SEBASTIAN
I must have fallen into a deep sleep because when I’m finally shaken awake by a hand on my shoulder, it feels like I’m buried under a thick, heavy blanket of snow, trapped, unable to break through the surface.
I twitch, stir, try to speak, but the voices calling my name sound distant and muffled. Then gradually, they sharpen.
“Why isn’t he answering, Evan?!”
“Give him a second, Izzy, sweetheart. Let him wake up properly…”
“Come on, son, that’s enough sleep now.”
Slowly, the world comes into focus. My mother’s face hovers above me, her expression twisted with concern that swiftly sours into disapproval. My father is sitting on the edge of the bed, gently brushing damp strands of hair from my forehead.
It’s not cold, like I dreamt. Quite the opposite. I must’ve forgotten to switch on the air conditioning; everything feels warm, thick, oppressive. The room is heavy with stale heat.
I sit up, blinking as the fog in my head begins to clear. Two things hit me at once: First, the soft afternoon light has shifted to a golden evening glow. Second, my parents are still in their coats from lunch.
Which means I’ve been asleep for hours, while they stayed out with the Wellands.
“Sorry…” I rasp, my throat dry and rough.
Dad hands me a glass of water without a word. I take it gratefully and drink every drop.
They’re both staring at me now, waiting for an explanation.
“I’m not sure what happened,” I say slowly, still not entirely present. “I guess I just needed the rest. Between rehearsals, the concert, and the trip here… I barely slept these past two days.”
Mum’s expression hardens, as though exhaustion were some kind of personal failure.
Dad stands and touches her arm. “Izzy, let’s give him a bit of space until dinner. We can get changed, figure out something to eat.”
She doesn’t answer. Just pulls away and turns to me, her voice clipped, eyes simmering with restrained fury.
“Sebastian, where’s Cressie? We assumed she’d be here, or at the very least that you’d gone to her place.”
“Mum,” I say, trying to keep my tone even, “like I told you at the restaurant, I had a splitting headache. I came back here to rest. I didn’t see any reason to meet up with Cressida.”
This time, the anger breaks through, sharp and unfiltered.
“What do you mean, no reason? Don’t be ridiculous! At your age, you should know what to do with a beautiful girl who clearly likes you.”
I stand, facing her directly now, the exhaustion fading beneath a wave of clarity.
“Well, it just so happens I’m not interested in her.”
Dad leans back against the wall, arms crossed. Silent. Watching.
Mum plants her hands on her hips and clicks closer on her heels, like a general advancing into battle. I don’t move.
“Sebastian, don’t be ridiculous. Why do you think we arranged that lunch?
The Wellands are an extremely influential family.
Besides being valuable business allies for your father, they have the right connections to help you break into high society.
An engagement to Cressie would open doors you can’t even imagine. And she’s hardly difficult to look at.”
“Cressida’s… unique, I’ll give you that. But she’s also completely unhinged. Did you not notice how she kept touching me? She licked my face, Mum. And you’d just hand your son over like some prime cut of meat, for business?”
She laughs sharply, leaning in.
“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. It’s for your benefit as much as ours. And really, what choice have you left us? Ever since you ended things with that poor girl Maddie, you haven’t introduced a single girlfriend. I’m doing you a favour, Sebastian. Cressida Welland is a perfectly respectable match.”
I shake my head, drained, and glance at Dad before drawing in a slow, steadying breath.
“Mum, Dad… haven’t you ever wondered why I haven’t brought home any other girls since Maddie?”
It’s time. I can’t keep circling around it. The anxiety coils tight in my stomach, but underneath it, there’s something else, a strange calm. Like stepping into cold water and finally going under.
“The reason is simple: I’m not into girls. I’m gay. Completely, entirely gay.”
My voice lifts slightly at the end. I brace myself for shouting, for disbelief, for tears. Something. But instead, they exchange a look. Wordless. Weighted.
Seconds stretch.
Mum twists her hands, visibly flustered. Dad starts pacing, tracing slow, familiar paths across the carpet. And then it hits me.
I bring my hand to my mouth. “You… Oh my God. You already knew?”
The room tilts. The floor feels unsteady.
They don’t deny it. They don’t even try.
“Who told you?” I whisper, dread thick in my throat.
Their silence answers for them.
“May,” I say quietly. “It was May, wasn’t it?”
The realization hits like a punch to the gut.
I always knew May had flexible boundaries, rubber, really, but I never imagined she’d cross this one. She took something sacred and made it strategic. Transactional.
She stole my choice. My timing. My right to come out on my own terms.
Tears sting my eyes, blurring everything. I try to blink them back, but it’s no use.
“How long?” I manage, my voice breaking. “How long have you known?”
Mum’s tone snaps back into cold, clipped composure.
“May contacted us a few weeks ago, after you got back to London, and didn’t bother to visit. She was concerned. Said you were planning major changes to your repertoire, changes she didn’t support.”
“May also mentioned that she threatened to quit?” I shoot back, trembling. “Or said that those changes were a massive success?”
“That’s not the point, Sebastian,” she says flatly. “One successful performance doesn’t make a career. May sees the bigger picture, something you clearly don’t.”
She locks eyes with Dad, then continues in that same measured tone.
“When she told us you were planning to come out publicly, she warned us it might affect your future prospects.”
I stare at her, incredulous. “Oh, come on, Mum. It’s the twenty-first century. Who cares who I sleep with?”
Dad cuts in, voice low and disapproving. “No need for vulgarity, son. Show some respect to your mother.”
Something snaps.
“What’s vulgar about it? Wanting to love and be loved, is that really so offensive to you?
What about your respect for me? You went behind my back.
You conspired with someone I trusted. And then, after finding out the truth, you tried to pair me off with some oversexed heiress like I was. .. I don’t know, property?”
“Enough!” Mum barks, her composure cracking.
“What you do in private isn’t our concern. But do you really think we’re fools? May only confirmed what we’ve suspected for years. The nail polish. The eyeliner. The clothes. And no girlfriends? Please.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?” I shout. “Why didn’t you ask? I’m your son, your only son. If you’d supported me, maybe I wouldn’t have spent years living in fear!”
Mum’s voice cuts like glass. Calm. Precise. Unforgiving.
“We didn’t raise you to be gay, Sebastian. We’ve invested too much, our time, our money, our energy, for this. What you do in the bedroom is your business, as long as you marry a respectable girl and preserve your image. Our image. That’s not too much to ask.”
Her words are so cruel, so staggering, that they don’t fully register at first. My brain shields me, numbing the edges to dull the impact. But the echo of them keeps ringing.
I stand frozen, breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat, as her final blow lands with perfect, deliberate cruelty.
“After all, you stayed with Maddie for years. Maybe you’re not really gay, maybe you’re bisexual? With a little effort, you might even get Cressida pregnant and give us grandchildren.”
It’s too much. Too calculated. Too heartless. Something inside me breaks.
The emotions I’ve been holding back, fear, anger, grief, surge all at once, a tidal wave crashing through every barrier I’ve built.
I don’t even feel myself falling.
The last thing I see is my father reaching for me, steady, silent, too far away, as the world tips and I plunge into the dark.