Italics means speaking in French

~Paris, France: Autumn 2007

Sebastian, now eleven years old, was doing better. His nightmares had subsided, slightly. He could at least sleep most nights, although he usually avoided going into the garden. He made new friends, and he'd just started school, now in sixème, and he even started growing his hair out from the same haircut that every other kid had.

He knew his home life wasn't fantastic—and he was reminded every time his dad was angry drunk—but he knew he was a lot more fortunate than many kids. They had money, and food all the time; his dad even hired a lady, Esmé, that cooked and stayed with Sebastian if his dad was working late. (Not that he needed a babysitter, but on the days where he didn't have any practices or lessons, it was nice to have some company.)

Despite the occasional smacks and bruises, he knew his dad loved him. He always made up for the hits anyways, and he basically gave him anything he asked for. If he wanted music lessons? His dad got him lessons in piano, guitar, and singing. If he wanted to dance? His dad found auditions for a Paris team. If he wanted to play sports? He was enrolled in football and lacrosse—the latter of which wasn't as popular, but it looked fun, and he found he was quite good at it. If he asked at the right time, his dad would buy anything for him; designer clothes, new books, anything, as long as he asked at the right time.

He still had to go to the "work" dinner parties. It was usually the same people, occasionally an extra person or two would join. He still had no idea what they or his father actually did for work, but it had something to do with the law or the government. He never liked going—being around them made him uneasy—but his father always insisted.

They seemed happy to see him there, anyways. They asked about school, about his friends, about his hobbies. Again—never about work.

~~

There was another "work" dinner party. Usually, they had to go to someone else's house, but apparently that night, his father was hosting.

He was still in his school clothes as they started to arrive, just jeans and a light blue crewneck sweatshirt. Esmé had made a large dinner, an appetizer, two entrees--a charcuterie and cheese, and a moules marinières dish--and pastries for dessert. She was excited to cook for a party instead of just them.

They sat around the table that was bigger than a household of two needed. It was the usual group, and he'd learned all their names by now. They asked him the same questions as always.

"What did you do today?"

"I had piano practice."

"Do you have many friends?"

"A couple."

"Anyone special?"

"No."

A few chuckles went around the table, but he didn't know if it was because of the question or because of his answer. He was only eleven, almost twelve, but he didn't think it was weird he wasn't interested in girls yet.

The conversation moved from the dining room table to the living room, and the men sat in the powder blue velvety couches—they hadn't redecorated or changed anything, which sometimes made him feel sad, but he'd hate to change anything; she decorated herself. There weren't enough cushions, so Sebastian propped himself up on the arm rest next to his father. Two of the men lit a cigarette, and Esmé brought out a tray of more drinks. The talking continued, and Sebastian tuned out a lot of it.

"Ay, perhaps we go see your games sometime," someone said, pulling his attention away from the living room floor. He chuckled awkwardly in response but didn't say anything. They all laughed, going back to talking about the Trophée des Champions back in July. 

"Sebastian," his father said, "try some wine." He was tired and tried to politely refuse by shaking his head, but Alexandre pushed the half full glass into his hand.

"Come on Sebastian," Julien said, "It's good, I brought it from my collection." Looking around, Sebastian noticed they all were possibly a little tipsy.

"I have school tomorrow," Sebastian reasoned, and one of the men, Marcus, scoffed from next to his father.

"Sebastian, I said it's fine," Alexandre gave him a pointed look. He brought the glass up to his lips and took a sip, slightly pleased to taste the wine was sweet. His father tipped the bottom of the cup, cause the rest of the liquid to pour into his mouth. Sebastian gulped it down before it got the chance to spill, and he heard an eruption of laughter around him. "That's my boy," his dad said.

"How about another taste, then," another said, reaching over to the bar cart and handing Alexandre a bottle of the champagne. As his father poured it into the now empty glass, the new drink mixing with the droplets of red wine. He hesitated again, knowing he wasn't really supposed to be doing this, despite having permission, but Alexandre pushed the glass up again. He chuckled as Sebastian drank again, downing almost half the glass.

It wasn't long until he finished that glass and was handed another one. 

Through the haziness of the alcohol after, some amount, of drinks, he looked over to see Esmé looking over at him from the archway to the kitchen. He giggled and waved at her. She gave him a tight smile. He saw her taking a deep breath before strutting in towards him. "Monsieur, I think it's time for Sebastian to go to bed," she smiled, pulling Sebastian up by his elbows.

"Esmé, don't be rude. Sebastian was having fun with our guests." He pulled Sebastian back down to sit on his knee. The fast motion made his head spin, but it felt funny. He giggled as he blinked the dizziness away.

"I just think it would be best for Sebastian to-"

"What you think is best?" Alexandre pushed Sebastian's head onto his shoulder, combing his fingers through his hair as he swirled his wine in his other hand. "Remember who the parent is, Esmé, and who's the employee."

She opened her mouth to continue arguing but shut it quickly. She looked around at the men around her, glancing once more at Alexandre and a quite obviously drunk Sebastian, before turning and walking back to the kitchen.

The party didn't end until well after midnight. The group continued to laugh at Sebastian's drunken state as they drank some more. The night only began to calm down as Sebastian began to fall asleep on his father's shoulder. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open, and he didn't even notice when he was shifted, and Alexandre showed his friends out.

He looked up at his dad from where he was slouched in the velvety cushions. His eyes were half closed, and his head lolled to the side. He saw Alexandre smile and chuckle. Before he knew it, Sebastian was lifted, and he giggled again despite his tiredness, mumbling about flying.

He landed on his mattress. His eyes were fully closed now, and he laughed as he realized they felt like they were glued shut. Alexandre laughed as he watched Sebastian reach up to pry his eye lids open. "If I'd known this was the way to make you loosen up at these parties, I would have done it sooner."

His dad took off his sneakers, and he heard them thud as they landed near the wardrobe. Then he realized he didn't want to sleep in his jeans, and he sat up wobblily as he shoved them off, Alexandre waiting to put the blanket over him.

Finally being allowed to succumb to sleep, Sebastian stretched his back and rolled over on his side. He felt a hand combing through his hair. He turned over, willing his eyes open again and seeing his father still there. He wasn't smiling anymore; instead, he looked at Sebastian, deep in thought.

"You look so much like your mother," he said after a while. Sebastian didn't know how to respond. Despite his tipsy state, he was able to comprehend the words, and the sincerity that's so rarely received from his father. They never really talked about her anymore, unless his dad was angry drunk and was using her against him.

Sebastian only responded with a small, tired smile. Alexandre was silent another moment, seemingly analyzing Sebastian's face, before ruffling his hair once more and standing. He shut the light off on his way out of the room, and Sebastian fell asleep only minutes later.

AN: I'm not really a fan of the title "Seb's Story" (it seems bland) but I have no ideas so if you want and you have an idea, leave a comment. :)

Also, I'm rewatching Glee, one bc I just enjoy it, and two bc I want to be as accurate as I can for this story. For some reason I always thought Kurt and Rachel didn't like each other, but they're literally like best friends. Idk maybe it's from fanfics morphing my memory of the actual storyline.