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CHAPTER FOUR

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(day 6)

"Coffee, squirt?" is the first thing out of his brother's mouth when he settles down at the breakfast table that morning, and a vicious hiss threatens to escape him. Maybe if it hadn't been for the nickname, if it'd been a repetition of some form of 'are you okay', nausea wouldn't currently be stirring at the pit of his stomach.

Today's the day, he's going to meet Sebastian, both his celebrity crush and his soulmate and he's not prepared for this — he won't know what to say, he won't understand what to feel, it'll be completely overwhelming and he'll probably end up saying the wrong things. How did people do this? How did Cooper or Charlie manage this even with the surety of meeting the person they'd spend the rest of their lives with? Because this can't be it, not the nausea or the insecurity, he should be walking on clouds, not ready to sink through the floor.

He drops his head down onto the table.

"I'm going to be sick," he whines, and lies there, waiting for the outlines of his body to dissipate so he can gradually disappear into the ether.

"You want us to stay home?" Charlie touches a hand to his back. "We can reschedule the ultrasound for another time."

"No, it's okay."

He lifts his head to the sight of a hot cup of coffee, steam rising along the edge, and his stomach growls. Maybe he should eat something, lest he faint the moment his eyes meet Sebastian's.

"I want to see a picture of my niece and nephew when I get back."

Charlie smiles at Cooper across the table, and his brother shows none of yesterday's concerns — he offers Charlie a soft and genuine smile in return and he can't make heads or tails of it. One minute Cooper shares Charlie's excitement and next he's freaking out.

Much like he's doing over Sebastian right now.

Of course he's never seen his brother's home life; he's been privileged to sweet moments between him and Charlie whenever they visited, but time away from home can offer a break from real life. When he and Sam go camping his home life fades to the back of his mind too, and things like homework, school, and family obligations cease to matter. Up in the green woods of Salt Fork he always forgot how cruel the world could be.

He's not a negative person, not by far, he tried to be as positive and happy as he possibly could, because life's too short to focus on the sad moments, but that didn't mean nothing ever got him down. Dave Karofsky for example, one of McKinley High's star football players, had made it his personal mission to make his high school days a living hell — it went on for months, Sam and Tina kept urging him to talk to Principal Figgins but he was determined to talk to Dave like a human being, and not circumvent whatever problems they had by going behind his back.

He learned the hard way he often let his pride get the best of him.

Tina and Sam sheltered him from Karofsky as much as they could, walked him to and from class, made sure to keep an eye on him at all times, but even they couldn't protect him 24/7. After one locker shove too many he'd pushed back, hit Karofsky in the face the way his boxing instructor taught him, and got suspended in the process.

His parents, Mr Schue, and many of his friends were surprised to find out what had been going on — he never wanted to worry them, he kept his problems under lock and key because not everyone needed an intimate look into his life, especially not once Dave had tried to kiss him after an angry tirade on both their parts. Selfishly, he hoped to help Dave struggle through feelings he'd faced himself. Sadly the football player never let him.

He hadn't learned much from that encounter; he still kept secrets he'd be loath to tell anyone, even his best friends because lot of his secrets revolved around his greatest fears; ending up alone, losing the people he loved, letting his insecurities get the best of him and keep him from fully immersing himself in every experience life threw his way.

So he understands the difference between the way he sees his brother back home and the way he can see his brother now. This is Cooper's home life, the most intimate part of it, especially now that he has a baby on the way. He wonders what his brother's afraid of, and just how deep those fears run.

"Blaine, we're leaving!" Cooper shouts from the living room while he's getting dressed.

A hot shower chased away his drowsiness, and worry blankets the nausea he felt a few hours ago.

"Have a good time!"

"Yeah, okay!" he yells back, while he chews at one of his fingernails, staring out over the bed covered with each and every single item from his suitcase. He thought he'd decided on an outfit back home, even though he packed other options should the weather shift, but now he's none too sure about the shirt and bowtie combination. He loves his bowties, he's been wearing them for as long as he can remember, and his mom never passes up the opportunity to buy new ones, but maybe he should opt for something … more mature? He leans back against the dresser and shakes his head, unsure of what 'more mature' clothing would even look like — he doubts Sebastian would trip over him wearing a bowtie, but what if Sebastian chooses casual chic? What if he's wearing a suit? Should he have packed a tie?

He grabs for his phone in a blind panic, hits speed dial, and doesn't let the person on the other end get a word in.

"Tina, I'm freaking out," he says, heart bruising his ribcage. "I can't do this."

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know what to wear. He'll be here in an hour and I'm still in my underwear."

"Blaine, you're having lunch with him," Tina says. "Wear something you're comfortable in."

He covers a hand over his eyes. What if he's not the boy Sebastian expects? He may have memorized Sebastian's facial expressions and different kinds of smiles after hours and hours of watching him on screen, but Sebastian has no clue who he'll be faced with. Sebastian's constantly surrounded by perfect bodies, models, actors, even his manager and publicist are insanely good looking. What if he disappoints?

"Blaine, please, breathe," Tina urges. "He's your soulmate. You're having lunch, not auditioning."

He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. "What if he doesn't like me?"

"Blaine Anderson, the day I meet someone who doesn't like you, is the day I quit," Tina says. "Now put on some clothes, make sure you smell nice, and for God's sake, get excited! This is a big day for both of you, Bling!"

He draws in a shaky breath.

Tina's right, he's freaking out over nothing. His outfit won't matter, all he cares about is making a good first impression, meeting Sebastian, getting to know him, and for the first time in almost a week the thought fills his stomach with butterflies. His celebrity crush and soulmate are one and the same person. How many people can say that? It will all work out okay.

He ends up fitting together an entirely different outfit than the one he initially picked out: he goes for some looser off-white chinos, a breezier fit perfect for LA weather, and a slim fit cotton shirt with a cross square print. It's not too casual, but not too dressy either. He rolls up his sleeves, eyes catching on his tattoo every few seconds before he focuses on his own reflection.

"It's so nice to meet you, Sebastian," he says, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a smile a little too fake.

"It's very nice to meet you, Sebastian," he tries, accompanied by a fuller smile this time, which quickly falters.

That's not it either.

He shakes out his limbs and rolls his shoulders, determined to stop practicing his lines and focus on the time ahead — Santana didn't mention the specifics on the phone, but Sebastian would pick him up for a late lunch, right after a costume fitting she couldn't reschedule, and take him to one of his favorite restaurants.

He glances at the clock: twelve o'clock. Sebastian won't be here for at least another hour.

He tidies up his room, puts his clothes back where they belong and sits down on the bed.

His Brown college brochures rested on the nightstand arranged in a neat little pile, but unlike the weeks preceding his birthday his future classes fail to provide a distraction — his excitement to go to college hasn't abated, but the thought of seeing Sebastian any moment now has his palms sweaty, torn between freaking out or flailing around the room. So he settles for sitting still.

At two to one, the doorbell rings.

He swallows hard and releases a slow even breath, before pocketing his wallet and phone.

There's no need to panic. It's just lunch.

He approaches the door, weak-kneed, mouth dry, his heart beating a frantic rhythm while an anxiety headache stars at his temples. He opens the door and looks up, drawing in a shuddery breath once reality truly sinks in. He hadn't truly believed it up until now, he half expected Sebastian to be called away last minute or disappear into thin air like a ghost before physically ending up on his doorstep — yet there he stood, Sebastian Smythe, Hollywood heartthrob, tall and handsome, wearing a deep red V-neck shirt, skinny dress pants and a matching stylish blazer.

A soft smile curls around Sebastian's lips, and he fails to quell the curious arch of his brow, as if surprised to see him too.

"You must be Blaine," Sebastian says, his voice lower and huskier than he thought it would be, and it sends a shiver straight down his spine.

Is that it, he wonders, is that the spark all soulmates feel when they see each other, heavy and kind of itchy?

Up close like this Sebastian's eyes aren't as green as the stories led him to believe — they're hazel around the irises and gradually become greener, and he's so mesmerized that rather than any of his rehearsed lines heat sinks into his cheeks and a smile forms around a shy, "Hi," before he tears his eyes away.

"Shall we?"

He nods and quickly locks the front door, following behind Sebastian.

Shall we? he thinks. Was that it? No it's nice to meet you, or I've been waiting for you for a long time?

An ineffable unease sets in his lungs, but it doesn't last long when his eyes fall to the red Ford Mustang convertible in the driveway.

"Is that–" he starts, and studies the car front to rear.

"That's the car from If Only She Knew. I watched it the day before my birthday, I loved it."

Sebastian opens the passenger door and nods with a smile. "This is the car."

"They let you keep it?"

"I let them take it out of my salary." Sebastian smirks, patiently waiting for him to settle in his seat before closing the door, rounding the car, and sinking gracefully into the driver's seat.

Sebastian looks at him sideways, an unreadable hue in his eyes he can't decipher — it's not what it's supposed to be, a tiny voice at the back of his head whispers, but the same unease from moments ago disappears once Sebastian catches his eyes.

"Seatbelt, Mr Anderson."

He fumbles for a few seconds, but soon they're on their way, Sebastian weaving through LA traffic like he's been doing it for years. The wind courses through his hair and the sunlight hurts his eyes, his close proximity to Sebastian raising his body temperature by a few degrees too many. Maybe he should have opted for shorts after all.

"Here," Sebastian says, and reaches for the glove compartment blindly, unearthing an extra pair of Ray-bans. "These should help."

He takes the sunglasses gratefully. "Thanks."

"How was your flight?" Sebastian asks, steering them down a busy boulevard.

"I'm a huge fan of your work," he says, and cringes, because that's not how he intended to answer that question. "I've seen all your movies multiple times."

But if he's being too much of a fanboy Sebastian doesn't seem to mind. He smiles, "Thank you."

"My flight was– okay."

He could hit himself over the head. He's all over the place and his mouth's doing things he decidedly doesn't want it to do.

"It wasn't very long."

"Don't be nervous," Sebastian says, no hint of annoyance in his voice. "We're just having lunch."

He squirms in his seat and wishes people would stop saying that. It's not just lunch, it's a date with the boy he'll spend the rest of his life with and that's a pretty big deal. Sebastian's a pretty big deal, celebrity or not, simply because his name tattooed itself into his skin. They're soulmates, and no matter what they had planned today, whether it was a walk in the park, a day on the beach, or a talk behind closed doors, it still would've been a pretty damn big deal. Why did he seem to be the only one acting like it was?

"So, are you ready?" Sebastian asks, the car slowing down to pull up to the curb.

"Ready?"

"For the circus." Sebastian smiles with raised eyebrows, and he's no sooner spoken or the car's surrounded by photographers, paparazzi and journalists, and eager fans who managed to work out Sebastian's schedule.

Sebastian climbs out of the car and quickly runs for the passenger door to prevent him being squashed by the crowd. Reporters shout questions he can't make out and even with the sunglasses the cameras flash too bright, spots dancing in his eyes. Thankfully an arm wraps protectively around him and navigates him through the crowd, a warm hand settling at the small of his back.

The base of his spine ignites.

He looks up to see Sebastian smiling, his head held high and greeting the reporters — it's so clear he's used to this, but he can't imagine how.

Security guards stop the press at the door of the restaurant, where silence returns.

"It takes a few minutes for the spots in your eyes to go away, but trust me, they will."

He takes off the sunglasses, the rush and bustle of the past twenty minutes overwhelming and disconcerting. Will this be his life from now on?

"Is it always like that?"

Sebastian shrugs. "Pretty much."

It can't be an easy life, your every move scrutinized, filmed, photographed, reported, and at the end of the day journalists wrote what they wanted, especially the tabloid press. Not all of Sebastian's reputation can be true, some of it has to be exaggerated, the illicit affairs, the sleeping around, the drugs and alcohol abuse … but where the truth ended and the lies started would be a conversation for later. He wants other things from Sebastian first.

Sebastian greets the maître d with a handshake and a few words in French, which catches him off guard — he had no idea Sebastian spoke any other languages. They follow behind the short moustached man, costumers left and right calling out to Sebastian. Several beautiful women at the bar leer at Sebastian like they want to eat him, but it's the men that do the same that fail to steady his footsteps. He should probably get used to the idea that other people looked at Sebastian the way he did, that others were attracted to him, but the people here understood the lifestyle, knew how to act and hold themselves in different situations. All things he had yet to learn.

Seated at a private table for two he thinks he hears Sebastian order a bottle of water, but he wishes he worked harder in his AP French class; he might be a straight A student, but Sebastian spoke fast and fluently. If he had to guess he'd say Sebastian was perfectly bilingual.

A smile skips over his lips — he likes that he didn't know this about Sebastian.

"What's that smile about?"

Heat blooms deeper in his cheeks as he catches Sebastian's eyes. Busted.

"I didn't know you spoke French."

Sebastian reciprocates with a sly smile of his own, and winks. "Man's gotta have some secrets."

He averts his eyes lest his cheeks start melting; he'd hoped his body would settle once their date started, but he's still torn between staring at Sebastian mesmerized beyond all belief, and flailing around the room.

From the corner of his eyes he watches Sebastian pick two phones from his pockets.

"Do you always have those with you?"

"I have to make sure I'm never out of touch with my tormenters."

"Santana and Hunter?"

"Among many others," Sebastian says. "What was your take on Hunter?"

He frowns, but thinks back on the way Hunter treated him, the initial disinterest and subsequent elation over having found Sebastian's soulmate — he's not sure Hunter's the kind of person he'd get along with, but that applied to a lot of people. What is he supposed to say? Was Sebastian testing him?

So he settles for an answer as close to the truth as he can get. "He seemed good at what he does."

"Military school," Sebastian jokes, alleviating some of the tension slowly setting between them.

This should be easier, the thought flashes through his mind again, this isn't how it's supposed to be.

Luckily the maître d returns with the bottle of water and two menus for them to peruse before the thoughts can claw their way to his anxiety. Sebastian orders immediately, clearly knowing the menu by heart, but it puts him on the spot to order quickly. His eyes scan the page of the lunch menu, the prices listed next to every dish too high to be real.

"This is all really expensive."

"It's all on me. Order what you like."

He bites his lip, and goes for the first dish that catches his eye, his French coming out barely articulate. The maître d smiles knowingly, but winks, and takes the menus back with him.

He catches Sebastian's eye and blushes. "I'm not as good as you."

Sebastian shakes his head softly, "No, I'm impressed", followed by a smile that leaves him a little weak in the knees.

The only easy thing about this so far is Sebastian's easy-going nature, his openness and willingness to deal with his obvious crush — before long it'll be more than that, the crush will bloom into a love deeper than words can describe, it will set in his heart like a certainty, a full stop, not a question mark.

"Where did you learn to speak French?"

Sebastian takes a sip from his water. "I was born in Paris," he says, and there must be something in his face that signals Sebastian to keep talking, because he hears all about it, how his mom was born in France and lived there her entire life, until she met his dad while he studied at Le Sorbonne. They fell in love and got married, and had him soon after. For ten years Sebastian divided his life between Paris and New York, and mastered English and French easily.

How lucky Sebastian's parents were to find a soulmate in such a romantic city. He'd never traveled outside of the country, but he dreamed of Europe and its history, the culture and the architecture, the art and the food and the different languages. Maybe Sebastian would take him there someday.

"Which one do you prefer?" he asks after their food arrives.

"I couldn't really say." Sebastian shrugs. "I got the best of both worlds."

Then, they fall into easy conversation.

Sebastian keeps talking, guided by his curiosity. His father worked for a big communications mogul Sebastian never fully understood the ins and outs of, but it's clear from the way he talks about his parents that they both mean a lot to him. Sebastian's mom majored in Art History, and apart from owned her own gallery in New York City. She sold her art to dealers all over the world. Sebastian clearly inherited his creativity from his mom, who'd introduced him to the world of theatre and Broadway, and was a big reason for why he started auditioning in the first place.

"Believe it or not," Sebastian says as the waiters clear their table, "I was a pretty shy kid."

He laughs at that, because none of it showed; the stage clearly gave Sebastian the confidence he needed. He'd seen Youtube videos of Sebastian's performances on Broadway — he'd been more of a dancer in various off-Broadway productions at the very beginning, before getting a more serious role in a big production, which he'd played for several years. Once he turned eighteen Sebastian like many others took a stab at Hollywood, and turned out to be one of the lucky few that actually made it.

"Do you miss it?"

Sebastian's lips part at the sound of the question, but no sound comes out, and a hint of panic touches his green eyes.

He instantly regrets asking.

"I do."

Sebastian literally shrugs off his obvious unease with the question, which tells him more about his true feelings than the answer that follows.

"I try not to think about it too much. I love my job, whether it's on a stage or in front of the camera."

He can't tell where the lie ends and the truth starts, but he decides not to push it — if Sebastian doesn't want to talk about it that's his choice, and he doesn't want to pry, even if the Broadway lifestyle must be starkly different than the Hollywood one.

"So, Blaine Anderson."

Sebastian changes gears, making no move to get up or ask for the check. They've been here for close to two hours and he wouldn't mind if this lasted until dinner.

"What do you do?"

He blushes. "I just graduated. I'm going to Brown after the summer."

Sebastian smiles, "He continues to impress", any hint of unease gone.

He reminds himself Sebastian is an actor, a skilled one at that, and he must employ some of those techniques in real life too, especially when things get too heavy. At the end of the day everyone pretends to some degree, like he often pretends to be okay to his parents, like he's pretending right now that this date isn't at all going the way he thought it would. They're talking and it's amazing, but he's waiting for his entire universe to make sense.

"I'm going into education," he says, fearing what would happen should silence fall again. "To become a teacher, initially, but I'd love to go into counseling in the long term. I want to work with kids."

Sebastian casts down his eyes and stares at the table, spinning his glass between two fingers.

The dreaded silence falls, Sebastian's mood indecipherable. Should he not have mentioned college?

Mouth dry, he asks, "I stopped impressing you?"

"No." Sebastian laughs. "Not at all. You're just way out of my league, killer."

And despite all the self-deprecation Sebastian utters it's the nickname that catches his attention.

"Killer?"

"You don't like it?

"No, I—I do," he stutters. "No one's ever called me anything like that before."

"Never?"

"My friend Sam calls me 'stud' sometimes, but he's just joking."

"No ex-boyfriends?"

"No."

"That's a damn shame, if you ask me."

He searches Sebastian's face for an explanation. Would Sebastian prefer if he had more experience? The comment Sam made yesterday comes to mind, guard your carnal treasure, but he doesn't want to think about that — his lack of sexual experience shouldn't be a deterrent.

"What do you mean?"

"You're a catch, killer." Sebastian leans a little closer, his features opening in amusement. "Anyone passing up the opportunity to date you is a damn fool."

He giggles and closes his eyes in embarrassment, covering a hand over half his face.

"Stop," he hiccups, while his heart skips a few staunch beats. Sebastian's flirting with him, he's not even hiding it, and his stomach starts crawling with butterflies ready to burst free. It's finally here, a certainty setting stronger with each passing moment, and he thanks whatever entity in the universe assigns people their soulmate that he gets to live this, that he's allowing himself to enjoy this to the fullest, that he hasn't sabotaged anything or run for the hills because his anxiety threatens to overtake him.

He worried over nothing, Sebastian's a regular guy living an exceptional life. Fame like most other things is fleeting and Sebastian's trying to make the most of it — he learned the rhyme and reason of Hollywood because he had to. The more they talk the more he sees it, the boy behind the man Sebastian has carefully constructed in light of his life here, still wide-eyed and marveling, bursting with more creativity than he can hold — and he gets that, that passion, that drive, so talking to Sebastian comes easy.

They decide to have desert for dinner. Sebastian orders for both of them this time and has a glass of wine to go with his cake, while talking about his next film project, set to film in two weeks' time. It's a romantic comedy about a smooth talking guy who never found his soulmate, so he spends his time cheating girls into his bed by replacing his tattoo with their names, and changing his identity accordingly.

He grimaces. "That sounds awful."

"Well, he's kind of a douche. The stereotypical guy in many romantic comedies."

He cups his chin in his hand. "So what's the catch?"

"He finds his soulmate. Who is everything he's always wanted in a woman."

"But he screws up?"

Sebastian nods. "And spends the rest of the movie moving heaven and earth to win her heart."

"Which he does."

"Obviously."

"You have a really strange job."

Sebastian laughs, "I do," and signals the waiter for the check.

Grabbing his wallet Sebastian's hazel-green eyes trace over his face with an intensity that makes him want to squirm out of his seat — no one's ever looked at him like that, with such clear interest in his life and what he has to say, and dare he say even his body. And for some reason, maybe because of the tattoo on his skin, he feels safe.

"Would you like to go back to my place for a while?" Sebastian asks. "If you're not sick of me yet, that is."

"Not at all." He faces away shyly. "I'm not ready for today to be over yet."

"Good. Neither am I."

The press is long gone when they make their way outside again, the sun slowly setting behind the horizon in a deep blazing orange. They drive in silence, but he soaks up the fresh breeze the darkening city offers, eyes drifting closed and his head tipping back. He's happy, there's no other way for him to describe it, he had a great lunch with one of his favorite people in the world, a boy who would only gain importance in his life. Maybe it's not exactly how he'd imagined, but their story isn't the most conventional — their situations being what they are there was bound to be a little friction, a little awkwardness before they both realized there was no need for anxiety or fear or apprehension.

Everything will fall into place.

Half an hour later they pull up to the private gate of a house, behind which stood a carport that sheltered a black town car — Sebastian parks smoothly next to it.

"This is where you live?"

He might've had his eyes closed for much of the drive, far too preoccupied with the body next to him to focus on where they were headed, but these are undoubtedly the Hollywood Hills, which housed many of Hollywood's rich and famous.

Sebastian grins. "Wait until you see the place."

Sebastian leads them up a short stone staircase, leading to a slightly higher level that splits off in two direction; on the left another short staircase leads down to the pool, a small terrace and a cabana next to it, and in the far corner of the area a path leads up into the hills; to his right, the path Sebastian takes them on, a few steps lead up to a much larger terrace, right outside the main entrance to the house. His eyes widen as he takes in the floor-to-ceiling windows, and notes another floor to the house the architecture and vegetation hide. Sebastian has all the privacy he needs here, despite the openness of the house.

Slipped through the patio door, they step inside, a large open living room stretching into a fully equipped kitchen.

"Are these your mom's?" he asks, caught by the four paintings hanging in a tile pattern over a low set of cabinets. They show a large bird, painted in bright colors, rising up out of the flames like a phoenix.

"She's good, isn't she?"

A small squeal sounds from the kitchen, startling both of them. They turn to see a short Asian girl emerge, large glasses perched on her nose, a cute bob haircut, a large day planner clutched to her chest.

Sebastian shoots forward. "What are you doing here?"

The girl closes the distance between her and Sebastian and her voice drops to a whisper, though he swears he hears the word 'Hunter' followed by 'make sure' somewhere in there.

"Of course." Sebastian sighs, clearly not amused by the turn of events. "Blaine, this is my personal assistant, Dottie."

The girl waves.

"Dottie, meet Blaine."

"It's so nice to meet you, sir," she says with a slight lisp.

Dottie walks up to him with her arm outstretched, the ensuing handshake much stronger than he anticipated.

"I've heard a lot about you."

She looks back at Sebastian over her shoulder, who's leaning back against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes dark.

Dottie lowers her head.

Whatever Dottie told Sebastian, or whatever Hunter intended Dottie's presence to do, had an adverse effect on Sebastian's mood. Sensing the tension, he decides maybe today had lasted long enough.

"I should probably head home."

His voice cuts through the silence like a stranger in a group of friends, out of place and shrill.

"My sister-in-law will worry if I stay out too late."

"I'll take you home."

Sebastian rushes past him like he can't get rid of Dottie fast enough, and they're back in the car on their way to Cooper's before he can blink. What could Dottie possibly have said to upset Sebastian so much? What could Hunter possibly have wanted to make sure of?

"Dottie seems nice," he says, in an effort to get Sebastian to relax a bit; his hands keep wiring around the wheel, making the leather squeak, and he's driving too fast.

"Too nice. She could do with a little backbone."

He stares down at his hands, folded together in his lap. That's the meanest thing he's heard Sebastian say all night, and to hear it about a girl who'd seemed nice, quiet and loyal, makes him think there's a lot more to Sebastian's question about Hunter earlier today. He thinks back to what Hunter told him, you have no idea how long I've been waiting for you, and suddenly he can't make sense of anything anymore. Publicists dealt with an artist's public image, and given Sebastian's reputation he can understand why Hunter would be relieved to find his soulmate, but where did Dottie fit into all of this? Did Hunter honestly think Sebastian took him home to … to sleep with him?

Guard your carnal treasure, Sam's warning echoes louder and louder until it's all he can hear, because now that he has time to let it breathe, take a step back and think through the entire day, he's not entirely sure he would've resisted Sebastian had he tried to seduce him back at the house. The physical attraction was there before he'd even met Sebastian, and being close to him today only underscored how real that was. A magnetism played between them he wanted to tap into, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to feel Sebastian's lips move against his the way Joey Walker's had four years ago — he can scarcely imagine what it would be like to kiss his soulmate.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian amends. "Dottie's amazing. I don't know what I'd do without her. I hate seeing people take advantage of her."

"People like Hunter?"

Sebastian parks the car. "I was hoping you hadn't heard that."

"Sorry."

"He's a pain in the ass." Sebastian sighs. "But he's really good at what he does."

He doesn't ask what Sebastian means, doesn't ask why he keeps Hunter around if he's that big of an annoyance, he doesn't say how he doesn't understand any of this, because he's afraid of the answer. He wants to keep his fantasy of Sebastian intact, so far surprisingly unaltered by their encounter today — there's nothing that led him to believe Sebastian was the man the tabloids described, the player, the heartbreaker, the hop skip and a jump away from burning out. If it's all an act, if Sebastian pretends in every aspect of his life, he's not sure he wants the truth.

"You're staying with your brother?" Sebastian asks.

"Yeah. It's my first time visiting."

"Two birds in one stone."

Sebastian gets out of the car and helps him out, while he wonders what Sebastian's hoping to get out of all this. Because for him meeting Sebastian was nowhere near as trifle as visiting a family member. Cooper and Charlie visit at Christmas or Thanksgiving, they came to his graduation, they stay in touch through email or Facebook. But the whole point of seeing Sebastian wasn't to visit his brother too, no, it was the start of something lasting, a foundation for their relationship, maybe even their marriage one day.

He hates to think why Sebastian felt the need to make this out to be something casual, he hurts coming up with all the reasons why Sebastian might be protective of his heart, built walls around it so he wouldn't have to deal with heartbreak. This might be tougher than he thought it would be.

"Can I just–" Sebastian starts, and reaches for his wrist, slowly turning it around so he can see his name printed on his skin. "Well, I'll be damned."

Sebastian's fingers run over his wrist and he shivers, struck by the odd sensation that Sebastian's as insecure about all this as he is.

"What did Hunter mean when he said he'd been waiting for me?"

A laugh escapes Sebastian and he releases his wrist, scratching the back of his head. "Some of my reputation is exaggerated. Some of it isn't."

He still doesn't understand what it all means.

"Let's say Hunter's job just became easier."

How many affairs or one-night stands has Hunter covered up for Sebastian?

"I'm sorry," Sebastian says, "I didn't meant to–"

"It's okay," he hushes. "I read the tabloids."

The lie cuts through him not unlike Sebastian's had earlier, words stuck to the back of his throat like glue. He always ignored the tabloids in favor of preserving his dream man, a perfect Sebastian, now ever so slowly unraveling in front of him. But he made himself the promise not to let Sebastian's past hinder their relationship, because how could he let it when this was meant to be? Their story's different than other people's stories, it won't be like Tina and Mike's or Cooper and Charlie's, but it'll be one of their own making.

"I want you to know your past doesn't matter to me."

Out of nowhere, Sebastian's brave countenance shatters, his mouth sets in a taut line and he frowns.

"That's"—Sebastian stares at his feet, tapping the tip of his shoe off the pavement—"very big of you, killer."

"I mean it."

Sebastian looks up, a playful though pained smile coloring his mouth.

"Way out of my league," he whispers, and it sends a curious ache through all his extremities. What happened to Sebastian to make him so guarded? Why does he make it sound like he doesn't deserve this?

He wants to pull closer, grab Sebastian's wrist and uncover his soulmark to prove it, to make Sebastian see they were meant to be, they were meant to meet and fall in love and no past indiscretions could ever erase what the universe divined the day they were born.

Sebastian Smythe tattooed black into his skin.

Blaine Anderson tattooed deep into Sebastian's.

They're soulbound.

"Today has been one of the best days of my life," he says instead, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, scared it might shatter everything around him and reveal it to have been a dream.

Sebastian smiles and brings his hand up, a thumb caressing his cheek.

Not a dream, but half a fantasy.

Then, Sebastian leans in, his breath warm against his skin, and pushes a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Sparks ignite in his stomach and he wishes he could freeze this moment in time, keep it cupped between the palms of his hands to cherish forever — he knows what he wants now. He wants Sebastian.

"Sweet dreams, killer."

Pulled back, Sebastian finds his eyes, and the half-fantasy roots itself tighter around his heart.

"Goodnight, Sebastian."

He watches Sebastian drive off before he pushes his fingers against the imprint Sebastian's lips left on his skin, his cheeks burning, skin buzzing with something he's never felt before in his life.

This must be what being in love feels like.

.

.