𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖒𝖘

there’s the real evil feeling of the room closing in around him. this wasn’t the version of himself he ever wanted sebastian to be exposed to, all those dark parts he buried beneath the surface. sebastian was the last person he ever wanted to hurt, ever wanted to expose to the darkest parts of himself. for a moment he’s just stood there, back against the wall and the very real feeling he could bury himself in it and never be found, and be content with it. that way he could never hurt sebastian again and no one could ever be harmed by his touch. it’s stupid how three words at first could tear him down, could make him feel like he’s lost control of absolutely every inch of his life. all he wants to do is reach forward to tell sebastian he didn’t mean it, that he’s sorry. nothing comes out though, and he’s not even sure if he’s breathing. everyone leaves him, and it’s always his fault. the one who can’t keep his mouth shut, who can’t talk about anything. if lennon deserved anything, it was the worst thing out there. for a moment nothing comes out of his mouth, just the ghost of them as his mouth moves and no sounds make their way. all he wants to do is apologize but he can’t. “okay,” is what comes out instead, and his body moves without his actual control, hands gripping clothing without actually feeling the fabric, putting them in a bag. as if he was some ghost, he passed by his husband - the person he fucking needed, would die for - and left their home. 

Lincoln could feel the brokenness within his energy, it was enough to make his heart hurt, ache for him, made him want to just wrap him up and keep him safe. He kissed the top of his head softly as he kept assuring that he was okay, he knew it was a lie, but maybe it was one he had to tell himself to stop from being completely obliterated. When he felt Seb turn in his arms he did nothing to stop it, he let his chin rest on the top of his head and held him closer, his arms clasping around his back. “you did the right thing Seb” he said with a sigh, fuck this was hard. He kissed the top of his head again and breathed in softly. “look at me right now” he moved so that his hands cupped his face in his hands, not letting him avoid this truth “Sebastian, there is nothing in the world that could make him hate you” His blue eyes sought out his “you both just need this” he said looking down at him. “as much as you hate this, you need this too, even if just to show you how you need him” Words had never been Lincolns strong point, but when in the presence of someone he loved so deeply hurt, they seemed to flow. 

sebastian chews on his lip as he looks at his friend, wishing more than anything that he could believe it were true. the way lennon had looked at him, it sure felt like he hated him. it felt like they hated each other, and he’s not quite sure to make of that. maybe they rushed into things, maybe they shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place. they hadn’t been back together for all that long, but with twenty years of pining under his belt you think they’d be able to make this work. sebastian knows he’s not husband material, but surely more dysfunctional couples than them have been able to work things out. “i don’t know why i ruin everything that’s good,” he breathes, which is what it feels like. obviously, he hasn’t ruined everything. not yet. he has lincoln, he has a handful of friends who have been there for him when he needed it, he has a job that he loves and many people would kill for. but despite this he’s been lonely for most of his life, just wandering around aimlessly in search of a way to quell that ache in his heart. he was so sure he’d figured it out until now. “it’s like i’m incapable of being happy for too long. maybe ‘cause i feel like i don’t deserve it. do you ever feel like that?” he asks, searching lincoln’s face desperately, just wanting somebody to understand. not that he’d ever wish that on him. “bien sûr que non, you deserve all the good in the world.”

there are very few moments in his life where lennon is left speechless. no one really gets him there, he always has something to add, something to say. except he can’t get his mouth to form a single sound, a single word at all. the only thing he can hear is his own unsteady heartbeat, and the only thing he feels physically is the way the room goes cold all of a sudden. lennon isn’t sure at what point he took steps away from sebastian but his back hitting the wall scares him out of his stupor. honestly he can’t figure out how he feels in that moment, his mind all over the place and honestly he just feels so, so lost. “who haven’t you fucked, then?” the words come before he even thinks them, and just like the pattern from their entire argument, his voice just isn’t his, his words lashing out where he couldn’t control it. at that moment he just wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. 

sebastian can’t tell if lennon is repulsed or enraged, but either way he’s never felt so uneasy around him. he usually has the ability to make sebastian feel like he could say anything, do anything, be the most stripped down and vulnerable version of himself and be protected from any harm. his words are immediately wounding and it’s worse than being punched directly in the face, because at least he’d see that coming. he feels sick and ashamed, failing to come up with the words to truly express how betrayed he feels by the only person he never thought would let him down. “fuck you, jesse,” he says, voice shaky and defeated. he wants to throw up, wants this conversation to be over, and more than anything he wants to be far, far away from him. which ever godforsaken version of him this is, who can look him right in the eyes and hurt him without thinking twice. “just get out. please. come back if you find the person i fell in love with.”

for the first time the entire argument he can feel his eyes literally roll to the back of his head. again he was made to feel paranoid, like he was the only one seeing what he was seeing. as if this was something he would make up. “oh, that’s how you talk to eachother?” he throws back, the condescending little laugh falling from his mouth, “so you fucking flirt with him back? get real fucking close and look him in the eye while you fucking do it too? if it meant nothing then why the fuck is he still in your life?” right about now he feels more manic than he has in his entire life. no one has ever been able to get him like this, so crazy and out of his head, practically pulling his own hair out. at some point he should’ve stopped himself, walked out of this conversation, but he can’t. that’s just not who he is. “you should’ve fucking told me right away. i had to guess! i had to have him throw it in my face, say he was there first, for me to fucking find out!” 

“no, i don’t. he’s my friend and that’s why he’s in my life. why is that so hard for you to believe?” he questions. it was never his intention to be deceitful, but now he wonders if he should have brought it up. he’d never wanted it to be used against him, never thought it could ever play as a weapon when, to him, it was such a harmless thing. he knows they’re different people, and maybe that’s why he can’t understand why it would matter so much to him who was there first. which, obviously, wasn’t even elton. “i can’t go back in time. i can only tell you the truth. and since we’re on the subject, i used to mess around with niels as well. and probably some others that i can’t think of at the moment. not because i’m trying to hide it but because it’s literally ancient history.” he can’t think of anything he’d rather discuss with lennon less than this, but hey, it’s probably better coming from him than somebody else. “happy now?”

it’s a stupid, stupid thought. considering he’d be calling himself a hypocrite if he said he was innocent in the manner of sleeping around, because god, he did it too much in his past. too much being that he didn’t remember any of it, and woke up confused in a place he didn’t recognize and made a quick escape. the part that makes him feel self conscious is how many times he was told he was being paranoid, that there was no threat. now he just feels even more stupid, the confirmation. “aren’t you though?” he throws back, and he doesn’t recognize himself anymore, not even his voice. this side of him was never supposed to touch sebastian. even if they had their dumb bickering sessions and arguments, this is something on a whole new level. “yeah, and why do i fucking hate elton, sebastian?” he asks, venom in his tone, “because he fucking hits on you all the fucking time. says the most nasty shit about you, and you fucking let him.” a shaking hand runs through his hair, tugging at the root and praying that he somehow stop feeling like he’s uncomfortable within his own skin. “except you made me feel paranoid for even thinking about it,” he says, “like i was making it up, the way he fucking looks at you. it is a fucking big deal.” now it’s lennon’s turn to pace, not knowing what to say, or what to do. it’s not like he went around screwing all of his friends. “you don’t tell me anything, and you expect me to just open up…” he trails off, staring at the floor, “you don’t even trust me enough to tell me anything, and you expect me to do the same, how is that fair?”

sebastian tugs the sleeves of his sweaters down over his hands, trying to disappear inside of it, trying to make himself small enough to not be seen. “i-- no, i’m not,” he replies, then a little bit more sure of himself. “i’m not.” he usually has no issue standing up to lennon, but now he feels hesitant. maybe because he’s angrier than he’s ever been before, and he’s not quite sure who to blame for that, whose more at fault here. “he doesn’t look at me any way. that’s just how he talks to me, how we talk to each other. he’s joking around. if i wanted to still be sleeping with him, don’t you think i would be? it didn’t mean anything, it never meant anything,” he says, which is the most frustrating part of it all. “i am telling you. you wanted to know and i’m telling you now. do you want a list of everyone i’ve ever been with? 'cause i’d be happy to provide you with the ones i remember, but i don’t see why it matters. i’m with you, i want you, and you are being paranoid if you think elton is of any actual threat to you.”

if there was anything comparable to this feeling, he’d compared it to being backed up against a wall, or in a corner. and trust me, lennon has been there before, quite literally. maybe it’s just not something he wants to say outloud, or admit openly. even if it’s to his own husband. no one ever really got to hear his side of things, what had happened. everything that happened. saying the words out loud had never been something he could do, and he felt so uncomfortable with even the thought of it. for a moment he just stammers on the words, mouth moving and nothing audible coming out of it. instead he shakes his head. “i can’t,” he says simply, not meeting sebastian’s eyes. lennon’s worst defense mechanism is throwing punches with words. the last person on earth he ever figured it would happen to was his own husband, and here he is, feeling out of his own body. “everything?” his voice is too high with shock, a scoff leaving him as he stares sebastian down, “so at what point did you fucking tell me you’ve fucked elton?” as soon as the words were out of his mouth he felt that ugly thing crawl against his skin, the one that lingered very so often when even the thought popped up. “or did you think i was just stupid enough not to notice?”

something about the way lennon says it has him feeling grosser than he already does just thinking about all of the people that came before lennon. the temporary fixes he acquired were endless, and although he’s lucky to have found friends in a few of them, most of them are distant memories he can’t even remember the names or faces of. he’s not pretending that they never happened, but it’s also not the kind of thing you bring up over dinner with your husband, hence why he hasn’t. at least not by name. “it’s not like i’m hiding it,” he defends, because he’s never tried to tell lennon that there wasn’t a past there. if he had asked, he would have told him. “it’s not exactly a secret. but i didn’t think you’d want to talk about it, either. you already hate elton enough.” now that it’s out in the open it’s obvious why it was better not being discussed. sebastian’s been intimate with a lot of people, but he’s only ever loved one. he’d always thought that was more significant. “it was years ago, and it’s not like there was even feelings involved. i didn’t think it was worth bringing up because it’s not a big deal,” he says, and then pauses for a moment. “is it?” 

Lincoln had been sneaking out of his own apartment around the same time, today a little later than usual. He had picked up some take out from the Italian place down the street. Lincoln knew that there was no way that he had eaten anything of substance, or anything at all. He knocked on the door once, before already opening the door, hearing Sebs call a lot clearer than he would have through the closed door. Kicking off his shoes and taking off his jacket he set the food on the counter and threw his jacket on the counter as well, making his way to take a glimpse at his friend. “oh seb…” he breathed “of course I do” he smiled, lowering himself onto the couch next to him, sitting down on the edge of the couch, and putting Sebs legs over his and holding his hip softly. He turned his attention to the TV before stealing a glimpse at Seb. “come here” he said after a small moment, laying down next to him and pulling him in his arms. The office played in the background and Lincoln pulled him so tight into his chest.

the smell of italian food has sebastian’s stomach growling, but at the same time eating it seems like far more effort than he’s willing to put into anything at this moment in time. he doesn’t fail to note the tone to lincoln’s voice, how sad he sounds to see him, which has him feeling guiltier than ever. the last thing he wants to do is bring anyone down with him, but the idea of being alone in his misery is both scary and dangerous. he’s irrational right now and he knows that. “i’m okay,” he says, which sounds like even more of a lie coming out of his mouth than it does when the words form in his head. “i’m okay,” he repeats again, even as he turns away from the tv to bury his entire face in his chest, clinging to the fabric of his shirt. he smells faintly like lennon in a way his clothes no longer do, and it makes his heart ache. his lungs ache too, breathing feeling like the most difficult task in the world as he tries to convince them both of the fact he is, in fact, fine. “did i do the right thing? does he hate me?”

it’s times like this where lennon wishes he knew what to do. wishes there was some sort of book to tell him the right choice to make, how to open up without feeling like he’s ripping himself apart when he does it. at some point he had to figure he’d tell sebastian everything, open a door he wants to desperately to keep closed. whatever it is, he doesn’t for one second think this could be something bad, or worse. sebastian wouldn’t abandon him too, right? except his heart rate is picking up, his skin is prickling, hands shaking. nothing about this feels right, or helps him feel secure. “i’m not killing myself,” he says, and it’s the truth; at no point does lennon want to die, “i just need.. i need out of my head.” this was one of the only parts where lennon was completely honest. sure there were parts of his life where he absolutely wanted to die, but not when he had so much to live for. maybe it’s the fact sebastian is twisting his wedding ring that triggers his anger, or maybe it’s the fact he can’t hold it in anymore. any of it. “and what, you’re innocent in all of this?” he asks, and his voice is lower, and suddenly he’s getting up, looking anywhere but his husband, “can you even be mad at me for not telling you, when you’ve told me absolutely nothing, too? why does it have to me that changes something?”

it’s like lennon always comes so close to telling him the truth, and then he closes himself off again. for once he wishes he would take that extra step, just open up, let sebastian see him vulnerable. “need what out? lennon, for fuck’s sake, talk to me,” he practically begs, and if it’s not clear how important this is to him he doesn’t know how to make it any more clear. he feels disconnected, like he’s losing him to something that he doesn’t even fully understand. things feel very fragile, on the verge of explosion, but the last thing he expects is lennon to turn the tables on him. by no means does he not have flaws, but he’d never considered one of them a lack of being forthcoming about personal information. in fact, one might say sebastian is a little too open with his emotions. that’s why his confusion is evident as he looks up at him, trying to figure out where this accusation is coming from. “what are you talking about? i tell you everything. you always know where i am and who i’m with. i’ve never kept secrets from you.”

lincoln: Anything you need seb, really.

seb: thank you

lennon just shook his head in his own stupidity. considering he was high, none of these options came to mind. what did come to his mind, though? burdening alanna with his shit like he always does, not tainting what he has with sebastian with it. “what, like morse code?” the joke doesn’t hit the way he wants it too, his voice too stoic for it to even mean anything. not to mention the tension in the room ruins it for that matter. a scoff leaves his mouth, and he rolls his eyes. if lennon is anything, he’s definitely a burden on everyone he knows. how many times did kylie have to clean up the mess? or console him through his bullshit? too many times to count. “yes i am,” he says, deadpan, not quite meeting sebastian’s eyes, “because it’s just.. it’ll go away. it always goes away..” except it doesn’t, it doesn’t go away at all. it never really does. for a moment he feels a small amount of peace, for something to send him spiraling back down to the bottom of the whirlpool. a never ending cycle.  “no– no, i’m– i’m not addicted,” he stammers, and he knows he’s lying all over again, and considering he really doesn’t lie to sebastian, his words can’t sound sincere, “it’ll go away, seb, it will. it’s nothing.”

sebastian is at a loss, he knows he’s out of his element here. he’s allowed this to spiral out of control because he was in denial and now there’s no regaining control of it. maybe lennon would  have listened to him at one point, but he’s definitely beyond listening to him now. it’s like he’s talking to a stranger, or they’re playing broken telephone. he’s not sure the gravity of the situation has even hit lennon yet, but sebastian sure as hell knows how these stories end. the thought of losing lennon while doing nothing but turn a blind eye to it is too much for him to bear, and maybe, just maybe, it’s going to take something drastic to fix this. “i guess i’m supposed to be cool with that?” he asks, and he’s not smiling even if lennon’s cracking jokes. “i guess i’m supposed to just sit here and watch you kill yourself and pretend like everything is okay? because i don’t think that’s fair. i don’t think it’s fair to you and it’s sure as hell not fair to me.” he’s twirling the wedding ring on his finger, the gold catching the light that filters in through the window. “i wish i knew what to say to make this better, but i don’t. all i know is that something needs to change.”

lincoln: of course my love

lincoln: this isnt your entire life going to shit, this is just a speed bump, I know you both better than anyone. This will be okay, no matter the outcome

Elton: no i want to. i sleep there most nights anyway watching tv, i'm not even kidding

Elton: yeah i hear that's a common dream most people have when they feel out of control or something. or is that when your teeth break off?

Elton: yerrr im really on my way now

seb: you sure? because i'm not opposed to sleeping on a couch whatsoever

seb: i'm very much in control of my chaotic lifestyle, so it's probably the teeth thing