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CHAPTER EIGHT
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(day 21)
Whole days pass in a blur.
Clamminess set in the sheets, his pillow cried salty, and as he exits the bathroom after what seems like his first shower in weeks, it dawns on him he's barely spoken to anyone. Tina started texting after her calls went unanswered — he didn't trust his voice to hide any pain or contempt. He'd filled her in on the broad strokes of what happened, or he would have if he had any idea himself.
Cooper tried to have an honest heart-to-heart the day after the photoshoot, to no avail. He could only hear give it time or everything will fall into place so many times before it became the trite thing it started out as. Words his brother and the people in his life wielded too often. Much to his relief Charlie hadn't done him the same discourtesy. She made sure he ate enough, forced him out of bed for every meal, even though he never ate much.
His days stretched into what felt like months, morning his winter, noon his summer seasons, and come dusk he crawled back underneath the sheets to start the cycle all over again. He'd sat outside by the pool, dangled his feet in the water, staring at an unfixed point in the distance. He'd walked along the beach hoping the fresh ocean air might clear his head, but the faded footprints in the sand resembled his and Sebastian's too closely. His heart broke that day on the beach, and the sharp shards of it swished around in his chest every time he moved.
So for the most part he remained indoors, lying around, reading words that didn't register.
He hasn't heard from Sebastian at all. No phone call. No text. Nothing.
At night, old nightmares surfaced; on the morning of his eighteenth birthday his arm misses a soulmark, and he travels through life shunned by society, rejected by his parents, his brother, his friends. Unloved for all his days. Sometimes the face in the mirror turned into Sebastian's.
And every morning since that night his nightmares left him weak, alone and rejected, because even though he woke to the sight of Sebastian's name on his wrist, he's quickly reminded Sebastian rejected him too. Sebastian didn't want him; not to love, not to have a relationship with. Maybe Sebastian didn't even want to be his friend.
On day four of his emotional exile Charlie settles next to him by the pool. She'd been on her feet all morning making phone calls to her assistants, pacing the room while she detailed how she wanted the set to look and what pieces to order, what cameras to have at the ready.
Like him, Charlie hadn't left the house in four days either, worried for him, worried because of him, afraid that she and Cooper might have said the wrong things when he returned home from the beach.
He wanted to ask his brother and Charlie so many things, things he wishes they could teach him about all this, things he wants to scream, things he hopes he never has to learn. He's that young boy again who knows any talk of soulmates should be left to grown-ups, that it's a rite of passage he isn't privy to yet and all the magic will only make sense to him once he's old enough to understand.
He's not that boy anymore, and he is old enough.
Yet he still can't speak that other language.
"You said you and Coop had problems."
"We still do." Charlie rubs over her belly. "He's afraid he won't be a good dad."
He can scarcely imagine what fear looks like on his brother, if it could be more than the fidgeting hands and ducking gaze he witnessed his first days in LA, or if that could result in shouting matches, giving Charlie the silent treatment – he can't picture it, but the outside gleam of his brother's marriage didn't reflect the inner mechanics of what made a real relationship. Did all couples fight? Did his parents do that behind closed doors?
"But you wouldn't have–"
He can't feel his way around the depths of this, around the magnitude of what it means to be in a long-lasting committed relationship. Sebastian obviously could; he'd been in a committed relationship long before his soulmark even appeared, a relationship that marred his views on love and happiness.
"I mean– You guys love each other."
"Very much," Charlie says, her smile imbued with her love for Cooper, all the quiet moments he's watched them share from his own point of perception. How can that beautiful couple sidled up to each other on the porch ever yell at each other? How can he have seen so much and so little at the same time?
"But relationships take more than love. You need patience and understanding. Sometimes you have to compromise and get angry, or even hate each other for a little while."
Maybe.
Maybe Sebastian had made up his mind long before he arrived, and there's no point even thinking about this. Maybe he never stood a chance. Maybe Nick ruined Sebastian long before he grew up. Maybe Sebastian wanted to hurt him the way he'd been hurt.
He stares down at his hands. "I thought it would be easier."
"You're eighteen years old, Blaine." Charlie reaches for his hand. "You've never had a boyfriend."
"I'm not naïve," he answers sharply, even though that might be the problem; his eyes are closed to the possibility that he'll have to fight for a relationship with Sebastian, that it'll never be easy as long as Sebastian refuses to let him in. He's carried this ideal with him for so long it's ingrained in his DNA.
But one look into a soulmate's eyes isn't all it takes, apparently. Not for them.
"I didn't mean–"
"You think I should fight for Sebastian?" he asks, too embarrassed about losing his cool. Charlie's only trying to help, which— how could he not love her for that? Cooper the Cynic didn't understand, and his foolish pride stopped him from telling his parents what'd happened. He made the same mistake he'd made with Karofsky, bottled it all up, kept it all to himself, and now he sat here stewing in his pain all alone. He's the same scared boy waking up from nightmares that tainted his biggest dreams with the most deep-seated fears. Only the question has changed; what if no one will ever love me? has now spun into what if my soulmate doesn't love me?
He doesn't know what being in love feels like, if it should be more than his quickening pulse whenever he lays eyes on Sebastian, if it should encompass more than being able to decipher some of Sebastian's inner workings. There are so many facets to Sebastian he can barely fit them all together in the same puzzle, the edges somehow never lining up: Sebastian likes him, but pushes him away; Sebastian calls him perfect, but points out his flaws; Sebastian values his innocence, but condemns him for it too.
"Doesn't have to be now," Charlie says. "Doesn't have to be for another few years."
Charlie urges him to grow, to learn, to figure things out away from Sebastian so he might recognize real love when he finds it. But how can he simply walk away? What if he misses the opportunity to break through Sebastian's walls while he still can?
"Just follow your heart." Charlie kisses his temple, and leaves him to his own thoughts.
No, he can't trust his heart right now.
His ambitions didn't include Hollywood, not the way it had Cooper's, and finally seeing it with his own two eyes hadn't changed his mind. Even if Sebastian had somehow reciprocated his feelings right away he would've left for college. Even still he preferred the idea of the East Coast, where the seasons were clearly delineated, where he could wear thick sweaters during the winter months, catch snow on his tongue, and still trot around in shorts in the summer. New York had seemed like such a far-off dream when he was a kid, with its broad streets filled with life, its Broadway musicals and mix of cultures, but it inched closer and closer. Does he give up that dream because Sebastian lives in Los Angeles? Or should he be selfish and chase his dream, leave Sebastian behind the way Nick had? It wouldn't be the same, but wouldn't he be betraying himself too, in a way?
"Blaine?" Sebastian's voice cuts through his thick cloud of thoughts.
"Sebastian," he breathes, and scrambles upright, nearly toppling into the pool.
He takes in the man –boy– in front of him and swallows hard, his hands undecided where to settle, much like his eyes, which tick along Sebastian's shy and awkward smile, down his slumped shoulders, down to where one of his hands picks nervously at the other, the barcode tattoo once again covered by his watch.
"I hope you don't mind. Your sister-in-law let me in."
He blinks, heart stuttering an offbeat tune. And I gave up yours rings in his ears until it drives him deaf, an infectious buzz at the back of his head that taints everything he thought he felt for Sebastian. The choice in words had been precise and calculated, like a surgeon's steady hand excising flesh.
Sebastian meant to hurt him.
"What are you doing here?"
"I didn't want to leave things the way we–" Sebastian sighs, scratching the back of his head as he stutters, "The way I–", every bit the boy he thought he'd fallen in love with, lodged in between all the parts of the man Hollywood made him into. A fake man.
"I was too hard on you," Sebastian says. "I know there isn't anything I can say to–"
He crosses his arms over his chest, shrinking in the hopes that'll make him a smaller target.
"I don't regret what I said," Sebastian says concisely, and his eyes shoot up to catch the intense green ones now intent on his face.
His throat closes up around the lack of an apology. He couldn't speak even if he tried. That night on the beach Sebastian showed all his darkest colors, told him what he wanted to hear until he couldn't keep up the lie anymore and shot him down where he stood. In some twisted way it's almost reassuring not to get an apology: he might not understand where it all came from, what was at the root of Sebastian's anger and disillusionment, but at least he knew where they stood. Unloved. Rejected. He may as well have no soulmark at all.
"But I am sorry for the way I said it."
He cast down his eyes, reluctant to give Sebastian an inch of relief. Maybe it's not giving Sebastian enough credit, he's here for a reason after all, but he won't be lured in only to be hurt again. He may be naïve, but he's not stupid.
Reached down for his towel he dries his feet, Sebastian watching him in silence, both of them at a complete loss for words.
What should he say? That Sebastian hurt him more than he could ever have imagined, or that he suspects that was his intention in the first place? That Sebastian's gotten so lost in his own industry's way of doing things it's poisoned him? That's what he wants to say, all the things that make him shake with anger where he stands, he wants to spit it all out, and ask why, and how, and where this all traced back to. Because surely something must have happened to make Sebastian believe he doesn't deserve to be loved.
He toes back into the house before he runs his mouth, his hands balled into fists by his side while the quiet shuffle of Sebastian's tread accompanies him inside. That silence should reassure him the way Charlie's had, a certain awareness in Sebastian's quiet, but the moment his eyes catch on the couch where they'd spent most of their third date –if that's what he can call it–, despair replaces his anger.
Had they not shared something?
"Can I buy you dinner?" comes Sebastian's tentative question.
He turns around slowly, Sebastian shrunk an inch smaller too. "I'm not really hungry."
The corners of Sebastian's mouth pull down, but he nods, a little hope left in his eyes when he asks, "Talk, then?"
It's everything he wants and more, to give Sebastian the opportunity to explain, to reach some sort of status quo. He didn't think he'd have the opportunity to be alone with Sebastian again and suddenly it's all more than he can take, his chest too heavy, throat raw from crying, the stifling air in the bungalow, Charlie no doubt listening in the next room.
"Not here," the words leap from his lips, the palms of his hands sweaty. He needs them to be alone for a while.
He shouts a goodbye to Charlie, who either doesn't hear or continues to respect his privacy, and soon he's seated next to Sebastian in the Ford Mustang, the red a reflection of the wound in his chest.
"I saw you and Quinn talking the other day," Sebastian says, in a misguided an attempt to abate some of the awkwardness between them. "She give you any dirt on me?"
"She told me not to let you off the hook too easily," he answers, his voice sharp again, in his own honest attempt not to let Sebastian get away with diminishing anything that happened. Sebastian can't take back what he said, so he's determined to milk the full extent of his upset. "Because enough people do that already."
Sebastian licks his lips, eyes tripping along the horizon as if they're being watched.
Quinn said Sebastian didn't let people in easily, no matter who they were, and he ached for the boy hugging his knees to his chest, for the eighteen-year-old who got his heart broken, cried salt into his pillow, let days go buy in a blur of grief and heartache.
Why had Sebastian done the same to him?
He wants to pick at the wound Nick left behind, dig deeper still for whatever or whoever convinced Sebastian he wasn't worthy of love, find out what Sebastian's nightmares could tell him about this impossible armor around his heart.
Maybe that's all it was at the end of the day, fear of rejection, fear of being shunned by society, fear of whatever demons plagued him even in his waking hours.
And if that's all it is, that deserved a conscious effort on his part not to start another fight.
Anger never suited him anyway.
He stares down at his hands, folded together in his lap. "How long have you known her?"
"We met when we were eight. Broadway kids."
It's no more information than he got from Quinn already, but he hopes a little more patience might pay off, might show Sebastian that he's been genuinely interested in getting to know him from the start.
"Quinn's the closest thing I have to a best friend."
"You don't"—he frowns—"have a best friend?"
How can that be? He couldn't imagine life without Sam or Tina, without someone to confide in.
"Thought I did," Sebastian says. "A long time ago."
The name lies loose on both their lips, but Sebastian doesn't say it, and frankly he's tired of the mere suggestion. Nick made his choices four years ago. Why can't Sebastian?
"Guess that makes Quinn the next best thing."
Sebastian shrugs, the same old pinnacle of bitterness and frustration, like there's a veneer of lies welded around everything he says, the rust of Hollywood oxidizing around his life.
"She reminds me of–"
Sebastian's voice falters, the one thing he never mentions unprompted dissipated in a memory, and he blinks up in surprise at the cloaked mention of it — not Nick this time, not a long ago lost love, but something far more material. Sebastian's torn the same way he is, between a life he wants but one cruelly ripped away, one tainted by heartbreak, and a distant dream he could have.
It isn't Nick Sebastian misses. He misses Broadway.
Quinn reminded him of all the good parts of Broadway, whereas Nick merely served to remind him of what he lost. So maybe Sebastian has to keep Quinn at arm's length, another layer of protection Sebastian needs to keep from falling apart. He wondered if running away was the best course of action for Sebastian to take.
Four years seemed like a long time to get over a break-up, but what does he know?
That day on the beach comes crashing back in a tidal wave of hurt. Sebastian accused him of loving an idea, a faceless soulmate that would cast his life in color, whose missing puzzle pieces when assembled with his would make for a complete picture, perfect in every way. And ever since that name appeared on his wrist he cast Sebastian in that starring role, put up on a pedestal to be worshipped.
What could he possibly really know?
All he can do now, all he can think to do is let go of any pretense left between them, treat Sebastian how he deserved to be treated. Like a real person.
"Would you go back?" he asks carefully. "To Broadway?"
Sebastian shrugs. "I guess."
He would say Sebastian doesn't have to be afraid when he's proven he can handle Broadway, if not for his own fear of sounding too naïve.
Silence blankets the rest of the twenty-minute drive, wind wheezing in his ears, the sun warm on his face, his heart a frightened mess in his chest. What could they possibly talk about that won't break his heart all over again?
Thandie runs over barking and starts pawing at his legs the moment they set foot in the house, licking his fingers when he tries to scratch behind her ears. The picture of Nick he'd noted on his first visit still hides behind the others, tucked strategically out of sight yet present nonetheless, and he starts to doubt his own convictions. Perfect or not, he can't compete with an idea, with someone who hurt Sebastian but somehow still earns his affections.
Sebastian must catch him staring.
"I am over him," comes his voice, soft and secure.
He turns around to face Sebastian.
"I won't say the experience changed me for the better. But I'm not hung up on what might have been."
Aren't you? he means to ask, but Sebastian's been known to shut down at such questions.
"You don't talk to him anymore."
Sebastian's eyes set in the distance for a few seconds as he contemplates his answer, but that, too, reflects a depth of conviction he's never heard him voice.
"A choice I made for myself. One I had every right to make," Sebastian says, wandering a step closer. "You don't have to let people hurt you, Blaine. You're allowed to cut people from your life."
His shoulders roll. He never thought of it that way, how Sebastian may sound bitter but made a choice that benefited his mental health. Who's he to question that? If Sebastian's at peace with his decision, and it's ultimately Broadway he misses, maybe he misjudged Sebastian from the start. Sebastian hasn't shown him all his cards, but he hasn't shown enough genuine interest in the deck for him to open up.
"You hurt me," the words escape him involuntarily, never before this small in Sebastian's presence, so frail, so breakable.
Should he cut Sebastian from his life? Should that be a decision he makes now to protect his heart, to protect his beliefs, to protect his love for love? Sebastian made his feelings perfectly clear but he believes in soulmates, he cherishes the tattoo on his arm in ways Sebastian never has. He will never stop believing in the magic of that.
"I'm not sure that wasn't my intention." Sebastian's hands settle in his pockets, eyes cast down to the floor in shame. "Charming as I can be, I can be an asshole too."
His mouth goes dry, pulled in every possible direction once again at the sight of all of Sebastian's different facets; the charmer didn't negate all the bad parts, like the bad parts don't taint the fact that they hit it off, that they kissed, shared something in the sparse space between their bodies that hinted at a deeper connection. Maybe it wasn't love. Not yet. But it was something.
It's the space of that something that needs to be explored; now, later, years from now... all he knows is that they can't leave things the way they are.
"Maybe"—he starts, conceding higher ground he never really had—"maybe we can order in?"
It's worth Sebastian's smile alone.
"Okay, killer. Pizza?"
"Sounds great."
"You're not one of those people who have pineapple on their pizza, right?"
Sebastian toes backwards towards the kitchen counter, hips swaying like a dancer's, a clear and teasing lilt in his voice before he unearths a takeaway menu from a drawer.
He feigns insult. "I'm not a monster."
The soft smile Sebastian offers shouldn't make his skin buzz, the way his eyes caress down the length of his body shouldn't set his bones on fire with want for a body he's been told he can't have — how often he's playfully fantasized about it, of tracing his fingertips between the dozens of freckles littered down Sebastian's torso, his lips following in their wake and his hand would sneak beneath the covers to fulfil a dark and heavy need. Sebastian can't keep looking at him like that, shouldn't look at him like that if he's meant to take the words he spewed a few nights ago at face value. Because Sebastian gave up his name, gave up on them before the concept had been born in his own teenage mind, before he'd even developed a crush on the big Hollywood star.
Sebastian's eyes betray a duality his arguments skillfully hid, a boyish innocence he can't give himself over to, for whatever reason.
He averts his eyes and tries to settle his body, but he can't escape the implications of all that, of Sebastian pushing him away on purpose. What for? Who told him long before Nick ever came along that he stood no chance of finding love? Why did Sebastian become so convinced of that once he lost Nick?
He sets off down a hallway in search of a bathroom where he splashes some water in his face, distracted by more of Sebastian's mom's artwork on the way back. There were accents of her dotted all throughout the house. His feet carry him upstairs, small paintings interspersed with bigger ones, a statue here or there, even some plants in the two guest rooms. All of Sebastian's personal photos seem to be confined to that one cupboard downstairs in the living room, yet his mother's touch carried through, even to the master bedroom, the wall behind the king-sized bed dominated by a large painting full of lively colors. Colors the rest of the room lacks, drawing even more attention to the artwork. He'd already marveled at the way Sebastian had spoken about his mother, how clearly his love for his parents shone through his stories, and this underscores it all the more. It also adds another puzzle piece among the many others he can't make fit.
"You're not getting any ideas, are you, killer?"
Sebastian wanders into his field of vision, crossing his feet at the ankles as he tips a shoulder against the doorframe, a soft smile playing around his lips.
Somehow, he manages to laugh. "No."
But as Sebastian asks the question, and his eyes skip to the meticulously made bed, he wonders how many boys have tumbled in those sheets, whose hands have snuck beneath the covers and touched themselves, touched Sebastian. Maybe Adam has been in there, too.
Before he came to LA he'd been convinced Sebastian's past wouldn't matter, but Sebastian was right: he's been judging him, subconsciously or not he hasn't been comfortable knowing Sebastian's been with other people. He really has been in love with an idealized version.
"What are you thinking?"
Too embarrassed to give voice to his thoughts, he asks another question that been humming in his mind.
"Have your parents asked about me?"
Sebastian's eyes skip to his mother's artwork on the wall, then down to the floor. Would Sebastian's parents approve of what he's doing? Would they tell him to push him away, or fight for him?
Maybe Dottie's traditions weren't such a terrible idea after all, parents first discussing everything before two soulmates met, planning careful meetings under their parents' watchful eyes. If his parents were here they might have told him not to get too lost in his dreams. What would Sebastian's parents have told him?
"Of course," Sebastian answers, hands in his pockets. "I'm sure your parents have asked about me."
His parents hadn't pried too much. He's done things his own way since he was a young boy, and his parents gave him the time and space to figure things out for himself. It's been no different with Sebastian; they trust him to make the right choices. But he could use some parental guidance right now.
"You said your parents fell in love the moment they saw each other."
It'd been a glimmer of hope that brightened all the darker patches he figured they'd face; the media circus, the time apart while Sebastian shot his movies and he went to school, the paparazzi. Now it didn't sound all that hopeful anymore.
"That's not–"
Sebastian closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, stuttering his way through a maze of scattered thoughts.
"It's not the same as– We're not–"
The doorbell literally saves Sebastian from having to answer, and as he releases a sigh of relief his hope follows him out of the room. There'd been no hint of any issues when Sebastian talked about his parents, and his mom's fingerprints all over the house made that unlikely. So what's going on? How is the way Sebastian's parents met and fell in love at first sight any different than any other soulmate story? Any other story but theirs, anyway.
Sebastian sets the coffee table with some plates and two drinks, and he settles on the couch without much hesitation. There's an odd optimism to Sebastian's movements, a confidence he exuded from the day they met now underlain with expectation — maybe Sebastian does hope they can talk through whatever terrible things have been said. Or revealed.
Like the barcode tattooed over his name.
"Why did you choose that tattoo?" he asks carefully, sitting back.
"Isn't that what soulmarks are?" Sebastian answers without thinking, "A set of"—but catches himself before his tone can veer towards insensitivity again. Sebastian's been careful in his choice of words since he showed up at the house, and the effort alone earns his gratitude.
"It tells us how to live our lives."
"And you don't like people telling you what to do?"
"I can take orders, if that's what you're implying." Sebastian smiles. "Kind of hard not to with Santana as my agent."
"You ever disobey Hunter?"
Sebastian laughs. "That's just good fun."
He stares down at the plate in his lap, picking a black olive off the melted cheese.
"I wanted Nick's name when I turned eighteen, even though–"
Sebastian takes a deep breath, rubs at his forehead, swallowing back what the doorbell had stopped him admitting earlier. Was Sebastian keeping another secret? What was it that he held so tight to his chest, locked up so deep that it merited chasing away his soulmate?
Sebastian sinks deeper into the couch cushions, and takes off his watch, drawing the tips of his fingers over the barcode tattoo on his wrist.
"When it wasn't I had the bright idea to get this." He shrugs. "Something kids do to act out."
He sets his plate on the coffee table and sits back, his shoulder brushing Sebastian's, two kids in cahoots.
"Safe to say my parents didn't approve."
"You wouldn't do it again?"
"No." Sebastian turns his head. "If only not to hurt you."
He smiles softly, quietly appreciative of Sebastian's answer.
"You're wrong, you know?" he says, aware of how close their bodies sit pressed together, of how he can smell Sebastian's skin and see every shift in his beautiful green eyes, how unguarded Sebastian's allowing himself to be. "Soulmarks aren't orders."
"Aren't they?"
"Why do you say things like that?"
"People expect us to be together," Sebastian says. "Society expects us to be together. When is it ever about two people anymore? We live in the 21st century and we let"—Sebastian contemplates his choice in words carefully—"magical tattoos dictate our lives."
"No, we don't," he's quick to answer.
"No?"
"No, we don't."
He sits up, staring at Sebastian over his shoulder, his unease cementing between his shoulder blades. Their world lived and breathed around the existence of soulmarks, that's how it is and always has been. Just because Hollywood perverted that into a different way of thinking doesn't mean he should believe that too.
"We still have our own lives, why would you–"
Sebastian sits up alongside him, pushing impossibly closer until all he sees is the green of his eyes.
A breath catches in his throat.
"What if I asked you to stay?"
He frowns.
"Instead of going to Brown," Sebastian says. "What if I asked you to stay?"
The challenge couldn't be more clear if Sebastian spelled it out, not so much making a point about people in general but about him specifically. Because he would stay, should Sebastian really mean it. He'd sacrifice his other dreams and ambitions for this one, for his soulmate, and—
He casts down his eyes.
And that's not healthy. It's the point Sebastian tried to make on the beach, albeit in much harsher terms. He would build his life around Sebastian if he stayed, he'd surrender his own dreams, give up his ambitions, and he'd end up resenting himself and Sebastian for it.
Soulmates don't stop being individuals once they find each other.
"I know it's not what you want to hear."
He scoffs, without any real power behind it. "I'm naïve, I get it."
"Blaine," Sebastian calls softly.
Yes, he's naïve, he can't decipher his heart's desires and Sebastian makes it even harder; how can he be these two people, the charming boy he talks to easily, and the disillusioned man who won't be loved. Somehow, they don't seem part of the same puzzle.
"Blaine."
He looks up into Sebastian's eyes, overwhelmed by the affection in them.
"That's not a bad thing," Sebastian says softly, his breath warm on his face.
And when he leans in he falls into Sebastian the way he had before, though this time it's not so much falling as it is flying, towards someone he can't have. His lips touch someone's out of reach, and Sebastian freezes for a fraction of a second, his brain processing what happened before he, too, gives into the kiss; Sebastian's body folds towards his, a hand at his waist coaxing him closer while his hesitantly reaches up for Sebastian's face, five o'clock shadow pleasantly rough to the touch.
He couldn't say what comes over him, what gives him the courage to lick along Sebastian's lips and draw him closer, until Sebastian uses his height to sink into a deeper kiss, tongue caressing the roof of his mouth, a content moan at the back of his throat. It's the same tentative and slow kiss they shared before with more heat behind it, so much more at stake now that he can feel Sebastian slowly but surely rejecting him. His fingers wind through Sebastian's hair, a whimper tumbling from his lips when Sebastian's fingers dig into his hip, but Sebastian's body wavers soon after.
"Blaine." Sebastian pulls back, sidling his hand down to his chest, where his heart beats underneath more layers than he can pierce through. "I can't."
Another few seconds and he could've convinced Sebastian this was worth sticking out, because that same feeling's there again, and Sebastian felt it too. It's in the intensity of his eyes, his lingering taste, and the red of his slightly swollen lips, in his erratic heartbeat and the fingers grabbing around his waist. Gravity makes them gravitate towards each other, even after their fight on the beach Sebastian came back for a reason, for the something in the space between them. He might not be able to name it, but it's real, and if that's real, why can't he have it? Why can't Sebastian be with him?
Maybe he's too afraid of the commitment, maybe he's gotten so used to making choices for his mental health that he can't allow himself to be hurt again. Even if he has no intention of hurting Sebastian.
His fingers burrow into Sebastian's chest, as if he could reach below the bone and tear through the separate layers with his bare hands.
"Is there no hope at all for–"
The words lodge at the back of his throat as he catches Sebastian's eyes again, torn the same as his. Can you love me?
"I don't want you to–" Sebastian stutters, words caught in the same place his are.
There's something here, but they both know he doesn't have the patience to wait for it, and Sebastian can't give it to him. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Sebastian has lied and keeps secrets from him still, for reasons that remain his own.
"–build a life around you," he fills in the blanks, sniffling. "Right."
"I don't have your answers, killer," Sebastian adds solemnly. "Never did."
Maybe Charlie had a point, his answers lay with his own ambitions for the moment, with Brown, with sharing that adventure with Tina. Maybe even another boy, for a while. He hopes beyond all hope that all it takes is a different focus, heaps of patience he has yet to find for Sebastian to come to him. But hope has been a rare commodity since he came to LA.
Sebastian wipes at a tear he wasn't aware he'd shed. "I'm sorry, Blaine Anderson."
He nods. He can't speak. If he tries he'll cry.
Sebastian draws him closer and pushes a kiss to his forehead.
More than anything he thinks it's a goodbye.
.
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