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When Sweet Tooth first opened in Westerville, Blaine was thirteen years old. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was that drove him to visit there that Sunday, just two days after its grand opening. His older brother, Cooper, had mentioned it over dinner the night before and Blaine had already finished his homework for the weekend. As always. Sundays, for Blaine, were usually spent walking through the town centre until he decided he’d been out long enough to satisfy his mother. She worried about him, worried that he spent too much time alone. Maybe that was why he went, then. Because the colourful doors and the smile of the elderly woman inside, who owned the ice cream parlor, were the only kind of company to be found.
Blaine didn’t really have many friends. In truth, he had one - and Cooper spent more and more time with friends of his own age, by that time. He didn’t mind, much. He hadn’t had a best friend since elementary; a blonde girl named Sally, with a toothy grin and hair that stuck out at all angles. But Sally’s family had moved to New York before middle school and Blaine had never seen her again. He didn’t really fit in with the boys at his middle school, and though the girls were kind to start with, they too joined in with the name calling and the sly kicks when the questions begun as to why he’d rather hang out with them in the first place.
Sometimes, Blaine dreamed about high school. Dreamed about the friends he might make, and the boys he might meet. In his fantasy future, there were boys like him. Boys who wanted to hold hands with other boys, even to kiss other boys, and not be called names because of it.
*
In the two years since his first visit to Sweet Tooth, he’d become a Sunday regular. He’d started at Westerville High, and found it to be just the same as middle school, if not worse. Cooper had left home, and perhaps Blaine’s only real friend anymore was old Millie, who still gave him that same smile when he appeared through the door on Sunday afternoons for his sundae.
Occasionally, there would be other boys there, a group of them, who looked to be about his age. They sat in a circle in one of the booths, laughing and cheering, praising Millie when she brought over their sundaes. She would beam, handing out candy to the group. Blaine never got candy, but sometimes she baked him brownies to last him over the week.
The boys never said anything mean to Blaine. Sometimes, they would smile, or even give a small wave of recognition. He wondered if maybe they wanted him to go over, but he doubted it. So, he kept to his corner, simply watching. He didn’t even ask Millie about them; not until the day that he watched the tall blond one and the shorter dark haired one join hands over the table, without a word of protest from their other friends.
She told him they went to a different school, a private one, that was quite nearby. Dalton Academy, she told him. It was a boarding school, full of kids whose parents wanted them to get a boost towards the good colleges, or just wanted to get them out from under their roof. Blaine didn’t want to pry, so he looked it up himself, in the local library - he knew that his parents sometimes checked what he searched on the internet, and he didn’t want to have to explain.
The same words came up over and over when he searched it one afternoon. Zero tolerance bullying policy. A school where violence, even in the form of a mean word, was likely to get you kicked out. A school that accepted and encouraged difference; for people to be themselves and not just a clone of one another.
"I’d like to go there," Blaine murmured to himself, staring at the photo he’d printed out of the beautiful building that the school was housed in; before tucking it under his mattress for safe keeping.
*
That Sunday, the boys from Dalton weren’t there - instead, someone he’d never seen before, in the parlor or otherwise. He was dizzyingly tall, long limbs encased in simple but expensive looking clothes. His hair was swept back from his forehead, a pair of thick, round, black glasses perched on his nose. He dropped down into the booth across from Blaine’s, his bright eyes fixed on him in obvious interest. Millie came flying out, laughing happily as she went to ruffle his hair, earning herself a hiss of protest from the boy, which she ignored.
*
And so, it continued. Every Sunday, Blaine would be halfway through his sundae, when the boy would appear. It seemed as though he never ordered anything; he just had to sit down and Millie would be over within seconds. Clearly, she knew the boy, somehow. Blaine could have asked, he supposed, but he didn’t dare.
Because there was something about the boy that was beautiful in a way that seemed untouchable. Like to learn more, let alone to speak to him, would ruin the illusion of the mysterious stranger who would sit before him with a half smile, and a curious gaze. For his part, the boy seemed content to leave him be. If he did, indeed, have any interest in speaking to Blaine, he seemed satisfied to wait for him to make the first move.
That was until Blaine appeared in the parlor with bruises on his arms. He’d been hiding them from his parents all week, piling on sweaters and claiming to them that the October chill was getting to him. But, as always, the parlor was stiflingly hot and Blaine pulled off his layers without thinking twice of it.
"What happened?"
Blaine blinked a few times - the boy’s voice was deep, with an intonation that hinted at an underlying accent that wasn’t entirely local.
"Are you alright?"
"I’m fine," Blaine replied finally, gripping the side of the sundae glass tightly. "It was an accident."
The boy frowned, laying down his spoon and wiping the back of his mouth with his hand before moving to sit in Blaine’s booth. “They look like finger marks,” the boy murmured thoughtfully, staring down at the indentations.
Blaine grabbed his sweater, quickly pulling it on and tugging the sleeves down so they covered his arms completely. “It was an accident,” he repeated, not quite meeting his gaze.
The other boy huffed quietly, before shrugging. “If you say so,” he said, before getting up and leaving the parlor.
Blaine watched curiously as Millie rushed outside after him: he couldn’t hear what she was saying to the boy, but she looked angry. The boy’s expression was surly, although he at least had the decency to look ashamed as she yelled at him. Perhaps he had forgotten to pay, Blaine thought to himself - not that he’d ever seen him do so, but then again he often left before him.
When Millie came back in, she was over at Blaine’s side in a moment. “I’m sorry, Blaine. Sebastian is far too curious for his own good.”
Blaine shook his head to indicate that it was alright. “Who is he?” he asked, unable to help himself any longer.
"I thought you knew," Millie frowned, before chuckling softly. "He’s my grandson."
*
Blaine learned a lot about Sebastian that afternoon. It seemed unfair, in some ways - that he knew so much about Sebastian, when the other knew so little about him. Unless Millie had told him more than she let on, which, he supposed, was entirely possible.
Sebastian Smythe had lived with his grandmother in Columbus until he was ten years old - at which time he had moved to Paris to rejoin his parents, as they deemed him to be of a “respectable age”. Come fifteen and Sebastian had been classified as “out of control” by his mother and father, and had been sent back to Ohio - this time to Westerville, where Millie had recently moved.
"Out of control was a little extreme," Millie confided to Blaine as she forced another brownie onto him. "He’s always been mature for his age, so his hanging around with an older group was inevitable. I can understand them not wanting him drinking and such yet, but I’m not sure boarding school was the appropriate reaction."
"Then again, I got my grandson back," she smiled. "And for that, I am nothing but grateful."
*
The next Sunday, Blaine wasn’t sure how to act around Sebastian. As if nothing had changed, as if he were just the nameless boy who had spoken to him once? Or honestly, knowing what he did about the other boy? In the end, Sebastian made the choice for him.
"Grandmama is an awful gossip, isn’t she?" he grinned, dropping down into Blaine’s booth uninvited, that time bringing his whole sundae with him.
Blaine shrugged, heat creeping up to his cheeks. It wasn’t exactly often that cute boys in cute glasses started speaking to him, after all. “I think she’s lovely.”
Sebastian hummed, smirking as he sucked on a spoonful of ice cream thoughtfully. “Well, anything that she hasn’t told you that you want to know?”
Blaine hesitated before asking: “Is it Dalton? The school that you go to?” The other boy nodded, so Blaine continued. “What’s it like?”
"It’s pretty good, I guess. Classes are dull, but that’s the same anywhere. I’m on the lacrosse team, though, and that’s fun. We might win state this year," Sebastian added proudly. "And there’s the Warblers - they’re an a cappella choir, which sounds totally lame, but I promise it’s not.”
"You sing?" Blaine asked softly, his jaw a little slack. Dalton sounded even more incredible than he could ever have imagined.
Sebastian nodded, shooting him a wink. “Maybe I’ll show you sometime.” He slurped up a bit of brownie from the bottom of the glasses, mumbling through the mouthful. “What about you? Grandmama wouldn’t tell me anything except your name and what school you go to. Which seems totally hypocritical to me.”
Blaine opened his mouth, and closed it again. He could tell him the truth - that he went to classes, and did little else. That he spent most evenings sitting on his window ledge with a book and a mug of herbal tea, watching the kids from his grade walk down the street in groups, laughing and messing around, wishing he could join in. Or, he could elaborate.
"Oh, I’m in heaps of clubs. I sing and I play piano, and I have heaps of friends. And there’s this one boy, and I think he wants to be my boyfriend," he detailed quickly, letting the perfect version of his life spill out.
Sebastian’s eyebrows shot up, his lips quirking at the corners. “You’re gay?”
"I meant, I would be someone’s, uh-"
"Blaine," Sebastian silenced his panic at his mistake, tentatively laying a hand on his. "It’s okay. I am too."
"Oh," Blaine replied quietly, looking down at their hands on the table. If he moved his wrist just so, he would be able to lace their fingers together. "I should go" he mumbled instead, hastily getting up from the booth.
"But you haven’t finished your sundae," Sebastian frowned, placing his hand back in his lap.
Blaine just shrugged, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to get to the door. “You finish it! I’ll see you- later. Or, I don’t know, around.”
Millie walked out of the kitchen to see Blaine running out of the door, and instantly cast an accusative glare in Sebastian’s direction.
"I didn’t do anything," Sebastian cried, holding his hands up in mercy. "I swear!"
*
The next week, Blaine probably shouldn’t have gone to the parlor at all. His mother had been reluctant to let him leave the house, given what had happened, but after enduring his protests of feeling fine and going crazy being stuck in the house, she eventually relented.
Which was how he ended up walking through the glass doors, hitching his plastered arm up in the sling as he went. He spotted Sebastian out of the corner of his eye as he sat down, but chose to ignore him, rather making over to his usual booth to wait for Millie.
Blaine didn’t so much see as feel Sebastian sliding into the booth beside him. He kept his gaze averted to his lap, focusing on the irritating itchy sensation coming from his arm, as opposed to how the very scent coming from Sebastian was making something twist warmly in his chest.
When Sebastian said nothing, Blaine finally looked up. “You forgot your glasses today,” he commented, noting how much brighter the other boy’s eyes seemed without them. He hadn’t thought that could even be possible.
Sebastian nodded, his eyes flickering between Blaine’s arm and his face. “I couldn’t find them this morning, so I had to put in my contacts again. I only usually wear my glasses on Sundays, anyway.”
Blaine allowed himself a moment to consider what Sebastian had just said. That he might be one of the few people to get to see him like that, in his natural Sunday state, hitching his glasses up as they repeatedly slid down his nose.
“Blaine, who did this to you?” Sebastian asked bluntly, clearly unable to stop himself from doing so any longer.
“No one,” he replied sharply, cheeks colouring. “I fell down some stairs at school.”
“You fell?” Sebastian echoed, unconvinced. “Or someone pushed you?”
The shorter boy blinked rapidly, before shaking his head. “I said I fell.”
“I know what you said,” Sebastian replied coolly. “Doesn’t mean that I believe you.”
Blaine stammered, balling his hands into fists in his lap. “Just-just leave me alone! You don’t know anything about me!”
Sebastian barely even batted an eye at Blaine’s little outburst, simply inching a little closer to him in the booth. “All of what you told me last week? About your friends, and everything?” He hesitated only a moment before continuing. “None of that was true, was it?”
Blaine folded his arms across his chest as best as he could with his arm as it was, shrinking back against the plush leather seat. “Why are you doing this?” he asked quietly, swallowing roughly.
“Because I’d like to get to know you. The real you, not the person you think you should be.”
The other didn’t reply, simply staring back at him as he worried at his lower lip.
Sebastian, in turn, decided to take a chance. He slipped ever closer, bringing his hand up to rest on Blaine’s cheek lightly. “Has anyone ever kissed you, Blaine?”
Blaine’s eye widened, his cheek heating rapidly under Sebastian’s touch. “No,” he murmured, gaze flickering briefly to the other’s lips. “Never.”
Sebastian inched forward until his breath was hot against Blaine’s; his free hand moving to mimic the same position on his other cheek. “May I?” he whispered, the words tickling, almost.
“Yes,” Blaine breathed, eyes already half closed. “Please.”
His breath hitched noticeably as Sebastian’s pressed in to lay his lips against Blaine’s gently. It lasted only a second or two, but as soon as it was over, Sebastian was pushing forward for another, and another, until they were both a little breathless.
“Now,” Sebastian smiled, noting with some pride that Blaine looked significantly more comfortable and relaxed than he had some moments previously. “They say chocolate can mend a broken heart, so let’s get you some ice cream and see what it can do for your arm.”