Title: Creeping On A Stranger
Word Count: 6,819
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: Some minor language.

Dalton Academy is every bit as pretentious and snobby as he'd first suspected.

After all, he's good with first impressions.

He sits by himself at dinner the night he arrives as well as breakfast the following morning, glaring at anyone who gets too close. Despite Blaine's encouragement, he has little interest in making friends. He's slow to trust anyone at the best of times but given the cause for him being there, given that his parents have had to abandon him, he's even less trusting of anyone's intentions towards him. He's definitely received some curious expressions from anyone who dares approach him with a hopeful expression and food tray, but they also scatter surprisingly easily to wherever they usually sit.

It's possible he might have he's picked up more of his father's expressions than he'd like to admit.

He sifts through the paperwork that had been left on his desk, trying to make sense of all the muddled words. It's only when he's about halfway through, when he's seen it printed half a dozen times, that he realises the principal's title is Dean and his name is Wilson James.

The guy has three first names.

As if that's not pretentious.

Just before the appointed lunch hour – Sebastian's pretty sure he hasn't attended this many meal times in a row in weeks – the door opens to his room.

"Oh." A tall boy with blonde-brown hair, a ridiculously large nose and mouth, and a sneer that could rival Sebastian's stands framed in the doorway, a suitcase in hand and a jacket slung over his shoulder. "They warned me you'd be here."

Sebastian looks up, glancing over the boy. He seems relatively unremarkable but he already feels uneasy now that his roommate has officially arrived, that he officially has to share his space with someone else for the first time since his sister had gained her own room when she turned four.

He lowers his head back to the pamphlets, relatively disinterested in engaging in pleasantries with someone who looks as unhappy as him. He's both confused and overwhelmed trying to read about the various groups and support available for new students that he doesn't want to concede he might need. There are numerous brochures for the school itself which includes a map that has him thoroughly confused. There's a smaller book which details all the programs throughout the school, but there are too many for him to understand and all the words have begun to blur together. There are single sheets of paper with bell schedules and a class schedule and a food schedule and-

"Are you deaf or what?"

Sebastian had hoped that if he just ignored his roommate, the guy would get the hint and ignore him right back. He's not looking for an argument or a confrontation. He doesn't particularly want to acknowledge the guy's existence, but it seems that he might just get harassed into replying. He remembers his ideas to mess with the OCD complex by moving random items around, deliberately leaving them askew from the rigidly perfect arrangement just to see what reaction he might garner. He'd thought that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't do that if the roommate turned out to not be a total jackass. He can't help but feel vindicated that his impression of his roommate being a weirdo with his obsessively neat desk arrangement was spot on.

"I have a perfectly functioning pair of ears last time I had them checked," he says without looking up. He's spent the past day with his favourite dark grey hoodie on, the hood raised to shield him as much as possible from those at school. There's some twisted belief that if he dresses in the colour of steel, it will make him strong enough to avoid engaging with anyone, it will be his best form of defence against these private school boys he has no interest in being friends with.

"So you're just a jerk then. Good to know."

The boy, whose name Sebastian doesn't even know, waltzes into the room, places his duffle bag on his desk and begins to stow his coat and scarf in his small cupboard. Sebastian stares at his back, bewildered about why this boy has such a chip on his shoulder.

"At least I'm not a private school brat," he mutters, discarding the pamphlets and brochures so he can focus on trying to understand the class schedule. It looks more complicated than the one he'd had at public school although he likes seeing some time off on Tuesdays for sport.

"Excuse me?"

His eyes flick up to see the other boy watching him. He can't stop the smirk from twitching at his lips, his sarcasm flickering alive again. "You're excused."

"Now listen here, I got a roommate and I don't care if-"

"You know what? I wish I was deaf," Sebastian interrupts, shoving the papers he's barely been able to read to the floor and getting to his feet. He's determined to leave because as much as he'd like to engage in a verbal sparring to release the tension from his shoulders, he thinks that nose could make a mighty good target for his fist. "At least I wouldn't have to listen to your arrogant bullshit."

"Oh yeah? And who wants to listen to your pathetic attempt at an insult?"

His roommate advances on him because clearly he's a fool who doesn't realise Sebastian's not a small guy and is hardly afraid of getting physical. It's not until he properly raises his head that he realises they're pretty close in height, although the other guy has a bit more width to his shoulders, a bit more swell to his biceps.

"I am really not in the mood," Sebastian says as he shoves his feet into his shoes to move out the door. It's only when he gets his hand on the handle and gets shoved from behind into the wood that his patience snaps and oh, okay, fine.

Have it that way then.

Sebastian turns and pushes back. Something tickles his memory, the dim thought that this school was meant to have a no-bullying policy, that violence wasn't tolerated, that-

His back finds the wall beside the door, his hands pinned to his sides with a surprising amount of strength. He tries wriggling free, his chest heaving with anger, and it's not in the least comforting that his roommate's eyes are sparkling with a similar fury. Rather than fighting back, he swaps into analytical mode to re-assess the situation. He's been capable of defending himself before, but this is different. All roads he could have taken led to this outcome. He'd tried to leave and ended up confronted anyway. He's furious as he tries to figure out how the hell to get himself out of this outcome, to push back and get away and-

"For God's sake, Clarington! Stop hazing the newbie!"

A small Asian boy stands with folded arms in the doorway beside them and Clarington – he hopes that's a surname because if it's a first name, he's going to have a fucking field day – drops his hands from Sebastian's wrists with a final scowl.

"Wes Montgomery," the Asian introduces, hand outstretched towards him. He eyes it suspiciously because it seems too congenial, too much of a step towards acknowledging someone on the path to some disgusting friendship. "Your idiotic roommate is Hunter Clarington."

Hunter is his first name?

Scratch that.

Sebastian's going to have a fucking field month.

For almost twenty-four hours, he's avoided anything that resembles being friendly towards anyone. First impressions at a new school are everything and as a mid-year freshman transfer, he knows he has his work cut out for him to be as fearsome as possible. Ideally, he'd like to make others avoid him rather than beat him up. He's aware of Blaine's injuries, his suspicions it was because he's gay, and the last thing that Sebastian needs is to find himself in a new environment with no support. He'd always been able to count on Terry and John before to step in, bigger and larger and older than him, but he has none of that now and it leaves him in a dangerous predicament.

As he walks to lunch with Montgomery on one side and Clarington on the other, he has absolutely no opportunity to go back to his previously scowling ways from the corner of the dining hall.

And he hates it.

"So where are you from?" Montgomery asks as he passes trays to each of them, casually friendly while Sebastian debates whether he can break his roommate's nose with a swift belting of the tray.

He gazes at some of the food options as a distraction, figuring he has little choice but to at least try to play nice with these strangers. At least for now. If he's lucky, it might make Blaine happy when the boy calls. He'd just leave out the other details of glaring and getting into a fight with Clarington already. "The other side of Westerville."

"A local boy? That's rare." Clarington reaches for a sandwich and a fruit cup, so easy-going that Sebastian starts wondering if he's more than just OCD. Maybe he's psycho, someone that is hell-bent on lulling Sebastian into a sense of security before suffocating him in his sleep. "I'm from Westcliffe, Colorado."

"Seattle," Montgomery chips in, adding a plate of pasta to his tray.

"Charmed," Sebastian says, acutely uncomfortable of Clarington behind him. He doesn't think he'll ever trust his roommate as far as he can throw him after their altercation in the room within minutes of meeting. He's pretty sure that he wouldn't be capable of throwing him far.

He shuffles along the line, listening to Montgomery and Clarington chatter back and forth on either side of him. It's only when they get to the end that he realises he hasn't picked anything up. He'd gotten distracted by how increasingly antsy he'd become being near these strangers, his distrust making him uncomfortable. Were they expecting him to sit with them now so they could grill him? Was he going to end up surrounded by more boys, other friends of theirs, and expected to play nice with them too?

His anxiety kicks up a notch because he's totally not prepared for any of that.

"Sebastian?"

He shakes his head and discards his empty tray to the stack at the end of the line. He has to get out and get away from them and if that means he forgoes a meal, well… It's not like it's the first time he's skipped out on eating something.

"Not hungry. Catch you later."

"Sebastian!"

Montgomery continues to shout after him even after he's pushed through the door and out of the hall. He walks and walks and walks, his head down and his hood up, his hands in his pockets as his heart beats erratically in his chest. Paintings and tapestries and sculptures blur past him with the speed he's walking, his shoes crossing marble floors and carpet several times. He thinks he might have gone up or down a staircase but he's not sure and it's only when he ends up at a dead-end that he realises he's taken so many turns and corridors and he's completely and utterly lost.

There's at least one benefit to being lost.

No one else is likely to find him in a hurry.

He slumps down against the wall, wishing he had a joint or a few brandy shots to take the edge off his feelings, until they were reduced into something more bearable and less suffocating. He's been here less than a day and already he feels… Well, not homesick because he doesn't think it's possible but he feels… He supposes he feels pretty lost in this new environment. There are a lot of boys at this school, a lot of unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar personalities and unknown dangers. Clarington appears to be the loose cannon to Sebastian's short fuse, which strikes him as an incredibly dangerous combination. It feels like he's landed in a new definition of Hell after meeting Clarington and he won't confess to feeling scared but he really wishes he had Lillian to hold against him or Blaine's hand to hold, just to soothe the heart palpitations he's feeling as he struggles with his feelings.

He sits for nearly an hour, getting his breathing under control, imagining what it would be like to run away, wondering if he can smuggle in alcohol and weed, when his phone starts ringing. He pulls it free of his jeans, staring at the number for a long two seconds before he answers it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Seb."

Something unknots in his chest, some of the panic and tension threatening to spill over. He nearly starts crying, with relief or fear he's not sure. He misses Blaine already and he hates not knowing if or when they'll see each other again. His fingers trembling, he pulls his knees towards his chest and holds the phone a little tighter to his cheek.

"Hey, Killer."

"How's the school?"

"It's…" He swallows around the lump in his throat, wondering what he's meant to say. He lowers his head to rest on his knees, squeezing his eyes shut when they threaten to traitorously water. "I don't fit in here, Blaine."

Blaine hums and if Sebastian thinks about it, he can maybe see Blaine's thoughtful expression. "Your bratty personality isn't meshing well with the personalities of other snobby brats?"

He hates that his lips twitch even though he wants to chew Blaine's head off for such a comment. He wasn't bratty. "Jerk."

"At least it made you smile."

"Did not."

"I can hear it in your voice, jackass."

He huffs in annoyance and Blaine laughs over the line. It's quiet and brief, barely a chuckle, but he laughs. It might just make Sebastian's day as he allows the sound to settle in a spot in his chest usually reserved for caring solely about his sister.

"But really, what's going on?"

He sighs and tilts his head back with a thump. It rests against of the fancy wood panelling that makes Sebastian suspect a whole forest had to be cut down to line these stupid corridors. He tries to inhale deeply, tries not to feel as though everything is caving in around him again.

"My roommate shoved me up against the wall when he turned up. He's an arrogant idiot and I'm never going to trust him after that." Blaine makes a noise that sounds squeaky. He's not sure what it means but maybe it's because the boy is desperately against the idea of violence. It's not as though Sebastian could ever blame him though, not when he considers Blaine's injuries and the sight of him on a ventilator a couple of months ago. "They're all just so… I mean, I don't miss home, y'know? But I don't like it here either."

"Because you've lost some of your freedom?" Blaine suggests.

Sebastian grimaces. It's too much like James asking if he liked having control. He wonders if he's that transparent or if it's something to expect when you lock a teenage boy up in a boarding school against his will. "I'm definitely missing the access to that stuff that would take the edge off."

"I know it's not comforting of me to say I'm glad you don't have access to 'that stuff' but…" Blaine's voice trails away and Sebastian can't help but stare up at the ceiling, tracing the wood grain that swirls above him.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, knowing that they were bad habits that anyone would be grateful to kick. The problem is that he's now got a hole in his coping abilities and he's not sure where that will leave him when he truly unravels. He bites his lip as he starts picking at the denim of his jeans. His thoughts turn darker, his voice hushing when he speaks. "Do you think they'll call with news about Lillian?"

"Seb, she's your sister."

Like it's that easy.

His intestines twist into a figure eight around his stomach and he chokes on his breathing at the thought that something will happen to her, that she'll get sicker, and they'll leave him unaware of it. His parents could be killed in a house fire at this point and he wouldn't care but Lils… He'd never forgive them if they don't keep him in the loop.

"Yeah, but… Mom knew about my…habits and dad just… God, Blaine, I can't describe it and if she-"

"Can you stop freaking out for a moment and just breathe?"

Blaine's voice is calm and firm in Sebastian's ear as he begins to tangle into a mess of anxieties over Lillian, over what could happen to her, over never finding out that she…she...

His hand trembles as he tugs at his hair, a lone tear streaking down his face as quiet sobs pass his lips. There's too much going on for him to cope with and freaking out is just the easiest thing to do.

"Just keep breathing," Blaine murmurs, over and over, low and steady and soothing. It takes a while for some of the unexpected panic to settle, until he's able to straighten out his legs in front of him. His hands are still shaking but they seem to be doing that all the time. "Better?"

He swallows and wipes at the tears staining his face. "Yeah…"

"Good. I asked my mom to bring my phone in next time she visits. I'll be able to start texting you then."

"You're cutting me off from your voice?" He tries to go for joking, tries to do something that's almost flirtatious, but it comes out sounding more strangled than anything else. He's not sure what he'd do if Blaine chose to stop calling him and he was stuck with words that don't make sense.

"I'm giving you a way to contact me when you need it, Seb."

Oh.

"Oh…"

"Yeah, so just… Hang in there, okay? Keep playing nice and trying to make some friends."

He thinks of Clarington and nearly laughs. He still has no interest in making friends and he's fairly sure that Project Move-Clarington's-Things-Around will go into effect sooner rather than later. "This place feels like a prison."

"So does this hospital," Blaine says, his voice airy but it puts Sebastian's complaint in its place and he wilts. Lillian's sick in the PICU, Blaine's bones are knitting together after he got bashed up. He's being terribly selfish. "You gonna be okay?"

"I'm going to have to be," he sighs, getting to his feet and figuring he needs to attempt retracing his steps before night falls and he's left wandering corridors that are unfamiliar as well as shrouded in darkness.

"Try to focus on what you can control rather than what you can't," Blaine says, far wiser than his years. The call disconnects leaving Sebastian biting his lip as he tries to remember if he turned left or right into this particular corridor.

He's not sure he can control much of anything right now.

Clarington is lounging on his bed with a book in his hands when Sebastian finally navigates his way back to the room. It's taken nearly an hour of wrong turns followed by more wrong turns, his frustration growing exponentially when he realised he was lost again. He'd already decided he'd take a photo on his phone of the map just in case this situation happened trying to get to class the next day.

Fully prepared to cut off his feet, he comes to room 483. He swallows his pride and his anxiety and enters the room, kicking his shoes under the bed and burying his face in his pillow. He almost feels like shattering one of his parents' wedding pictures again since they're to blame for this entire mess, but the photos he desires appear to be in short supply in a school filled with framed portraits of old guys and landscapes of places that aren't Ohio.

"About earlier-"

"Don't fucking care," Sebastian mutters into his pillow, prepared to smack his roommate's head into a wall until he's bloody and dead if it comes to it. Anything is more productive than a conversation with a roommate that might hit him.

"Can you try again without the pillow swallowing your words?"

Sebastian debates ignoring him, but given the utter failure at offering silence earlier, he figures he's expected to respond. He tilts his head out of the pillow and repeats, "Don't fucking care."

"What a charmer." Clarington closes his book and places it fairly precisely against the bedside table before moving towards his desk. He's not sure what to make of the apparent obsession with precisely aligning objects other than his roommate having OCD.

Sebastian rolls his eyes, disinterested in doing or saying anything that this guy would possibly deem 'charming' and buries his face back in the pillow again. He really doesn't care what Clarington might say or do while he lays there with his back open. Sebastian just wants to pretend he can be anywhere else but here for a while.

Despite Montgomery and Clarington's attempts to wave him over as he leaves the dinner line with a tray of food, he chooses to pointedly ignore them and resumes his singular seat in a corner of the dining hall. He has little interest in the meatloaf, despite the first mouthful proving it's better than anything his mother has made in recent months, but he thinks there might be eyes on his eating habits so he forces himself to raise the fork to his mouth with a mechanical regularity. The last thing he needs is anyone spreading rumours that the new kid is a freak with an eating disorder.

Sebastian carefully keeps his hood raised as he observes Montgomery and Clarington from a distance, sitting with a group of other boys who seem jovial as they make large gestures, laugh too heartily, touch too freely. He's extremely glad he decided to avoid that crowd at lunch and almost wants to storm over and remind them that they are all boys in Ohio. Maybe he'd even take them for a field trip to Blaine's hospital room to show them the evidence of what happens when you're too casual with other males, but he's not sure if it would make any difference. On the other hand, he doesn't have to be part of it and that makes it easier to bear.

He leaves his plate with at least half the food eaten – better than what he's achieved at home dinners for the past months – and returns to his room without exchanging words with anyone. A parcel is by the door while a few suit bags hang from the doorknob. He pulls a face at the thought that it's his school books and uniform. He's seen the photos in the reading material left on his desk and has already decided he's going to look like a navy-and-red penguin or a clone. Or both.

Picking up the coat hangers, Sebastian kicks the box into the room and towards his bed. The suit bags are unceremoniously dumped on the desk because he's never going to be pleased with forgoing his own choice of clothes to school. Maybe he'll care about the uniform and his lack of care for it in the morning. More than likely he won't.

He flops onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling blankly for several moments. He wishes he was numbed to everything he was feeling. He'd love to feel nothing, love to stand at the top of the slide with his arms outstretched catching snowflakes on his tongue and eyelashes. He'd love to laugh too hard while swapping joints and bottles until nothing hurts anymore.

Instead, he feels too much. He feels raw, his insides scraped out to the point of being hollow. He's been injected with hurt and pain, more overwhelming than he knows what to do with. He wants to reduce them to ash just like the joint he wishes he had.

He spends some time flicking his lighter, but it isn't nearly as satisfying as setting the flame on a joint. The flickering orange is entrancing and somewhat soothing as he extinguishes it and relights it over and over, feeling the heated metal grind under his thumb and probably doing some minor burn damage to his skin. He watches the sparks of the metal before the flame pops out like a magic trick, glowing in the low light of the room. He's not far from his old haunt – he's not several states away, at least – and he wonders if Terry or the other guys would ever come and visit to help a mate out when he's in desperate need of getting wasted.

"Jesus Christ."

His roommate slams the door shut and it's probably loud enough that it echoes around the entire school.

"Have you lost your mind? Put that away before something catches fire!"

"There is a lot of wood," he says thoughtfully, thumbing the cap back into place and twisting the silver square around in his palm. He wonders if that's a solution to his problems – burning this place to the ground, Dalton Academy up in flames.

He wonders if it would still look pretentious when reduced to nothing.

Hell hath no fury like a rejected teenage boy scorned.

"What the hell is your problem, Smythe?" Clarington approaches him, switching between hostile and concerned. He's not sure how to take the wariness, the caution in the other boy's steps after this morning.

"What isn't?" he mutters, dumping the lighter in his bedside drawer because clearly playtime with it is over and he doesn't fancy Clarington wrestling him for it if he kept flicking the flame into life.

"I've already established you had a pretty big chip on your shoulder," Clarington agrees, sitting on the end of his bed completely uninvited. Sebastian has half a mind to kick his ass to the floor. "But that doesn't tell me what sort of chip you have sitting there."

"You'd do well to keep your abnormally large nose out of other people's business," Sebastian snaps, rolling off his bed only to have Clarington's hand clamp around his wrist. It reminds him of the way his mother had grabbed him, the ensuing conversation on the staircase that might have led to this entire abandonment. He can feel his anger simmering into something more explosive

"What do you want? An apology for this morning? Fine. Have it. Sorry."

Laden with that much sincerity, Sebastian almost believes that Clarington means it, that he truly is apologetic.

Or not, considering it's something that's practically snarled at him.

"I'm not going to get into a conversation that will devolve into braiding each other's hair at two in the morning," he says, attempting to shake Clarington's hand off before he plans on breaking fingers.

"Aww, you know how to braid? Did your sister teach you that or-"

Something flares, white hot, in Sebastian's chest. He twists his wrist hard and sudden, unexpected enough that Clarington lets go because he ends up in a heap on the floor. Rage fizzles through him, his foot pressing presses to Clarington's chest to force him down. Any thoughts of playing nice for Blaine's benefit have flown away, but he decides instead that maybe he can follow different advice, that controlling Clarington's words about his sister is something he can control.

If he doesn't teach Clarington that Lillian isn't to be mentioned, he's going to be carted out of here in a week in handcuffs for committing homicide.

"Don't you fucking dare bring my sister into this."

His voice is low and he's sure something crackles around him but maybe that's just his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Clarington goes to get up but he shoves him back with his foot again. The other boy stills and his expression changes into something that Sebastian doesn't understand.

"Do you understand that or is your skull empty? My sister is off-fucking-limits."

"Jesus, I get it!" Clarington hisses, finally managing to roll out from underneath Sebastian's foot and stand. "I'm sorry for bringing it up."

Sebastian stares him down, gritting his teeth hard enough that he worries they might just crack. "Don't do it again," he spits out, walking to the bathroom where he slams the door shut and turns on the water with the intention of showering.

Mostly, he intends to hide the tears as his anxiety over Lillian returns.

He doesn't look in Clarington's direction as he exits the bathroom, folding himself under the blankets and determinedly facing the side of the room that doesn't feature Clarington reading on his bed. He knows if he was examined too closely, his roommate would see his red eyes. He doesn't have smoking through a joint to blame this time.

"Night, Smythe," Clarington mutters, a gesture which Sebastian supposes is meant to be somewhere between apology and conciliatory.

Sebastian hauls the blankets up higher and ignores him.

An alarm goes off which is so earth-shatteringly loud he's fairly sure Blaine might have heard it in his hospital room. He doesn't fall out of bed, but it damn near comes close. At the very least, he thinks he's had a mild heart attack.

The noise is quickly dialled down, but his ears are ringing.

"Sorry," Clarington says, and Sebastian's getting rather fed up with the amount of apologies he's hearing for things which shouldn't have happened in the first place. "Must have gotten bumped louder during transport."

Sebastian pulls the blanket over his head and wishes he could pretend he didn't have bullshit classes to go to with a whole bunch of people able to look closer at him like he's the new lab experiment. He'd enjoyed the relative anonymity he'd enjoyed at Westerville High because he was 'just another freshman'.

But now…

Clarington apparently calls first dibs on the shower, if the click of the bathroom is anything to go by. He mutters a series of curses under his breath and shuts his eyes again.

Classes suck.

(The only thing that sucks more is the stupid uniform.)

He missed at least a couple of months after Lillian went into the PICU but his attendance hadn't been exactly stellar before that. Middle school had been a bit of a drag as well. After he'd given up his attempts at stunning his parents with quality report cards, he'd lost a lot of interest in school work. He could read when the words wanted to behave, he could write when he was forced into it, he could count one plus one, he could tell you the first twenty presidents of the United States and recite all fifty states and capital cities because he'd memorised his third grade teacher telling him.

What more could anyone want?

Despite the fact he'd sat in French for an hour, he's fairly sure that a class in a foreign language somehow made more sense to him than English Lit and Geometry. American History may as well have been a joke and British History? Well. The extent of Sebastian's British history was wrapped up in the Civil War and revolution, and not at all related to Queen Elizabeth I. In Geography, they were learning about weather systems and in Biology, they were analysing the function of bodily organs and in Chemistry…

Chemistry was about the point that Sebastian's brain exploded instead of the chemicals in the beaker and he walked out of the class.

He ends up sitting on the floor of his room with his back to the bed as a shield from being seen by anyone who enters. The flame dances in front of his eyes in an attempt to distract his mind, although his hands are shaking. He does everything in his power to try willing Blaine to call him so he has someone to talk to.

Someone knocks at the door. "Sebastian?"

He nearly groans because the last thing he feels like doing is dealing with someone who is either nosy or looking to be a model student and become a prefect when he's old enough.

Besides, what the hell is Montgomery doing here? They weren't in Chemistry together.

He doesn't respond in the hopes that the boy will go away, but then he hears the scrape of a key in the lock and quickly snaps the lighter shut and stows it under the bed. The door opens and it doesn't take Wes much time to walk into the room and see him.

"That's the oldest hiding place in the unwritten Dalton handbook," the boy comments with a wry smile, wandering to the other side of the room to sit on the floor with his back against Clarington's bed.

They're facing each other, although Sebastian keeps his eyes trained on the swirly carpet. He's not in the mood for prying questions that encourage him into talking. He's not in the mood for company. His attitude is sour and his anger at the world is barely contained.

"So I'm from Seattle," Montgomery volunteers unexpectedly, his voice light and conversational. "I've got two older sisters, one in her first year at Yale and another in her fourth year at Harvard. My younger brother is still in Washington with our parents and we Skype all the time because he's the only one left there and, well, Asian parents are pretty strict so he misses us."

Sebastian slowly raises his gaze to Montgomery, who's examining the cuffs of his blazer like they're the most interesting things he's ever seen. He supposes it's the boy's way of diffusing the tension and filling in the silence and he can't decide if it annoys him or not.

"I'm a sophomore. Clarington's a freshman, but he joined up to the Warblers so we became friends through that. Do you sing?"

Montgomery makes eye contact with him for a brief second before Sebastian looks away again and shakes his head. He wouldn't be caught dead singing in public, especially with a group of other boys. He consistently refused to even join the drunken yowling that the guys would do at the playground, so he's pretty sure singing with other boys is something that would get 'gay' stamped across his forehead long before he's ready.

"Pity. We could use some taller guys to balance out those who haven't had a growth spurt yet. Or in my case, might never get one."

It's a comment he'd heard Blaine make once, that he was small for his age and it was why he'd made such an easy target. Sebastian's not the tallest guy around. Mitch had several inches on him, but he supposes that for fifteen and a freshman, he isn't the shortest guy in his year at Dalton. He's seen others that are taller, boys who might be juniors or seniors with extra stitching on their blazers which probably list all the sporting teams they're a part of like anyone actually cares about their status.

He remembers the trophy he broke and his fingers fold into his lap.

"Are you not much of a talker or am I just annoying you?" Montgomery says, the lightness in his voice giving way to something less sure.

Sebastian has to think about the answer. He's not particularly annoyed by Montgomery's ramblings, although he does wonder why it's happening. And he can talk, if it's around Blaine or he's intoxicated enough to lose his mental faculties.

"Not much of a talker," he concedes. He can see Montgomery nodding out of the corner of his eye like his response made all the sense in the world.

"Are you struggling with the change? I know you're a local but public to private can be a big step for some people to handle."

Montgomery asks questions in a way that's similar to Blaine – they aren't laden with pressure or demands. There's a gentleness to them that makes them feel natural, coming from someone who is genuinely curious rather than pumping him for information which is going to be spread through the school gossip mill.

He looks down at his hands and closes his eyes. The public/private step is the least of his worries.

"I didn't understand anything that was talked about in class today," he admits, feeling stupid despite knowing he's really not. He used to be a star student, after all. "It was all just…" He waves his hand, as if that vague gesture will make sense to someone he met yesterday.

"Dalton is very academically rigorous."

That's one way of putting it, Sebastian supposes. Another way would be that it's a load of bullshit that no one understood unless they were a perfect student.

"I'm not an idiot. It was all gibberish that kept moving around and I got sick of all the thoroughly foreign information."

"Okay…" Montgomery stretches his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles neatly. "I don't know what the curriculum was like at your old school, but did you have a good grasp on that?"

Sebastian laughs, but the sound is pretty hollow and he thinks that's the only answer Montgomery needs. He couldn't have explained what he was meant to have learned in the first half of his freshman year, and he wasn't entirely sure he knew the past three years at middle school either. "Let's just say there were issues with having a perfect attendance record."

"Gotcha."

And just like that, he doesn't need to say anything more. Montgomery doesn't demand anything from him and Sebastian….finds he feels more comfortable with that. Even Blaine sometimes pushes a little too far for his liking. He's not good with putting his feelings into words and he doesn't like explaining himself too much in case it makes someone dislike him.

"So here's an idea that you can totally shoot down in flames if you want," Montgomery begins, his dark eyes fixing on Sebastian's face. "Hunter's difficult, I'll grant you that, but he's a good student and he's loyal once you crack under his shell. He'd help you out with catching up on the previous semester's work."

Sebastian's fairly sure he'd rather drink paint thinner than ask Clarington for help, but he smiles politely at the suggestion anyway.

"There's also a study group that meets on Monday, Wednesday and Thursdays. You don't have to come every day but it's a range of guys from all different grades with different strengths and weaknesses. We have a good system of helping each other out with whatever the problem is, building on everyone's knowledge until we know more than the textbook or our class notes. It's also a huge bonus when finals come around because someone always seems to know more than you."

Sebastian wouldn't be caught dead asking for help with schoolwork from strangers, but he humours Wes again by nodding and hoping his face looks like he's thoughtfully considering it.

"Alternatively you can fail to hand anything in, skip all your classes, and get held back a year. Hell, you could be permanently held back until you're old enough to kick out. I'm sure that'd make your parents pleased."

It's around that time when Sebastian realises there are two sides to Montgomery. There's the side that's an older student in the room, someone with wisdom about the system who might be a mentor someday because he strives to be helpful and compassionate. Sebastian can only imagine how many times Montgomery has tried to bridge the gap between struggling newbies and integrated students within the larger school network.

Then there's the other side, the one which clearly has a lot of intelligence, years of excellent education, and enough cunning to inflict sharp words like daggers into his skin. That side of Montgomery isn't just brutally honest, but instead nudges the borders of cruel and unlikable.

Sebastian knows that being held back a year would be very, very bad for any reputation he'd want to build, but given how much school he missed last semester and how little he failed to understand today, it might just be inevitable when May rolls around and the final grades roll in. He can't see how he's ever meant to pass classes with content as foreign to him as how to save Lillian.

"Dalton doesn't often let people sink into a pit of wallowing nothingness, Sebastian," Montgomery says quietly as he rises to his feet. "There are always doorways open to welcoming you if you're willing to walk through them."

Sebastian listens to the footsteps fade away after the door shuts. Despite still being on the floor, he lies down on the carpet and lets his pride and determination wage a war with his fear of failure.

~TBC~