Attention: I do NOT own Glee (because we would have continuity, god forbid) and take no ownership or copyright.
Rating: M for future scenes and language (but really, it's for the scenes)
It's been two weeks since the encounter with Sebastian at the Lima Bean and both Kurt and Blaine say that they haven't seen him there since. Still, I would have much rather preferred studying for my tests at home but I know that isn't an option—too many distractions. I glance away from my textbook and scan the Lima Bean for what may have been the thousandth time since I got here, looking for a Dalton Academy blazer or brown quiff in the crowd. To my relief, I don't see any but I'm still a bit on edge as I go back to studying Revolutionary America. I am sitting at a table in the corner of the cafe, hopefully away from any wandering eyes that have it out to kill me, relying on the dense crowd of customers to hide me. And besides, it was a Sunday; who spends their weekend at a cafe?
I groan, leaning back in my chair and run my hands through my dark brown (or black) hair. What was I doing here on a Sunday? My earliest test wasn't until Tuesday and even then it was Spanish—who needs to study for Spanish? I should be with my friends at the movies or mall, having a social life that wasn't centered around school or academics. Glee club was the only extracurricular activity that wasn't being used to enhance my college resume but even now, when I think of it, adds variety to my other clubs such as Debate Team, McKinley High Newspaper, Model United Nations, National Honor Society, etc. I grimly think that death would be much easier.
As I start considering closing my textbook and calling my mom to pick me up, I need only to look to my left and remember why I was working myself thin. A stack of newspapers lie neatly on a table next to the cashier register, big bold letters covering the headline. There were only a few left now but in the morning it was on the verge of spilling over. Tiredly, I remember that I want to be a journalist and explore the world to let voices be heard. I imagine myself starting small, working within the city but gradually expanding across the country and then internationally, wherever there was news. McKinley didn't have a good journalism course, nor was the newspaper any good. The petty low-life Jacob Ben Israel is somehow editor-in-chief this year, but next year I plan on replacing him and revising the whole system. But journalism is a hard field, with exceptional bounds to be taken to rise to the top, and most of the best journalists came from the top universities. With a sigh, I sit up in my chair and pick up my pen, ready to jot down notes. Columbia and Yale better be worth it.
I am too concentrated in my study to notice anything around me, the noises blocked out except for the rustle of the pages as I turn them one by one. It isn't until I smell pumpkin among the usual coffee smell that I look up, my eyes strained and tired. Involuntarily, I make a small choking sound and suddenly I need to go the restroom, my mouth unusually dry and the room suddenly too hot. My heart is pounding and I am surprised he can't hear it. Sebastian.
My eyes won't pry away from him, no matter how hard I try, like a deer looking into headlights before it gets run down. I try looking anywhere but his eyes, those eyes that are probably judging me, remembering what happened two weeks ago. God, why did I have come here today, why today of all days? He's smiling with his lips, his strong eyebrows raised in amusement, his uniform—I inwardly groan and curse. He's wearing a fine brown leather jacket that hugs him just right over a white v-neck shirt. I can't help but notice how gorgeous he looks, but only a small part of me. The rest is worried about why he was sitting across the table from me.
He speaks first. "Is this how you always spend a Sunday afternoon? Reading...," he leans in to read my textbook and I instinctively lean back with a jerk, "about U.S. History?" Sebastian smiles.
Quickly, I think what he would possibly want to do with me. Harass me? No, I don't think—hope—so; we're in a crowded cafe, he wouldn't dare. Then maybe he wanted to ask me about Blaine? Or verbally abuse me? I gulp, my stomach tying itself into knots as I mentally prepare myself for the worst. What was he going to say about me, what was he going to point out and make worse? Maybe he just wants to talk, says a part of me.
Doubt it. I stare at Sebastian (or rather, the space above his right ear), trying to keep my voice steady and strong. I don't like him and I want him to leave, he can't stay here. He can't feel as is I'm scared of him or that he can control me. Douche bags can't do that to me. "What do you want," I ask, my voice higher than normal. I grimace at my mistake but hope Sebastian translates this as a slight towards him.
He raises his eyebrows and leans backs in his chair. "That's cold. You're not even going to apologize?"
I stare at him now, about to respond but then at a loss for words. He doesn't look mad, and his eyes don't translate hate. Is he...mocking me? And when does he ever stop smiling?
"It's okay," he says, not waiting for a response. He leans forward, folding his arms onto the table as he stares into my eyes and I have no choice but to look into his. For a moment I try to think of a color for them— green with yellow, hazel? I'm lost for a moment until I forget that I hate him or who he even is. Until, "I liked it." This snaps me back to reality and out of my daze. What?
"What?" I must have looked stupid, my eyes huge, mouth agape and eyebrows knit together in confusion. I said it louder than I meant to.
Sebastian laughs and looks down for a moment and I have a chance to recompose myself. When he looks up, I hope he sees contempt on my face. What's he playing at? I was scared before but now I don't know what to feel: annoyed, relieved, even more scared? "I would never have guessed you were the feisty type. I admit, I was shocked at first, but...," he speaks the next words softly, "it turned me on."
I am equally repulsed and shocked. He's still smiling with his lips, but it's cocky; is he playing me? I can feel heat rise to my cheeks—no one has ever said that to me and I can't help it.
"What's your name," asks Sebastian, leading the conversation after I fail to respond to his earlier remark.
"Vivian," I lie, before I can stop myself. It's my moms name but I'd rather that he not know my real one—I don't want him to find me or talk to me ever again. He gives me the creeps.
"Vivian...," he repeats, smiling with his teeth now, a twinkle in his eyes. "You seem more like an Anne, to me." My heart leaps to my throat—that is my real name. I don't know how he could have known or if it was a lucky guess but I can't let him get to me or reveal my bluff.
"That's nice to know," I say, my face hopefully expressionless.
A few silent seconds pass. "You're not the talkative type, are you?"
"Not with guys like you."
"Hot, sexy, and full of charm?"
"If that's what gets you to sleep at night."
"Among other things."
Before I can retort, he swiftly grabs my cellphone that is lying on the table. I move to grab it out of his hands but he pulls away from the table and stands up. He quickly presses the keys as I jump out of my chair but he turns his back to me as I make to grab it. Before I can walk in front of him, he turns around and we are suddenly too close to each other. I barely come up to his neck and I can hear him breathing softly and count the dark spots on his collar bone. I don't step away immediately, because this feeling of intimacy is too unbearably...wonderful. I rarely get to enjoy such rarities and so what, shame on me for enjoying it with the world's biggest douche bag. Beggars can't be choosers.
I quickly step away and at the same time Sebastian reaches into the pockets of his pants to grab his ringing cellphone. He's still looking at me when presses his thumb on "Decline" and holds it up for me to see. 543-01..."That's my phone number," I tell him accusingly, tilting my head back to stare into his face. He smiles with his lips again and hands me my phone back, which I take roughly from his warm hands. On the screen I see "Sebastian Smythe" added to my contacts. "You have my number, and I have yours," he says. I look back up at him incredulously, my eyebrows knit together. "I'm afraid I can't stay any longer. But we'll keep in touch...Vivian." Before I can say anything, he turns around and walks off, leaving me alone in the corner.
Without thinking, I immediately delete Sebastian from my contacts but as soon as I do, I get a text from an unfamiliar number. "nice try", it reads. Surprised (and grudgingly impressed), I look up but find Sebastian to no avail. The rest of the day, I can still smell his cologne and not help but think of him. What was he up to?
