and now my heart stumbles onto things i don't know

by civillove

After a year or so of not speaking to one another since the slushie incident, Blaine picks up the phone when Sebastian calls him late at night. (more notes inside)

and now my heart stumbles onto things i don't know

Seblaine; small little thingy inspired with a quote from the movie 50/50.

Summary: After a year or so of not speaking to one another since the slushie incident, Blaine picks up the phone when Sebastian calls him late at night.

Notes: Senior year; Blaine is with Kurt (well, sort of. Kurt is in New York and you know, it's all canon one-sided Blaine Anderson loves Kurt and Kurt loves scarves). And that's all you need to know. | Words: 6,654

Sometimes he thinks about him, late at night, tucked under the covers as he stares at his ceiling.

He doesn't mean to, of course, but Sebastian has always had this way of popping up when he least expects it or wants him to.

He can't sleep, the storm outside is loud on his roof, rain pelting the window as shadows of tree branches skitter above him on the off-white paint. It reminds him of long fingers ghosting over piano keys. He can recall the bright green of the other's eyes, a hint of yellow around the pupil, even though the color has faded in his memory from time. If he closes his eyes, focuses on the drips of water rolling down his windows like tear tracks on cheeks, if he listens to what sounds like pebbles dancing across the gutter outside and echoing in his ears, he can hear hints of his voice. What it sounds like when Sebastian had flirted with him; which was often, a slight smirk to the ends of his words, insincerity wrapped around verbs and nouns, his smooth tone kissing syllables.

He can't remember the last time he actually spoke to him, through text or through phone call, but he can still hear him. When he's tucked under the covers like this, listening to the rain. He thinks of nights spent with his phone pressed between his ear and his pillow, can hear the way Sebastian used to sound when he laughed, it echoes against his eardrum, the noise coming up from the other's throat. He can hear the way Sebastian used to sound right before falling asleep, distant and soft, stripped free of insecurities, barriers and sarcasm. It's warm sounding, almost, it's raw, it's real;

Blaine sometimes hears him saying his name in that voice right before he falls asleep. He hates it. He hates that it happens.

But more than that; he hates the fact that he hates it.

Because he never used to. Not really.

Not at all.

One of the things Blaine thinks he misses the most is that he and Sebastian used to talk about everything. Anything that came to mind. It didn't matter if it was structured; it didn't matter if it was four in the morning, because there was always an endless list of topics and Sebastian told him he liked to talk about anything. Blaine discovered after a while that Sebastian just liked to hear the shorter talk…but he never told him he knew that. He likes the fact that they used to talk about everything; that they talked for hours about how to make crepes, the fact that Pittsburgh has more bridges than Venice, the fact that neither of them really understood why New York was called the big apple, or random painters that used dot work to bleed into their canvases. Anything, everything, how the world should be and could be but never was. They weren't limited to discussions about Broadway or Vogue, or things that used to excite Blaine but now make his mind wander to those bright green eyes and the things that they've seen.

He hates that he has to pretend like those conversations never happened, that they don't sometimes keep him up at night, that he doesn't miss the smoothness of his voice vibrating against his eardrum or the small smiles that used to tug at the ends of his mouth at sexual innuendos that occur as easy as breathing. He hates that he remembers the number flawlessly, like it's etched into his skin, drilled into his pores so he'll never forget it.

He hates that his fingers twitch sometimes because he wants to punch it into his cell phone and keep it stored in the memory card.

Blaine hates that it's an almost forbidden thought to even think about texting Sebastian, or calling him, because it never used to be. Because they used to be friends.

Sometimes he thinks they used to be more.

It's not so much that a choice had been discussed but implied, resting in Kurt's solemn eyes and the small period of time he's decided that he might have actually hated Sebastian—even though his eye was fine and what had happened hadn't even been meant for him. He doesn't realize he's not making decisions for himself until he's making out with Kurt one night and Sebastian is calling and he doesn't reach for the phone, or call him back, or pick up any of the other times he tries to contact him.

It's not until Sebastian stops messaging him, stops calling him, that Blaine really realizes what he's done. It's not until he's lying in bed staring up at the ceiling some nights that he contemplates the rift he caused between them; that was never there and never needed to be there. That he let Kurt decide for him on a friendship he hadn't wanted to get rid of, that he lets Kurt decide for him on a lot things—because he wants him to be happy but he doesn't realize that he ends up sacrificing his own happiness for it.

He doesn't know when it started happening or how he's supposed to stop—he's always been that sort of people pleaser, always wanting to make the other person happy even if he loses himself in the process and doesn't realize it.

Thunder crackles when his phone starts to vibrate on his bedside table and he almost doesn't answer it, almost lets it ring right off his nightstand, but hesitant fingers slide across his sheets until he blindly answers the phone without looking at the caller ID to see who it is.

He already knows.

He's quiet, listens to the breathing, the rain through the other the end of the phone which doesn't quite sync with the downpour outside his window. He hears car horns and unspoken words that make it through the lines to kiss the lobe of his ear.

"You picked up."

It's three words but it says so much, so much that it nearly renders Blaine speechless. His voice is smooth, etched with aches of the body and a tiredness that is beyond his age, dipped with a certain sex appeal from the night at a bar and paralyzed with something that sounds a lot like hope.

He's missed that voice, hates to admit it. Doesn't want to. Knows he doesn't have to say it out loud for it to be obvious anyways.

"What do you want?" He asks, his voice muffled by the rain outside, by the pillow cupping his face, by the uncertainty of his decision to pick up the phone.

"I didn't actually think you'd pick up." He's drunk; his syllables are doused with alcohol, long and drawn out, which is something that should be obvious to Blaine because Sebastian never calls him sober anymore.

"Are you walking outside?" He doesn't know what else to say; he shouldn't have picked up, he knows that, he can almost feel Kurt's glare from his mind's eye.

Silence, rain hitting against pavement, a huff of air leaving the other's nose. "I can't find my car."

Blaine frowns, sits up in bed and glances at the clock before running his fingers through his curls. "You sound wasted, Sebastian. You can't honestly be thinking about driving home."

"You know one thing I'll never understand?" He asks. Blaine swallows, stills, holds his breath. "Why in the world would you call a place Scandals when there is nothing scandalous about a guy cross dressed like Queen Latifah blowing someone behind their car." He laughs, the sound deep and hollow in his ear—that's not what Sebastian was going to say, it's in the air particles around his laugh, settling with an ache around Blaine's heart.

He's not sure whether he's more relieved or disappointed that something about a cross dresser giving a blowjob comes out instead of what was intended.

Blaine sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut because he knows he's going to regret this. But he does it anyways. He crawls out of bed and pulls jeans on over his boxers, fingers a navy blue Dalton hoodie before tugging it over his head and slipping his shoes on.

"So you're in the parking lot?" He asks as he walks downstairs as quietly as he can as to not disrupt his parents who are sleeping, walks through the dark of his house through memory.

That's how he feels talking to Sebastian right now; it's been so long since he's spoken to him that they haven't fallen into their usual rapport. Its dark, the space between them, and he's only got the memories of previous conversations with the taller to guide him. He grabs his keys from a hook near the kitchen door and eases into the garage to get into the car.

Blaine hasn't heard from him on the other end of the line and if it wasn't for the continuous thunder and rain echoing back to him he might have thought the call was dropped. "You don't have to come get me." Sebastian finally grumbles.

He rolls his eyes; so difficult. "Sebastian, you're not driving home. Just tell me where you are."

"I can't even remember which car I drove here." He snorted. "Sebastian Smythe problems."

Blaine's hands tighten on the wheel even though his stomach flutters at the giggles coming out of Sebastian's mouth at his apparent attempt at cracking a joke.

"You're going to be the coroner's problem if you don't tell me where you are." Blaine hisses, getting more and more frustrated by the second.

He guesses he could just drive to Scandals and look for him wandering around the parking lot but he wants to get this done, take the other home quick and make it back to his own room, with a less amount of chance that his parents realize he was even gone. Though, the more and more he sits there, he knows that his parents would actually have no problem with learning that he had gone out in the middle of the night to go pick up a friend and take him home to prevent him from trying to drive home drunk. In fact, they might even find it commendable. He knows that the longer he sits there, waiting for Sebastian to formulate words, is the more he thinks about Kurt.

And how he shouldn't have been doing this.

"I didn't call so you could drive me home."

He bites down on his tongue when an urge to ask why in fact he had called him surfaces in the back of his throat. "I don't care, you called me. I'm not letting you drive home wasted. Tell me where you are." There's a moment, thunder crackles, Sebastian says something about the curls in his hair.

"Do you know how many teen related deaths are linked to drunk driving?" Blaine finally asks, starting to feel exasperated. Maybe driving around the parking lot and looking for him is better than sitting here.

"No. But I'm sure you're going to tell me—"

"Two hundred and eleven just last year. I—" I don't want you to be one of them. Is that really so hard to say? "Sebastian, you can't just…get into the back of some random guy's car and let him drive you home and you're not driving home yourself wasted ten ways from Sunday so just tell me where you are."

Another stretch of silence, Blaine takes a deep breath from losing the wind in his lungs from what felt like a desperate argument to have Sebastian just admit his location.

Then he hears it, in-between another round of thunder booming outside and shaking the ground. A smirk.

"Alright Killer, you don't have to throw statistics at me. If you wanted to see me so bad…all you had to do was say so."

He groans and drives his upper teeth into his lower lip to prevent himself from saying something he might regret.

He's forgotten how much of a pain in the ass Sebastian can be. And how much he sort of likes it.

0o0o0o0o

By the time he pulls up in front of Scandals the rain has backed off a little; it's still coming down in sheets but the thunder has stopped and so has most of the lightening that reminds him of some sort of apocalyptic movie. There's little crackles across the sky, little flashes of white and light purple, probably heat lightening more than anything else and the dense humidity in the air prompts him to turn the air on in the car.

It also reminds him of one of the first times he went to Scandals. The lack of air in that bar had been stifling; the smell of mixed colognes, sweat and alcohol still clogged his senses when he brought up the memory. His stomach tightens as he recalls their bodies pressed together, the feel of Sebastian's skin brushing carefully over his, the movement and waves of their limbs reacting to the beats of the music, the heat and heaviness of his stomach, the flutter behind his ribcage. All if it comes rushing back, all at once, a wall of a emotion slamming into him with the force of an explosion as he sees Sebastian where the taller said he would be—in front of the club, on a bench under a small awning.

Blaine gets out of his car, trying to rush over to where Sebastian is sitting without getting wet but failing miserably. He is just as gorgeous as the last time he saw him—seated in the Lima Bean with sad eyes and lines drawn on his face named guilt and concern. The rock salt hidden in cold shards of ice and red dye hadn't been meant for him, so he heard, but that didn't mean the surgery was any less his fault. Didn't change that the slushie had been meant for his boyfriend.

Just give me a chance.

He hadn't thought he deserved one so he let Sebastian slip through his fingers, Kurt backing up how he felt with supportive hands on his shoulders and cutting words about the taller echoing against his eardrum. He doesn't regret his decision until he's standing face to face with him again, until Sebastian looks up at him with a slow smile because—because they both look exactly the same to one another, like lost souls recognizing one another even though time has changed and so have they.

He doesn't realize that he should have just given him that chance because he asked for it. That forgiveness is not always given to someone because they deserve it but because they need it—so they don't end up making the same, stupid mistakes all over again.

His hair is a bit longer than he remembers, it's wet and weighted down from being stuck in the rain looking for a car that he doesn't even recall what it looks like. His hair shades his bright green eyes that Blaine still remembers lighting up the first time they meet; the interest and intrigue and attraction mirroring his own hazel ones.

Blaine bites back to urge to run his fingers through the untamed locks that Sebastian struggles to smooth away from his eyes.

"I didn't think you'd actually show up." He doesn't sound as drunk as he had before; like the raw wind and rain has sobered him up a little. He's tipsy but he's not joking about blowjobs behind cars anymore either.

"You called me." Blaine states, moving to wrap his arm around Sebastian's waist to help him up off the bench. A noise escapes his throat as the taller's body tilts into him and he almost loses his balance with the added weight but then gains his footing back.

"I called you a bunch of times before….and you never picked up. What made this time so different?" He asked, playing with the hood of Blaine's sweatshirt like he's never seen one before. He drapes his arm over the his shoulders and hums. "Did you confuse 'Sebastian' with…'Kurtastian?'". He scrunches his nose.

Blaine almost laughs but doesn't. "Maybe I just missed you." It slips out before can stop it but Sebastian misses it, or doesn't quite catch on, or doesn't believe him at any rate.

His fingers wind their way through a few of his curls before lifting his hood up to cover his head. "Wouldn't want that gel factory on your head to leak into the fabric of your clothes." Sebastian teases, tugging on the hood for emphasis.

He huffs and swats the material down, glances at his car and starts to move with Sebastian wrapped around him. He grunts at the added weight and tries to walk as balanced as he can with the other stumbling next to him and dragging his feet.

"I don't even use that much…gel." He sighs as they reach the passenger door and he fumbles with the handle before managing to get it open.

The rain is still coming down, soaking them both, but Sebastian doesn't seem to care because he's fixated with Blaine's curls and isn't helping the shorter manipulate his body into the car. His limbs are so long…and he totally doesn't think about Sebastian's legs and arms wrapped around his body in a different way.

"No, it's different." Blaine isn't sure whether Sebastian is still talking about his hair or not. "You never used to wear so much gel. It's like…it's like you were afraid of what someone might think of you at that…public school." He says the word 'public' like something is rotten.

Blaine rolls his eyes and manages to get Sebastian inside the car, careful that he doesn't bump his head on the way in. He crawls into the back with him and shuts the car door forcefully; shivering as he notices he's soaked to the bone and still has to get Sebastian's seatbelt on.

"My hair had nothing to do with McKinley." He says quietly, not sure why he's holding up this conversation when Sebastian won't remember it in the morning. Or even the next five minutes.

"Or maybe you were just worried about one person's opinion. The only opinion that in the long run doesn't even matter."

Blaine looks at Sebastian, turns his head, its dark in the car but there's light shining on them from the posts outside and the soft rose glow of Scandals' sign on the front of the building. "Sebastian." He warns and says nothing else, reaches over to put his seatbelt on.

The clicking sound is deafening in the silence, joining the pitter patter of rain pelting the shell of the car outside. He swallows and listens to Sebastian's breathing, his scent is suddenly magnified from the rain soaking them—his cologne and skin and hints of cigarette smoke and cheap liquor are suddenly filling the car and his senses, seeping into his pores where he can't scratch them out.

"Why are you here?" Sebastian asks, after a few long moments of sitting next to one another. The parking lot is vacant of people, just cars parked and throbbing music from inside the bar, flickering street lamps and blinking building signs.

He's cold, he can tell because their bodies are so close to one another that he can feel him shaking. Can see the goosebumps rise on that pale skin of his, can see him draw his lower lip into his mouth to keep it from trembling.

"Because you called."

"I called a bunch of times."

He wishes he had something to wrap around Sebastian, because his shaking is distracting…and it's also making this warmth pull at something behind his muscles, concern for a boy that shouldn't be there clouding his eyes.

"I was…I was angry at you." He states and isn't surprised when Sebastian chuckles softly, because it doesn't sound exactly honest to him either.

"No you weren't," Sebastian looks over at him and shakes his head. There's no doubt there, not at all, and maybe…maybe that's what Blaine can be angry about. The fact that he just knows him so well in the short amount of time they had spent talking to one another. "And that's the problem, isn't it." He swallows, plays with the bottom of his shirt and looks away.

There are drops of rain water dripping from the spikes of his hair that he couldn't comb back into place.

"You should have been." Sebastian whispers. "But you weren't."

Blaine isn't sure whether the cold and the rain has sobered Sebastian up, because he's sure he's not supposed to be making quite so much sense. He tilts his head and lifts his hand to run his fingers through Sebastian's hair, smiling softly as the other nuzzles his face into his palm like some sort of cat seeking attention. No, he's still tipsy, murmurs something about his curls again and how they were probably soft enough to sleep on. The alcohol is just helping Sebastian connect the dots and understand what's already there all the more clearly, like putting the two of them underneath some sort of magnifying glass at the bottom of a tequila bottle.

"Maybe I'm angry at you now." Blaine insists but there's a small smile that he knows Sebastian can see even in the dim light of the car.

Sebastian smirks and pulls his head back from Blaine's palm, plays with the seatbelt strapped against his chest. He doesn't say anything because he knows it's not true and he doesn't understand why he would even pretend to be in the first place.

After a long few more minutes of silence, Blaine realizes that he should probably get out of the car and get into the driver's seat to head home. They're just parked at the front of Scandals as rain pounds against the hood and thumps into his eardrums. But he doesn't want to get out and get even more soaked all over again, it's cozy for some reason right where he is, Sebastian's body radiating heat through the dense dampness of his clothes right next to him. He supposes he could crawl into the front seat by slipping over the middle consol but…he doesn't think the taller exactly deserves a clear view of his ass right now.

"Does Kurt know you're here?"

Blaine looks down at Sebastian and cards his fingers through his curls, some excess rain water dripping down the sides of his face and seeping into the material of his sweatshirt hood.

"It's the middle of the night Sebastian, was I supposed to call him to inform him I was picking up my drunken ex-friend to take him home?"

The answer seems a bit harsh to his own ears and he can tell that's not the response the other was looking for when a soft frown pulls down the edges of his mouth, lines appearing dark and deep on his forehead, his chin dipping as he looks at his hands on his lap.

"The short answer is no."

Blaine says to break the silence; he's never been able to appreciate the quiet that ever sets between them. He likes hearing Sebastian talk, likes hearing him breathe, knows that a simple few moments of silence between them can stretch into not speaking to one another for a long time.

Sebastian shifts in his seat, turns his body to angle it at Blaine, to really look at him—and suddenly Blaine feels like he's under scrutiny, a lightening bug stuck in a bottle with no holes drilled into the top of the lid.

"The less complicated answer is no."

Blaine frowns. "Sort of wise sounding considering you tried to crawl into a whiskey bottle tonight."

He's not sure whether he's trying to tease him or disbar what he's saying but he's suddenly very uncomfortable and decides it might be time for him to muddle through the sheets of rain outside to get in the front seat to take Sebastian home.

"Was I supposed to turn down free Jack and Cokes from admirers?" He grins at him and Blaine hates how it sends something hot and thick sliding down from his throat to brush against his sternum, drop into his stomach and dip lower, a coiling heat he's only used to at home in bed and under the covers—hands and thoughts wandering.

"You're supposed to have a boyfriend to clean up your messes and come take you home when you're drunk." He spats; he's angry now. He's angry because he's ashamed that after all this time a simple look or smile from the taller can affect Blaine so easily like they've never spent time falling apart.

Sebastian hums, the tip of his tongue holding some secret conversation that floats in the air and vibrates against Blaine's eardrums regardless that he hasn't said anything. Why have a boyfriend when I can easily get you to do the same thing with a phone call?

"I had a boyfriend once," Sebastian says, the words surprising Blaine more than they should.

It shouldn't be so out of reach to consider that the boy next to him was taken once; his frustrating but for some reason alluring personality, those bright green eyes that remind him of leaves dancing in the wind against the sun, those long limbs, legs for miles and arms perfect for wrapping around your midsection to pull you close, that godforsaken smirk that makes you want to tug his lower lip into your mouth to suck on it or bite down with your teeth—

not that Blaine's thought about it, or anything.

But Sebastian is also self-destructive. He can be crude and selfish; he can do anything for something he wants, his ambition gets him into trouble, his need to win and be first and be the best. He's not build for the best relationship, he's not compatible with someone who's kind and puts other's first and leaves his bed in the middle of the night to pick up a drunken ex-friend just because he calls.

So it's just a little bit disconcerting to learn that Sebastian once had a boyfriend when he doesn't seem like the type to continue anything past a night at Scandals.

"When I lived in France," The taller continues. Blaine can feel the air around them, thick like cotton, hugging their forms. He can tell Sebastian has never told anyone this before even though he's omitting specific details and just dispelling general information. "He wasn't a good one though and we weren't together for very long."

Blaine didn't need to ask to piece together why it probably hadn't worked out between the two; images of some random boy he'd cooked up in his mind mixed with Sebastian, long limbs intertwined in sheets, liquor bottles opened and drained, the promise of something more but never following through on both ends.

"You never told me you had a boyfriend." It's whispered when he doesn't mean for it to be but he's just…surprised and, for some reason, hurt that Sebastian had never told him something like that before.

All the hours they had spent talking to one another, scheduling skype chats and video calls, phone calls and text messages, coffee dates and that one awful time at Breadstix where Sebastian did nothing but complain about how the breadsticks had chipped his tooth. Never, not once was the topic of Sebastian's relationships ever brought up. Nothing other than his bragging rights about being the most eligible cock tease at Scandals.

"And you're never going to tell Kurt you picked me up and drove me home tonight." Sebastian looks over at him and shrugs his shoulder. "Some things are just better left unstated."

Blaine swallows, not sure what to say (ironically), but he really understands the statement that's fallen out of Sebastian's mouth no matter how much he doesn't want to identify with it. Their whole relationship is based on unspoken words between them. Even from the very first moment that they met—

Your voice gave me chills, are you a freshman?

The first part something he never said but thought loudly, the words spinning against the taste buds on the tip of his tongue but not leaving past his lips. He understands that, connects with it in a way he shouldn't.

He has to get to the front seat, has to drive Sebastian home to start making his way towards his house again…because the longer he sits in the back next to his ex-friend the less guilty he feels. And he knows how backwards that all is. And he knows that even though they've reconnected for a short amount of time they're on the same wavelength again—because no matter how many times Blaine tries to say Sebastian means nothing to him there's always been a part of Sebastian that seems to know him better than anyone else does.

Blaine sighs and sits up; moving to make sure that the seatbelt is tight around Sebastian's waist and snug against his chest before giving him a small smile. "We should get you home before you catch a chill."

He hesitates a moment as he leans back; his sweatshirt might be damp on the outside but it's warm against his chest. He's always tended to buy his sweatshirts bigger than his frame, to feel the material wrap around him like someone's arms. It would fit Sebastian if he took it off and worked it onto the other's body. Blaine trails his teeth over his lower lip and then throws caution to the wind, starting to lift the fabric over his head—he was already out here picking up a boy he wasn't supposed to be talking to ever again, giving him a sweatshirt so he wasn't distracting him with his shivering was the least of his problems.

"What are you doing?" Sebastian asks, watching Blaine take his sweatshirt off before the soft 'click' of his seatbelt being undone echoes in the car.

"Put this on."

"You're short." Is all he says, eyeing the hoodie like it might grow a few inches to fit him.

Blaine huffs and tugs Sebastian up from his position against the back seat, their bodies almost colliding as he works to pull the sweatshirt over his head and maneuver his arms through the sleeves.

"You'll be no use to the Scandals population if you get pneumonia." He teases, licking his lips in concentration as he tugs the band down over Sebastian's chest and torso. He rubs at his nose with the back of his wrist, his skin prickling with goosebumps at the air smoothing against his once warmed skin.

Sebastian swallows, looks down at the sweatshirt before his cheeks blotch pink. "I wish you were my boyfriend."

Blaine's eyes snap up to light green ones as something unhitches in his chest, falls free, like a leaf losing its grip from a branch and hitting the grass. He doesn't know what it is, or if he needs it. If he'll miss it if he can't get that something back. He's pretty sure it's his ability to form words that's fallen away from him because for a moment he can't gather enough of them to form a reply.

He tugs on the sweatshirt hugging Sebastian's form tightly, it is too short for his waist and barely goes to his belly button but the sleeves are long enough to cover his wrists and the tips of his thumbs.

He clears his throat, unsure. "Boyfriends can be nice." It sounds so stupid coming out of his mouth but words aren't forming like they're supposed to. "You just…had a bad one."

"I bet you'd be a good one." Sebastian says, without hesitation, his voice breaking in his throat and tumbling to a place where he can't reach.

His heart hammers in his chest and with the rain slowly dying outside and the silence suddenly surrounding them in the car he's pretty sure Sebastian has to hear it, the pounds like fists against the wall of his heart shuddering against his sternum and rib cage, muscle and bone. He's not sure who leans in first, whether it's Sebastian or both of them at the same time but suddenly their lips are brushing—it's soft and barely tangible, warm in a way he can't describe but knows it fills his entire body up. He briefly thinks about Kurt and how he shouldn't be doing this but then assures himself that the other is millions of miles away and falling in love with someone named Adam. That their allusion of a relationship has been crumbling in front of his eyes and that he's been trying to pick up the pieces with tweezers and glue them back together.

Blaine tries to convince himself that the light press of their lips together is some form of a thank you to Sebastian's words, that he's touched, and that he should probably stop associating gratitude with kissing someone because that's bound to get him into trouble one day. Or right now.

They pull apart with a light and wet smacking noise, lips brushing as they breathe against one another.

"I'm sorry." Blaine stammers even though the last thing Sebastian looks like is offended.

Sebastian lifts his hand and cups the other's jaw, fingers testing out how patient the shorter is as they trace the lines on his face, the shadows from the lights and the moon outside. Blaine doesn't move, closes his eyes as the familiar scent of Sebastian washes over him again, seeps into his pores where he doesn't want to be bothered with trying to claw it out or forget it. The warmth of his palm is something more familiar than it should be, seeing as how they've never touched one another like this before. His fingers touch his face, like a brush mapping textured paint out onto a blank canvas, and the most surprising part is that Blaine lets him do it. He wonders if he's still drunk or tipsy or whether that really matters much anymore.

He notices Sebastian replies to his comment before with another kiss, this one deeper, rougher, more raw and primal. His fingers dig into the skin of his face a little, only to pull him closer—and Blaine lets him, tilts his head to lean into the kiss, moves his body for easier access to the other's mouth. He sighs into it, it's the kind of kiss that he's sure he's never felt before, not even when his lips meet Kurt's—someone he's told himself numerous times is his soul mate. He wants to crawl inside Sebastian's skin, and vice versa, he wants to breathe in his blood and be smothered. He wants to blend together until there's no dissimilarity or borders.

Until they fit.

"I should…I should really get you home." He says as he pulls back and has no idea how long they've been really sitting there, in the parking lot of Scandals, in the back seat of his car but he knows that it's only getting later and later.

Blaine is embarrassed, anyone with eyes can see that—he's stumbling over himself trying to get out of the car and he's blushing so hard that he probably resembles a stop sign, cheeks hot enough to set something on fire. He restarts his car when he gets into the driver's seat, hands shaking and hair misted with the light rain darkening the pavement and filling puddles outside.

"And we should…probably talk about what just happened—" He glances back at Sebastian and finds him falling asleep, his head leaning against the window. "Or not." He finishes, the octave of his voice retreating into a whisper.

He sighs and turns back around to put his seatbelt on, clicking it into place before he starts to drive out of the parking lot.

It's going to be a pain in the ass to get him inside, up the stairs and into bed. Typical. But he figures, at least, it's a shining theme between them. Sebastian being a pain in his ass and Blaine's inability to completely remove him from his life.

O0o0o0o

Blaine wakes up to the sound of his phone vibrating, it's loud and insistent in his ear, a text message that wants to be read and won't silence itself until it is. He groans and turns on his side, blindly reaching for his phone and squints at the screen as the brightness of it hurts his eyes.

He licks his lips as he realizes it's a text from Sebastian, the number appearing nameless because he still hasn't transferred him back into his phone. He wonders if Sebastian kept his number after all this time, if he never deleted him from his phone or the numbers are just burned into his memory as much as the taller's are burned into Blaine's.

To: Blaine 9:46 AM
Thanks for last night.

To: Blaine 9:48 AM
According to my call log and the fact that I didn't wake up to a strange, yet attractive, male in my bed means that you must have picked me up to take me home.

His heart rams against his ribcage at the fact that Sebastian must not remember last night other than the fact that he called him to safely transport him from one place to the other. He's not sure what that means, whether he should bring it up or not or just let it go.

His fingers move across his screen, deciding for him.

To: Sebastian (he's added him to his address book where he should have stayed in the first place) 9:50AM
No problem.

He wonders if he should say something else but he can't think of anything. Nothing seems significant. But then he remembers him and Sebastian used to talk about everything and anything.

To: Sebastian 9:53 AM
Couldn't let Queen Latifah take you home.

The text back is almost instant.

To: Blaine 9:54 AM
I'm more of a Ginger from Gilligan's Island guy, anyways ;)

He can't help it, he laughs, a sound that echoes in his ear like the thunder from last night. A warmth in his chest spreads to every particle of his body, like he's releasing something he's kept pent up inside of him for months.

Blaine takes a minute to compose himself before he types out another text, shifting their conversation. But it needs to be said, needs to be documented, needs Sebastian to know that he wants to start over.

To: Sebastian 10:00 AM
I want us to be friends.

He waits, minutes pass but nothing. He's just getting out of bed when his phone buzzes.

To: Blaine 10:06 AM
I don't think friends are supposed to kiss like that, B ;)

Blaine's mouth falls open as he nearly trips on his sheets, shaking his head because of course, of course Sebastian actually remembers last night. There's this ache in his chest at the simple letter at the end of Sebastian's text message, an ache that encompasses longing and guilt and how much he's actually missed him but never admitted it to himself. He doesn't know what this is or what it meant but the prospect of them finding out together is enthralling—tugs at a place in his chest that he can't touch or name.

To: Sebastian 10:08 AM
I missed you too, Sebastian.

He doesn't get a text back but he doesn't need one, unspoken words always present in their relationship connecting them miles away from one another like fingers interlacing.

Blaine is getting ready to get into the shower when he glances outside of his bedroom window, sun pressing against the clouds in an attempt to break free and skitter across the water drops accumulated on every surface. The rain has finally stopped.

0o0o0o0

The quote I used from 50 /50 that inspired this little ficlet is this, if you didn't already know:

"I wish you were my boyfriend"
"Boyfriends can be nice….you just had a bad one"
"I bet you'd be a good one"