My Dirty Little Secret

Kurt left the Lima Bean, two coffees in his hand, prepared for a highly rigorous –and most likely pointless—of studying with his boyfriend at his house. He was sending Blaine a text signifying he was leaving when a familiar blazer caught his eye.

Sebastian stood at a sleek-looking silver Lexus, a phone pressed to his ear. He caught part of the conversation as he passed.

"How is this my fault, Mother?" He snapped. "Oh, of course, because I was trying to help someone that's clearly in need, yes, that warrants what he gave me last night. Does it matter what 'foundation' it was? Mother, I-" he paused, looking down at the ground, blinking rapidly. It took Kurt a moment to realize that he was trying not to cry. "Yes. Yes, Mother. I won't. I know it'll upset him. I'll…I'll try. No, we didn't, we lost." He looked up. "I'm sorry. I am a disappointment, I know. I'll try harder. I- Mom?" He looked at the phone, closing it with a shaky exhale.

He slammed his fist against the roof of his car, resting his forehead against his hands. He took a few deep, shaky breaths before turning around, sliding down the door to the ground.

Kurt set the coffees in his car, intent on leaving again…until he heard the undeniable sounds of crying. He turned, peering around the front of the car to see him.

Sebastian truly was crying, one hand over his face, shaking. For the second time in the past two days, Kurt actually felt sorry for him, and he wasn't about to leave him there all alone, no matter how much he'd hated him.

He approached him slowly, not wanting to frighten him.

"Sebastian?" He wasn't successful. The Warbler jumped, hastily wiping his eyes as Kurt knelt beside him.

"Kurt," he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I-I, uh-"

"I heard," he said gently. "Sebastian…I know I'm probably the last person on earth you would want to talk to, but…but I'm here if you need to."

He watched as his eyes disconnected from his, thinking for a moment. "Why the hell would you want to help me?" He asked. "I've done nothing but make your life hell. I've tried to take Blaine from you since the moment I met him and now when you can stand over me and gloat because I'm a blubbering mess, you want to help me?" Kurt continued to look at him, his eyes sad.


He chuckled to himself, shaking his head ruefully. "Hey," Kurt said, gaining his attention again. "I know it doesn't make sense that I'd want to help. But I'm not going to leave you here alone unless you absolutely want me to. I'm someone you can talk to, if that's what you need." He continued to look at him, incredulous. All the nasty, snide comments, all the uncensored, brazen flirting he'd done with Blaine right in front of him and then this business with blackmailing his brother and David…

"You're not human, Kurt," he chortled. "You can't be."

Kurt shrugged. "So, are you gonna talk to me, or…?"

"Fine," he croaked, clearing his throat, tears still in his eyes. "I want to say I'm sorry first. I'm sorry for everything I've ever done to you. I…" He swallowed, not meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry my father forces me to act like a pretentious dick in front of everyone to keep my social standing as a Smythe. Being the faggot that I am I have to work extra hard not to make him angry or he'll…" He took a shaky breath. "My father…I'm a 'disgrace' to my own name, to his name. He says I won't get anywhere in life being a queer. 'Who was the last successful faggot you know of? If you want that trust fund from your grandparents I suggest you find a nice girl to settle down with.'" He shook his head, bitter, hot tears streaking down his cheeks.

"He loathes me. Loathes my very existence. He and Mother only had me to have someone to give an inheritance to. Carry on the family money and all that. Neither of them give a damn about me. All they care about is how everything looks. They don't give a damn about how I feel, what I want. I drink and party just to get their attention. It doesn't work. I go to Scandals for attention. How unbelievably pathetic is that?" He chortled. "I'm so fucking worthless, and I prove that. I prove it every day."

"Sebastian," Kurt said, shaking his head. "You're not worthless." He laughed again, shaking his head, eyes closed.

"I had a boyfriend once," he whispered, a smile finally gracing his features. "Back in Paris. Only one I ever had, actually."

"What was his name?" Kurt asked gently.

"Tristan Durand," he said. He winced, an expression washing over his face that caused Kurt's own heart to ache; an overwhelming anguish. Heartbreak. Pure, horrible heartbreak. "He took me away from him, my father did. The only thing I've ever loved and had love me back," he choked. "I care about him just as much as you care about Blaine. God, he was everything to me. He was so incredibly beautiful, inside and out. So sweet and kind, a lot like Blaine. I think that's why I wanted him so badly. Blaine reminds me of him, I guess."

"What did he look like?" Kurt asked softly. The broken boy dug n his pocket, taking a picture from his wallet, handing it to him with shaky fingers. The boy smiling back in the photo looked shy, a blush in his cheeks as the photo was taken. His dirty blonde hair hung around his bright green eyes, a spatter of freckles across his nose. He squinted against the sun, the smallest, cutest wrinkle in his noise. Kurt smiled, handing it back to him.

"Beautiful, isn't he?" He whispered, looking at it with an unreal amount of pain in his face.

"He's very handsome," He agreed. Sebastian smiled through his tears.

"He was my whole world," he gulped. "He was absolutely everything to me. But…but I'm a Smythe, and embarrassing the family name is unacceptable. Father beat me senseless when he found out about him." Kurt blanched, genuinely surprised.

"Your father…he abuses you?"

"I joined a school that wears blazers twenty-four-seven. You wouldn't believe how well a Dalton uniform hides bruises," he whispered. The day I left Tristan was the worst day of my life. Watching him cry like that. God he was so much pain." A fresh wave of sobs took him over. "I'd give anything, anything to see him again. I don't care if my father beats me that way again. I don't care how disappointed Mother will be. Tristan is, and always will be, my home." He cried softly for a moment before he looked up at him.

"There. Now you know the truth. I'm a coward. I'm a scared little boy with Daddy issues and a broken heart. I take my anger out on people around me because I don't know how to handle my own emotions. I wake up every morning, look in the mirror and absolutely loathe what I see, inside and out, and now, what with David's attempted suicide has truly shown me what I am; a bastard and a whore. Even if I do see Tristan again he won't want anything to do with me. Not when I'm like this and he's so gentle and kind… I think that's why I wanted Blaine so badly. He has the same compassion and kindness Tristan does. Not to mention how he looks. I don't think I need to tell you how wonderful he is, though," he chortled, sniffing. Kurt gave him another sad smile. "But no, no he wouldn't ever, ever speak to me after everything, and everyone that I'd done." He closed his eyes, bawling, really.

"I'm so sorry. For everything. For hurting Blaine, for everything that I've said to you, for throwing that slushy in Santana's face, blackmailing Rachel, making that picture of Finn, stealing your idea for Regionals, talking to Blaine the way I do when I know how in love he is with you, for sleeping with every guy that smiles the right way at me. I'm so fucking sorry, Kurt. Maybe if Tristan were here it'd be different. Maybe I'd be different. I don't care if I lose the stupid trust funds. I don't care how badly my father decides to beat me. I'll get my own place, I'll work at the fucking Lima Bean, for God's sake! I don't care what I'd have to do to be with him, anything that happened because of it would be worth it."

A weighted silence fell over them, one that lasted for some time in which Kurt sat and waited and Sebastian calmed his choking sobs.

"Maybe," Kurt said what felt like a lifetime later. "Maybe I could help you find him?"

"He's an entire ocean away, Kurt, and after my father had him expelled for something he didn't do he was in the process of moving. I have no idea where he went. The boy is so poor it's breathtaking. No cell phone, the darling had never even heard of Facebook before," he said, smiling briefly. The only way I could possibly get to him would be to fly back over there and pray that I could stumble on him. It's been a year, Kurt. There's too many variables involved. He's so wonderful he's probably someone else's by now." His throat clutched, cutting off his voice. His eyes shut, shaking with sobs, hands clasped, white and trembling.

"I don't know what to do, Kurt," he confessed. "I'm so lost and scared. I'm so scared all the time. I spend every night staring at my bedroom door, wondering when he's gonna come in and take the frustrations of his day out on me, or if he wants to test a new fresh hell on me. I walk through my house and every corner I turn I wait for him to toss me down the stairs or punch me." He shook his head. "I know I shouldn't be the way I am. Blaine's father is almost as unsavory as mine and his past is just as bad and all those morals are still there." The Warbler wiped his eyes, taking a few moments to regain his composure. He breathed slowly and even steadily after a few minutes.

"Thank you," he said finally, slowly pushing himself off the ground. Kurt offered a hand to help him up, standing with him. "I won't be harassing you and Blaine anymore," he said softly. "Don't be alarmed if I'm a lot quieter, though," he chuckled. Kurt smiled again.

"Give me your phone," he said gently. Sebastian obliged, watching curiously as Kurt typed away. "If you need anything, no matter what time it is or what's going on you can call me, alright?" He nodded.

"Thank you for listening, Kurt," he said softly, tucking the phone back in his pocket. "And please, don't bother telling the police about my father. The neighbors have already tried," he advised. Kurt nodded, masking his horror quite well.

"Be safe," he said, squeezing his shoulder before heading back to the car. Sebastian gave a tiny wave, finishing his original pilgrimage to the coffee shop. Kurt watched him go, climbing into the SUV when he disappeared through the doors. He sighed when the door was closed, all sounds blocked. He put his hands on opposite sides of the steering wheel, bowed his head, and cried.

Sixteen years-old, in Paris without the constant worry of workaholic parents or tutors running in and out of his life or beatings, which had been happening since his coming out a year and a half prior. Here, Sebastian was able to just be and go to a nice private school with other kids his own age. Maybe he'd even meet a nice boy that his father would never know about.

Today, however, was his Wednesday afternoon to catch up on his studies and sit out in the open air. Despite that it was September, summer was still hanging on, the sun warming the soft, lush grass, a light wind kissing the air. It caressed his skin, causing him to sigh contentedly.

He stepped through the park, in search of a spot to do his homework that was free of kissing couples, which was nearly impossible on such a nice day.

He finally discovered a corner hidden by a few high hedges and sat down, spreading out his things and popping his headphones into his ears.

He'd just gotten into his government homework when a blue Frisbee came sailing over the greenery, landing softly in the grass before him. He peered around the corner, looking for the owner as he picked it up. He didn't have to wait long.

A boy came trotting around the corner. His shorts were much shorter than most Americans would deem acceptable, a gray athletic T-shirt fitting loosely on his lean form. His face was slicked with sweat, his shirt darkened around the collar from the heat. Sebastian's jaw dropped. His blonde locks covered bright green eyes, a smile on his face, wrinkling his freckled nose. His sun-kissed skin looked soft even from where he sat. He continued to stare in awe for a brief moment, at what was most definitely the most beautiful boy he'd ever seen.

"Sorry," he said in French, shy, rubbing the back of his head. God, his voice was simply spectacular.

"It's alright," Sebastian responded in the native language, standing to give it to him. "Sebastian Smythe." He offered his hand.

"Tristan Durand," he said, blushing as he shook his hand. They paused, looking at each other, hands still clasped. Tristan's blush deepened with each passing second but he couldn't find the strength to pull away. Sebastian had lost himself in that sea of green for the second time in the past five minutes. He may not have known anything about this boy, but he never wanted him to leave.

"Tristan!" A girl, probably eight or nine with his hair color called, trotting around the corner.

"I-I'm coming, Nadine!" He called, breaking eye contact for a brief second. "I, uh, I have to go."

"Well," Sebastian began, mildly flirtatious. "I'll probably be here for the rest of the afternoon." Tristan smiled, his breath leaving him for a moment.

"Then I will definitely be back, then," he muttered. Sebastian grinned, only letting go of his hand now. Tristan released his with the same reluctance, turning his back to him and jogging away. He paused only once, looking over his shoulder to see if Sebastian's eyes were still on him. He practically turned purple when he saw they were, giggling before turning the corner, out of sight.

Sebastian sighed and sat back down. This day had just gotten much better.