Date: Fri, 26 Aug 2022 00:08:37 -0400
From: Sebastiando <sebastiandorory@gmail.com>
Subject: Rory and Sebastian CH. 15

-- Everyone is over the age of 18 and in their final year of high school
in England --

"Did you have sex with Michael Suzette?"

The question was flung at me as soon as I walked into Rory's bedroom, one
sunny afternoon in April. He was staring at me, hands on his hips and he
was shaking slightly, as if he'd been waiting for hours to ask me this.
Well, there was no point in denying it, since a) it was true and b) he'd
clearly already found out from somebody else. Still, I was blindsided for
a moment and I mentally stumbled. An idiotic phrase fell out of my mouth,
which only riled him further.

"Eh... how did you find out?"

His eyebrows shot up in livid disbelief. "Seriously?" he snapped. "That's
your response?"

I held my hands out in a calming gesture. He was very attractive when he
was this angry but, right now, that was definitely, definitely not the
point to make.

"Okay, baby, that was a dumb thing to say. You just surprised me a little
with the question. Yes, I did hook up with him. Months ago. Before he
came-out and long, long before you and I got together. Long before. It
was before I'd even started hooking-up with Josh Peterly..."

"Oh, well, hearing his name just makes this day so much better, doesn't
it?"

Now I was beginning to get annoyed. He had a right to be upset, yes, but
he didn't need to be so childish about it.

"Oh, you're right, Rory. I mention Joshua Peterly all the time and I
definitely haven't done enough to prove to you that I think he's
garbage."

His mouth hung open for a minute - like he'd gone to speak, before
realizing he'd nothing to rebut with.

"You should've told me," he said after a minute's pause.

"Yes, I should. But he hadn't come-out yet, Rory, and I didn't think it
was fair. Or relevant."

"Not relevant? He's in our year at school. We see him every day. And I
remember sitting with you, in here, in my room, on the day he did
come-out and talking to you about it. Why didn't you say then?"

There was no way I was going to tell Rory that the reason I'd withheld
the information was because I worried it'd exacerbate his insecurities
again. Michael Suzette was extraordinarily good-looking. By general
consensus, in fact, pretty much the most 'beautiful' man in our grade.
I'd known then, just like I knew now, that Rory would react badly to the
idea that I'd slept with him.

"Because it was irrelevant by that point," I reasoned, lamely. "It meant
nothing to me. The sex was shit and I find Michael pretty full of himself
for someone who's shit in bed. I really did not want to re-live it, or
talk about it. And, not to sound like a dick, but it happened before you
and I got together, which means you're not automatically entitled to that
information, Rory. No, I'm sorry, don't interrupt -- you're not. Okay?
Especially since you and I have never had that conversation about our
exes. Have I ever asked you about Stefan? No. Have you ever offered me
any information about him? No. Have I ever asked you, or have you ever
asked me, in all seriousness, about who we hooked-up with before each
other? No. No, we haven't. So I have absolutely no idea why you're
flinging accusations at me the second I walk through the door because I
didn't choose to share an insignificant part of my life that, up until
today, you yourself have shown absolutely no interest in!"

I was pleased to see he looked embarrassed after that. But the moment of
pleasure soon gave way to a feeling of discomfiture. I hated seeing him
sad, so I crossed over and put my arms around him.

"I'm sorry if this has upset you," I whispered, "but it meant nothing.
And I never think about it, or him."

He nuzzled into me and breathed; his anger evaporating into me.

"Virginia told me," he said, answering the question I hadn't even asked
yet. I felt annoyed. Of course she had; of course it was his Regina
George-a-like BFF who'd told him. "She heard it from one of Michael's
friends in her Italian class this morning. She thought I should... she
thought I had a right to know."

Now was not the time to start a rant about Virginia, especially since
we'd just made up. I kissed his neck and then kept myself there, in
stasis, once I'd stopped.

"I'm sorry," I repeated, quietly. "Don't be mad. It meant nothing. You
didn't need to yell at me."

He nodded. "I'm sorry," he replied. "I shouldn't have. It just surprised
me. I looked stupid when Virginia told me and I didn't already know."

"I know, love," I said. "But there isn't anyone but you who's ever really
mattered to me."

He smiled into my chest and he said, coyly, "I wish my parents weren't in
right now."

*

On Monday, I found Virginia sitting alone in the library during fourth
period. It was rare to find her alone, without at least one of her
acolytes faithfully orbiting her. Her Italian A-Level textbook was open
in front of her and she looked only vaguely interested in it.

Even I, who was gay and actually quite disliked Virginia, had to concede
that she was a strikingly pretty girl. She had long light brown hair,
that she always kept perfectly styled; she had a trim figure, beautiful
brown eyes, a bit like Rory's, and a spot-free, tanned complexion. She
was a good-dresser and even in her school uniform, you could tell she
knew how to wear clothes. She looked up as I approached and she sighed as
I sat down; she knew what I was here to talk to her about.

"Hello, Sebastian," she said, in that clipped English upper-class drawl
that was so, so, so like Rory's.

"Hello, Virginia. Guessing you know why I'm here?"

"The mysterious affair of Michael Suzette?" she joked. It was a catty
joke; one that said I should feel ashamed, not her.

"No, actually. The mysterious affair of Rory Masterton," I rejoined. "I
don't give a fuck if people know that I slept with Michael, but you had
no right to go to Rory and tell him first. That should have come from
me."

"You're right," she said. "It should have. But it didn't. You two have
been dating for -- how long, Sebastian? -- six months? ..."

"Seven," I corrected.

She waved her hand in the air dismissively. "Right, seven. You've had
seven months to tell him and you didn't. Once Michael Suzette came-out,
you should have told him because you must have realized that, at some
point, Michael was going to tell his friends and then it would only be a
matter of time before the school's rumor mill made sure it got back to
Rory."

"You should have at least given me the opportunity to tell him, once you
knew that other people knew. You knew it would have sounded better coming
from me."

"No, Sebastian, I know it would have been better for you. That's not the
same thing."

She was annoying me and she wasn't backing down.

"Seb," she continued, "I know that most people cave in when you come
storming over and read them the riot act. I know that when you lay on
your full, strong, determined, overprotective American boyfriend routine,
people cower before you. But I'm not Joshua Peterly. And I don't mean to
sound like a total bitch, but you need to step back for a moment and
realize that I have absolutely no responsibility to you. I have loyalty
to Rory, who has been my friend for years. I found out that his current
boyfriend had slept with another member of our year. I also knew that the
rumor was going around school. And I also knew, or assumed, that you
hadn't told him yet. I'm sorry if the way Rory found out was personally
inconvenient for you, Sebastian, but you really only have yourself to
blame. You had seven months to tell him -- and you didn't. So I did
instead. And, if I had to, I'd do exactly the same thing all over again.
Now, if you don't mind, I have to get on with this work and if you were
to take a moment to think about what you're saying to me, you'd realize
that you're being completely ridiculous in asking me to put your agenda
above Rory's. Have a nice day."

I stared at her for a second; she held my gaze. She was smug, imperious
and arrogant. But she was also absolutely right. I'd made a fool of
myself coming over here. I nodded, got up and left the table. She went
back to her homework, without giving me a second glance.

*

The weeks after Virginia's revelation about Michael Suzette actually
passed quietly enough. I knew, or guessed, that at some point Virginia
would have told Rory about our little run-in in the library, but if she
did, he didn't mention it to me. Rory and I clicked along like we always
had. We still had -- incredible -- sex whenever we could find the time
and a safe location. (Often my car, particularly for blowjobs.)

At the start of May, our school broke-up for study leave; a British thing
when you get a few weeks off to study at home before your senior year
exams, the A-Levels. The day before study leave starts is usually taken
as the last day of school, so Rory and I meandered down to the ridge
overlooking the playing fields -- where, back in September, we'd first
noticed each other properly. And all this had started. It was a warm day,
like it had been then, but without a breeze.

"Do you ever what would have happened if you hadn't had that nose bleed
that day?" I asked.

"And if you hadn't hurt your ankle?"

"First time we joked about sex," I laughed. "With my fucked-up ankle."

He smiled and sighed, happily. "I don't ever really think about it, no,"
he admitted. "I can't really conceive of this year without you."

"Or next year," I added.

He looked at me and smiled. "I didn't mean not next year, just because I
left it out. I was thinking back. Isn't that why we came down here?"

I took his hand. "Do you always have to have an answer for everything?"

"Yes," he said, with the faux arrogance I loved so much. "Isn't that why
you love me?"

I stayed silent. And he looked over at me a minute later, then nudged me
with his arm.

"Sorry," I said. "I got lost in the moment. I'm still so unbelievably
obsessed with you, buddy. I know it's only been a year and every dumb
shit says this at the end of high school but, honestly Rory, I really
believe you're the one. You're the love of my life."

Anyone else's eyes would have filled with tears, but Rory was made of
sterner stuff. It took a lot more to make him cry, particularly when he
was sober, happy and in public. His eyes didn't tear up, but they did
sparkle. In the way only his could. He leaned over and kissed me on the
lips.

"You too," he said. "I love you Sebastian Carson. Even though you're so
fucking annoying, sometimes."

I laughed and pulled him in for a proper kiss. "You too, Masterton."

*

Rory and I were both taking four subjects for our final exams, but only
one subject together: History. His other three were Religion, French and
English Literature. Mine were Physics, Mathematics and Latin. It meant
that we didn't have the same exam timetable and Rory also ruled out
studying together, since we inevitably ended up in bed -- especially with
a free house in the middle of the day. So, over the following three
weeks, we actually saw very little of each other, particularly as Rory's
desire to get in to Saint Andrew's university slowly took over his life.

My final exam -- a Physics paper -- was three days before Rory's, which
was a religious studies paper. Me and Rory's childhood best friend,
Robbie, had both finished and both moseyed over to see Rory, who was
wearing sweatpants and holed-up in his room, pouring over a book about
Saint Thomas Aquinas.

"He had an opinion on everything," he groaned, hardly looking at us.
"Apparently, ten years before he died, the Virgin Mary appeared to him
and told him he didn't need to write anymore."

"Lucky for you," I joked.

"And seven hundred years of Religion students," Rory muttered, crossing
himself. "That was a very useful vision for all concerned."

I laughed. "Oh, you Catholics."

"Hey!" interjected Robbie good-naturedly. "We don't all believe the
Mother of God appeared in the sky to ask some dude to stop writing."

"I'm telling you, if you'd read his stuff, you know she did it as an
errand of mercy," replied Rory. "I am never going to remember all of
this."

I stood behind him and massaged his shoulders, then leant over to kiss
his forehead. "You'll be fine," I said, "and then, we can party."

"Is party your code for fucking?" joked Robbie.

"Yeah. Party in my boxers," I laughed.

"Fuck off, you two. Your happiness makes me ill. Are you going to
Dominic's tonight?"

"Yeah," answered Robbie. "Quite a few of the guys from the team are
going, so it should be really good fun. Although Daniel won't be going,
because he's to do the Religion exam with you on Thursday."

"Poor bastard."

"I'll call you in the morning?" I asked, kissing him again.

"Please," he whispered, ruefully. "Have fun you two. Well, kind of. Not
too much. I hate Religion so much right now."

As Robbie and I walked out, I picked up one of Rory's textbooks and
tossed at him. "Hey, Rory? Dietrich Bonhoeffer thinks you're sexy!"

Robbie and I exited, laughing, with Rory flipping us off from his desk.

*

Dominic's party that night turned out to be probably one of the biggest
ragers of the whole academic calendar. With the exception of people who'd
chosen to study Religion or Media Studies, pretty much every subject had
finished either that day or on the Friday before. It wasn't just our
school that was there, but people from final year in Saint Thomas á
Becket's, King Edward VI's, Our Lady of Mercy's, Tonbridge and the Weald
Academy. Luckily, Dominic's house was pretty huge but with the amount of
people, even it was absolutely packed.

Without Rory there, I was subjected to a full barrage of abuse from my
team-mates. Well, me and another guy on the team called Will, who'd also
been in a long-term relationship - with his girlfriend, Julia. 'The old
married men,' 'sell outs,' 'dull fuckers,' 'over the hill,' all of it was
flung at us. Obviously, we took it in good part, but when the drinking
games started, Will and I were targeted pretty savagely. By about
twelve-thirty, I could honestly and truly say I'd never been that drunk
in my entire life. Talking about it later, Robbie would swear blind that
I'd had at least as much as a full bottle of vodka, coupled with seven or
eight beers.

Fearing that I was going to vomit, I staggered away during an interlude
in the drinking games and weaved my way through the party guests,
exchanging slurred inanities with people I didn't really know. I gazed
down at my phone; there was no message from Rory and I knew he'd be
working, so I didn't want to call him in case I woke him up. I considered
it though, swaying on my feet. But then I figured that if he hadn't
texted me, he didn't want to hear from me tonight, and I stumbled on up
the stairs to a free bathroom.

I took a giant piss with the door open, but nobody seemed to be around.
In my state, I probably wouldn't have cared if the bathroom had been full
of people, to be honest. When I was done, I splashed my face with water
and struggled a bit. My head was spinning and my legs felt weird. I
turned round and a guy was standing in the doorway. I didn't recognize
him. Or at least, I was pretty sure I didn't.

"Hey. Are you done in here?" he asked.

"Eh... yeah, yeah, I am, buddy. Work away."

"I'm Ross," he said, proffering his hand.

I took it and shook. As I shook, I can remember actually wondering if the
movement would cause me to topple over. This was not good.

"Seb," I answered.

"Seb Carson?" the guy asked, excitedly.

"Eh, yeah. Sor.... sorry, do I, uh, know you?"

"No," he laughed. "No, sorry, you don't. I go to Edward VI's. You go to
Saint Edmund's, right, with Dominic?"

I nodded. My head felt heavy and I felt horny. Like I'd like to be buried
in Rory's crotch right now. The bathroom light was too bright for me.
"Right," was all I could really manage.

"You're the gay one?"

"There's more than one."

"Sorry, right, yeah. It's just you were one of the first guys to come out
around here. You know, in our year."

"I thought you didn't go to my school."

"I didn't," he explained, patiently. "But I'm in your year. I'm in upper
sixth. I just finished today."

"That's awesome, dude."

"Thanks! How did your exams go?"

I shrugged, but still struggled to be polite. "Okay, I guess. Yeah,
Physics was a motherfucker. But, yeah, good. I think. I don't, uh, I
don't want to be cocky. Hey -- how were yours?"

"Good," he replied, enthusiastically. In my head, this guy in front of me
was completely sober, but I assume now he was probably pretty drunk, as
well. I just couldn't tell at the time. "So, are you dating anyone right
now?"

I nodded. "Yeah, seven months. His name's Rory."

"Is he here with you?"

"No," I shook my head. God, it felt heavy. "He does Re... he's not done
yet."

"Oh, that's a shame. I just broke up with my boyfriend," Ross explained.

I put my hand on his shoulder, in the kind of instant solidarity that
only the drunk can appreciate. "I'm sorry to hear that, bro! You're gay,
too?"

"Yes. Yes, I am."

"That's awesome," I said, passionately. "I really fucking love being
gay."

"Well, I don't. Not right now, anyway."

"What did the asshole do to you?"

"He just ... we just went on a break because he's so messed up and he
won't introduce me to any of his friends or family."

"That is messed up," I commiserated. "So fucking messed up. But hey,
listen, Ross, don't let it, don't let that, is what I'm saying, don't let
that or it get you down. Y'know? You'll find someone. Seriously. Being
gay, it's just so fucking awesome, because men are, right? They're just
great."

And that's when he kissed me. He had his lips pressed to mine and his
tongue parting through my lips in less than a nanosecond. I wish I could
say I resisted; I wish I could tell you that I pushed him off. Even that
I hit him. But my memory is so poor that I can't even be sure how much --
or if -- I resisted Ross's kiss. I know, though, that I didn't hit him
and that I didn't push him off. All I can distinctly remember is the room
swirling around me, my legs shaking and the smell of Ross being somehow
incredible. Exhilarating, even. Part of me wonders if the reason why I
grabbed onto him and returned his kiss was in some fucked up way
balance-related; that my drunken logic was so shocked by what he'd done
that I wobbled and figured that at least by grabbing on to him, I
wouldn't fall. I don't know. I honestly just don't know. I can't
remember. All I do know, for certain, is that I returned his kiss for a
minute -- maybe less, maybe a little longer. I can't remember. But
eventually, from somewhere, too late but loud, that tiny, weird, sober
part of your brain began to scream. It was like my whole mind had gone
into shock at what I had done. For one split second, I was sober again
and I pushed Ross off me.

"I have a boyfriend."

"He's not here."

"Fuck you. Look, I'm not ... I love him."

"It's the end of year," Ross reasoned. "We're alone. It was just a bit of
fun. Calm down, dude."

"No, listen, I'm not... I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here. Please -- I love
him. I didn't. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here."

I moved quickly out of the bathroom and down the stairs. No-one had seen
us. No-one would need to know. But ticking over and over in my head was a
dull, vicious, hysterical voice, asking, on repeat, "What have you done?"

*

-- This part of the story is told from the point of view of Virginia
Reilly --

The day after Claudia's end of year party, I was out having brunch with
my sister, Rachel, when she got up to go to the bathroom and I was
approached from the other side of the restaurant by an old pony club
friend of mine called Diane, who went to King Edward VI's -- a school
quite near to ours.

"Virginia!"

"Diane, hi!" I gasped. Obviously, I had to rise to hug her, which was
irritating because I actually found her slightly annoying. "How are you?"

"Great," she said. And, I had to admit, she looked great. We chatted for
thirty seconds, going through the obligatory 'how did your exams go'
chat, before she cleared her throat and said, "Listen, this is really
awkward."

I can sense gossip in the same way a jaguar can sense a limping gazelle.
"Oh my god, tell me," I said, taking her arm in a gesture of feminine
solidarity.

"You're really good friends with Rory Masterton, yes?"

Was she an idiot? "Eh, yes, Diane -- for, like, the last ten years."

"Is he dating a guy called Sebastian Carson?"

This didn't sound good. "Yes," I answered, as my throat went dry.

"Really tall? Really good looking? On your school's rugby team?"

"Yes."

"American."

"Yes."

"Friends with Dominic Kirchner?"

"Yes."

"Fuck. Okay, Virginia, Ross Lewis is not one of my good friends, so I
don't agree with what happened, I just thought you should know."

"Who's Ross Lewis?" I felt slightly nauseous. As much as I didn't like
him, if Sebastian had actually cheated on Rory, Rory would be completely
destroyed.

"He's this really, really handsome gay guy in my year at King
Edward's..."

"Right."

".... until last week, he was kind of on-again/off-again with Balfour
Redmond, who's in our year and just basically a total mess of a human
being. Anyway, they went on yet another one of their breaks right before
the exams finished, and when they 'break-up,' Ross apparently tries to
get Balfour back by making him jealous. And it works, every time. That's
what Jessica told me..."

I wanted to strangle her. Why was she taking so long? But if I rushed
her, she mightn't tell me everything she knew. I might panic the dumb
bitch.

"On Monday night, Ross got invited to Dominic Kirchner's house party and
he apparently ended-up making out with Sebastian Carson in one of the
upstairs' bathrooms."

I felt like I was about to faint, on Rory's behalf, but I held my shit
together and pressed on, to make sure I got all the information I needed.

"Diane, are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes."

"Did anybody see them?"

"No, but Ross came down and told his best friend, Jessica, who I just
told you about, and she said Sebastian was acting really weird and
emotional after he went upstairs. Look, Diane, Ross Lewis is a bit of a
slut, but he's not a liar. And obviously, he's told people about it
because he wants Balfour to know..."

"Okay," I said, leadenly.

"I just thought you should know. I know we're not that close, but if I
was Rory, I'd rather hear it from you than on the grapevine."

I looked at Diane properly for the first time; she actually was just
trying to do the right thing. Annoyingly, but still. "Thanks, Diane. I
really, really do appreciate it."

I sat back down at my table and the stomach churning at the thought of
having to tell Rory hurt more than my hangover. I picked up my phone and
texted Robbie Fitzpatrick.

"Can you meet me in an hour at my house? It's important."

He wrote back five minutes later. "Sure. Everything ok?"

"No," was all I could respond.

*

Ninety minutes later, Robbie stood on my garden walkway, staring at me in
mute, disbelieving horror.

"No," he said. "He wouldn't do that."

"Robbie -- it's all over the King Edward's group."

"Virginia, people can make shit up. We don't know this Ross guy and you
said yourself that you're not really that close to the girl who told you.
We've known Seb for years. He's been my friend for years. Honestly, he
wouldn't do this. He worships the ground Rory walks on. You know that!"

I had to concede that he had a point. Talking it over with Robbie, I was
starting to feel less certain that Diane had been telling the truth. Or
that she'd been told the truth by Ross, to be more precise.

"He lied about Michael Suzette," I said. "He's kept things from him
before."

"That was different. Michael happened long before him and Rory. This is
something completely fucked-up!"

Robbie was clearly distressed and he was becoming physically agitated.
But then he was as close as family to Rory and very, very fond of
Sebastian. It was hard to imagine anyone who'd be more torn about this.
Maybe that's why I'd contacted him. I knew he'd give good advice and
honest advice; he wouldn't give advice based solely on wanting to
generate scandal. Plus, he knew Sebastian. Far better than I did. Despite
my insatiable love of gossip, even I drew the line at putting it in front
of my best friend.

"But Robbie, what if it is true? What if Sebastian was so drunk he fucked
up? You have to admit that it's possible!" Robbie glanced at me; pained
and angry, but unable to argue back. "I know how these things work. There
is no way to hermetically seal this rumour. It's frankly a miracle that
Rory hasn't heard about it already. The only reason he hasn't is probably
because he was buried with revision for the exams and the only party he's
been to in about two months was Claudia's last night."

"Virginia -- think about what this is going to do to him. He loves Seb.
He loves him so much and Seb's been so good for him. If Rory finds out
the love of his life cheated on him with some hot guy from another
school, he'll never eat again. You know that!"

"Robbie, if there was a way to keep this from him, I would. But there
isn't. This is not my fault -"

"I know it isn't!"

"Then stop shouting at me!"

Robbie took a breath.

"Robbie, we have to do something. We have to tell him."

"What if it's not true?"

I paused. He was right. There was a definite chance that it wasn't true.
"Then that's up to Rory and Sebastian to fix. Our job, as Rory's friends,
is to tell him."

"No," ruled Robbie. He sounded firmer than I'd expected. "We should go to
Seb."

"He'll just lie."

"No, he won't," Robbie declared. "He wouldn't lie. I'll know. We should
go and give him the opportunity to tell Rory. Whether it's true or not,
it should come from Seb. Not from us. Please, Virginia: I really think we
should give him the chance. Please."

I looked away. It was such a beautiful day today -- it seemed hideous to
think that my best friend's life could be falling apart with the Sun
shining. After a minute, I nodded. Robbie's plan made sense and, on a
weirdly selfish note, it put off the awful moment of having to tell Rory
for just a little bit longer.

*

The moment we walked into Sebastian's living room, I knew he'd done it.
It was so strange to see that big, six foot something frat star in this
state. He looked ill. Haunted, actually. He was usually so cocksure and
confident in his movements normally, but today, he was moving nervously
and uncomfortably on the balls of his feet, as Robbie and I exchanged the
usual small talk with his mother in the hallway.

As we walked into the living room, Robbie kept staring at Seb -- as if
trying to process what he was seeing. There was a sort of angry entreaty
in his eyes, that was begging Seb to deny it all. I kept my eyes averted
from him and kept my face cold. The whole day had the feeling of things
falling apart. I felt like the air around us was about to pull apart and
shatter. The lyrics from an old song I couldn't quite remember floated
into my head: 'all I know is that the end's beginning.' I swallowed, sat
down and crossed my legs. There was no point in getting emotional about
it. At least, not in front of Sebastian Carson. Between me, him and
Robbie, someone had to keep their cool.

"Do you know why we're here, dude?" asked Robbie.

Sebastian nodded and looked at us, shaking his head. He had no words. If
it was possible to see a soul hurt in somebody's eyes, then that's what
Seb Carson looked like that afternoon. I found myself feeling sorry for
him. I wasn't angry. I felt so sorry for him. Even though I knew that
there was nothing my pity could do for him. One way or the other, Rory
would have to find out. That's all there was to it. No winners, no
losers, just social fact. It was sad, but inescapable. Like Death, I
suppose. Or aging.

"Fuck, Seb! How could you?"

Sebastian just kept shaking his head. "I don't know, Robbie. I don't...
know. He... I was so drunk. You know how drunk I was. I used the
bathroom. He came in. We were talking about exams and his ex-boyfriend.
He launched himself at me. We started kissing. I pushed him off, but not
quickly enough. Then I left. I kept hoping he wouldn't tell people. I
kept hoping people wouldn't find out."

"So you're not going to tell Rory?" Robbie snapped, incredulously. I kept
my eyes on Seb to analyse his next move.

"I can't," he said, hoarsely. "Robbie, how could I do that? How could I
tell him? He'll ... it'd kill him. He'd think it was because of him. He'd
think he was ugly. It'd... ruin... everything. I can't. I'm dying here,
Robbie. I hate myself, but I'm going to have to carry the burden. I'm not
trying to duck out of this, but I have to feel shit about myself forever
and never confess anything to him. It's what I have to do. You know he
couldn't handle it."

"Not telling him isn't an option, Seb," I said, quietly.

"Why?"

"Because Ross Lewis..."

"Who?"

"That's the guy's name," I explained. And I heard Robbie exhale
sorrowfully next to me, as the realisation smacked us both in the face
that Sebastian was about to break his own heart -- and the heart of the
guy he, and we, loved -- over someone whose surname he didn't even know.
"His name is Ross Lewis. He had just broken up with his ex-boyfriend and
apparently they do it a lot. Break up, then make up. He told him about
you, because he wanted to make him jealous -- hooking up with the hot gay
rugby player from another school. You can see why he did it, I suppose.
The news is all over their year at King Edward's. Everyone knows. I know
school's over, but it's only a matter of time before Rory finds out and
if he firmly sticks to the story that you didn't do it, which he will if
you don't own-up, then he's going to look like a complete idiot."

Sebastian buried his face in his hands and shuddered. I had never seen
him like this. It was like watching a colossus crumble in front of you.
But, like me, he could see that the situation was now one of inevitable
social logic. Ross had blabbed; Rory would find out. The only question
now was from whom. I'd spent a lifetime gossiping; I knew how the ropes
worked. Sebastian was a very clever guy; he knew, too.

"Last month you told me that I should have come to you first, rather than
go to Rory about Michael Suzette. This is much more serious and Robbie
agreed you had the right to know first. Honestly, if I thought there was
a way for your plan to work, I think I might help you do it. I believe
you love him, even though I find you monumentally irritating, and I
believe this is killing you. I wish this hadn't happened and I wish he
didn't have to know."

"But he does," finished Sebastian. "Thank you. I'm going to go see him
tonight."

He stood up. The talk was over. He looked like someone who'd just been
told they were to face a firing squad, rather than prison. I remember
Rory saying once that he didn't know which would be worse: death or life
imprisonment.

"Aren't you sorry?" asked Robbie, sounding like a confused child.

"Yes," Sebastian said, not looking at him. "But the first person I'll say
that to his him, Robbie. Not to you. Or anyone else. If you don't want to
be friends with me after this, I understand, dude."

They shook hands. I walked out with looking back. Now all Robbie and I
could do was play the waiting game. We had to wait until Rory called us
and until he needed us. Until then, we just had to sit and wait.I got
into Robbie's car's passenger seat. The doors shut. And I burst into
tears. I hadn't done that in years.

"Poor Rory," I whispered.

*

--This part of the story is told from Sebastian's point of view--

Looking back on it, I shouldn't have gone over to Rory's that afternoon.
Throughout the whole conversation with Robbie and Virginia, it had been
clear that at least one of us -- Virginia -- had held their shit
together. She'd remained calm and logical, where Robbie and I just
hadn't. Couldn't. What I had done was terrible -- fucking terrible. But,
it was seven seconds out of a relationship that had lasted through thick
and thin over eight months. For my sake, and Rory's, I should have gone
in and told him the news in a stronger mood. I should have been like my
usual self; I should have held myself together. If I had been in a mood
like that, then I could have stood a chance of breaking the news to him
in a less melodramatic fashion. There's no doubt that the outcome would
have been awful, no matter what. How could it not be? But at the very
least I could have assured him, sincerely, that I loved him more than
anyone else I could conceive of.

But the problem was that I could only have done that had I been myself.
And in those first few weeks after Dominic's party, I was anything but
myself. I'm sure it sounds stupid to you, but in a way what happened with
Ross actually shattered me more badly than it did Rory. If you had told
me one hour before it happened that I would ever have cheated on Rory
Masterton, I'd have laughed in your face. Or, you know, punched you in
it. So, I went in to Rory's room almost as traumatized as he would be. I
still didn't even really know what had happened at Dominic's, much less
how to explain it to anybody else. I was, honestly, shell-shocked. I
disgusted myself and so how, in the name of God, could I have walked into
that room and begged Rory to still love me?

I walked into his room and he was chatting away, in a black fitted
cashmere sweater and gray sweatpants, when I just blurted out the words,
"I kissed somebody else at Dominic's."

I looked at the ground and then at him, in the awful, cavernous silence
that filled the room. It was a silence so intense, I swear, it was
somehow loud. His face was only slowly changing from the happy, chatty
one he'd worn seconds before I'd pulled the rug from under him.

"Is this a joke?" he finally asked.

I shook my head and I felt tears spill out the side of my eyes. I hadn't
wanted to cry. But I couldn't help it. I loved him so much and all I
wanted to do was to shield him from pain, but now I was the one who'd
inflicted the worst kind on him.

"No," I whispered, through the tears. "No. It's not. I'm sorry. I'm so
sorry."

"You wouldn't do that," Rory declared, in a tone that was still factual,
even commanding. Like we were debating a point of history or science. As
if I'd stated something that was quite simply incorrect and he was now
becoming impatient with me. "You wouldn't. You'd never do that."

"I did," I said and I could hear the sob creeping into my voice. This was
not me. I was 6'4 and played rugby. I must have looked fucking
ridiculous. And pathetic. Why should I be the one crying? I deserved to
be punched. "I did. I was so drunk. Robbie told you how drunk I was."

Why did I say that? It sounded like an excuse.

His voice cracked. An air bubble, or some other by-product of erupting
hysteria, caught in his throat. He was starting to process it. He was
starting to actually compute what I'd done to us.

"Who was it?"

"This guy from King Edward's. His name's Ross."

"Ross what?"

"I think Lewis. I'm not sure. We were upstairs, in the bathroom."

"Why did you go into the bathroom with him?!"

"I didn't," I wept. "I went to pee and he came in as I was leaving and
asked me how I knew Dominic. We were just talking ..."

"About?!"

"About, I dunno, bullshit. Nothing special. The exams. How he'd just
broken up with his boyfriend. And then he kissed me. He launched himself
at me. I swear, Rory. I swear to God."

"You're not even sure you believe in God!" Rory shot back, using my lack
of faith against me for the first time. "Did you push him off?"

"Not at first," I said. And I heard him make a sound half-way between a
gasp and a groan. "But then I realized what was happening. I felt sober
again, for a second, and I did -- I swear! -- I did push him off. And I
left. And obviously I haven't been in contact with him since. It was
seven seconds, Rory. If that, even. I'm so sorry! Baby, I'm so sorry.
Please. Please don't hate me. Please don't."

I walked over to him and he slapped me, hard, across the face. It may
have been a slightly effeminate gesture, but there was nothing feminine
about Rory's strength. It was hard, brutal, masculine. I nearly fell
over, but instead of retaliating I just kept crying.

"How could you have done this?" he sobbed. "Sebastian, why? Why?"

As quickly as it had appeared, his anger vanished and he began
hysterically crying. He began stroking my cheek that he'd struck and
trying to cuddle in towards me. "Is it because I didn't go to Dominic's?
Or because I spent so much time working for the exams? I'm sorry,
Sebastian. I didn't mean to ignore you. I didn't mean to! I can be
better. I won't do it again. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wasn't good
enough to you, but I won't do it again. I didn't tell you that I believed
we could stay together enough in university enough. No matter which ones
we go to! I can lose more weight for you. I can get better looking. I can
be better for you. I won't nag you anymore. Or tease you. I won't... I
won't annoy you. I'll be better at sex. I will. I promise, Sebastian.
Please, please."

In my whole life, I have never felt pain quite like hearing him, and
seeing him, say those words. Hysterical tears of panic were pouring down
his face. He was practically pawing at me. All of his dignity, all of his
grace, all of his self-belief and poise, had been temporarily swept away.
Every fear and neuroses that he had were coursing through him openly. I
felt like a knife was twisting into me because I'd made him feel this
way. But all I could do was keep shaking my head and kissing him and
crying.

I felt his tears on my neck. "Oh, Sebastian," he wept. "Why can't we make
it be yesterday again?"

*

For four days, Rory and I stayed in a weird kind of personal limbo. A
decision would have to be reached and only Rory, really, could make it. I
know that he spent a lot of his time going for walks with Virginia and I
found later that she defended me, in saying that she believed I had
slipped-up and that I was truly sorry, but condemned me by stating that
she didn't believe Rory could cope mentally with a long-distance
relationship with me in university, after what had happened. In fact, she
vigorously insisted that doing so would push him over the edge.

Looking back on it, I think she may have been right. It may 'just' have
been one kiss, but Rory couldn't have coped with the image of it in his
head.

I spent those four days in a twisted ball of agony. On the fourth night,
Rory came over to stay at my house and we lay, with me as big spoon,
awake but unspeaking, for hours. Eventually, I fell off into sleep,
savouring the smell of him and the softness of his skin. It had once been
so familiar to me, but now it seemed like it had moved beyond me. He was
so close, but the distance between us was great. Insuperable. I
whispered, "I love you," as I fell off to sleep. I don't think he
responded and when I woke in the morning, he was gone. With a letter left
on my desk: "Sebastian," written in his beautiful black-ink handwriting.

'My dearest, darling, wonderful Sebastian,

You and I cannot be together. Not right now, anyway -- maybe never again.
I don't know. I cannot go to university with this hanging over me. I am
not strong enough to deal with it and, for that, I truly, deeply,
sincerely beg your forgiveness. Please forgive me, Sebastian?

I know you'll be heartbroken by what's happened and I am too. If I was to
stay, I'd only project that onto you and that isn't fair. We need time to
deal with it on our own.

Baby, I can't begin to tell you how sad I am for you. I know how much
this has devastated you. Just as much as me. I know you've let yourself
down and violated every moral standard you had for yourself. For us. I
know that! And I'm so sorry for you. You're a good man, who did one
stupid thing. I love you madly -- obsessively -- but it's not enough and
if we stayed together, we'd end up being permanently obsessed with this.
For our own sake, it's better just to part company right now. I love you.

I really do, Sebastian. You were my first everything that mattered. You
made me see myself in a way that was worthy of being loved. You made me
happy, you made me laugh, you made me giddily excited to wake up in the
morning. I will savour and cherish every memory and every moment we had
together -- even the last, because the pain proved how much we love each
other.

I love you to the point that you will always be part of my soul and I am
so sorry I wasn't strong enough to work through this.

Please, don't contact me just now. Whenever I'm sad, I'll just imagine
your arms around me. Even the memory will be enough, for the time being.

I'm so sorry.

I love you.

Rory.'

Two months later, I went off to university in London and Rory and I did
not see each other again for nearly eighteen months.


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