He grinds his teeth as his father pulls through the wrought iron gates of Dalton Academy. He still feels like a load of crap. He is exhausted. Getting from the Emergency Room Gurney to his father's car was like running a marathon. He may not longer be slowly consuming himself, but he still doesn't have much energy.
He knows he looks like crap as well. He's not as vain as lady-face Hummel, but he cares about his looks to some degree. His bangs are hanging limply over his eyes, and he's squinting a little since his contacts and glasses are in his room. He could carry a week's worth of clothes in his under eye bags. And, he still has hospital cooties on him.
He is able to evaluate his condition objectively, as though his mind disconnects from his body. He's lost maybe five pounds today, not a big deal. A few days of rest and he'll be fine again. He's not sure he can deal with the psychological ramifications as easily. This is just another reminder of something he's been trying to forget for a long time: it's rare that he's not the sickest person in a room.
Nick pounds up the stairs, and he follows slowly. He doesn't have the energy to run.
He sinks onto his bed, and fishes a vial from his dresser. He goes through the motions of preparing a new infusion site. His motions are not necessarily the pump-company suggested set. He's glad his father is down talking with the rector.
He lies down, arches his back, and pulls up his shirt. He pinches an inch of flesh off his stomach, and jams the needle in at an angle. He can feel it tearing through scar tissue and veins. He doesn't know why, but it always hurts more when he's high.
He packs an overnight bag for a few days at home. Shoes, a few collared shirts, a sweater. He shoves the bottle of insulin and an extra infusion set deep into his bag. He brushes his teeth, and collects his toothbrush and razor from the bathroom.
He's surprised when Nick joins him outside the rector's office.
"Your dad invited me to dinner, since I missed it here," Nick says quietly.
Armed with this knowledge, he plans to use the dinner invitation to his advantage: damage control.
A/N: I don't normally do this, and I have quite a few ideas, but if anyone has questions at this point, please let me know! Nick has a few, and Sebastian may or may not answer them (probably snarkily) at dinner. If Seb doesn't his father probably will. I'll wait an extra day before posting the next chapter if there's no response.