Work Text:
The dorm room door slams against the frame with a crack like gunfire, rattling the cheap blinds. Sebastian Hastings stands rigid in the doorway, backpack sliding off one shoulder. Sweat slicks his temples beneath the messy brown hair escaping his beanie. His chest aches beneath the worn-out binder straining against his ribs; threads unraveling beneath his faded band tee feel like betrayal. Panic claws his throat—his T vial isn't in his jacket pocket, isn’t in his bag, isn’t anywhere. And now, the dull throb low in his belly confirms the worst.
Duke Orsino jerks upright from his desk chair, eyes wide. A white tampon dangles absurdly from his left nostril, its string swaying. Blood smears his upper lip. "Oh! Hey, dude," he mumbles, voice thick and nasally. He gestures weakly at the tampon. "Uh, borrowed one of your... yeah... nosebleed. You were right. They really do work."
Sebastian stares. Duke’s usually perfect jaw is swollen purple, one eye puffy and slit. The sheer ridiculousness—Duke, Illyria Prep’s golden-boy soccer captain, bleeding onto his Calculus textbook with a tampon jammed up his nose—cuts through Sebastian’s panic like lightning. A startled laugh escapes him.
"Oh, shit, dude!" He drops his bag, stepping closer. "How’d you get wrecked?"
Duke winces, dabbing gingerly at his lip with a stained tissue. "Fought this random dude. Justin." He spits the name like rotten fruit. "At the carnival. Accused me of stealing his girl."
Sebastian freezes. The name Justin hits him like ice water dumped down his spine. Pre-transition memories flood in: sticky summer nights, whispered promises, Justin’s possessive grip on his waist. The carnival’s neon lights and funnel cake grease suddenly feel suffocating. His binder digs into his ribs, sharp as guilt. He can’t breathe. Justin was here. Justin saw Duke. Justin Drayton knows.
Outside, the October wind howls against the windowpane, rattling the glass like teeth.