Title: The High Line
Author: an-alternate-world
Rating: K+
Characters/Pairing: Blaine Anderson, Sebastian Smythe, past Kurt/Blaine
Word Count: 3,969
Summary: High above the streets of New York City, Blaine begins to process the events of the night before and grieve for what he's lost as a result of an unexpected encounter.
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for 6x01.
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with Glee, FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.

He guesses this is what denial feels like.

It's a cold feeling, one which has hollowed out his chest cavity and injected his veins with agony. His legs aren't entirely cooperative as he stumbles blindly through New York, saturating his shoes in the puddles at each street corner. It seems ironic somehow, that the rain falls in such heavy waves when he's only had a smattering of tears streak down his face. Mostly he just aches with the emptiness that exists within him and the downward pressure of loss that weighs on his shoulders.

It's barely nine by the time he makes it to Cooper's apartment in Chelsea but he's grateful that his brother gave him a spare key because he fully intends to hide out in the small apartment overnight and in the morning… In the morning, he isn't sure what he's going to do but right now he doesn't have to face anyone and at some point, when he's told his brother what's happened, he'll thank Cooper for getting an apartment and allowing him to stay here when he needed a place to escape, a place to retreat.

He kicks off his shoes as they begin to leave puddles on the tiled floor of the foyer. He hangs his jacket up, watching the thin stream of water dripping from the sleeves. He should get a towel to soak up the expanding mess but he's too numb, too uncaring, as he peels clothes from his skin and leaves them on a path to the spare room. If Cooper came here, he'd probably think Blaine had been undressed for sex but-

No, he can't even think about such things right now. It hurts too much.

He falls onto the bed in only his boxer-briefs, stripped naked and entirely vulnerable, And still he's too empty to cry, to reconcile the conversation that occurred, to understand that it's actually over.

He guesses this is what denial feels like.

Despite the absence of dinner last night, he's not hungry when the sun peeks through the curtains and pierces his eyelids with brightness. The expanse of nothing in his chest appears to have expanded to his belly and he wonders if he has any internal organs left or they've just contracted into shrivelled husks within him. His torso should feel so full, fit to burst, but instead it's just…empty.

He pulls himself from the bed to dress in dark wash jeans and a black polo, drawing a red cardigan around his shoulders to keep the breeze from kissing his skin with anything colder than his heart. As he steps around his sodden, crumpled clothes from the night before, he thinks he might just throw them all out. They're imprinted with memories he'll never want to remember, the threads infused with a pain he hasn't let himself feel yet. If he ever tries to put on that shirt again, he's going to think, 'This is the shirt I wore when Kurt decided he didn't want to marry me.'

He can't possibly keep clothes under those sorts of circumstances.

He walks west along 23rd Street, passing Chelsea Park where a handful of kids run around on the grass and a dog is chasing a frisbee. He wishes he understood how they all look so carefree - don't they know how his world ended abruptly last night? - and he wonders if he'll ever feel that sort of joy again. It doesn't seem possible that he'll ever smile again, ever dream again, ever hope again.

Courage, he'd once texted Kurt. Courage to live, to breathe, to continue.

He feels like he could crumple into dust and no one would even notice.

He continues past the park until he finds a stairway leading upwards, a stairway that transports him above the New York streets and onto The High Line. It was a place he'd once visited because it was a tourist's place, somewhere to take photos of unusual architecture, to see exceptional graffiti, to step away from the madness below. It was a place he kept coming back to because it made him feel safe, it gave him a space to think and breathe and step up and away for an hour or four. The landmark had been one of his reasons for encouraging Cooper to purchase an apartment in Chelsea when Kurt had pushed him out of the loft months ago. In hindsight, he should have known it was going to end then. He should have seen that if they couldn't live together, then they were never meant to get married. But he'd been naïve, and stupid, and hopeful, and-

Anyway, he'd begged Cooper to buy an apartment they could both share when Cooper travelled across the country and Blaine needed an escape. The High Line was practically on top of Chelsea and right now he was grateful that Cooper had caved to his demands because now he was above the street and leaving some of his self-loathing, his emptiness, on the pavement below.

He wanders vaguely south until he reaches a section with a view of the street in both directions and a concrete bench. The sun is out but it's not very warm, not enough to seep heat into his icy body so he can feel again. The cardigan shields him from the wind that ruffles the loose curls at the nape of his neck but he barely notices the faint scratch of the fabric on his arms. He's a void, incapable of feeling, incapable of seeing, incapable of being.

There are beeps of impatient drivers below, the wail of sirens that seemingly echo through the streets of New York forever. There's a taste to the air of ash somehow and occasionally the breeze brings with it the smell of a food truck somewhere, of burnt oil and roasted peanuts. Cars crisscross the streets, turning left or right, travelling straight, idling by the curb, but Blaine's not sure he takes much of it in. His brain seems to be caught on an endless loop, one where he keeps hearing Kurt giving up on their intended marriage because…because… Honestly, he isn't sure he understands why it's over this time but…it's over. It's actually over.

He guesses this is what anger feels like.

When it hits him that it's over, something white hot and painful burns down his spine and ruptures in his stomach. It oozes pain throughout his belly, creates agonising holes in his lungs, and chokes the air in his throat. He crumples against the concrete bench, face in his hands as tears soak his cheeks and his heart is wrenched from his chest. He has the absurd urge to punch something, to shatter his fingers against concrete or fabric and release the fury that unravels within him. How dare Kurt break up with him? How dare they be unable to talk about things like mature adults? How dare it always be about ultimatums, about 'change this or the wedding is off'? How dare Kurt- How dare he- How dare- How-

"Hey, are you-"

A hand settles on his shoulder, large and warm and it's the first bit of warmth Blaine has felt in eighteen hours. It makes his skin prickle, his neck tingle, his tongue feel too large in his mouth. He draws a ragged breath past his lips in an attempt to suppress the pain, determined to flash an unsteady smile and wave the stranger away.

"Yeah, I'm f-"

The words die on his lips as his eyes meet familiar green. It's impossible to miss the widening of Sebastian's eyes when their gazes meet. The rapid removal of the hand from his shoulder seems to brand his skin with the contact already made.

Sebastian glances to his right, looking decidedly uneasy for a moment as he presses his lips together. Blaine expects him to run, prepares himself for having someone else leave him. It's nothing less than what he deserves. He'd drifted from Sebastian after the proposal, after the way he'd caught Sebastian's eyes staring at him with unmistakable misery and hurt. It was only when Sebastian had met his look, when the other boy had realised he'd unwittingly exposed his heart in a moment of despair, that Blaine had understood he'd sacrificed someone's heart in order to regain someone else's. And by then, it was too late. Kurt was flashing his ring around to the girls, Nick and Jeff and Sam were patting his back…

"Can I sit?" Sebastian asks instead, perhaps surprising both of them as he casts his eyes back to Blaine. His expression is guarded, maybe expecting Blaine to reject him, maybe containing his emotions because it's clear Blaine's are pouring from his pores and the last thing they need is an emotional thunderstorm to crash over their heads.

He shrugs and shifts to the right, offering Sebastian enough of the bench to make himself comfortable as his eyes return to the concrete of The High Line's pathway. For now, the ravaging anger has abated, trapped because of his own propriety and civility around other people.

Sebastian's body sits beside him and he can feel the warmth seeping from the grey hoodie around his broad shoulders. He glances at the other boy who looks pensive as he watches the cars move along Tenth Avenue below.

He sniffles, wiping the sleeve of his cardigan against his face. "I'm sorry, you know," he says, his voice quiet considering the noise of the streets. He can tell Sebastian has heard him though from the way he inclines his head, so he continues before he loses his nerve because it feels as though he has nothing left to lose anymore and time is finite rather than infinite, opportunities are fleeting rather than forever. "I let you…flirt with me because it was nice to be noticed and I…I pretended you didn't really have real feelings for me because it was just… Kurt was always so threatened by you and I never understood-"

Sebastian offers a sad sort of smile as his fingertips brushes against Blaine's knee. "He was threatened because he didn't trust you not to be interested," he says, sounding wiser than he had in high school. Blaine wonders what he's doing in New York, what he's studying, where he's studying. "I guess I always hoped you would realise that if it was nice to be noticed, you'd question why he never gave that feeling to you."

It takes Blaine a few moments to muddle through Sebastian's confession before the words take his breath away. Sebastian was right. Why hadn't he realised it sooner? Sebastian's innuendos alternated between making him laugh and blush, while Kurt fumbled his way through offering appreciation. Or, worse, Kurt put his nose in the air while he spewed words that were callous and dismissive of the fears Blaine tried to pretend weren't there.

Sebastian had paid him attention and he'd liked it, whereas Kurt made him shift around uneasily because he was never sure what might come next.

God, he was so damn stupid.

He guesses this is what depression feels like.

"It's over," he admits, feeling the ball of pain tumble through him again. The words are out there now. What happened last night actually occurred. It wasn't a dream. It wasn't like the countless nightmares he'd had where Kurt had left him at the altar, or he'd forgotten his vows, or he'd spilled something on his suit. It was real. The wedding was off.

"I'm glad," Sebastian says, surprising him with how casual the other boy sounds. And he's glad? Blaine needs sympathy, Blaine needs to know that someone cares that he's- "You deserve to be happy, Blaine. Did he ever make you happy?"

The longer Sebastian scrutinises his outraged reaction to the emotionless dismissal of his engagement, the faster Blaine begins to analyse Sebastian's words. Had Kurt ever made him happy?

He's sure there was a time, back when they'd first started dating, when kissing someone had been new and exciting and there'd always been a thrill in his stomach when they'd held hands. He's sure he'd been happy when they'd finally had sex, when Kurt had accepted his proposal, when he'd moved in with Kurt in New York, when-

But some of the happiness is sullied by the memories of feeling as though he'd had sex with Kurt because Kurt was finally ready and rejecting him would cause problems so Blaine had conceded because otherwise they might never get a chance. Afterwards, when Kurt had pulled his clothes on, Blaine had tried to understand why he felt used and it had created a rift between them he's not sure ever really healed. He remembers his uncertainty after the proposal, especially when he'd caught the look on Sebastian's face afterwards, when he'd begun wondering if he'd actually made the right choice. He remembers Kurt throwing him out of the loft because they couldn't live together and the feelings of absolute loss and devastation as he'd walked through New York without a clear destination in mind. He remembers Kurt begging him to go to a dance he wasn't comfortable with attending because it would make Kurt happy and all he ever wanted was Kurt to be happy. He remembers Kurt demanding he transfer to a public school despite how unsafe he felt, despite how much his parents had protested, despite how hard The Warblers had tried to hold on.

He doesn't want to feel as though he was in a relationship that never made him happy. Relationships were about sacrifices, right? Enough give and take and compromises to make sure everything was fair and everyone was satisfied…right?

"You made me happy," he says, looking uncertainly at Sebastian. He remembers how light Sebastian had made him feel, the breathless giggles he'd huffed while texting early into the morning or the smiles he'd had when talking on the phone until he fell asleep. Knowing Sebastian had sprinkled some of his darkest times with constellations of light.

"That wasn't what I asked," Sebastian points out, but Blaine can see in Sebastian's expression that he understands - that maybe he's right, maybe Kurt didn't make him happy, but Blaine's not able to say it. His wounds are still gaping and he's not masochistic enough to rub salt in them himself.

They sit in silence for a while. It's tinged with an edge of discomfort, of awkwardness, of tension, that seems to simmer below their feet but not stretch as far as the pavement of the street below. Blaine wants to ask Sebastian so many things but mostly he's filled with millions of questions to ask himself. Sebastian's few, but astute, sentences have left him with fresh perspective to deconstruct his relationship and whether it was as quality as he'd once thought, as enduring as he'd once dreamed and hoped.

He guesses this is what bargaining feels like.

There's something strange about sitting beside Sebastian but not speaking. Usually the other boy has a stream of quick comments sitting prepared on the tip of his tongue, ready and willing to fill any dull moment. Usually Blaine has some song to discuss, or some TV show to complain about, or some gossip to share. There's rarely been a chance to simply sit, to reflect on their contrasting, contradictory lives and observe how they've moved in conflicting orbits for years. Or perhaps Sebastian has spent years doing that already and Blaine is only now catching up.

He leans into Sebastian's body uncertainly, feeling the way his flesh flattens to accommodate for Sebastian's arm pressing against his own. He can feel his cheeks warming as he grasps Sebastian's wrist and drapes the arm around his shoulders. It's bold, but he needs to feel the security of someone right now.

It's impossible not to miss the stiffness in Sebastian's torso as Blaine tucks into the taller boy's side. He almost begins to doubt himself, fearing that he should have asked first, worrying that Sebastian actually wants nothing to do with him but once they'd recognised each other, he'd been compelled to stop and keep Blaine company. He should never have-

Sebastian sighs and some of the tension bleeds from his arm as he lowers his hand to rest on the edge of Blaine's shoulder, his cheek tilting against the tousled curls on top of Blaine's head. "I'm sorry I waited," Sebastian says and Blaine isn't foolish enough to misconstrue the words. As much as he'd like to think it's Sebastian acknowledging the pain he's in right now, he knows it's much more than that. It might be the closest Sebastian can get to expressing the feelings he'd had in high school, concealed through lazy grins and confident winks and allowing Blaine to remain ignorant to the good thing right in front of his face.

He allows Sebastian's arm to lay across his shoulders for at least an hour, soaking in the safety and protection it offers. At times he wonders why Sebastian was walking The High Line this morning and if he had somewhere to be, someone to see. He feels guilty for stealing Sebastian's time, selfishly taking all that the other boy was willing to give and using Sebastian to his advantage. Maybe when it doesn't feel as though his heart has been dragged from his chest he'll make it up to Sebastian somehow, with a cup or ten of coffee infused with shots of Courvoisier.

He can't help wondering if there will ever be a chance to salvage what he had with Kurt. He's not sure he could ever go back to what they were, but Kurt had been a friend first and they have a lot of friends in common. He doesn't want to have to fight over Rachel's friendship with Kurt, or Sam, or Santana, or Brittany. He doesn't want their friends to divide themselves into Kurt-supporters or Blaine-supporters which ultimately hurts everyone. He's just…not sure how to go about doing it. How do you fix something when you aren't even sure how broken it is? Relationships started and ended in the New Directions all the time, and things hadn't fallen apart. He and Kurt wouldn't divide the alumni either, right?

Eventually Sebastian stifles a soft groan of pain and lowers his arm and Blaine realises that it's probably gone numb, or at the very least the muscles are cramping. He pulls away from Sebastian so the other boy doesn't have to feel bad about breaking the embrace, even though Blaine immediately feels the chill return to his heart when he lacks Sebastian's care.

"Are you going to be okay?" Sebastian asks. He looks uncertainly at Blaine, as if he'll somehow disintegrate into pieces a level above the ground and get swept away, down an avenue of Chelsea or West Greenwich.

He can't honestly answer Sebastian's question though, so he shrugs and stares at his feet. He'll be okay, at some point. Which might be in the very distant future. He doesn't know how he's meant to get over this. He doesn't even know which friend he should call to talk about it. Rachel's busy with the pilot of her show, Sam might be helping support Kurt, as might Mercedes. He hasn't really spoken much to Nick or Jeff since they'd started college. His life had become wrapped up in Kurt and now… Now he's not sure what he has left.

Sebastian's fingers curve around his cheek, the fingertips cradling his jaw to raise his face until the other boy can see his eyes. He wants to avert them, wants to avoid Sebastian's stare seeing all the way into his soul, but he's powerless beneath the way Sebastian watches him and he's sure he sees a hint of sorrow in the green depths. Is Sebastian sad that Blaine's upset? Or because he witnessed the proposal and it cut him to the core?

"You deserve to be happy, Blaine," Sebastian repeats, leaning forward to press a light kiss to Blaine's forehead that almost certainly singes his skin with an imprint of Sebastian's lips. The back of his neck tingles, his stomach flips over, and he shouldn't be reacting like this at all when his fiancé just broke up with him.

The heat of Sebastian's hand filters through the cracks in Blaine's armour and gradually warms a chamber of his heart again, that leaps and whirrs back into life and reminds him how to feel. He can feel a bubble of pain building in his chest as Sebastian watches him carefully, as if searching for something Blaine lost long ago and now finds unfathomable.

Sebastian's thumb brushes against the damp that lingers on his cheeks before it falls away, before he rises on legs that stretch forever and leaves Blaine feeling like an insect in a forest - small and easy to squash. There's something in Sebastian's expression, something in the way his mouth parts as he hesitates on the words, that makes Blaine's eyebrows crinkle.

"What?" he demands, his self-consciousness rising exponentially when Sebastian looks so uncomfortable he almost appears shy.

"If you need a friend, you can call me," Sebastian offers and Blaine stares at him, utterly dumbfounded, as the other boy manages a nervous smile and takes a step back. "You don't have to hurt alone."

Blaine wants to chase after Sebastian like the dog with the frisbee at Chelsea Park. He wants to latch onto Sebastian's leg like the children and cling to him like he has all the answers. He wants to press his face into Sebastian's chest and beg him never to let go. He wants to drag Sebastian back to Cooper's apartment and lose himself in safety and warmth with someone that's always cared, even if he's had an odd way of showing it.

Instead, he watches Sebastian turn and walk north towards the train interchange, towards the garment district, until his tall, loping form disappears from sight.

Blaine can't pretend he's not still in pain, because he is and, he suspects, he might be for a very long time. But Sebastian's extension of an olive branch is…tempting, and humbling, and desperately needed, and he thinks he'd be a fool not to take it as a reminder that he can have friends, that he can have people who care about him, that he can smile again.

His relationship with Kurt might be over but his life isn't. He can rise above this, rise higher than even The High Line, until he's handling life with a grin not a grimace.

He guesses this is what acceptance feels like.

~FIN~