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witticasterThis is not well written at all. I hope it isn't indicative that my productive couple of days (fic-wise, at least) are coming to an end.
Sebastian was late coming home that afternoon, and barely called out a hello before clattering up the stairs. This was hardly an unusual occurrence for him, though--he'd probably stopped by the chemist's for the glitter eye makeup he'd been mooning over for the past week--and Archie left him to the testing out that new products always seemed to require for him.
A half-hour later, Sebastian hadn't come down to show off his newest look; it must've been a fairly intense one, if it was taking this long to put together. Whatever he was getting up to, it'd have to be put on hold, however, for it was getting near to dinnertime.
"Sebastian?" called Archie, coming upstairs. "Father's going to be late coming home, I need your help with dinner."
There was no immediate response, only a certain scrabbling from behind the closed bathroom door, as though things were hastily being put away into the medicine cupboard. Finally, Sebastian's voice came through, sounding not at all petulant, but rather...strangely nervous. "Do I have to? I'm--I mean, I'm kind of busy."
"If it were an option, I'd have asked you if you wanted to," Archie said lightly, frowning at the door. "Sebastian, is something wrong?"
"No!" The answer came too quickly to be anything close to the truth.
Archie sighed. "I find I don't much like talking to planks of wood. Please come out here."
"Dad..." Sebastian groaned.
"Sebastian," Archie returned, in precisely the same tone. "Come on, chop an onion for me and I'll let you go. I'll even take over if your makeup starts to run from all the crying."
There was silence and then a muttered, "Fine," so muffled by the door that it was nearly unintelligible, and finally, Sebastian trudged out into the hallway. The bathroom behind him was a mess of compacts and tubes, and it was very quickly evident why: the skin surrounding one of Sebastian's eyes was vividly purple beneath an inexpertly applied layer of makeup the colour of his flesh.
Archie stared at the mottled ring, which served only to highlight the violently blue eye in the middle of it and the strands of orange hair falling in front, and felt every word he knew flee his mind. After several moments of gritting his teeth in hopes that it would ease the clenching anger in his chest, he managed to sputter out part of a question. "Sebastian, what--"
"It hurts every time I touch it," Sebastian muttered, his eyes not quite meeting Archie's. "I'd be done already if I could blend it with my fingers."
"It needs ice," Archie said, setting a firm hand on Sebastian's shoulder and directing him toward the staircase. He said nothing more, trying to keep his mind on the small tasks in front of him, until Sebastian was sitting in the kitchen with a tea towel full of ice cubes pressed against his face. Then, he could only manage a flat, "Please tell me what happened."
"I didn't want you and Father to be worried." Sebastian stared at the kitchen counter.
Archie's voice was tight; he could not keep himself from pacing, feeling far too much energy in his limbs. "Too late for that. What happened, Sebastian?"
"These boys from school. They followed me home." His free hand clenched into a fist. In a low, strained voice, he added, "They called me a fag."
That was enough to drain the fighting energy from him, at least for the moment; he paused where he stood, setting a hand against the counter as an anchor. "Do you know their names?"
Sebastian nodded, then looked up quite suddenly. "They only got two punches in--and I split Ivers' lip before I ran away."
"Good," Archie said, rather brusquely, and came over to sit down next to him, pulling his mobile from his pocket. "I'm still calling the school."
"I know," his son answered, and did not sound at all sorry to hear it. "I just wanted you to know."
"Your father'll be proud of you." He set a tentative arm around Sebastian's shoulders. "I certainly am."
Sebastian was late coming home that afternoon, and barely called out a hello before clattering up the stairs. This was hardly an unusual occurrence for him, though--he'd probably stopped by the chemist's for the glitter eye makeup he'd been mooning over for the past week--and Archie left him to the testing out that new products always seemed to require for him.
A half-hour later, Sebastian hadn't come down to show off his newest look; it must've been a fairly intense one, if it was taking this long to put together. Whatever he was getting up to, it'd have to be put on hold, however, for it was getting near to dinnertime.
"Sebastian?" called Archie, coming upstairs. "Father's going to be late coming home, I need your help with dinner."
There was no immediate response, only a certain scrabbling from behind the closed bathroom door, as though things were hastily being put away into the medicine cupboard. Finally, Sebastian's voice came through, sounding not at all petulant, but rather...strangely nervous. "Do I have to? I'm--I mean, I'm kind of busy."
"If it were an option, I'd have asked you if you wanted to," Archie said lightly, frowning at the door. "Sebastian, is something wrong?"
"No!" The answer came too quickly to be anything close to the truth.
Archie sighed. "I find I don't much like talking to planks of wood. Please come out here."
"Dad..." Sebastian groaned.
"Sebastian," Archie returned, in precisely the same tone. "Come on, chop an onion for me and I'll let you go. I'll even take over if your makeup starts to run from all the crying."
There was silence and then a muttered, "Fine," so muffled by the door that it was nearly unintelligible, and finally, Sebastian trudged out into the hallway. The bathroom behind him was a mess of compacts and tubes, and it was very quickly evident why: the skin surrounding one of Sebastian's eyes was vividly purple beneath an inexpertly applied layer of makeup the colour of his flesh.
Archie stared at the mottled ring, which served only to highlight the violently blue eye in the middle of it and the strands of orange hair falling in front, and felt every word he knew flee his mind. After several moments of gritting his teeth in hopes that it would ease the clenching anger in his chest, he managed to sputter out part of a question. "Sebastian, what--"
"It hurts every time I touch it," Sebastian muttered, his eyes not quite meeting Archie's. "I'd be done already if I could blend it with my fingers."
"It needs ice," Archie said, setting a firm hand on Sebastian's shoulder and directing him toward the staircase. He said nothing more, trying to keep his mind on the small tasks in front of him, until Sebastian was sitting in the kitchen with a tea towel full of ice cubes pressed against his face. Then, he could only manage a flat, "Please tell me what happened."
"I didn't want you and Father to be worried." Sebastian stared at the kitchen counter.
Archie's voice was tight; he could not keep himself from pacing, feeling far too much energy in his limbs. "Too late for that. What happened, Sebastian?"
"These boys from school. They followed me home." His free hand clenched into a fist. In a low, strained voice, he added, "They called me a fag."
That was enough to drain the fighting energy from him, at least for the moment; he paused where he stood, setting a hand against the counter as an anchor. "Do you know their names?"
Sebastian nodded, then looked up quite suddenly. "They only got two punches in--and I split Ivers' lip before I ran away."
"Good," Archie said, rather brusquely, and came over to sit down next to him, pulling his mobile from his pocket. "I'm still calling the school."
"I know," his son answered, and did not sound at all sorry to hear it. "I just wanted you to know."
"Your father'll be proud of you." He set a tentative arm around Sebastian's shoulders. "I certainly am."
