A/N: AU assumes that Kurt and Sebastian are both the same grade. There will be three chapters total. The first two are rated teen, the last mature. Mention of Blaine, but no Klaine. No Blaine wank.
Nobody catches the subtle movement of Kurt's eyes as he peeks over the edge of his notebook. It gives him a headache, moving his eyes back and forth so quickly, but that's how he captures his subjects without them knowing – with precisely timed darts of his observant blue eyes. The worn notebook that he uses to sketch in is almost filled, and this particular drawing has actually been done, and done-over, a hundred times, but he always finds himself adding more to it – a shadow here, a different arch to the eyebrows, a more accurate curl to the lips.
He taps the barbell piercing in his tongue against his teeth as he concentrates, not quite happy with the way he's drawn the nose, but he doesn't want to erase it again.
He might as well start the whole drawing over in that case, and he doesn't have a single piece of blank paper left.
Maybe he'll do it when he buys a new notebook after school.
He's just about finished, almost done with the shading beneath the nose, when the subject of his sketch looks up. Kurt hides his eyes, finishing the rest from memory, but when he looks up again, the green-eyed boy he has been sneaking glances at is still staring, his eyebrow raised in Kurt's direction. Kurt makes a mental note that the peak of his eyebrow isn't quite as sharp as he's rendered it, and to make changes later.
"What are you staring at, Hummel?" Sebastian barks, sitting up straight in his seat. From behind stacks of books, the librarian hisses at him to be quiet.
"Not a good Goddamned thing, Smythe," Kurt snaps back, shutting his notebook. He's about to shove the book into his messenger bag when it suddenly slips from his fingers. He looks around, trying to find where he dropped, but he hears a sarcastic, "Well, well, well, what have we here?" and knows immediately where it went.
"Hand it over, Smythe," Kurt growls, leaping to his feet and nearly tackling Sebastian to get his notebook back. But Sebastian is about an inch taller than Kurt even with Kurt wearing his thick-soled Doc Marten boots, so Sebastian easily holds it out of Kurt's reach.
"Nah," Sebastian says. "I see you bent over this thing all the time, but I also catch you looking at me, so I have a suspicion that something in here might have something to do with me."
"You must be one hell of an egotist if you think European History has anything to do with you!" Kurt snarls, making a leap to grab the notebook. He lands hard on his heels, holding a fistful of air.
"Yeah, well, I don't think they had coffee shops in 18th century Europe," Sebastian gloats, turning to a random page and showing it to Kurt.
"How do you know?" Kurt asks. "Were you there?"
Sebastian rolls his eyes at Kurt's lame retort and turns to another page.
"Nice one of hobbit boy," Sebastian comments on a sketch of Blaine, singing with the Warblers gathered around him - including himself, Sebastian notices. "And by the way, my hair isn't quite that high in the front."
"I don't know. Have you taken a good look at it? Or does the fog of hairspray you use obscure your view of the mirror?" Kurt gives up at getting his notebook back, praying Sebastian gets bored with it soon before he finds anything else.
It's at that moment that Sebastian starts flipping through the pages in earnest, his smug smile turning into a bizarre half-smirk/scowl.
"What the fu- these are all of me!" Sebastian says, looking through the book, feeling heat rise up his neck as he sees sketch after sketch of himself. "You fucking creeper!"
"Language!" the librarian scolds again, but Sebastian ignores her.
"Don't flatter yourself too much, Neanderthal," Kurt gripes. "You've got a huge head. Massive forehead. It makes you easy to draw."
Kurt makes a final effort to get the book back, reaching out an anxious hand to snatch it, but Sebastian turns his back to Kurt, examining the pictures more carefully.
He finds a sketch of himself on the lacrosse field. Something about it is … fascinating, for lack of a better term. Sebastian examines the details of his uniform – the individual stitches of the patch on his shoulder, the tears in the tape on his lacrosse stick, a cut on his lip with a bit of dried blood at the corner. The shadows made by the wrinkles on his sleeve tell Sebastian exactly what time of day this is. The despondent look on his face as he gazes across the field is not just for dramatic effect. It feels familiar. Sebastian knows this – he remembers this day. It was their first at-home meet against the Winchester Wildcats, right after Sebastian became team captain. They lost that meet, and in an adolescent way, Sebastian had felt devastated, his pride phenomenally bruised. Looking at the way Kurt has drawn the features of his face - the distant look in his eyes, the tight line of his mouth, the starting of a bruise beneath his eye where an opposing team member had checked him – Sebastian can almost feel the disappointment blossom inside him again.
Or dredge back up, since the feeling never actually faded away. He kept it, held on to it, and uses it as inspiration to ensure that his team never loses again.
"Sure," Sebastian jeers, but weakly, "draw me after the one game we lost." Though, to himself, Sebastian has to admit that it was a good choice, since of all the games Dalton has played and won – even championship games – this is the one he remembers the clearest.
It's the one that made the greatest impact on him.
The sketch after that is of Sebastian doodling in his Calculus book during class. He's bent over it, shielding the picture (which, if he remembers correctly, was of Blaine Anderson in a sheer camisole and rumba panties) from the eyes of the teacher passing by, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth, his brow furrowed in concentration. On either side, Jeff and Wes peek over his arm – Wes with a judgmental frown but laughing eyes, and Jeff with his hand clamped over his mouth to keep from chortling out loud. Sebastian can almost hear Jeff's signature snort, and Wes's constant chide of, "Mature, Smythe. Real mature."
But it's the last picture in the book that takes Sebastian's breath away. It shouldn't, but it does. It's an original sketch of Kurt and Sebastian together. It's set in winter, and outside, it's snowing. Sebastian is dressed in the slate blue cable-knit sweater he got for Christmas the year prior from his senile grandmother. Even though the sketch is black and white, Sebastian knows exactly what sweater it is from the negative-stitched trim along the shoulders, and the way the cowl collar never curled right (because Sebastian idiotically washed it on permanent press instead of delicate like the instructions said). Kurt has on a leather jacket, one with spikes on the shoulders that he wears when 'formal dress' is required; and the only pair of black jeans he owns that don't have any rips in them. His hair is styled up and away from his face, and his jewelry is toned down a bit – plain hoops and balls instead of that plasticky spider and skull costume jewelry crap he shoplifts from Claire's.
The two of them are standing beneath a sprig of mistletoe … and they're kissing.
Actually, not kissing. It's the second before the kiss – with Sebastian leaning close to Kurt, his eyes focused on Kurt's lips. Kurt is biting his lower lip between his teeth, a half-smile curling the corner of his mouth. This picture looks more developed than the others, as if Kurt spent the most time on it; tiny details (like the star tattoo behind Kurt's ear and the freckles on Sebastian's forehead) sharper, more defined. The snow in the background gives off the illusion of cold so perfectly.
This whole picture breathes, and inside it, Kurt is holding his breath.
Looking at this picture feels like reading a diary entry, something Kurt jotted down for himself that he never intended anyone else to see.
"Kurt …" Sebastian swallows down the bitter taste of regret caused by the fact that, by looking at these pictures without Kurt's permission, he's done something cruel.
He's invaded Kurt's privacy.
And he's amazed by the fact that, for some reason, he actually cares.
"Kurt," Sebastian repeats when he gets no reply from the violet-haired boy fuming behind him, "these are amaz-"
Sebastian turns to the seat where Kurt was sitting, but he and his things are gone.