Sebastian and the Glittering Wings

Beep. Beep.

Sebastian paused, gripping the broom a little tighter. The small kitchen smelled faintly of soap and last night’s burnt toast, and the clock on the chipped wall ticked away every second of his captivity. It was already past two in the afternoon, and he still had to fold the laundry, scrub the bathroom floor, and figure out that tangled mess of science homework waiting for him like a snarling dog. The beeping coming from the linen cupboard could wait.

Sebastian was beautiful in a way that made people pause. He had warm brown skin that glowed in the sun, curls that refused to lie flat, and eyes that were soft, gentle, and searching. At seventeen, he was already five foot nine, and he had to hunch awkwardly to sweep with the too-small broom his step-aunty insisted was “perfectly fine.” His brothers—well, stepbrothers, though the reminder never helped—were all smaller, loud, and heavy-footed, thundering around the house like trolls. The house, with its too-low ceilings and doors that squeaked complaints, was always too small for Sebastian.

He missed his mother. She used to read him stories every night, stories of princes, forests, and faraway seas. Her voice was warm like honey, whispering about kindness and courage, before the darkness took her and his father away in a single, cruel twist of fate. Now, he lived under the watch of his step-aunty, who never whispered, never read, and only screeched orders about chores and “earning your keep.”

Sebastian often found himself daydreaming while sweeping, the bristles scraping across the faded linoleum as he imagined a different life. Other teens were probably dreaming of gaming consoles and flashy sneakers, but Sebastian dreamed of a day he’d be free, dancing barefoot in the sun, swept off his feet by a Prince—or Princess—Charming who smelled of fresh rain and freedom.

He dreamed of a home where no one shouted, and no one made him clean until his hands were raw. A home where laughter was allowed.

Beep. Beep.

“Ugh.” Sebastian groaned, bending down to collect the dust, his back aching with the memory of the last time he dared pause to check his phone during chores. His step-aunty’s anger was as swift as it was sharp. It wasn’t worth it, he told himself, to check the phone. It was probably Tom again, sending silly selfies with exaggerated pouts and crossed eyes to make him smile.

Tom, with his wild ginger curls and eyes that sparked with mischief, was a chaos of laughter and rebellion. Tom and Eliza and Ali, sneaking out to the old pub down the road, giggling as they ducked behind trash bins to avoid adults, clutching each other’s hands as they slipped inside the back door. The pub smelled of fried chips, sticky cider, and stale ale, and to Sebastian, it smelled like freedom. Like the memory of his grandfather’s house with its warm, cluttered corners and the scent of peppermint and old books.

That night, Sebastian felt alive, laughing until tears blurred the cheap fairy lights strung along the bar. He tasted cider so sour it made him wince, and ale so bitter it made him feel like an adult. He remembered the way Tom threw an arm around him and whispered, “You’re allowed to be happy, Seb,” before sneaking him another drink.

It was perfect, until it wasn’t.

His step-aunty found him. She screeched like a banshee, her eyes wild as she dragged him out by the wrist, yelling about towels and chores and how she’d “never been so humiliated.” She never mentioned the drinking, never mentioned the pub. Just the fabric softener he forgot to use.

Beep. Beep.

Sebastian sighed, dropping the broom as he walked toward the linen cupboard. “Shouldn’t have given me a phone if she wanted me to stay locked in here,” he muttered, fumbling with the padlock. His fingers trembled as he spun the combination, the clunk of the lock falling making his heart leap in fear and hope.

His pet rabbit, Poppy, darted from the cupboard, skittering across the floor toward the back garden. “Sorry, Poppy,” he whispered.

Thump. Thump.

“What was that!?” came the thunder of his stepbrothers, their voices like drumbeats of dread.

“Ready or not, baby bro,” one of them sneered, footsteps stomping down the stairs.

Sebastian bolted, clutching the phone, heart pounding, rushing to his small, cold room at the back of the house. It was barely large enough for a bed and a rickety bookshelf he used to barricade the door. In summer, the sunlight made the space glow, a single reminder that light could find its way into even the smallest, coldest places.

Thump. Thump.

He locked the window and checked the phone. A message from Tom:

I don’t care wha u say. Comin ova.

Thump. Thump.

“Seb!” a voice called from outside. “Seb, open the window!”

It wasn’t his stepbrothers.

It was Tom, balancing on a plastic chair in the garden, grinning, wearing glittery fairy wings that shimmered in the sun.

“I’ve come to rescue you!” Tom shouted, waving something in the air.

Sebastian unlocked the window and pulled Tom inside just before the chair snapped beneath him. Tom landed in a heap, leaves tangled in his sweater, his face flushed with laughter.

“Ta-da! I’m your fairy godmother, and I’m here to save the day!” Tom sang, handing Sebastian a single, worn sneaker.

Sebastian blinked. “What is this?”

“You left it at the pub.” Tom’s grin softened. “You didn’t think I’d let you stay here forever, did you?”

Sebastian’s throat tightened. “You’re not exactly Prince Charming,” he managed to joke.

“And you’re no damsel in distress,” Tom shot back, brushing off his wings, “but you need saving.”

Sebastian scooped Poppy into his arms, the rabbit’s warm fur grounding him as Tom looked around the tiny room.

“Bring Poppy. Tell my mum we found her injured. We’ll work the rest out later.”

“Later?” Sebastian echoed.

“Yeah,” Tom said, a fierce softness in his eyes. “Because you’re coming home with me.”

For the first time in a long time, Sebastian let himself believe it might be possible to be free. To find warmth and laughter without permission. To live without waiting for the next yell or slammed door.

And so they left. Tom’s mother welcomed Sebastian with open arms, a warm kitchen, and a safe place to sleep. They lived together, messily, imperfectly, but happily.

And Tom? Tom never was Prince Charming.

But as it turned out, a glitter-winged fairy godmother with messy curls and a crooked grin was even better.

Moral of the Story

You deserve a place where you can laugh, live, and be loved, even if your happily ever after looks different than you once imagined.