Title: Creeping On A Stranger
Word Count: 5,700
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.

The fucking teachers are in cahoots with each other.

It's the only reason for why all his lessons on Monday feature pop quizzes about the content from the previous week. Apparently they should either have learned it the first time or revised whatever they didn't know over the weekend.

Sebastian stares blankly at each piece of paper in front of him because even if he'd been more comfortable reading it, he certainly hadn't paid enough attention in class last week to know any of the answers. He attempts a few questions in Chemistry and American History, but British History and French are a complete waste of time. He has no background in those subjects to draw on and he's not entirely convinced that 'conjugate' is a real word when he manages to piece together the letters on a paper that tests a foreign language he's never studied.

By the time he gets to Literature, the last class before lunch, he already has an inkling of what's to come. He casts a look behind him at Clarington fist bumping some guy he recognises from the lunch table his roommate sits at with Montgomery. He wants to demand a reason about why he wasn't warned about this sort of torture. He can only hope that all these tests are something the teachers get off on, because it offers absolutely no form of pleasure to him or, he guesses, any of the other students in the room.

He muffles a groan when a paper goes down in front of him, although it's a bit different from the others. Rather than be specifically about the text they're apparently studying – To Kill A Mockingbird – it's more about comprehension of passages of text and a written component.

He puts his head down with his finger dragging over sentences to hold the letters in place, scrawling down answers in the space provided. He's feeling better about this paper considering it's not so much about things he doesn't know but rather basic skills. It takes some time to decode what he's reading and put together an answer but it isn't impossible because of his crap attendance at his past schools or his difficulty paying attention last week and for that, he gives it a shot.

'Write a story about characters that are either good or evil. You should consider why they're good or evil and what they do which shows these cliché, but common, human traits.'

He stares at the creative writing question for several minutes, chewing the end of his pen. He could write about Lillian compared to his parents, but maybe that's too obvious. He knows that the principal is already aware of his parents' concerns for his welfare. There's no need to put his life story down in ink for a teacher to pass along with a worried look.

Instead, he starts to write a story about Blaine.

He changes the name and the place, and he makes up a lot of details because he doesn't know Blaine that well. He writes about a boy with a secret that would ostracise him from society and as the writing develops, he remains deliberately obtuse about ever mentioning what the secret is. In some places, you could almost assume that he isn't gay but that he's a superhero, living a double life with a secret identity, or maybe, like Sebastian, he abuses drugs in his spare time. Throughout it all, whatever the secret is, the character remains loyal and honest, helpful and caring, to the people he encounters while something dark lurks on the edge of the story, threatening to derail the goodness within the character. He's never considered himself much of a writer, but he feels rather proud of the story he constructs.

He also never divulges what the secret is, because where's the mystery for the reader in that?

He puts his pen down and glances around him. Boys in blazers are still bent over desks, looping letters into words into paragraphs and it immediately makes him unsure that his story is long enough. What if it's too short? What if he hasn't answered the question properly?

His teacher collects the paper when she sees that he's done, whispering that he can continue reading the book if he likes. He wouldn't much like since he has a feeling that the words won't stay tethered to the page but he nods and removes it from his bag just so he looks like he's doing something.

When the bell goes, he nearly swears in relief and packs up his stuff to go to lunch. He's not particularly hungry but his brain needs a break and his-

"Sebastian, could you come here a moment, please?"

Or not.

"You're not in trouble," Mrs Fincher says with a kind smile, which kind of triggers the universal 'Oh shit, run!' reaction in any student. "I just wanted to talk to you about your work and if I can offer you some assistance since you missed last semester."

He offers a strained smile and shakes his head. He should admit something to how much he's failing to understand, but he doesn't like thinking about it. He's trying to convince himself that with enough time he'll be able to catch up. "No, it's fine."

"Can we talk about your test?"

Can we not?

He bites down on a sigh and pulls up a chair to sit by her desk. She seems nice enough, rarely yelling in class despite this kid, Josh, who can't sit in his seat or stop his hands from thumping drum beats on the table, driving Sebastian mental. She's probably in her thirties, maybe her forties, and isn't nearly as threatening as the old woman in Chemistry who seems to be perfecting her owl screech of disapproval.

"Now, the first thing you need to know is that I got to know most of the other boys last semester," she says, sifting through the papers as she looks for his. "So this is more for me to get to know you and how to help you learn."

"Okay," he says slowly, watching his paper as it's pulled from the pile. He cringes when he sees that she's already graded the comprehension section and it's riddled with green.

"Have a look at the corrections first before you start worrying that you failed."

She must see the look on his face so he tries to neutralise it, accepting the paper and scanning over it. He's surprised that he can decode his handwriting better than the typed font of the passages, although he's not sure whether her handwriting is challenging because it's so swirly or because his eyes make it fuzzy. He notices quite a few ticks though so he figures he can't have done too badly.

"Sebastian?"

Her prompting draws him from focusing on the confusion he feels because he can read. Maybe that's why he could manage most of Blaine's medical charts, because they were handwritten. He finds himself wondering if the year he'd excelled at school when Lillian was sick had featured texts with large print and spaced words. They probably did.

"Sorry, did you ask something?"

"No, I…" She presses her lips together and gets him to place the paper on her table. She points to a section of the typed paragraphs he'd had to read earlier. "Can you read this for me?"

It reminds him of Clarington trying to make him read his Geometry textbook yesterday, how he'd forced into doing something that he hadn't wanted to do. It makes him incredibly defensive as he leans back and folds his arms over his chest. He doesn't want to look like a fool and he doesn't need any nosey teacher to start poking around in his life story. "What is this?"

"Literature, last I checked," Mrs Fincher says with a bright smile that, unfortunately, chips at his resolve. She reminds him a little of Blaine with her ridiculous optimism. "Just a few sentences are fine."

He sighs and leans forward, figuring that it's far more bearable to read a few sentences than the whole damn page again. His fingers press to the paper, pinning the floating words down and reading as slowly as he can to avoid making mistakes. He knows she's watching him and it makes his skin crawl, his fingers wobbling against the page as he gets increasingly self-conscious.

"Okay, I'll put you out of your misery and let you stop." Her hand touches the back of his arm and he stops and folds them together across his chest again. She gazes at him with interest and Sebastian struggles with not picking up his bag and running away. "Do you prefer silent reading or reading aloud?"

He frowns, wondering why it matters. She's clearly intelligent and fishing for answers he's far from willing to give. Maybe James has put her up to this. Maybe all his teachers are watching him closer this week.

"I don't like either," he says shortly, turning his attention away from her. If he reads aloud, it's slow and jumbled and he sounds stupid. If he reads in his head, he can't concentrate properly.

"Ah. So you're one of my boys who hate reading?" Her blue eyes twinkle as she takes the paper back and returns it to her pile of the others from the class. He's still uncomfortable about the amount of green comments.

He has to admit that she's good at the guilt trip, getting him to explain himself because he doesn't like the assumptions she makes. "No, it's… I can't concentrate properly if it's in my head," he says, biting his lip in a habit he thinks he's picking up from Blaine, "but reading aloud… I know I'm slow and I don't want it to seem like I'm stupid."

"I read through your creative piece, Sebastian."

His stomach flips, panic surging through his bloodstream and making his heartbeat quicken. So she had read it. He hopes it wasn't so bad that she failed him. He's only been here a week. Can they expel him already for terrible grades? What would happen if they expelled him and his parents didn't want to deal with him? Where would he go? Would he have to-

"Judging from that, I don't think you're stupid at all. You have a wonderful way with words."

…oh.

He looks up at her with wide eyes but lacks any words to speak. He can't remember the last time his school work was praised by anyone. A huge part of that was probably his frequent non-attendance and complete disengagement from public school. It had been easy to slip between the cracks when he wasn't sure any of the teachers really cared about his education. They probably just wanted the latest gossip update on his sister to pass around.

"I've heard you've had some interruptions to your schooling, although no firm details," she adds quickly when he immediately feels the need to storm into the principal's office and smash his face in for betraying his trust. He didn't want all his teachers pitying him for Lillian's sickness the way that his previous schools had done. He could always tell when someone knew what was going on and cut him some slack. He hates being the charity case, the person voted least likely to succeed simply because he's always got something more important occupying his attention. He doesn't want to be the target of the teachers' here too until it trickles to the students that there's something really wrong with him.

"I'd like to arrange for your eyes to get tested and then we'll review everything, okay?"

Like that list of questions he had for Blaine that he'll never ask, he has one for people at Dalton – why are they so goddamn nice?

Sure, the boys are snobby and pretentious – he's overheard more than enough conversations already of upperclassmen who talk like they've never heard the word 'no' in their life – but he has to admit that there are people who keep trying to ask him stuff and help him and he's completely unused to it. His parents haven't gone out of their way in years. His friends from middle school had drifted away and then dropped him by the time they reached high school. The weird friendliness of Dalton baffles him and leaves him wary of all of their motives.

He sighs, some of his ability to keep shooting these people down wilting when they keep trying. "Okay," he says with a shrug. He's not entirely sure what she's suggesting but he's already been considering the issues with his eyes since Clarington had talked about it last night and he's glad a teacher had picked up on it quickly and will sort something out because he hadn't had the faintest idea of who to talk to. He's pretty sure if he'd tried to call his mother and say his eyes were doing weird things, she'd either wave it off as a ploy for attention or claim that she was a doctor and there's no way she wouldn't have noticed he couldn't see properly.

"I can avoid asking you to read aloud in class if that would help too, but I'd like you to practice reading in your room."

A small weight is lifted from his shoulders at her words. If he doesn't have to read aloud in front of dozens of boys who could ridicule him for his weaknesses, then it greatly reduces the anxiety of even having to wait for his name to be called with the clear expectation that he'll answer. He's not sure if he's taking longer to understand the content because he's so behind or because of his reading problems – eyesight or not – but he spent most of last week terrified that he'd get asked a question about something he hadn't completed yet and look like a fool. Not to mention the amount of things which distract him, dragging his attention away from the task at hand. Josh's restlessness is a problem he's going to have to spend time trying to tune out.

"If there's anything you feel I can do to help you out as you make the transition to Dalton, will you let me know?"

He thinks about James wanting him to find a mentor. He might not ask Fincher right now, maybe he won't ever ask her because he's not sold on the idea of even having a mentor, but he does notice that she checks to see what hewants rather than making decisions for him and then asking if it's okay. He likes that. He likes having the opportunity to say yes or no.

"I don't know what there might be…" He fiddles with a button on his blazer and raises one shoulder in a shrug, feeling uncomfortable and wanting to get away.

"You're an intelligent boy. I'm sure you'll come up with many things once you get settled," Fincher says with a smile, folding her hands together on top of the table. "Off you go to lunch. Thank you for your time, Sebastian."

He tilts his head in acknowledgement, picks up his bag, and hurries off to lunch. He has absolutely no idea what just happened but he hopes there's no more pop quizzes for the day.

He struggles through until Thursday, receiving a number of quizzes with terrible grades from teachers who say his results are fine considering he "didn't really have an opportunity to learn the content anyway". It makes him wonder why they gave him the test in the first place. In the quiet safety of his room, he tries to make sense of the corrections but being told what he should have written when he's not familiar with the subjects makes everything more confusing and he frequently just gives up with a frustrated huff.

On Thursday, a student comes to the door of his French class with a folded piece of paper with his name on it. He's led to a small office with a man he's never seen before unpacking a briefcase and fiddling with a computer. It turns out he's some sort of eye specialist that the school gets in from time to time and he wants to examine Sebastian's vision. He knows the ophthalmologists at the hospital and he remembers a visit to an optometrist when he was younger, but otherwise he has no idea what he's in for.

He wishes he had.

Over the course of the next hour, the optometrist runs through a variety of sight and reading tests. A ridiculous amount of lenses get placed in front of his eyes while he attempts to read sections of words in a range of different typefaces until Sebastian wants to peel his eyeballs from their sockets and crush them into gloopy messes on the table because they'd probably be more useful to him. He wishes he could scream at the guy.

"Thank you for being so patient today, Sebastian," Doctor Adams says as he begins packing away the assorted equipment before he pulls up a seat opposite Sebastian at the desk. "Would you like to hear my professional opinion?"

There's an incredibly sarcastic 'No, of course not, I've just let you play with my eyes for fun' that makes his tongue twitch against his teeth. He quickly bites down on it and nods politely instead.

"Right then." Doctor Adams links his hands together on top of the table and leans forward. Sebastian's ascertained that he's a rather no-nonsense fellow, someone who Sebastian thinks might have had a steel rod implanted to replace his spine given with how stiffly he's moved around during the course of the tests. "I think there's a dual issue here. One is what we would call hyperopia, or farsightedness. It means you can see the whiteboard clearly but reading is a bit fuzzy. Does that sound familiar?"

He nods and scrunches his eyes shut for a moment because they're still watering from all those lenses.

"Alright. My second assessment is that there is an underlying difficulty with reading, which I think you already know."

Well duh. Sebastian doesn't need a degree in eyes to know that.

"It's interesting that you find handwriting easier to read than words which are typed. I think it could be of great benefit to you if I pass along this information to your teachers as they can make adjustments to your classwork while your glasses are organsied."

Doctor Adams pauses and tilts his head, probably because Sebastian's scowling at the idea of his teachers knowing things again. First his sister, now the fact he can't read? They'll have a field day with all this gossip and he hates it. His skin prickles with the realisation that his fresh start has already spun out of his control.

"I'll only share it if you're comfortable, but it's nothing to be ashamed of and now that you know, it would only increase your ability to achieve."

Sebastian hate hate hates that anything will get passed along, but Adams plays the guilt trip card like Fincher. He brings up the possibility of improving and he supposes that's important because he doesn't want to fail if something can be done. He's forced to concede that if it makes school more bearable than it's been the past couple of weeks, then maybe he has to take the offer. He'd be a fool not to if the alternative is to repeatedly fail freshman year.

Doctor Adams gives him a web address which apparently will offer dozens of frames he can choose for his new glasses. It's not as good as if he had the chance to take them on and off, to see what suited his face, but Sebastian supposes it's one of the many prices he has to pay for being a student at Dalton rather than living freely at home and visiting an optometrist store.

At breakfast on Friday, he gets issued with a new schedule. It's removed French and British History and he now has Photography and Art. He's not entirely sure why the change has been made because he hadn't been asked about it, but he's not sorry to see the loss of a language that made such little sense. Perhaps this 'underlying reading difficulty' would make French too hard for him right now and he can't find it in him to be particularly disappointed.

Besides, anyone and everyone can take photos and draw, right?

From: Unknown

I bribed Therese into letting me know that your sister is still in the PICU. No change, but that it's better than a decline. You're welcome!
- B

The message is waiting for him at the end of his last class and he thinks it's probably worth the price of enduring Biology for the past hour. Nothing had made sense when he'd tried reading from the textbook so instead he'd let his lab partner, Simon, take the lead on the experiment of dissecting the frog. He couldn't have held the scalpel steady anyway and it would have meant they butchered the frog for no scientific gain.

Although he feels rather nauseous at knowing what now lay inside a frog.

He's not sure he has it in him to go into surgery but he's not sure his mother will be disappointed. He's not sure the levels go that high.

He ducks his head as boys move in a hundred different directions after the last bell of the day, pushing through the crowds as they push back until he finally tumbles into his room. Clarington is, blessedly, not around. Sebastian's not sure if he has something on or not but for now, all that matters is the room is his.

He takes out his phone and immediately hits the dial button, waiting anxiously until it gets answered on the third ring.

"You got my message?"

"No, I just magically knew which number to call," he says, his smile barely contained as he tosses his bag under his desk, throws his blazer over the chair, loosens his tie, and basically hurls himself at the bed. It's always good to hear Blaine's voice but now that he knows he has the other boy's mobile number, it opens up new possibilities for their communication.

"My, my. You are turning out to have a lot of special talents," Blaine teases and Sebastian laughs as he makes himself comfortable on the bed.

"You have no idea," he replies, before realising the possible sexual connotations of what he said. Apparently Blaine picks up on it too if his flabbergasted choking sound is anything to go by. He tucks his arm beneath his head and tries to rein in the grin spreading across his face. "So you bribed Therese, huh?"

"Yeah. I promised her I'd start sitting up on the edge of the bed and allowing the blood to properly circulate to my feet and stuff before they start trying to get me to walk." Blaine doesn't sound pleased with the deal he made which makes Sebastian grimace. He can't imagine how hard it's going to be to recover from the injuries Blaine sustained. It will probably be incredible if he manages to properly walk without a pronounced limp.

"Well… Thanks," he says honestly, because it's the first piece of news he's had about Lillian since he got delivered to Dalton's hallowed doors two weeks ago. He'd considered messaging his parents, but he hadn't wanted that to seem like an olive branch to being a good son. He's still too furious with them for that.

"Don't mention it. How's Dalton?"

He forgets that it's been more than a week since he really had the opportunity to talk to Blaine, so he details the change to his class from this morning – "Sounds like those classes should be more fun, although French is a cool language to get the opportunity to learn." – and the eye tests yesterday – "You'll probably look like a hot hipster with glasses and all the girls will throw themselves at you!". He doesn't mention the reading problems nor does he say anything about his poor pop quiz results. He can't shake off the feeling of being too stupid for this school, surrounded by boys who all seem so effortlessly composed and capable.

"Have you made friends yet?"

He hasn't spoken to Montgomery all week because he's unsure of where, exactly, that…acquaintanceship lies. Clarington has offered him some help with his work though, reading aloud passages of their American History textbook for them both to take notes from as well as explaining more of the Geometry foundations he doesn't have. He wouldn't go as far to say they're friends, but they're at least civil as they negotiate completing work together.

"Not really."

"Sebastiaaaaaaan!" Blaine whines and it tugs at his heart when he remembers Lillian sounding like that once. She was about five and he wouldn't give her a lick of his chocolate ice-cream as they walked home from chasing down the ice-cream truck. He'd told her she wouldn't like her lemon ice lolly and he'd been right, so then she'd spent the walk home drawing out the vowels in his name in an effort to swap ice-creams.

And giggling like the little charmer that she was when he'd given in.

"I have a lot to be dealing with right now. Friends aren't very high on my priority list."

"Yeah, but-" Sebastian can almost hear the pout he suspects is on Blaine's face, "I'm going to be moving to the rehab ward soon and complaining more. I don't want you to feel like you can't talk to me when I turn into a big baby and you don't have anyone else."

It's sweet, in an odd sort of way, that Blaine thinks he needs friends because the other boy is about to have to use his left limbs for the first time in months. He's pretty sure he could handle any and all of Blaine's complaining without feeling bad or noticing the absence of any friends.

"I've never been huge on the whole 'friends' thing, Killer. Not having anyone to talk to never bothered me before."

"Because you got drunk and high when you couldn't cope?"

"Shut up."

The warmth he'd felt towards Blaine's endearing level of care for his wellbeing had been tempered by Blaine's painfully astute observation. Blaine laughs breathily because he knows he's right and Sebastian lets his eyes close to listen to it. He won't admit how close Blaine is to being right. Instead, he tries to imagine Blaine in the hospital bed after two weeks of healing and growing stronger, wondering what he'd look like without his arm and leg in bulky plaster.

"I miss seeing you and Lillian," he admits quietly, wondering if that's a really weird thing to say. He doesn't want to encourage any sort of crush for Blaine, but he does miss seeing him as well as his sister. His feelings towards the boy are a mess. His grasp of whether he's gay because he's hooked up with guys is beyond him. Can two gay guys be 'just friends' or is it like the idea that a straight guy and girl can't just be friends?

He's pretty sure he can hear Blaine's smile over the phone though as he speaks though, so he decides maybe his confession is worth it. "I'm sure Lillian misses seeing you as much as I do, Seb."

A faint smile returns to his face as the warmth flickers alive again, which is around the time that Clarington finally enters the room. They exchange a nod of acknowledgment as his roommate crosses the room, places his bag on the floor, takes off the outer layers of his uniform followed by his shoes. He idly watches Clarington begin unpacking his bag.

"Hey, what are you doing about school?" Sebastian says suddenly when he sees Clarington aligning the edge of his books with the corner of the table like he always does on Fridays, preparing himself for the early morning Saturday Study ritual. His roommate is seriously weird.

Blaine sighs and Sebastian almost feels bad for asking. "My teachers put together a little study kit thing for me to do while I'm recovering, but my rehab guru told me I probably won't get back to school until the fall," Blaine admits, sounding quiet and sad. "My parents have said I wouldn't go back anyway because it's 'too dangerous'."

"You can't blame them for that, though," Sebastian points out. He's pretty sure if Blaine's parents had permitted his return to middle school after the injuries the boy had suffered, he'd go around with his own baseball bat and break their arms and legs to see how they coped with returning to the sight of their attack.

"I told them for months before the attack about getting pushed around, Seb. They never cared then." Blaine sounds so tired, almost disappointed in his parents. It's a tone Sebastian recognises as one he's used before. The distance of Blaine's parents from a very real problem is one he's familiar with too.

"Oh," he says dumbly. He doesn't know how to use his words to react. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It's just… Fall seems a long time away so it's hard to… I guess the road to recovery is just longer than I'd thought," Blaine says, his voice fading away as he stumbles through his explanation. He feels so bad for Blaine that he's determined to try to turn the conversation around.

"Who knew it would take you so long to learn how to use your bionic limbs properly?" he muses and is delighted when Blaine giggles. Clarington looks over his shoulder with a puzzled expression. He supposes the conversation probably does sound strange if you're only hearing one side of it.

"You're a jerk, Seb," Blaine says with no malice in his tone. It sounds almost …fond. Sebastian's not sure he's ever heard someone sound so warm towards him, especially when they're issuing an insult.

"Yet you sent me a text so I have your number, which means you're planning on putting up with me." He pauses and listens to Blaine's breathy giggle. "Does that make you exceptionally generous or a fool?"

"I'm possibly both," Blaine replies, and Sebastian can imagine the thoughtful expression on the boy's face when he says it.

"Then you're both. You're welcome."

Blaine laughs again and it makes Sebastian smile to hear it, his insides turning fuzzy and warm. He can already guess there will be months of rehabilitation and physical therapy ahead of Blaine. Having an enormous cloud of uncertainty over his schooling future can't be helpful. What happened if Blaine failed to complete his last semester of middle school? Or would his parents ensure he still becomes a freshman at…a school somewhere? Where will Blaine attend in the fall? The range of questions he starts contemplating have surely run through Blaine's mind too yet he's sounding pretty strong and positive about everything. He's capable of teasing and being teased to the point of laughing. Sebastian's not sure he'd be the same if he had such injuries under such circumstances. He's certainly not feeling very positive at the moment and he doesn't face anything nearly that uncertain.

"Send me a photo when you get the glasses?" Blaine asks, a hint of uncertainty in his voice which Sebastian doesn't understand but can't help prodding at.

He grins. "I'll send you a handkerchief for the drool on your chin too."

Blaine squawks and mutters a clearly embarrassed goodbye before the line goes dead. It's an abrupt, odd reaction that Sebastian will have to think about later.

"Who the hell was that?" Clarington says as soon as Sebastian puts the phone on his bedside table. His roommate is clearly scrutinising him and Sebastian wonders if there's a flashing sign on his head that makes him so interesting.

"None of your business," he says and folds his arms over his chest. He feels like Lillian when she doesn't get her way about trying to push her bedtime later. He doesn't want to seem like a bratty child.

Clarington watches him a moment more before picking up a book and getting comfortable on the bed. "Maybe it's not, but it's also the most animated and happy I've seen you since you got here."

He can still feel the eyes on him and he wonders if Clarington expects that the answer will magically appear if he just stares long enough.

It won't, though.

Blaine is Sebastian's special secret weapon in fighting the melancholia when he's sober. He's a boy wise beyond is years and filled with his own intricacies and complexities. He's someone that Sebastian is friends with and he doesn't want some asshole like his roommate to get the wrong idea. He has no intention of sharing his friendship with Blaine with anyone, but especially not Clarington.

"Then don't push your luck so far that I lose the smile," Sebastian says relatively calmly, snatching up his phone to find a game to play. It's a Friday. He has absolutely no intention to do something as academically pompous as reading, even if it might help him catch up some of his school work.

Clarington rolls his eyes and finally turns his attention to the book in his hands. "I'll get it out of you one day," he murmurs and Sebastian wonders why it matters so much. Does his roommate expect they'll be friends that share secrets? He knows very little about Clarington and he has zero interest in learning anything. He sees no reason why he should be expected to offer any information of his own. He hasn't forgotten being pushed up against the wall. He doesn't need his fears to be used against him by someone that dangerous and volatile.

"Good luck with that," Sebastian mutters because he knows he'll never part with anything. He taps an application and taps the screen again to begin playing, tilting the phone from side to side to steer the racing car around a corner.

A tense silence settles between them.

~TBC~