Hi, Beta/co-author here! So I apologize for keeping Annie from updating, but real life has just gotten so hectic these past few months and I haven't been able to write anything besides essay after essay for weeks. Thank you so much for your patience and I hope you like what we created—I really do. (:

Annie here, I'm sorry too I haven't been around either lately but I just wanted to thank you all for your replies and follows, they make me smile every time I read them! Thank you for keep up with this even if it's such a long time between the updates.

Also since I haven't been here since last year I wish you a very late good year. I hope it has started the way you all expected, with new dreams and full of energy to make them real, if it haven't happened yet don't worry you still have eleven and a half months to turn things around :)

Sebastian grumbled and climbed into the passenger seat, barely closing the door before Emmy pulled away from the curb in front of Sebastian's apartment. It was obvious she was still mad at him, remaining passive since their last fight a week ago. Talking to him through Kurt, clarifying that she wasn't going to forgive Sebastian any time soon without a real apology. He didn't do anything wrong, he simply pointed out an error she made and she got mad. He had nothing to apologize for and would rather wait for her to forget about waiting for an apology.

They're headed to a last minute meeting with the gallery owners, and normally Emmy would take care of these things, but insisted Sebastian come with to 'keep up appearances' or whatever. And given that neither of them were willing to speak first, they both sat in (what was uncomfortable for Sebastian) silence for half an hour.

Emmy ran two changing yellow lights only to slam her breaks on the next one, knocking the wind out of Sebastian's lungs as he lurched forward. "I'd appreciate to be alive at the end of the day, just so you know," he said, rubbing his shoulder where the seat-belt caught. "So could you just drive like a normal person."

"I'm not talking to you, and pray for that otherwise you'd be dead by the end of the day whether you're in or out of my car," Emmy replied, flooring the gas pedal as soon as the light turned green.

"First of all, you're talking so your point is futile. Second of all, don't you think it would be helpful if you just stop ignoring me for two seconds to tell me why the owners are having this meeting?"

He didn't know what else he was expecting but the woman next to him keeping quiet as she drove on. "Emmanuelle," he sighed. "I don't care if you don't want to forgive me, but your silence is pointless. You know just as well as I do that you have to tell me what we're going to be talking about at this meeting. It's your job too."

"It doesn't concern you, so just smile and look pretty," she said gripping her steering wheel, "And keep your mouth shut."

He raised an eyebrow, "Ma chere, you seem to forget, I'm the artist, I'm positive this concerns me."

Emmy stayed silent for another minute before she huffed, scowl still playing on the corner of her mouth. "You have a shared showroom with Alex. The owners want to know if your works can co-mingle or if they have to be on opposite sides of the room. They want to check on you and him just to know if everything is on track, maybe discuss the approach and theme you two have taken for the expose."

His brow furrowed, "And you didn't bother to inform me beforehand?"

"Would you have come if I'd told you that before I picked you up?"

"No," he scoffed matter-of-fact-ly.

"I've made my point," she smiled smugly.

She was right. If she had told him earlier, he probably would have called up the owners himself and told them he was sick, in bed, maybe with food poisoning. Sounds like the perfect excuse. But no, Emmy just has to know Sebastian, know how his mind works and play his habits to her advantage. Fuck, she's good.

Sebastian sank back in his seat. There was nothing he could say about his work, not at this stage in the process. Once he got home, he would have to lock himself in his work shop until he finished at least half of his supposed gallery or became mad from the paint fumes.

He must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing Sebastian sees is Emmy's palm as it comes in contact with the cheek she didn't hit yet.

"If you were even remotely concerned about this meeting, you could have at least had the ability to stay awake," she said quietly. "Now, act like you were classy and pretend you didn't just wake up. I'm going to act like I don't hate you."

"Why are you whispering?" he asked, rubbing his throbbing face.

"Just get out of the car."

He did what he was told and stared up at the white warehouse in front of him. He had seen pictures of the inside before: high ceilings, hanging lights and blank walls he has to fill with barely-started, vaguely described art. Woot.

His lipped curled in distaste as Emmy looped her arm through his and pulled him toward the door. She threw on her professional face, smiling with just a stretch of her lips and walking with confidence. And Sebastian, at least, was breathing. He deserves a fucking gold star.

"They aren't going to strangle you," Emmy whispered, pulling the door open, "So relax."

The vastness of the inside was worse in person. The ceilings seemed taller and the walls seemed to stretch on for miles and miles. Just standing there, he felt so small.

"'Bastian, you're paler than Kurt. Just relax, if they ask you something, lie. You're good at that."

"I'm just thinking what the name of my law firm would be. How about 'The My-Life-Is-A-Chronicle-Of-Failures Law Offices of Sebastian Smythe'?" He said cheekily.

She pulled him along, toward three figures standing at the far corner of the room. The owners, Sebastian notes. Gus in his early forties and his daughter Amilié. Both alike in stature, features and personality. The last person was the other artist, Alex. Just by the looks of him, Sebastian wanted to punch his face.

He wore an outfit so bizarre, Kurt would have called it 'uniquely cliche'. This guy wasn't even trying with his green beret, turquoise and mauve stripped palazzo pants. Sebastian could say the man tried fraying from the stereotypical 'French Artist' look, eyeing Alex's smock/poncho/whatever wrapped around his torso.

"'Bastian," Emmy murmured in his ear as they closed in near the others, "Behave."

"I'm a perfect angel, Emmanuelle, I have the slightest idea why you would remind me to behave," Sebastian smirked.

Emmy rolled her eyes before turning to the owners, "Amilié, Gus. Nice to see you again." She reached out to shake their hands eagerly.

"Bonjour, Emmy," Amilié greeted, turning to Sebastian, "Sebastian, un plasir de voir."

"Ravi de vous voir aussi," he replied earnestly, taking her hand in both of his and giving a slight shake.

"Bastian let me introduce you." Gus chimed in, with a heavy accent. "This is Alex."

Sebastian mustered all his willpower not to laugh in the other guy's face as he reached out to shake his hand with more energy than needed, "Pleasure."

The gallery was enormous and where they were standing in is only the main showroom, Amilié said. There were also eight smaller rooms that were being renovated and wouldn't be available for the Nuit Blanche. "But don't worry boys, this entire room right here is at both of yours' disposal." She assured them with a smile, gesturing to the empty space. "Hopefully it'll be enough. If not, Papa and I'll just have to set up something outside."

Sebastian wanted to run, shout or fade, maybe all three at the same time. The room was more than enough space. Way more. "Calm the fuck down," he heard Emmy say under her breath as she anchored him to her side.

Thankfully, he did after the brief tour of the showroom. Apparently, every up-and-coming contemporary artist of the new-age 21st century has had a showcase here since it opened up. Each artist hand-selected by Gus and his daughter themselves. Sebastian thought the man was bullshitting a little too much, trying to appeal to them, but he really couldn't care less. As long as they didn't ask him for information about his work he was perfectly fine if the man wanted to ramble on for hours on end about how he had "practically discovered all the art in France" by himself.

"Alright I think it's time for us to listen to you two talk for a change. I hope you have great news for us," Gus chuckled, directing them to a back office.

It didn't sound like a gag, but Sebastian laughed along because breaking down and crying seemed inappropriate and stupid.

The office was dressed more as a conference room, a long wood table in the center with six chairs around it. An assistant was placing coffee cups in front of each seat.

"We thought you may need a little coffee after all the talking we did. Please, seat yourself." Gus waved the assistant away.

"Merci, it's helpful after a chilling morning like today's," Alex said, emptying container after container of half and half into his cup. "I can't tolerate the cold too much and I'd rather be in Hawaii or California these few months but duty calls," he smiles before sipping his coffee.

"So so so so sorry I'm late. I got stuck in traffic," another person rambled as they practically tumbled into the office. Whoever he was, he was greeted warmly by the owners as Amilié gestured to the assistant to help the man with his papers, saying something along the lines of, 'better late than never'.

Sebastian eyed the guy. He was small, big eyes emphasized by large black frames and blonde hair covered by a fedora (really? A fedora?). Still, his beige suit was better than the catastrophe Alex was donning. Kurt would have called him cute.

"You must be Emmy and Sebastian, right?" he pointed at them before holding out his hand eagerly. "I'm Chandler Keihl."

Sebastian shook his head slightly and was subtly nudged away by Emmy so she could take his hand. "Great to finally meet you."

Apparently, Chandler (disappointingly not Matthew Perry) was Alex's Emmy, his manager/publicist/something along those lines. Sebastian had an instant dislike for the guy. It might have been his naivety or maybe just his face, but he didn't like him.

"Glad I didn't miss the entire meeting. Here I have Alex's papers and a few photos I took last week so you could have a sneak peek of his work so far," Chandler laid out what was basically the contents of a portfolio on the table and beamed, "Alex and I are very excited."

Sebastian and Emmy looked at each other. "Lovely," he drawled sarcastically.

"Shut up," she mouthed. For the first time since they've been there, Emmy looked just as nervous and worried as Sebastian as she handed Sebastian's signed contract to Amilié without any picture whatsoever.

"Those watercolors," Gus exclaimed, taking one of the photos in his hand, "Alex you just know how to use them." He showed it to his daughter and pointed toward the bottom. "The reflection in the water there is unbelievable. Excellent. Great job."

Well fuck him sideways with a broomstick.

Three cups of coffees, a pile of lies and a few inappropriate comments later, the meeting was finally over. But much to Sebastian's dismay, the day wasn't over yet.

"I'm going to kill you, softly." Emmy muttered when they were both buckling into her car.

"Just be glad I saved our assess with that excuse about 'keeping it secret because it's too beautiful that grainy photos do no justice to the real thing'," Sebastian retorted, bracing himself as she started the car.

"Oui, but now you actually have to make beautiful art work."

"Hey! I've got something."

"No, you have sketchbooks and blank canvases."

He huffed, "Look, the owners were very pleased and looking forward to my work. Amilié even said she'd buy a piece when the gallery opens!"

"Of course she'd buy a piece. She has a crush on you! I'm not worried about her. If you doodled on a napkin you wiped your mouth on and framed it, she would love it."

"You make it sound like she's a stalker with good taste," he said crossing his arms. "And even if she is, I should be the one freaking out not you."

"But you aren't which leaves me to freak out for you." She stopped the car at the next red light and turned to Sebastian, "Bas, I know this is hard for you. I know you haven't had this kind of pressure or exposure before, and I know it sucks that you have a block. But please, please, understand that this is hard for me too. Both of our careers are on the line if you screw up—"

"Eh, not really helping the 'no pressure' thing," he grimaced.

"Sebastian, you frustrate me, yes, but there isn't a day that I don't regret when I first found you. You have talent, Sebastian, I didn't put everything on the line for this if I didn't know you could do it."

The light shifted green and she turned back to drive again, "I have faith in you. I know what you're capable of, even if you don't know it yet."

"Everyone keeps telling me that," he says quietly. "'You can do it, I know you can', 'you don't know how amazing you are do you?'. I'm not. I can't. If I could, I wouldn't be half-assing my way through this. I'd have everything done, waiting for me to pin up on those pristine walls."

"You're a natural. You have a style that can't be taught in schools and you know it. Where's that cocky, egotistical boy who didn't give a damn about what anyone else thought of him?"

"He got hit upside the head by reality."

"Is that why you started smoking again?"

Sebastian shrugged and looked down at his hands. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw two cigarettes sitting in the cup holder of the center console. "Aha," he said plucking one up, "Who's going to cough up black lungs now?"

"Those aren't mine," Emmy said, smacking his hand out of her face. "Kurt gave me those this morning so I can reward you for the 'excellent job you did at your meeting'. But, alas, he's not the one who decides whether or not you've been good."

"Oh, Emmy. So funny, thinking you can tell me what to do," he found a lighter in the glove compartment and lit one up, rolling down the window. He breathed in the familiar smoke and let his head fall back against the seat. Even from all the packs Kurt had stolen, he still was able to pick which ones were Sebastian's favorite. This one wasn't so heavy on the nicotine, focusing more on the sweet vanilla infused into the cigarette.

By the time they reached Sebastian's apartment, Emmy seemed to be calmer, probably from the relief that the meeting was over. Sebastian, however, did not share the same sentiments. She dropped him off, but didn't stay, saying she had important things to do.

As he walked in and tossed his keys in the bowl, he noticed Kurt staring at him from behind their kitchen island. He shuffled closer, not breaking eye-contact with his roommate and pulled him in for a kiss.

It wasn't sweet or tentative. It was hungrier—angrier, possibly. For the first time since that night, Sebastian reciprocated Kurt's motions, sliding his tongue inside Kurt's waiting mouth, tasting chocolate lingering on his palate. Relief flooded Sebastian's whole being as he kept kissing Kurt. Feeling Kurt as Sebastian pressed him into the counter. It all felt like coming home.

He smiled against the other boy's lips.

"You taste like a washing ashtray. Next time you do that, eat a fucking tic tac before," Kurt said, trying to sound angry but doing a horrible job when the corners of his lips curled into a smile.

"My cigarettes were cool as Vanilla Ice. My favorite."

"So I've noticed. Did everything work out?"

"No," he thought about it, "Yeah, no. Definitely no. And I don't know what you did to my cigarettes, but they aren't working much either."

"So you're more taken to my kisses instead of cigarettes," Kurt said smugly. "I call that progress."

"Uh, no," Sebastian stepped back and sat down on the island stool. "I didn't say that."

"Well you implied—"

"Hey Seb, what's up?" The blonde walked in from their hallway.

Fuck.

Sebastian faltered for a bit before conjuring up his best 'I-don't-give-a-fuck' demeanor, "Nothing much, Pey. Just waiting to die like everybody else." He tried to keep his mind off the fact that he just kissed Kurt whose boyfriend was just down the hall.

Peyton picked up a plate from the island and dropped it into the sink, turning back to face the other two boys and suck something off the pad of his thumb. That explains the chocolate Sebastian tasted straight out of Kurt's mouth.

He reverted his eyes to anywhere but Kurt or Peyton.

The blonde laughed, "Always the pessimist, huh, Sebastian?"

"You know how artists get. They think they have to be tortured souls in order to be good artists."

"I am a good artist," Sebastian said confidently, sitting up straighter and looking at Kurt.

Kurt hummed, raising his eyebrows and sharing a knowing look toward Peyton.

"Like you haven't had a few freak outs before," he challenged.

"I haven't."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Runway show. March 14th. If that's not a melt down—"

"Final Thesis for college."

"That article you wrote for Sophie about feathers in fashion."

"The first time your father actually went to your school's showcase."

Sebastian leaned back and conceded. "Okay."

"That's—wow. You two really have been friends for a long time," Peyton said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah, we have."

Peyton clapped his hands together, "Well, Kurt and I were just about to grab some coffee. Would you like to come?"

"Actually, sweetie," Kurt intervened, "After your sweet gift, I'm actually craving something salty. How about lunch?"

The chocolate. From Peyton. Yeah, no.

"I'd love to, but I'd rather not impose on your," he gestured to the two of them, "monogamous, romantic lunch."

Peyton just smiled, "Oh, c'mon Sebastian. It's fine. Is feel like I haven't really gotten to know you."

Sebastian just shook his head and stood, heading up to his studio, "I've got some work to do. A lot, actually. We can play buddy-buddy later." He retreated, ignoring Kurt's protests and shut himself in his studio, sighing and plopping into his chair.