Chapter Text
Warnings for this chapter: Discussion of Dave's suicide attempt and not-graphic discussion of homophobic bullying at school.
Prologue: Ten years later
It took the entire day to finish packing the tiny apartment and move all the boxes out. The three of them bumped into each other constantly in the small rooms and narrow hallways, occasionally dropping things (though thankfully, nothing too valuable). They stopped sometimes to dance and sing along to music from the iPod speakers they’d set up in the corner of the living room. Sophie’s music collection was full of the high-energy dance anthems they couldn’t resist, and several times the downstairs neighbor pounded on the ceiling. They just laughed.
Finally, the furniture had been moved out (most of it donated—it was all secondhand, mismatched, or cheap anyway) and everything had been packed. Except for the photos.
Sophie had covered her walls in photos. There were hundreds of them, all different sizes, in different frames, some black and white and others in brilliant color. None of them matched, there was no theme. It had started years ago, when she’d first moved in, and put up a single large photo—a ballerina’s feet clad in black pointe shoes. From there on she had added new photos whenever she felt like it and they had begun to form large, organically shaped clusters on every wall, before finally taking up every available space. Surprisingly, it didn’t look cluttered or messy. Just like Sophie, it all worked.
So Sebastian stood in the center of the living room near the end of the day, a few empty boxes at his feet, a sheaf of newspaper to wrap the photos held at his side. The bass line of some electronic dance song was pumping. He felt, stupidly, like dancing on the open floor.
He heard the front door close behind him and a moment later, a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist.
“Hey,” his husband mumbled, face pressed between his shoulder blades.
He clasped the other man’s hands. “Hey yourself. Ready for the last big task?”
“No. Shouldn’t your sister be here helping us?”
“Yeah, I’ll call her over in a second.” He turned so he was facing his husband and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Thanks for coming over to help.”
“No problem.”
“I love you, Blaine.”
“I love you too, Sebastian.”
They stood wrapped in each other’s warmth for a second before Sophie came crashing in the front door, instantly humming along to the music. “Oh my god, it’s so EMPTY!”
Both men laughed and opened their arms to pull her into a bone-crushing group hug. She laughed even as she gasped for air, kissing both of their cheeks. “Thank you guys, so much. I love you both.”
Blaine laughed. “We love you too, Sophie.”
“Yeah,” Sebastian added, “otherwise you’d be moving your own ass out of this fourth floor walk-up.”
She laughed again. “Well, thankfully the new place has an elevator! And, like, a complete ceiling and stuff. I’m moving up in the world, now.”
It was Blaine’s turn to laugh. “Oh come on, you’re gonna miss this place so much.”
“Yes, the occasional collapsing wall really added a certain something.”
“You know what I mean.” He broke the embrace so they could all turn toward the living room, but he kept a hand on her lower back. “There are so many memories here. I think everyone we know has lived here at one point or another. Including me. It’s like…”
“The final episode of ‘Friends,’” Sebastian supplied.
Blaine and Sophie stared at him in surprise for a second.
“What? That show was awesome.”
Sophie just shook her head. “Whatever. Let’s get started on all these photos, okay? I’m gonna put on different music.”
They started slowly, pulling down the photos from the walls and laying them on the floor, not having the heart to pack them away just yet. They had only pulled a few down from the walls when something caught Blaine’s eye. He turned over the framed photo and there on the back was a bright blue post-it note, with the date written in Sophie’s looping, slightly tilted handwriting.
“Sebastian?” His husband paused from pulling down another photo. “Did you know she put dates on these?”
Sebastian turned over the small photo he had in his hand. “Huh. Of course she did.” He turned to his sister, who was pulling photos down from the opposite wall. “Sophie?” She turned. “Dates? Really?”
She shrugged. “My memory for dates has never been as good as yours, you know that.”
Blaine stared at the picture in his hands. It was a picture from his and Sebastian’s wedding: Sophie and their old friends Nick and Jeff dancing like complete idiots at the reception, laughing hysterically and having a blast. “Could we… I have an idea.”
They continued pulling the photos down from the living room, then moved down the hall (which was also covered) and into her bedroom. As they took down the photos, they laid them out on the living room floor in order, with the earliest photos pushed up against the far wall under the window seat and the latest almost reaching to the front door. It became a maze, with only tiny spots between the delicate frames to place their feet.
Blaine began to notice something about the photos. With the exception of two or three photos of Sebastian and Sophie as kids (including an incredibly cute one of a round faced twelve-year-old Sophie holding an ice pack to her brother’s black eye), they began in Sophie and Sebastian’s senior year of high school. It began with their traditional “first day of school” photo (them on the front steps of their house, Sebastian in his Dalton blazer, Sophie in her Crawford Country Day vest—though in that photo, they were swing dancing) and ended two months ago, with one of Sebastian’s professional portraits of a young woman in Sophie’s dance company.
There was something else there, too: on the backs of some of the photos—maybe one out of every five—was an extra note. Some of them were just a single line (“Stop stepping on my feet, dammit!” on the back of a picture their friends dancing, “If you ever repeat that story, you’ll be in deep” on a portrait Sebastian had taken of Nick, his tattoos on display) but some were full letters to the person in the photo. When they found a note, they’d convene in the center of the living room and read it together. Some of the inside jokes they all knew (they’d kept the same core group of friends), though some Sophie refused to explain, giggling with her hands over her mouth like a little girl.
Blaine found one he remembered well: him in a hospital bed, an IV in the back of his hand, Sophie sitting next to him on top of the blankets. They were laughing, heads thrown back, either unaware or uncaring of the fact that Blaine was hospitalized. Blaine remembered that Sebastian had walked out for only a few minutes to get something to eat, not wanting to be away from him for even a minute (though he had insisted he was fine, he was just dehydrated and had fainted during a rehearsal, no big deal, it happens) and Sophie had taken the opportunity to jump into the bed with him. In those days Sebastian had never been without his camera, and had taken the photo so discreetly that Blaine knew nothing about he saw it hanging next to the living room window. On the back was a small sheet of creamy stationery.
Dear Blaine,
This is my favorite photo of us together, even if you were sick at the time. I love that we are always making each other laugh. I’m so glad you’re part of my family.
Love,
Your little sister
Blaine had had to step outside the apartment to compose himself for a few minutes after he read the note (Sebastian and Sophie’s rule for the day was ‘no crying!’). He’d been referring to Sophie as “little sister” for about the past five years, since he’d never had a real sister and, from the moment he and Sebastian had gotten together, she was part of his life too. Sebastian referred to himself and his twin as a “package deal.”
When they were done, they walked through, each at their own pace, stopping and looking over a photo they remembered or a memory that was special to them. The last ten years were laid out at their feet in little vignettes, with every major moment represented. Their college graduations. Sophie and Jeff opening their dance studio. Sebastian’s first professional photo shoot. Friends’ weddings. Their wedding. Mixed in were the smaller moments, friends having fun, laughing, drinking, going on adventures. All those moments that made up the last ten years of their lives.
Sophie loved the small moments. At big events in her life, Sophie would duck her head away from Sebastian’s camera, blushing and telling him to go bother someone else. It was the small, ordinary moments—sitting in a diner late at night, walking on her hands down the sidewalk, goofing off at dance rehearsal—those were the moments where she let her brother or her friends take her picture. She had told Blaine once she would always remember the big moments. It was the small ones she couldn’t hold onto, couldn’t keep them all tucked away safely in her mind. So she wanted the reminders.
Ten years of small moments. Blaine had had them too, as had Sebastian. It was what had drawn them together. No big, life changing events had shifted their lives around during their senior year of high school. No great disasters, no fantastic triumphs. The world had continued turning as it always had. And somehow, thousands of small things had changed, and finally those thousands of small moments and things had piled on until their lives were completely different.
The twins stood near the front door, arms crossed over their chests, subconsciously mirroring each other like they often did.
“Holy shit, Soph,” Sebastian murmured to her. “You’re moving out and getting married.”
“Holy shit, Seb, you got married first.”
They sent each other a look and simultaneously burst out laughing, then Sebastian pulled his sister into a hug. “Come on, let’s get these packed up. Wes owes us dinner.”
~~~~~
Lay my Tongue Upon Your Scars: 1
Warnings: Super brief mention of past bullying.
It was late evening on Friday, August 10th when Blaine’s phone beeped. Not that he hadn’t been expecting a text message—Kurt always sent at least a “good night” before bed—but the name on the screen was Sebastian Smythe.
They hadn’t talked since the slushie, and Blaine had rather preferred it that way. Things had been rough enough with Kurt lately, and if Blaine was really being honest with himself, he couldn’t find the necessary hatred of Sebastian to keep things smoothed over in his relationship. So it was just better to avoid the situation entirely.
He checked the message anyway.
Sebastian: Hey Warblers. Sophie’s surgery went well. She’s been up and about and has hit me with her crutches twice. She says thanks for the flowers.
Before Blaine could even begin to ask all the questions the text raised—why was he included on a Warbler text, who was Sophie, why did the Warblers send her flowers—his phone beeped again.
Sebastian: And on a personal note, I’d like to add: Trent Nixon, you are a jackass.
That was more like the Sebastian he knew, but it didn’t answer anything. He sighed, put the phone down on his desk, and started to change into his pajamas. His phone beeped again—and then again several times. Sebastian must have forgotten to turn off “reply all” because half the Warblers were blowing up his phone. He decided to leave it for a few minutes, and when he returned from brushing his teeth he had over twenty new texts.
Nick: Tell her I say hi! Did you take her phone cause she’s messed up on Percocet again?
Trent: MWAHAHA!
Jeff: Let me talk to her! I miss my Sophiiiiiiiiie
Thad: Trent, what did you do now?
Sebastian: Trent I hate you
Wes: Is she still gonna come to rehearsals?
Trent: REVENGE NUMBER THREE!
Nick: I’m sure the hit with the crutches was completely deserved.
Jeff: Put her on the phoooooooone!
Sebastian: He gave her an air horn. A FUCKING AIR HORN. I’m gonna kill you!
Trent: Just in case she needs anything! Then she can call you!
Nick: Please stop her if she starts spilling all my secrets this time. Seriously.
Thad: Best. Revenge. Ever.
Jeff: YES! Go Trent!
Wes: I approve. Well done, Trent. But seriously, Sebastian, tell her to take it easy this time.
Sebastian: I fucking hate all of you.
It went on from there, but Blaine was too confused to even try, so he wrote a new message to Trent instead.
Blaine: Hey Trent. Seems I got in on this conversation accidentally. Who’s Sophie?
Trent: Hey Blaine! Sebastian must still have you as a Warbler in his phone. Sophie’s his twin sister. You never met her?
Blaine: OHMYGOD he has a TWIN? As in, there’s more than one of him?
Trent: Hahaha I know right? But you’d actually like her. She’s a dancer, helps us out with choreography. Really sweet.
Trent: I’ll tell him not to bother you anymore. It was probably a mistake anyway.
Blaine: It’s really not a big deal.
Blaine: Did you seriously give her an air horn?
Trent: My own personal revenge on Sebastian. I get three, so I saved the best for last.
Blaine: I’m afraid to ask what the other two were.
Trent: You should be.
Blaine: What was the revenge for anyway?
Trent: One revenge for each time he made me cry at rehearsal, the jackass.
Blaine: Wait WHAT he made you CRY?
Trent: Three times last year. Yeah. But that’s all in the past now. I know you won’t believe it, but he’s taking this “turning over a new leaf” thing really seriously.
Trent: He’s changed a lot. We’re all sorta like friends now.
Blaine: I really want to believe you.
Trent: It’s all okay. Really.
Blaine: If you say so. Anyway, I gotta go to bed. I’m gonna shut off my phone so you all don’t keep me awake. We should hang out before school starts.
Trent: Yeah that would be awesome. Talk to you later!
Blaine leaned back on his pillow. His thoughts were tangled and spilling all over each other. Trent and Sebastian are friends? That must mean that Sebastian was friends with all of the Warblers—Blaine may have been oblivious, but it was always SO obvious that Trent had a crush on him, and it must have taken a heroic effort on Sebastian’s part to get Trent to forgive him for the slushie incident. Blaine let out a long, slow breath, trying to calm his thoughts so he could get some sleep. There’s too much going on lately. There’s always too much going on, and all he wanted was a decent night’s sleep.
His phone beeped again and the name “Sebastian Smythe” popped up. Blaine was tempted to ignore it. It was probably just another accidentally sent mass text. He paused for a second, moved to turn off his phone, then gave in to curiosity and opened the message.
Sebastian: Hey. I know you hate me. Sorry about including you on the mass text. It was a mistake.
Blaine knew he shouldn’t reply. For a second, he went back and forth—he didn’t or shouldn’t like Sebastian, but it would be poor manners not to acknowledge the apology.
Blaine: No big deal. And for the record, I don’t actually hate you.
Sebastian: Good to know. I’ll stop bothering you just the same.
Blaine: No really-it’s okay. I didn’t know you had a twin sister.
Sebastian: I never mentioned her?
Blaine: You were always too busy flirting with me.
Sebastian: Oh yeah. Well, I have a twin sister. Her name’s Sophie. I’d introduce you, but she’s sleeping off some heavy-duty painkillers right now.
Sebastian: I’d offer to send you a picture, but she’s drooling all over herself and even I’m not that cruel.
Blaine: What happened?
Sebastian: Knee surgery. Torn ACL. She’s a dancer—her dumbass partner dropped her the wrong way.
Blaine: That’s terrible.
Sebastian: Nothing she hasn’t recovered from before. She only woke up a few hours ago and she’s already terrorizing me, so she’ll be fine.
Blaine: Oh. Well add my well wishes to all the other Warblers.
Sebastian: Sure.
Sebastian: Look I know I said this a million times already, but please hear me out and I’ll never bother you again.
Sebastian: I am so fucking sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t even really mean to hurt your boyfriend, regardless of what I thought of him.
Sebastian: I was a complete jackass to you and you have every right to still be pissed at me. But I’m really trying to change things.
Sebastian: And I just wanted to say, again, that I’m sorry.
Blaine stared at his phone for a moment. Sebastian had apologized before—over text and voicemail dozens of times after the incident, then in person at the Lima Bean, and several more times via text message before Blaine had made it clear that he didn’t want to hear any more and to stop texting him. The apologies had always been sincere, despite Sebastian’s sarcastic personality. This time, though, it felt different. Blaine couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was.
It took him far too long to type his reply.
Blaine: You can stop apologizing now. I forgive you. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.
Sebastian: Thank you.
Sebastian: By the way, if you mention this to anyone, I’ll deny it.
Blaine grinned, despite himself.
Blaine: I don’t think anyone would believe me.
Sebastian: That’s probably true. Look, I gotta go—Sophie’s having weird painkiller dreams again. She always wakes up a complete mess.
Blaine: Okay.
Sebastian: You should stop by Warbler practice someday. Sophie would love you, and I’m sure the guys all miss you. I won’t even try to get in your pants.
Blaine: Sounds like fun. I’ll hold you to that last part.
Sebastian: I expect you will, wonderboy. ‘Night.
Blaine: ‘Night.
Blaine sat for a minute, grinning at his phone. Then, suddenly, he realized what he had been doing. He had been talking with Sebastian. Sebastian who had tried to break up his relationship with Kurt. Sebastian who had shamelessly propositioned him over and over. Sebastian who had put him in the hospital, for God’s sake, regardless if it was an accident or not.
He hastily shut off his phone and, as he lay down, resolved to forget all about it.
~~~~~
2 Early March, junior year
Warning: Mentions of Dave’s suicide attempt.
Sebastian took a deep breath and readjusted the messenger bag on his shoulder for the third time. He was nervous. He didn’t get nervous, but there he was all the same. He knew he should have just knocked on the door and strutted in like he owned the place, cocky grin firmly fixed on his face, the way he always did. Of course it was “doing things the way he always did” that had gotten him here, so it wasn’t an option this time. So he, Sebastian Smythe, stood paralyzed in the hospital hallway, bag over his shoulder, a bundle of ridiculous flowers in his hand, and a gift bag in the other.
This was going to suck.
He knocked on the door and waited for the soft “come in” that replied before opening the door. He was half prepared to use the usual routine—the charm, the swagger—but what he saw stopped him dead.
Dave looked so small in the hospital bed.
Sebastian was not good with emotionally injured people. He never knew what to say, and either ended up being his usual abrasive self (which made it worse) or saying nothing at all in an attempt to keep from making it worse. The worst part was the look on Dave’s face when he recognized Sebastian. It was a mix of disappointment, anger, and disgust, before Dave pointedly looked away.
A soft “hi” was all Sebastian could manage. He stepped into the room, letting the door close behind him. Both hands clutched the flowers as a long moment of silence passed between them.
“What are you doing here?” Dave finally asked in obvious frustration.
Sebastian shrugged and ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he thought he’d long outgrown. “I came to apologize.”
Dave sighed. “So apologize.”
He smirked. He couldn’t help it, sliding back into his old self. “That’s all I’ve got.”
“Look, I really don’t want to talk to you, so could you just—“
Panic suddenly rose in Sebastian’s throat. He couldn’t just walk away, this was too important, even if Dave hated him (and rightfully so) he at least had to try. “Two minutes,” he cut in hastily. “Two minutes. Just hear me out, and then I’ll leave.”
Dave seemed a little startled by his outburst, but sighed heavily again anyway. “Fine. Two minutes.”
Sebastian took hesitant steps over to the side of the bed and weakly offered the flowers and bag. “My sister sent these for you. She’s. Um. She’s spent a lot of time in hospitals lately, and she knows how much it sucks.” Oh, shit, he sounded like a complete idiot, and this was the important part. The effort to say I understand, you’re not alone, I’m really trying to help. “So, um. She sent these.” He offered the bouquet—a mix of the palest pink and yellow roses he’d ever seen. They were so girly, but coming from Sophie, they were just perfect. The gift bag, too, was pink, but that was only because it was the only one she’d had on hand. It had a John Grisham novel and some of Sophie’s favorite snacks. Her affinity for junk food was legendary, and she had thought Dave might appreciate it.
Dave looked him in the eye for the first time. There was a look that might have been gratitude in his eyes—just the faintest softening. He took the flowers and held them as gently as his big hands would allow, unsure of what to do with them. “Tell her I say thanks.”
“Yeah.” He put the bag on the bedside table. He was too nervous to stand anymore, so he went for the chair still positioned next to the bed. His long limbs felt awkward and fidgety. He covered for it by opening his bag and removing the file he had tucked carefully inside earlier. “And this is from me. I really suck at apologies, so this is the best I could do.”
Dave opened the file. “What is this for?”
Sebastian leaned back, trying to mask his discomfort. “That would be an application to transfer to Dalton.”
“Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Look, I heard about what happened to you at school. And it sucks. But that won’t happen to you at Dalton. The guys there—it’s not perfect, but nothing like that would ever happen. And I’m going to guess, based on the fact that neither of your parents are here right now, that staying home isn’t going to be the greatest option. You can transfer mid-year, I asked. So just think about it, okay? Maybe it could help.”
Dave closed the file and leveled his gaze with Sebastian’s. “Why are you doing this?”
Sebastian rolled his eyes, back on the defensive. “Court mandated community service. Look, that’s my two minutes, so I’ll go now. If you need help with the application, my number’s in there. I’m not saying I know people in admissions, but I’m not saying I don’t.” He rose from the chair and slung his bag over his shoulder. “I am, however, still in charge of the Warblers, so if by some great stroke of luck you do get in, let’s just say the waitlist has an open spot at the top. See you.”
He had already started for the door when Dave called after him. “Did you really come in here with flowers and a pink gift bag?”
Sebastian stopped, turned, and flashed him a grin. “Yeah. I did. The perils of having a sister.”
Dave grinned. Sebastian had really swallowed his pride on that account—the bag was really bright. It was even tied up with curly pink ribbon. Unforgivably girly.
“Tell her I say thanks. But I still don’t like you.”
Sebastian winked. “Can’t wait to see you in uniform, big guy.”
~~~~~~
3
Blaine lay in bed far longer than he should have, trying to recapture a really nice dream about him and Kurt in New York. Finally, he rolled over to check the time on his phone. He had a flurry of new messages, all of them from the Warblers, continuing the conversation from the previous night. He scrolled through them lazily, chuckling over Trent’s triumph and Sebastian’s flustered, seemingly scatterbrained attempts at conveying thanks, well wishes, and taunts between so many people.
Blaine missed the Warblers terribly. He knew, logically, that being a Warbler under Sebastian’s lead would have been terrible. And in his heart, he knew that transferring schools to be with Kurt was, while crazy, one of the best decisions he’d ever made. Still, he missed the tight camaraderie between the Warbler boys—the inside jokes, the gentle teasing, the easy way he could sit down and talk with any of them about anything. He loved the New Directions, really, but it just wasn’t the same.
Standing in the way, though, was Sebastian. Blaine wasn’t sure how he felt about the conversation they’d had last night. Sebastian had seemed almost desperate for Blaine’s forgiveness. Blaine had honestly expected that the Warbler would simply move on and forget about it, eventually, and that would be the end of it. But the apologies had still hung in the air between them, insurmountable.
Until last night, apparently.
Blaine groaned and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He couldn’t possibly figure this mess out this early in the morning. At least not without a cup of coffee. He was struggling his way out of bed when his phone beeped.
Sebastian: Hey. I’m not good at this. So. You know. Thanks.
Blaine really needed that cup of coffee.
~~~~~
4
Note: Conversations formatted like this take place via message. The sender is in bold.
Unknown sender: Hey. This is Dave. Found the note with your number. Thanks for sending the flowers and everything. That was really nice.
Sophie: Hi Dave! You’re very welcome. How are you doing?
Dave: Okay, I guess. Came home two days ago.
Sophie: That’s good. I hope it’s okay that my brother dropped by.
Dave: It’s fine. He was actually sorta nice to me.
Sophie: Good, then I won’t smack him.
Dave: You still can. I’m not stopping you.
Sophie: He’s probably done something to deserve it. Look, I gotta run—my dance class is about to start. But text me any time, okay?
Dave: Okay. Thanks again.
~~~~
5
Two weeks had gone by without word from Sebastian, and Blaine had decided to pretend the entire incident didn’t happen. The fact that Sebastian had a twin sister—who, despite his efforts at covering it up, he clearly adored—didn’t make him seem more human. It didn’t make him seem more capable of love. It certainly didn’t make him a good person, or in any way attractive.
He had almost managed to stop thinking about it completely.
He and Kurt had taken over a table at the Lima Bean that late August afternoon. Kurt had been working on writing a résumé and sending it to every theatre company in the state, which wasn’t many, but it gave him something to do. Blaine admired this about Kurt—the ability to get horrible news and simply grit his teeth and make the best of it. “Maybe a year off is exactly what I need,” he’d said one day as they lay together in Kurt’s bed, legs and arms lazily tangled. “There are some theatres around. One of them must need an intern to do something.”
So there they were, cups of coffee and papers scattered around them. Kurt was researching a small theatre in Columbus (“They do Shakespeare!”) while Blaine edited his résumé.
“Blaine Anderson?”
Blaine looked up into the face of the girl who had addressed him. She was tall, with the lean frame of a dancer, emphasized by a softly draped pale blue dress. Her chestnut brown hair fell in soft curls down to her waist. But what was really amazing—and startlingly familiar—were her brilliant green eyes. Blaine knew he had seen eyes like them before but couldn’t place exactly where. It was unnerving.
“Hi. I’m so sorry—you seem really familiar. Have we met?”
The girl grinned. “Not officially, we haven’t. But I get that a lot.” She turned to Kurt, who was looking between them with confusion clear on his face. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say you’re Kurt.”
Kurt politely reached out a hand, which the girl took. Her skin was amazingly peaches and cream pale. A delicate gold bangle encircled her wrist. “Yes, I am. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
She winked. “That’s because I hadn’t given it yet. I’m Sophie.”
Kurt should have felt a little put off by the remark, but she had such a cute, mischievous smile that he couldn’t help liking her a little. “Do we know you from somewhere?”
“You don’t, no. But you do know my brother. Sebastian Smythe? We’re twins, that’s why I look so familiar.”
Once Blaine knew, the resemblance really was uncanny. Minus the obvious differences (Sophie being a girl, with small gentle curves, and slightly shorter than her brother) she and Sebastian looked almost exactly alike. Same long, lean build. Same angular face. Same scattering of freckles across her cheekbones and down her neck. She was like a softer version of Sebastian.
She let the revelation hang in the air and sink in for a minute. Kurt stared at her in open shock. “Oh my god, he has a twin? As in, there’s more than one of him?”
Blaine could have laughed, hearing Kurt repeat the same thing he’d said to Trent only a few weeks ago, but knew it would open up a very awkward conversation.
“I take it he never mentioned he has a sister?” she asked, still grinning because she knew the answer.
“We just sort of assumed he’d spawned directly out of Hell, full grown and full of evil.”
Blaine’s eyebrows went up at Kurt’s really rude insult. That was going too far, especially just after meeting Sophie.
To their surprise, Sophie just let out a surprised laugh. “Oh, I’m going to like you. Do you mind if I sit? I just had surgery a few weeks ago and my knee is killing me.” She gestured to her right knee and Blaine noticed the medical grade, hinged brace for the first time. It seemed so incongruous on her slim, pale legs.
“Oh my god, I didn’t notice, I’m sorry, here let me—“ Blaine jumped up and pulled out the third chair at the table for her. She sat and gave him a grateful smile. Kurt looked a little perturbed at having her there, but didn’t say anything.
“So he really never mentioned me?” Sophie asked once she was settled.
Blaine swallowed hard. He had two choices: lie to her and say no, he’d never known she existed, as his chats with Sebastian had never veered into their personal lives, or admit that yes, she’d been mentioned in conversation, and have another argument with Kurt about it later, digging up the past.
“No, we never really—“
“We’re not exactly friends with your brother,” Kurt interrupted. Blaine didn’t like the icy tone that had taken over his boyfriend’s voice.
Sophie barreled on, either missing the unfriendliness or choosing to ignore it. “He has two sisters, actually. Me and an older sister. And a niece. She’s two. Though I’m not surprised he wouldn’t mention them. Anyway, the real reason I wanted to talk to you—I’ve been asked, on behalf of the Warblers, to invite you both to the first rehearsal of the year.”
A very awkward, confused pause followed her statement. She looked back and forth between them, hoping for an answer. When she got nothing, she simply continued. “It won’t be a big deal, since they wouldn’t have had auditions yet, and even if they had, I’m not able to do any serious choreography for a few more weeks. They’re kinda hopeless without me.”
Another pause. Still nothing. “My brother will be conveniently busy with calculus homework, if that’s what you’re worried about. Look, the guys miss you both, alright? I hung out with them a lot last year, and it was Blaine Anderson this, Kurt Hummel that. Their loyalty to you is amazing to the point of being weird. It would be really nice if you could come by and hang out for the afternoon. That’s all they want, and that’s all they asked me to tell you.”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Kurt replied slowly, to Sophie and Blaine at the same time.
Blaine opened his mouth to protest, but Sophie beat him to it. “Well. This has been incredibly awkward, so I’m gonna go. Nice meeting you both, sorry for interrupting.” She rose, using one hand on the table to push herself up. It was clear her knee hurt, but that she was muscling through the pain. She turned to walk away, then suddenly thought and turned back to the boys. “Oh, and Blaine? Do try to answer my brother’s texts every once in a while.” Then she winked and left without another word.
Why oh why oh why did she have to say that? With that knowing little wink? Sebastian hadn’t texted him in weeks, and even if he had, Blaine wouldn’t have responded. Probably. And now Kurt was going to think—
“Has he been texting you?” Kurt asked. The cool suspicion in his voice was torture.
Blaine decided to tell the truth. “He did. Yeah. He sent a mass text to the Warblers and I got included on it. It was a mistake.”
Okay, that was part of the truth.
Kurt took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be acting suspicious of you like that. It’s just—with everything going on, I’m not thinking clearly.”
“It’s okay.” Blaine reached across the table and squeezed Kurt’s hand. “I understand.”
They shared a soft smile, but Blaine felt guilty. After everything they’d been through—the first appearance of Sebastian, then Chandler, and everything in between—they’d come through it stronger by being honest with each other. But this time he’d actually lied about it. About something as harmless as a couple of texts. His stomach sank.
“Let’s just…” Kurt drifted off for a second, eyes skimming over his laptop screen. “Let’s get out of here. I can’t stare at my laptop any more today or my eyes might fall out.”
~~~~
6
Blaine: You are like a relationship-ruining machine.
Sebastian: I pride myself on that.
Sebastian: Hi, by the way. Nice to hear from you.
Sebastian: …What did I do this time? Just so I can brag about it.
Blaine: I met your sister today.
Sebastian: Oh. So that’s what she meant.
Blaine: What did she say??
Sebastian: Nothing important. What did she do now?
Blaine: She came up to me and Kurt at the Lima Bean
Blaine: She told Kurt you were texting me
Blaine: We are NOT talking. We are NOT friends.
Sebastian: Yikes, wonderboy, chill the fuck out.
Blaine: I CAN’T chill the fuck out
Blaine: Now Kurt thinks I’m cheating on him
Blaine: With YOU
Sebastian: And how is this my fault?
Sebastian: We’re texting each other, wonderboy
Sebastian: Two-way street
Blaine: I don’t want anything to do with you
Sebastian: I didn’t text YOU tonight, B. I’ve talked to you twice in what—four months? Five?
Sebastian: Don’t try to pin this on me.
Blaine: Fuck you, Sebastian.
Sebastian: With pleasure, killer. ;)
~~~~
7
Three nights later, Blaine was getting himself ready for the first day of his senior year. He’d never fully outgrown the desire to look nice on his first day, so it was taking him longer than usual to pick out his clothes. Kurt was helping (or trying to, anyway—Blaine would never tell him that he was politely ignoring his every suggestion) over the phone.
“Kurt, it’s still summer. I really don’t think a cardigan is necessary.”
“Layers are always necessary, Blaine, haven’t you learned that yet?”
“Kurt, I really—“
He was suddenly interrupted by Kurt’s sudden squeal of “OHMYGOD,” so loud Blaine nearly dropped his phone.
“What?”
“I got an email! An email from one of the theatre companies! They want to interview me!”
“That’s great! Which one?”
“Constellation, in Columbus. They’re the ones doing Sweeney Todd. Ohmygod, Blaine. They want to interview me to be the costume designer!”
“Kurt, that’s great. I’m so happy for you. When’s the interview?”
There was a pause, probably Kurt scanning the email. “Thursday. Thursday afternoon, before they have rehearsal.”
“Wow, they’re not wasting any time, are they?”
“I don’t think they can. Rehearsals started earlier this week, apparently, and the show goes up in December.” Another pause. “Wow, that’s cutting it awfully close.”
Blaine chuckled. “Yeah, but you could handle it. I mean, you’ve seen the musical on youtube a dozen times, right? Don’t you know it by heart by now? I bet you could get the whole show designed in a week.”
Kurt sighed. “Your faith in me is amazing.”
“I can’t help it. It’s part of the job description.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“So I should probably put together a portfolio, huh?”
Blaine laughed aloud at that remark. “Oh, please. I know you’ve had one prepared for months.”
Kurt laughed too. “Yeah. But do you wanna come over tomorrow anyway? Just to remind me how fantastic it is, so I don’t freak out?”
“Sure, I’ll come by after school.”
~~~~
8
Dave: So the bad news is I’ve missed so much school I can’t graduate
Sebastian: WHAT? Are you serious?
Dave: I really wish I was joking
Dave: This really sucks
Sebastian: They won’t make an exception? I mean, extenuating circumstances and all
Sebastian: Fucking public schools. I know you’re sick of me asking if I can help, but can I??
Dave: No. I tried everything. And honestly, I really don’t wanna go back there
Dave: So I either get to not finish high school or repeat my senior year
Sebastian: That really sucks
Dave: Well thankfully this complete jackass I know gave me an application to another school.
Sebastian: Oh fuck yeah
Dave: Think I have a shot? My grades aren’t really good.
Dave: And you know the whole super senior thing.
Sebastian: Have I mentioned I know people in admissions? Just say the word.
Dave: Don’t do me any favors. I mean it. I don’t want to think of what I would owe you.
Sebastian: Oh yes you do.
Sebastian: Let me know if you need help with that app, big guy.
~~~~
9
Warnings: Bullying, homophobia, fighting.
The first time Sophie and Sebastian had a fight—a real, honest to God, knock down, drag out fight that left bruises and scrapes—they were eleven. Middle school was upon them. Sebastian had just started to get tall and was all limbs and awkward knees, but Sophie was still tiny—child sized, really. She wouldn’t break the hundred pound mark for a while yet.
Despite the fact that he was taller than almost all the other boys in his class, Sebastian had been getting picked on at school.
No, he’d been getting the shit kicked out of him. That was closer to the truth.
Somehow—and he never figured out how—he’d been designated “gay.” And that was the end of it for him, apparently. He’d sort of wondered about it for a while and the faint ring of truth in the accusation took all the fight out of him. So when the first group of boys decided he was in for a beating, he didn’t know what to do and ended up with one eye swollen shut. Sophie had been on the other side of the building and only found out when she got sent to detention an hour later. There he was, sitting on the bench outside the principal’s office, his short torn and his nose bloody, his eye closing in on itself.
She didn’t say anything. She never, in those kinds of moments, said anything. She simply turned on one heel, marched to the nurse and returned with an ice pack. She was rough when she yanked at his open hand, placed the ice pack in it, and pressed it to his face, as if she were trying to make him flinch. They stood there, for a minute, silent, Sophie’s tiny hands half covering his and holding the ice pack in place. Then she leaned over, kissed the top of his head, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
She did the same thing when it happened again two weeks later. She carefully bandaged the long, bloody scrapes on his arms, held ice to his eye, and mopped the blood from his nose, all without saying a word.
When the bruises all healed, though, something changed.
He was sitting outside on the back porch with a book, enjoying the warm spring sun on his face. He lived for the small, peaceful moments outside of school, where he didn’t have to fight or constantly watch his back.
Sophie stood in front of him, not quite tall enough to block the sun.
“Stand up.”
He opened his eyes and stared at her in disbelief. He’d never heard her voice so commanding before. Most days she barely spoke above a whisper.
“I said stand up.”
He put his book down and stood, arms crossed over his chest. He towered over her. She put her hands on her hips, the aggressiveness of her stance contrasting with her tiny frame.
“Why don’t you fight back?”
“I don’t wanna talk about this, Soph.”
“Answer me. Why don’t you fight back?”
Then she shoved him. She had to reach to hit his shoulders, but she was already strong from dancing and gymnastics and it knocked him clean over, mostly from the surprise. He was too shocked to do anything when she jumped on him, a fist already drawn back to land a clean punch on his cheekbone. He saw stars. It hurt. She kept swinging at him, ruthless, landing punches on his face and shoulders and then his arms when he brought them up to cover his face. She was screaming at him and he found suddenly that he was screaming too, curses and insults that made no sense.
Then something snapped, and he punched her back.
It knocked her off balance and she rolled backwards, landing on her elbows, and he was on top of her, pinning her down and hitting her, hard, harder than he ever thought he’d dare. They fought, pulling each other’s clothes, getting the upper hand and losing it again, knees digging into the ground and fists and nails connecting with skin over and over.
He was crying, then, through the screamed insults. Tears flowed freely, catching in the dirt and flecks of blood on his face. Sobs shook him and he stopped, dropping his fists to his side, then curled up in a ball on the grass, unable to lift his arms to take another swing.
He didn’t hear Sophie moving, but there she was, curling up next to him, her legs under his, her arms around his shoulders and head, holding him. He turned and sobbed into the front of her dirty shirt and wrapped his arms around her waist. They sat there for what felt like ages, Sebastian sobbing inconsolably and Sophie shushing him, petting his hair and kissing his forehead.
When he’d finally calmed down enough to listen, Sophie finally spoke in her whisper voice. “Seb. I don’t care who you are. Gay or straight. You’re my big brother and I love you. And when somebody picks on you—they try to fight you or they insult you—I want you to fight them. Fight as hard as you can. And they’ll never hurt you again.”
They’d gone inside then and sat in the bathroom for nearly an hour, cleaning and bandaging each other’s scrapes, holding ice to each other’s bruised faces. Finally, Sophie placed a pink Hello Kitty band-aid across the bridge of his nose (where he didn’t even have a scrape), grinned, ruffled his hair, and left.
Two days later one of his tormentors came at him and Sebastian knocked him flat on his ass with a punch in the nose.