Sebastian spent five days fighting his fever, barely able to move, completely unable to keep anything down, and he relished it. It gave him something to think about besides the inevitable. Part of him hoped he wouldn't get better, and that the illness would do his job for him. Sometimes he slept so deeply, he thought he was dead, but instead of a peaceful eternity spent with Kurt, there was just nothing.
That scared him the most…
…because if there was nothing to return to after death, his Kurt wasn't just gone in the physical sense. It meant that he no longer existed, and after just seven short years of a life spent together he would never see his beloved husband again.
On the sixth day he had enough. His legs trembled and his insides still threatened to turn him inside out with every step he took, but he didn't care. It was time to get started.
Sebastian decided not to look at his phone. He wasn't going to check his texts or messages. He could care less if city hall called with new ideas for his painting. They had paid him in advance They would get what they got from him and like it. So what if they threatened to sue him? He'd like to see them try.
The painting was supposed to be a dramatic landscape view from a hilltop just east of the county where they lived. He had planned to drive up there and map out the land, do some preliminary sketches, gauge his perspective.
Fuck that, he thought. I'm just going to wing it.
He and Kurt had driven all over that town in Sebastian's little red Mustang convertible. He pretty much knew the place by heart. He knew where all the roads led. He knew the dips and curves that passed beneath the oak trees. He knew where the creek crossed the old cow road, and the trails that led up the hillsides.
He and Kurt had made love along most of those roads: in the back seat of his car, parked hidden from view, even lying out on the grass under the sun on one or two more adventurous occasions.
One time in the rain.
Sebastian sighed. He pulled out a canvas and dropped it unceremoniously onto his easel.
This wasn't going to be his best work.
Far from it, as a matter of fact.
But why put one hundred percent into it? If you've seen one stinking landscape you've seen them all. As long as it was good enough for the hospitality industry, it would be fine.
Sebastian barely regarded the canvas before he started dropping paint on it, haphazardly in some cases, not even noticing when the grass bled up into the sky too far on one side, or how the hill looked more like a humpbacked snake than a majestic hillside. In his head he could hear Kurt chuckling, that cute way he snorted when laughing got the best of him and he couldn't stop. Sebastian smirked at the thought of Kurt standing beside him, teasing him; of how he would shut him up by reaching out an acrylic stained hand and threatening his favorite Alexander McQueen.
"Sebastian Smythe!" Kurt would screech. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me," Sebastian would quip, and very soon the painting would be abandoned, Sebastian chasing after Kurt throughout the house, leaping over furniture and dodging wayward canvases along the way. Kurt would race outside, imaging that the open stretch of land would give him the advantage, but he would start stripping off his precious shirt along the way, knowing he would get caught.
Kurt was always more athletic than Sebastian sometimes gave him credit for. Sebastian often wondered if Kurt let him catch up on purpose.
Eventually the chase would lead back into the house, the shirt discarded carefully on an obliging chair, and Sebastian would win – he always won. He'd grab Kurt around the waist, and drag his body back against his, panting and flushed and hot and simply perfect in every way.
Paint would be everywhere by the time they were done making love – sticking to Kurt's hair where Sebastian had run his fingers through it; long stripes streaking the wood boards where Sebastian had raked his nails along the floor, grabbing for purchase; a rainbow of fingerprints all over Kurt's pale skin, down his chest where Sebastian traced the outlines of his muscles, around his wrists where Sebastian pinned him down, curling over his hips where Sebastian held him securely against him.
Sebastian stopped daydreaming when he felt the tears prick his eyes and fall. He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his work shirt, blinking away the memories of an afternoon spent lying in a colorful mess on the floor, Kurt rolling over onto Sebastian's body to make a masterpiece of his own.
Sebastian looked at his painting, prepared to mock the mess he had made, picturing the travesty of having this worthless piece of shit hanging at city hall, but he stopped…and he stared. His pallet slipped from his hands and crashed to the floor, spattering his shoes and marring the wood.
Gone was the bleeding paint and the humpback snake.
Gone was the mess and the senseless splatter.
At some point during his musings he had fixed the painting. It had changed from monstrosity to memory, a vivid one at that, of the rolling hillside in spring, wildflowers dotting the grass, the sun just a suggestion in the quality of the light and the shadows it threw. If he had been trying for perfection, consciously attempting to make a painting that conveyed the feeling of beauty and the promise of new life, he would never have been able to come close. But the recognition of his own exceptional technique wasn't what drew his eye; it was the stretch of road in the distance, and on it a candy apple red Mustang rolling through the hillside with its top down, and two passengers inside. Sebastian assumed he was the one driving but the man in the driver's seat was most definitely Kurt, turning to wave over his shoulder, an overjoyed smile on his face.
He looked so happy; so extremely carefree.
He looked so real.
Sebastian reached out a hand, fingertips hovering over the paint where Kurt's face looked up at him.
Honk, honk.
Sebastian jumped at the sound of a car horn in his driveway, but once the surprised subsided, it turned to annoyance. The idea that someone who couldn't get him by phone had driven all the way out to his house infuriated him.
Sebastian left the painting on its easel and stomped through the house.
Honk, honk.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it, you stupid motherfucker!" Sebastian screamed. "You're so important you can't even get out of your fucking car and ring the Goddamned bell!"
"Come on, Sebastian," a lyrical voice called. "Hurry up! We're going to be late!"
Sebastian stopped cold in his tracks. He tried to swallow back the bile that had risen to his mouth at the sound of that voice, but he couldn't. For long seconds, for what seemed like forever, he couldn't make himself move.
Honk, honk.
"Sebastian!"
That was his impetus to move.
"Kurt?" Sebastian breathed, running for the door.
He couldn't believe he was saying it, like Kurt would actually be there.
He wanted to slap himself for even thinking it was a possibility.
But there he was, racing for the door, hoping against hope of what he would see once he opened it.
Honk, ho -
The sound cut off when the door flew open, and for a second – no, what's less than a second? – Sebastian heard just the hint of a laugh and saw a flash of blue eyes sitting in the passenger seal of his uncovered Mustang.
A Mustang he kept covered 24/7.
Sebastian stood in the doorway, trying to reconcile exactly what he was looking at.
A car. It was just a car. Nothing supernatural or special about it.
Sebastian stepped slowly outside and looked closer at it, examining it in hopes of finding an answer as to why a car he barely drove had been honking on its own, and how a cover that had fit snuggly for most of the year had suddenly blown off.
Sebastian's eyes searched the drive, the house, and the field beyond, looking for some sign that someone, some stupid neighbor's kid, had been pulling pranks. He took a moment to cover the Mustang again, hoping that concentrating on something other than the thought of Kurt standing in the driveway honking the horn would stop his hands from shaking.
Sebastian took one final look around before retreating back to the house, double-locking the door behind him, feeling ridiculous when he did. He returned to the painting, to the peaceful hillside and the happy couple in the car driving off into the sunset. A sudden revulsion filled him. It was too much.
He grabbed a small bottle of paint thinner and doused the painting, watching the colors run and drip, the happy couple in their little red car smear down the canvas and disappear. He watched until the beautiful picturesque hillside was reduced to nothing more than a sloppy mess. Then he turned his back on his memories and went back to bed.
"Sebastian! Are you going to wash my back or not?"
"Hold up, babe! I'm…uh…doing something…"
"What are you…oh, God! Tell me you're not masturbating again!"
"Ha!"
"You know, my love, I'm pretty sure you're going to wear that thing out with over use!"
"Never!"
"Then what are you…Sebastian! Are you sketching me!? I'm in the shower!"
"I know, gorgeous. That's why I'm sketching you."
"But, I'm naked, Sebastian! And I…wait a minute…it can't be that big, can it?"
"Yup."
"For real?"
"Yup."
"Are you…"
"Kurt…I just spent an hour with your cock in my mouth. I think I know how big it is."
"Oh…well…continue on, then…"
Sebastian woke to the sound of his own laughing in his sleep. He felt so light, so happy. He laughed so hard that tears leaked from his eyes and he shook his head as he began to wake. The more conscious of his current surroundings he became, the more aware he was of two things: a strange grainy feeling on his fingertips, and a muted sound of falling water.
Sebastian sighed.
It was raining again.
Sebastian forced his eyes open, curious as to the substance that covered his skin. His sketch pad and a charcoal pencil lay beside him on the bed. Somehow he had been drawing in his sleep. He smirked. It was unusual, but it had happened before. He looked down at the drawing, crudely drawn, but amazingly still one of his best. He blinked some more in an attempt to identify the subject, and even though it shot a cold arrow into his chest he was somehow not surprised.
He had drawn Kurt taking a shower, hands tangling in his hair, steam rising around his body, a small half-smile on his lips at the thought of being watched.
Sebastian loved that smile.
He always got so lost in that smile.
He got lost in it now; so lost that he barely remembered the rain…but not rain he began to realize as the memory started to dissolve and Sebastian's mind started to wake.
Not the rain…the shower.
And above the thread of the sound of falling water he heard another clear and glorious sound.
The sound of someone humming.
Sebastian bolted from his bed. It had to be real this time. There couldn't be any doubt. The bathroom was only a few feet away from the bed where he lay. He could hear the water – and the humming – as clear as day. Sebastian raced into the bathroom, the air thick with steam, the mirrors covered in a layer of condensation. His heart leapt as the sound of humming became louder, and then a telltale giggle.
"Sebastian! I…"
Sebastian threw the curtains open and everything stopped.
No water.
The steam gone.
The mirrors clear and dry.
He stood stock still, staring, mouth agape at an empty shower of cream-colored tile.
Sebastian was caught between emotions, a desire to howl in anger welling up in his chest, and the beginning of a complete nervous breakdown.
With a loud growl he tore down the shower curtain, resorting to yelling, feeling it best if he stayed sane a little longer.
He stormed through the bathroom, pulling the mirrors off the wall, tossing bottles left and right, at one point he even punched the tile, cracking the porcelain and cutting his hand.
The sharp stab of pain drew his attention and he stopped. He stared down at his bleeding hand, his chest burning as he fought to slow his breathing. He stood among the wreckage of the master bath and sighed. So much anger. So much useless destruction. None of it was going to bring Kurt back.
Sebastian stumbled out to the kitchen, past the wasted pallet on the floor, past the painting that still dripped acrylic, and made his way to the sink. He turned on the cold water and stuck his hand beneath, head bowed over the silver basin, watching the remains of blood drip away. He felt his eyes drift closed as the stinging water somehow managed to soothe him, and for a moment he could imagine Kurt draping an arm around him, fussing over him, kissing his temples, massaging his neck, telling him everything would be alright.
Sebastian fumbled for the faucet handle with his eyes still closed, and as the water shut off, in the silence, Sebastian heard a sigh that was not his own.
He didn't want to open his eyes. He wanted Kurt back, but he was done seeing ghosts.
He wanted it all to end.
"Paint it," he heard a quiet voice say.
When Sebastian opened his eyes, the flash of blue he knew had been there was gone.