Written for Seblaine Spring Fling 2016. Prompt: carnival.
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And Seal It With A Kiss;;
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Yesterday the thought of a Spring Carnival had filled him to the tips of his toes with an excitement a Nationals win in high school barely rivaled. Lawns outside campus had warmed with early spring, the grass grown dry and crispy, and the brothers of Theta Chi were gearing up for their annual charity fundraiser.
Previous years had seen carwashes, Battle of the Bands, an elaborate Walk-a-thon that had left members dehydrated, and a variety of other events. Theta Chi prided itself on originality, team spirit, and the occasional traditional-style kegger, and this year, with him at the helm, he dare say they'd outdone themselves.
All around the house they set up old-time carnival activities, ranging from a cake walk to a traditional ring toss, obstacle courses and a kissing booth, and candy in a haystack. There was the old and tried dunk tank, a photo booth where a well-chosen filter would age the pictures, and even a bounce house—Sam had insisted on the latter.
Everyone had hustled and bustled around him as he ticked down his three-page long To-Do list crossing off deliveries and payments, called the vendors, and sent emails to the student body. It'd come as no shock to him that the Ruling Council of Theta Chi had left the organizing up to him; he'd been the only one to volunteer for the task. He'd been aided by Sam, who had contacts that'd gotten them discounts and free goodies, and Sebastian, who, as a Legacy within the fraternity, rounded the troops and got a lot of brothers to volunteer to man all the activities.
They wanted to make money for urgent repairs that needed to be done to some of the bathrooms and the communal kitchen, so everyone had to pitch in.
That was yesterday.
Few things had been able to temper his excitement in the weeks leading up to the event; not the surprise pop quiz in his English Poetry class, not the occasional rain shower, or even the surprise visit from his mom.
But being rejected after asking a friend out on a romantic date had sent him in a tailspin of hurt and doubt the likes of which he hadn't experienced since Kurt left him to 'fully experience New York' in high school—four years had passed since then, and there'd been other boys, other loves, and other kinds of heartbreak.
None that stayed. Not like Sebastian.
As a Legacy to the Smythe name, Sebastian would be at the carnival today, working a few shifts at the dunk tank—he, in turn, couldn't even consider sitting out the event if he wanted to; everyone would look to him to know where to go at what time, and he'd promised everyone he would.
If only he could've waited to say anything.
If only he hadn't said anything at all.
But he'd worked tirelessly for a week straight to get everything for the carnival in order, foregoing sleep to type up schedules for shift changes while still making sure to get his schoolwork done.
And like any other time Sebastian had been there, with his subtle innuendo and a pep talk, sitting up with him all night. Sebastian had better things to do (People to see, guys to do, he'd said once, winking) but that hadn't stopped him from sacrificing his personal time.
They'd poured through dozens of spreadsheets, making sure every volunteer got a shift at a booth of their choosing and none of them were double-booked, and set up a rotating schedule.
In the midst of that chaos of his own making, he knew the time had come.
He hadn't dated for over a year, chose to focus on himself so that when the right guy came along he wouldn't hesitate, and he'd never forego his own needs in favor of his boyfriend's again.
He was ready to get back out there; he'd centered his universe on his own hopes and dreams and came out stronger, more mature, a little bit more knowledgeable.
And he wanted Sebastian to be a part of that new world.
"Get some sleep, killer," Sebastian said, rounding up their work, brushing his hand through his hair and down his face. "And in the morning I'm going to teach you the meaning of the word 'delegate'."
"We should go out sometime."
"Sure." Sebastian nodded, yawning, missing his meaning. "Just as soon as we catch up on some sleep."
"No"—he laughed, and stood up, meeting Sebastian's eye—"I mean, we should go out on a date."
Hope bloomed in his chest as he drew in a shuddery breath. This felt right. It was the right time with the right boy in ways it had never been before. He was tired, yes, but he saw this clear as day; all the stars were aligned, obstacles had been overcome. It was their time.
"You—" Sebastian frowned, and took a step closer, eyes falling to his lips.
His heart raced at the thought of kissing Sebastian, of sharing that sort of intimacy with someone he knew so well and had known for such a long time; somehow it seemed more worthy, for their friendship to transform.
They'd built a friendship in high school that proved lasting—the Sebastian Smythe he'd met in his junior year made way for someone he could talk to, someone he could confide in, a friend for life. The suave and smooth exterior was still there, but he'd unearthed something in Sebastian he doubts few others had seen. His cookie dough heart.
Somewhere along the way that friendship had flourished into something more.
Sebastian's lips moved around words that he didn't or couldn't voice and before long he took a step back, made a half turn towards the door, glancing at it as a means of escape before finding his eyes again.
"Blaine—" he spoke, but nothing much followed.
That's when it'd dawned on him.
Sebastian didn't want to date him.
He'd fled the room and Sebastian hadn't found him and all night long, hours upon hours, he'd lain awake, eyes open, heart broken.
Now he's not only meant to appear all spick and span and joyful for the crowds, but he has to make sure his brothers don't find out what happened between him and Sebastian—they've been known to take interest in the other members' personal lives and he'd rather not be fodder for any gossip. He can't afford to appear as anything less than put together or this whole carnival will fall apart.
Especially when manning the kissing booth later.
He manages to avoid Sebastian for most of the morning and afternoon. The schedules they'd spent last night making lay laminated at every booth so there's no need for Sebastian to come to him for questions, but his absence leaves behind a sting of rejection he's never felt before.
Had he misread everything that'd ever happened between them?
Sebastian liked him. He'd been so sure of that.
"Blaine!" he hears three hours into the carnival—the booths are all running smoothly and there'd been only a handful of incidents; Sam got stuck in the haystack and the bouncy house, and they ran out of towels at the dunk tank, though he'd heard no female students complain. They hadn't run out of drinks or cash and even the kissing booth rotations had gone off without a hitch—most of the people who came by were either daring, up for charity, or the guys' own significant others' so no fighting had occurred so far.
He recognizes the voice instantly; how could he not? But he'd determined not to talk to Sebastian until at least the carnival was over—there was an after party later the brothers usually had covered in terms of organizing everything, and he'd be able to breathe then.
Sebastian catches up to him, blocking his path. "Blaine, please."
He can't bring himself to meet Sebastian's eye. "I have a shift."
"Can we talk after?"
Hugging his clipboard to his chest Sebastian's silence the night before echoes so loud it nearly pierces his eardrums. What's there to talk about?
"I don't know, Sebastian."
"You have to give me a chance to explain, killer."
He thinks he really doesn't owe Sebastian a thing; rejection can only be taken one way and despite not saying anything, Sebastian had said more than enough. Maybe it'd been selfish of him to think that after all these years Sebastian might still have feelings for him; or worse, maybe he'd expected Sebastian to reciprocate his feelings.
He hadn't been stringing Sebastian along, had he?
"I have to—" he says, voice trailing off, and points in the general direction of the kissing booth; he lets the rest of the sentence wade there, somewhere in the distance between them, a distance screaming I can't be around you for a while.
Prior experience had taught him that time alone would soothe a hurt like this. What he wouldn't give to go back in time and make it so he never said a word—his being in love with Sebastian hadn't yet ached like others had, doesn't really, not ever, because Sebastian's simply always there. He doesn't need to need a person who he knows will be around for him.
Maybe that's why he'd taken so long to say anything.
He drags his feet all the way to the kissing booth, where a few girls groan when he replaces Sam—that's what you get in life; you wait in line for the perfect guy, and have to settle for Blaine Anderson.
"You okay, man?" Sam asks.
He nods, and puts on his bravest face, flashing Sam a smile before his friend is off to the next booth.
A smile he tersely keeps in place for everyone's benefit but his own; he'd much rather stay in bed and hide under the sheets, shut the world off for a while and not talk to anyone—tonight he'll buy some Ben & Jerry's and find a romantic movie on Netflix to cry over.
It's a process that works for him.
There's a long line of girls at the kissing booth, their tickets bought and paid for, all patiently waiting their turn to kiss a Theta Chi, and he indulges each and every one of them. He hasn't kissed a girl since Rachel in that Spin the Bottle game in high school, and for some reason it brings back fond memories—at that point in his life he'd barely scratched the surface of any heartbreak, hadn't felt the depths of the grooves running crisscross over his heart, hadn't yet been forced to learn a broken heart didn't look well on him.
It'd been a much simpler time.
The kisses don't mean anything, not the first five, or the next, one stranger after the other sitting down in a chair opposite him, excited to take her turn. He can't say he ever got the point of a kissing booth, and it can't be hygienic, but everyone's excitement works infectious.
Sitting on the raised platform he can oversee the past few weeks' work and how it paid off. The carnival has proven to be a raging success; he wouldn't be surprised over half the student body came by, whether it's for the booths or enjoying the drinks or lounging on the lawn.
It's all been worth it, the sleepless nights and the worrying, the stress that he might not finish in time, maybe even his confession to Sebastian. Isn't spring all about renewal and fresh beginnings, about starting over with a clean slate?
Maybe, in the long run, it'll be a good thing that he knows Sebastian doesn't feel the same way; he won't waste any more time trying to convince himself or Sebastian that they might build something worthwhile.
Then, Sebastian sits down opposite him.
He hadn't seen him waiting in line.
"What are you doing?" he asks, startling backwards against the back of his chair.
Sebastian pulls his chair closer and knocks their knees together, leaving little to no space for him to breathe—he can't kiss Sebastian. He can't let Sebastian kiss him.
"I have to talk to you," Sebastian says.
His eyes tick along the line of girls still queued up behind Sebastian.
"People are waiting," he says.
"I waited," Sebastian says, his voice soft like he rarely hears it.
He averts his eyes and crosses his arms, jutting out his chin as tears sting the corners of his eyes. The thought of Sebastian kissing him now, after everything he's confessed, fills him with dread. If there's nothing between them, if he misinterpreted Sebastian's advances and made a fool of himself he'd rather not have him around.
He's not sure what he'd do without his best friend though. What if they can never get back to how they were?
"For years—" Sebastian says, "—I waited, Blaine."
His heart misses a distinct beat at the sound of what Sebastian implies, at the quiet that follows and the eons Sebastian waits for him to look up—and for a moment or two he wishes that silence could envelop him, that the moment could stretch a few eternities until he has time to think and process what happened.
Because he knows exactly what Sebastian means.
He's known for years. He heard it in the obvious flirtation that time they sat in the Dalton commons and he couldn't help but blush; he saw it in the twinkle of Sebastian's eyes when they danced at Scandals, and Sebastian's body inched closer and closer despite his boyfriend watching them from the bar. He noticed every time Sebastian's eyes lingered a little longer, or his innuendo transfigured into that straight-laced concern that warmed his heart.
He reads Sebastian like a book, despite the number of people who think it's the other way around.
"I had to see you in love with someone else," Sebastian says, leaning in closer.
"I had to watch you happy with someone else.
"I watched you get hurt and broken, and I waited. But you never—"
Sebastian shakes his head.
He never said a thing. He just—got used to having Sebastian around as some kind of shoulder to cry on, to fall back on when things got rough.
"And now just when I'm ready to move on, when I've met a guy I could see myself falling for," Sebastian says, "you suddenly have feelings for me?"
He casts down his eyes—he can't deny Justin's appearance hadn't thrown him off. Of all the boys he'd seen Sebastian with Justin seemed to warrant a different kind of attention, Sebastian's personal time, and an affection he wanted to be on the receiving end of, and, maybe, when push came to shove, it had been jealousy, but none of it had been sudden. None of his feelings had materialized overnight at the thought of losing Sebastian to someone else.
He'd considered it for years, tempted at fifteen when he was dating Kurt because here was a boy so out there, so aware of every inch of his body he couldn't help but be tempted; at sixteen after their break-up because why not, at that point? Moments since when their eyes would lock a moment too long, drunk nights when his body would sway into Sebastian's and he almost confessed his love right there.
None of it was sudden.
The way he feels about Sebastian grew like that narrow-leafed campion found by scientists in Siberia, stuck in permafrost for 30,000 years before it was allowed to seed. It wasn't until his feelings took root in the fruitful soil of their friendship, and Sebastian's steady presence seeped into his conscious mind, that he started seeing it.
Sebastian listened.
Sebastian supported him.
Sebastian gave it to him straight and never lied, never expected anything he wasn't willing to give.
The seed of that campion had been planted a long long time ago.
"Yeah, Blaine"—Sebastian huffs a laugh—"I choked."
Sebastian sits back and kicks at a leg of his chair. "Because you've known. You must have."
Green eyes accuse him of all the things he choked back for all these years, unconvinced Kurt was his destiny, uncertain whether Sebastian would ever change his ways for anyone, scared to death of destroying a friendship that had in so many ways helped heal him.
"I—I wasn't ready," he stutters, because there's the truth—four years ago neither of them would've made the sacrifice, two years ago they'd have been too selfish and proud, two months ago neither of them would've chased after the other to have any kind of talk.
"Yeah, well"—Sebastian rubs the back of his neck—"I wasn't ready to hear you say it, apparently."
He squirms in his seat, suddenly too aware of his body in proximity to Sebastian's. Had his silence wilted any chance of them ever becoming anything more?
"You mean—" He swallows hard. "I was too late?"
Sebastian sits forward again, elbows on his knees, meeting his line of sight thoughtfully. He wonders if he's about to meet with real rejection, tempered by Sebastian's brilliant eyes and soft tone because this boy has seen him hurt in the past, knows what it does to him, and wants to avoid inflicting it at all costs.
But Sebastian can't conjure up feelings that are no longer there.
"I needed time to process what you said," Sebastian says, and slowly, hesitant in a way he rarely sees Sebastian behaving, he reaches out a hand.
"But no, killer," Sebastian says as hesitant fingers touch his cheek, a thumb brushing along his skin, "you're not too late."
He leans into Sebastian's touch, trying hard not to laugh and cry at the same time, but flowers bloom in his chest, rooting their stems and offshoots throughout his body, through veins and muscle tissue until spring's alive inside him. How could he have been so foolish?
"It's always been you," Sebastian whispers, and leans in, touching his lips to his—and of all the kisses today, all those his lips exchanged, this one means everything. It's the world above and the soil below, and every mistake he had to make in between.
"Excuse me?" a girl behind Sebastian says. "Other people are waiting?"
Sebastian reaches inside the pocket of his pants and pulls out a strip of green tickets, twelve or more, tossing it blindly towards the group of girls. He giggles into Sebastian's mouth, right before his lips close over his mouth again, and they kiss, for all the world to see.
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