A/N: Inspired by Drugs Fade by Jerry Good + Blackbear

Sebastian didn't remember how they got there, but that didn't really matter anymore. All that mattered were the lips pressed against his own, their mouths slotted together, all hot and wet ecstasy that he craved for so long. His head spun when Sam flipped them over, seating himself perfectly between Sebastian's legs, lips never once leaving Sebastian's even as their noses bumped and teeth clacked.

He ground their hips together in slow, torturous circles, the burning pleasure of it pooling in Sebastian's lower stomach. Sebastian hooked his legs over Sam's hips, bucked eagerly against him, hands clumsily tugging at Sam's hair. Sam eventually broke the kiss, lips ghosting over one another with the barest of touches, their breaths mingling with small, needy pants as he rolled his hips harder against Sebastian.

Sebastian's heavy eyes somehow made out the way Sam's hair had stuck out oddly from where he pulled it. He could see the deep flush on Sam's cheeks, the way his shirt collar hung loosely from where Sebastian had tugged on it earlier, the soft glisten of his lower lip. Something in his chest twisted and burned at the sight.

It took him a moment to process what Sam said: "You're staring."

"Uh-huh," Sebastian dazedly agreed. "But you are too, so."

His eyes fluttered shut when Sam closed the distance between them. It was a slow, deliberate kiss, one that he melted into with a soft moan. Sam pulled away again, much to his disappointment, and breathlessly laughed, "Yeah, but you're . . . thinking," Sam murmured, a mere broken slur against his lips. "You look - you look like it." His hips stuttered. He pressed his forehead against Sebastian's. "Or something."

The intimacy in such an innocent action hurt more than Sebastian thought it would. "Or something," he murmured.

Their first kiss was several years ago.

Sebastian didn't consider it a real kiss, though, so he kept it quiet. His dirty little secret. Not their secret - he doubted Sam remembered it, anyways. It was back in high school on their first night ever getting high together. Robin and Demetrius were out for the night, Maru was working on some weird project that didn't make any sense, and Abigail had fallen asleep on the couch.

Sebastian turned his head to ask a question. Or maybe he was already talking. Maybe something led up to it. He didn't remember. What he did remember, as nebulous as it was overall, is that Sam kissed him. It was a quick press to his lips, innocent and carefree in nature, and while Sam incredulously laughed it off, Sebastian had a crisis over it. He didn't remember much of that night, but that one incident remained prominent in his mind.

He wished it didn't. It would've been easier if it didn't.

One leg swung over Sebastian's hip in a single, fluid motion, and suddenly, Sam was in his lap. Sebastian's hands immediately gripped his shoulders with a light push as he protested, "Wait. Wait a second, Abigail's -"

"In the bathroom," Sam finished for him. He shoved Sebastian back against the carpet. "Which is kinda the point, Sebby."

Any other protest was muffled by Sam's lips pressed against his own. Quick kisses, breathless and needy, ones that Sebastian responded eagerly to after a tentative moment. He knew better than to indulge Sam, he knew that it was the weed that made Sam this confident, this careless, but he couldn't find it in himself to stop. It was thrilling, the urgency of their kisses and the threat that Abigail would walk in any moment.

Almost as quickly as Sam had pounced on him, he was gone. It took a moment for Sebastian's eyes to focus, the fireplace in front of him still crackling gently in the quiet evening, and a few moments later, Abigail returned, oblivious to it all. Sebastian watched as Sam tried to get up from the carpet, stumbled a little before trying again, so stupidly high, and he felt the vicious urge for another hit.

Sebastian remembered expecting a long talk after the first incident. He remembered picking at his knuckles, pacing around his room, ignoring his unfinished project that was due on Monday as he waited for Sam's text. But that text never came. His knuckles bled, his project was half-assed and pathetic, and still, Sam never sent him a message that entire weekend. Then, on Sunday night, he received a text.

Sam
can i come over
Received: 9:08 PM

It was just Sam. His best friend. His partner in crime. His secret crush that he kissed in his living room. Sam, the guy who fist fought one of Sebastian's childhood bullies, the guy who wrote the coolest songs, the guy that flirted with him when he was drunk and then pretended it never happened when he was sober. Sam, the absolute idiot he fell hard for all those years ago. The idiot he kissed.

Sebastian left him on read. He was never good at this type of thing, anyways.

The ocean was louder at night when the town was tranquil. It was silent, with naught but the whispers of the ocean filling the air between him and Sam, and for that, Sebastian was grateful. Their conversation tapered off long ago, until Sam found it too laborious to sit upright and laid back against the blanket they spread out across the sand.

"Hey. Seb. Hey."

"What?"

Sam had rolled over onto his side. His eyes lingered on Sebastian's, something dancing within them, light and carefree as he sighed, "Let's run away. Far away. Together."

For a moment, Sebastian couldn't breathe, and the dull hiss of the waves disappeared, leaving just the two of them together. Illuminated only by the moonlight, ethereal in such a delicate glow, Sam's eyes finally slid blissfully shut. Sebastian's gaze never left him, not once faltering as he fantasized for a long, cruel while what it would be like to run away from Pelican Town, just the two of them, forever lost in the world. Together.

They were still at the outskirts of Zuzu City, music blasting on the speakers overhead, the fifteen-minute timer that Abigail set at the beginning of their break slowly ticking to an end. Abigail was in the crowd, stopped by a couple of city girls who no doubt were spewing praise. A few others from Pelican Town were in their own group, gathered at the foot of the stage, waiting for their break to end. Kent had Vincent seated on his shoulders, starry-eyed and laughing, unbearably excited for his first concert ever.

Sebastian didn't remember how it happened. All he remembered was the way Sam would hold the smoke in his lungs until it hurt, exhaled long and slow until he struggled not to cough, and said with a whimsical little laugh, "Seb. Sebby. You're staring, you know."

Maybe it was the weed. Maybe it was the drinks they had earlier when they finally managed to sneak away from Sam's parents. Maybe it was the high they were riding from the hype of their very first concert. Sebastian didn't know. All he knew was that he said, "It's hard not to stare."

Sam swayed a bit on his feet. He stumbled a little closer, said with another laugh, "At what? Me or the blunt?"

This close together, floating in thick smoke and illuminated under the bright moon, all Sebastian could do was crave. That was how it usually went; they'd be alone, either waiting on Abigail or hanging out when there's nothing better to do, and then the flirting would start, and Sebastian would crave. Always fleeting, playful comments that Sebastian would dwell on more than Sam realized.

Sometimes Sebastian would indulge him, flirt back just as playfully, but it never continued when the drugs faded. The next morning, everything would return to normal, and Sam would continue on with his life as brightly and eagerly as he always had while Sebastian still lingered in the past. It was a vicious cycle, but fuck, even if it did hurt, there was a thrill in the flirting. A rush in his chest, a skipped beat in his heart when Sam would give him that same goofy smile after he'd say something clever back.

"You," Sebastian confessed. "It's hard not to stare at you."

Sam's smile seemed softer, filled with something genuine, and it hurt. Sebastian brought the blunt back up to his lips the second it was passed over to him. He needed to stop thinking. He needed to stop. Everything needed to stop. The rush in his chest, the smoldering crimson on his cheeks, the closeness between them.

He was still in the middle of exhaling a thick lungful of smoke when Sam kissed him. It was clumsy and uncoordinated, but true to Sebastian's pathetic cravings and desires, he didn't pull away.

The air between them was thick with smoke, heavy with their breaths muddled together, enough that it made Sebastian's head spin. If it wasn't for Sam's hands on his hips, he might've fallen over. He pumped a hand over both of their dicks, the sensation sharp and blinding, but he didn't care. He pressed his lips to Sam's neck, sucked a dark bruise onto his pale skin, relished in the strangled moan that it elicited. He knew there'd be evidence, blatant and guilty the next morning, but Sebastian really, really didn't care.

Maybe, if Sam could see, they'd talk about it. Maybe if Sam laid awake the next night, fingers pressed against the bruises on his neck, hissing at the dull pain of the teeth marks near his collarbones, they'd finally talk about it. They'd finally talk about whatever it was going on between them, on and off for years on end, each and every instance adding another nail in Sebastian's coffin. He was scared - absolutely terrified, honestly - of talking about whatever this was, but he knew this couldn't continue.

Sam's hand wrapped over his own and squeezed clumsily enough to make Sebastian's hips stutter and his lips part with a breathless moan. Their lips met once more, moving slow and deliberate and so painfully sweet, and in Sebastian's heart, he knew they couldn't go on like this.

It was one of those rare instances where Abigail wasn't with them. She cancelled their meet up that day to help out around Pierre's - something about an overwhelming amount of seeds that Pierre ordered for the upcoming spring, Sebastian couldn't remember exactly. They were both on Sam's bed, the window behind them open to air out the smoke from Sebastian's cigarette.

"The thing is," Sebastian was saying, "I get clients like that all the time." Sam let out a hum in response to show that he was listening. He idly strummed his guitar, the sounds broken, lonely. "They want their projects done for peanuts. I'm barely asking for minimum wage, Sam, and apparently that's still too expensive."

Sam shrugged. "Give them something you pulled out of your ass. That's what they're paying for, right?"

"I guess, yeah, but I'm new. I need a reputation. And money." He brought the cigarette to his lips, filled his lungs to the brim, exhaled slowly. It was a calming cycle, the only one he knew that truly helped in the end, all things considered. Sam pulled at a few more lonely strings. "I just wanna feel like I'm valued, you know?"

He half expected Sam to punch his shoulder and call him stupid. He half expected Sam to tell him, as he usually did when Abigail was there to team up with, that he was invaluable, irreplaceable, indispensable. Something so ridiculously exaggerated that it'd make Sebastian laugh and forget about the sharp inadequacy he felt for the time being.

Except Sam was different when it was just the two of them. Late at night, when Sebastian's had a cigarette or three and Sam was close to calling it a night, things were different. It was a subtle difference, but a difference nonetheless.

"Well, you're important to me, if that counts."

His words were spoken softly, delicately enough that made Sebastian's stomach flip. Sam worried at his bottom lip, and for one short, agonizing moment, Sebastian thought he had something to say. Something important. Something genuine now that they were alone and he was sober and anything that happened wouldn't go by forgotten.

"I'm hungry," Sam proclaimed as he set his guitar aside. "Come with me. I don't wanna sneak out there by myself."

Something thick and heavy sank in the pit of Sebastian's stomach. "Okay."

Sebastian didn't know why he did this to himself. He didn't know why he let Sam in, or why he returned Sam's urgent kisses just as eagerly, or why he never had the courage to bring it up later. He didn't know why he let himself go on those rare nights together when he knew, later when Sam was sober and he was craving a cigarette, that they'd go on like nothing happened. Sam would be just as friendly, just as outgoing, just as stupid and loud as he always was, as if nothing ever happened, and if their night together was only a dream.

There was a hollow in his chest where his heart was, aching and throbbing with each night they shared, but still, they had yet to talk about it. There were new marks on Sam's neck, placed a little too high for his collar to hide, and there was definitely no way he could ignore them. There was no way he could pretend they never existed. They weren't some dirty little secret, not like the matching bruises Sebastian had on his hips and thighs.

Sebastian gently rolled his hips, testing the waters, his ass hot and full and everything he always yearned for while his chest remained excruciatingly desolate. He moved, shallowly at first, and while the burning pleasure that pooled in his lower abdomen begged him to go faster, he remained patient. There was something so sweet, so devastating in the look that Sam gave him, in the light that danced in his eyes, and for a moment, Sebastian could fool himself and say that it was real. For one cruel moment, he could tell himself that Sam reciprocated the feelings.

Then Sam's fingers dug harder into his hips and he thrust up into Sebastian, rough and unforgiving, and all Sebastian could do was cling on for dear life. It was exquisite, it was divine, it was torture; all he could do was cling to Sam, mewl at each thrust that brushed the sweetest part inside of him, and hope with everything he was that Sam felt the same when he was sober.

Sam looked like he wanted to say something. Even when he was swaying on his feet, higher than a kite and quite possibly on the verge of passing out, he still had that look on his face. Like there was something waiting to burst, something on the tip of his tongue that he yearned to spill, and it killed Sebastian waiting for it to finally come out.

"Sebastian."

He couldn't look Sam in the eye after that. Everything was coming to a head, he knew, and it terrified him. It terrified him almost as badly as it hurt him to wake up alone. He responded with a dull murmur, "What?"

He could hear the breath that Sam sucked in through his teeth. Sebastian finally gave in and looked, and his heart raced at the way Sam's eyes trailed down to his lips, lingered there for one tantalizing moment, then looked back up to hold his gaze once more. Suddenly, his brow furrowed, and he exhaled with a sharp hiss.

"Nothing."

Sebastian hated himself for letting Sam go so easily that time.

Sebastian was the one who left early.

The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon, igniting the sky with a strong shade of pink that slowly smoldered into a vibrant orange. He stood beneath the oak tree near the river, a cigarette balanced between his lips, thin wisps of smoke rising into the air in front of him. There was a delicious ache in his back, a sharp pain in his hips and his inner thighs, and fuck, he knew he couldn't ignore it. He knew that if he stayed any longer, and pretended to be asleep when Sam slipped quietly out of bed, he'd finally break.

Leaves crunched loudly behind him, and shortly after, he heard Sam say, "We . . . really need to talk."

Sebastian exhaled slowly. The smoke curled from his lips, floated and gradually disappeared along with the night as the sun quickly rose over the horizon. He shrugged. "Yeah. We do." He stared at the dwindling cigarette held between his fingers. "But how?"

Sam emerged next to him, brilliant eyes staring blankly into the water, into his rippling reflection. He eventually sighed, "I don't know. Sebastian, I -" He bit his lip, tapped his foot impatiently against the dirt, and eventually hissed, "I don't know, Sebastian. I just -"

"Why?" Sebastian snapped. Despite the hazard, he dropped the cigarette and stomped on it. "Why, huh? Is it because you're sober? Is it because the high's gone and you realized what happened?"

He rarely ever raised his voice, but it was different this time. All of the pain that pent up in his chest festered until it burned a hole right through him, spilling its contents out for Sam to see. And he couldn't stop himself, didn't even bother trying to calm himself while he continued, "I don't know why it took so long to fucking talk, Sam. I don't know why you always pretended that nothing happened. And I thought it was just the weed, you know? I thought you just didn't remember. Then I realized you just didn't give a fuck. What am I - what do I do, then? What . . . ?"

He ended with a frustrated groan. Yoba, he was bad at this. Bad at the emotions, bad at finally letting them out for so long. His heart raced, eyes burned, and he desperately wished that he just brought the entire pack of cigarettes with him. But then he felt Sam's hand on his shoulder, grip reassuring and calamitous all at once, and he took a slow, tremulous breath.

Sam opened his mouth, faltered a bit, then tried again, "It's not that I don't care. I guess I just . . . couldn't do it otherwise. I always think that this is it. That we're friends, and that's it, and what I want doesn't matter if it'll just ruin things, you feel me?" He withdrew his hand with a feeble laugh, "But I guess I kind of fucked that all up, huh? It's not that I never remembered anything. I did. It's not that I don't care about . . . this. But when I'm high as fuck, I just don't care about what happens next, just what I want at the moment." He added delicately, "And it's always . . . you."

Sebastian couldn't look at Sam. Instead, he focused on his reflection, nebulous in the flowing river, obscure enough for him to look directly at and not feel like hiding away. He said quietly, "This entire time, I thought it was just the drugs. That whatever this was, it was because you were too high to remember it, and that was the only way I'd - the only reason we'd ever do anything beyond what . . . friends would do, I guess." He buried his hands in his pockets. They felt so cold, so empty. "And it hurt, man. It really did."

Sam sighed. A heavy, burdensome sound, one that reflected the weight on Sebastian's shoulders. "We're so bad at this, Seb."

Bad was an understatement.

The next time they kissed, it was weeks later in the late afternoon, the two of them lounging in Sam's garage, waiting for Abigail to arrive for practice. Sebastian had yet to light a cigarette, and there wasn't a blunt in sight, and Abigail hadn't planned on smuggling alcohol over for them. Sam had said something ridiculous, and Yoba, he couldn't stop laughing. It felt natural, it felt normal, it felt right. Then the kiss came. Soft and breathtakingly sweet, just a quick peck to his lips in the light-hearted rush of the moment, and Sebastian couldn't keep it together.

Things slowed down immensely. For the first time, their kiss wasn't clumsy and messy, urgent and eager, divine and excruciating all at once - it was perfect. Nothing hurt, nothing festered, and there was nothing left to talk about the next morning.