disclaimer: without prejudice. the names of all characters contained here-in are the property of FOX and Ryan Murphy. no infringments of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.

author's notes: based on art made by grannahgustin for Seblaine Week.

Tu me manques;;

3631 miles.

He'd googled the distance between New York and Paris seven months ago, seated in between Sebastian's legs, his boyfriend's arms tight around his chest. He remembers how he'd fought the urge to cry and shut out the distant ringing of painful memories. Sebastian had kissed his hair and told him they'd figure things out, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to study at the famous Université Panthéon-Assas–if he did he'd regret it his entire life.

And he'd be the last person to deny Sebastian his dreams. That same selfless act echoed somewhere in his past, but Sebastian had a clear goal in mind. It would only be for six months, half a year with 3631 miles between them and as soon as it was over Sebastian promised he'd only ever be a train ride away. He'd promised that after graduating he'd move to New York and maybe they could even get their own place.

But six months (seven if you counted the month Sebastian had added to familiarize himself with the campus) was a long time. The lonesome train ride he used to take to Yale paled in comparison to this distance, all the times he'd been upset over Sebastian skipping his weekend (they took turns travelling) now seemed childish and petty.

Sebastian was so far away, and even though they talked to each other whenever their schedules and time zones allowed it, even though school and friends and family kept him busy, the part of him that was Sebastian's only got incredibly lonely.

And if that wasn't bad enough, two weeks ago Sebastian was offered an extended stay in Paris, because he was in the top 10 bracket and unlike many of his fellow exchange students he was fluent in French as well–Sebastian had told him quietly and calm, gauging his reaction as best he could through a computer screen.

"So, another six months?" he asked, briefly glancing at the calendar where he'd been crossing off the days until he'd get to hold Sebastian again, grateful he hadn't made too big a deal out of it, and pain inched across his chest. "We haven't made it through the first six yet."

"Four. Until the end of the school year," Sebastian answered.

"You're considering it." He cast down his eyes and kept them locked on his keyboard, his excitement for Sebastian battling it out with his loneliness. He's sure his loneliness would've won and he might've said something he'd regret if Sebastian hadn't spoken again.

"I haven't decided anything," Sebastian said. "I miss you, and between you and me I'm sick of all the preppies around here."

He'd smiled and ignored the void his heart started beating around, because despite everything he had no reason to doubt Sebastian. He might take the offer, he might not, but he'd still be all his over the holidays.

He's been focusing most of his attention since then on finals, never once allowing his mind to consider how he'd survive an additional four months without seeing Sebastian–he'd talked to his parents about saving up for Paris, but between their reluctance to fund a trip and what money he made waiting tables, it would take him a whole year to get the money.

It's no help at all that he tips his baristas with his return change every time he goes out for coffee. Cindy, however, one of his regular baristas, refuses to take the extra change since she learned what he's putting it towards. She slides the change over to him across the counter, and winks, before his phone starts vibrating in his pocket.

His heart beats itself into a frenzy once he sees a picture of him and Sebastian pop up on the screen, Sebastian's name and the word 'calling' directly below it–Sebastian's Thursdays are usually too busy and he rarely gets in more than a few texts, so this comes as a pleasant surprise.

"What are you doing right now?" is the first thing he hears as soon as he puts the phone to his ear.

He frowns, but smiles, amused by Sebastian's razor-sharp question and a small unseen voice wonders if he's supposed to answer with something dirty. Their long-distance status had necessitated new ways for them to interact, and one of them included phone sex; it took some time for him to get used to it, not being able to touch Sebastian and relying solely on his imagination put a bit of a damper on his excitement, but now they regularly scheduled phone calls or Skype sessions for exactly that purpose.

"I'm–buying coffee?" he answers tentatively, because he's not quite as quick witted as his boyfriend yet.

"Medium drip?" Sebastian's voice relaxes–he can tell after six months of only hearing it over the phone or through his computer. He's grown shamelessly addicted to the sounds of Sebastian's breath hitching at the back of his throat as he comes, the way his voice skips over a cry and the exhale of air afterwards, but he can distinguish between the more subtle nuances as well.

He pushes through the doors of the coffee shop and braves the cold December chill. "Parisienne actually," he says, and he hopes he makes it sound somewhat decent; he's been practicing some phrases in his spare time with a French exchange student, Charlotte, hoping to surprise Sebastian once he's more fluent.

"You know that has alcohol in it, right?"

"It's late and I finished all my homework, mom," he jokes, bathing in the soft cadence of a laugh from the other end of the line. Sebastian would argue he prefers their Skype sessions (the regular and the special ones), but there's something nostalgically intimate about lying on his bed, phone pressed to his ear, with only the sound of Sebastian's voice to accompany him, only his imagination to color in the feeling of Sebastian's arms around him.

"I wanted something that reminded me of you," he adds, missing Sebastian's arms right there and then.

Silence falls, one he's not altogether sure he's learned to translate–Sebastian's not usually one to bask in the sound of static or his breathing, and he suddenly fears Sebastian calls with news of his decision.

"You miss me that much, hu killer?" Sebastian asks, voice bereft any playfulness. Sebastian's only asking questions, like he's in desperate need of a distraction from whatever's going on around him and it makes his chest ache–it's moments like these when their missing pieces reverberate the strongest, their voices so close but too large a distance separating them to be truly comforted.

"You know I do," he says.

A mournful laugh fills in the ocean between them.

"Bas? What's the matter?" he asks, unable to conjure up a reason why Sebastian would feel bad. They'd talked yesterday and Sebastian had been positive about everything, because he had only two more weeks to go before he'd come to New York for a three-week visit over the holidays, and they'd talked about everything they would do, besides having an insane amount of sex.

They'd get breakfast at their favorite coffee shop, spend hours getting lost in Central Park ("I'd kiss the snowflakes from your skin," he'd mooned poetically), walk hand in hand without letting to, rent a movie they wouldn't watch because their lips would keep finding each other in the dark, wake up in each other's arms and snooze for as long as they possibly could.

The conversation had made him ache in all the right places, somewhere below his sternum he rationally knows his love for Sebastian can't be located, but it wiggled there nonetheless. He thought Sebastian had felt the same.

"Don't you miss me too?" he asks, tone teasing, but his voice shakes and his old friend insecurity manages to slip in through cracks once healed.

Sebastian sighs. "Don't be silly."

And in those few seconds it takes Sebastian to utter three simple words he hears another voice, another boy, telling him the hollow sensation in his chest is transient, not worth mentioning, inconsequential.

"I–I know you do," he stutters, afraid to make the same mistakes because he's been here before, with the boy they do not name, especially not since Sebastian left for France. His relationship with Sebastian isn't the one he had with Kurt, he doubted that relationship and instead of talking to Kurt about it he'd created the scar that never faded.

"It's just–It's not as easy as I thought it'd be."

He should've known better, of course, he's been in this situation before and now instead of doubting his boyfriend's commitment or their relationship, he doubts himself. That one mistake had broken something good, and even though he's long since gotten over Kurt and he's happier with Sebastian than he's ever been, he's never truly forgiven himself.

"I know, babe," Sebastian says, an apology laced between each letter of the endearment. "But I'll be there in two weeks, remember?"

"I know." He nods. "I know– It's just–"

"B, stop," Sebastian hushes. "Once I get there, I won't leave again."

"What?" he blurts out, struck by the lightning thought that he doesn't want this. He doesn't want Sebastian to sacrifice his dreams for him, to give up what he wants to be with him. He'd made that mistake too, and it had led to heartbreak and resentment. "You don't have to do that."

"I want to," Sebastian says, another short silence Sebastian allows for this time. "Tu me manques, Blaine."

Tears shoot in his eyes, the phrase spoken to him seven months ago, the night before Sebastian left, and they lay wrapped around each other in a long goodbye. He'd asked Sebastian how that made sense with him still right there, but Sebastian had only smiled and kissed him deep.

"Once I get there, I'm staying."

"No, Sebastian." He takes a deep breath, despite his subconscious screaming the words right back. "This is your chance and I–" He halts in his tracks and closes his eyes, forgetting all the reasons he wants Sebastian by his side.

"Yes?"

There's no use in arguing this with Sebastian over the phone, it was still a big decision and an amazing opportunity and he wouldn't put it past him to change Sebastian's mind. All he wants is for Sebastian to be happy. He's pursuing his dreams here in New York and Sebastian in Paris, and if that means they have to date long-distance for another four months that's a sacrifice he'll gladly make.

"I love you," he breathes, the most veritable truth and only statement he trusts his mouth to make, and when he recognizes the sound of a smile at the other end of the line he feels one pull at his lips too.

"I love you too, B," Sebastian says. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay killer?

"Yeah," he says, before the line goes dead and there's once again a complete 3631 miles between him and Sebastian. But for some reason the distance feels a little lighter today.

When he gets home he doesn't drink his coffee–he removes the lid and lets the aroma of it fill up his dorm room while he adds his change to the jar marked 'Paris fund' underneath his bed. Just in case.

The French have always said it best. Sebastian mourned how much of it got lost in translation, because it means so much more than the three short words English attributes to it.

"Tu me manques," he whispers to the air.

I miss you.

You are missing from me.

#

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