes the back of Sebastian's neck get itchy. "You prefer a chick or a dude?"

This time, it's Sebastian's turn to stare at his roommate as if he's grown a third head. As much as he keeps trying, he can't wrap his head around this conversation. Clarington's latest question makes everything come to a crashing halt though. He doesn't want to say he'd rather a guy and his preference is out there, but he also doesn't think he could stomach admitting a girl and doing anything with one. It's a question that traps him with an answer he doesn't want to give.

"I'm not interested in being set up, Clarington," he says abruptly, pushing off from the bed to have a shower before he starts preparing himself for bed. He tries to avoid looking at his roommate as he searches for his pyjamas. "I just wondered how guys survived a constant state of blue balls around here."

He wishes he hadn't seen Clarington's eyebrows quirk and his lips twitch. He wonders if his refusal to answer is an answer in itself, storing away his secret shame in something transparent enough for Clarington to see straight through. "Whatever you say, Smythe," his roommate says lightly as he turns back to his books, an echo of the words Sebastian had muttered after seeing Blaine more than a week ago.

He's pretty sure he hears a stifled laugh as he shuts the bathroom door but he doesn't dare look to see if Clarington considers himself triumphant.


He realises while he's talking to Blaine on Friday afternoon that he's been at Dalton just over two months and his parents haven't contacted him once. He also realises how his cravings for drinking or getting high have reduced, but only sometimes. There are still moments he's seized with anxiety and the urge to forget everything, like right then when the abandonment sinks in. Blaine's words fade as he's hit by a strange sense of loss, the emotional rollercoaster he's been riding for months reaching a new low that apparently goes under the ocean because he feels like he's drowning. He goes very quiet and still and forgets his conversation with Blaine entirely, his eyes prickling as something twists tighter and tighter in the middle of his chest.

"Sebastian?"

Clarington's hand on his shoulder startles him out of the crushing despair and he realises he'd dropped the phone at some point to the mattress. He scrambles to sit up, shoving his roommate away from him in the process. He can faintly hear Blaine's tinny voice from the phone on the bed.

"Sorry, I…" He shakes his head when he realises he's not sure who he's actually talking to and his frazzled words will just betray his upset mind. He snatches up his phone because that's the easiest person to get away from first because Clarington will still be standing there. "B, I have to go. I'll message you later." He hangs up abruptly and moves to pull on his shoes, the urge to get out, find space, scream into open air, crawling over him thick and fast.

"Where are you going?" Clarington asks, his hand on the strap of his bag like he's frozen, his expression undeniably alarmed.

"Out," he says shortly, ensuring he has his room key tucked into his pocket and grabbing his hoodie before he races for the door. He jogs down the corridor like he used to run down the street as he escaped his house. If anything, it just makes his chest contract further under the grip of loss and pain he's starting to feel. He really wishes he had a joint.

The doors to the back gardens open with an unpleasantly loud bang as he begins to dart through the greenery. Touches of spring are starting to appear – small floral blossoms that are braving the lingering winter chill peek out from hibernating gardens, tufts of grass have started to emerge from under piles of white slush – yet Sebastian is blind to all of it as he retreats from the school.

He finds a stone bench hidden by a well-manicured hedge, some lingering slush kicked away with a shout before he falls to the seat in a trembling heap. He doesn't notice if it's cold or not. His head falls into his hands, his fingers curl around strands of brunette hair and tug harshly, sobs rattle from his chest and slip past his lips before he can clamp down on them.

The terror he'd felt when he'd woken up alone on Christmas morning rears again, chokes him again, strangles him again. He recalls how much he'd dreaded not being the most important child and how often he'd told himself he was okay with it because Lillian was extremely sick, but it dawns on him now that he's been dumped in a boarding school and neither parent has called or messaged him. Not to see how he's doing, if he's coping, whether he's eating. Not about how Lillian's doing, whether she's had any changes, what her odds are for a transplant. He feels like they'd dropped him here in an attempt to stamp him from their lives and his absence from the house has erased them of their parental responsibilities to care about him as much as they care about Lillian.

As far as Sebastian can tell, as crushed as he is to admit it, they appear to have done a pretty good job of obliterating him.

A hand closes firmly around his shoulder and he knows without looking who it is. One way or another, two months of being civil has led to some sort of tenuous bridge stretching between them. He can't decide if he's grateful or furious that Clarington followed him after his desperate dash from the confines of their dorm room.

"You want to talk about it?" Clarington says, his voice low – perhaps an attempt to be soothing – as the large hand moves to rub circles between his shoulder blades and his weight settles close to Sebastian's side.

Sebastian shakes his head, wiping quickly at his eyes and trying to cover up that he was ever in such a state of distress. He inhales deeply and attempts to compose himself. He's not sure how much Clarington saw. He hopes it wasn't much. "I'm fine."

Clarington snorts and Sebastian practically feels his heart drop. Perhaps his roommate saw enough to make him disbelieve any words that would pour forth from his mouth. "And my father wants me to be the Secretary of Defence one day," Clarington says calmly but it reminds Sebastian how fucking weird his roommate is sometimes. "Lying to ourselves might help us sleep better at night, Seb, but it doesn't make it the truth."

"It's personal," he mumbles, struggling to sort through the mess still cluttering his head. He can't help feeling that he really should be past his parents screwing him over. It shouldn't make him feel as raw as it does that they've effectively abandoned him for two months, right?

"Generally things which are upsetting are personal," Clarington says. It's almost infuriating how easily he blows holes in Sebastian's attempts at brushing him off. He can't help shoving lightly at Clarington's body as a mild punishment. "Hey. You say a stupid thing, you get a stupid response, Smythe."

"That's not how the phrase goes," Sebastian mutters, wrapping his arms around his body in an attempt to hold all the fractured pieces together before he ends up scattered on the grass. "I… Parents just sort of suck."

"Welcome to the club." Clarington pats him on the back in a way Sebastian supposes is meant to be comforting. "So who's B?"

Sebastian glances across at Clarington, who is watching him intently. He's not sure how to answer. Sebastian spends a hell of lot of time trying to discern what he and Blaine really are. Sometimes he flirts and enjoys the cheeky banter, sometimes he listens and attempts cheering up. He doesn't understand what it is and he's afraid to label it. He hasn't got the faintest clue about relationships or how to classify what he and Blaine have.

"He's just a friend from when I-" Explaining he met Blaine in the hospital opens up a whole new path he has no interest in journeying down with his roommate. He stops the explanation before it's truly begun and wrinkles his nose. "He's just a friend."

"He?" Clarington raises an eyebrow, perhaps surprised by the gender, perhaps intrigued. Sebastian worries it says something about his sexuality he isn't willing to speak aloud. "You talk to him a lot?"

Sebastian knows he doesn't really need to answer that particular question. Clarington has heard more than enough bits and pieces of his conversations with Blaine after his roommate has returned from Warbler practice or cadet training or wherever else he goes.

"There's nothing wrong with having a friend," Clarington shrugs, looking out across the gardens instead of forcing Sebastian to maintain his careful veneer under his roommate's scrutiny. He's pretty sure his eyes are still red. "If he keeps you sane and grounded in this place, then he must be worth holding onto."

Sebastian's gaze drifts to follow Clarington's, not sure he wants to admit that he still feels alone at Dalton after two months. He knows he only has himself to blame for being too wary to truly trust anyone, forever suspicious of their motives after the way his parents have treated him the past six months. Or four years. "He's… I think he needs a friend more than me," Sebastian says, not entirely sure how true that is.

"The beauty of friendship is that it works both ways."

Sebastian concedes the point with a slight tilt of his head. He knows he'll have to message Blaine later. The boy is probably worried or upset that he did something that made Sebastian angry enough to run away. They've never ended communication so suddenly. He hopes Blaine isn't freaking out or hating him.

Beside him, Clarington exhales in a way that seems slow and measured, the breath passing through his teeth with a slight whistle. "Can I ask you something?"

Sebastian thinks he knows what's coming before it's even said. Clarington's tone has that same element of hesitation to it as Blaine's months ago. "I'm not gay," he says, although the words stick in his throat slightly more than they had when he'd been drunk and high and trying to convince the guys in the park that a girl's blowjob abilities weren't as good as illicit substances. He doesn't want to think about why it's harder to say now. It's easier just to pin the blame on the fact he's sober.

"I never said you were," his roommate says defensively, but Sebastian instinctively knows he's right about what Clarington was going to ask. There's no question to fill the ensuing silence. Clarington's voice softens as he says, "There's nothing wrong with being gay though."

He glances sideways, assessing Clarington who seems to be thoughtfully – or studiously – looking at the grass in front of them like it just said something utterly profound. "Planning on throwing a pride parade?"

Clarington shoves lightly at his shoulder with a playful frown. "You talk to him a lot, you know? You're different after you talk to him. I've seen your face when you talk to him."

He feels something uncertain twist in his chest. He always avoids dwelling on how he feels during and after his conversations with Blaine because he's not sure he understands it. There's a distinct level of protectiveness, of wanting to shelter the smaller boy from any future harm because he can remember how broken he'd looked in the PICU, but... "What are you saying?" he says suspiciously.

Clarington holds up his hands like Sebastian's about to open fire with an interrogation. "I'm not saying anything." He looks at Sebastian's disbelieving face and rolls his eyes, adding, "Honestly I'm not."

Sebastian doesn't feel convinced because there's something in what his roommate has seen that suggests his face betrays that Blaine is someone far more important than just a friend. Clarington shrugs, as if he's not going to fight to convince both of them of the unspoken words that dangle between them.

The silence that settles is faintly awkward but Sebastian isn't sure what to say and it seems like Clarington isn't exactly forthcoming with anything either. He ends up listening to the birds twittering in the trees and listening to the faint buzz of insects starting to emerge as the cold winter fades. He notices the light level reducing but he doesn't really want to return to their room. The dimming of the light makes his own thoughts turn darker, the same ball of hurt swelling in his chest again.

"Come on," Clarington says, standing and holding out his hand. Sebastian's eyebrows lower into a frown and Clarington rolls his eyes and waits.

There are a million things going on that he doesn't understand but he's still feeling upset by the shattering blow of realising his parents have become so distant to him. He's chilled to the centre of his stomach even though his heart writhes painfully against his ribcage. As much as he hates to admit it, Clarington's hand might be the only thing that keeps him hinged together.

Still feeling uncertain, he places his palm against Clarington's and allows himself to be led back to their room. He feels vaguely like a dutiful toddler following its mother through the shopping mall, or maybe a duckling following the mother swan, but he's not sure how comfortable he'd be walking on his own. It feels as though his strength fades with every step, the world increasingly off balance even when his roommate tries to steady him with a hand to his arm. He thinks he needs some of Blaine's powerful healing hugs to stabilise him again but he's not sure he'd be granted another weekend release so soon.

Clarington opens the door and guides him inside, a concerned frown marring his forehead as he touches his fingertips to Sebastian's temple like he's going to draw the thoughts straight from his scrambled mind. "You know you don't have to bottle up everything you think, right?"

He shakes his head and moves away, freeing himself of Clarington's presence before he becomes too distracted to think straight. He can't admit that he's struggling because to do so verges on being a failure. Blaine needs him to be strong. Lillian needs him to be strong. The slightest moment of weakness and he might just splinter apart completely.

"A guy is allowed some secrets, Clarington."

Clarington remains silent behind him as he kicks off his shoes and peels off his hoodie. He can hear the faint sounds of his roommate's breathing as he stands by his desk and looks down blankly. He's not sure how many minutes he stares at the books and papers scattered across the wooden surface before he hears the door shut.

When he looks behind him, the room is empty.


He texts Blaine later that evening in an attempt to apologise and explain that he'd just had a 'moment'. He's undeniably hurt by the brief response though and he rereads the message until he's sure he hasn't made mistake and it's imprinted in his mind.

It's not that Blaine's response feels cold exactly, just…distant. He's not sure he can blame the other boy though since he's not sure he could explain the complicated array of thoughts coursing through him, but he's tried so hard to hold it together for Blaine and now it's like he's ruined everything because he got distracted by the bullshit that is his parents. He feels the old flame of self-hatred and guilt that he didn't care enough about Lillian's health and that's why he's here flicker to life again.

He tries to ignore it.


Sebastian becomes increasingly aware of Wes observing him from a distance at meal times while Clarington sits next to him over the next week. He notices Clarington speaking into Wes' ear and he can't help wondering if tiny secrets are being fed alongside mouthfuls of pasta and vegetables. There's an uncomfortable feeling of betrayal as they watch him force his way through breakfast, lunch and dinner.

When he can no longer stand it on Friday night, he nearly slams his chair under the table so hard that the chair topples to the ground. He just needs to get away from being stared at like he's a zoo creature and stalks from the dining hall, uncomfortably aware that at least two pairs of eyes are following his retreat.

He paces around the small space of his room and the four walls become a cage he can't escape, fidgeting with his phone because he knows he could message Blaine since the other boy can nearly always calm him down. Except then he remembers that there's been a wall between them for a week and he isn't sure how to scale it because he can't get a grip on anything in his life right now. Panic stabs him at the realisation that he's alone again, not just because of his parents but because of Blaine too, when Clarington enters the room.

"What's so interesting that you have to gossip with Montgomery about me all evening?" he snaps before the door is even closed. The pent up frustration that has been eking out of him for weeks is starting to unravel to the point of exploding. He knows it isn't really Clarington's fault. It's a betrayal that burns deeper, all the way down to his gut where he's struggling to accept that his parents have abandoned him to focus on Lillian's poor health – and he's not sure he can blame them for it.

"We're concerned about you," Clarington answers as he shuts the door and locks Sebastian into the cage. His roommate's face is annoyingly neutral. Sebastian hates it. He hates that Clarington has his defences up so high that he can't even read him.

"Why do you care?" he grunts, tossing his phone at his bed when he realises he's way too riled up to think about putting letters together into something coherent and that calling Blaine could very well be a disaster.

"I share my room with you," Clarington says calmly, as if it's easy to explain why he feels the need to talk about him rather than talk to him.

Sebastian folds his arms over his chest and Clarington takes one step closer, like he's a horse that might be easily spooked. He gets close enough that some of Sebastian's surly expression begins to falter into uncertainty and he takes a step back with every step forward of his roommate. It's an unpleasant game of cat and mouse, one he's not sure he likes the unknown rules of very much. It's too reminiscent of the first time they met and yet there's something else…

When he feels his back flatten against the wall, Clarington only a handful of feet away from him, he can feel the tenuous threads of tension starting to tighten in his chest, twanging with an unpleasant sound that seems to be a warning of some type.

A warning of what he isn't sure.

Clarington invades his space and Sebastian realises his roommate has grown, standing a fraction of an inch taller than him. He studies the greenish hazel eyes as if he might somehow unearth Clarington's thoughts.

"Fight back," Clarington murmurs, barely a foot between them. His roommate lacks any sort of defensiveness and Sebastian's not sure why he's meant to be fighting him. Maybe Clarington sees something on his face because his brows crinkle together, a lopsided grin spreading across his mouth. "Ah. Not afraid of me anymore?"

Sebastian feels completely confused by the entire encounter. It's similar to their first interaction, when Clarington had been violent for no reason but now it's as if he's trying to push Sebastian's buttons and is disappointed that he's failing.

There's a moment, a moment of an ordinary inhaled breath that ends up getting caught somewhere in the middle when Clarington leans closer, his eyes dropping from Sebastian's. His intention is suddenly alarming clear. Sebastian thinks with his dick first – he so badly wants to get laid – and then his heart and brain catch up.

And he reacts.

The shove to Clarington's chest is sudden and powerful. His roommate ends up sprawled on the floor, something satisfied in his expression that twists Sebastian's intestines into a figure-eight around his stomach. He can hear the blood roaring in his ears as he stares down at Clarington. His hands tremble by his sides. His eyes prickle with tears he refuses to shed.

He's moving before his brain has even caught up with the action, darting past Clarington to scoop his phone from the top of the blanket and out the door. He's not sure where he's going but his feet take him anyway, sprinting outside to space, outside to air. It's almost dark but he can see well enough to spy a tree that is close to the fence. If he could climb it…

He walks around the trunk a few times, eyeing the branches. He's not exactly the strongest in gym class, but adrenaline makes him desperate enough that he jumps at the lowest branch, scrabbling his way up the trunk. The bough bends dangerously under his weight but with enough grunts and curses, he succeeds in pulling himself up.

It's easier after that to scale the branches, climbing high enough to get one leg over the fence bordering the school and easing down the other side. The fence had made the school feel like a prison and he feels a thrill of victory at throwing their stupid rules in their faces, before the reason for his escape comes back to him and he takes off again.

He's still running – or at least, it's more of a jog now – down the street when he pulls out his phone to dial a familiar number. It's such a familiar situation to have his hands shaking, his breathing unsteady, his mind in three million pieces, and there's only one thing he can focus on – how badly he needs to forget it all.

"Seb?"

"Hey, T. Short notice I know but… Wanna get the guys together tonight?"


~TBC~