Archive of Our Own ^beta

i. morning has broken

Sebastian rolls over in bed, drifting between reality and the fading glimpses of a dream. His flailing arm is met with nothing but an empty, albeit still warm space.

He pries his eyes open. It doesn’t take long to find Kurt.

“Wow,” Sebastian says, morning voice a rasp. “Merry Christmas.”

Kurt jolts up from where he’s bent over digging in the closet, reaching back to pull at his underwear delicately. As if that’s going to help. Sebastian can’t decide if he wants to fully commit to lucidity now to get some action or just sprawl over Kurt for an extra nap; either way, every ideal scenario involves that ass back in the bed. 

“It’s like five, or something. . .” Sebastian says, blindly guessing. The room is awash in the soft, powdery blue twilight before sunrise. “Come back.”

“Give me a second,” Kurt says, and even though his voice is muffled it sounds way more awake than he should be. 

Okay. Sebastian is charitable. It is the holiday season, after all. He will give him three seconds. 

“You don’t need pants,” Sebastian whines when the time is up, extra shameless in the wee hours of the morning. “You don’t need anything. Babe. Baby. Angelface. Kurt.”

Kurt pulls his head out, spins around, and dashes back to the bed with a hop in his step, making the mattress bounce when he climbs on. Sebastian makes a groan-yelling sound.

“You’re so sweet in the morning,” Kurt teases, walking on his knees until he's next to Sebastian and settling back to sit with his legs folded under him. 

Sebastian makes an unattractive grunt, wiggling closer until his head is—somewhat in Kurt’s lap, cheek smushed onto his thigh. Before he can string together the words to ask Kurt what the fuck is going on and why he’s not horizontal, Kurt is bringing his hands out from behind his back. 

“I have a present,” he says, a little hushed and excited.

Sebastian stares at the box Kurt gingerly balances on his other leg, directly across Sebastian’s line of sight. It’s a small one, wrapped in striped white and gold paper and topped off with a thin green ribbon tied in a neat bow. 

“It’s not midnight?” Sebastian mumbles. Fuck. Did they say they were going to exchange gifts in the morning? Sebastian had Kurt’s shipped directly to Burt in Ohio.

“I know.” Kurt’s free hand finds its way into Sebastian’s hair, combing through the mess. “It’s an extra, sort of. I wanted to give it to you before breakfast.”

Somewhere in Sebastian, there’s still a little snot-nosed kid eager for gifts, so he’s not too annoyed at this disturbance. And this pretty much solidifies the decision to spend the last few hours alone together having some fun in bed before they meet Kurt’s aunt for breakfast and set off on the flight to Ohio for family lunches and dinners.

Sebastian hauls himself up into a position slouched up on the pillows and head leaning slightly on the headboard, reaching out for the box. 

Kurt is smiling as he hands it over. Sebastian undoes the ribbon and pries the lid open, brushing the wrapping tissue aside to find—

He coughs out a laugh. 

Way back earlier in the year, sometime in the summer, one of his dad’s sisters foisted off her kid on them in an afternoon because of an emergency. His cousin needed a chaperone to some workshop and Aunt Joanna knew Sebastian was in NYC too, so she’d asked, offering up her slot. Sebastian dragged Kurt along to do the crafting, manual labor part of babysitting and Sebastian could do the 'sit around lazily and make cool jokes while pretending he can’t see the kid rolling her eyes' part of babysitting. 

Besides, Kurt is cute when he’s focused on arts and crafts and Sebastian got many, many sneak photos of Kurt helping his kid cousin with molding her coaster and mug set or whatever. Kurt had used his own allotted materials to make a big coffee mug, forgoing the coaster. Neither of them expected to attend the second session set a month later, but little ten year old Annabelle had gone home and told her mom all about Kurt. So Sebastian and Kurt had ended up attending the second workshop day and Sebastian had started getting nagged to bring this mystery man to the next family reunion. 

The first session, Sebastian had ended up playing around with Kurt’s leftover clay as a low stakes way of passing the time. He didn’t really have any artistic inclinations, but he’d started forming some vague animal and Kurt and Ann had poked fun at it until Sebastian had successfully crafted a slightly fucked up looking, slightly smushed little meerkat. They’d laughed at it together, and Kurt had fashioned eyes and carved a little smirk on its face. The second time they came back after all the mugs were fired and ready for painting, Sebastian spent the time wandering the adjoining crafts store. He’d spared like one thought for the meerkat and figured they tossed it.

“You painted it?” Sebastian hooks a finger through the loop of twine attached to a metal loop embedded in the head, lifting the now finished, still slightly fucked up, smushed meerkat out. The paint job made it look artsy. “They cooked this thing?”

“Fired,” Kurt says. “And yes, Donna handed me the little guy and said I could glaze it and they’d pack it in along with the mug for pick-up.”

“But you were mad at me that time.” 

“Well," Kurt sighs, faux-annoyed, "painting it helped me calm down and remember how cute, if still annoying, my boyfriend is.” 

Sebastian snorts out a quiet laugh, smiling down at the gift. “Thanks.”

“We can hang it together later, when we stop by Dad and Carole’s,” Kurt says. He kisses Sebastian’s cheek. 

“Hm?” 

Kurt pulls back. “Hm, what?”

“Hang it. . .is this for the tree?” Sebastian holds it up.

“What else? That’s why I added this,” Kurt touches the twine. "It was not easy as it looks, I'll tell you that." 

Sebastian turns over the thing in his hands now with a new sense of appreciation. Maybe it’s because he’s still a little raw upon waking, but he feels like his chest is tightening. The morning sun is coming up now, light starting to edge into a gentle yellow as it glints off the glossy finish on the ornament.

“Hey. . .” Kurt sounds hesitant. “Is it too much?”

He doesn’t get an answer for a few moments. Sebastian is dimly aware of Kurt shifting a little in the wake of his silence. 

“Bas,” Kurt tries, again. He laughs, and it's a short, nervous sound. “Um. Say something?”

Sebastian looks over at him. The sunrise has caught Kurt’s hair and part of his face now; one eye’s flared crystalline blue in the light. Whatever’s straining Sebastian’s ribcage tight cracks open, and it seeps out of him golden warm like a runny egg.

He grins. “Something.”

Kurt’s expression goes from worried to exasperated in record speed. He swats at Sebastian’s shoulder, then makes a grab for the meerkat. Sebastian yells incoherently, holding it away. Kurt rolls his eyes but watches with amusement as Sebastian puts it back in the box, tucking the meerkat in the wrapping tissue like a blanket. He reaches over Kurt and sets the box on Kurt’s nightstand. 

“Remind me to put it in my bag later,” he says, and Kurt nods.

Sebastian doesn’t lean away from Kurt completely after securing the box. He leans in towards him. Kurt watches him as if in a daze.

Then he jerks and angles his face away. “Sebastian!”

“Jesus Christ,” Sebastian laughs. “We’ve been together for almost two fucking years.”

Kurt is covering his own mouth, blushing self-consciously. “I’m fine with a peck, but I can see your face, Bas, I know where it’s going. You can’t kiss me on the mouth until we brush our teeth.”

Sebastian smiles indulgently. “Okay. Let's take the party to the bathroom, then.”

"You are undeterred," Kurt sighs, dropping his hand, but the exhalation comes with a smile. 

"I'm a man with adaptable plans." Sebastian shrugs, getting off the bed and holding out a hand, "Higher success rate, I win either way."

"I'm hardly losing here." Kurt grabs the offered hand and lets himself be pulled up.

"Babe, I'm not playing against you," Sebastian scoffs. "You get the gift of sharing my wins now, that's the thing. We're all in this together. . ."

Kurt is already hurrying to their bathroom, giving Sebastian a warning hand squeeze as he drags him along. Sebastian laughs. However the day goes, at least the morning started out great.

 ii. sunday morning, i’ve got a feeling i don’t want to know

“How about this? Everybody loves cats, right? Dad said she loves animals, but he didn’t even say what kind.”

“Mm,” Kurt hums, fiddling with some transformer toy, “Well, she’s three years old, right?”

“Almost four,” Sebastian says, squeezing the stuffed toy. It activates some mewling from some blown out speakers in the stitching. They both make faces. Sebastian puts the toy back in the bin of plushies. 

“So she likes animals, and. . .what else?” Kurt points with the toy at a colorful, mini-xylophone set on a cow design. “Maybe she’ll appreciate an instrument?” 

“I don’t know,” Sebastian says. “I’ve never even seen the kid.”

“You’ve never seen your four year old cousin?” Kurt asks flatly.

“Not outside pictures.” His phone buzzes with a series of texts. “Oh thank fuck, Dad sent a list,” Sebastian thumbs down the texts. 

Kurt snorts. 

“So you went over here for nothing?”

“Well, it’s not like he said get Aunt Joanna’s kid a copy of the 1980-whatever edition of Peter Rabbit,” Sebastian says, still scanning the list, “he just said books, no toys. And to get my uncle alcohol. And a bunch of other stuff. Jesus Christ.”

“First time meeting the family?”

“Some of them,” Sebastian pockets his phone, nodding to the exit, and they walk out of the aisle. “I don’t need anything from the toy store, let’s go. My parents kind of isolate.”

Kurt hums, brows slightly furrowed. He keeps quiet. Sebastian clears his throat.

“Anyway, I wouldn’t care if I wasn’t expected to like, bring shit for anybody besides my parents. Apparently it means something that I’m out of high school now.”

Kurt gives him a weird, squinty look, but drops it instead of prodding. Sebastian is expecting this, but it doesn't make him feel any better.

The early December morning today in New York is gray and dreary, just like Ohio. And Boston. Sebastian thinks he should’ve ran off with his mom to the beach again instead of agreeing to a full Smythe family reunion. And also volunteering himself to do his dad’s Christmas shopping just for an excuse to drag Kurt out from the loft. But somebody needed to do it, his roommates were coping with their grief too and nobody knew that the only way to get Kurt to undig his stubborn designer heels off the ground is to appear to be in dire need of his help.

“I was the Christmas shopper until the end of high school,” Kurt offers, mouth quirking up as he types on his phone. “I’ve been helping pick out the gifts since I was eight.”

He shows Sebastian a list of nearby bookstores. Sebastian taps on the directions for the nearest one, which is a ten minute walk away. 

“Seriously?” Sebastian snorts. “I thought being an only child meant you were spoiled.”

He freezes for a second, an awkward apology on the tip of his tongue. Kurt doesn’t miss a beat, though.

“No, being a dirty rich only child means you were spoiled,” Kurt replies. “Dad’s never done Christmas shopping alone in his life and I have never trusted him with a surprise after he decided a weekend trip to see the Snowball Derby was an appropriate Christmas gift for my nine-year old self.”

Sebastian raises his eyebrows. “Is that a racing show?”

“Yes. In Florida,” Kurt says gravely. “I made him surprise me with a trip to Dollywood the next year and that’s how we did it ever since.”

And he thinks his dad doesn’t spoil him. “You made him surprise you? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a surprise?"

“Not if I act appropriately shocked,” Kurt says. He jokes, “It doubled as an acting exercise.”

Sebastian shakes his head, grinning in disbelief. They catch up as they weave through crowds. Sebastian tells Kurt about his harrowing first semester finals as a freshman in Boston, Kurt tells him about misadventures in NYADA and the show choir group he's joined even though he doesn’t go there. They don't talk about how Kurt is unable to maintain conversations online nowadays, leaving most people on read, or how he's still carrying Finn Hudson's cracked fucking phone in his pocket everywhere a month out from the funeral. Sebastian doesn't even know where to start with that.

Sebastian visibly directs his attention away as Kurt answers a phone call from his boyfriend, but he’s not enough of a good person to not eavesdrop. He hears Kurt hesitate and describe Sebastian as a high school friend instead of naming him. He listens to Kurt awkwardly declining a shared lunch with Adam on behalf of ‘the high school friend’.

“Mm-hm. I’m sure,” Kurt hums. “It’s not—look, we’ll talk later, okay? I’m just gift shopping. Yeah. Okay. Bye.” He pauses for an abnormally long beat. “Love you too,” He hangs up as they’re walking into the store.

A little fast, ain’t it, Sebastian almost comments, but he does know tact and it’s forbidden territory for them, so he shuts up. They haven’t so much as touched each other on the arm since October; Adam doesn’t actually have anything to suspect. They’re lovers on opposite sides of the spectrum; Sebastian is the anti-romantic, Kurt is anti-hookup, and neither of them are under any delusions. In fact, if Kurt isn’t so hung up on pride, he should tell his boyfriend that it was Sebastian who declined a relationship with him, months and months ago. It really is just fucking shopping. 

Still, Sebastian’s stomach twists with some kind of discomfort that he has no interest in examining.

Kurt glances at him sideways before smiling tightly and nodding forward in the direction of a display. They stay silent for a few moments in an unspoken agreement. Sebastian cocks his ear to the sound of Mariah Carey on the speakers, and catches Kurt catching him grimace, and the ice cracks. Kurt snorts and looks away.

“Do you think she’d like this?” Sebastian pulls out A Very Hungry Caterpillar. “Fuck, she probably already has it.”

“Ask your dad,” Kurt shrugs. “Let’s canvas for backups if she does.” 

As Sebastian is texting away, Kurt checks out the nearby shelf. 

“Have you considered maybe getting her something you read as a kid?” Kurt asks. 

“I did read this,” Sebastian holds up the caterpillar book. “Or, play with it, I guess. Not much to read in this besides the title.”

“No, I mean, something that stuck with you,” Kurt says. “She’s meeting you for the first time too, you know. Maybe open up a bit.”

Sebastian tries to think of something. Kurt laughs at his face. 

“I see our literature snob was too good for even children’s books,” Kurt teases, “Were you already reading above your age level at three?”

Sebastian snorts. “No, but I hardly remember being three. Do you? Come on.”

Kurt purses his lips, eyes squinted a bit. He turns to the shelf in front of him and scans the titles. He raises his eyebrows and plucks one out.

“Cheat,” Sebastian scoffs. “The Little Prince isn’t for toddlers. You’re standing at the older kids section.”

“Well, my mom read it to me all the time when I was one,” Kurt argues. “It is such a secret place, the land of tears? If I can quote a line thing long after it means something right was going on.”

“Okay, whatever. It’s the perfect, clichè book for an overthinking philosopher like you.” Kurt swats at his arm. “It’s still the most popular children’s book in the fucking world, and everybody and their mom knows it’s deep.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, looking back at the shelf across, where Sebastian was standing. Then he blinks and snaps his fingers, pointing. “The Little Bear.”

“The what?” Sebastian looks over. 

“Little Bear?” Kurt repeats, like he’s stupid. “It’s a series, like Frog and Toad. That one, Little Bear’s Visit, it’s about grandparents. I read it.” He hums, “You could get her this, one from Frog and Toad, maybe Peter Rabbit like you said. Like a sampler. . ." Kurt tilts his head, a hint of a smile on his lips. "A literary zoo.”

“Huh,” Sebastian says. “Not a bad idea.”

“It’s a great idea, admit it,” Kurt scoffs.

It is. And no, Sebastian will not concede. Still, they start looking around with more direction in mind. And Sebastian’s memory comes back piece by piece while they look through books. 

“Oh, I read this, I should get this,” he points at The True Story of the Three Little Pigs. Next to it— “Wait, fuck, I love this one! The Stinky Cheese Man, this is my favorite! I read it so many times.”

“The what?” 

Sebastian pulls it out and holds up the book with a grin. The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales. Kurt stares at the cover for a second before he shakes his head, exhaling heavily through his nose.

“No, no, read it, look at it,” To Sebastian’s delight, the copy is open. He moves closer and holds it out to Kurt. “Come on. It’s a children’s book, Kurt, even you could read it in ten minutes.”

Kurt gives him a look. With great wariness like it’s going to actually be stinky, he takes the book gingerly in his hands. He peers down. He flips past the title page, frowns, and turns the book upside down. He sighs. “Oh my God, they made me turn this thing upside down just to read a dedication.”

“No, no, just go to the first one, it just fucks with you like that.” Sebastian looks over his shoulder. 

Kurt indulges him, reading out loud. He doesn’t have to, but Sebastian won’t stop him. He’s nice to listen to, and it’ll be fun to hear when Kurt gets to the punchline. His voice is really colored with emotion, even with his soft voice. He’d make a great audiobook narrator.

It’s still as hilarious as Sebastian remembers. Kurt is equal parts exasperated and amused by the dumb parodies of classic fairy tales, but he can’t deny that he’s hooked by it. Kurt keeps reading past the first fairly stupid tale, then the next, and the next. Kurt gets to the part where the giant’s threatening Jack the storyteller with death after he finishes telling it, and the guy just repeats the same paragraph and over and over in a font that gets smaller and smaller until Kurt’s just cutting himself off to snicker, shoulders shaking. Sebastian cackles. Pretty soon, Kurt's shushing both of them, his cheeks flushed and trying not to laugh too loud.

“You know, this is explaining so much about you,” Kurt says to him. Still, he’s smiling, rolling his shoulders back like he hasn’t laughed like that in a while. He gets back to reading the whole book, laughing quietly through the next ones. Sebastian grins so hard his cheeks start hurting. 

“Okay, fine, I’ll hand it to you. It’s funny.” Kurt admits, closing the book. “And I like the art.”

Sebastian is still laughing a bit as he takes the book and grabs another copy for himself. He’d lost his childhood copy years ago. Eventually Sebastian gets a good selection of books that either or both of them have read, all animal themed. He comments on just missing one about bugs. 

“Hm,” Kurt hums. “I read one about butterflies. I told you before, I think. I don’t know if they have it. Wait.” He drifts off to find a store employee. 

Sebastian lingers in the section. He pulls out a couple more books and flips through them. He’s pulling out a thin paperback when Kurt comes back.

“They’re checking the database,” Kurt says. His eyes drift to the front page of the book Sebastian’s just opened. “Oh, God, I forgot about that.” He laughs, but when Sebastian looks up at him, his expression looks weird and pained. 

“What? Is it bad?”

“No, no,” Kurt continues smiling at it. It’s a terrible smile. He’s quiet for an unnaturally long beat. “Finn had that.”

“Oh.” Sebastian doesn’t know whether to prod or let it lie.

“I was gonna throw it out when we moved into the new house but he stopped me. It had drawings all over it, like, all these messy scribbles. He made me read it and I sobbed like a baby even if it was kind of creepy,” Kurt says. “I got why he drew all over it.”

“Why?”

“It made his mom cry every time she read it to him,” Kurt says. “He was trying to cheer her up.”

“And he didn’t throw this out because?” Sebastian now looks down at the cover with the innocent looking baby on it. 

“Because he liked the story and the song in it,” Kurt shrugs. “I imagine that it usually makes parents cry, not the kids.”

Sebastian doesn’t ask why Kurt cried over it. 

Kurt snorts out a laugh, amusement finally finding its way into his eyes, “It’ll probably be fine for your cousin, she still has her mom.”

A store attendant comes around the corner looking for Kurt and Kurt goes. Sebastian thinks about putting the book back unopened but it’s so ridiculously thin that the morbid curiosity overtakes him. It’s like twenty pages. How fucking bad could it be.

By the time Kurt comes back with a basket, Sebastian is closing the godforsaken picture book. Kurt had every right to be dramatic about it. 

“Here, look, I—“ Kurt stops. “Are you crying?”

Sebastian tips his head up to the ceiling, “I’m just a little misty-eyed, don’t stress.”

“I’ve never seen you cry,” Kurt sounds amazed.

“Don’t get so happy too.” Sebastian jokes. He tips his head back down, blinking. “This is so fucked up. Why the hell would Finn ever make you read this? Even I’m not that much of an ass.”

It’s probably wrong to speak ill of the dead, and even more so the freshly dead, like the just a little over a month dead, but Kurt just laughs, and to Sebastian’s surprise, looks a little teary-eyed himself. It’s so sudden, just a few blinks and suddenly his eyes are a little glittery. Weeks and weeks of posturing, gone, just like that.

“He was always tactless, you will always be more of an ass because you know what you’re doing,” Kurt says. “I guess he thought crying it out would help.”

“Does it?”

“I guess,” Kurt laughs again, but it cracks in the middle, and he drops the basket.

It gets pushed aside with a foot as Sebastian stoops to drop his books in it. Kurt fumbles, as if to try to pick it up again, but Sebastian wraps him up in a hug and straightens up. Kurt splutters a bit, even though his hands are trembling like a leaf.

“Shh, shh, if we hug they’re probably just going to think we’re really clingy boyfriends,” Sebastian says, the burning in his eyes now subsiding. “Not that we are.”

Kurt laughs, strangled, but he finally snakes his arms around Sebastian’s torso, under his open jacket, and buries his face in his shoulder. 

Kurt cries so quietly. Sebastian’s seen it before, he’s seen Kurt cry at movies and in the car when they were fighting that one time, back in Ohio, and he’s got way better control over his voice and body while crying than any other person Sebastian knows. They probably do just look like they’re in an intense embrace, but Sebastian can feel his irregular breathing from the way his chest is rising and falling against his, wildly offbeat, and his tears are soaking through the neck of his shirt. 

This is the least comforting hug in the world, Sebastian thinks. He is not the person for this, probably. Kurt’s hands are still shaking, hidden under Sebastian’s button-up and fisted in his shirt. Sebastian is stiff, his insides are roiling with some kind of paranoia, like he’s scared Kurt’s going to find something he shouldn’t in Sebastian’s body. He’s thinking about the funeral. He’s thinking about Kurt’s boyfriend. He’s thinking about how Kurt is staying put in New York over the winter, letting his dad and Carole decide if they want to come up or not. He’s thinking about how fucking bad he feels right now. This is shaping up to be the worst Christmas. He’s probably not radiating the best energy for Kurt to soak up in his moment of need. He’s not the person for this. They’re playing Cèline Dion on the speakers now, and it’s cheesy as hell and it’s only making Sebastian even more antsy. Still, she’s crooning, a hug is warmer when you’re in it, and baby, that’s a fact, and you can’t argue with facts. So he wraps Kurt up tight and lets him have his fucking secret land of tears, right there in the crook of Sebastian’s neck, even though he feels like he’s probably not the person for this and he just really should make a break for it and—

iii. run, run, rudolph, i’m reelin’ like a merry-go-round

“With you-oooh, shawty, with you, with you-oooh, shawty, with you—“

“Oh my God, stop,” Kurt mutters.

“—with you-oooh, under the mistle—“ Kurt tries to grab him, and Sebastian sidesteps it easily, still snapping his fingers, small shopping bags hanging from the crooks of his elbows, “—toe-woah-ohhh—“

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Kurt says, honest-to-god whining, to Sebastian’s delight, “You sound worse. Why are you singing it like that.”

“I’m adding that to my list of achievements,” Sebastian stops singing, but still snapping his fingers to the silent rhythm. He smiles in the face of Kurt’s exasperation. “Worse than Justin Bieber. Originator of the Eau de Craigslist. Thanks, Kurt. It’s truly the greatest gift of all, to be insulted by you.”

“You are the worst gift of all. Add that to your list,” Kurt grumbles.

“Showering me with your sweet nothings for our last Christmas together before you leave me for the shiny big apple,” Sebastian says around a grin. “I’m super touched.”

“You’re off to Boston or California too next year, neither of us are staying here. I don’t understand.” Kurt puts his own bags down, gesturing for Sebastian to unlock the trunk. “You complained a hundred times more than I did about hearing it on loop back there. Why are you bringing it out with us?”

“A little suffering’s good for the soul,” Sebastian says, ducking to peer inside and figure out how to arrange everything in the trunk of his car. “Honestly, it’s just stuck. I’m trying to see if playing along will get it out of my head.”

“It won’t,” Kurt says firmly, starting to load the bags. He seems to have more of an idea than Sebastian, so he sticks to handing Kurt bags and watching him. “You’re just making both of us suffer, and not just a little. No, leave that there, we can put it in the backseat.”

Sebastian takes a small paper bag from a larger bag that Kurt is loading in. Kurt gives him a weird look, leaning back and dusting his hands. Before he can prod, Sebastian tucks it into an inner pocket and asks, “Is that it?”

“Yes, that’s it.” 

“Huh,” Sebastian says, slipping his hands in his pockets and looking around as Kurt pulls the hatch on his car trunk closed. “Not as intense as I thought it would be.”

“Because it’s not actually Black Friday,” Kurt says, stooping to pick up some leftover bags. He takes the heavier one and Sebastian picks up the rest. “If you want to see real fights, it’s in places like Wal-Mart over doorbusters like TVs or game consoles. Finn still tells the story of when he snagged the last Gameboy Advance with freebies with his mom years ago, to this day. He said they saw like five brawls. An old lady tripping a guy to get to the shelf first. Another two guys were fighting over a damn cooler.”

He narrows his eyes at Sebastian, as if wary that Sebastian’s about to crack a rich asshole joke. Sebastian just raises his eyebrows, “Jesus.”

“Honestly, it’s stupid to do that now,” Kurt says. “Everything’s moving online, and the hottest deals aren’t even on Black Friday. Even Finn and Carole didn’t go on opening night this year. I’m convinced people just go for the street cred.”

“Kurt, I watched you race a woman for clothes.”

“It was for Carole.” Kurt lifts his chin, affecting a superiorly nonchalant look, “That blouse ran out of stock online and I needed it for Christmas.”

Sebastian starts to smile, slowly. “Okay.”

“What?” Kurt asks, snappish. “What’s that for?”

“It’s just,” Sebastian shakes his head, still smiling in fond reminiscence, “It was art. The moment you locked eyes and the silent declaration of war. You, running. The mad scramble to grab the hanger off the rack first. Running in the wrong direction. More running, in the other way to the cashier. It was like Santa himself was on your heels. Fuck, I should’ve filmed it.”

“I think I saw a Baywatch boxset half off back there, if watching people run is that exhilarating for you,” Kurt says sarcastically. “I’ll wait right here.”

“Oh, Kurt, they could never run like you.”

Kurt turns away, face red as he opens the back door and ungracefully dumps the heaviest of Sebastian’s bags in the backseat.

“You do not want to drop that,” Sebastian warns, opening the opposite door and helping him arrange it more securely.

Despite his still flushed cheeks, Kurt’s mouth curls into a smirk. “What’re you gonna do, call your dad? Threaten to sue?”

“Oh, so he’s going for the knees now,” Sebastian comments. 

“It’s just so fascinating, how it’s your panic response to everything,” Kurt says. “A guy puts a hand on the Game of Thrones box set the same time as you and suddenly you have to announce to everybody in the aisle that it’s for your father, the state’s attorney.”

“That guy was jacked!” Sebastian laughs, high-pitched, retreating and straightening up to close the door. Kurt follows, very smugly. “You saw him!”

“He was like, Puckerman-jacked,” Kurt says. “I’ve seen better.”

“Do you really think I could take your mohawked friend?” Sebastian squints.

“No. If Puckerman folds like a cheap suit in the fistfights at McKinley, you’re a friggin’ cotton shirt.” Kurt says. He looks over and makes a faux-shocked face. “Oh, Sebastian, you have a little. . .” He brushes his own, still flushed cheek, eyes bright with mirth.

“It’s just cold,” Sebastian says. “Get in.”

“Sure.”

Kurt goes to fiddle with the radio immediately once they’re in the car and Sebastian’s turned the ignition on, one hand on the dial and the other fumbling with his seatbelt. Sebastian tsks.

“I’m driving you and your haul all the way back to Lima, so I should get to pick,” He moves Kurt’s hand away. Kurt yanks it back like he's been electrocuted.

“Not after you sang JB the entire walk back to the car,” Kurt says, undeterred. “You’ve lost your rights. Also, seatbelt, please, I’ve told you this.”

Sebastian scoffs, small paper bag in his lap as he complies. “I was getting to it.”

“It takes two seconds, you can stand waiting that long. It's a good habit,” Kurt says. 

“You went for the radio first.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “I still got it on before you.”

“Excuses.” Sebastian starts checking his side mirrors. It takes Kurt a minute before he asks.

“So, what’s in the bag?” Kurt can’t quite keep the curiosity out of his voice. 

“Why, Kurt! I’m glad you asked. It’s a surprise.” Sebastian turns back and grins at him. 

“For me?”

“Sort of. It’s for me too.”

Kurt looks weirded out, and wary. His eyes flick down to the paper bag in Sebastian’s lap, and up again. “Is it drugs?”

“Drugs—why would I—“ Sebastian starts laughing. “Sure, Kurt, let’s snort some lines!”

“It’s just—it’s small!” Kurt yells over Sebastian’s laughter. “We split up for an hour earlier, you're rich, who knows what you could’ve—“

Sebastian makes a show of noticing something out of the window on Kurt’s side. “Oh my God, is that Taylor Lautner?”

Kurt makes a confused, what the hell face at him, mouth frozen open mid-protest and eyes narrowed. Sebastian maintains his best freaked out expression, widening his eyes just slightly at Kurt then out the window. Kurt gives in and actually turns his head to look. Sebastian whips his purchase out of the bag and hangs it up quickly. 

Kurt turns back slowly, his lips pressed in an unimpressed line. Then he catches sight of what Sebastian’s done to the rearview mirror. 

“You’re so easy,” Sebastian says. “Honestly.”

“Do you expect me to go along with this after you insult me? Honestly.” Kurt flicks the fake mistletoe decoration hanging off the mirror. 

“But it’s tradition!” Sebastian protests exaggeratedly. 

Kurt raises his eyebrows. “Like you care about that.”

“Only when it benefits me.”

Kurt sighs. 

“I’m kidding,” Sebastian says, smiling when Kurt side-eyes him. “You’re right, I don’t. It’s not like we’re gonna get smacked down by the hand of Saint Nick if we don’t kiss.”

Kurt snorts, “You don’t know that. Have you ever seen anybody refuse a mistletoe kiss?”

“Aren’t you atheist?”

Kurt seems to actually think about this, then he shrugs. “On the slim chance I’m proven wrong, I don’t want it to be over this. Besides, I do believe in good luck and bad luck, and this probably counts for that kind of thing.”

“Well, I wouldn’t complain about a peck on the cheek, middle school style,” Sebastian says. Kurt rolls his eyes. “Fine, when we get to Lima I’ll help you out the car and kiss you on the hand like a gentleman.”

“That’s weird,” Kurt tells him, and he gestures towards Sebastian, as if greatly inconvenienced. Sebastian laughs and leans in a bit, turning his head. 

He expects to feel a light kiss on the cheek, but two of Kurt’s fingers hook his jaw gently, turning his head back, and suddenly Kurt’s kissing him on the mouth. 

Sebastian closes his eyes and kisses back, leaning further over the console. Kurt tilts his head, and he’s the one who takes it past chaste and flicks his tongue out to tease over Sebastian’s lower lip. The two fingers on his jaw have turned to Kurt’s whole hand cradling it at some point and it’s very warm. He tastes like the peppermint hot chocolate they’d had after lunch, too, and Sebastian had chased every drop of that so it makes sense that he chases after Kurt’s mouth when he starts to pull back. Kurt, apparently, is not very dedicated to ending it, so he relents quickly, humming against Sebastian’s lips. Sebastian feels the curve of his smile before he pulls away for real. 

Kurt’s cheeks are still splotchy with color, but it looks gentler now, and Sebastian watches him suck his red, shiny bottom lip into his mouth as he settles back in the passenger seat. 

Sebastian finds himself short of breath. “Huh.”

“I didn’t want to shortchange you,” Kurt says, fiddling needlessly with his seatbelt. “Even if you love to torture me, I still appreciate what you’re doing for me today.”

“Well, Jesus, Kurt, I know you’re not a holiday bargain. You can admit you wanted to kiss a boy this Christmas instead of just your grandma.” Sebastian means to tease, but it comes out all weird like he’s shaken or something. 

“I’m not—oh my God. Just. Thank you. Merry Christmas.” Kurt mutters. “Do you remember your birthday?”

“I thought we agreed that we just got caught up in the moment.” Sebastian says. “Is this. . .that?”

“Mm-hm,” Kurt says, faux-nonchalant. Then he inhales, quietly, and amends, “yes.”

Sebastian takes this in. He doesn’t poke too much at the memory, just letting glimpses of it pass by. He doesn't even remember who started the kissing and it hardly matters now. It wasn’t anything bad; actually, Sebastian would be hard-pressed to find anything wrong with it. It was a happy memory.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Kurt checks his seatbelt one more time, pensive, before he says: “Also, next time, you can just ask if you want to make out with me so badly. I’m probably not always going to say yes but I figure I’ll save you the trouble of plotting your schemes. Or myself the pain of having to endure them.”

Sebastian is about to point out that regardless of who ‘plotted’ the mistletoe ‘scheme’ it was Kurt who insisted on sticking his goddamn tongue in Sebastian’s mouth, so maybe there’s a little bit of projection going on here, but Kurt is still flushed in a lovely shade of red that Sebastian would hate to ruin. Also, it does feel good to be wanted by Kurt Hummel. Really good, actually. Perhaps even better than annoying him, Sebastian is realizing.

“Okay,” Sebastian says. He grins, reaching out to adjust his rearview mirror. “So, hypothetically, when would you be likely to say yes?”

Kurt snorts, and actually thinks it over. “Holidays and special occasions. And only if I don’t have a boyfriend. Which should go unspoken, but it’s you, so.”

“So, New Year’s?”

“Are you even going to be here?” Kurt asks incredulously. “Didn’t you say you were taking a holiday trip with your mom?”

“. . .Lunar New Year?”

“Just drive.” Kurt pinches the bridge of his nose, but he’s holding back a smile. Sebastian can tell. 

Kurt fiddles with the radio for the first few minutes, trying to find a station playing Christmas songs, and Sebastian doesn’t stop him this time. He catches Kurt yawning in between changing stations.

“Stop by afternoon coffee here or to-go?” Sebastian asks, pulling out of the parking lot. “Is your family back with your car already?”

“Probably, but no rush. I want coffee from the one near campus, please. Thank you.” Kurt finally lands on a station with a Christmas song.

“—run, run Rudolph, Santa's gotta make it to town—“

“Oh my God,” Kurt groans, as Sebastian starts laughing. 

iv. when you don’t know who you are, you fuck around and find out

“Can I get a refill, please? Extra milk, also. Bastièn, do you want anything?”

“Uh, a muffin.”

“And a muffin. Thank you.”

It's an idle, blue December afternoon smack dab in the middle of the holidays. It'll be just Sebastian and his mother until the morning of the new year, his father set to join them for the weekend after a long awaited Smythe family reunion. Sebastian had opted to skip the awkwardness and tag along with his mom's new whim: Christmas on the beach.

The Warbler group chat's gone silent now, Blaine just having excused himself and wishing everyone well. Sebastian adds in his own warm reply to Blaine and leans back in his seat, peering over the screen of his laptop and sharing a quick, tight smile with his mother. His skin itches and he tries not to scratch at his face. She goes back to her book, and Sebastian watches her spend too long on a page, flip it over, then flip back several to reread something, her eyes glazing over and into focus. Half there, half not, a foot in the real world and the other in her mind, the border a secret, impenetrable thing Sebastian's never been able to see into, no matter how many of her books he reads, or the trips he tags along on. 

The song currently playing over the cafè speakers fade out, and a familiar opening note strums, a second of it enough to bring Sebastian out of his thoughts, scowling. This fucking song.

Apparently there aren't enough beachy Christmas songs in the world, because Island In The Sun has been dogging his steps constantly. It's gotten to a point where Sebastian will be moving across their hotel room or just doing something somewhere with no music and hear, in his mind, the fucking hip, hip out of nowhere and it'll bounce around his skull until he's wishing for a magic mute button. He tilts his head when the vocals kick in, because he isn't hearing Weezer. It's a young girl singing, some kidzbop version, but after a few lines he decides it's a welcome variation. Anything to shake it up. 

He looks out the window. The ocean is glittering, and the sky is a flat, saturated blue. According to his mom Christmas was always "a little blue" for her and this was inevitable no matter the year, so she'd thought of filling her eyes with a "happy" blue this time. She loved the sun too, so they'd been grabbing window spots and breezy outdoor tables the whole of the vacation, trying every cafè and restaurant with a view in the vicinity. Sebastian's seen the sparkling blue sea from multiple angles enough times now, though, and he's had his fill.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” His mother has closed her book around her fingers to mark her place. 

“Yep.” Sebastian squints at the sky.

“We should have dinner again at that place with the big terrace, outdoors. Fresh air is good.”

“As long as we’re not cooking alive,” Sebastian jokes. 

“You know, I was talking to Mila, from the fifth floor, and she’s so enthusiastic about those boat rides—“

“Maman, my burns. Please,” Sebastian begs. He’d spotted a cute boy checking in with his family at the hotel lobby yesterday and remains upset every time he has to confront the fact that he has sunburned his face during the fucking winter holidays. He is not attempting to investigate the guy’s placement on the Kinsey scale until he doesn’t have cheeks and a forehead the color of Rudolph’s fucking nose.

His mother simply smiles, sympathetic. She tucks a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear. She’s let her hair down loose today, frizzy hair illuminated by the afternoon sun. Her hair is fucking fried; naturally, it’s the same color as Sebastian’s, but he hasn’t seen it in a while. At this point, it might even feel weird to, he realizes. 

Sebastian sinks into his seat, carefully chosen at the very corner of the place and partially obscured by a shelf of products. He pulls the laptop lid up higher, unsettled.

“It’s simply aloe and hydration, Bastièn, you have to let it take its time," Maman says, probably assuming he's Googling suburn tips again.

Sebastian grunts, idly scrolling the Warbler chat. He doesn't bother to clarify. She sighs, and after a few seconds, goes back to reading. The chat is still dead, and Sebastian scrolls up until he reaches the messages about how Thad had seen the New Directions doing mall caroling near Westerville. Sebastian checks out the blurry phone pics. He can somewhat make out Santana nearest the camera, and the distinctive mohawked head of that one guy to her left. The lights blocked out most of the others. 

The New Directions were a joke, but one couldn’t deny they made it to Nationals 2011 and that made them a threat, no matter how Blaine attempts to assuage. Unlike pretty much all of the other Warblers, Sebastian does not trust Blaine's judgement when it involves his ex-boyfriend. Nothing personal, and really, it's Sebastian's job as captain to pick up where Blaine and the rest of the council slacks. Sebastian had decided after sectionals that he was going to figure out some plan of attack for regionals to give the Warblers a leg up while the council worked out a setlist because the other guys weren’t really jiving with him well yet, and he has a shit ton of free time and good WiFi now, so. He hits the search bar and does a little internet sleuthing. Even the fuzzy, low quality YouTube videos on their glee club's channel don’t have any clue of their names, so Sebastian has to work off the ones he does know, which amounts to basically just three people.

Santana's Facebook profile has been quiet since mid-November, but what is there is basically an ad for McKinley's cheerleading team, and she's tagged in a lot of photos with said team and their parties, mostly with the jocks. Apparently she's captain. It's kind of fascinating how engineered it all looks, but Sebastian can only take half a minute of scrolling photos of jocks and cheerleaders and popular kid parties before he's clicking out, looking at Santana's face handling a booth at a Cheerios fundraiser and unsure if the twitch in his mouth tilts more towards a frown or a wry smirk. He knows what the face of a captain trying to fit in with the other kids looks like. Far cry from the girl he'd met hanging out with Dave and Kurt at Scandals.

Rachel Berry has her public profile curated to posts about various advocacies and photos with her gay dads. She has a link to an inactive MySpace page, but it’s all solo videos. And also has harsh verbal abuse littering all the comment sections. Sebastian almost chokes on his spit at the comment telling her to get sterilized. Nearly all the profile pictures are of cheerleaders, he's pretty sure one of them is Santana, and most of the hate comments are just from one girl. He switches back to Facebook, noting that her friends list is public and not as big as Blaine's. He skims it until—yep, that's Kurt Hummel.

Kurt's profile is set to friends only, and Sebastian cannot see shit except for a default post showing that he changed his profile photo a month and a half ago, when he and Blaine broke up. It's all just profile photo changes, and each only has one or two likes but several comments, enough to stir curiosity at the disproportionate ratio. Sebastian fast-scrolls to the bottom, Kurt’s first profile photo in 2010, and raises his eyebrows when he discovers Kurt has actual haters jeering in his comment sections, just like Rachel. His photo doesn’t even have his face in it, and the comments are largely unoriginal. Apparently Rachel has the more creative haters in McKinley’s cheerleaders. Kurt gets the stupid jocks tossing short, repetitive insults, and with Kurt’s total lack of response they just look like they’re holding a pitch meeting amongst themselves in his comment section. Fairy, fairy boy, fancy pants, fairy pants (what even. . .), the ever-so-original "gay" and “queer”--Sebastian exits the comment section. 

He makes his way back up. 2010 again, Kurt changed his profile photo to—Jesus Christ. Sebastian squints. Kurt looks like a baby, his carefully combed hair and rosy pink cheeks making him look like a life-size version of the pristine little boy angel statues Sebastian’s been seeing around the front desk and lobby tables all week. He’s a little closer to the camera, but ducking a little to the side to make way for a round-faced black girl standing a bit behind him. She’s looking off to the side making a red carpet kind of face, slight pout and squinted eyes, hand on hip, except she kind of looks like she’s about to laugh and her eyes are sparkling, and Kurt is holding a hand to his open mouth like he’s trying to take a sneak photo with a celebrity, except it’s breaking out into a smile already and his eyes are scrunched, and they’re wearing some sort of PE uniforms or something at an assembly. No, cheerleader outfits but with pants. They actually look kind of adorable. She’s untagged, but there’s a Mercedes Jones saying ‘gorgeous!!!!’ in the comment section so he takes a quick look at her profile, seeing it's public, and amongst photos of a choir group spots one of McKinley's glee club in her media tab, post sectionals. That should lead to everybody else but Sebastian feels too lazy to poke around their profiles now so he puts it away for later. Kurt's profile is criminally short, so he switches back to that tab.

The cheerleader photo is short-lived, replaced with a black and white one of him and Mercedes again, this time dressed up and sharing the photo with their cheeks smushed together and grinning. Kurt’s smile looks a lot more natural and happy when with Mercedes, which is honestly new. Every time Sebastian’s seen Kurt so far in real life he’s smiling like he’s about to kill somebody, but it’s probably because of Sebastian. 

There’s a public post about some Britney Spears campaign, a couple more profile photo changes where he starts to look more like the Kurt Hummel that Sebastian knows and loves to annoy: composed, almost detached smile, professional-looking solid backgrounds instead of candid shots. Mercedes stops being in his comments around the time Blaine shows up. Sebastian feels like a creep reading a comment from Blaine that's kind of flirty, so he scrolls the short distance up. 

The hate comments were ignored on Kurt’s older posts, but in his latest ones Kurt actually replies to some of them, scathing and condescending one liners that actually get a snort and a laugh from Sebastian. It’s weird. Kurt’s profile is pretty much barren, and yet Sebastian has come away from it seeing him a bit different. He wasn't stupid, but he'd thought that Kurt was more like himself, in the sense that Kurt could manage to climb the social ladder much like how Sebastian assumed he climbed Blaine. Sebastian had only recently learned that Kurt's transfer to Dalton the year prior wasn't even voluntary, so. 

This changes things. Sebastian hovers over the friend request button on Kurt's profile in deep contemplation. Maybe he should take advantage of this clearly stagnated social life and befriend Kurt to get his intel, figure out where to go from there. A plan starts to form. Might be a bit too late for an easy start, but he doubts Santana or Rachel are any better and if anything Sebastian might get to see Kurt bewildered and make a new kind of face at him, shake things up a bit. He snickers. 

“I’m guessing you’ve quit the sunburn research, no skincare tip would make you look like that,” his mother says. “What are you thinking about?”

"Uh, the politics of friend requesting," Sebastian says, not taking his eyes off his laptop screen. 

v. my only wish (this year)

Sebastian sits on the stoop of the stairs leading out to the Smythe estate garden, phone in one hand and half-empty wine bottle in the other. The sun is just about to set, the dreary Ohio sky starting to dim. He starts scrolling Facebook to remind himself he’s not actually a sad middle-aged man. He scrolls past a dozen posts from various uncles, aunts, and a couple old teachers from Dalton before he realizes that may not be the app for that now. 

He exits and switches to Instagram. And apparently Saint Nick or some other does have it out for him, because right there, three circles down the row of stories, there’s the person he was trying not to think about. Sebastian has no impulse control right now so he immediately taps on the little circle with Kurt’s smiling face in it instead of bothering to fake-casually start from the top. He doesn’t care how Thad or Brent from his thesis group’s holidays are going. 

Kurt has four stories up, three hot chocolate mugs from late morning, a boomerang of Mercedes holding up a pair of seasonal holiday coffee drinks with their names scrawled over the sides from the afternoon and breaking out into a grin, a picture of a table laden with drinks and food, then finally—just fifteen minutes ago, a selfie with a girl with a squarish face, lots of eyeliner, and bright purple hair and some guy who looks like a glam rock Santa. Santa’s holding the phone and taking the pic. Sebastian holds his finger mid-swipe to keep it from moving to the next story. He squints at glam rock Santa for a second before realizing that it’s Starchild, that new act breaking onto the edges of the mainstream scene this year. Kurt’s peering at the camera over the rim of a wine glass, pale cheeks already stained rosy red to match.

Sebastian finds himself smiling a bit, thinking of little boy angel statues. Kurt doesn’t really look like one anymore, his face just a bit sharper, features defined, hair done in a more mature style, but he’s always had that kind of vintage, whimsical charm to him. 

Sebastian is still drunk, but moody-drunk, quiet, and he’s still seeing clear so that means he hasn’t tipped over into wasted yet. Instead of taking another swig from the bottle he leans his side against the balustrade, the metal cold against his heated cheek. He puts the bottle down on the next stairstep, tucking it between his feet, and tries to be careful as he taps into Kurt’s profile, making sure not to open any posts.

Kurt’s feed is, of course, nicely curated with even blocks of pictures uploaded in the same filter, all the little squares balanced in subject matter. Person, object, landscape, in different orders per row. Sebastian doesn’t pore over every one, just letting it pass like water trickling through his fingers, scrolling down, down, little glimpses flashing off his phone screen. 

Playbills. Coffee drinks with friends, the girl with dyed hair sticking her head into view behind the cups and sticking her tongue out. Various shots of New York, parks and tall office buildings and museum visits. A throwback photo with Burt. The filter colors go from cold and dreary to a touch warmer earlier in the year, saturated and sharp in summer, cold again and soon enough he’s scrolling past Kurt’s college graduation from last year, the pictures eventually blending into each other less, experimental with the filters.

Sebastian scrolls back as far as before IG added the carousel thing, before stories and the influencers and the sleek ads, when Kurt posted way more frequently. 

There’s a square of white beaming out from a row. Sebastian perks up. The photo is so blown out that Kurt’s eyes are a hypersaturated, scary blue, his skin is so white it looks fucking bloodless, and it’s slightly blurred as he’s staring into the camera lens like a deer about to be run over. And here is where Sebastian actually opens the post, suddenly invigorated and giddy, because—

k.hummel: wgen u drop th e valencia filter and vignettes #raw #nofilter #therealkurthummel

Sebastian bursts out laughing at his own caption, the grand result of his quiet heist one night in 2013. Of course, because Merry fucking Christmas, this is the part where his hand slips and he nearly drops his phone, and in the fumble to keep it from falling, he accidentally kicks over the bottle, and to keep it from spilling down the stairs, he stupidly hooks his foot around it and pulls it back, sending a splash of wine towards his fucking crotch, and then when he tries to multitask and grab the bottle steady—as an imbibed individual should never do—he ends up knocking his phone away and the cherry on top is the tiny red heart flashing like an SOS as his phone bounces off the stairs and tumbles off into the grass.

Fuck.

“Fuck!” Sebastian sets the bottle aside and lunges after it, stumbling off the steps and pushing through a mild spinning sensation. He feels around blindly in the dim light. It must have landed facedown. His heart is pounding and his face is flushed with more than the fever of alcohol now. Also, his pants are sticky and cold.

A few moments after, a bit to his left, there’s a loud buzzing. Sebastian follows the sound and fishes his slightly dewy phone out from a patch of grass, relieved until he turns it around and discovers why, exactly, it is buzzing. 

Sebastian looks upon the photo of Kurt filling his phone screen and the accept/decline buttons dumbly. Like an idiot, he hits the green button.

Kurt is silent for about two seconds of Sebastian’s lack of greeting.

“Out of all the pictures?” He says, annoyed. “Really, Sebastian?”

“It was an accident.”

“You didn’t unlike it. I waited.”

“I dropped my phone.” Sebastian groans as he sits back on the grass. Might as well. Some grass stains are nothing compared to the wine splotch on his jeans. “I was looking for it in the grass.”

“In the grass?” Kurt asks, confused.

“Yes, Kurt, in the grass. We can’t all live in the concrete jungle that dreams are maaade of,” Sebastian starts singing it midway, voice warbling high and loud towards the end.

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” Kurt says, more like a mumble.

“You’re drunk?”

“A little. I’ve dru—drank like, two glasses.”

Sebastian snorts. “You’re such a lightweight.”

He can practically hear Kurt’s eyeroll. “And how many have you had?”

“One. And a half. . .” 

“It doesn’t sound like it.”

“. . .bottles.”

Kurt is silent for a few seconds. “My god. At—5:21 PM? What are you doing?”

“Chilling in the grass.”

“I meant with your life. Go inside.”

“Nope. I’m gonna stay here. It’s nice out.”

“You’re gonna get robbed or something,” Kurt says, and he sounds legit concerned, more lucid.

“By who? My eight year old cousin?” Actually, thinking about it Sebastian would not put it past Annabelle. He sees himself in the little brat.

“Huh?”

“I’m in Ohio,” Sebastian says. The grass is soft enough, and it’s a particularly balmy day, so he lays down. The sky is all pink and golden. “Family estate. There’s a garden.”

“Oh.” There’s a rustling at the other end of the line, a soft clang of metal. “Is it that bad?”

“My family?” Sebastian asks. “Uh. . .no. They’re okay, I guess. I was drinking with my grandpa and there was this song, about this old guy in the grocery store on Christmas seeing his ex and it was fucking depressing, and I actually started feeling like a sad old man, you know? So I went outside.”

“And he just let you drink two bottles?”

“He gave me the last one. Said I looked like I needed it.”

“Wow,” Kurt exhales. 

“Who let you drink?”

“Nobody,” Kurt says. He laughs, “Actually somebody stopped me. It’s not exactly radiating Christmas cheer back there. Santana and. . .anyway, it’s a long stordid—sordid story. I went out.”

“To drink more?”

“No, to cool off before I start seeing Disney animals. I’m on the fire escape, scrolling IG, you know, just—depressing myself with everybody’s fabulous Christmas vacay posts,” Kurt sighs, “and suddenly there’s a little popup telling me Sebastian Smythe is chest deep in my feed and needs help.”

“Most people would’ve texted first.”

“Not for you,” Kurt counters. “There will be no record of this. Who knows what I’ll say. I need plausible denial—deniabu—“

“You can do it, Kurt.”

“I hate you,” Kurt groans, muffled, and Sebastian just knows he’s got his hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You so don’t,” Sebastian says. “You still have my post up.”

“So?”

“So, you look like a horror movie jumpscare and you still left it up,” Sebastian says, “and, it’s you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You delete every piece of evidence of ex-boyfriends off social media like five business days after a breakup. It’s like your ritualistic bonfire sacrifice, you know, like in the movies when they burn shit like the pics and the teddy bear gifts.”

“You’re not my ex-boyfriend,” Kurt says. “You aren’t an ex-anything.”

Sebastian feels hurt by this. He’s not exactly sure why, but he doesn’t particularly care to understand his feelings right now.

“Yeah, that—that’s just great,” Sebastian says, laughing mirthlessly. “Jesus, I’d rather you hated me.”

“Wha—huh? What the hell, Sebastian?”

Sebastian hangs up. He brings the phone down to his chest and stares up at the sky. It’s a darkening blue now.

The phone starts buzzing. It’s Kurt again. Sebastian hits accept. Again.

“Sorry. Look, we probably shouldn’t talk while drunk,” Sebastian says. 

“Well, it’s not like we talk sober,” Kurt says, and he sounds pissed. “Don’t hang up on me.”

“Okay.” Sebastian gives up.

His easy agreement brings Kurt to a loss. Sebastian does honestly stay on the line even with nothing happening for a good minute.

Eventually, Kurt blows out a breath. “Can you explain why you’re mad at me? I’m confused.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Sebastian says, slowly. “I’m. . .sad.”

“Why?”

“I’m drunk in the grass on Christmas Eve. Don’t have a job yet. My grandpa’s trying to bribe me into law school. There were like three fights over politics at family lunch. Heard a sad song. Spilled fucking wine on my crotch. Take your pick.”

“Well—okay, fine, that sucks, but. . .what did you mean, you’d rather I hated you?”

“We haven’t talked since, like. . .”

“Your birthday,” Kurt fills in. 

“Does that even count? You say happy birthday, I say thanks. It’s like two texts.”

“Three,” Kurt says, idly. “You always end with a joke and I still reply. Just because we don’t talk doesn’t mean you’re not my friend anymore. I’m not the one shutting you out. Well. This year, anyway, but those were existenuating—exten—you know.”

“Yeah, so. . .” He’s right. Sebastian doesn’t actually have any good reasons. He stares up at the sky and feels like he’s going to get sucked up into it, or the world is going to turn and he’ll fall the wrong way up. “Maybe you should.”

Kurt is silent. Then, “No.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve—this is insane,” Kurt says. “You’re such an asshole. If you don’t want to talk to me anymore, Sebastian, then stop. I’ll get over it. Don’t make me do it for you.” 

Sebastian wants to run. He thinks about hanging up again and simply ignoring Kurt forever. It’d probably make Kurt’s life easier. 

“You can try to bait me into calling you, kissing you, getting annoyed, whatever,” Kurt says, breathing harshly. “But this? It’s cruel. I thought you were past that.”

The poorly disguised hurt in his voice is distressing. Sebastian’s not trying to play Kurt like that. He racks his brain for anything.

“Kurt, I don’t mean—I—“ Sebastian’s mouth opens and closes like a fish for a while. “I’m the Stinky Cheese Man,” he says. And it clicks, suddenly. “Holy shit!”

“. . .What?” Kurt sounds like he’s honestly going to climb out through the phone like in The Ring and strangle him.

“The Stinky Cheese Man,” Sebastian repeats. It’s the one fucking book he’s committed to heart since he was a kid.

“From your book?” Kurt says.

“Yeah,” Sebastian takes a breath, “There was a little old lady and a little old man in a little old house and they were lonely and bored so they made a man out of stinky cheese, she gave him a piece of bacon for his mouth and two olives for his eyes and put him in the oven to cook and—“ he cuts himself off to laugh, almost hysterical, “he was so stinky the man wasn’t hungry anymore and the woman decided she wasn’t that lonely, but the stinky cheese man ran away, laughing like run run run you can’t catch me, and he did it to fucking everybody. 

“The punchline is nobody actually wanted to catch the idiot, you know, because. He’s a piece of shit, and he kept running until there was a river he couldn’t cross, so for the first time in his life he decides to trust this fox that’s probably planning to kill him. Except they’re crossing the river now and he’s so stinky the fox drops him off his back and he falls apart in the river. The end.” 

Sebastian stops to breathe, and to his horror it comes out a sniffle. “Jesus Christ. You know this was so hilarious to me? It’s stupid. I laughed at this guy for years because it was so stupid. He thought he was doing something when nobody actually cared, nobody hated him, nobody loved him. And it was so funny because it didn’t even matter that he was an idiot about it. He did let somebody catch him but he still dies. That’s my fucking fairy stupid tale life.”

Sebastian ends his little speech, bringing the heel of his palm up to swipe at his eyes. This is officially the most pathetic he’s ever been. 

Now that he’s done, he can hear Kurt on the other end of the line, and he’s crying. Kurt is still quiet when he cries, just little, soft breaths, but Sebastian can tell.

He feels tired, so he closes his eyes. He could fall asleep like this. He almost does.

“Sebastian. . .I won’t chase you. But I’m not going to drop you either, okay?”

“That’s nice, Kurt.” Sebastian is speedrunning the post-oversharing clarity.

Kurt sighs, a long one. “You know, you’re right. It’s stupid. It’s a fairy tale. We’re not little kids anymore, so grow up.”

Sebastian opens his eyes. It should sound harsh, but Kurt says it with a little snort at the end, and Sebastian can clearly picture him smirking. 

“I pour my heart out to you and this is what you say to me,” Sebastian says, thumbing away the last of his tears. 

“You deserve it for making me cry over a story called The Stinky Cheese Man,” Kurt says. He sniffles, and makes a faint sound of disgust. Sebastian smiles at the sky. “Normally I would say the title fits, but since it’s truth time. I’ll tell you I’d be lying.”

“So I’m not stinky, I’m not—cheesy, and I’m not a man?”

“You’re not stinky,” Kurt agrees, “You’re corny, and you’re an overgrown, smirky meerkat. And I care about you. And I miss you.”

Sebastian could probably blame it on the lingering alcohol in his blood, but he feels warm enough to melt into liquid and seep into the dirt. Maybe this is what it means to fall apart. It’s not that bad, Sebastian thinks. 

“I miss you too.”

“Come here next year,” Kurt exhales, like he’s been holding it in and Sebastian’s quietly returned sentiment has opened the floodgates. “For Christmas. The holidays, or whatever. It doesn’t have to be the twenty-fifth or even Christmas Eve, just—show up. You don’t have to bring anything. Just be here. Please.”

There’s a joke about wrapping himself up like a present here, but Sebastian doesn’t make it. That please is bouncing around in his empty skull.  “Yeah, I will. I promise. Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” Kurt says, relieved. “Good.”

Sebastian hums, and they just stay on the line together for a couple of minutes. It’s peaceful. Sebastian thinks that this part makes everything worth it.

Eventually, Kurt makes a wordless noise. “Oh my god. I think an actual fight is going on now. I’m watching through the window and the only thing I can lip-read off Santana is ‘Lima Heights’.”

Sebastian laughs, pulling himself up. “That’s fine, go break it up. See you.”

“Go inside and warm up or something,” Kurt says. He pauses for a beat before adding, “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, babe,” Sebastian says. 

“I—um, Merry Christ–Christmas,” Kurt repeats, just a slight stutter to his voice. Sebastian grins; Kurt rarely stutters. “I’ll see you.”

Kurt hangs up quickly. 

It’s completely dark now, the sun gone below the sky. Sebastian lingers in the grass for a few more minutes before struggling to his feet. There’s no vertigo, but his limbs feel a bit heavy and sluggish. He dusts himself off lazily and stoops to pick up the bottle sitting on the stairs before heading back inside. 

He figures he’ll drop the wine off somewhere and take a shower. He pauses in the hall for a second before the fork into one of the dining areas and up the stairs to his guest room. 

“Hey, buddy? What’cha got there?”

His dad is ducking out from the dining room, and his mom following close behind. No expectations, but it’s still so weird to see them together on their own volition without him as a buffer, especially at a family thing. 

“Hey.” Sebastian holds up the bottle. “Um, I got this from—“

“Jim,” His mother interrupts, glancing at his father with her brows knotted. She’s picking at the short brown strands at the back of her head anxiously. “He got it from Jim.”

“I’ll talk to him,” His father says.  

“I’m twenty-two,” Sebastian sighs, passing the bottle over to him. “I just, I don’t know what to do with the rest of this. Also—“

“Bastièn,” His mother interrupts. She reaches up and picks something out of his hair, flicking it away, “Were you rolling around in the grass? And—are you bleeding?” She gapes at the state of his pants.

“No no no it’s wine,” Sebastian reassures her, holding his hands up, and she opens her mouth before closing it with a shake of her head. He turns back to his dad. “Can you tell ol’ Jim I’m not taking the job? Thanks.”

“You’re twenty-two,” his dad says. 

Sebastian grins, cheeky. “So if I’m drunk, it’s ‘hey little buddy whatcha got there’, but if I’m turning down a gig at the firm it’s, ‘hey, you’re a man now’?”

His mom snorts. 

“You don’t even want to try anymore?” His dad asks. Sebastian sees his mom make a face out of the corner of his eye. Sebastian actually understands his confusion, since he’d been arguing with his dad about taking the easy way out and taking up Papaw Jim Smythe since freshman year of college but doesn’t have the energy to explain right now. 

“Did you?” Sebastian asks him meaningfully, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I don’t care if he cuts me out of the will or whatever. Maman’s just as rich as him, anyway. I don’t want to work there.”

“Maybe you two can talk about this again when he’s sobered up,” his mom suggests.

“Sure, but it’s still gonna be the same,” Sebastian shrugs. “It’s not because I’m drunk. I’ve been applying to other places since September.”

His dad squints. “Where?”

“Um, New York. I’ll send you a list if you want.”

“Ah, well. Okay. Okay, then. . .I will set the seeds and you will break the news before we flee for New Year’s,” his dad says. 

“Deal.” 

His dad wanders off back into the dining room, still looking a bit bewildered. Sebastian sees him taking a long swig out of the bottle. 

Sebastian smiles at his mom, twisting to head over to the stairs. 

She watches him as he passes by, green eyes thoughtful. Half-there and half-not, like always. “What’s in New York?”

Sebastian grins, “Everything.”

She looks taken aback. She’s looking at him, like really looking now, like Sebastian’s suddenly some creature of interest. 

“I meant, like a company for work, but that’s nice, Bastièn,” his mother breathes out a laugh. She reaches out to card a hand through his hair. “Sleep it off.”

vi. i wanna be the sunshine when you’re down

The sun is completely down by the time Sebastian stumbles out from Kurt’s room, fresh shirt half-buttoned up and old jeans on. He blinks at the Christmas lights strung up. There’s music coming from the record player Kurt brought out from his room. He’s also busted out the scented candles already, apparently. There’s one for every table not covered in Christmas debris.

“Hey, you,” Kurt says, not looking up from his lap, “Had a nice nap?”

“Yeah, super,” Sebastian murmurs, collapsing on the sofa. “Took me years to get up. Can I pretend I overslept and missed my flight? Cover for me.”

“Sure, but how many chances are you gonna get to see your mom in a year?” Kurt says, perched on the edge of the coffee table across the pine tree Sebastian had helped him lug back to his shared apartment with his aunt. It was important that Kurt put up a real pine tree for hosting Burt and Carole, he’d said. Some Hummel family tradition. 

He’s put the sexy sweater back on, the one with the zippers on the sleeves, and tight little black boxers. Sebastian fondly recalls pulling a zipper down with his teeth to expose Kurt’s shoulder and upper arm, when they were giggling and stumbling into Kurt’s bedroom. Kurt has them zipped to just a bit over the edges of his shoulders now, and a fresh hickey at the junction of his neck and shoulder is just casually, shamelessly on display. This is criminal behavior by Kurt Hummel standards. 

The floor has bits and scraps of wrapping paper all over it from Kurt’s last minute gift wrapping, and boxes are littering the coffee table, but the sofa is still mostly clear and the apartment is clear of any roommates since Kurt’s aunt is still off on a cruise. Sebastian considers changing his excuse from ‘overslept’ to ‘got busy with Kurt’. His parents love Kurt. They would let it slide. 

“More than last year, which was already more than the year before that,” Sebastian answers, tipping his head back on the sofa. “I think she and Dad are actually going steady, babe. Like it’s not just some ruse to make us seem normal.”

He looks, and Kurt is smiling down at the tinsel garland he’s untangling, the hopeless romantic. Second-chance romance, he’d called it, before Sebastian corrected him. Fourth-chance romance. There were two very sad attempts during his childhood, the bedrock of Sebastian’s impression of romance as something lame.

“Sometimes you talk like they’re the kids,” Kurt comments, struggling with a knot in the tinsel.

“They were when they had me. No joke. College undergrads,” Sebastian says. Kurt already knows all this. “We were like a sad ragtag group of three kids. They’re all grown up now and left Neverland,” he puts a mocking, sad inflection into his voice.

Kurt snorts, attention still largely on his task at hand. He makes a face down at the tinsel, lips pressing together in annoyance.

“Need help?”

Kurt immediately hands it over with a huff. Sebastian laughs at the way the tinsel slaps against his chest and digs his fingers into the knot. Kurt twists around to root around the boxes behind him. 

They’re comfortably quiet for a while. Sebastian focuses on untangling the garland one knot at a time, the soft tinsel a little tingly over his skin but not itchy, and Kurt faintly humming along to the music he’s put on. 

After the last track, Kurt gets up to flip the record, singing along once the next track starts. Joan Armatrading, Track Record. Sebastian recognizes it as a gift from himself, the one Kurt picked out for him to buy on his twentieth birthday after hanging out at the record store. Kurt mumbles along to the words when the chorus comes around, low and barely audible.

Eventually Sebastian finishes up with the garland, looking up to catch Kurt’s attention. And blinks at the coffee table, a disconcerted grin slowly forming on his face.

“Are you gonna start drawing salt circles and drain my blood?”

There’s an array of random objects lined up neatly on a cleared space on the table. A yarn doll, a toy car, a tiny, empty bottle, a single earring. . .

Kurt’s turned away from the tree to sit by this odd lineup, one leg folded under him. He’s balancing a box in his lap, picking up a small, colorful sock out of it. Smoothing out a loop of braided cord sticking out the cuff of it, he looks back at Sebastian and stops singing.

“What?”

“Supernatural.” Sebastian points at the lineup.

“Did they not use, like. . .bones and chalk? Herbs? The blood of lamb, or something?” Kurt frowns. “The blood rituals were all from like, living things. Dolls and possessed objects, that’s different, there was a whole bunch of episodes.”

“I don’t know, I saw like, two. I didn't actually watch anything on the CW.” Sebastian squints. "Didn't know you had the real credentials to pass judgement on my hair."

“Sam used to binge it after school when he lived with us.” Kurt shakes his head and lets out a small laugh, “No, these are for the tree.”

Sebastian nods, still confused, and Kurt explains further.

“It’s a tradition,” Kurt says, picking up the bottle. “Like baubles, I guess. This was my mom’s perfume bottle. Dad forgot the tree and I couldn’t find the decorations, so. . .” He shrugs, smiling. He doesn’t elaborate, and Sebastian doesn’t press. “Then the next year Dad took me to that redneck NASCAR thing in Florida,” he points to the car, and then the doll. “Then—“

“Dolly Parton,” Sebastian realizes who the doll is meant to be, remembering Kurt’s fake surprise trips.

“Dollywood, yes.” Kurt lifts up the sock he’s holding. “And this is from my first year in New York.”

“Why a sock?” Sebastian remembers wondering if Kurt would be okay that year, since Adam was flying out and Burt and Carole were undecided. 

“We went ice skating,” Kurt says after a pause. “Dad, Carole, and I. They came up here, because none of us really felt like celebrating in Lima. We weren’t exactly happy here, either, but. . .it was new. Dad just brought an apple bauble as a gift for Rachel and I.” He reaches inside the sock and pulls out a small football keychain. “This was from the year before. Remember, we went shopping and you drove me back, because Finn and Carole borrowed my car for Thanksgiving in Toledo with her sister because it was bigger? And I told Dad to tag along.”

Sebastian grins.

“Don’t sing it,” Kurt warns. Sebastian holds up his hands, tinsel weaved through his fingers. Kurt snorts. “If Dad and I have the tree thing, Finn and Carole go shopping on Black Friday, with her sister sometimes. That year, they didn’t go opening night because that was when the whole Black Thursday thing started, but they went way after dinner like they always did, at like, one in the morning. No lines, no people, there were a few weirdos, but nothing crazy. Finn said it was the most chill Black Friday ever, and even Dad had a nice time. They made up some game in the aisle,” he holds the football up. “And Finn scored the winning goal or whatever into Carole’s cart—Carole bought it, but she forgot to give it to him. To Finn.”

Kurt sighs. He licks his lips, “Um, she—she had it in her pocket, because—“ he sucks in a lungful of air, “She needed something to remind her, I guess.”

He isn’t about to cry, but there’s a look in his eyes that’s heavier, impenetrable. Sebastian thinks that he’s only ever really touched death by proximity to Kurt. He’s been to funerals, distant relatives and family friends and friends of friends, and out of all those, he’d known Finn the least. He’d never even known Kurt’s mom. But he knows Kurt more than anybody he ever has, and this is a part of him that Sebastian can only look at, hold, and not much else. 

“So,” Kurt says, tucking the keychain back into the little red and white sock, “we all bought this together before going back to the loft. A little Christmas stocking for that year.”

He looks up and keeps his eyes on Sebastian’s face, steady. Sebastian reaches out and puts his hand over Kurt’s on the box and Kurt flips it over to curl his fingers into Sebastian’s, lips curving up.

Sebastian expects him to get back to his work now, but Kurt puts the box aside and moves over to sink onto the sofa next to him. He tangles their fingers together and leans into Sebastian’s side, head on Sebastian’s shoulder and face turned out of view into Sebastian’s neck.

Sebastian lets him breathe, relaxing against the backrest and tossing his free arm around Kurt to get him more comfortable. They sit there sharing space long enough for the current song to end. The next one is softer, and Sebastian smirks wryly to himself as Joan sings the opening lines, I may not be the best, you know good ones don’t come by the score. . .

Midway through the song, Kurt inhales, then he leans away and gets up, pressing a kiss to the underside of Sebastian’s jaw before he goes. Predictably, he does go right to work, grabbing the tinsel and some poinsettia decorations. He hangs the stocking first. Sebastian must stare a little too long because Kurt looks over and says, gently, “You can help if you want.”

Kurt bounces back quickly, like always, even pointing out more of the ornaments while they decorate. It’s not all sad or bittersweet; the earring is a funny story about Carole and her sister the one time she came over to Lima for Christmas. There’s a bunch of boutonnières strung up by a blue ribbon, from the Hudson-Hummel men’s suit jackets and Carole’s ‘something blue’, the ribbon around her bridal bouquet. There’s a tiny dog made of screws and bolts, something Burt made last year while idle.

“They got a dog last year,” Kurt explains. “And he misses just working at the shop, I think.”

Kurt doesn’t see his parents much outside Christmas and birthdays, with Kurt working now and the distance and Burt getting elected for his third term in congress and Carole’s own job and her side of extended family to factor in. Even when they do see each other, it’s usually just an afternoon or a night. The tradition, Kurt explains, kind of morphed into more of an avenue for sharing something about their year instead of souvenirs from shared experiences, when they became too busy and too tired on the actual day for anything other than dinner and maybe a few movies. 

“What’s yours?” Sebastian asks, holding up Burt’s metalwork dog to the light. 

“I. . .haven’t actually figured it out yet,” Kurt admits. He grins, biting his lip, “I was kind of caught up this year. Somebody decided he couldn’t wait ‘til Christmas for his big, dramatic romcom moment.”

“Big—What romcom moment,” Sebastian scoffs, handing the dog over. Kurt finds a spot for it. “We literally just walked around talking for a million hours, had a fight, then you took me to your bed. To sleep. We didn’t even fuck.”

“Nope, nuh-uh, not doing this,” Kurt counters, cracking a grin and holding up a wagging finger, “Don't omit, I was there. It was like, the Before trilogy version of busting in, guns blazing. Dramatic mundanity. You couldn’t even last until February after our drunk call, you just had to see me so bad.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, then grabs the hand and pulls Kurt in, nipping at his lower lip playfully before kissing the fuck out of him. He walks Kurt to the wall nearby, pinning him with his hips while slipping a gentle hand behind his head to cushion his head, a move that he knows makes Kurt weak in the knees. 

Kurt grasps at his shoulders, kissing back eagerly. He arches off the wall, pressing his chest against Sebastian’s, and Sebastian is just about ready to throw it all to the wind and haul him back to bed when Kurt plants his hands on his chest and pushes him back, breathing heavily.

“You have a flight in. . .” Kurt looks over to the clock, craning his neck, and there’s another hickey. This isn’t helping Sebastian. “Oh my god, your cab should get here any moment now.”

“I’ll catch another flight,” Sebastian says flippantly. “Come on. Let’s end the year with a bang?”

“Your mom and the rest of your family is expecting you on Christmas morning, and you’re already pushing the definition of morning,” Kurt says, pointedly, buttoning Sebastian’s shirt up the rest of the way. He’s flushed red. “Our end-of-year sex was earlier, and it was excellent, and I would rather it be that instead of a quickie.”

His tone is firm, no room for arguing or any wheedling as he fiddles with Sebastian’s hair. Sebastian sighs. “Wait for the cab with me?”

Kurt kisses him, chaste and sweet. “Of course.”

He hurries into his room to throw on some pants. Sebastian wanders over to his bags by the door, digging out his phone to check on his ride. He leans on the wall and stares at the now decorated tree, tinsel reflecting the Christmas lights strung up on the walls. To hold and to look, he thinks to himself, and not much else. 

“Bas?” Kurt asks, his voice not very far. Sebastian looks over. Now Kurt’s the one with the disconcerted smile. 

Kurt takes his carry-on bag and Sebastian takes the suitcase. While they’re heading down, Sebastian finds himself asking, “So are you stressed that you don’t have one yet?”

“Have what?”

“Your Hummel Christmas tree-bauble thing.”

“Um. . .well, no, not really.” Kurt says. “I was kidding. You know that, right? I’m happy you showed up when you did. It was just a lot, this year, so it slipped my mind.”

“It’s tradition,” Sebastian replies. “Just because I don’t have that doesn’t mean I don’t get that it’s important to you. Also, you freak when you think you’re about to get seven years of bad luck for breaking some law of the universe you made up.”

“Sebastian,” Kurt says. “Okay, first of all: you have been going to the beach with your mom like every single winter I’ve known you. And I’m not going to get bad luck. . .at least not because of this. Did you not notice that most of the stuff I was pointing out to you was Dad or Carole’s?”

Sebastian looks at him. Kurt’s squinting at him thoughtfully. It’s not exactly reassuring because now the issue is that Sebastian is a dumbass who didn’t even know anything about all this Hummel family business and he’s been building a relationship with Kurt for most of the damn year, not to mention been friends with him like five times as long. It’s tons longer than any other relationship he’s had, he knows Kurt better than like ninety-nine point nine percent of the people in his life and the thought that he’s missing the mark like this isn’t great for his ego.

“I’ve skipped before. Dad’s always been the one who was more hung up about family traditions,” Kurt says, in the wake of Sebastian’s silence. “I mean, I love them for what they do, but. Traditions aren’t what’s sacred to me,” he takes one hand off the strap of Sebastian’s bag and gestures at the space between the two of them loosely, as they slow to a stop in front of the building door. “This is.”

Sebastian holds his gaze. 

“So all the fuss about getting a real tree, just the right size, how the ornaments are arranged perfectly. . .” Sebastian says, as they exit out onto the street. 

“Have you met me?” Kurt says dryly, and normally Sebastian would laugh at that. This time, Sebastian gives a little shrug and half-hearted smile.

After half a minute into waiting for the cab, Kurt sighs.

“Look, okay, I’ll say Dad was right about one thing, and it’s that the rituals are important. . .because we need the reminder. Even more now because everything’s so busy and scattered.” Kurt says. “And I kind of get caught up easily doing my own thing. I guess.”

He’s got the slightest pout on his face, and Sebastian can venture a guess from his tone that he’s been told that by other people, probably several times. And this part of Kurt, Sebastian is familiar with. The guy’s got a one-track mind. Hot when Sebastian’s the subject of said mind’s eye, a little bit more of a dice roll for everything else. Their first ‘couple’s fight’ had been because Kurt had gotten obsessed working on a project with Elliott and Sebastian had taken an issue with basically transforming into a tall, boyfriend-shaped houseplant in the periphery of Kurt’s consciousness unless they were discussing music. Sebastian is still coming to terms with the fact that it was he himself who started the argument.

“Don't objectify me, I’m not your property,” Sebastian scoffs, joking, and Kurt snorts, his shoulders easing.

“I guess I’m taking back the collar I got you for Christmas,” Kurt says, mouth tilting into a mock-sad smile. “I haven’t even gotten the leash yet.”

Sebastian’s eyes bug out, losing vision of the joke for a moment. Kurt always makes the most unhinged quips at the most jarring moments.

“Pity,” He tries to salvage, but everything is betraying him and it’s a sad, sad attempt. It comes out a bit choked still and it’s an unfortunate day to have worn something without a—collar, Sebastian thinks, and now he has a different vision in his mind. And it’s no joke.

Kurt’s eyes widen just a fraction. They stand there for a moment in silence.

“. . .So, I’m learning a lot of things about you today,” Kurt says. He’s fidgeting with the strap of Sebastian’s bag.

Sebastian coughs out a laugh, looking away. “You and me both, babe. Didn’t know you were a kinkster.”

“I’m not, but if you—I didn’t know you were,” Kurt points out.

“I just know about it, I didn’t say I was—“ Sebastian starts to argue. He looks back at Kurt, giving him a once-over as the implication of that cutoff registers. “Well, I’ve never tried it.”

“I—what are you—all of my bondage gear was for fashion only,” Kurt says, visibly flustered even as he has his snooty tone, “Like anybody who knows anything about Vivienne Westwood, of course I know about bondage belts and harnesses. My god.”

A laugh bubbles out of Sebastian before he can help himself. Kurt bites his lip and moves as if to cover his face, but he brings his hand down and starts laughing too, swaying closer until he’s leaning into Sebastian’s side, and pretty soon they’re just two giggling fools hunched together by the curb, faces red. 

“Not exactly the kind of conversation I imagined having with you on Christmas Eve,” Sebastian says, swiping at his eyes. 

“I didn’t expect the one last year either.” Kurt grins, nodding at an arriving car. “I think this is your cab.”

They’re both still holding back laughter as they load Sebastian’s suitcase in the back. Kurt hands over his carry-on as Sebastian’s opening the door. 

“I slipped something in here,” Kurt informs him, holding it out with a pointed look, and Sebastian raises his eyebrows as he takes it. They’d exchanged gifts already. “It’s not BDSM stuff, it's sunscreen, I had an extra stick. You forgot one. Call me before you board and when you land?”

Absolutely crazy lineup of things to say. He is the most exquisite of experiences. Sebastian has half a mind now to yank Kurt into the cab with him and bring him along. 

“Yeah. I love you,” Sebastian says, instead, while Kurt is hugging him tight and pecking him discreetly on the neck before ushering him into the cab. 

Kurt’s eyes only widen once the door is shut, his smile freezing and Sebastian registers what just happened as he looks at Kurt’s expression through the window. However the cabbie has already pressed on the gas and the car is driving away quickly and Sebastian is twisting his head around to stare back at Kurt who is just standing there dumbfounded as he is left on the sidewalk, a stiff, shrinking figure.

A minute later, his phone buzzes with a message.

Kurt
I would’ve given you liquid sunblock if it wouldn’t be such a hassle. Please remember to actually rub the sunscreen after rolling it on for an even application. I will be very upset if you return to me striped like a sunburnt zebra
On top of what you just did to me.

Sebastian
we can make it look like we planned it
wait hear me out:

Kurt
No

Sebastian
come on i didn’t even say it yet lol
i’m going to tell u anyway when we call in like twenty minutes
wait i mean the zebra thing

Kurt
I know
Let me have the twenty minutes
Still processing what you just said for the first time and the circumstances surrounding this event

Sebastian
i’ll admit i didnt plan that
but i meant it

Kurt
I know
Oh my god I’ll call right now I’m not doing this over text we can still salvage the experience

vii. may every breath be built on sacred things / ‘cause i need you more than just for tonight

Contrary to later retellings of how this night went, Sebastian had a plan. 

Keyword, Kurt will later say every time they have to tell this story, had. But he will say it with a smile on his face and a sparkle in his eye, like Sebastian is some kind of dashing Casanova—because at this point Kurt’s sense of romance has been warped by years and years of exposure to him—and Sebastian will roll his eyes and say it’s because of David Bowie, and people will ask about that, and Sebastian will simply shrug and say that the music moved him and he’d had a few drinks. And Kurt will not offer to share any of Sebastian's 'proposal speech' because it's too personal.

They might get a few looks like, okay, whatever works for you guys, because Kurt is all lovestruck and swooning over Sebastian proposing slightly drunk and in the middle of a bar and not even as the ball dropped like an asshole who didn’t even time it right, but who cares. It’s a "you had to be there" moment. All the way back to when they were teenagers, Sebastian meeting Kurt’s icy, unimpressed stare over Blaine Anderson’s shoulder, and right up to the second before nudging him to spew poetry all over him on the cusp of the new year.

 -

Sebastian had convinced Kurt through strategic idea-planting to spend this year’s holidays at a staycation, just the two of them, no families or friends. This way he won’t feel pressured by his parents’ excitement, Burt Hummel’s unreadable stare and simple presence, or even the threat of his plan somehow traversing the New Directions alumni gossip chain and risking a red alert event like Blaine Anderson busting down their door, guns blazing with an arsenal of musical hits and flash mobs or something in a last play for Kurt. He is not being overly paranoid. Anything can happen with these people. Still, it’s only a few days until the end of their stay and no questions have been popped.

It’s five minutes to midnight, and they’re sitting at the bar resting after spending a good while dancing, waiting with everybody else to watch the ball drop on the TV. They have a jukebox in this place, even if it’s just a digital one set in an old frame, and Sebastian had been excited to punch in his song even if the queue was absurdly long. They only gave out stubs for inputting a song per order, so Sebastian had stolen away while Kurt minded their drinks.

“Are you twelve?” Kurt had remarked, dryly, after Sebastian had started humming a certain tune upon Kurt’s question about his selection. He blocked Sebastian from taking his rightful glass of G&T. “Do I need to see your ID?”

“Ha-ha, good one. Look, this way everybody here will get their first rickroll out of the way. I’m doing them a favor,” Sebastian said, grinning and nudging Kurt’s hand away from his glass. Kurt acquiesced easily enough. “All the classics are probably queued already anyway.”

“It’s not a rickroll if they aren’t conned into clicking on something,” Kurt replied, taking a sip from his cosmo. “It’s a fundamental part of the experience.”

“Who made you the expert?”

“You did. Several times. In school.”

“Babe, you know what they say about fooling you twice. Besides, you got me back.”

Kurt’s mouth had curled into a smug smile, tongue poking out slightly to lick over his lips to chase the taste of his drink. Sebastian leaned in and caught him for a quick kiss, hiding his own smile. His real song choice was the one that had been playing the first time Kurt had deigned to dance with him, back in 2012. It wasn’t a love song, and it wasn’t anything particularly life-changing, and their truce had only just bloomed into real friendship. But Kurt would light up and smile at the nostalgia, and if he didn’t register it, Sebastian would remind him and arrive at the same result. 

Either way, the goal was to set the tone nicely. Kurt was already in good spirits after sleeping through most of the day and enjoying a spa treatment in the late afternoon. After leaving the bar, they’d walk off most of the alcohol on the short distance back to the hotel, where Sebastian will reveal that he had the terrace of their suite decorated with fairy lights and flowers and has a cheesecake in the mini fridge he’d asked the front desk to empty while Kurt was out. Kurt hardly ever even looks at hotel mini fridges due to years of Burt Hummel-conditioning.

Of course, Kurt would have started to catch on by then, or at least suspect, and that was part of the plan, to ease him into it instead of shoving him into a surprise proposal headfirst. Drinking at the bar is also part of the plan, because as much as Sebastian is secure in this relationship and he’s pretty sure Kurt will say yes, he has to admit to himself that a pretty big part of him has the fucking jitters for some unknowable reason and it played a part in derailing the original plan, which was supposed to have happened on Christmas Eve over their celebratory dinner and gift exchange. Hence, liquid courage. 

But it’s five minutes to midnight and a Bowie song had started playing as the last song of their year, the one that always makes Sebastian think of being infinite and the Paul Rudd screencaps and everything everyone was passing around in photos from the Tumblr school of graphic design and posts on Facebook in 2012—and on a deeper level, an unfortunate time at Scandals involving a jukebox and Dave Karofsky, Sebastian’s choice in song that night being completely ironic in an awful way in hindsight.

The synths and guitars are droning endlessly in that psychedelic symphony, and Sebastian spends the next minute being simultaneously seventeen, thinking he has the superior cynical take on love, and twenty-six, holding Kurt’s hand and fantasizing about rings on their fingers. And everything in between. And he’s kind of drunk, just a little, enough to be really fucking courageous. Or stupid, but same difference.

“Kurt?” 

“Hm?” Kurt looks over his shoulder, taking in Sebastian’s face for a second before spinning in his seat to fully face him, abandoning the couple he’d been chatting with. “Oh god, are you gonna be sick? You’ve only been having one drink an hour!”

“No,” Sebastian says, tightening his grip to keep Kurt there when he tries to pull his hand out. “It’s been almost ten years.”

Kurt takes a few seconds to parse that he’s not talking about drinks. “Ten years since. . .what?”

“Since you,” Sebastian says, having to raise his voice a little over a rowdy table nearby. 

Kurt blinks, taken aback. “Okay?”

Sebastian grabs onto his other hand. Kurt was already a little red after a grand total of two drinks, but now he’s just glowing.

“I wasn’t aware we celebrated that,” Kurt says. He tilts his head slightly, smiling, “Didn’t we meet like, September? Just after the school year started."

“Yeah, probably.” Sebastian slips a hand into his jacket pocket instead of reaching for his drink, feeling around the edges of the object tucked away. “Do you remember when you said everything, all the months, they just feel like one really long day?”

“I remember saying it two real days ago, yes.”

“I didn't tell you, but I kinda get it,” Sebastian says. “Especially for the holidays. Something in the air.”

“Seasonal depression?” Kurt jokes, and Sebastian snorts. There’s his little faux-cynic. There’s a heart of gold under there. 

“You said as long as there were a couple of really good, important times in there, it saved the day. Year,” Sebastian corrects himself. “You’d call it a good year.”

Kurt watches his face, eyes blank until the realization snaps over in a blink. “I—well, yeah, I said. . .Jeez, Bas, that was years ago.”

Sebastian laughs, and nods up towards the ceiling. Kurt breathes out a laugh. That shuddering synth fills the silence between them. 

“Sound engineering,” Sebastian says. He grins. “I’m mixing.”

Something in Kurt’s face shifts, softens. He strokes his thumb over the back of Sebastian’s hand. “And what are you cooking up in that head of yours?”

“Nothing, really.” Sebastian smooths his thumb over the vague shape in his other hand, wedged in his pocket out of view. He leans forward so he can talk nearer to Kurt’s ear. “It’s always been there. On loop. Keep getting new tracks, but everything before is still there. Even the bad parts.”

Kurt hums, turning his head slightly into Sebastian’s neck. It’s not quiet enough for Sebastian to pick out the sound of his breathing, but it’s enough to know the feel of it, warm and barely there against his skin. 

“And the bad parts suck. Hated being alone in my head,” Sebastian admits. Kurt’s fingers tighten around his in a squeeze. “And—I guess it just came alive. After you. Layer by layer. Strings, synths, percussion, texture, whatever. Everything’s still there, but it’s a completely different sound now. Like magic,” he whispers, grinning.

“I think that’s just how getting older works,” Kurt whispers back, his fingers twitching.

“Nah. I mean, sure, but your sound? One of a kind, like this two track guitar synth thing or whatever.” Sebastian laughs. “I didn’t even realize it, but you make my head sound beautiful.”

Kurt briefly drops his head to nuzzle his forehead into Sebastian’s shoulder, his own frame wound tight. Sebastian wraps both arms around him, and Kurt melts, shaking loose with a silent laugh. 

“Three,” Kurt says, with the dry amusement of somebody who’s sat through more than one Bowie gush/appreciation session with Elliott Starchild. When he straightens up and pulls back to look Sebastian in the face, his eyes are wet and shining. “It’s three tracks. And you make my head sound beautiful too.”

“It was already before me,” Sebastian counters. “Get your own compliment. I’m not the celestial, artsy synth.”

“Fine,” Kurt huffs, even as he’s thumbing at tears in the corner of his eyes. “You’re fun. You’re the little backing vocal echo that worms its way into everybody’s heads and stays there for weeks. The fingersnapping. The dancing.”

“Uh, dancing is a response, it’s not part of the music, genius.”

“I don’t care! You didn’t give me enough time to prepare for this,” Kurt accuses, laughing through the words as Sebastian’s shoulders are shaking. Kurt’s midwest accent is getting more pronounced like it always does when he’s emotional, just the tiniest twang, “Whatever it is about a song that makes me want to get up and move, whether I’m swinging my hips or my fists, that’s you, shaking up my compartmentalized head.”

Sebastian throws his head back and laughs. “And you secretly love it.”

“Mm. . .no, I just love it.”

Sebastian takes his face and kisses him. He vaguely registers that there’s a countdown going on in the background, the Bowie song dialed down now, but he doesn’t have the time to think about that. Kurt’s kissing him back, affectionate and warm. And then he’s pulling away way too soon, face leaving Sebastian’s hands.

“What’s that?” Kurt is turning his head to look, and Sebastian realizes that he’s still holding his gift in his other hand. 

He’s probably supposed to cuss himself out now, but Sebastian can’t muster anything but a laugh and a dulled sense of oh, well. 

“It’s for you.” Sebastian turns his hand over and opens it. The crowd is yelling now, blowing their noisemakers and shit, so Sebastian raises his voice a little, “It had a box, I was supposed to give it to you on Christmas.”

Kurt takes the bubble-wrapped object from Sebastian’s hand, withdrawing both of his own to fiddle with it. Sebastian’s heart is pounding as Kurt is picking at the tape, head bent. Fuck. The jitters. They’re back. Sebastian should’ve gotten drunker but he’d been too careful in favor of retaining mental faculties. He swipes Kurt’s still nearly-full drink while Kurt’s preoccupied. 

He’s swallowing down the last sweet and sour mouthful when he looks back, and Kurt’s frozen, the little modified wedding cake topper sitting in the center of his palm, bubble wrap forgotten in his lap. Sebastian hasn’t taken it out of the wrapping for like a month now. He’d taken pains to have it designed like one of those vintage, red-cheeked figurines, two figures in suits posed elegantly in a playful pose.

Sebastian puts the glass down. Kurt looks up. He looks like he’s stopped breathing. Sebastian’s not sure if that’s good or bad, but he’s probably going to end up in the same situation if he doesn’t do something.

“It’s custom-made because, you know, same sex toppers are still hard to find even now, so I hired a guy,” Sebastian starts running his mouth. “That’s like, the prototype, it’s 3D printed. It’s not food-safe, but we can—I put—" he gestures to the attached loop of braided cord over the topper, "Tree ornament. For January. When we’re all back from vacation,” he finishes lamely. Kurt is still gaping at him. Sebastian adds, reassuringly, “They can make it in plastic. But I found another guy who can make it in porcelain. If you want something else we can figure it out.”

Sebastian stares at Kurt’s face for a second before he realizes his mistake.

“Fuck!” Sebastian grabs onto Kurt’s sleeve. He shouldn’t have chugged Kurt’s drink like that. “I forgot to ask.”

At that, Kurt is set back into motion in a snap. He starts, takes in a breath, as if to say something. Then he starts laughing. It’s Sebastian’s turn to stare in disbelief, and he should probably be offended, but he knows what Kurt sounds like when he’s making fun of him, and this isn’t it. Sebastian makes a scoffing noise that turns into a few stuttered laughs, letting go of the sleeve. He runs a hand over his face, flushed red. Kurt brings up his own to hover over his mouth, loose fist around the topper. He’s taking in a few quick breaths, still grinning, eyes scrunched—and a few tears catch the light as they steal down his splotchy cheeks quietly.

“Are you ever going to stop. . .” Kurt starts to say, then he grins, teary-eyed and happy, and gestures incomprehensibly. Sebastian gets it though.

“Not if you marry me, no,” Sebastian says. “So, will you?”

“Of course,” Kurt swallows as his voice cracks a little on the last word, pressing his knuckles to the back of his mouth briefly and sitting up straight. When he brings his hand down, he’s smiling, composed. “Yes.”

Sebastian grins at him, and Kurt lasts a few seconds before he’s grinning back, picture perfect smile cracking open into a wide, happy thing, dimple out, eyes scrunched. Sebastian gets to enjoy the sight for a few seconds before Kurt’s throwing his arms around him, practically climbing into his lap. 

They don’t leave the bar right away. Kurt turns back to the girls he was talking to and cheerfully informs them he’s engaged now, and they’re shocked for a few seconds before offering them their congratulations and a round of drinks, on them. Sebastian watches Kurt stoop to pick up the fallen bubble wrap and cover the topper carefully, tucking it securely into an inner jacket pocket.

They talk, drink, and dance for an hour more, then stumble out into the brisk early morning, where the streets still have a moderately sized crowd hanging around. Sebastian’s lacing his fingers through Kurt’s, ready to start walking the short distance back to their hotel.

(Apparently, Kurt already knew about the terrace thing. He’d stopped briefly by the room to use their bathroom instead of going directly to where they were supposed to meet in the evening and ran into the employee carrying in the flowers. Kurt had considerately kept his mouth shut until Sebastian had referenced the plan, to assure him that the way it happened actually ensured maximum shock in retrospect and the execution was not a complete bust.

“Also,” Kurt had added, “I’m just happy, I don’t really care about that. Well, actually, I do, but like, in a yay I get cheesecake way. It could’ve gone either way.”)

Kurt drags his feet a little. Sebastian looks back. His head is cocked to the side, eyes a little glazed over. 

“What is it?”

“The song,” Kurt says. “Isn’t this. . .?”

Sebastian pauses. “Oh.”

Kurt’s eyes focus back on him. He squints at Sebastian’s slow spreading grin. “You lied about rickrolling.”

“Yep. Reverse rickroll.”

“That makes no sense. It’s like words don’t mean anything to you anymore,” Kurt says, but he’s smiling. He pulls on Sebastian’s hand, and slides a hand up over his chest, looking up at him. “Why’d we leave?”

“Babe, the queue was like a million songs. It’s been hours since we went. I didn’t know if they were going to get around to it sometime this year.”

Kurt snorts. He seems reluctant to go, so Sebastian adds, “wanna go back in?”

“No, it was getting stuffy,” Kurt murmurs. “Stay a bit. I just want to hear the—chorus, there it is.” 

Sebastian listens. Kurt tilts his head side to side gently to the faint beat. It’s a bit surreal, listening to it all distant like this—maybe Sebastian’s a bit tipsy, still, but for a second it feels like he could walk back in and find Scandals circa 2012 on the other side.

Kurt’s mouth curves into a faint, melancholic smile as the sound passes over into the second verse, 80s synth pulsing. “Okay, we can go. I want cheesecake.”

He tugs Sebastian along, refusing to be the dawdling bystanders blocking the sidewalk. Sebastian lets himself be dragged away with a lazy grin and a mumbled yessir that gets him a warning squeeze of the hand. They’re quiet for a little while. Kurt’s grip loosens at some point, and Sebastian feels one of his fingers press lightly against Sebastian’s, the ring finger between the second and third knuckle. He’s probably already planning for ring shopping. 

“Did you. . .love me already?” Kurt asks, while they’re waiting for the light to turn green. “Back then?”

Sebastian hums, tipping his head back a little. “In love with you? Probably not. But did I love you? Pretty sure I did, yeah.”

“That’s what I was asking.”

“No it wasn’t.”

“Is this what our marriage is going to be like? Just arguing for the rest of time?”

“Don’t go blowing things out of proportion now. Just ‘til the sun’s back up. We can take a break then.” Sebastian grins at Kurt’s soft little snort, and as they step off the sidewalk to cross, “I bet you didn’t love me yet.”

Kurt swings their hands a little, smiling. “I started just then, I think.”