Chapter Text
Ominis had always hated the sound of gravel under tires. It meant arrival, exposure. Taxi engines wound down with a sigh that never quite matched his own; he always wished the driver would take him further, anywhere but here, but instead the car door clicked open and the crisp air of the school’s front walk pressed against his face like a cold, unwelcome hand.
He gathered his cane first, unfolding it with the familiar snap-snap-snap, then his bag. The driver muttered a polite “take care now” that didn’t bother trying to disguise relief. Ominis closed the door behind him and stood very still, the weight of his bag hanging from one shoulder.
The school loomed before him. He couldn’t see it, of course, but he knew the angles of its echo well: brick walls that sent back clipped reflections of every car door slammed, every heel that clacked on pavement, every student shouting greetings to friends. The start of the semester was always noisy, chaotic, full of scents. Cheap perfume, sweat from hauling luggage, the burnt tang of cigarettes sneaked behind bushes.
Ominis tightened his grip on his cane. Imelda should have been here by now.
Imelda Reyes was rarely late. She was sharp-footed, sharp-voiced, efficient to the point of cruelty when her team was involved. But Ominis liked her for precisely that reason: she didn’t try to soften herself around him. If he was slow, she told him so. If he nearly tripped, she snapped that he should lift his cane higher. There was comfort in her briskness, a rhythm he could rely on.
But the minutes stretched. Cars rolled up, doors slammed, voices rose and fell. None of them belonged to her.
He shifted his weight, dug the tip of his cane lightly into the gravel and tried not to feel exposed.
“Ah, Mister Gaunt.”
The voice scraped down Ominis’ spine like chalk dragged across a board. Nasal, pinched, steeped in that faint superiority that always made Ominis picture a man peering down his nose, even though he had no idea if Black actually did that.
“Headmaster,” Ominis said evenly, polite because he had to be. His father would hear otherwise.
Phineas Nigellus Black’s shoes clicked closer, slow and deliberate. “I was just looking for you. Settled in well over the summer, I trust?”
Ominis smothered the urge to laugh. As if Black truly cared. “Yes, thank you.”
“Good, good. Now, I have unfortunate news.”
Ominis felt his stomach tighten. He hadn’t done anything yet; surely Black wasn’t here to lecture him on some imagined infraction.
“Your usual companion, Miss Reyes, has suffered an injury during lacrosse practice,” Black went on. His tone was less sympathetic and more vaguely entertained, as though Imelda had stubbed her toe rather than, apparently, something that would keep her out all semester. “She’ll be unable to serve as your guide this term.”
For a moment, Ominis didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure what to say. The thought of not having Imelda by his side left him strangely adrift. He’d memorized much of the school, true, and he could manage on his own in many areas. Navigating alone would definitely be a challenge, but he could probably do it. Better to be alone than to have another guide who offered to cut up and feed him his lunch in the cafeteria.
“Oh,” he said finally. He tried to sound unmoved, but it came out flatter than he wanted. “I see.”
“Indeed. But not to worry. I’ve arranged a replacement.”
Something in Black’s tone shifted, lightened, as though he were about to deliver a treat. Ominis felt dread curl in his gut before the name was spoken.
“It’s Imelda’s co-captain of the lacrosse team. I believe you know him? Sebastian Sallow.”
The dread solidified into something heavy, immovable.
Oh, fuck.
Sebastian Sallow was… impossible to ignore. His voice carried through halls with that easy self-assurance only a certain kind of boy possessed. Teachers groaned over his detentions but seemed half-charmed anyway. Students laughed too loudly at his jokes. He was the golden center of every room, without ever needing to try.
Ominis had never spoken to him much beyond a muttered hello when Imelda was guiding him around and they ran into him. He preferred it that way. Sebastian struck him as precisely the type who assumed the world existed for his amusement, and Ominis had no interest in becoming part of that amusement.
The thought of relying on him, of letting that kind of boy guide him through his days, was unbearable.
“I don’t require a guide,” Ominis said tightly. “I’ve memorized the campus well enough.”
“Now, now,” Black replied, and Ominis hated the falsely soothing note in his voice. “No need for false modesty. The arrangement is already made. Mister Sallow was kind enough to agree, despite his busy schedule. Naturally, he will be compensated for his time.”
Ominis would have bet his family’s entire fortune that Sebastian had agreed for one of two reasons: money, or charity points. Unfortunately, one of the many downsides of being blind was how rarely he was allowed to make his own decisions—even when those decisions concerned his own autonomy.
“He should be along shortly,” Black continued. “I trust the two of you will enjoy each other’s company.”
Ominis clenched his jaw. Enjoy. As though this were some grand social experiment, a game for Black’s amusement, for his father’s approval. He could almost hear them laughing already.
Black bid him farewell and disappeared, far too cheerfully for someone who had just announced the beginning of Ominis’ mental demise. Ominis briefly wondered if it was too late to call the taxi back and ask to go home. It wouldn’t solve anything in the long run, but at least it would spare him from the perils of the first day.
He was still weighing his odds — whether it was better to walk straight into traffic and either A) survive and hail a cab, or B) get hit, both of which sounded equally appealing — when he heard another set of hurried footsteps rushing toward him.
“Sorry I’m late,” came a voice Ominis, regrettably, recognized at once. “I overslept and forgot I had to meet you before class.”
Sebastian Sallow.
Ominis didn’t need to see the grin. It was there, tucked under every word, laced into the casual rise and fall of his tone. The sort of grin people said could talk teachers out of detentions. Ominis, for one, wanted to wipe it from existence.
“Of course you’re late,” Ominis said coolly. “Why change a reputation now?”
There was a chuckle, low and amused. “Already giving me a hard time, Gaunt? I haven’t even earned it yet.”
“You’ve earned it by simply existing.”
There was another laugh. Infuriatingly enough, Sebastian didn’t seem put off or annoyed with Ominis’ curt comments. He just took the barb and rolled it around like a sweet on his tongue. Ominis bristled. He’d meant it to bite.
“Alright,” Sebastian said, still irritatingly cheerful. “Let’s get you to class, then. First period’s history, right?”
“Yes,” Ominis replied stiffly.
There was the faint shuffle of him adjusting their bag, then a pause. “Do you want my arm?”
Ominis gripped his cane tighter. “I’m not a child.”
“Didn’t say you were.” Sebastian’s voice was maddeningly mild. “It’s just easier sometimes, with the hallways being a zoo right now. Your call.”
Ominis stood still long enough to be petty about it, then gave a clipped, “Fine.”
A moment later, Sebastian’s arm brushed against his hand, and Ominis reluctantly curled his fingers around the elbow. At least Sebastian hadn’t just grabbed Ominis’ hand and tugged it in place.
The walk began.
Students’ chatter bounced off lockers in a dozen directions. Someone shouted a greeting; someone else laughed too loudly. Ominis let his cane skim along the floor in front of him, but he could feel Sebastian’s subtle adjustments; stepping just enough to angle him clear of a backpack, or pausing when the flow of traffic bottlenecked.
“So,” Sebastian said conversationally, “how was your summer?”
“Fine,” Ominis answered shortly.
“That’s all I get? ‘Fine’? Come on, Gaunt, throw me a bone.”
“Why would you care?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Ominis turned his head slightly toward him. “Because you have better things to do than babysit me.”
Sebastian snorted. “First of all, not babysitting. Second, I don’t mind. Imelda’s great, but I think I’ll do alright.”
Ominis’ grip tightened. “Are you trying to earn charity points? Is this part of some new campaign? Help the helpless and watch everyone swoon?”
Instead of bristling, Sebastian laughed outright. “God, no. If I wanted charity points, I’d join an animal shelter or donate to sick kittens in Africa. This? This is just… I don’t know. I figure it’ll be nice, getting to know you.”
Ominis nearly tripped, not from Sebastian’s guidance, but from the sheer audacity of the answer. “Getting to know me?”
“Yeah. You’re interesting.”
Ominis scoffed. “Interesting. Right. That’s exactly what I want to be. An experiment for Sebastian Sallow.”
“Not an experiment. More like…” Sebastian’s voice tilted with thought, then returned lighter. “A mystery novel. You seem worth reading.”
Ominis clenched his jaw. “Has anyone ever told you your charm is disgusting and annoying?”
“Quite a few times, you wouldn’t believe it.”
They turned a corner. Sebastian’s hand flexed just slightly, guiding Ominis around a cluster of students who had spilled into the hall. Reluctantly, Ominis had to admit Sebastian was surprisingly good at it. He didn’t yank or drag him, and he didn’t exaggerate visual cues as if Ominis were a toddler. One of his previous guides had narrated every crack in the tile, as though blindness also meant he lacked basic coordination. Sebastian, by contrast, kept his grip light, shifted his body just enough for Ominis to catch the drift, and only spoke up when there was a genuine obstacle or a sudden change in terrain that his cane wouldn’t catch in time.
Ahead of them, a ripple of laughter tore through the mass of bodies. Even Sebastian chuckled a little. Ominis wanted to ask what was so funny, but bit his tongue. He wouldn’t give Sebastian the satisfaction of feeling needed. Then:
“A first-year tripped over his own backpack,” Sebastian explained, unprompted. “He’s fine, but everyone’s giggling.”
Ominis blinked. He hadn’t asked. Sebastian had just… offered. Not in a pitying tone, not the way others sometimes narrated the obvious, as though he couldn’t breathe without guidance. Just a detail folded into the walk, included naturally.
Damn it.
By the time they reached the history classroom, Ominis was tense from holding his guard up. Sebastian slowed, letting him feel the frame of the door with his cane.
“Here we are,” Sebastian said. “I’ll swing back after class, alright?”
Ominis froze halfway inside. “You’re serious?”
“Of course.”
“You don’t need to. I can get to the cafeteria on my own.”
“Yeah, but then I’d miss out on lunch with you.” The words came so easily, so unbothered, Ominis couldn’t even tell if he was teasing.
He snapped, “Why?”
Sebastian just hummed like he was smiling. “Because you’re good company. Also, in case you missed it, this is kind of my job now. I hate to break it to you, but you’re stuck with me now.”
Ominis had no reply to that, so he stalked into the classroom and let the door shut behind him, scowling at nothing.
True to his word, Sebastian was waiting when the bell rang.
“Oi, Gaunt,” he called lightly from just outside the door. Ominis had sort of hoped Sebastian would turn out to be one of those airheads who didn’t quite grasp that blind actually meant blind: the kind who would just loiter in the hall and expect Ominis to notice him and come over. But no. With that single call, Sebastian made it impossible to pretend he wasn’t there, especially since Ominis’ traitorous ears had already picked up the sound and made him turn his head toward it.
They moved through the hall toward the cafeteria. Since ignorance wasn’t an option, Ominis tried a different tactic.
“Don’t you have lacrosse practice?” he asked.
“Later.”
“Don’t you have… friends to entertain?”
“Plenty of time for them.”
“Don’t you—”
“Gaunt,” Sebastian cut in, amused, “are you trying to convince me not to help you?”
“Yes,” Ominis said bluntly.
Sebastian laughed again, warm and easy. “Tough luck. You’re stuck with me.”
The cafeteria air hit, thick and familiar. Fried food, spilled soda, the constant roar of voices. Sebastian navigated them through the press without hesitation, angling him around chairs, pulling him just enough to avoid someone barreling past.
Ominis barely managed to conceal the flicker of panic that rose at the implication: Sebastian apparently intended for them to sit, just the two of them, and have lunch together. He had brought his own lunch box, so he busied himself with carefully unwrapping a sandwich while Sebastian went to the counter to buy food.
“You don’t have to sit with me, you know,” Ominis said curtly once he heard a tray set down across from him. Sebastian plopped into the chair, followed by the crisp hiss of a soda can opening.
“You know, Gaunt, I get the feeling you don’t like me,” Sebastian said. He sounded entirely too cheerful about it.
A pang of guilt struck Ominis, but he smothered it quickly. “For the first time in your life, your feeling is right,” he replied coolly. “I don’t see why you’d sign up for a part-time job escorting the blind kid around. You must have ulterior motives.”
Sebastian made a thoughtful humming sound and took a bite of his food. The smell told Ominis it was pizza.
“I don’t,” Sebastian said finally, words muffled by his mouthful. Ominis grimaced. “I mean, I don’t have ulterior motives,” he clarified once he’d swallowed. “Like I said. Imelda’s out, you needed a guide, I could use the extra cash. And, despite your flattering opinion of me, I actually find you quite interesting.”
Ominis didn’t know what to do with that, so he said nothing and bit into his sandwich.
The rest of the lunch passed quietly, aside from Sebastian’s casual play-by-play of the cafeteria chaos.
“New kid’s about to drop his tray — oh, wait, there it goes. Sauce and beans everywhere. Yikes. What a start to the term.”
Ominis dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and tried to ignore the odd, unsteady feeling curling in his stomach.
The day passed in a blur of the same. Each time Ominis sharpened his words into weapons, Sebastian parried with ease, always casual, always amused. By the final bell, when Sebastian guided him out front, Ominis’ head felt oddly heavy.
“Alright,” Sebastian said, hands in his pockets. “I’ll meet you here tomorrow morning. Don’t be late.”
Ominis stiffened. “You don’t have to.”
“Yeah, I kind of do. Part of the job description. And even if I didn’t have to, I want to.”
There it was again. That casual sincerity. No angle, no charity. Just said as if it were the simplest truth.
Ominis swallowed, heat creeping up his neck. Something in his chest felt exposed, fragile, like he’d miscalculated a problem he’d thought he had solved.
”By the way,” Sebastian continued. ”Give me your phone.” Instinctively, Ominis clutched his phone tighter to his chest. ”Why?” he asked defensively.
He could practically hear Sebastian roll his eyes.
”I’m going to put in my number, Gaunt, so we can stay in touch. Y’know, in case one of us gets late or so.”
Ominis tried to find an excuse, but realised Sebastian had a point. Reluctantly, he handed over his phone. Sebastian tapped a little, then called himself to make sure it worked.
”Great!” he said, sticking the phone back in Ominis’ hand. ”See you tomorrow then!”
And then he was gone.