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CHAPTER SEVEN
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(day 17)
An elegant black town car with tinted windows awaits him on Monday, complete with a driver in a stylish black hat, dressed to the nines in a black suit. He luxuriates in it perhaps a little more than he should, draws his fingertips over the hills of the leather seats, explores the gears and buttons and strokes along the outlines of the cup holders, an elated excitement guiding his hands — for the better part of four days his body thrummed with an elation unfamiliar to him, ever since he shared a first kiss with his soulmate, the boy he would spend his life with.
He whisks his fingers along the curl in his lips.
Is this what love felt like, this constant wonderful panic at the center of his chest, his heart racing, a peculiar state of alertness that robs him of hours of sleep and some of his appetite?
Last Thursday night Sebastian robbed him of any sleep at all, so he'd called Tina at 1am, trying four times before his best friend finally picked up her phone. His thoughts raced with the night's events and he wasn't about to tell Cooper he kissed a movie star.
"Bling, I love you," Tina had grumbled, "but this better be good."
He knew better than to interrupt Tina's precious sleep cycles but it all spun circles in front of his eyes; his night with Sebastian, their dinner together, the easy flirtation he had somehow managed to reciprocate, and then that kiss, Sebastian's lips brushing along every insecurity he felt, a spark between them he'd been searching for since the moment he laid eyes on Sebastian at his doorstep. Something had happened that night, something he thinks took Sebastian by surprise too.
The guarded playboy had undeniably showed some of his cards.
"What kind of kiss was it?" Tina's voice had boomed in his ear, her need for sleep disappeared and her excitement mirroring his. "Was it wet or dry, or just right? Was it super slow like in the movies? Similes, Blaine!"
He'd only sighed and replayed the kiss in his mind's eye, over and over, as if his memory had a rewind button that anchored the scene crystal clear.
"It was–"
He bit at his lip to keep from giggling, and for the first time he used a word Sebastian liked so much.
"It was perfect."
He hadn't grown to like the word in his two weeks in Hollywood. Sebastian used it every time he impressed him but he fails to see what's so special about him, other than the fact that he hasn't been touched by the rollercoaster Hollywood lifestyle. Untouched by the glitter and the glamor, his schedule isn't hectic and he's not attached to any of his electronic devices. He's not a fan of the pace at which the city moved, the same speed that irrevocably animated Sebastian's bones — he counted himself lucky Sebastian found time to slow down, and that he's one of the few who got to see him like that.
But he has no illusions; today he's on Hollywood time, not small town Lima, Ohio. He may not be prepared for what he's about to face.
The kiss, though, that kiss, and the way Sebastian had intimately twined their hands together like a representation of the bond they were forming. He couldn't have dreamed of a more perfect first kiss.
Whatever path lay before them wouldn't be an easy one; Sebastian fell in love at fourteen and for three years Sebastian had the kind of love he was getting small infinitesimal tastes of, only to have it torn from him. As confusing as his initial reaction to Sebastian's name had been, Sebastian had hoped for another name on the eve of his eighteenth birthday, but the universe rewarded him with a stranger's name, and the boy he loved moved on. It must have been unimaginably painful. He can't imagine his heartbreak should this still turn out to be one giant hoax, should someone come and pluck Sebastian's name off his wrist.
Because he's fallen for this movie star of his. Of that he's certain.
Los Angeles traffic turns his trip into an hour and a half long drive, a lack of sleep forcing his eyes closed more than once. He wipes sweaty palms down his dark-blue shorts but his heart beats at a slightly calmer pace. Things had changed. He uncovered some of Sebastian's inner workings, and now that he understands Sebastian's reticence he can tread more carefully, allow some space for Nick to disappear so that Sebastian can see there's so much more out there for him; there's love and a kind universe and the wait for his soulmate is over. He can't change the past, but he can make sure their future is a whole lot brighter.
The car pulls up to a nondescript building with a plain white façade and a single door.
Dottie waves the moment he gets out the car.
"Hey, Dottie, how are you?"
"Good! Busy!" Dottie exclaims, bouncing on her feet as she holds the door open for him. "I'm meeting Charles in a few days."
"That's great news."
He falls into step next to Dottie, following her through a small maze of white corridors, the distant buzz of activity coming closer.
"Sebastian gave me some time off. I'm so nervous I could vibrate out of my skin."
Dottie takes a hurried breath.
"Is that normal?"
"I think so, yeah."
He laughs, recollecting the other kinds of sleepless nights, the tossing and turning around fantasy scenarios he'd run on repeat the days before his lunch date with Sebastian. His skin still vibrates thinking about it: this isn't a dream, he doesn't have to pinch himself to wake up because he's living his dream. How many people can say that?
"What are your plans?"
"Dinner with our parents." Dottie shrugs. "It's tradition."
For point two seconds his mouth moves around half a dozen questions. Did Dottie like that tradition? Would she rather step away from it like he's seen Tina and Mike do, or was her culture's so ingrained in her upbringing that she truly doesn't mind taking it slow? That's before they enter a large room that buzzes with activity; dozens of people run back and forth shouting orders around a small stage set for the photoshoot, lights and cameras and props all at the ready.
His eyes fall to Sebastian, standing clear across the room.
His heart starts that thing where it runs away with him, teases his soul out of his body and a little closer to Sebastian. It's a lot like falling, maybe even flying.
Sebastian's laughter echoes through the big room, reacted to something the guy by his side said. Muscled, blond, and shorter than Sebastian, they do look about the same age, and judging by Sebastian's mirth he'd say they're close friends. Sebastian throws an arm around the young man's shoulders and plants a loud kiss to his temple, while he attempts to draw a deep breath into his lungs.
He's not going to judge.
Then, Sebastian strips out of his shirt in front of the entire room as if it's no big deal, handing it to the blond and trying on another one: they continue to talk, and smile at each other openly, and a voice at the back of his head whispers that he recognizes this dynamic.
It's one he's been on the receiving end of.
Sebastian's flirting with him.
His mouth moves of its own accord. "Who is he?"
"Adam," Dottie says. "Sebastian's– stylist."
The pause in Dottie's answer worries him, and the thought of all those rumors in the tabloids Sebastian said weren't all lies solidifies the pit in his stomach. Who were all those boys Sebastian supposedly slept with, the ones in the magazines, the ones Hunter tried to keep out of the press? They can't all have been celebrities.
He shouldn't think about these things, he decided Sebastian's past wouldn't matter.
"Hey, killer."
He startles at the touch of a hand on his shoulder.
"You excited for today?"
Apprehension flits from his body as his eyes catch green ones, aided by that same gorgeous smile directed at him. Sebastian wouldn't flirt with other boys intentionally; maybe it's how he is, and it's not like he's seen him interact with a lot of other people to know Sebastian through and through.
He nods, if only to distract from his now noncompliant tongue.
"Come on, there's someone I want you to meet."
With a hand at the small of his back Sebastian directs him to a more secluded area of the big room, cordoned off on three sides by clothing racks brimming with different outfits. Sebastian's cologne smells faintly through an onslaught of hairspray, his body warm in such close proximity, bringing with it every sensation of their last night together. Sebastian's lips brushing along his, tongue teasing at his lips, their hands interlocked...
However his stomach summersaults when he recognizes another face in the jungle of clothes. The epitome of beauty, long side swept curls cascading down her shoulders and back, flawless skin, kind smile. Quinn Fabray. A breath catches in his throat and his skin flushes hot. Couldn't Sebastian have given him a little warning?
Quinn lovingly rolls her eyes at Sebastian. "Hey, dickhead."
Sebastian beams, and kisses Quinn's cheek. "Hey, jerk."
"You must be Blaine."
His eyes catch in Quinn's hazel ones and he's at a loss for words, heart pounding in his ears, his knees a little shaky. Honestly, he didn't have it this bad meeting Sebastian.
"You're so beautiful," he babbles, stumbling a step closer. "I mean– I'm a big fan of your work."
"You're sweet."
Quinn smiles, while her stylists move around her like butterflies, making sure her dress fits right.
"You'll be watching the shoot today?"
He nods, smiles awkwardly, and unconsciously wraps both hands around one of Sebastian's arms for support, standing back a little so that Sebastian's a shield between them. How did this become his life? Not only has he met his celebrity crush, but they're soulmates, and they've talked about real things that matter. He's stumbled into this fantastically incomprehensible and overwhelming world and he hasn't stopped acting like a fanboy.
A short round man wanders into the cordoned off area.
"Miss Fabray, they're ready for you in make-up."
His eyes draw down to Quinn's wrist without thinking, where, sure as day, a delicate tattoo reveals a soulmark, a name he can't make out, but he likes that it's there for everyone to see. His hand slides down the length of Sebastian's arm, but all he meets with is that same old wristwatch in the way.
Quinn gathers the trains of her dress. "It was nice meeting you, Blaine," she says, and winks. "Maybe we can chat some more later. I'm dying for some gossip on Sebastian."
"You wish, Fabray," Sebastian calls after Quinn, who promptly shows him her middle finger.
He chuckles, amazed at the obvious friendship between Sebastian and Quinn; it reminds him a lot of how he and Tina interact.
"Sebastian!" the same short man shouts through the room, clearly less encumbered to be polite.
"You okay?" Sebastian asks, lingering by his side.
He blinks a few times, wresting his hands from Sebastian's arm. "I just met Quinn Fabray."
"Look at you, all star struck. Should I be insulted?"
"No." He pokes at Sebastian's chest. "I had time to prepare for you."
And when Sebastian smiles down at him with glistening eyes his previous worry dissipates; heat starts in his chest and travels up and down his body, Sebastian always a little too close for comfort.
"I gotta run," Sebastian says, briefly clasping a hand around his shoulder, "but everyone knows you're here, so just find a spot wherever you want. Dottie can get you anything you need."
Sebastian's already a few steps away when he turns around again.
"Seriously though, if it gets too boring I'll just get Puck to take you home."
"Okay," he breathes. "B—Bye."
The crowd swallows Sebastian up and he's left alone in a bustling nest of people with jobs he can only guess at; he never knew so many people were needed for a photoshoot. There were the obvious ones: hair and make-up, stylists, the photographer, but there were people fiddling with the equipment, people standing around talking on their phones, young people like him with headsets fetching drinks. It's another crazy circus without much rhyme or reason.
A good fifteen minutes later he finally finds a cup of coffee. Hopefully the caffeine will chase away his drowsiness. From his vantage point at craft services he can see both Sebastian and Quinn in make-up. Quinn's the first to stand up, three people helping her with her dress until Sebastian gallantly steps in.
He stops breathing once he notices Sebastian isn't wearing his watch for once, and his eyes start scrutinizing his wrist before anyone gets the bright idea of covering it up again.
But there's nothing there.
He stops breathing. That can't be real, can it? Sebastian must've taken one of those pills that make it disappear, or— no, there's no way Sebastian doesn't have a soulmark. If Sebastian doesn't have a soulmark his entire life's dream is a joke, a parody, a good-for-nothing fantasy he might as well never have had in the first place.
Dottie sidles closer to him.
"They cover it up for shoots!" she squeaks, clearly tuned into his stationary quiet panic.
His eyes skip to Quinn, her wrist now blank too.
Oh thank God.
"Have you ever seen it?"
"Not really." Dottie hugs her iPad to her chest. "I'm sorry."
He sighs. "It's okay."
Hasn't he waited long enough? Everyone made a big deal about his soulmark because Sebastian's a celebrity, but isn't his name on Sebastian's wrist equally important? This is kind of a two-way street; Sebastian isn't the only one who gained a soulmate. "He's just really private."
"That's just how he is."
"I wish he'd talk to me, you know? We're supposed to be soulmates."
"He's told you about Nick," Dottie says, her voice soft and sweet and everything he needs right now. "That's a pretty big deal."
"Are they still in contact?"
"I know Nick's tried over the years."
Shock reverberates through his bones. He expected it to be the other way around, that Sebastian still sought contact with Nick in the hopes of recapturing the love they once shared, but it was the boy happily married to his soulmate that reached out. Why wouldn't Sebastian take that chance? It might be healthy for them to talk. It could be what Sebastian needs.
"Sebastian refuses to talk to him. He calls it a chapter in his life he closed a long time ago."
"But that's not true, is it?"
Dottie pushes her glasses back up her nose and averts her eyes.
Her silence speaks volumes.
Maybe Sebastian isn't still in love with Nick, but his broken heart twisted into a bitterness that scares a boy like him. Sebastian stopped believing, and he closes up whenever a chink in his armor threatens to undo all his armaments.
He can't imagine living like that. He can't imagine becoming so disillusioned that he would ignore the name on his wrist and fall into bed with other people.
He finds a spot near where Sebastian's and Quinn's chairs are set up, sitting down on some overturned plastic boxes, Dottie close-by. Sebastian and Quinn are already in front of the camera, following the photographer's directions, dicking around with each other, and he can't help but smile. Sebastian's more himself around Quinn, a little less controlled; he doesn't just smile but clutches his stomach laughing at her jokes, he makes funny faces when she does, and doesn't take the whole thing all too seriously.
They must be really close friends.
"Blaine Anderson."
Santana Lopez sits down gracefully next to him. She's in comfortable jeans and a tank top, stunning as ever.
She snaps her fingers. "Dottie, can you fetch me a latte and some tea for Sebastian?"
Dottie scurries off in search of the desired items.
"What do you think? Pretty impressive, huh?" Santana asks without pausing for breath. "Sebastian and Quinn look so great together, look at them. So, tell me, how's your time in LA been?"
"Pretty– great," he answers, once he processes all the information Santana throws at him. "I get to see my brother and sister-in-law too, so that's– great."
"Oh boy, what did he do?"
"Excuse me?"
"Sebastian. What did he do to get you down?"
"Nothing." He frowns. "We've had some really great dates. This is just different."
"Welcome to Hollywood." Santana gestures dramatically. "My girlfriend's still adjusting too. It's not easy, but it's the place he needs to be for his career."
Santana sounds exactly like Hunter. Of course it's her job to keep Sebastian focused, to fill up his schedules with events and appearances and photoshoots like these, but surely she can see Sebastian needs space too? That's the whole reason he lives secluded in the Hollywood Hills.
"You don't think he'll go back to Broadway?"
"No." Santana laughs. "Why? Did he say something?"
He shrugs. "I just get the sense that he misses it."
Santana considers this for a moment. "You know about Nick?"
"Y—Yeah."
Does he really need to keep hearing that name?
"Then you know he's not going back."
No, he doesn't know that, not at all. If Nick's the only thing standing between Sebastian and his return to Broadway then why hasn't Sebastian taken up any of Nick's invitations? Did they really part on such bad terms that they couldn't even talk anymore, that they needed 2000 miles between them just to keep the peace? Nick's attempts at communication would suggest it's Sebastian that forces that distance on them, so could it be his pride stopping him? He won't say Sebastian's unhappy, he loves his job, but Broadway made him happy once too.
Santana leaves as soon as Dottie returns with the drinks, the photoshoot on break for half an hour. Rather than finding him Sebastian disappears to a room somewhere with Adam, probably for another outfit change.
"Hey, you."
Quinn comes over to her chair with a small army of make-up artists in her wake, and she pats Sebastian's chair.
"You can sit here, if you like. Sebastian never uses it."
He walks over and sits down while Quinn waves her team away.
"You two are pretty close, huh?"
"I guess you could say that." Quinn smiles. "We go back a long way. Both raised on Broadway. He always manages to make me laugh."
Quinn making Sebastian laugh was a true marvel to see, and he would ask for more details if it wasn't for Quinn's next question.
"You'll be good to him, won't you?"
"What do you mean?"
"It takes him a while to let people in."
A weight drops off his shoulders hearing someone else give voice to it, to the rigor Sebastian puts people through, the effort it takes to get the slightest bit closer. Sebastian may come across as an easy-going open guy, but the moment anyone tries to dig deeper he shut down.
"Do you know why that is?" he asks, fully prepared to hear the name 'Nick' tumble from Quinn's lips too.
But what she says throws him for a loop.
"He doesn't really talk about it."
Is this not about Nick, then? The kind of thinking that stops a person believing in love starts somewhere, and he thought that was because Nick broke Sebastian's heart. Had he been wrong about that?
If Quinn and Sebastian go back as far as Broadway, this could have started well before he and Nick ever started dating.
"Be patient with him. Don't let him off the hook either, though, too many people do that already."
He manages a small smile, but feels thrown every which way, still on that same unpredictable rollercoaster ride. Sebastian pushes him away but flirts with him, tells him he might not be who he thinks he is but kisses him, flirts with his stylist but looks at him with hearts in his eyes. And he's fairly certain that isn't Hollywood's doing. It's Sebastian's. There's conflict inside that beautiful boy and he wants more than anything to be the one to settle it.
Another hour passes and he wishes he'd brought a book, maybe that crime novel he'd started on Charlie's recommendation. There isn't much to see when Sebastian and Quinn are in front of the camera, let alone when everyone's running around adjusting the lights or adding new props.
Dottie comes and goes, getting orders for Santana and Sebastian. She tries to keep busy, find some distraction in her work so she's not thinking about her dinner with Charles too much, and he understands that all too well. He talked Tina's ear off about the most mundane things the days before he met Sebastian.
"You must be Blaine," another female voice catches him lost in thought, this time belonging to a tall blonde who gracefully sinks down in Quinn's chair, throwing her hair back. She's wearing a cute tank with bees on them, and a floral skirt.
"I'm Brittany, Santana's lover."
His eyes narrow. "You mean her girlfriend."
Brittany rolls her eyes. "Fiancée, if you want to get technical."
"Baby-y-y." Santana runs over and throws her arms around Brittany, transformed in front of his eyes. Gone is the tough businesswoman on someone else's time and in its place there's a young woman in love.
And there it is.
That's who he wants to be to Sebastian. Someone to take away the pressure, offer a breath of fresh air after a stressful day, someone Sebastian can come home to and be himself with, not what Hollywood demands.
"I'm so sorry." Santana pouts. "I meant to call you."
"You're not cancelling on me again, Santana Lopez. I'm not planning this wedding on my own."
"We'll just be an hour. Two hours tops."
Brittany sighs, tugging at the ends of Santana's long raven hair. "I'll wait."
Santana steals a kiss from Brittany's lips. "You're the best. Do I tell you that enough?"
He faces away once it's clear that Santana has a lot to make up for, the two women all but making out right next to him. It's an amazing thing to witness though, seeing two women express their love for each other openly without judgment; there's no one in the room that looks at them funny or calls them names. What a life that must be, loving whoever you want freely and openly without fear of being called out on it.
Santana wanders off in the direction of the set again.
"Is he keeping you waiting too?" Brittany asks, knocking their elbows together.
"He invited me."
"You're actually enjoying this?"
Well, no, but he can't say no one warned him.
"How long have you and Santana been engaged?" he asks, hoping to change the subject.
It works. Brittany's eyes light up and she settles more comfortably in the chair, recounting the saga of how Brittany S. Pierce met Miss Santana Lopez in great detail. As one of Beyoncé's dancers Brittany travelled the world, a thing she was very grateful for because her tattoo said Santana Lopez, and surely she'd never find someone with a name so exotic in the US of A. When he asks why she never googled the name or sign up for any of the matching services, Brittany huffs and whispers she doesn't trust machines — he's not sure how serious to take her story after that.
One day, when the tour landed her in London, a beautiful Latina gained backstage access for one of her celebrity clients, and the moment their eyes met they both knew; they were meant to be together. Brittany reluctantly adds that Santana later shouted fire and brimstone at her for not signing up to the matching services he'd previously asked about, because they could have found each other a full two years earlier.
But Brittany liked to think they met when they were meant to.
And he thinks that's really kind of romantic.
The day slowly winds to a close; Brittany leaves with Santana and he goes looking for Sebastian soon after. Workers disassemble the set and the lights, while other assistants make sure all the clothes are returned to their designated spots on the racks. Quinn leaves with her assistant and Santana leaves with Brittany, while Dottie took her leave half an hour earlier to pick up some things for Sebastian.
After a long tedious day of waiting he can't wait to have some time alone with Sebastian.
He finds Sebastian with Adam in the dressing room going over some shots, their backs turned to him. They stand pressed together shoulder to thigh, one of Sebastian's hands at the small of Adam's back. His heart grows heavy once again, the touch so affectionate he's tempted to give them privacy, because who wouldn't mistake the two of them as two guys intimately familiar with each other's bodies. It's one thing to keep hearing about Nick, another to have Sebastian flirt with a guy he's more than likely slept with. He's not proud of the thought, he's more than willing to give Sebastian the benefit of the doubt, but that's becoming increasingly harder to do.
He clears his throat.
Sebastian turns immediately, his instant smile nearly ridding him of all doubt. Nearly.
"Hey, killer. You ready to get out of here?"
He nods again, rubbing at his arm. He can't seem to find the right words to talk to Sebastian today.
Adam waves. "Great seeing you, Blaine."
His stomach stirs with nausea. Why did he have to be friendly?
"What do you say we go to the beach?" Sebastian asks, throwing an arm around his shoulder. "At your brother's place? We'll get some burgers. I really need some fresh air."
"Yeah. That sounds nice."
They drive to the beach in near silence, the radio chiming one 90s hit after the other. Sebastian doesn't seem to feel the need to talk, so he stifles his own needs, even though a million questions have started festering at the back of his throat; how Sebastian and Quinn met, if Brittany's story about how she met Santana is true, what Sebastian thinks about Dottie and Charles meeting in such a traditional way.
But more than anything he wants to ask about Adam. The two of them are obviously close. He wants to know exactly how close.
Water laps at the shore, the quiet hiss of foam weighing down the grains of sand on the beach. Sebastian works through two burgers like he's been starved for an entire week, while he sits on his hands and bites at his tongue so hard he nearly draws blood. Should he say something? What can he say to start a conversation? Does he even want to talk after being ignored all day?
"You're quiet," Sebastian says, wiping a napkin over his lips. "You didn't have much fun today, did you?"
He averts his eyes, and can't figure out how it is that Sebastian can read him so easily after such a short amount of time — is he that easy to see through? Or is Sebastian simply a master at pretending? He didn't have much fun, even though it was great talking to Brittany and Dottie and seeing a softer side of Santana. But he had little care for the flashy Hollywood lifestyle.
"It was fine." He shrugs. "It was nice meeting Quinn."
Sebastian reaches over and teases a finger behind his ear. "You're a terrible liar, killer."
He ducks out of the way, laughing. "Stop."
"Come on." Sebastian's hand draws down his back, leaving him a tiny shivering mess. What he wouldn't give to be encased in Sebastian's arms right now, safeguarded from the big bad world. "What's wrong?"
"Today was supposed to be about getting to know you."
Sebastian's touch gives him the courage to speak up, to air some of his concerns after he was promised not only a peek inside Sebastian's world, but a glance inside the man himself. They should be able to talk about this stuff if they ever expect to build a meaningful relationship.
"But I learned more about Dottie and Santana."
"I lead a very hectic life."
"I know that." He nods, caught in the splendor of Sebastian's eyes as the last hint of daylight flits from the beach. "But you've ignored me all day to flirt with one of your stylists."
"What do you want me to say, Blaine?"
Sebastian's hand falls away, his eyes fixed on the far horizon, where the sun set half an hour ago. Sebastian cares about Adam, and it's clear to both of them Sebastian failed to hide that today. He doesn't want Sebastian to hide, he wants the truth, because they can't be anything with secrets standing in their way.
"Adam and I sleep– slept together from time to time," Sebastian says. "That's the truth. I never had time for a relationship, and Adam's not looking for one."
He toughs out the bitterness in his mouth because he asked for honesty. He knew all along there were other boys, didn't he? They didn't have faces and Sebastian never admitted to any other, but he knew. Still, the thought of Adam and Sebastian together until very recently, the sight of them flirting today, the thought that Sebastian ignored the name on his wrist to be with someone who wasn't his soulmate — it makes him a little sick.
"But"—He licks his lips—"things are different now, right?"
"Of course."
Sebastian sighs as if his question comes as a burden, as if he is a burden, and his voice lacks the conviction he so desperately seeks.
"It's just"—Sebastian shrugs—"you and me from here on out, right, killer?"
Can he trust Sebastian? How does he know it'll be the two of them alone when he'll go off to college soon and Sebastian lives here in this— bitter empty world where soulmates are made a mockery? Every day here has stripped a bit of his enchantment, chipped at his idea of what love's meant to feel like. His layers have been steadily peeled away unlike Sebastian's and what is he left with? The same name on his arm, a boy he can't fathom, and a heart stringently bound to that boy.
It hasn't been the two of them, it's been him wholly committed with pieces of Sebastian floating his way, it's been him and Dottie, him and Brittany, with the lurking shadow of Nick and now Adam looming over their heads. He's never been Blaine Anderson, he's that little half bubble stuck to the big bubble that is Sebastian's life, a satellite orbiting Planet Smythe. He's been the fraud, the kid, the soulmate, but Blaine? Blaine, the Romantic? Blaine, the future teacher? Blaine, the small town boy? He hasn't been anywhere near Sebastian.
He fixes his eyes on Sebastian, determined to get what he's wanted from the beginning. "Let me see it."
Sebastian shifts away and gracefully stands up, shaking his head. "Blaine–"
That same old familiar dread twisters in his stomach. Why won't Sebastian simply show his soulmark? It won't be someone else's name, that doesn't happen, so why does Sebastian run away every time he's ready to come closer?
He clambers up in the sand and stands firm.
"No," he says. "I need to see it."
Sebastian releases a breath, long since defeated, while his eyes beg him not to do this, not to make him the one to shatter whatever illusions set in his heart at age nine.
"Please," he begs in turn, because this can't be all he holds onto anymore, the hope that one day he'll see his name printed on Sebastian's wrist. He needs it now. It's never been more important.
Sebastian dutifully takes off his watch, slips it in his pocket, and stretches out his arm for him to see.
He trips a tentative step closer, the ocean whispering caution, the breeze egging him onward, tearing his delicate teenage fantasy in half.
He reaches for Sebastian's wrist, eyes falling to black ink, and gets the breath knocked out of his lungs. Instead of his name, instead of the curl of two simple words so exquisitely etched into Sebastian's skin, a different tattoo covers Sebastian's wrist.
A barcode.
"Why–"
Tears blur his vision, the series of stripes phasing into a single black blotch. Sebastian was a non-believer, but this is a step further.
Sebastian erased his name.
Other celebrities had done it, but they did it to coax a reaction out of the media, a way to subvert the system and rile people up, rebel against a society that dictated they pursue their heart's desires because some invisible power told them to.
Sebastian wasn't like that, he didn't seek out the spotlight. He never hid who he was, but didn't flaunt his lifestyle either, didn't parade out in front of the paparazzi. In fact, no one even knew about this tattoo, so why do this?
"Why would you do this?" he asks, voice thick with tears, with pain, with the first hint of cracks in his heart.
Did their relationship mean that little? Did Sebastian not want his name? Had it been too long? Had he decided he wouldn't wait any longer?
Or worse, did Sebastian buy into the old Hollywood lifestyle, did he simply not feel the need to bind himself to a single person? If that's true he's grateful Sugar started this whole circus in the first place.
Sebastian can't ignore him with the entire world watching.
Guilt riddles Sebastian's eyes, and he takes a step closer, raises a hand to his face only to falter halfway — Sebastian's hand falls to his side.
"It was the only way to keep it from the press."
How could Sebastian do this to him? Steal one of his biggest dreams. All he wanted, all he needed, was to see his name on someone else's wrist. It didn't matter who, just that it was there, but now—
"But it said–"
"Don't worry, killer. It said Blaine Anderson."
He tracks a step back.
"Why did you ask me to the shoot today?"
"I told you."
"To see part of your life." He nods, and spills a few truths of his own certain to hurt Sebastian. "But I don't want to know you like this. We're soulmates, Sebastian, but that doesn't mean I want your every past relationship rubbed in my face."
"You're the one who asked me about Nick."
"Because he's still important to you!"
He's so tired of hearing about Nick, precious Nick, perfect Nick — if Nick was so perfect why isn't he here? Why did Nick choose his soulmate? Why can't Sebastian see his soulmate's standing right in front of him?
"I'm trying to respect that, but you need to move on with your life. Like he did."
"I have moved on." Sebastian frowns. "I'm not–"
Sebastian huffs scornfully and stares him dead in the eye, a shadow drawing down his face.
"I told you I'm not who you think I am."
Was this all Hunter's doing? Santana's? Had they convinced Sebastian that them meeting would look good in the press? Had Sebastian merely indulged them? Was this all a grand unscripted stage play, guided by an unseen hand?
How much has Sebastian faked, how many lies has he spun to gain his friendship, his love even, knowing full well they'd reach this point? Things weren't meant to end here, they were meant to start from here.
But it seems there's no fairytale waiting for him.
He balls his hands into fists, nails digging into his skin. He won't give Sebastian the satisfaction of his tears; he'll just walk home and break down in his room, far from Hollywood and its deceit.
"And I finally understand that now," he says, and digs his heels deeper into the sand, intent on turning his back on Sebastian and Hollywood altogether. "So thank you for that."
"Look at you, Mr Politically Correct."
The bite in Sebastian's voice sounds tired, bitter, and broken, anger soaked in frustration that's been building for years—
"If you expect everything here to be as black and white as your perfect little Lima, Ohio you're in for a rude awakening."
—anger not only directed at him but at the core of his malcontent, the root of his tragic belief system.
"You say my past doesn't matter to you but you've been judging me from the moment you walked through the door.
"My life's messy, Blaine, and sometimes I get so little time to myself that I feel I might explode. So I find my distractions. I don't need you or anyone else telling me what I should do with my life."
He sucks in a shuddery breath, folding his arms around himself for protection. "I'm not."
"But you are!" Sebastian shouts. "You're here with your tattoo and your ideals and you expect me to feel the same way. But that's not how it works, Blaine. Not in the real world."
He doesn't ask, he can't force his lips to form the words, do you want me?, playing in the tears in the corners of his eyes. He has his ideals and he can't change his tattoo, so what does Sebastian want from him? Sebastian has been lovely and kind and flirty, they've talked about things neither of them talk about easily while he's also been cryptic and distant and a non-believer. Which one was the real Sebastian? The boy who made him fear he might never achieve his dreams, or the boy who looked into his eyes after they kissed and thought, did you feel that too?
Where did this anger in Sebastian come from?
Defeated, and about two feet tall, he dares ask, "Why did you kiss me?"
Sebastian sighs. "Because I wanted to, Blaine."
Tracked a step closer, Sebastian runs a hand down his cheek.
"This world where you and I fall in love at first sight?"
He looks up with tear-filled eyes, drawn to the hope in that question, even though he's not naïve enough to think this will yet go his way.
"It doesn't exist."
Eyes closing, a tear slips down his cheek, caught in Sebastian's hand.
"But a world where one guy gets to know the other, they talk, they have dinner. They kiss. That's real."
He leans into Sebastian's touch, perhaps, for the last time. "But that's–"
"That's not what you want." Sebastian nods. "I know. You can't have what you want with me."
Why not? Why did all this sound so final? Sebastian had closed off before but this is different; he's willfully pushing him away this time.
"I like you, but I don't love you."
Sebastian's hand falls away, and he's left empty, cold, disillusioned.
"And you might think you love me," Sebastian adds, defeat crawled into the slump of his shoulders. "But do you even like me?"
No. Not this part. Not the part where Sebastian tears his dreams to pieces with his bare hands and has no reservations doing so. If Sebastian knows all these things about him, about his soulmate, then why—
Why—
He cries. "Why are you doing this?"
"You can't build a life around me, Blaine. I'm no good for you."
No. Sebastian was meant to be his Mr Perfect. Not a bitter disappointment.
"You shouldn't build a life around any one person," Sebastian says. "You deserve someone who can give you everything you want, and more, in spite of that tattoo. Because it doesn't mean shit."
"It's your name!"
Why didn't that mean anything to Sebastian? Surely he remembers how important it was to him when he turned eighteen, how important it was to Nick. Yet here he is, taking away the one thing that was taken from him. How could Sebastian be so cruel?
Sebastian shrugs, so callous it's like he snaps the strings on a marionette. Has he been a puppet on a string? Hunter's, Santana's, Sebastian's? Are they all laughing behind his back?
"And I gave up yours."
He draws in a breath that doesn't reach his lungs, tears streaming down his face.
That's it then.
He turns around and walks away, scooping buckets of sand along with him, but he can't stop now, if he stops he'll fall to his knees and cry for hours, he'll scream, he'll shout at the sky and ask why. Why did this happen? What did he do to deserve this? It started out so promising, exciting and crazy like one of those scenarios in the romantic movies he loves so much — and it hasn't been perfect, it's been hard, but that happened in the movies all the same.
Now he knows better? He's felt the painful sting of reality. Hollywood manufactured romantic stories, but there were none to be found within its borders. It was simply celebrities getting away with illicit affairs. The whole soulmate business has been commoditized into a million dollar industry; fans can buy fake tattoos to rub into their wrists, people can take pills to make the soulmark disappear. Hollywood creates the romance everyone dreams about, the romance he's dreamed about, but doesn't actually know what it's doing. Sebastian, like so many others, was merely some big exec's pawn to earn them hundreds of thousands of dollars, if not more.
He pushes through the front door aware that Cooper and Charlie are home. He means to lock it down, the grief spilling through his veins, he means to deal with his own problems like he always has, brave the few yards it takes him to get to his room before breaking down, but it's too hard to hold back when Charlie sounds so worried.
"Blaine?" she asks, "Honey, what's wrong?" and he falls into her waiting arms the way he would his mother's.
"Sebastian doesn't want me," he cries, holding on for dear life.
"What are you talking about?"
"He got another tattoo to cover my name," he says as tears stream down his face. "He doesn't have feelings for me. All I wanted was love and romance and all I got was a 'no thank you'."
"You expected to walk up to him and find that?" Cooper says, but not before Charlie casts him a pointed look.
"Yes!" he says, released from Charlie's arms. "He's my soulmate, Cooper, he's supposed to–"
"Blainey–" Cooper gets up from the couch, walking over to where his wife and little brother would rather not hear any more. His brother needs to learn when to shut up. Why can't he just support him? They're brothers, they're closer than they've ever been, but that doesn't mean he wants Cooper to draw the bottom line.
"He was supposed to look at me and I was supposed to look at him and know."
"Blaine, that's not how it works."
"Of course it is," he whispers, voice lost to a torrent of grief.
But Charlie shakes her head too, drags her fingers through his hair. "No, sweetie."
"That's what happened with you," he cries, every bit the nine-year-old impressionable toddler. Isn't that what he saw all those years ago? Or was it just an interpretation tattered by naïve and young eyes?
No, the same thing happened between his parents, between Tina and Mike, it had happened between Brittany and Santana and they were getting married.
Charlie cups his face. "The soul bond helps, but relationships are a lot of work. Coop and I had our problems."
Charlie and Cooper share a smile.
"Have our problems. You and Sebastian lead different lives. Give it some time."
He shakes his head. "I don't think I can."
Giving it time would presume Sebastian's interested in salvaging this, but he made it clear he gave up what they might have had a long time ago, long before the two of them even met. Where does he go from here? Does he just consign his dreams to the ether, where they may slowly dissipate until nothing is left? Does he go to college with Tina and move on? People don't simply move on, Sebastian's proof enough of that, he did the same thing to him Nick did in no uncertain terms four years ago. How does Sebastian live with himself? If Sebastian really figured him out the moment they met, why would he insist on breaking his heart like this?
There are too many questions, and his heart's sore from all the painful words Sebastian spoke on the beach, all meant to cut and bruise and make him so angry he wouldn't want to talk things through.
The story wasn't meant to end here.
Where is his happy ending?
.
.