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CHAPTER SIX

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(day 13)

This isn't how it's supposed to be.

The thought has been his constant companion since the day he met Sebastian and it won't stop spinning circles in his head; it curls around his self-esteem until an entirely different thought strikes him: how exactly had he expected to feel? The idea of love was just that, an idea, one he'd placed center stage on a pedestal in his life, elevated it to the highest point of personal achievement and ultimate happiness. But an idea isn't a feeling, it's an approximation of a feeling.

An idealized version.

Maybe he lay the path for his own disappointment, maybe his foolish dreams of true love and domestic bliss blinded him to a harsh reality: Sebastian's a real boy in a world he doesn't understand, with his own ideas and hopes and dreams, living with his name on his wrist without knowing when or even if he'd show up.

His own father waited for his mom for nine years. Who knows what might've happened in that time.

Granted, his dad never lacked patience, a trait he didn't pass on to either of his sons, but he had at least two relationships in the time he spent waiting for his mom. It was never made a secret, his parents honesty with each other extended to him and Cooper; they didn't want them to be scared to talk about the important things in their lives. Still, he worried over what they might say to him now. Tough it out? Give it time?

How many more of those platitudes can he stand to hear?

Yesterday he Skyped his dad and asked about the other women. Becca, his dad's college girlfriend, had been waiting for her own soulmate for several years, and they found a kinship in the space between, while Vivian's soulmate tragically died in a car crash, and her dad helped her believe in love again. He couldn't fathom why his dad would date anyone who wasn't his soulmate.

Could non-fated people truly be in love? Was it even real if they didn't have each other's names tattooed on their wrists?

Not everyone married their soulmate, but whether that was because of the tragic death of a soulmate or their own choices, society never looked too kindly on them. How did they live with themselves? How did they let down the people they were meant to be with?

"It felt real," his dad said. "It wasn't the same as what I have with your mom, but it was real."

"What if you had to choose?" he asked, fueled by a painful curiosity he wished wouldn't haunt him so much. But Sebastian was clearly hung up on a relationship that -in his opinion- never had a future, so where does that leave him?

"What if you'd been with Becca when you met mom?"

His father fell silent and thought about his question long and hard, much longer than he expected he'd need. Shouldn't it have been an easy decision? His mom's name was on his dad's wrist, he cherished that tattoo every minute of every day, so why would it have been a difficult decision?

Did all this mean that Sebastian could've easily picked Nick over him if he'd been forced to choose?

"I don't know, son. You don't just walk away from someone you care about."

None of this made sense to him.

"Is everything okay with Sebastian?"

His eyes shot up at the computer screen, his father staring at him with clear worry in his eyes, and he did something he hadn't done since Dave Karofsky started bullying him: he faked a smile and lied through his teeth.

"Everything's fine," he said. "It's this whole Marley thing, to be honest. Tina's keeping me updated."

The lie came easy because he'd talked to Tina a few hours before, a conversation that had fed right into his insecurities. Marley had chosen Jake. She'd chosen Jake over her soulmate, Roderick, and he couldn't decide who he felt for more; Marley, over having to make the decision, or Roderick, for getting the short end of the deal. Part of him wanted to envy Marley her bravery, for following her heart rather than the name on her wrist, but he believed the two inextricably connected, the soulmark entwined with a person's heart's desires — now he doesn't know what to think anymore.

Having gotten no clear answer from his dad, he turned to his brother for guidance.

In some ways he and Cooper had been in similar positions, eighteen and completely clueless about how to proceed, their soulmate a few years older.

He found his brother in the master bedroom, flexing in front of the mirror, undeterred when he entered the room.

"Coop, how did you know?"

He plunked down on the bed, transformed back into the kid brother who thought the world of Cooper, the big brother who had the answers to life's scariest questions.

"Know what, squirt?"

He cringed at the sound of the nickname, but ignored it in favor of getting some answers.

"That Charlie was the right girl for you."

"Besides the soulmark?"

Cooper walked over to the bed and sat down next to him.

"To be honest, a lot of it came from her. She'd been waiting for me for years and I was a kid compared to her. I still don't know how I got so lucky."

He wired his hands together.

"Is Sebastian pressuring you to–"

"No." He shook his head, reminded of the distance Sebastian kept putting between them, the calculated retreat he made every time they grew a little closer. "The opposite."

"He's not a believer," Cooper said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

How did that happen? How did anyone not believe in magic? And how did the universe fate him to someone like that? He's Blaine the Romantic, not Blaine the Endurer.

"Hey, it happens. I wasn't a big believer either until I met Charlie."

"What changed?"

"We realized what we could mean to each other."

What could he mean to Sebastian? He dreamed of being the boy who got Sebastian to stop moving so fast, a boy he could settle down with, and make him see that when the right person came along no sacrifice was too big. But he wasn't sure if that was even attainable in the world Sebastian chose to work in.

"I don't know if you've noticed this, squirt, but I'm not the most realistic guy in the world," Cooper said, his voice a distant echo inside a heart slowly hollowed out. "I'm a big dreamer, but I don't have the talent to make it big."

He blinked. Since when did his brother talk like this? He's had to adjust some of his ideas of what his brother's home life looked like, but Cooper's never sounded these kind of insecurities. Cooper had an enormous amount of talent, not to mention passion for his craft.

"Coop, that's not–"

Cooper hushed him with a raise of his hand. "My point is Charlie loves me for me, all my flaws and shortcomings. She believes in me. And I need that."

He needed that too, but how could Sebastian become that person without getting to know him? Without taking the trouble getting to know him? Charlie and his brother completed each other the same way his parents did, the same way he imagined Mike and Tina would.

He and Sebastian still had a long way to go.

Would that be unattainable too?

"It'll be the same for you and Sebastian." Cooper clasped a hand around his knee. "It just takes time."

He bit at his lip but had no answers, his brother's platitudes different than the ones his parents served up. Sebastian had loved and lost and still bore the scars of that relationship after so long, how could he think he'd waltz in and erase any trace of that painful past? He believed he could soothe the pain by showing Sebastian that life didn't end because his first love didn't end up being his last.

But where did he even start?

A few days after their second date, if that's what he could call it, he wakes up well before dawn, sweaty and half hard after a night of restless sleep. He tossed and turned, plagued by dreams of Sebastian naked in bed, his pale skin set off starkly against black sheets; Sebastian looked perfect, planes of flawless skin constellated with so many freckles, freckles he would name one by one if he ever had the time.

Then, the sheets started losing their color — all the black drained like ocean waves giving way to a passing storm, slowly epi-centering into a wriggly line alive on Sebastian's skin, whimsically moving up and down his body, undecided on where to settle.

He leaned in and kissed a corner of Sebastian's mouth, while the black line curved around every one of Sebastian's freckles, playful and coy.

Until he noticed what the black line was.

His name, flitting crisscross over Sebastian's skin.

He gasped and caught it under the tip of his finger, holding it in place over Sebastian's heart.

"What do you plan on doing with that, killer?" Sebastian asked, and shot up, capturing his bottom lip between his teeth before sucking it hard. "Can't leave that flying around."

He moaned and straddled Sebastian around the hips, rocking back and forth until he found a rhythm that spun his head, that almost had him release his name to folly, but he hung on tighter.

"Come on, killer."

Sebastian sat up and whispered low in his ear, bucking up into him.

"You know where that goes."

Yes. Yes, he did know where his name should be, outlined on Sebastian's wrist, a perfect match with his own tattoo. He traced his finger up Sebastian's torso, along his collarbone and around his shoulder, all the way down the length of his arm. Until, finally, he managed to release his name where it belonged, a mirror image of his on the inside of Sebastian's left wrist. He raised their hands together and looked at both their tattoos, vibrating with excitement.

"See?" Sebastian kissed his knuckles. "That wasn't too hard now, was it?"

He crashed out of the dream with a strangled moan and the dissatisfied thought that it hasn't been easy at all; Sebastian keeps inviting him closer willingly, and they talk as if they've been friends for years, but at the end of the day he's left wanton. Sebastian only lets him as close as his walls allow and he wants so much more.

So maybe it's time he changes that.

Maybe it takes more than asking the right questions. If he wants to show Sebastian what they could mean to each other, maybe Sebastian should see his world too.

He gets up and showers, cleans off the clamminess his dream left him with, and dresses quickly — he makes sure his plans agree with Charlie's and Cooper's, and wastes no time calling Sebastian.

The phone dials three times before Sebastian picks up with a soft, "Hey."

"Sebastian, it's me." He sits cross-legged on his bed. "It's Blaine."

"I know, killer. Both my phones have called ID."

"Right."

He laughs awkwardly, and tugs at his ear for want of something better to do with his free hand.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me. Tonight."

"Sure. When do I pick you up?"

"I uh– I want to cook for you." He scratches behind his ear now, his nerves creating an imaginary itch. "You can come to my brother's place?"

"Killer, please, you're embarrassing me."

A smile sounds in Sebastian's voice, while Thandie barks in the background.

"Is there anything you can't do?"

Make you love me, the terrifying thought flashes in front of his eyes, but he shakes his head, as if that might chase away the insecurities.

"When do you want me?"

"Seven?"

"How about six, and I'll help you out? We can talk while I continue to be impressed."

He smiles and bites the inside of his lip, thanking whatever entity's looking out for him that Sebastian's open to this. "That sounds great."

"I'll be there."

By the time he hangs up his belly's in flutters, the prospect of seeing Sebastian again and talking to him enticing an excitement that quickly erases any apprehension the past few days have left him with — they're all just dreams and strange thoughts his own insecurities cooked up, and he shouldn't give them too much space to grow.

Cooper and Charlie both at work he takes the bus to the grocery store, and half an hour later he has all the ingredients to cook his dad's famous chicken vindaloo. He's never cooked for someone other than his family or Tina, but he's cooked the recipe a few times now, so it shouldn't be a problem. And he'd be lying if he said he didn't mean to impress Sebastian.

Home again he prepares the spice paste and coats the chicken with it, at it for a good hour and a half before he can let the chicken marinate; Sebastian said he wanted to help out but the chicken will need several hours, and there are still things left to do later. At least now he still has time to set the table and put together an outfit.

Laying out all his clothes he decides on something casual; the red chinos go perfectly with a navy dotted shirt, finished with a pair of loafers he hasn't worn in ages.

By four Charlie and Cooper come home to shower and change, before they head out for a romantic dinner for two, followed by a long walk — they're kind enough not to mention this walk will last as long as Sebastian will be around; he's nervous enough as is, and he's having too vivid dreams of being with Sebastian. He'd rather not tempt fate by saying anything too loud or assuming something might happen tonight that could drastically change the speed they're moving at. He'll take what he can get, and he'll show Sebastian what he could mean to him.

At six sharp the doorbell rings, and he steels himself.

Deep breaths.

Baby steps.

He can do this.

Sebastian smiles bright the moment their eyes meet, his deep breaths futile when they get knocked right out of him at the sight of the gorgeous boy; he's wearing a light-blue fitted shirt with long sleeves, tucked neatly into a pair of skinny dress pants, the few loose buttons on the shirt teasing a freckle or four, five, six before they dip underneath the fabric.

"I don't know if you drink."

Sebastian raises a tub of Häagen-Dazs ice cream into his line of vision.

"So I brought the next best thing."

"It's perfect." He smiles, mouth watering. "Come in."

Sebastian glances around the room. "Your brother not around?"

"He and Charlie went out."

"Shame," Sebastian says. "I would've loved to meet him."

"Why?"

Sebastian's eyebrows rise as if he asked the strangest possible question. "He's important to you. Why wouldn't I want to meet him?"

His eyes narrow playfully. "Admit it. You secretly love that free credit rating jingle."

"We've got jokes now, do we, killer?" Sebastian laughs, and winks. "Two can play that game."

With a smile burning in his cheeks he leads Sebastian into the kitchen smiling and puts the ice cream in the freezer. He turns to see Sebastian rolling up his sleeves.

His eyes draw to his wrist instinctively, but his hopes shatter when he sees his watch covering his soulmark again. Will he ever get to see it? Sebastian probably covers it on instinct, afraid the press might get hold of it, but there's no need for him to hide it here, not in front of him. Besides, it's not like the whole world didn't know by now.

Sebastian claps his hands together. "What can I do?"

"Don't worry, I've already done the heavy lifting."

He pulls a knife and cutting board from a cupboard by their feet.

"I'm going to start on the chicken and the rice, and you can chop the onions?"

Sebastian feints a hand over his heart. "Oh, you're gonna make me cry."

He can't help another smile, and a pang of admiration when Sebastian braves the task; they're both crying in a matter of seconds even with the extraction hood on full.

"I can't believe you're doing this to me."

"You offered to help," he counters, trying his best not to rub his eyes.

Sebastian soon finishes cutting the onions, with a lot of tears and a fair amount of sniffling, far cuter than he should be able to pull off in his state; he shows Sebastian the bathroom so he can splash some water in his face, and soon they're back to their usual routine: easy conversation while Sebastian watches him add the chopped onions and tomato paste to the chicken.

Seated at the kitchen table Sebastian asks, "What's your hometown like?"

"Lima?"

He shrugs, never really having thought about it; Lima was home, simple as that.

"It's small and everyone knows everyone. But I kind of like that about it. It's charming, in its own Ohioan kind of way. The people aren't always so tolerant, but–"

"What do you mean?"

Stirring halted, he freezes. "Nothing."

He shrugs again, any certainty flitting from his skin. Why did he say that?

"I– Nothing."

A chair scrapes over the kitchen floor, and footsteps sound behind him while all he can hear is the sound of his own breathing. He didn't mean to bring this up, it's a tough subject for him to talk about in the best of circumstances and he just—

"Blaine," Sebastian says somewhere close-by, but the name is someone else's, a victim's, someone who let his bullies get the best of him for a long time. He's not that boy. "Look at me."

He looks up at his soulmate, at the silent plea in Sebastian's green-flaked eyes. It sends a warm pulse through his body. Sebastian cares.

He swallows hard. "People can be mean."

"You mean teenagers."

A non-committal sound scrapes the back of his throat; he doesn't want to tell Sebastian about Karofsky or any other would-be bullies, not because he mistrusts Sebastian or because his pride gets in the way, but because he's never allowed it to beat him. Any time he came close to breaking he dealt with it in his own way and came out stronger, unashamed, not a victim. So he doesn't want Sebastian to think that about him either.

"What was it like for you?"

Sebastian crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the kitchen counter. "I can't complain," he says, "I got lucky, I guess. I had friends in Paris and New York who accepted me for who I was."

Sebastian's brow sets in a deep frown, and he's drawn to that confusion. What makes Sebastian tick? What gears and coils work together to animate this gorgeous boy?

"Coming out to the world was a different story. I was out on Broadway, but Hollywood's a different place. A different world."

Sebastian looks at him.

"I had to fight a lot of prejudice to get where I am today."

This is the closest he's come to the truths and beliefs that drive Sebastian, that make him get up every morning and sleep soundly at night and they're eerily similar to his. He's never had to fight an entire industry, but he understands.

"I wouldn't change anything though."

Those truths and beliefs reverberate down to the marrow in his bones.

"What's the point of anything if you can't be yourself," he says.

"Exactly."

Sebastian smiles softly, the lazy curl of his lips solidifying a truth that lay imprinted in his DNA, and he feels ever stronger. Gravity plays between them as if the poles have been reversed, he wants to fall into Sebastian's field of gravity and keep falling, he wouldn't worry about getting up if it meant being with Sebastian.

"So, have you really seen all my movies?"

He's grateful for the change in pace. "Yeah, I have."

Sebastian cocks an eyebrow. "Even Raiders?"

He nods. "Yup."

"What's your favorite?"

"Probably your latest. I'm a big Quinn Fabray fan too," he says. "What's she like?"

"Quinn?" Sebastian asks. "She's one of my closest friends. Gorgeous, sweet, knows what she wants. She can be a little bossy, doesn't like it when things don't go her way. But she's great fun."

Sebastian probably gets these kinds of questions all the time; he and Quinn looked amazing together on screen and the red carpet, and in their interviews they always seemed like such great friends. The tabloids speculated about them being a couple because they partied together and hung out outside of work; it'll never cease to amaze him how the media can ignore someone's sexual identity in favor of a juicy story — but he's come to understand Hollywood as an industry that didn't care about anyone's personal life if it wasn't at least a little bit scandalous.

"I have a shoot with her on Monday," Sebastian says. "You should come. I'll introduce you."

His face falls, pulled into Sebastian's orbit in ways he never thought possible, in ways he never thought he wanted — but he wants to see Sebastian's life, all of it, the bad things, the good things, the people in it, all the behind-the-scenes features.

"You would do that?"

"Of course. I'll show you a part of my life." Sebastian smiles, speaking words that sound like music to his ears. "You can meet Santana. Could be fun."

"Okay." He beams. "That sounds great."

He lifts the lid off the skillet and cuts into the chicken to see if it's done; he'll give it another few minutes, but dinner is close to perfection.

"Here." He spoons up some of the marinade and holds it up for Sebastian to taste. "Try this."

Sebastian eyes the spoon. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you were trying to seduce me."

"I'm not," he blurts out, then blinks and sputters. Wasn't that exactly what he was trying to do?

"I mean–" he stutters. "I just–"

"Relax." Sebastian smiles. "I like it."

Heat sinks into his cheeks, jaw dropping when Sebastian's lips slip around the tip of the spoon and he tries some of the sauce, licking his lips before he hums, "Hmm, that's just right."

Pride and lust stutter through his chest all at once, the paired sensations strange and new.

He grabs two plates and starts serving dinner.

"I have some wine, if you'd like some," he says. "I don't really drink, it makes me–"

Bottom lip slipping between his teeth he swallows back the word horny, and thinks back to the few occasions he got drunk.

"Don't leave me hanging, killer."

He shakes his head, his cheeks getting warmer. "It makes me unpredictable."

Sebastian takes a glass of wine with his food, while he sticks to water, but dinner turns out amazing. Inviting Sebastian over was one of his best decisions yet, even at the receiving end of Sebastian's casual and flirty behavior — Sebastian hasn't pulled back so far, hasn't fallen back on self-deprecation or made himself seem unworthy of all this. Today Sebastian's any other boy, just like him, getting to know his date; soulmate or not, this is the closest they've ever been.

"Who taught you how to cook?" Sebastian asks, sipping some wine, his plate nearly empty.

"My dad," he answers. "Though my mom did teach me how to make pancakes and cupcakes."

"I can make a mean pancake."

He snorts.

"Careful, Blaine Anderson." Sebastian points at him. "Or I might have to prove it to you."

He smiles and lets the playful threat take root in his wildest fantasies — will they ever get to a point where he wakes up to Sebastian making him pancakes?

He fits whatever dishes he can in the dishwasher, the pots that remain left abandoned in the sink. He follows Sebastian's lead and settles down on the ground in front of the couch, along with two bowls of ice cream.

One of Cooper's smooth jazz records plays in the background, the soft clinks of the spoons in the ceramic bowls a musical background static to their conversation.

They talk about their favorite types of music and their past performing; he only has Glee club to talk about but Sebastian seems interested, laughing at all his crazy stories and disbelieving more than a few; he tells Sebastian about how he met Tina and Sam and how close they've gotten over the years; Sebastian answers all the questions he has about Paris and New York, and some of his youth spent there.

And in the infinite moments that illuminate a future for them, he notices Sebastian never mentions Nick. No matter how detailed his questions about Broadway Sebastian staunchly avoids the topic of Nick, omits his existence in the most important times of his life — because Sebastian might fool himself and others, but his time on Broadway was clearly one of the happiest in his life.

"Can I ask you–"

He sets his bowl on the coffee table and licks his lips, sinking down against the couch cushions.

"–about Nick?"

Sebastian stares down at his hands. "Sure."

He can't say what makes him brave enough to ask. These past two weeks he's gotten a taste of unrequited love, so he can't imagine what it's like to lose love altogether. There are so many things he has yet to understand, yet to learn; he thought he had all the answers, but he clearly doesn't. That's why he asks.

"I've never been in love. So I don't know what it's like."

It's harder to admit that he thought; he's eighteen and a hopeless romantic, and he's focused so hard on falling in love with his soulmate for so long. Maybe that was a mistake, maybe he should've explored some options beyond Joey Walker and an unnamed soulmate. Then maybe he'd understand the depths of Sebastian's reluctance.

"Nick and I were together for three years." Sebastian avoids his eyes. "We loved each other. And we promised each other forever."

Three years, he thinks, three years? Marley chose Jake over her soulmate after dating him only a year, how did Nick walk away? How did Sebastian let him go?

The scariest thought yet hits him like lightning, scars like roots burning through his veins: maybe Sebastian hasn't let Nick go at all, maybe all the boys the tabloids claim he chases are weak carbon copies of the real thing.

"Seeing the person you're in love with fall for someone else is about the worst feeling in the world. Like your heart's been ripped from your chest."

Sebastian glances at him sideways, eyes landing on his tattoo.

"And all because of some stupid–"

He draws his arm back. Cooper was right, somewhere in the midst of change and heartbreak and seeing Nick fall for Jeff, Sebastian stopped believing.

No wonder Sebastian felt so reluctant to open up.

For the past four years Blaine Anderson was nothing but a reminder that Sebastian and Nick weren't fated.

"I'm sorry." Sebastian sighs. "Didn't mean to ruin the mood."

"You didn't," he lies. Serves him right for asking. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

"Any– resistance you might feel, Blaine, it's me, okay?"

Sebastian finds his eyes, and it pierces right through him, how hurt and broken Sebastian still is after all these years, how undeserving he thinks himself.

"It's not you– You're–" Sebastian averts his eyes. "God, you're perfect, killer."

In that moment he's not, he's not perfect at all, he expects Sebastian to open up but he's barely allowed himself to, he wants to dig down to the dark and gritty parts of Sebastian's past but pride prevents him from granting Sebastian the same. He can cook and sing and he's going to college in two weeks, but those are just facts, that doesn't tell Sebastian anything about his personality or ambitions — or any of the things he hopes for their relationship to become. He wants it all and he wants it fast, the instant connection he thought at the core of the soulmate bond, but not even Cooper and Charlie became that cuddly lovey-dovey couple overnight.

He and Sebastian are their own people, with their own hopes and dreams, with a past that can't be erased and pain and heartbreak to go along with that.

"I'm not perfect."

He's not, he's so far from perfect it breaks his heart. He's idealized every story he's ever heard, every scene he witnessed through pink-tinted glasses. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have been so naïve? If he were perfect he would be patient, he wouldn't push Sebastian so hard.

If he were perfect, he might've lowered his expectations already.

Sebastian touches his fingers to the back of his neck, sending goosebumps along the ridges of his disconcertion.

"Hey," he calls softly, and all the broken parts of him want to coil inside the one word, feel safe and sound in the level of care it reflects.

He looks up at Sebastian, skin tingling where his fingers twirl wholly distracting circles in his curls.

"Take it from someone who knows. You're a special breed of boy, Blaine Anderson."

Green eyes become his entire world. He doesn't understand what makes him different from any other boys and why it should be so appealing, but he can't bring himself to ask; he's asked enough questions, pushed hard enough, and Sebastian hasn't fled yet, he's still here enjoying his company, and he fears doing anything to chase him away. Being around Sebastian feels so right, and that's more than his crush talking — if it were only a crush he'd be nervous, he wouldn't be carefully leaning into Sebastian's touch, still winding circles in his hair.

"Don't ever lose that," Sebastian whispers, and he lets gravity take him.

Heat draws down to his stomach as Sebastian's lips tentatively brush along his, and his hand gently cups along his ear, a kiss followed by Sebastian nipping at his lips. He gasps and his head spins, his insides knotting together — he reaches a hand for Sebastian's face, but doesn't get that far when Sebastian's tongue traces along his mouth. His body heats up and he digs fingers into Sebastian's shirt and it's all he can do to hold on when Sebastian takes him by the hand — Sebastian's right hand opens against his left, their fingertips brushing before their fingers slot together, their hands lacing into a single fist.

It's intimate and sweet and nothing at all like he expected. He thought Sebastian would be rough edges he had yet to smooth over, hard touches he had to unlearn and a heart unwilling to surrender to anything as cemented as a soulmate bond. But he has no problem sinking into this, a slow burn of a kiss that underscores how little of Sebastian Hollywood managed to warp — there's a romantic in this gorgeous man all the same, one he just has to know, he has to.

They pull apart with a sigh and gaze into each other's eyes, breathing labored, and it's as if they both mean to say, did you feel that too?

And he did, he felt every inch of that kiss, the hope encased in it, every promise it held for the future and every step forward it allowed.

He lets Sebastian kiss along his jaw, behind his ear, down his neck, until it all gets to be a little too much — he didn't know it was possible to feel this way.

"Sebastian," he breathes, fingers hooking around Sebastian's shirt collar, but none too sure what he meant to say.

Sebastian pulls back. "You're quite something, killer."

He's dizzy, but he allows the compliment to comprise his self-esteem — he wants to mean something to Sebastian, a love he never had with Nick, a forever that could actually be. But it'll take time. He accepts that.

"Was that your first–"

"No." His cheeks heat up again. "Not my first kiss."

Sebastian smiles. "Who was your first?"

"Joey Walker," he says. "I was fourteen. We played tennis together. He was cute."

"But you've never had a boyfriend."

"He moved away. And I never really found anyone else I was interested in."

Asking Sebastian about his first kiss seems a foregone conclusion; it's clear Nick isn't as far in the past as either of them would like, so he'd rather not dredge that up any more than he already has tonight.

"Not your friend then?" Sebastian asks. "Sam, was it?"

He slaps at Sebastian's shoulder. "Stop," he giggles, though not at all bothered by the teasing.

He's grateful their kiss hadn't deterred any of the comfort and ease between them, that they fall into casual conversation again while his lips tingle, that ache in his chest set as sure as stone, but it's an ache he appreciates. He can only hope Sebastian feels it too.

An hour later, somewhere close to midnight, Sebastian gets up to leave; Cooper and Charlie are still out and they haven't texted or called, but he wouldn't feel comfortable imposing on their lives any further.

"Thanks for dinner, killer."

He leads Sebastian to the door. "My pleasure."

Their eyes meet and there's more silent dialogue, cue cards that flash in front of both their eyes.

Is this it? Is this love?

Sebastian leans in and leaves a kiss behind on his lips, a promise for things to come. And he never fully appreciated how incredibly scary that feels too until he finds Sebastian's eyes again, and he finds that same fear reflected right back — that ache at the start of something new, the hold-your-breath anticipation, the uncertainty despite the clear choices made.

But Sebastian isn't running away.

"Goodnight, Blaine Anderson," Sebastian says softly. "I'll see you on Monday."

"Goodnight," he whispers, eyes scanning up and down Sebastian's long legs as he walks towards his car, belatedly adding, "Sebastian" in a quiet hush.

His heart beats violently at his ribcage, inside his lips, along his tongue and down his throat, his entire body a live wire surging with a special kind of electricity.

This is how it's supposed to be.

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