Title: A Synchronicity Of Opposites
Author: an-alternate-world
Rating: T
Characters/Pairing: Hunter Clarington/Sebastian Smythe
Word Count: 1,897
Summary: A collection of Huntbastian drabbles prompted via Tumblr.
Warnings/Spoilers: None in particular for this drabble.
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with Glee, FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.
Anonymous prompted a fic which included the sentence: "I thought you were dead."
At first, he thinks it's his imagination. He squints through the crowd, almost wishing he had his glasses available, but he's fairly sure he recognises that particular brunette head of hair and the arch of his neck when he throws his head back to laugh.
At first, he debates not approaching. He stares down at his menu like it will have all the answers but he's lost interest in the options available when he keeps looking up, again and again, his heart and stomach rising and falling each time he convinces himself it is and then when he refuses to believe it's possible.
When the waitress comes over to take his order, he admits he hasn't even looked yet and she flashes him a smile and says she'll come back in a little while. He's not sure it will help but he gives her an agreeable nod.
His eyes rarely stray from the back of the other male's head, urging him to turn around, and maybe he feels the weight of his stare because then he does, and it is him. He'd recognise the slope of his nose, the thin lips, the freckles on his cheek and the line of three on his neck that he used to spend hours tracing with his tongue.
It doesn't seem to matter that it was more than a decade ago.
Their eyes meet for the briefest of seconds before he looks down, examining his menu with far more attention than before. He's not sure he's taking much in but it gives him the ruse that he's doing something, that he has a purpose for being here rather than just casually stalking, and he's fairly-
The chair opposite him scrapes across the ground and he flinches, drawing backwards to meet the calm stare of green eyes. He's not sure how anyone could be calm in this situation but-
"I thought you were dead," Sebastian says, hands folding into his lap as he reclines casually and even after a decade, Hunter knows the other man - because that what he is now, a man not a boy - is carefully choosing his words to inflict the maximum amount of pain. "I figured after you left, after you stopped returning my calls and texts, after the emails bounced back, after your Facebook disappeared, you had to have died. It was the only explanation I had for why you abandoned me."
He has a feeling Sebastian has held onto that for the past twelve years but he knows it's only fair. His hands knot against the table to disguise their shaking and when the waitress approaches again, she spies Sebastian, frowns, looks at where Sebastian had been sitting, and catches Hunter's eye. He gives her a small shake of his head and she nods and continues onto someone else's table.
"My father-" Hunter swallows and lowers his eyes, trying to figure out how to frame his excuses in the least lamest way possible. "He was already mad enough when I was kicked out. Then he got the phone bill. He traced your number and discovered it was a boy and- He took a hammer to my phone in front of me. He figured I'd have other ways of contacting you so he placed my laptop in front of the wheel of his car and drove over it, repeatedly, until all that was left was just bits of plastic." His inhalation is shaky, the words of the menu beneath his hands blurring with tears, but he attempts to persevere. "He threatened me, Seb. And when he sensed that I held little regard for my life at that point, he threatened you. I- I couldn't-"
A tear drips onto the laminated table beneath him and he scrubs a hand across his face, reining in his emotions before they run away from him. Sebastian might have spent more than a decade hating him, assuming he'd died, but Hunter had spent more than a decade hating himself for what had happened. There were ghosts and demons in his closet alongside the skeletons that he didn't want to deal with.
"And you never tried to get word to any of the Warblers? You never tried to track me down when you invariably left that asshole?" Sebastian demands and Hunter struggles not to crumble into dust. He's not a thirty-year-old man sitting at a table anymore. He's a shadow of the eighteen-year-old boy with a violent military man roaring his disapproval in front of him.
"I couldn't risk placing you in danger," Hunter whispers, threading his hands through his hair and struggling to breathe through the anxiety that unravels inside his chest. Even after he'd gone to college, left home and never looked back, stopped talking to his father once he turned twenty-one and came into his grandfather's inheritance, he'd been too scared to try to find Sebastian. He didn't trust that a decade of estrangement would lessen the threat on Sebastian's life. He was too paranoid that his father had spies everywhere.
The chair opposite him scrapes again and his heart squeezes so tightly that he thinks it might just stop beating. Sebastian's gone. Sebastian's lef-
Arms circle around him, looping through the V of his arms as his hands hold his head, Sebastian's hands curling around his biceps, Sebastian's chin resting against his shoulder. It's something so painfully familiar that it almost spurs on more crying.
"Don't have a panic attack in a restaurant, Hunt," Sebastian breathes against his ear and he narrowly avoids choking on a laugh, using Sebastian's hold to ground him like he used to do when it got so overwhelming at school.
When some of his trembling stops, Sebastian encourages him out of his seat, throwing some bills on the table - for his own meal or the lack of one Hunter had eaten, he's not sure - and guides him from the restaurant. They spill onto the street and Sebastian's hand closes around his own, an anchor against the crazy lunch hour, an anchor against the crazy flurry of thoughts.
Sebastian walks a couple of blocks until they're skirting Central Park, leading him down a path until there's some semblance of privacy and they find a bench. He sits beside Sebastian and the space, the fresh air, the lack of anyone else around gawking at him, allows him to catch his breath and some of the tears to stop flowing down his cheeks. Sebastian doesn't move, his face impassive as he stares at trees just starting to feel the chill of winter and change colour.
"I never stopped thinking about you," he admits, looking down at their conjoined hands. Sebastian doesn't have a ring on but that doesn't mean he isn't in a relationship. "I always wondered where you went, who you ended up with, if you were happy."
Sebastian smiles, but it's pained around the edges of his eyes, and Hunter suspects there are more stories than he'll ever be able to hear. He's been absent more than a decade. He doesn't expect to be granted a second chance.
"I've never been the relationship type," Sebastian says but Hunter knows that's not true. He remembers being the only one Sebastian slept with for several months. He remembers being the only one Sebastian went to when he was upset. He remembers being the only one Sebastian would stay the night with. They were all elements of a relationship. An unconventional one, perhaps, but a relationship nonetheless.
"Do you think we could...try to build a friendship?" he says, peering at Sebastian and trying to gauge whether putting himself out there is a mistake. It didn't matter how many people Hunter had beneath him over the years, he'd never forgotten Sebastian.
Sebastian turns to look at him, something uncertain flickering through his eyes. "Is your father dead?"
"No." Hunter presses his lips together when he sees Sebastian's concern sparkle in his green eyes. "I haven't spoken to him since I was twenty-one though."
Sebastian releases a slow breath, his gaze calculating. "So you've had nine years where you could have reached out to me?"
"Seb," he murmurs, a warning, a plea, because he's broken and vulnerable and he doesn't know what it is about this man that reduces him to someone capable of having feelings. His father had always tried to free him from those shackles. Perhaps that was why he'd hated military school so much.
Sebastian's free hand reaches up to his cheek, cradling his jaw, tracing his cheekbone. It's muscle memory that his eyes flutter at the warmth that such a touch instills in his bones. He watches Sebastian through lidded eyes, the fascination that shimmers in the other male's expression, the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips unconsciously. He knows what Sebastian is thinking, knows what he's sorting through in his mind, because he's seen it all before so he waits, as patiently as he can, until Sebastian's fingers stop drifting over his face and simply still.
His eyes drift open and Sebastian hesitates until Hunter leans in, stopping half an inch from touching his mouth. He'd heard Sebastian's inhale, felt the grip of his fingers shift, and there are only so many times he can put himself out there before Sebastian has to meet him halfway. That's how their relationship had worked before, a constant sort of give and take that oscillated between dynamics of uncertainty and confidence.
He watches Sebastian's eyelids lower and licks his lips, unsurprised a second later when tentative lips brush against his own. It's slow, Hunter's mouth parting Sebastian's, Sebastian's tongue sliding against his, but the kiss is underscored by a decade of lost opportunities, of missing and longing, of hope, of misery and fear, of desperation. His breathing stops and starts multiple times as he coaxes the passion from Sebastian's kiss, forgetting their location when Sebastian straddles his lap and both his hands press into Hunter's neck. His own fingers catch against Sebastian's waist, bunching into his shirt, holding him close, as his anxiety from the past decade melts into lust.
It's Sebastian who pulls away, but Hunter suspects he looks just as dazed when they stare at each other. The trees of the park catch his eye and he feels somewhat embarrassed that someone might have walked past and witnessed their pretty heated exchange.
"Friends," Sebastian agrees, kissing him again, chastely, briefly, as his fingers scrape up into Hunter's hair. "I'm free tomorrow night though if you want to try out my bed. It's larger than our Dalton bunks."
Hunter nods, gazing in wonder at the male above him who has changed so much but hasn't changed much at all. There are new intricacies to understand but that was always the best part about Sebastian before. "I'm free most nights if you want to try out mine and compare."
The grin that curves Sebastian's lips is practically wolfish and his heart stutters a couple of times because it's the smile Sebastian only used to give him after they'd slept together, a secret shared between them that made Sebastian blissfully happy. It was pure and honest, not like the teasing or sarcasm that dripped off everything else Sebastian said and did.
"I look forward to it," Sebastian murmurs, leaning in to kiss him again without the faintest regard for their public location.
~FIN~
Author's Note: The previous drabble (Chapter 4) is a prequel sorts to this drabble.