Sean and Valentino – Part 1

Valentino opens the door to his locker. When he takes a look inside, he flinches almost violently before he swallows, face still cold and composed – but his insides feel fluttery with panic and helplessness.

All his belongings are buried under pink glitter powder. Everything. His books, his laptop, even his dancing clothes. Everything.

‘Ignore them,’ his mother always advised, back then when Val was still telling her about incidents like this. ‘They are just jealous because you’re talented and handsome.’

But knowing this doesn’t make it any less painful. Knowing this doesn’t stop it from happening again and again.

“Like the color?” he hears Derrick call across the hallway, one of the regular bullies. How did he find out Val’s locker code?

“We thought it fits,” one of his lackeys giggles; Val doesn’t even remember his name. “Sissy.”

Blinking against the sting in his eyes, back straight and pride unyielding, he carefully stows away his Algebra book and gets out his dancing clothes.

They know he has practice now. They all know it.

Maybe he should cut off his blonde hair and dye it black again.

Without a word, he shuts his locker, not deigning to give the broadly grinning assholes a second glance, and starts to head to the gym.

“Hey, princess!” one of them calls after him. “Maybe we’ll watch your performance today! You’re a ballerina now, we can cheer for you!”

Valentino doesn’t know how many of them are laughing and if it’s clever to turn towards them, but he can’t stop himself from giving them a hateful stare. Aha. Four. What a way to outnumber a person.

“Wouldn’t you like that?” Derrick asks, and he really, really is that much of an asshole that he follows Val to the gym – and where Derrick goes, his lemmings follow. “Us watching you dance? Wouldn’t you feel desired, then?”

“Go fancy someone else,” Val replies, before he vanishes into the changing rooms, throwing the door shut behind him.

‘Deep breaths,’ he tells himself. Slowly, his eyes wander down to his clothes. They are positively drenched in glitter, he won’t be able to simply dust it off.

‘Deep breaths,’ he desperately tries again, his chest tightening. ‘Don’t let it get to you. They aren’t worth it.’

Those are his mother’s words, but they don’t help. Never do.