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BLOW ME (ONE LAST KISS)

part three

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Running late.

Bring me some coffee?

S.

He smiles down at the text on his phone. It isn't the first time Professor Miles' extra maths class has made Sebastian late–many of the other students suspect he schedules them so early to weed out the slackers and heavy partiers, but for Sebastian his tardiness was more a matter of principle: he was top of his class, had aced all his tests so far, yet still couldn't catch a break.

He orders two medium drips, one with Courvoisier because Sebastian could probably use it today, and a bagel in case Sebastian gets hungry in class. As much as Sebastian takes care of him sometimes it's something he gives back whenever he can–Sebastian just needs a different kind of care, a little less hands-on and a whole lot more subtle. But that didn't mean Sebastian didn't appreciate it.

The carton holding their coffees balances precariously in one hand, the small paper bag hooked around two fingers while he tries to avoid running into anyone on the stairwell.

"Boyfriend running late again?" Nick asks him in passing.

"What would he do without me?" he calls over his shoulder, even though he'd do little without Sebastian in turn. Nick disappears into Jeff's room without another word while he rounds the corner and–

He stops dead in his tracks.

His face falls when he sees Adam surfacing from Sebastian's dorm room, closing the door behind him, the usual cheer in his demeanour.

Is this why Sebastian's running late? Because Adam was keeping him busy?

Was he here for the same reason he always came here? The two of them always had a lot of fun whenever Adam breezed through town; he hardly saw Sebastian when Adam was around and that was fine, but he didn't think–

He hooked up with Sam and Ford and Tucker but that was before that kiss, before they started sleeping together.

Why is he feeling this so strongly?

He's not sure how his feet drag him forward, he's not even aware he knocked until Sebastian opens the door. He holds out Sebastian's coffee without thinking, without questioning Sebastian's half-naked state, but subconsciously notes there's no signs on Sebastian's body that suggests he slept with Adam. There's still a hickey he sucked into Sebastian's collarbone the night before last, but that's it.

"You're a lifesaver, killer," Sebastian says and takes hold of his coffee, stalking back into the room to get dressed. "Professor Miles will have my ass if I'm late again."

He clears his throat. "You could always forego your morning coffee," he says, trying to lighten the mood while searching the room for evidence of his suspicions. Sebastian's bed has clearly been slept in, but there's a pillow and a blanket on the pull-out, Adam's bag on the floor. Sebastian's bedside drawer is closed, no used or unused condoms in sight, and no lube either.

But his heart still beats fast with uncertainty.

"Funny," he hears Sebastian call from the bathroom, the water running for a few moments.

"You didn't have to sneak out yesterday, you know." Sebastian emerges again, pulling a shirt over his shoulders. "It's not like we haven't slept in the same bed before."

He blinks, refocusing on the here and now. Maybe Adam was just crashing here.

"That was when we still believed in Santa Claus."

"Wait," Sebastian says, shirt pinched between his thumbs and index fingers. "Santa's not real?"

He chuckles. "Shut up."

Sebastian smiles, but doesn't make another comment–he finishes dressing, tucking his shirt into his pants, and sits down on the bed.

"I see Adam's back in town," he tries to ask as inconspicuously as possible, leaning back against Sebastian's desk.

"Just for a few days," Sebastian answers while tying his shoes.

It's always for a few days, he thinks. Sebastian and Adam could've been something if it hadn't been for Adam's drive to be on the move. If it weren't for things tying him down here, Sebastian might've gone with him. He wonders if Sebastian still would after everything that happened between them.

He fiddles with one of the pens on Sebastian's desk while he finishes tying his shoelaces. "Did you love him?" he asks, even though he'd much rather ask a different question, a dangerous question, one he probably never would've considered if Adam hadn't resurfaced.

"That's a loaded question," Sebastian says, and stands up, frowning, the question apparently more difficult than even he anticipated. "We like each other more than when we were dating," Sebastian ends up saying, but he doesn't seem happy with his answer.

Sebastian walks over and leans in. "Why?" he asks, pushing a kiss just shy of his lips, and pulls back. It's more playful than intimate, like the kisses they shared in front of their parents.

Something curls tight in his stomach.

"You jealous?"

He huffs a half-hearted chuckle, a sentiment that disappears instantly because yes, this is jealousy, and it catches him by surprise. "Did you tell him about us?"

"How we're pretending to be boyfriends?" Sebastian asks. "Of course."

Exactly, he thinks, they've been pretending to be boyfriends with something physical on the side–it was sex, nothing more, and somehow they've managed to hold on to their friendship as well. There's no reason to be jealous.

But then Sebastian says too much: "Adam's a lot of things, but he'd never ruin a relationship."

"We're–"

He doesn't know why it feels like someone punched a hole through his chest. He thought at the very least Sebastian cared, that he wouldn't get lumped in with every other one night stand, that maybe Sebastian felt it too: they could be so much more.

Sebastian turns. "What?"

"Pretending?" he asks, the wrong word, because he's known that this entire time.

"Yeah, you know," Sebastian says, loading his books into his shoulder bag. "This thing we've been doing for the past six months."

Six months, it's been six months already, three of those spent blurring the lines of a friendship they've had their entire lives. Is he about to throw that all away because Adam showed up again? But Sebastian can't be completely oblivious to this, surely he feels something.

"So you told Adam that we've been hooking up too."

Sebastian shrugs. "He doesn't care about that."

"And what about you?" he blurts out. He's asking too much, it's too careless, and it threatens everything they have. "Do you care?"

"Blaine," Sebastian says carefully, and stills, eyes settling in his, finally catching on that something serious is happening here.

Sebastian's eyes narrow on his face, trying to figure out what he's thinking. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know, what am I doing?" he asks. "Because I thought we were–"

He loses his breath and his nerve, a dangerous truth wringing around his heart.

Sebastian takes a step closer. "Blaine–"

"No, of course," he interrupts. "There's no need for him to know, not when he's only here for a few days. Why would you c–" his breath hitches in his throat and he staggers a step back, overwhelmed by his own reaction.

"Fuck," he breathes.

What is he doing? Why should this matter? He'd entertained the thought of being Sebastian's boyfriend for a moment yesterday morning, a moment of weakness, because he knows they've only been having sex. But he ends up saying none of that.

"You're the one who suggested this," Sebastian goes on the defense. "You said no strings, no nothing."

His vision blurs with tears. "So it doesn't mean anything."

They're all the wrong words, they don't match up with what he once said or what he told himself; he knew what they were getting into, their stolen moments together were attempts at forgetting, at feeling something that overshadowed everything else.

"Of course it means something," Sebastian says. "We're having fun. We're friends."

"Like you're friends with Adam."

Sebastian frowns. "Is that what this is about? Adam and I have–"

"Fun?" he provides, heart rate spiking, a voice in his head screaming for him to stop talking, to stop making this into more than it was. But it was more, it was a way to stop hurting, to find unbridled comfort in the arms of the only person who's always cared, who's always been there, who's always understood.

"Blaine, we're not–" Sebastian takes a deep breath. "–boyfriends."

Stopstopstopstopstopstop, his heart beats in short pleas, but his mouth's moving again before he can will it down. "Then what are we doing?" he asks. "What is this, Sebastian? We're–"

He shouldn't say it, he doesn't need to define it, he doesn't want to define it like this.

"Fuckbuddies?"

"Wh–" Sebastian huffs, but seems at a loss for words. The word has landed between them in a dull thud, more truth than they both care to admit. They're fuckbuddies, friends with benefits, and for the first time in his life he abhors those terms.

"Forget it," he says in a hushed breath. This isn't a conversation he wants to have. They've managed to avoid talking about it until now and this is why: their friendship is too tight, they know each other too well. He can't ask Sebastian to be this for him.

"You're right," he adds. "I'm being– that guy."

"We said–" Sebastian hesitates, (because they never said anything, did they? They don't talk about it, they never have. Maybe that's why it's falling apart.

How had he missed this?

"I thought–" Blaine shakes his head.

His first instinct is still to reach out and wrap his arms around his best friend, because he's never been the cause of this, he's never hurt Blaine, never even came close. But the thought that he's doing this, that he's been too blind to stop before it was too late–this breaks his heart.

"Forget it," Blaine repeats and turns towards the door, leaving his coffee on the desk.

"Killer, please," he begs, but the door closes behind Blaine, and his feet refuse to move.

He never makes it to Professor Miles' class.)

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("If you're here to get off I'm not in the mood," is the first thing out of Blaine's mouth when he enters his bedroom that night. A part of him wishes it could've been true, that Blaine would've forgotten, that maybe he'd made it into something because Adam was poaching on his turf and a little jealousy never hurt anyone.

But he can feel it between them now; Blaine's anger, his disappointment, his pain.

"We need to talk," he says, not yet settled on what he's going to say.

Blaine sighs and slumps his shoulders, desk chair swivelling in impatient half circles.

"Was it all just sex?" Blaine's the first to speak. "I know that's–" how it started, he fills in the blanks. "But was there never anything more?"

"Of course it was more, Blaine. You needed–" comfort, protection. You needed me.

"No, I didn't," Blaine says, the lie written all over his face. Blaine had needed comfort so much that he'd asked his best friend for more than he should've been able to give, protection only he could understand, a body that was only his to share. If Blaine honestly thought he took the same thing he takes from his one night stands, then what are they doing?

"You used me as much as you claim I used you, Blaine," he says, thinking Blaine selfish for the first time in his life. Blaine used him to stave off his loneliness, to wrap him up in meaning –a lie maybe– but he'd asked for it, practically begged him.

"It certainly didn't stop you," Blaine says, back still turned to him.

It's easier talking to Blaine like this–he's good with words when he needs to be, in class, in social situations, as the head of Cronus, as Blaine's friend. But Blaine's asking him to be more.

"Because I care about you," he says, and maybe it's a backwards kind of logic, maybe he did take advantage, but he can't help how he interacts with people. "You were hurting and it's like I was the only one who saw. And you took something from me that I could give you. I thought we–" were having fun.

Blaine turns around. "We were," he says, his eyes sad, the corners of his mouth downturned.

Why does it have to be past tense? When had they stopped having fun?

He sits down on the bed, silence falling between them again.

"All I'm asking–" Blaine says, but he hasn't asked for anything besides his care–and if Blaine doesn't know that he cares, that after all these years it's his first instinct to care, then where does he even get the idea to ask for more?

"You want something from me I can't give you." He averts his eyes, unable to consider the possibility of not pretending. He loves Blaine, he's always loved Blaine, but– "I don't know how to do this, Blaine."

It's not true, the only thing that ever holds him back is his fear of losing something dear to him, so he only goes in as far as to not push anyone away.

"And why would I be any different."

It's not a question.

"You are different."

It's not a lie.

"It's not enough." Blaine shakes his head, staring down at his hands. "Not anymore."

And this was the whole point of it, healing Blaine, getting him back out into the world, ready for a real relationship. He never thought Blaine would chose to see that in him.

"You thought it was all for show?" Blaine asks, tears in his eyes. "That I stayed with you because–"

"Stayed with me?" he exclaims, and shoots up from the bed. "Blaine–" what are you saying? "This is–" this isn't exclusive. "This was never–" meant to be permanent. This was only ever meant to help Blaine move on, to regain his trust in a cruel world, to tie him over until he found the right guy for him.

He frowns, his own reasoning leaving him with a bitter taste in his mouth.

Would he let Blaine go if he found another guy?

"How–" Blaine's voice breaks through his train of thought; the panic in Blaine's eyes punches a hole right through him. "How many were there besides me?"

He freezes, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, but he huffs a laugh. He can't decide whether he deserves this or should expect more from his best friend. But if this is how Blaine truly sees him he shouldn't even bother asking him for anything. That's who he is, isn't it? The guy of meaningless hook-ups, one night stands, a terrible best friend. Well, fuck that, fuck all of this.

He gets up and stalks towards the door, dejection weighing him down. This is it then. Here it is. He's finally fucked up the one meaningful relationship in his life, by being too blind, by not understanding that while Blaine needed comfort they took it much too far.

"Sebastian, please–" Blaine begs, but he can't face Blaine again or address his question.

No one. The answer is no one.

The door closes behind him and it feels like it closes on more than their conversation; it feels like the end of something else altogether.)

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(Adam's awake by the time he makes it back into his room.

He'd already showered and gotten dressed, and once it became clear that he couldn't make time go faster no matter how long he stared at his watch, he'd gone out to buy some coffee. It did nothing to calm him down, because for the first time in what seems like forever Blaine wasn't waiting, wouldn't be coming, the three days now separating them weighing hard on his chest.

"Got us some coffee," he says, sitting down next to Adam once he's settled on his bed.

"Couldn't sleep?" Adam asks and kisses his shoulder.

He closes his eyes, Adam a welcome distraction.

Adam draws a finger down his spine. "Is it Blaine?"

He wonders if it's that obvious, if the chalky outlines of Blaine's absence have become apparent on his skin.

"I'm not an idiot, Bas," Adam says. "I know something's happened."

He takes a deep breath, his conversations with Blaine flooding back–they both said things they regretted, but he's not ready to face Blaine again, be accused of being a certain type of guy while he's someone else to Blaine, or accuse Blaine of being selfish and a hypocrite while he gives so much. But the real reason why he doesn't want to talk about it is because there's a hint of truth in both statements; he's a player, and sometimes Blaine's more selfish than he is.

"We've been more than pretending," he answers.

"He finally caved for the Smythe charm, then?" Adam smiles against his skin.

He stares blankly ahead. Has he?

"No." Adam rears back. "It's the other way around, isn't it? You care about him."

"Of course I do." He sighs. "We've been friends forever."

He wants to ask why everyone keeps questioning that, why everyone insists on seeing him this way, but Adam's implication hits him much harder. Blaine's pretty much spelled out that he wants something more with him, maybe even wants them to try and be real boyfriends, but Adam implies it's the same for him.

"Do you think maybe you're in love with him?" Adam asks.

Is he? Is he in love with Blaine? Had their lifelong friendship somehow made it impossible for him to separate those feelings?

"I'm sorry, I forgot," Adam says when he takes too long to answer, tapping his nose. "Sebastian Smythe doesn't do feelings."

"This is why we broke up, you know," he tries to sound playful, but fails.

"What?" Adam bites at his shoulder. "Our terrible fear of commitment?"

Yes, that's why he's never started a relationship with anyone; laying himself open like that to another person sounds terrifying. But he's already done that for Blaine, he knows every inch of him, his fears and anxieties, his hopes and dreams, how he can't stand to see his mother cry when yet another man walks out of her life.

"I knew from the moment we met that boy was special to you."

"You never said anything."

"Because I wanted you to myself."

He smiles; they did have some good times together. He was fresh out of high school when they met, Adam staying with a friend in the city while he was taking a photography course. Adam's smooth accent and his relentless flirting had quickly got him noticed, and even though he wasn't looking for anything serious, they'd fallen into something steady and comfortable that lasted for a good five months. Adam's probably the only serious boyfriend he's ever had.

Until Adam left.

"And now?" he asks.

"I only want you to myself right now," Adam answers, and presses his lips against his. He leans into the strong body next to him, parting his lips, Adam's tongue licks over his bottom lip, curling to lick at his upper lip next. Adam draws closer and his lips close around his tongue, sucking hard.

It's familiar and safe and he wants it to be enough, he wants to drown in this, forget, because the thought that he's losing Blaine as more than his best friend is killing him.

But it's not the same.

He pulls back, the cinder block sitting on his chest disabling.

Adam's chin settles on his shoulder.

"You have it bad, love," Adam says nonjudgmentally, and pushes another kiss to his shoulder.

Adam gets up and stalks into the bathroom, the water in the shower running a few moments later.

He leans his elbows down on his knees, fingers digging through his hair.

Could it be?

Is he in love with Blaine?)

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He drags his fork through his mashed potatoes again, pushing his peas around on his plate. Cooper and his parents are speaking excitedly about a new commercial Cooper booked and some interesting auditions that are coming up. It figures that the one week Cooper decides to visit is one where he doesn't feel up to a whole lot of brotherly activities. He loves his brother, but he's kind of high maintenance.

"It's a pity Sebastian couldn't make it tonight," his mom says, the name tuning him back into the conversation. "I'm sure he would've loved to see you."

"That's okay." Cooper shrugs. "I can go see him at school."

"I don't know," he says, staring a hole into the table. "He's pretty busy with a school project. He might not have the time."

He lies, because he's not ready for his parents to know, for anyone to know that he and Sebastian are fighting–they'd tell him they'd work things out, you're best friends after all, that they'd move past this and find a new balance. Only he can't decide what he wants from Sebastian.

"He can make time," his mother says. "Sebastian's practically Cooper's other brother."

Cooper punches his shoulder, and winks at him. "More like brother-in-law now."

He sighs.

His mother's eyes rest on him within seconds. "Honey, what's wrong?"

He drops his fork to his plate. "Nothing," he answers, a little too rude.

"You've been in a mood all week."

"I haven't." His eyes flicker between his mother and father, uncertainty filling his veins. Had he been acting different? He supposes he hasn't been his usual cheery self, but he's working through something serious that leaves him nauseated more often than not, his mind going around in circles trying to figure out what the hell happened to land him here.

"Did something happen with Sebastian?" comes his mother's next question.

He casts down his eyes. "We broke up."

And instead of sticking with "What?" his mother adds a question he can't think about: "Why?"

He pulls his napkin from his lap and tosses it on the table, getting up from his chair. "I thought he cared about me but as it turns out–" He swallows hard. "It was all pretend."

"Honey, that's not true."

It happens again, his mouth starts speaking without his brain reasoning first, and he can't hold back.

"He doesn't give a shit about me," he says. "No one ever does."

And he's not talking about Sebastian, it's an accusation he throws at his mother and his father right there and then. How is it possible that Sebastian's the one and only person he can think of running to? But with Sebastian not an option now shouldn't there be someone else? How did he end up all alone again?

He has Cronus, but they're Sebastian's brothers too and the thought of making them choose, no, he can't ask them to do that.

Cronus was always more Sebastian's thing anyway.

"No one ever cares about what I feel."

"Blaine–" his father rises from his chair.

"It's fine, dad," he says. "It's nothing I'm not used to."

Hurt flashes in his father's eyes, and when he says "Son" he knows better than to keep talking. But after saying so much of the wrong things already why not let it all out, why not lay it down like it is, because he's feeling too much all at once and he can't stand it.

He needs Sebastian more than ever.

"You have been giving me crap for years," he spits. "And I try, dad, I try so hard to be like Cooper, but there's always something I'm doing wrong." He's never good enough. "If I'm into cars, then I'm not playing enough sports. If I'm playing sports it's not one that's manly enough. And of course, no, I don't have a girlfriend, but that's not who I am."

The whole room has fallen silent, Cooper shrinking back, his mom dumbfounded, and his father's face only reflecting his hurt. His breathing deepens, tears stinging his eyes, but he becomes painfully lighter, less burdened by the thought that his father doesn't know how he feels.

He takes a deep breath. "And I'm done pretending," he says, turning, and walks out of the room.

His bedroom door shakes in its hinges when he slams it shut behind him. He's breathing hard and he struggles to keep his tears under control. It's getting to him in ways he never imagined, Sebastian's noticeable absence from his life, no more conversations over morning coffee, no fun and games because he'd decided to make things serious between them. This is all his fault.

Why did he have to go and ruin things?

He sits down on his bed, and he doesn't know how long he sits there, staring blankly ahead, before his father walks through the door. He can't meet his father's eyes, nor does he know what to say–he'd meant what he said, it's hard being his father's son, but he never meant for his father to know that.

"I know I'm hard on you," his father's voice breaks through the silence as he sits down next to him. "But it's only because I see your potential, Blaine. I don't want you to miss out because you've set your mind on one thing."

His father reaches an arm around his shoulders. "You can do anything you want."

"Not anything." He shakes his head, and he's talking about more than Sebastian. He means walking hand in hand with a boy he loves, kissing him in public, his future employers accepting that he'll bring a boyfriend to office parties instead of a girlfriend–if his own father can't give him that, what hope is there for his future?

But he understands what his dad means; he wants things for him every parent wants.

"Dad, I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean–"

"It's okay, Blaine." His father squeezes his shoulder. "Tell me what happened."

He releases a breath. "I made a mistake."

Another silence falls and he can't help but wonder if his father's about to give him dating advice, tell him that he needs to talk to Sebastian and get his feelings out in the open. The problem is he doesn't know what his feelings are–he could have more with Sebastian if only Sebastian let him in, or felt the same way, but he doesn't want to sacrifice their friendship to that confession.

"You know," his father says at long last, "your mom broke up with me after our third date."

"What?" he huffs, but laughs. "That's not true."

His father nods. "I was a complete mess."

"So was I, by the way," his mother's voice sounds from the doorway.

"But–why?" he asks, curious to know more, and grateful his father doesn't make him detail what happened with Sebastian. Maybe he should talk to someone, lay out all the steps that took them down this path and led to this crossroads, but he can't talk to his parents. He needs to talk to someone who understands.

"He didn't smile enough," his mother answers, walking over to sit down on his other side. "I thought he didn't like me."

It's the first time he hears the story of how his parents met and fell in love, introduced to each other by a mutual friend, how they broke up after a few dates because of some miscommunication, and it dawns on him that's exactly what happened with him and Sebastian. They never talked about it, about what they were doing, where they were going, where they wanted to end up.

He might not have all the answers yet, but he should talk to Sebastian once he does.

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(On Saturday he drops Adam off at the airport. It's the first time in the two years they've known each other that they don't part ways with a kiss or a last quickie. They spent five entire days in each other's company and only talked, about everything, about where Adam's career is going, about college, about everything that happened with Karofsky and Blaine, about little things, about big things. About absolutely nothing. None of it fixes what was missing, in fact it underlined that Blaine was the only person in his life he'd ever opened up to, but after five days he's decided what needs to be done.

He needs to talk to Blaine.

"Thank you for letting me sleep on your sofa."

He shrugs, hands in his pockets. "Sorry for being such a bore."

"Darling, you could never bore me," Adam says, and slides a hand down his arm, pulling one of his hands free to hold. "You're going through a tough time. What kind of friend would I be if didn't understand?"

"Oh, we're friends now?" he jokes, but knows all too well they are.

Adam's eyes mellow and stare at him in earnest. "I hope we are," he says, eliminating any room for joking.

He thinks deep down he does love Adam as something more than a guy he sleeps with every now and then; they could be something if Adam stood still long enough to let it take hold. But it's still nothing compared to the love he has for Blaine.

And that's it, he's always loved Blaine, maybe that explains his lack of hesitation when Blaine asked him to kiss him, his lack of resistance when Blaine took it further, his utter lack of willpower to stop once they got started.

"Talk to him," Adam insists. "Tell him how you feel."

He takes a deep breath. "I think I'm going to miss you," he says, but what he means is I wish you could stay, because he doesn't want to be alone after Adam leaves. He has a Cronus meeting tonight and most of the guys know he and Blaine had a falling out, but he can't talk to any of them. Not like he can talk to Blaine.

Adam chuckles "Sap," he says, and pulls him in for a hug. He winds his arms around Adam's torso and holds him close, longer than he's ever hugged him. It doesn't fix everything, in fact it fixes little to nothing, but it's all he has right now.

He waits until Adam disappears through the check-in gates, but can't get his feet to move. All his limbs feel heavy, weighed down by the realization that normally he'd go see Blaine now, talk about this nausea at the pit of his stomach. Blaine would say the right thing to make him feel better and they'd go right back to what they've always been.

But he guesses that what they've always been has changed too.

He goes home instead. Trent had asked him for some pictures of Blaine and him for his birthday party, after making him promise to run everything by Blaine first in case he hated their ideas; he'd told Trent that sort of defeated the point of a surprise party but Trent had refused to back down.

His mom's out in the garden, so he heads upstairs for the pictures first, knowing she'll try to keep him around to help her out with the heavy lifting and get him to have dinner with her. All of which he's happy to do, but he'd rather make sure he avoids Trent's wrath first.

His room hasn't changed much in four years. He sleeps over some weekends and his mother still hasn't felt the need to redecorate it into her private gym or crafts room, so his cupboards are still lined with his lacrosse trophies, there are Superman memorabilia he could never part with, and he still considers the bed way too big for any kid to get for his sixth birthday.

Being here fills him with the strongest sense of nostalgia, of the memories living inside the walls and the objects surrounding him. There's a part of him that lives here, that comes back or finds strength whenever he returns. It's the same when he's around Blaine.

He unearths a box of old pictures from the bottom of his closet, filled with more memories than he can count: school trips, family picnics, away games Blaine tagged along on, family vacations where Blaine's family joined them. So many pictures, so many happy faces, and the sudden thought of losing Blaine pulls him down to the bed.

He can't lose Blaine. He won't make it without him.

"Honey?" his mother calls, and he hears her footsteps on the stairs a few seconds later.

He doesn't know what to tell her. If Blaine told his parents about their fight then his mother already knows what happened as well, but he can't talk to her about this. He's never felt heartbreak, had always carefully avoided it so he didn't end up like either his parents had, alone, single, clinging onto every new person they met.

But he can't keep living this life from one lover to the next either. He'd always figured sooner or later he'd find someone that would make it all make sense, that would see him naked and not judge him for taking things easy, for having fun. Someone who would understand him.

Is Blaine that person?

He stares down at the pictures in his hands and there's that funny feeling in his chest again, only now it's accompanied by a painful stab where his heart is. Where Blaine is.

"I thought that was you," his mother's voice sounds from the doorway.

His breathing deepens, tears blurring his vision.

The bed dips to his left, his mother's arm folding around his shoulders.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

He buries his face in his hands, a sob ripping through him, feeling the true consequences of his and Blaine's actions hit him, right there, in the bedroom he and Blaine had spent so much time together. They'd slept in this bed when they were younger, pretended they were Superman by leaping off the bed, landing safely on the mattress they'd stolen from his parents' bedroom. They'd grown up in each other's houses, they were a part of each other's lives that they both needed. They'd come out to each other, together, and everything between them had only ever felt natural.

Maybe he'd never started pretending. Maybe he was the one truly in need of healing.

He loves Blaine. It's always been Blaine.

"I think I made a mistake," he cries, finding little comfort in his mother's arms.)

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That Saturday night he decides to head out to Scandals on his own. He's not sure why, maybe he hopes to find Sebastian in the backroom with another faceless stranger, getting kissed and groped and fucking someone into the wall; maybe he hopes to find him nursing a beer at the bar like him. Most of all he wishes he would catch Sebastian's eyes across the dance floor, hips seducing him closer, pulling him into a kiss that says I'm sorry I said anything, let's forget and go back to what we were, because he's completely lost without Sebastian.

Why did he have to go and get jealous?

He doesn't think he regrets asking Sebastian to kiss him.

He's lost track in only a few days, no morning coffee meetings where he can shed his problems, no Cronus assemblies because he didn't feel like facing Sebastian or explaining to any of his brothers–he's sure some of them had an inkling of what was going on, but he'd still rather avoid that conversation.

He's not even sure what he'd hoped to accomplish coming here except wade in his own memories, the hours spent on the dance floor with Sebastian, tongues exploring each other's mouths, hands skimming over sweaty skin, their moderately private moments in the backroom digging into each other's bodies, peeling off clothes, and lips on skin–

"What's your name?" a voice sounds.

"Blaine," his lips say before he's even aware of the body standing next to him.

He turns his head to take in the guy who sits down on the next stool, eyes travelling up a tiny waist, tank-clad torso and a set of seriously impressive biceps. If not for the distinct lack of freckles he'd think it was Sebastian. He finally finds the stranger's eyes, green above a mischievous smile.

"Hunter," the stranger says, a little shorter than Sebastian but not by much. "I've seen you here before, haven't I? With your boyfriend?"

He tries to place the guy's features, but he can't say they're in any way familiar to him. Then again, he never did spend much attention to anyone else when he came here with Sebastian.

He casts down his eyes. "I don't have a boyfriend," he says, the truth his painful companion.

"I guess that makes me a lucky guy." Hunter smiles. His cheeks flush hot. "Let me buy you a drink."

Hunter buys him several drinks, while he talks about his life at college, still living at home with his parents, and whenever he hesitates on the words 'best friend' or 'Sebastian' he takes another sip from his drink. It's nice to have someone to talk to, someone who's only now learning about his life, who is brand new to all of it and doesn't have a stake in any sort of outcome. If he and Sebastian fail to become friends again his brothers will have to choose, things between their parents will be different, and he'll lose a part of himself he's unwilling to sacrifice. Everything would change.

Soon they're on the dance floor together and he's feeling up Hunter's arms, his scent a mix of sweat and cologne and alcohol. He's not drunk but buzzing around the edges, enough to make him forget about Sebastian for a while and focus on Hunter's strong lean body. Maybe it's wrong, maybe it shouldn't feel this good to forget about someone so important to him, but he needs some room to breathe.

Hunter's the one who makes the first move, capturing his lips in a kiss, but he does nothing to dissuade Hunter from taking it further. He licks into Hunter's mouth before Hunter takes control again and he confuses him for Sebastian–they're not all that different physically, and if he took the time he's certain he could unearth more similarities.

But Hunter doesn't give him time. They make their way into the backroom and Hunter starts palming at his crotch, getting him harder by the second. A thick heat surrounds them and he breathes in warm air, only made headier by the pressure of bodies moving in the shadows. Hunter goes down on his knees and frees his cock, licking a long line up to the head, teasing at his slit. His head falls back against the wall and he sucks in his bottom lip to stop himself from crying nonsense.

He closes his eyes and knows it's wrong, know it's a mistake to picture someone else, to wish Hunter's lips were Sebastian's, to imagine Adam never showed up and he wasn't forced to face his changing feelings for a boy so dear to him. In only a few moments' time Hunter's lips become Sebastian's, his mouth hot around him, his hair thick between his fingers.

It's still Sebastian when he comes in Hunter's mouth, Sebastian's name at the back of his throat, Sebastian who stands up again, Sebastian who kisses him deep, Sebastian who grabs his wrist, demands "Come with me," and pulls him along.

Twenty minutes later they're on Hunter's bed in his dorm, yanking off each other's clothes, and Hunter doesn't ask for anything but his body. He's all hard edges and a little rough, his thrusts fast and relentless, face buried in the crook of his neck as the room fills up with filthy noises. He's hard again and incredibly sensitive, but Hunter feels so good, just like Sebastian, hot and solid on top of him, a sweaty mess, and he's too far gone to feel guilty.

Hunter comes deep inside of him with one final thrust and it only takes a few firm strokes of his own hand until he's coming again, a calm crashing through his body he was desperate for.

Hunter crashes down on top of him, and he tightens his legs around his waist, fingers drawing up and down his back.

This was a bad idea, he thinks as his breathing evens out, he'd had no intention of picking anyone up tonight, or at all. He's not even entirely sure why he'd gone out in the first place.

Hunter disentangles from his arms and legs and turns his back on him, sitting up straight in the bed.

"What's wrong?" he asks, sitting up alongside Hunter.

Hunter draws a hand over his face. "I shouldn't have–"

"Hey," he says softly, a hand at Hunter's back. He can't tell what Hunter's thinking, they don't know each other well enough for that, and Hunter's doing everything he can not to face him.

"I need you to leave," Hunter whispers.

He blinks, but Hunter doesn't move. Leave? Why?

"Please, Blaine–" Hunter begs, and before he gets the chance to say anything Hunter scrambles out of the bed and runs into the bathroom. He hears the key turn in the lock and the distinct sound of Hunter's body settling against the door.

Did he do something wrong? Had Hunter somehow noticed his mind was with someone else? Guilt rips through him, because he's felt first hand what it's like to come second to someone else, to be cast aside as soon as someone better came along–Kurt did it to him with Chandler, Sebastian had done it to him with Adam. And now he'd put someone through the same ordeal.

He cleans up with some tissues he finds on the dresser, grabs his clothes and dresses quickly, the sudden silence making his presence feel all the more strange. Hunter doesn't make a sound so he doesn't try talking to him–

But he's never felt so cheap in his entire life.

.

.

(He taps his foot impatiently on the tiled floor, biting at his lips.

It's been a week and he's sick with it; worry and indirection have left his head spinning, and now he's nervous too. Blaine's class will be out any moment and he wants to talk things over, he needs to, because he's little without his best friend. He's been such an idiot, thinking they could keep sleeping together without those feelings evolving into something different, because he's always known Blaine better than that.

The doors to the auditorium opens and students start pouring out. An eternity passes before Blaine surfaces, a book in one hand, an empty coffee cup in the other, which he flings into a nearby trashcan.

"Blaine, can we talk?" he rushes over to ask, hardly giving Blaine time to register he's there.

Blaine turns, but for the first time ever his eyes don't light up when he sees him.

"I'm not–" Blaine starts, but he pushes tight into Blaine's personal space and stops him talking.

"Please, B, I'm–" he breathes, desperation gripping around his heart. There's no point in holding this back, even if he's not the type to say it easily. "I'm going crazy without you."

Blaine's eyes shoot up and find his, a flicker of hope he feels reflected in his own.

But it disappears as soon as it appears, extinguished like two fingers pinching out a flame.

Blaine casts down his eyes, palming over the strap of his shoulder bag. "Adam left?"

His heart makes a funny jump in his chest. Here he thought he was giving Blaine space to think things through, to figure out exactly what had happened. But Blaine thought he stayed away because of Adam?

"This Saturday," he answers, because there's no point in lying about it.

Blaine nods, a slight quirk at a corner of his mouth indicating he's holding something back, tears maybe. He doesn't know why he doesn't say it, why he doesn't come out with the truth that nothing happened between him and Adam. Maybe he wants Blaine to think him better than that. Could he really be so wrong? Does Blaine not know him better than this?

He stares down at his feet. "The guys want to know what to do for your birthday."

Blaine frowns, as if he'd forgotten his birthday was coming at all. He'd started planning the party with the guys a few weeks ago, making sure Blaine didn't catch on, but Trent was adamant that he ran everything by Blaine first in case their ideas were terrible. It'd seemed so important just last week to make sure Blaine's twenty-first birthday was something special. Now all he's hoping for is that Blaine's still in his life at all in two weeks' time.

"I was thinking we'd surprise you," he says. That way he could tell the guys whatever he wanted. "It being your twenty-first and all. I told Trent I'd okay it with you."

Blaine shrugs. "Sounds fine," he says, purposefully avoiding his eyes.

"Blaine–"

"I have to go," Blaine says, leaving him standing, alone, without much hope of fixing anything.)

He hates leaving Sebastian like that. He feels as lost as Sebastian had looked, only he's so much more confused; he's the one who'd made it into something more, he's the one who was stupid enough to sleep with a guy who'd kicked him out over the weekend, he's the one who started all this in the first place.

And for what?

He had his reason, and it still felt like the right one; Sebastian's the only one who could've put him back together. How does he explain that though? How does he tell Sebastian that he has zero regrets, that his feelings have evolved, that he wants more?

His rampant thoughts are interrupted when he catches sight of someone standing outside in the courtyard, eyes searching the crowds of students. Hunter. He halts in his tracks, making sure Hunter's there for him instead of this being a coincidental run-in, but Hunter's eyes never leave him once he locks on.

"How'd you find me?"

"You told me you were a Liberal Arts student at NYU," Hunter answers, but it doesn't provide a decent explanation as to how Hunter knew when he'd have a class in this building.

"I've been here a while," Hunter offers next.

He blushes, oddly flattered that Hunter went through all this trouble. There must be a reason why he's here.

"I owe you an apology," Hunter says, and points at the coffee cart a few feet away. "Can I buy you some coffee?" he asks, giving him the distinct impression that he's stalling for time.

They wait for their coffees in silence, and Hunter doesn't meet his eyes once. At Scandals Hunter had been confident, seductive, he knew what he wanted and he'd taken it, but the guy in front of him now was a far cry from that person, dressed pristinely in dark pants and a crisp white shirt.

By the time they settle down on one of the benches lining the courtyard Hunter's a heap of nerves. All of a sudden he's not so sure he wants Hunter to explain why he kicked him out; something tells him it wasn't anything he did and that only adds to his guilt. If Hunter had believed he was in it with him, then what reason did he have to ask him to leave?

"No one knows I'm– gay," Hunter explains carefully, taking him completely by surprise. Here's this crazy confident and good looking guy who made the first move on Saturday and he's still in the closet? Why had he taken him back to his dorm?

"My dad's hardcore military and–"

He shakes his head, barely stopping himself from reaching out a hand. "You don't have to explain," he says, even though he's incredibly touched that Hunter feels like he can confide in him. If only Dave had done this. If only Dave had realized he'd hear it without judgement, that he and Sebastian, Nick and Jeff would be there, that all his brothers would be there for him.

"I do," Hunter insists and averts his eyes. "I go to Scandals to be myself, get off, not to–" take guys home with me, he fills in the missing words. "Anyway, I'm sorry for kicking you out without an explanation."

"Thanks for telling me."

"I'd like to see you again," Hunter says, looking up at him tentatively. "If you're interested."

He smiles, struck by the sudden thought that he likes Hunter for trusting him with this part of him. "Sure."

.

.

He tries to fill his time with school, meeting up with Sugar or Rachel or Quinn, spending more time with his parents than he has in years, all the while feeling his birthday creeping closer and closer. Up until a week ago he thought he'd be spending it with Sebastian, that they'd sing and dance together and get drunk, have a crazy passionate night in Sebastian's room.

Now what?

Hunter's not his boyfriend; they're not dating–Hunter's still just a guy he hooked up with at Scandals and it's only Hunter's confession that made him want to see him again. They meet up for coffee a few times, but Hunter keeps his distance as long as they're in public, and only allows his eyes and hands to wander when they're secluded in the safety of his dorm room.

In so many ways, Hunter reminds him of Sebastian, the soft side hidden behind a hard exterior, a deceptively gorgeous smile often hiding his true feelings. He can't read Hunter the way he does Sebastian, he'll never know anyone like that, but he likes that Hunter lets him try.

"Do you want me to leave?" he whispers against Hunter's lips, their breathing coming down after an entire afternoon of fooling around on Hunter's bed.

"You can't stay the night," Hunter answers resolutely, a coldness in his voice the world has forced on him. It makes his chest ache in a strange way. "But no," Hunter adds, and lays his head down on his chest. "Not yet."

He relaxes into the mattress and cards his fingers through Hunter's hair, listening to his breathing, his other hand drawing circles at Hunter's shoulder. Sometimes he imagines meeting Sebastian like this, as a stranger he still has to get to know–he wonders if he'd still fall in love, if he would grow to feel so strongly about him.

But then he's reminded that he wouldn't be who he is without Sebastian, that Sebastian's life is an intricate part of his and vice versa and without Sebastian he might be stuck in a spiral of self love alternated with self loathing like Hunter. That thought makes his chest ache in a strange way too.

"Come to my birthday party with me," he says unprompted, a mistake as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Hunter lifts his head. "Blaine, I can't."

"We can go as friends. No one has to know. No one will care."

"I don't think it's a good idea." Hunter sits up, the cold spreading to his eyes now too. "We can't be more than this."

It's hard for him to hear that all Hunter wants from him is something physical, the same thing Sebastian decided to take, even though he's the one who sought Hunter out again, who allowed him in his life. He hurts for Hunter, to think he has no support system to guide him through this–he so desperately wants to be that person.

He hasn't healed. Not really. Sebastian's ripped his stitches apart again.

"Okay," he answers, and reaches out a hand, thumbing over Hunter's lips.

Hunter leans in and parts his lips for him, tongue licking at his mouth. He moans as Hunter's tongue strokes long against his, fingers nipping at his skin, and they sink back down onto the bed.

.

.

("SURPRISE!" the entire crowd shouts once Blaine enters the bar, clapping and cheering or running over to hug him, congratulating him on his twenty-first birthday and warning him not to get into too much trouble.

The first thing he notices is that Blaine's not alone. Another guy follows behind him, a little older than Blaine, and he's seen him somewhere before. His eyes narrow on the familiar face and place it instantly. Hunter.

What the hell is Blaine doing with this guy?

There's only one place they could've met, Scandals, and that thought nauseates him to the core. Blaine went to Scandals and picked this guy up, probably slept with him too, considering how he'd met Hunter at Scandals himself. And now they were –he swallows hard– dating? Was it that easy for Blaine to move on?

"Who's that with Blaine?" Jeff asks, handing him a beer.

His eyes don't leave Hunter, who waits patiently while Blaine makes his way around the room.

"I assume it's his date," he says, the same bitter taste in his mouth that returns every time he recalls one of Blaine's questions: Do you care?

"Are you okay?" Jeff asks.

"It's his life." He shrugs, and takes a swig from his beer. "Not my place to tell him how to live it."

"If he'd listened to you about Kurt he could've been spared a lot of heartbreak," Jeff says, and he swallows thickly, his throat closing around any rational answer. He does care, he cares too much, that's why he can't let this lie, why he can't accept that Blaine has healed and is trying his luck with another guy, even though it's what he thought he wanted.

He moves to the center of the room, running on fumes. "A toast!" he calls out, performing his duty as head of Cronus, his duty as Blaine's best friend-that-was.

Blaine turns towards the sound of his voice, shuffling uncomfortably, but doesn't stop him from speaking.

Everyone around him raises their drinks.

"To Blaine Anderson," he says, eyes finding Blaine's. "My brother. My best friend. And the first guy to ever see me naked."

Laughter resounds throughout the bar, but Blaine can tell he's not joking. Blaine doesn't laugh, doesn't release his eyes, hears as clear as him the true implication of his words. Blaine's the only one who truly sees him, who's seen his weaknesses and strengths.

Blaine's the only one who truly loves him.

"Happy birthday," he adds, and raises his beer over his head. "Here's to your first legal drink."

Everyone cheers and Thad leads them in song, while he spins on his heels and downs the rest of his beer. His head turns faster than the rest of the room, and he has trouble breathing, struck by how big and painful his heart feels right now, beating in synchrony with his stunted breaths.

He wants Blaine to himself.

He wants all of Blaine.

But one glance back over his shoulder reminds him he screwed that up royally, because now Blaine starts introducing Hunter to their mutual friends and they're smiling.

Blaine's happy.

With someone else.

He finishes another beer, and another one. And another one. Nick and Jeff join him after his fifth drink, probably to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, but he passed that point two weeks ago. He should've realized his feelings sooner, should've talked to Blaine when there was still a chance.

Or maybe he should never have kissed Blaine that night. Everything has become confused; Blaine as his brother, Blaine as his best friend, Blaine as his pretend-boyfriend, Blaine as his lover–it's all blurring together, or maybe it was all the same person all along.

Maybe Blaine is his soulmate.

He sneaks away from the party when Nick and Jeff become too preoccupied with each other; he can't stand to see Blaine with Hunter, see them happy together when he could make Blaine happy too. He likes to think so anyway.

He finds his way outside, leaving the party behind him. This was supposed to be a good day, a celebration, he was meant to get Blaine drunk and take him home, give him an orgasm or two before they both passed out from exhaustion. He'd planned all of this, he'd been looking forward to it for so long, amused by the thought that Blaine could do the same thing for him three months from now, when his birthday came around.

But now that's all fallen to pieces.

"So here we have the elusive best friend," a voice sounds behind him.

He turns around, staring into two green eyes he's had so much closer. It must be close to a year ago now since Hunter approached him at Scandals. Blaine had been set up with the heiress to the Wilde fortune, Kitty, a feisty little blonde they'd both come to like, but it meant his schedule was wide open to seduce and be seduced by a new stranger.

Hunter had the decency to buy him a drink first, clearly enjoying being the one in control, and they'd found a private spot in the backroom soon enough. They'd contented themselves with giving each other blowjobs, but they'd drawn it out long enough to be memorable. He'd quite liked the idea of Hunter up until the moment he'd showed up as Blaine's date.

Hunter's words to him now haunt him, sink into his skin and tattoo themselves underneath the surface. Elusive.

"You don't even remember me, do you?" Hunter asks.

"Oh, I remember you fine," he sneers. "Remember your mouth, too.")

"You two had sex?" he asks when he hears Sebastian answer Hunter's question. It shouldn't surprise him, Sebastian picked up guys at Scandals all the time and Hunter had confessed to him that's why he went there in the first place. To get off. Only surprise does rip through him, along with something eerily close to disgust. Sebastian's had sex with Hunter too?

Sebastian takes a careless step forward, looming tall over him. "Isn't that what I do, killer?" he asks. "All I'm good for?"

And in Sebastian's eyes he finally sees it, the hurt, the reason he walked out of his bedroom two weeks ago–he hurt Sebastian and that's the last thing he thought himself capable of. Had it been the two of them after all, alone, exclusive, the entire time?

"Blaine, let's go," Hunter says, grabbing him by the arm.

He pulls free immediately, staggering in between Hunter and Sebastian, his surprise and disgust replaced by pity, by guilt, because he never had any intention of hurting Sebastian. But Sebastian had trivialized their time together, told him they were friends having fun and nowhere in there had he implied an exclusive relationship. They were pretending, and God knows who Sebastian might have been with outside of that agreement.

"Let's go." Hunter grabs his arm again. "He's drunk."

Before he can reply Sebastian shoots a step forward and shoves hard at Hunter's shoulder.

"Don't you fucking touch him," Sebastian says, pushing again, grabbing Hunter by his shirt collar.

Hunter shoves Sebastian back and tackles Sebastian to the floor, punching him in the face.

"Stop!" he shouts, trying to pry Hunter off Sebastian but Hunter's stronger than him. Sebastian cries out, trying to protect his face, his lip bleeding. "Hunter, stop!"

Hunter's body finally gives way and he positions himself between his date and his–his what, exactly? He doesn't know who Sebastian is to him anymore, but he doesn't want to see him get hurt either.

"Hunter, please," he begs, hands at Hunter's chest.

"You're choosing his side?" Hunter asks, breathing hard. "He started this."

His hands drop to his sides. "Doesn't mean you have to finish it."

Hunter takes a deep breath, eyes darkening. "Let's go," he says, clearly resisting the urge to grab him again. "He can take care of himself."

Sebastian's still on the ground, carefully feeling at his jaw, making no move to get up. Guilt rips through him at the sight; Sebastian's drunk and they made a pact years ago, a very serious pact, to never let each other go home alone when they were drunk–neither of them has ever broken that pact.

He looks back at Hunter; he's only known Hunter for a week but they'll never be much more than what they are now. He doesn't want to date someone who's closeted when he already has to hide so much of who he is now. And there's untapped rage in Hunter that scares him.

"You two are pathetic," Hunter spits, and turns without thinking twice.

He draws in a breath. He's not going to run after Hunter; he won't apologize for caring about Sebastian.

"Everything okay out here?" Rich asks, peeking his head outside.

"Yeah." He nods. "Sebastian's drunk. I'm going to drive him home."

(The fist to his face must have damaged his hearing too, because did Blaine say he'd drive him home? Blaine doesn't owe him anything at this point, certainly not over some stupid pact they made years ago.

"It's your party, man," Rich says. "I can drive him."

Blaine sighs. "No, I'll do it."

He wonders when he became such a burden to Blaine.

Blaine turns and closes the distance between them, pulling him up from the ground. He hands over his keys without objection; he's in no state to drive, and he can't deny having Blaine to himself for a while fills him with a certain amount of glee. But that might be the alcohol feeling for him.

They don't talk, not when they're getting in the car, or when they hit a stoplight. Things have never felt so tense between them. His skin buzzes at Blaine's proximity and he wants nothing rather than reach over and pull Blaine into a hug, whisper I'm sorry, I didn't know in his ear over and over again, wind a hand in dark curls and feel Blaine's breath against his skin again.

"Do you miss me at all?"

The question sounds loud in the silence, echoing backwards into their past.

"Blaine, we've been friends since kindergarten," he answers without thinking, because it's true, it'll never not be true; he misses Blaine like crazy because without Blaine there's a part of him missing, hollow and upsetting at the center of him, and it's making him absolutely miserable. "Of course I miss you."

"Not like–" Blaine sighs. "Not like that."

"Why not?" He turns his head. "There was always more between us than–" sex, just sex. But there was more, there was so much, too much to put into words. He's not sure those words even exist. "I miss talking to you," he says, and stares out the window.

"Me too," Blaine says softly.

He glances down at Blaine's hand, wrapped loosely around the stick shift, and he resists the urge to take hold of it. He's drunk, and he doesn't want to say or do something stupid that will only mess things up more. But there are things he needs to know.

"Look," he says, Blaine's possible answer to his question already sitting heavy on his chest. "I know I fucked up, but we're still friends, right?"

"Yeah," Blaine answers immediately, eyes finding his swiftly. "Of course."

The relief that washes over him hits him harder than he anticipated. It was silly to think that one mistake would erase years of friendship, and maybe all Blaine needed was time, but two weeks have never felt heavier, lonelier, and he thinks that must be why Hunter's here tonight. To heal Blaine from his loneliness.

Blaine parks the car and kills the engine. He could get out right now, go up to his room, put some ice on his lip and sleep until he hits his hangover. But he wants every moment he can get with Blaine.

"You didn't fuck up," Blaine's voice sounds small and frail.

"What?"

Blaine clears his throat. "You didn't fuck up," he repeats, his hands wringing around the steering wheel. "I did," he says, and casts down his eyes. "I made us into something we weren't."

You're wrong, he wants to say, you saw us for what we truly are, but he can't do the words justice in the state he's in and he's not sure Blaine would listen–there's a distance between them called Adam and Hunter and Blaine, we're not boyfriends, things they both put there, some to stave off the pain and some out of sheer ignorance. It's a distance not even Kurt had caused.

"Do you think we can ever go back?" he asks instead, because if he can't have all of Blaine he selfishly wants to keep what he always had.

"I don't know," Blaine whispers, and he chooses to hear a hint of hope. "Maybe.")

.

.

Sam Evans is in a relationship with Brittany S. Pierce.

The message pings on his cellphone when he's in the middle of his English essay and it's an instant distraction from the boring subject matter. His curiosity gets the best of him and right after 'like'-ing Sam's status update he clicks through to the girl's Facebook page. Her profile picture shows her with a high ponytail and in cheerleading outfit and he smiles; falling for a cheerleader sounds right up Sam's alley.

He opens his Skype account, checking to see if Sam's online, tapping the call button as soon as he sees Sam's username lit up on the screen.

"Hey, alligator," Sam says the moment he's accepted the call. The nickname has stuck since they parted ways a few months ago.

"Hey, Wolverine." He laughs. "You're dating someone?"

"Oh yeah! She's really great," Sam says, a goofy grin opening up his face. "That's not a problem, is it?"

"Hey no," he rushes out and shakes his head. The last thing he wants to do is make Sam feel bad for loving who he chooses. "I don't judge. I'm happy for you."

"Thanks, man." Sam smiles. "I told her about you, if that's what you're worried about."

A bitter taste fills his mouth. There are no secrets between Sam and Brittany, two people who he assumes haven't known each other for that long–so why can't he talk to Sebastian? He keeps pushing Sebastian away, keeping him at a distance, making himself sick with the idea that he's lost his best friend. But that's his fault too. Sebastian had made an effort to talk to him, to ask questions they needed out in the open, and all he'd done was turn his back, protect this fragile thing he calls his heart.

"What's wrong?" Sam asks.

His resolve plummets; he needs to talk to someone about this or he's going to lose his mind.

So he tells Sam everything, how pretending to be boyfriends had all been his idea from the start, about how Dave's death had affected him in ways he still didn't understand, how Sebastian had been there for him every step of the way and he'd gradually started taking more, asking more, and Sebastian hadn't objected once.

"... and I was so stupid," he concludes, having lost track of time. "I know what he's like. I've always known that."

"Can't really blame him," Sam comments.

He blinks up at his screen, frowning. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He should've expected Sebastian to break his heart? Was he not allowed to think his best friend better than that, to believe he knew better?

"We did hook up while you two were– pretending," Sam says.

His lips part and he's almost certain he was about to say something that proved him right, but Sam's words stop him short. Sam, Tucker, James, Ford, even Hunter, all guys that hadn't meant a whole lot to him, that weren't anything serious because he finally had this freedom and why not enjoy every single minute of it? He might've had something real with Sam, if they could've gotten to know each other better or distance didn't separate them, but he still wouldn't have been able to account for Dave's death.

Had he made Sebastian one of those guys? Sebastian was right, he'd used him to heal, to take the edge off his loneliness. Had he taken that too far? Was he to blame for all of this, that kiss after Dave's funeral, taking it further one drunken night in the backseat of Sebastian's car, blowing Sebastian in that bathroom stall?

But then how did Adam figure into all of this?

"Did I say something wrong?" Sam asks.

He leans back in his chair. "No."

Sam has given him something to think about.

.

.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Eli asks, smoothing a hand down his shirt for the fifth time since they climbed out of the car. It's adorable, if not slightly worrying, that Eli hasn't even met anyone in Cronus yet and he's already this nervous.

"If you're serious about joining you should at least know what you're getting yourself into," he says, pushing through the doors to the bar, most of his brothers already inside by the sound of it.

Eli looks like he's about to have a panic attack, sweat breaking out along his hairline.

"Hey, relax," he clasps a hand over Eli's shoulder. "It's just a party."

Eli bites at his lips. "Why did you join?"

"Their zero-tolerance policy," he says, the answer coming as natural to him as breathing.

Eli raises an eyebrow.

"It's not a sale's pitch." He chuckles. "You become part of Cronus, you become part of a family. These guys are my brothers."

They push through the second set of doors, his hand remaining firmly on Eli's shoulder because he fears Eli might turn tail and run, or worse, faint. And as soon as he sets foot in the room his eyes still do it instinctively, search for Sebastian through the crowd, still finding him every time. Sebastian catches sight of him too and raises his hand in a wave, before returning to his conversation with Mike.

"Come on," he says, pulling Eli along. "I'll introduce you to everyone."

(This time there's only pain–he's lost the ability to distinguish between plain old jealousy or the pain of having lost Blaine forever. It simply inches across his chest and stops him breathing properly, the thought that he'll never be able to tell Blaine how he feels a paralytic travelling through his bloodstream.

The boy at Blaine's side seems nice enough, and their closeness implies they've known each other for a while, but it's only been a few days since Blaine's birthday party and he can't figure out when this happened. When had Blaine found the time to pick up another guy? Did he do it to spite him?)

"This is Nick and Jeff. They're a package deal," he says, watching Eli shake first Nick's and then Jeff's hand. Most of the tension has left his shoulders, and he thinks any moment now Eli might actually start speaking.

Eli's a nice guy; they'd met at an art exhibition at the beginning of the school year and became casual acquaintances. They greeted each other at school and talked if they had the time, but it was never anything more than that. Only, lately Eli's been struggling with the pressures of college, working a job while maintaining his grade point average. So he figured he could use some friends.

Cronus wasn't all about partying and drinking. Brothers helped each other out.

Sebastian keeps to himself most of the night, and he doesn't want to leave Eli to fend for himself in a new environment–he likes this mentoring role Eli has asked him to take, how it comes natural to him and it's even making him consider it as a viable career option after graduation.

Until at one point during the night he's alone, Eli preoccupied with interrogating Mike about everything he wants to know about Cronus, and a body pushes in close behind him. A body so familiar he almost leans back against it so he can drown in the memories of the two of them together.

"Come home with me," Sebastian's voice sounds low and hushed in his ear, sending a shiver down his spine, Sebastian's chest brushing against his back.

He turns around without claiming much distance, Sebastian's proximity making him long for the past. He wants nothing more than for all of it to disappear, all the baggage, all the secrets and lies. All the doubts.

"Come home with me tonight," Sebastian repeats. "Not this–boy."

"His name's Eli," he says. "And it's not like that."

"You're leaving with me tonight."

Heat starts in his stomach. "And why would I do that?" he asks. He can't let it go back to what it was.

"This isn't–" (the guy for you. Maybe it's too aggressive but he means every word of it. Blaine can't possibly think there's someone out there who could ever understand him better than he does.) "I want you to myself."

His lips part and he wishes being Sebastian's guy could be enough for him.

"Blaine?" Eli's voice barely registers. It must be close to midnight now and they came in Eli's car, but his feet are pinned to the floor, kept in place by Sebastian's desire only, and he can't think about leaving. All he feels is their history, a sea of memories that overflows because there's few Sebastian doesn't feature in, a safe comforting place that's been corrupted by fear and jealousy and mistrust.

His voice becomes a shadow of what it normally is when he answers: "You had me all to yourself."

There's still Adam, there's still Hunter, and now apparently Sebastian has decided Eli stood between them too.

It takes him all the strength in the world to pull away from Sebastian, to leave him standing there all alone yet again. He can't believe he keeps doing this to them, that he's the one who sacrificed their friendship in favor of a physical relationship. He ruined everything.

He runs outside for safety, a buffer zone between him and Sebastian so he doesn't have to feel it too directly, the pain of absence, the loss of a true friend. He's unaware Eli stopped walking until he tries the handle of the car door, and finds it still locked. He turns around, Eli a few feet away from him, regarding him curiously.

"What?"

"You're in love with him," Eli says.

He casts down his eyes, the truth too painful to face. "He's not in love with me."

Eli takes a few steps closer, forcing him to look up. "You're an idiot."

And he doesn't know why he has to hear it from someone else to believe it, why Eli has to call him an idiot for him to see how all of this has been a succession of misunderstandings and misplaced words, why it takes someone who's pretty much a stranger to him to tell him his best friend has feelings for him too. Because of course he means something to Sebastian. Sebastian isn't emotionless, and accusing him of that makes him a terrible friend.

His heart beats fast thinking about what he just told Sebastian, how he'd rejected him, fearful that Sebastian will do something stupid like pick up a guy at Scandals and spend the night with him, that he'll make the same mistake he made with Hunter and destroy their bond beyond repair.

"I have to go," he says, barely checking to see if it's okay with Eli and next thing he's back inside the bar, scouring the crowd for Sebastian, only he's nowhere in sight.

"He parked out back," Trent's by his side without warning, but the words feel like they're his salvation.

He tosses Trent a quick 'thanks' before he's running towards the back exit, terrified that he'll miss Sebastian, that he'll miss his opportunity to act on this lightning-strike-feeling and he'll have to ask one of the guys to drive him to the dorms. But when he hurtles through the heavy door, heart beating like a maniac, Sebastian's still walking to his car.

"Why should I believe you?" he shouts, his voice stopping Sebastian short. Sebastian turns, eyes locking in his. The distance between them shortens, even though it's still an abyss. "I told you I wanted you to myself, but you stuck with the idea that all we had was sex."

Only did he? Did he say it? He can't remember.

"Because I didn't know, Blaine," Sebastian answers, shaking his head as he takes a few steps closer. "I honestly didn't know how much I cared until you slipped away," (and nothing happened with Adam, but what's the point of saying that now; it might've happened if Blaine hadn't said anything, if they hadn't fought. He might not have pushed Adam away when he kissed him.) "I was an idiot."

Not the only idiot, the thought rushes through him. Yes, he's in love with Sebastian, but he's never said it, he's not sure he could if Sebastian asked him to. Maybe it can be enough, maybe all he needs is Sebastian's care and him being there, keeping him safe from harm, saying the right thing when he needs it the most. Maybe all he needs is his soulmate in his life without that being more.

"I'm miserable without you," he confesses, a tear running down his cheek. "You've always been there and now that you're not–" I'm lost, I'm hurting, I'm half the person I used to be. "There's no one else I can talk to. Hunter was a mistake and it's not even like that with Eli, and–" I'm the one who fucked up.

"I don't need you to feel the same," he says, grabbing onto Sebastian's sides, bunching the fabric of his shirt together. "I just need you."

Sebastian cups his face in both his hands. "I'm here," (he says, taking in every inch of Blaine he can get.) "I'm right here. I always will be."

"I'm sorry." He sniffles. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't asked you to k–kiss me, none of this would've happened."

But everything had stopped making sense one winter afternoon and the only thing that had kept him from falling were Sebastian's arms. (He remembers it clear as day, Blaine's face had fallen blank and his knees had given out, so he'd grabbed him around his waist and guided him into a nearby chair.)

"I just– I'm scared, Sebastian, I'm so scared that Dave..."

"Stop," Sebastian says softly and pulls him into his chest, his face settling in Sebastian's neck. He twines his arms around Sebastian, basking in this closeness, breathing him in deep. He's missed Sebastian so much. "Dave knew he could come to us. It was his choice not to."

His fingers dig into Sebastian's back. "I don't trust myself anymore."

"It was only you," Sebastian says.

He pulls back, but only enough so he can find Sebastian's eyes.

"It was you and me," Sebastian says, thumbing over his cheekbones. "The entire time." (He hadn't planned on it, he never thought it would be. But they'd uncovered something new. Something real.) "And I fucked up the same way I always do, the same way I will again, because that's how I am. I–"

"Stop," he says, reaching up around Sebastian's neck.

"Blaine, I–"

"Don't," he says, fingers curling in Sebastian's hair.

He doesn't want to hear it, not now, not yet, maybe not ever. It might not work out, they might not make it, but he'll fight to keep Sebastian in his life no matter what it takes.

"Don't say it," he whispers, and raises himself on his toes, capturing Sebastian's lips with his own. They both grab on for dear life, like they've been starved for water or air these past three weeks, his arms around Sebastian's neck while Sebastian's lock around his waist, keeping their bodies pulled flush together.

He's only vaguely aware that their brothers are cheering them on inside.

Sebastian pulls away with a smile. "I'm gonna kill them."

"No, you're not." He presses another kiss to Sebastian's lips. "I'm not sure any judge would ever grant you conjugal visits."

.

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It started out as ruse.

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(It ends like something else.)

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(His eyelids are too heavy. He draws a hand down his chest, checking if he's all still there, because he can't feel the edges of himself, still drifting between sleep and wakefulness, one of them attempting to coax him closer again.

It takes him a moment or two to remember where he is or how he'd gotten there, until something stir next to him, turning on his outstretched arm. Right, three beers and a handful of shots, it's all coming back now. He'd gotten slammed at his birthday party, under Blaine's meticulous supervision, but he'd still had way too much to drink.

He's not sure how they'd made it back here, but he suspects it involved a lot of manhandling on Blaine's part.

He cracks one of his eyes open, the room too bright, and he blinks hard. The sheets feel rough beneath him, grating against his skin, evidence of a pleasant and intense night. And that slowly comes back to him as well, Blaine's voice seductive and teasing in his ear, telling him he had one final present to unwrap, and he'd damn well better take his time, because there were no refunds.

He smiles at the memory, Blaine's body unwrapped with every button he popped on his shirt, writhing underneath him, begging him for more. It was a night he wouldn't soon forget, but then most of life was filled with moments like that.

He opens both eyes and turns his head, and when he takes in Blaine asleep next to him, he sees that same brave boy who stood in his doorway one of the nights he slept over and his parents started fighting downstairs. Blaine had closed the door behind him, tiptoed over to his bed with an old cassette player under his arm and crawled underneath the covers. Blaine had pulled his hands away from his ears, only so he could hand over the headphones. That night, he not only fell asleep to the sounds of Hanson, but Blaine softly humming along because he knew the cassette by heart.

It was the first time he was old enough to realize he loved Blaine, and that Blaine would be the only one to know him like that.

He knew it then, and he knows it now.

Blaine breathes in deep and opens one of his eyes, only to close it again when he decides the light is too intrusive.

"Hey," he says, pulling Blaine to his chest.

"Shhh." Blaine closes a hand over his eyes rather than his mouth. "Sleep," he croaks, and turns around on his other side, going back to sleep.

He chuckles and spoons his body around Blaine's, linking their hands together. Blaine pushes back into him, humming contentedly when he presses a kiss to his shoulder.)

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FIN

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