#tyoc

They’re laughing as they spill through Sebastian’s front door, reminiscent of two years ago, Sam remembers, the first time they were alone. It’s almost hilarious; there had been a lot more of those moments since then, a lot more conjured excuses to slip away from the family. It was a thing now, solidly, who Sam and Sebastian were together.

“Sebastian?”

They’re startled at the sound of a woman’s voice and Sam looks up at her knowing it had to be Sebastian’s mother. Seb’s father stands right behind her, drinking in the situation at hand, and Sam knows they can’t really get in trouble; they weren’t children anymore. Sam witnesses the color drain completely from Sebastian’s face. He’s paler than he’s ever been, even when he’d been sick, and it worries Sam because he knows the kind of relationship Sebastian has with his parents. Had something happened like this as Sam’s house, his mother would have busted out the camera. But not the Smythes, apparently. Sam had known, but it was a little bit of an electric shock being in the moment.

Sebastian pulls himself away from Sam, standing by his side still; Sam is at a loss of what to say or do. Awkward moment can’t really describe how uncomfortable he feels.

Mrs. Smythe stands, her body long and tall. She wears the kinds of heels girls wear to prom, and the kind of dress ladies wear to weddings. She has strong features, but she’s almost perfect, like the women Sam sees in those beauty magazines Rachel and his mom read. “Sebastian,” she hums, and her voice is smoky, and there’s a touch of an accent. Sam watches as her long legs carry her over to them, and she leans forward to place a kiss to Sebastian’s cheek. “What are you doing home? I was expecting you to stay in New York this season.” The thing about Sebastian’s mother is that she’s elegant, timeless, as though she were plucked out of the mid-forties and placed in their own era. But in Sebastian’s house, as ostentatious as it was, she fit perfectly. Sam had to think that of course she fit right in; this was their side of town; this was a whole different world. But, so did Sebastian’s dad, tall and looming, well dressed and a sour expression on his face. There was a newspaper tucked underneath his arm and in his hand was a short glass, amber liquid swaying gently.

Looking at Sebastian’s parents, it was easy to see where Sebastian inherited his handsome face.

The tension in the air was so thick, Sam couldn’t really dwell on the appearance of the family, but much more what was underneath. It reminded him of Stevie and Stacey’s toys, how some of them were broken beyond repair, but they’d fixed them with colorful bandaids, scotch tape, and sparkly glue; it was good enough, pretty enough, almost like brand new to them. And Sam could see that with Sebastian’s family, the prettiest wrapping paper hiding a lump of coal.

Literally, all Sam wanted to do was drag Sebastian back outside and just runaway back to Sam’s house where he would be welcomed with something other than a question asking why he was home early.

Sebastian’s voice cuts through his voice like a white-hot knife slicing through flesh (because it hurt hearing Sebastian’s voice this way). “I decided to come home for Christmas. Like I do every year. Not that you’ve noticed since you usually spend Christmas out of the country.”

Sam watches him closely, noticing the tick of his jaw. Any movement Sam made would probably have been a bad idea, even though, at most, he just wanted to grab Sebastian’s arm and yank him out of the house, restart the day and convince Sebastian to just stay for a couple more hours. Unfortunately, Sam isn’t a skilled time-traveler.

It was Mr. Smythe to speak this time, and the sour expression on his face hasn’t dispersed; Sam could say it had gotten worse. “Your tone, young man.”

Sebastian sighs, his shoulders squaring though. It’s almost like he’s preparing for barbed jabs. “We were just stopping by to pick up a few things, and we’ll be on our way. Wouldn’t want to delay your flight to wherever the hell you’re going now,” Sebastian mutters, and the expression on Mrs. Smythe face is almost sad enough to breaks Sam’s heart. She walks back to Mr. Smythe, resting a hand on his arm; it’s freakishly statuesque.

Sebastian’s nineteen years old; hardly an adult. He’s a sophomore in college, one of the best colleges in the whole United States. He’s working on interns and speeches and all kinds of smart things. In a year or two he’ll have a great job and maybe a house and he’ll be settled into the nice, comfy adult world. But Sam has never seen Sebastian as clearly as he is now. There were snippets Sam can remember; seeing into Sebastian, through Sebastian, was very rare, even with how close they were. It wasn’t intentional, Sam knows that, one hundred percent, but even then, there are things that Sebastian hides from Sam, about himself, his family. Sebastian, it seems, is still the kid who hates Christmas.

That devastates Sam more than anything.

Sebastian leaves Sam in the doorway and makes his way to trudge up the stairs. Sam’s eyes follow him, but the rest of his body stays put. Sebastian’s stopped by his father’s booming voice.

“Sebastian.”

Watching it all is painful, but Sam doesn’t look anywhere else other that Sebastian, and the way he slinks back down the stairs. He stands in from

“Sebastian, dear, I thought we could go to dinner tonight. To celebrate that we’re all home for Christmas!” She says cheerily. “You’re correct; we do have a flight later tonight to London to meet with you Aunt Elizabeth, but we can spend a little bit of time together for Christmas, right, darling?” Mrs. Smythe speaks with a gentle smile, and for a second, she reminds him of Rachel, acting in one of her musical parts. Mrs. Smythe is dramatic, he notices, overbearing and commanding, though she actually asks a question. Sam isn’t scared of much; he can sit through slasher films and scary movies, can go through haunted houses and go back to sleep after a nightmare. This though, this display of familial dissonance scares Sam the most. There’s a sharp intensity in Mrs. Smythe’s eyes, reminds him of the girls in high school, of his mother when she’s pissed, of Rachel when she’s bloodthirsty for the spotlight. Only for Mrs. Smythe, there isn’t anything about her that says she’s mad, or angry; the look in her eyes gives it away, like she’s compelling Sebastian to do as she says without another thought.

Even more, it’s the way Sebastian just falls limp, his body language completely submissive. And he wonders why because Sebastian could have said no. Sam’s mom was waiting for them for dinner, so his parents could go out and Sebastian and Sam could watch the kids. Could have said he had plans and declined. But Sebastian, for some reason, agrees to the dinner and it was mouth-droppingly shocking. “Sure. You can allow us a few moments to get ready, can’t you, mother?” The moniker he uses is spat like venom. Sam is sure no one in the house missed that.

He’s still standing in the doorway and feels slightly out of place, like a weed in a garden full of thorned flowers. The three Smythes turn their attention to him and underneath the spotlight of their vision, Sam gives them a timid smile, taking in a deep breath. They scrutinize him; Sebastian’s eyes are kind, tired, but the expression isn’t lost on Sam. Opposite of that, though, Mr. and Mrs. Smythe’s eyes judge him, tear him apart and the second they look away, Sam feels exposed and ripped to shreds. He’s not one to feel bad about himself, but at that moment, he did.

Mrs. Smythe frowns heavily. “Us? Sebastian, darling, I think it’d be best if it was just the three of us. No offense, of course, to your … friend.” She gives Sam another onceover and her smile doesn’t return.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Then go alone. Sam and I have plans anyway.” He tries to make his way up the stairs, but Mr. Smythe stops him again, with just his voice.  

“You’d better be getting dressed. Your mother asked you to dinner. Any previous plans you’ve made are now cancelled, Sebastian. And once you’ve finished getting dressed, I would like to speak with you in my office.” Mr. Smythe doesn’t wait for an answer, and Sam has to wonder what kind of person you have to be to talk to people like that.

Sam finds that he doesn’t like Sebastian’s family much. Not much at all.  

“Fine. Then, Sam is coming, or I’m not going.” And the murderous look in Sebastian’s eyes finalizes the argument. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Smythe say a word and they disperse from the living room.

Alone, Sebastian seems to be on auto pilot. He rustles up the stairs and Sam follows diligently behind. When Sebastian closes the door to his bedroom, Sam watches him unravel a little bit. Sam let’s himself thaw out from standing so frozen at the door. He sits on the edge of Sebastian’s bed and just watches as Sebastian paces the room, back and forth, grabbing this, taking that, all the while the glazed over, vacant expression never leaves his face.

Abruptly, Sebastian stops, right in front of him. He looks down at Sam and Sam lifts his head so he can match Sebastian’s gaze. “I’m going to shower. Just pick something from the closet. We don’t have time to go to your house,” Sebastian demands, and Sam stays silent, only nodding. “I can’t do this by myself.” Sebastian admits. “If I could, I’d take you home, and you could stay and play with your brother and sister while your parents went on their date night. But I’ll go insane if I have to be alone with those people.” Sebastian doesn’t say anything else after that, and Sam watches Sebastian disappear into the bathroom without as much as a whisper.

Sam can tell immediately that this is going to be the worst situation he’s ever gotten himself in to, and there isn’t a reverse, restart, or go back button.

Inside of Sebastian’s closet, he picks something plain, simple, which is hard because Sebastian’s clothes are expensive and special, unlike his own closet. But there’s a simple black jacket and slacks and he changes and dresses and slides the jacket on over the white button up.

Sam isn’t fond of it, has never been the suit and tie type. The clothes are a little tight and Sam finds himself not wanting to go at all. And he knows Sebastian is resenting the control and power his parents hold. He wonders how Sebastian had ever survived with this kind of treatment. He doesn’t understand it, understand how this display could actually be normal in the Smythe household.

Sebastian does smile, however, when he steps out of the bathroom, dripping wet, finding Sam lying back on the bed, wearing his clothes.

“You clean up nicely,” Sebastian teases, and maybe Sam does, but he feels like a penguin, out of place, and would rather go back to his graphic tees and jeans.

Sam grins, thankful that Sebastian has seemed to make light of the situation. “Doesn’t really matter if you’re just going to take it off later,” Sam mutters quietly, and Sebastian doesn’t hold back his laughter. It’s a good sound, warms Sam right up, and he thinks that maybe everyone is just on edge. Maybe they can have an okay night, without the addition of stress. Maybe.

Sebastian, though, looks almost edible in what he chooses to wear. Charcoal grey suits him very nicely, even with the black button up underneath. Like Sam, he doesn’t wear a tie, and keeps the first button undone. Sam can see the red stain on his skin, right underneath his chin and it amuses him that Sebastian is doing nothing to hide it. Maybe it won’t be obvious that Sam’s big lips were sucking on Sebastian’s neck just a couple of hours ago.

Sam stands when Sebastian is ready. Sam still looks a little rough compared to the rest of the family, but it’s only touches that Sebastian needs to make. And he isn’t shy; pulling on Sam’s collar, straightening his jacket in front of his parents. It’s odd though, when Mrs. Smythe takes a step towards them, and brushes Sam’s hair off of his forehead. Her eyes are still as cold as ice.

The car ride is suffocating. Even though they’re in separate cars, Sam can still see the tension in Sebastian’s shoulders, feel it in his fingers as they hold hands.  

“God, I want to disappear.”

It’s a statement that Sam doesn’t take lightly.

Sebastian and Sam have been doing this Christmas together thing for almost seven years. It’s a part of who they are, their solid foundation to the relationship they’re building. He’d never thought a surprise visit from Sebastian’s parents would ruin that.

“We could just keep driving, Sam. We could go to the beach again, like we did a couple years ago.  Maybe stay there forever.  What do you think?” Sebastian says. His voice is raw; it’s not torn apart or rough, though. Sebastian’s voice is so full of emotion that the words he says hang heavy around Sam, like a dark little cloud.

Sam smiles and nods. It’s a good idea. Sam loves the beach and he loves Sebastian. What more could he ask for? “I think my mother would kill me,” he ends up saying instead.

And it makes Sebastian laugh because the thought of Mary ever harming her oldest son is laughable. “She’d let you go,” Sebastian says, with the kind of confidence that makes Sam believe it, too. “She would, because she knows I’d take care of you.”

Sam hadn’t thought of it that way, and it almost makes him want to frown. It’s nice, what Sebastian had said. Heartbreakingly-heartwarming. But Sam can hear the underlying connotation that Sebastian’s mother doesn’t know anything about them. And that’s messed up, fucked up, because Sam wishes Sebastian’s parents would want to know all about him and the things he loves.

Sam tightens his fingers around Sebastian’s. “Relax, Sebastian. It’s just an hour or two that we have to be with them. We’ll go back to my house and watch a movie, until Stevie and Stacey fall asleep and it’s just me and you.

“Me and you.”

Sam nods and Sebastian sighs.

“I’m not even sure they knew I was gay, Sam,” Sebastian said, his eyes on the road in front of them. Sam watches Sebastian’s face, swallowing thickly.

“Well, they handled it a lot better than a lot of other people do.”

The last several minutes of the drive are filled with static silence. The restaurant the Smythes picked was on the outskirts of town, with beautiful fixtures, and people dressed up in evening gowns and tuxedos and Sam still felt out of place, like a wolf wearing sheepskin.

Sebastian’s parents are already at the table when Sebastian and Sam walk up to be seated by the host. 

The conversation is limited. Mr. Smythe takes control, talks about his business and cases and Mrs. Smythe seems intrigued, and Sam knows Sebastian could care less. Sam watches as everything happens. No one speaks to him, save for Sebastian, but even that’s sparse, gritted words between clenched teeth. Sam doesn’t do anything but pick at his food, confused as to which fork to use, how to hold his napkin. There’s this kind of pressure on him that he didn’t feel before, which is odd, because ever since he stepped into the Smythe house, it was nothing but stifling, stale heat.

When dinner winds down, Mr. Smythe excuses Sebastian and himself, leaving Mrs. Smythe and Sam alone. He’s nervous; he has a feeling this is going to be very cat-and-mouse and he’s never felt like a tiny helpless rodent more than he does now. He picks some more at his chicken, drinks his Sprite, prays that she busies herself on her phone with a call. Sam is very unlucky, though.

Mrs. Smythe sets down her fork. Sam watches with disinterest as she takes her napkin, dabbing at the corners of her mouth. She sighs, her eyes looking down before striking Sam with a fiery gaze.

“Sam. I apologize for our insensitive display earlier this evening. You’ll do to remember that despite the size of this town, there are appearances to uphold, there are things that must be done to keep the social and financial hierarchy in place. You didn’t seem to mention much about yourself, which I can understand. You don’t seem to be a very interesting person, much less someone Sebastian will hold onto when his phase evaporates.”

Sam has to remind himself to keep his mouth closed, but every time she says another word, his mouth drops open. It’s like a stab in his heart, right through his back, and he’s completely speechless. He knows Sebastian deserves better than him. He’s aware of their financial circles, and just how different their families are. But Sam knows that what she’s saying about Sebastian isn’t the least bit true.

And it isn’t a phase.

Mrs. Smythe sighs and smiles gently. Her eyes, though, are solid, vicious. Sam has to look away from her. There’s a small chuckle she emits and Sam swallows hard.

The smile Mrs. Smythe wears is ruthless, haunting, malicious. “Dear, you can’t be serious. What did you think would happen? That Sebastian, my son, would honestly care for you? No, darling, I wouldn’t think so. See, Sebastian is smart, intelligent, probably more so than you can understand. You should understand, however, that this isn’t a fairytale and social circles don’t mix. Sebastian is getting an education at one of the most elite, highly esteemed schools in the country. He’ll go on to graduate,” she drones, waving her hand around like she’s narrating an interesting story, but Sam’s heart is beating so loud he’s afraid he’ll pass out before he gets to hear the rest. “He’ll attain some fine degrees and find a position in the line of work he’s set out to do. After that he’ll meet a nice young lady, strong and fit, beautiful. Someone almost as smart as he is. A lady who won’t backtalk to her husband, a woman who knows her place. She’ll be someone that will give him children and keep up the house. Do you think you fit anywhere in that photo, Sam?” She tilts her head, and it’s a ghost of Sebastian’s face and he hates how he can pinpoint the similarities. But this woman isn’t anything like her son.

Sam stares at her. He just takes the shots, keeps taking them until he’s sitting in his chair, hoping Sebastian gets back soon. But it’s not like he can’t say anything back to her.

“You’re right,” Sam starts. His voice is honest, gentle, despite the anger that dwells inside of him. “I’m not smart like Sebastian and I don’t go to some fancy college in New York, and my parents can’t pay for stuff like that. But if you think for a second that Sebastian is going to drop everything he’s worked really hard for just to live up to some dream that you have, then you’re crazy. And you’re also crazy if you think Seb is going to marry a girl, because last time I checked he doesn’t swing that way. Not really, anyway. And maybe you’re totally pissed off at that, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s his life and he can do whatever he wants with it. And yeah, you can say all of that stuff to me because I’ve heard it a million times before. I know how I look next to Sebastian. I know that we’re completely different. But that doesn’t change the fact that he still comes home, every year, to me, while you’re god knows where, doing god knows what, pretty much not caring that Sebastian is even alive. I really care about Sebastian. Like, so much. And maybe we won’t like, last forever or whatever. That’s cool. Because he’s still going to be my best friend. And are you really going to take away the one thing that makes him happy—“

Mrs. Smythe laughs and she doesn’t seem affected at all at what Sam has said so far. “Happy? You’re a nineteen year old boy with next to no future. You might think we don’t know anything about you, but that’s far from the truth. We know all about you and your family, Sam. And I don’t approve. This isn’t Cinderella. You don’t get to impose on our family. On my family.”

Sam makes a face, disgruntled. “I’m not impos—“

She smiles again, and it makes Sam feel uncomfortable. “You are, Sam. With your childhood notions of what family is supposed to be like. What we have is simple. I’m a wife and mother. I have duties to uphold. They shouldn’t include having to tell a clueless boy that he is not welcomed around my son. So I suggest you heed my warning, young man. You are not to see my son again. You are not to call him or text him, or send him letters in a message bottle. I don’t care. I don’t want you trying to make something of my son, something I know he isn’t. He’s got his future set, and had your parents dreamed larger, so would you. But as it goes, you’re never going to be a perfect match.” She sighs and drinks from her glass of wine, bringing her hands up to touch her index fingers to her temples. After a moment, she fingers the pearls laced around her neck. “Eat your vegetables, Sam,” she says, exasperated, as though he’s the one being difficult.

Sam just sits there and Mrs. Smythe smiles at him like the conversation they just had didn’t happen at all. The waiter passes by a few times to collect their plates; Sam and Sebastian’s still have most of their meal, sitting cold, while Sebastian’s parents have comfortably eaten. Sam’s stomach is churning and he doesn’t want to be sitting there, in front of Sebastian’s psychotic mother. He’s trapped, though, until Sebastian comes back and deems it timely enough that they can leave.

When Sebastian does arrive back to the table, Sam notices the anger on his face, the vicious, murderous gaze in his eyes. “Let’s go.”

Sam doesn’t even turn around to say thank you for the dinner, which is bad manners and he almost feels guilty, but after the reaming he’s just had, he won’t allow himself to feel bad about it.

In Sebastian’s car (doors slammed shut, music off, static silence), they drive around, aimlessly, going absolutely nowhere, headed towards nowhere, looking for nothing. Sam checks the time; the sun hasn’t even gone down, and Sam’s parents are probably waiting from him. He makes quick work of texting Rachel to watch Stacey and Stevie for him. She texts back with loads of questions, but when he sees her answer that she will, Sam ignores the message.

Sebastian ignores any signs of speed limits and road rules; he speeds down the streets until they arrive at a park. There is no one around, and Sam couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to take romantic walks in the park with the kind of snowfall they’re receiving.

The car idles, the engine purring softly. Sam sits in his seat and stares out of the windshield. Sebastian seems froze beside him.

“He asked me how I was doing in school. He asked me if I was working hard, and staying out of trouble. He asked me all about you and who you were and why were came into the house the way we did. And I couldn’t come up with an answer, Sam. I couldn’t tell him that I love you or that you mean a lot to me, or that were going to spend the night at your house and I was only picking up clothes for the rest of the weekend. I couldn’t say any of it. And he told me to cut it off, like that’s something I can do. Like I can just tell you I don’t want to see you again. Like that’s a possibility. It’s not, you know. Because if I’ve learned anything tonight, it’s that I never want you to have to deal with them ever again. God, I can’t believe I let you—“

“Stop. Just stop.” Sam sighs and takes in a huge breath. “It doesn’t make a difference. You and I both know we’re not going to do what they say. It’s stupid that they even said all of that.”

Sebastian looks at him. His vision is sharp and Sam is surprised at the intensity. “Said what? What did she say to you?”

Sam smiles and shrugs. “Exactly what anyone looking at us would say. We don’t exactly come from the same side of town, Seb.”

“So? When has that ever bothered me?”

Sam frowns. “It doesn’t, I know that, but it bothers them. And of course they’re going to say something about it.”

“What did she say to you, Sam?”

“She said I wasn’t allowed to talk to you anymore. That I should basically just disappear from your life. She said you’re going to graduate from Columbia, find some pretty housewife, knock her up, and live happily ever after.”

Sebastian says nothing, but the way his face drains again, Sam feels almost nauseous. “And you know that’s—“

“Not true?”  Sam smiles. “I’m pretty sure, I know that. I just don’t know what to do, Sebastian. You’ve said it a million times; you guys have to keep up some stupid appearance that no one cares about. I really don’t understand what the big deal is.”

“Yeah, well, me neither, but I’m stuck with stupid decisions I have to make.”

Sebastian pulls out his phone from his pocket. “We can just ditch Ohio and go to New York. We can spend Christmas there. Just you and me. You can teach me how to make your favorite pancakes and I’ll show you all my favorite places.” His fingers fly over the screen and he doesn’t look at Sam once.

Sam knows he’s not joking, knows that this is actually something Sebastian is thinking about. But Sam snatches Sebastian’s phone, throws it in the back seat and catches Sebastian’s attention. “We can’t just leave.”

Sebastian sighs. “We could, Sam. You don’t—you don’t get it. And how could you? Your family is perfect. And it’s not a bad thing, Sam. Please don’t take it that way. All my life this is what I came home to. My bitch mother and my father who will never let me think for myself. I was planned; every single moment of my life was planned. You weren’t though, and that scares the shit out of them. Do I care? No. Do you think I’m doing this for money? I hope not. The only reason I let it go, why I keep letting them control me is because it’s better than not having any family at all.” He looks up at Sam and his expressive eyes convey every kind of emotion Sam never wants Sebastian to feel.

But Sam has to stop Sebastian, explain what Sebastian has overlooked. “Seb. They aren’t your only family and you know that. Just because they’re your bio parents, it doesn’t make them your family. Those people back there are assholes, Sebastian, and they have no right to do what they’re doing to you. It’s—I’m really sorry. But you have a family that’s not them, Seb. You have your friends in college, in New York. You have Rachel and Stevie and Stacey. You have my parents and me. You have me, okay? And family isn’t just blood. It’s the people that care about you no matter what. And I’m sorry that you don’t have the kind of family that you wanted to like, be born into, but you have people that will back you up.” Sam glances down and shakes his head.

“Blood is supposed to mean something,” Sebastian mutters. At least it’s supposed to mean more than just doing what they want so they keep paying my bills. I—you know that I appreciate that. Even if I don’t say it.”

“I didn’t say it because I wasn’t sure if you appreciated it or not. I just think you needed to know that you have people that are your family. Kids get adopted like, everyday and they have families. The kids in my econ class treat each other like their family. There is no limit, Seb. I love you, okay? And if you’re not happy, we can just start our own family.”

There’s a look of surprise that washes over Sebastian’s face. Sam means it in the most innocent way possible. It’s always been the two of them, just Sam and Sebastian, and for years, not one particle of their relationship has fallen or chipped away. It’s only ever gotten stronger. And neither Sebastian, nor Sam, could ever ignore that.

Sebastian takes Sam’s hand in his own, laces their fingers together and before Sebastian can say a single word, Sam cuts him off. “If you want to go to New York, then let’s go. We can spend Christmas all by ourselves, just like you said.”

“Yeah?” Sebastian says, eyes bright for the first time that night. Sam can only smile and nod his head.

“Yeah.”

  They don’t pass go or collect two hundred dollars. They basically ditch the town they resent, without notice, permission, or a phone call.

That wasn’t to say things hadn’t changed at all since last year, because they did. 

Sebastian, who had never been the dating type, the boyfriend type, the says-I-love-you-before-hanging-up type, seemed to make an exception for Sam (which isn’t a surprise, because Sam is starting to notice that he’s pretty much the exception to everything). It wasn’t to say they talked much on the phone; the early months of the year were spent doing a million and one things together, as if they didn’t spend enough time attached to each other as it was. Sam couldn’t help but want to use up every second he has available because he knows come college, he’s going to miss Sebastian like nothing else.

Sam can say it was the sex that makes them this way, because it was, and Sebastian might say otherwise, but Sam knows that the origin of it all started the same day they’d become friends. Physically, nothing changed. At Sam’s house they kept their hands (mostly) to themselves, and the PDA was kept to a minimum, just like it had been before.

Things had changed without really changing.

As a senior in high school, Sam is grateful for the break. Sure, there had been the week off over Thanksgiving, but Christmas was his favorite time of year and there were only four days left until the holiday rolled around. Like always, his mother was in the kitchen, creating some sort of edible masterpiece while his father dozed on the sofa.

With Rachel’s parents out of town on business, she’d become part of their household, blending in as though she were a brown-haired Evans sibling. She was like an older sister, even to Sam, but Stacey and Rachel have always been closest. Braiding hair and dressing up; sometimes Sam is fascinated at how Rachel fits so seamlessly into his family. The people he loves the most always seem to.

Sam did actually end up joining the football team. Nothing special, he thought, just another teammate, but he made the kind of friends he was sure would be lifelong. Puckerman was one of those people.

He was rude and crass and cussed too much and was probably a little too handsy with Rachel (but she never protested and Sam had offered to talk to him about it, but she let it slide with a shy smile), but he, for some reason, stuck to Sam like glue.

Sam seems to have a knack for making friends with the Jewish.

Unlike Rachel, Puck didn’t really care for Christmas. Sure he got presents, and the cheerleaders brought him cupcakes and cookies (and God knows what else) but his Christmas spirit was purely materialistic, only excited for the extra short, Christmas embellished cheerleading uniforms, despite the fact that it was close to freezing outside. Sam still preferred staying home over the holiday, especially today since Sebastian finally had a break between projects and papers to actually sit down and talk to him for a while. And for this, he retreated to his bedroom where it was a little quieter than the rest of the house. He was sure to lock the door behind him.

Sam, sometimes, is a little shocked at the tiniest aspects of their relationship. If it was anyone else, he would probably stick to text messages, maybe a phone call or two. The two of them Skyped mostly, though, just to see each other when they couldn’t. Five years of Sebastian being around and it became a little tough for Sam to go without it. Rachel has, on more than one occasion, called him a little bit too dependent, but Sam thinks that she doesn’t quite understand the mess he and Sebastian have created and how it works for the two of them.

 Sam hears the familiar Skype-call jingle and answers it, the image of Sebastian popping up on his screen. He looks tired, worn out and Sam doesn’t blame him. That’s usually all Sebastian says he is when Sam asks, and the way he looks reflects that. He’s had papers and projects and he’s still doing work even though the school’s shut down. Over-achiever.

“Took you long enough to call,” Sam jokes. Sebastian flashes him a tired smile that makes his heart jump in his chest.

“College is difficult. I hate college,” Sebastian mutters. He rubs one hand down his face and yawns.

Sam chuckles, drumming his fingers on his legs. “Well, you were the one that applied, like, to all of the hardest schools in the whole country. Could have stuck to OSU and sailed through.”

Sebastian smirks and rolls his eyes. “You’re just saying that because now you have to deal with me being all the way in New York. Poor Sammy, how do you get by?”

“Oh, whatever, Seb.” Except what Sebastian is saying is true. “I bet all the boys love you.”

With raised eyebrows, Sebastian’s eyes glitter. “Can’t forget the girls,” Sebastian says, his voice light.

“Yeah, I’m sure they love you, too,” squashing down the jealousy that shouldn’t be present at all. They’re not in a relationship, not really, even though they sometimes act like it. They’re just Sam and Sebastian, and Sam fully accepts that. Most days.

There’s a knock on Sam’s door and he feels the irritation bubble up before he shouts for whomever it is to go away. Sebastian bursts into laughter and Sam sighs. “It’s like this every day. Can’t have a minute to breathe.”

Sebastian shakes his head like he’s disagreeing, because of course he is. “You love it, Sammy, don’t even go there.” There’s a hint of disdain that colors Sebastian’s voice because, yeah, instead of spending Christmas with Sebastian in his new apartment, Sam decided to stay home in Ohio, instead. That hadn’t been a very good conversation, and Sam doesn’t like to think about it, because Sebastian was so mad at him, and Sam was upset with Sebastian, and it had taken them a little while longer to stop fuming than it usually did. But Sebastian promised he would come home.

“I do, I can admit that.” Sam agrees. He smiles gently, sighing. “You’re still coming home though, right?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian murmurs, “I’m coming home.”

The way Sebastian says ‘home’ is not lost on Sam. He knows he doesn’t mean the lavish house across town and he knows it doesn’t even mean his own house. Sebastian once told him ‘home is person, not a place, Sammy’, and not once has Sam ever forgotten it. (Because home is where the heart is, and all that jazz).

“Sam! Unlock the door, right now!” Rachel’s voice flushes through the closed door and Sam looks into the camera of his computer and mutters, “I should have gone to New York.”

He ignores Sebastian’s cackling laughter.

Sam does eventually get up to answer the door, and Rachel is standing there with an annoyed look on her face. She flips her hair over her shoulder and says, “Noah is here.”

Sam raises his eyebrows and gives her a pointed look. She’s all dressed up, even though he knows Rachel is staying the night, but she’s wearing a pretty dress and her hair is down over her shoulders and she’s wearing makeup. “Since when do you call Puckerman, ‘Noah’?” He can almost see Rachel’s eyes turn into little hearts. “And why are you all dressed up.” Sam pauses and makes a face, almost horrified. “He’s not taking you out is he?”

Rachel sighs and shakes her head. “No, he’s not taking me out. He’s here to take you out. And I’m using his name because it’s his name. And ‘Puck’ is kind of a terrible nickname.”

Sam doesn’t even have the chance to tell Sebastian to give him a second so he can get rid of his friends to have a conversation that lasts more than the five minutes he’s usually allotted.

With Rachel standing in the doorway, Puck makes his way over to him, his little sister, Sarah, in tow. Sometimes, Sam’s house becomes a daycare. Puck turns to Rachel and smiles at her and Sam’s sure he can see him wink, and all of a sudden he’s watching her swoon, and it’s weird how protective he is of Rachel and he really doesn’t like watching her like someone (Puck mostly because she’s gone on dates before and it’s never been a problem, and Puckerman isn’t exactly bad new, he’s just not really good news. As cool a dude as he is, he can’t exactly see pristine Rachel going out with him. Not that it’s his place to say, so he doesn’t say anything. But the look on Rachel’s face should probably be more subtle).

“Hey, Berry,” Puck offers, and she smiles, bright like the sun.

“Hi, Noah.”

Watching the exchange in the middle of his doorway makes Sam a little unsettled.

“Dude, you kinda left me hanging.” Puck says, running his hand over his Mohawk, and before Sam can say hello, Stacey’s already lured Sarah away with Rachel’s huge sack of make-up. Sam has to laugh when Rachel runs after them. (And he’s thankful for it, because he’d rather not watch his best friend get hit on buy his self-proclaimed-badass friend.)

“Hanging?” Sam asks eventually, leaning against the doorjamb. 

Puck looks at Sam with expectation written on his face. “You, me, the team? Beers, skirts?”

Sam sighs because yes he forgot, and no he doesn’t want to go, and how does he put this politely enough so that Puck doesn’t hate him for cancelling. Again.

There’s an exasperated sigh in the background. “Sam, you can’t be serious,” Sebastian says, his voice trailing from his computer.

“Who’s that?” Puck asks, pushing past Sam, waltzing right into his bedroom.

“No, please, just come on in and make yourself comfortable,” Sam says to him under his breath and Puck doesn’t notice as he’s falling onto Sam’s bed.

“Puckerman, this is becoming a habit,” Sebastian says seriously and Sam notices the striking annoyance on Sebastian’s face. “And it’s getting on my nerves.”

Puck sits up and shrugs. “Listen here, dude. Sam’s my boy, and because of that, it’s my duty to be a good friend and let him come along to be my wingman. Plain and simple.”

Sam laughs, but the murderous gaze Sebastian sends his ways puts a stop to his amusement. He can’t say he doesn’t want to go, because a part of him does want to get out of the house, but at the same time, Sam knows Sebastian will be upset for him until they see each other again. Which is just in a couple of days, but Sam hates when people are mad at him.

“Look, dude.” Sebastian rubs at his face and glares at the camera. “I’m up to thirty nine hours of no sleep and I seriously have no patience for this. So why don’t you get lost?”

Puck shrugs again, but the smile on his face reveals he’s going to be difficult. “No.  How about you just catch some Zs and Sammyboy and I will catch some skirts? It all works out in the end.”

Sebastian looks between the two of them, and Sam puts his hands up in defeat. He’s kind of at a loss. “Seb, I can just call you later—“

Sebastian interrupts him quickly, face void emotion. “Whatever. You go catch some skirts, Sam. I’ll go catch a movie with Blaine.”

And Sam wants to hate Puck so much right now, but Sebastian logs off, and Sam doesn’t bother to call him back because he knows Sebastian will ignore him now.

And who knew Sebastian could get so jealous? If he wasn’t so irritated at the mention of Blaine, he would have thought it to be attractive.

Sam flops down on the other side of his bed and sighs, staring up at the ceiling. “You just got me into major trouble, dude.”

“I really don’t see what the big deal is. He’s gonna be here in like two days, you guys can be mushy or whatever when he’s here. Right now, it’s about to be eight o’ clock and the guys are waiting because you promised to be there.”

Sam rubs at his face. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but he just told me he’s going to go out with some dude I’m pretty sure annoys the shit out of me, because you want to get laid. And now I have to think about Sebastian having fun with Blaine.”

Puckerman chuckles. “Dude. From what you told me, you guys aren’t even together. So it’s not like matters if he’s all up in somebody else’s shit, you know?” Puck kicks himself off the bed and stands. “The way I see it, you have free time now, so put on your fancy dress and let’s get going.” Puck pauses. “And don’t worry; I can be the designated driver. Either that, or I’ll shove your ass into a cab, because it looks like you’re going to need a drink.”

Sam rolls his eyes and does end up getting dressed. He knows Sebastian probably won’t sleep with Blaine because they’re just friends and if he were going to, Sebastian would have said so because he’s not one to sugar coat situations. And he can understand the aggravation since they can barely talk without someone looking for Sam’s attention. He thinks back a couple years, to Marley the Nice Girl. He’d never really thought anyone would have competition with Sebastian, because Sebastian was just his friend, but now, Sebastian seems to be competing with everyone else.

Sam does go out, and he does talk to some girls while they’re friends hand out their numbers to Puck like candy, and he does get a little bit buzzed off of lukewarm beer.

After a while, it seems like Puckerman doesn’t really need any help at all. Despite the team being present in this bar that doesn’t seem to check anyone’s ID, Sam doesn’t go out of his way to talk to any of his team mates. After the initial newness of talking to girls, it dies down, and eventually the night goes on. Sam sits there and dwells on his conversation with Sebastian, and Blaine.

It’s not that Blaine’s a bad guy; he’s actually really cool sometimes. They haven’t met, not in person, but sometimes Sam will catch Sebastian while he’s studying and Blaine just so happens to be there. Blaine, with his charming face, his bowties, and the fact that Blaine is up there in New York and he’s all the way down here.

Sam just wonders for the rest of the night, about Blaine mostly, and the more he does it, the more sour his attitude is. He repeats the action of taking out his phone and checking his messages more times than it’s deemed healthy, and eventually, Puck thinks he’s had enough and does drive home.

He takes the back seat of the cab so the girl that Puck’s taking home sits up front. They look sober, and they’re smiley, and it makes him even more upset because he was just looking at Rachel like she was a piece of meat.

He says goodnight and the girl, a hot red bombshell—Sam does have to admit that—and she smiles fondly at him.

“Catch you later, dude,” Puck says and they reverse out of the driveway. Sam is left to fumble in the dark to get the door of his house unlocked.

The house is quiet when he walks in. Stumbling, it takes him almost forever to get to his bedroom. Rachel is on his bed, sitting up like she’s waiting for him. There’s a book in her lap and she looks like his mom wearing reading glasses. He wants her to run her fingers through his hair and tell him it’s going to be okay.

“Thought you wouldn’t mind if I camped out in here. Sarah hijacked my bed,” she whispers and Sam shrugs, strips from his shirt and walks into the bathroom.

He brushes his teeth while he’s in there, checks his reflection more than a few times because he feels like he’s a different person than he was when he woke up this morning.

He’s in his pajamas when he comes out, running his fingers through his hair. 

Rachel’s face is disapproving when he moves closer to the bed. “You smell like a brewery, Sam.”

He falls face down, on Rachel’s right side, and doesn’t make any move to make himself comfortable. “Tough,” he answers her.

“What’s wrong?” she asks. Her voice is strong, certain and very, very concerned. “Sebastian didn’t hurt you did he?”

Sam shakes his head. “No, of course not.” He sighs, and wishes the thoughts in his head weren’t so jumbled up. “I love him.”

Rachel rolls her eyes. “I know that Sam. Everyone in the entire state of Ohio knows that that, Sam. What’s really wrong?” He thinks she’s ignoring the fact that he’s drunk, and he’s grateful for it. He knows he’s going to feel like shit in the morning, but his emotions are valiant, brave, so strong they suffocate him. He wants to shut himself off, like a light, so he can stop thinking about Blaine and Sebastian. Together. With each other. Not alone.

“That’s the thing, though,” Sam starts, turning onto his side and looking up at Rachel. Her eyes express for him to go on, and she still looks mildly concerned. “I mean, like, we don’t really, like—I think I, like, want to stop not being together and start actually, like, being together. Together together. You know? With like, commitment and stuff. And trust. And me not canceling talking with him, and people not interrupting—and I just want to be with him. And no Blaine. Nope. Do not want.”

The concern on Rachel’s face melts away and she wears a gentle smile. Her hand reaches forward to run her fingers through Sam’s hair, and he practically purrs at the feeling. “Oh, honey, you’ve got it bad,” she murmurs, all the emphasis on the last word in her sentence. And Sam knows, that, Jesus. He knows he’s got it pretty damn bad.

“So what do I do? How do I make it so we’re not just best friends who fuck on the regular or whatever? How do I tell him I just want him forever and I never want him to go back to New York? So we’re actually something together?”

Rachel purses her lips and tilts her head to the side. She wears amusement in her features. “Don’t know, Sam. Just talk to him. I know he’s upset with you for ditching him and I know you’re upset because you had to leave, but just talk it out. Let him know how you feel. That’s the first step.”

Sam laughs and hangs his head. “But how do I do it without sounding like a girl?”

“Sam, feelings are not exclusive to girls. You’re a very sensitive person, prone to feeling things in ways other people can’t. And maybe you aren’t so eloquent in the way you express your feelings with words, but I have a feeling Sebastian is the same way. Just tell him you want to be in a full on, completely monogamous relationship. I can almost guarantee you it’s not going to be a problem because it’s basically what you’re doing now.”

Sam pouts and shakes his head. “Sebastian doesn’t like boyfriends.”

Rolling her eyes, he knows Rachel is holding back from hitting him with the book in her hands. “But he loves you and that trumps it. If he doesn’t want to be with you, he’ll tell you. And I doubt he’ll say that because Sebastian has loved you since the day he walked into Miss Grey’s classroom and stole your damn heart.”

Sam picks himself off the bed. “I’m going up to the tree house.”

Rachel looks frightened. “Sam, you’re drunk. I can’t trust you won’t break your neck climbing up the ladder ...”

But Sam ignores her and walks out of the bedroom and closes the door. Thankfully, Rachel doesn’t follow him.

He makes it safely up the tree house. He’s wearing a jacket thick enough that it keeps him warm. He lies on the pile of blankets and pulls his phone from his pocket. He shivers as he dials Sebastian’s phone number by memory.

“Hmm, hello?”

Sebastian sounds like he’s been sleeping, which Sam doesn’t blame him for; he knows it’s close to one in the morning. “Seb.”

“Sammy.” His voice is more alert, but now Sam feels like sleeping, and maybe calling Sebastian was a bad idea. “Sammy?”

Sam shucks a breath from his lungs. His body feels heavy and his eyes droop but the words leave his mouth anyway. “I want you.”

There’s just the phone static for a while and he can hear Sebastian sigh. “Sam, are you drunk?”

“Little bit,” Sam answers truthfully. “But it’s not about that. It’s about us. Like, you and me. Me and you. I think about you day and night, it’s only right, to—“

“Sam, stop singing and explain what you mean,” Sebastian says, though it’s soft and he can still hear the sleepiness in Sebastian’s voice.

“I don’t like that you were with Blaine. I don’t like that I’m not there with you. I just want to be with you. Like, just me and you. No body else. No one. And like, I just thought that I should tell you that because I love you, dummy. I love you and I know you love me ‘cause you told me. And when two people love each other, they should be together. Like forever. And ever and ever—“

“Sam.”

He stops talking then, just stops and he waits for Sebastian to start talking. “Sam ...”

“Are you scared? Because, you don’t have to be scared. It’s just me.”

Sebastian laughs and Sam wishes he can see his face. “It’s always you, Sam. It’s always been you. You should know that by now. And if you’re worried I fucked Blaine, I didn’t.”

Relief strikes him, holds him, wraps around him like a second skin.

Sebastian sighs. “I’m actually home right now. I called you earlier on Skype to tell you but I ran out of patience. I’ve barely slept in the last two days, and the fact that you just left with Puckerman really pissed me off because you don’t know how much I miss you.”

“Me?”

He can almost hear Sebastian rolling his eyes through the phone. “Yeah you.”

Sam grins to himself. “You said you were coming home. You’re not home.”

“You want me to drive a half hour to your house in the midd—“

“Yes. Yes I do because it’s been like a million, trillion years since I saw you and I want to see you right now. Like right now, right now.”

There’s a laugh from Sebastian’s end and Sam warms so much that he doesn’t really need his jacket with this kind of feeling. “If you’re passed out by the time I get there, I’m going to kill you, you know that right?”

Sam hums, chuckling. “Seb, I’m not going to pass out. I’m gonna convince Rachel to make Rachel-food for me and then I’ll save you some and we can eat after I blow you.”

“That actually sounds really nice.” He can hear Sebastian rustling and Sam thinks that Sebastian is hopping out of bed to come over. “I’ll be there in forty five. Just—just be awake okay? I want to finish this conversation.”

Sam knows he’s not in trouble, because he was just telling Sebastian his feelings like Rachel advised him to. But he agrees and he hangs up and he hopes that forty five minutes pass by quickly.

When he’s inside, he knows he’s delirious for going out there in the first place. In his bedroom, Rachel is still awake, submerged in the pages of her book.

“Rachie.” Her head snaps up to look at him and he smiles at her. “Can you make some food? Sebastian is coming over.”

There’s a look of surprise on her face and she smiles. “Grilled cheese okay?” She says simply and Sam nods.

“My favorite.”

Forty five minutes do go by fast. He and Rachel try to be the quietest they can, while they’re in the kitchen. Sam leaves the door unlocked so Sebastian could just walk in. And when he does, Sebastian walks into the kitchen, finding Rachel and Sam sitting on the kitchen counter, tearing apart a grilled cheese. “Thought you said you’d save some.”

Sam’s heart flutters in chest and he hops off the counter to walk over to Sebastian. Sam just wraps his arms around Sebastian and holds on, doesn’t care about anything else around him. He’d missed Sebastian more than anything in the world and he was here and all was well.

“Sam, let the poor boy breathe, hon.”

Rachel’s voice breaks through and Sam shares a laugh with Sebastian. He lets go just enough so that Rachel can get a hug in and Sebastian picks her up and spins her around until she’s giggling.

Mary comes out of her bedroom and tells them all to go to bed or they’re all grounded.

Despite the fact that she can only do so to one of them, the three of them scurry off to Sam’s bedroom. With a kiss to each boy’s cheek, Rachel ditches them. “I’ll just share with Stacey, no worries. I’m sure you guys want a bit of time alone. Night, babes.”

She closes the door and Sam falls back against the bed and pulls Sebastian with him. They just lay there, unceremoniously. Comfortable, Sam feels the pull of sleep but he resists. Sebastian gets up to get out of his clothes, and he makes Sam do the same. Conservatively, though; pajamas are worn. They burrow underneath the blankets and it’s definitely late enough to sleep, but Sebastian has other ideas.

“Sammy?”

He hums in response.

Sebastian wiggles out of Sam’s grasp, though he’s chuckling, and he turns so he can look at Sam, even though it’s dark. “Sam, what do you want?”

“Sleep is good.”

Maybe Sam has a superpower where he can hear people roll their eyes. “Sam, I’m being serious. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you, Seb. I want you and nobody else. Like, sometimes, I don’t think you know how much—like, how much I feel about you. Because I feel a lot. And Rachel says it’s ‘cause I’m sensitive, which, whatever, it’s true, but I just—like, I love you, you know? And I don’t want there to be other people. I know you have, like, school and stuff, and you can be friends with whoever you want, but I just want you to want to be with me as much as I want to be with you.” Sam finally takes a breath and he yawns, blinking his eyes slowly. There’s a whirlwind of emotions he’s feeling, but Sebastian just pulls him close. Under the blankets, their legs tangle together, and the kiss they share is tender and slow.

“I promised you I would give you whatever you wanted. And if it’s monogamy you want ...” Sebastian pauses, resting his forehead against Sam’s and Sam’s heart is beating harder now than any other time he can remember. “If that’s what you want, then cool. We can be in a relationship. No one but you and me, right?”

Sam grins and nods. “I forgot about that promise.”

He knows Sebastian didn’t though. Sebastian rarely forgets anything, and Sam wonders if he remembers the little things Sam neglects to notice.

“Thought about your freckles and your skin and the way you laugh too loud when you think something is super funny even though the rest of us are looking at you like you’re crazy.” Sebastian’s words fill Sam up and they asphyxiate him. It’s almost like torture, but it’s so sweet. He doesn’t say anything because he wants to know what else Sebastian’s thought of. “Kept thinking about you voice and your dumb jokes and how you like to hold hands when I drive. Thought about the way you steal all the blankets. And how you look when you wake up in the morning. About your eyes when you’re studying, the way you bite your pencil when you think too hard.”

“Shh, Seb.” Sebastian sucks in a shock breath and Sam huffs a laugh. “I didn’t know you thought about me like that.”

Sebastian sighs. “Sam, I think about you all the time. There’s nobody else. You should know that by now.”

“Because why?”

There’s a long pause, and Sam waits for Sebastian to collect his thoughts. There must be a million of them because it takes a while. “Because you’re Sam,” Sebastian murmurs. “Because you’re my best friend. Because I’ve spent every Christmas since the year after we met here at your house. I used to spend most of my nights in your bed. Because at the end of the day, when I go home, I want to see you and talk to you. Because for some reason, out of the six billion people that inhabit this shitty fucking world, it’s just you that I want to be with. Not my parents, or friends, or Blaine, or even Rachel. It’s just you.”

There’s a heartbeats’ worth of silence, and he takes in a breath.

“You’re really romantic at three in the morning.”

“Oh, shut up.”

It’s almost weird, but Sam thinks it isn’t really all that weird at all that Sebastian has such strong feelings about him. It’s the fact that they’re talking about it, in the dark, hugging each other underneath the blankets, thinking nothing else of it. Sam laughs, though, and when his amusement subsides, he kisses Sebastian.

“Sammy?” Sebastian murmurs, running his nose along the line of Sam’s jaw. 

“Yep?”

“I love you.”

Sam’s heart swells and bursts and puts itself back together, only to do it all over again. “Yeah?”

Sebastian’s voice is nothing more than a whisper, breathy and light. It’s a confession Sam already knows, but he doesn’t mind hearing it. “Yes, Sam. Since I was like fourteen years old and you gave me a cookie and told me to be nice to people. Since then, okay?”

“Okay. Love you, too, you know?”

Sebastian hums and they’re kissing again. The sleepy kind of kisses they share in the morning when they’re first waking up. But right now, it’s perfect, too, because Sebastian is home for Christmas.

When Sebastian finally unlocks his front door, they barely make it through without being attached at the mouth—and hips. The warmth is like a slap to the face, almost suffocating as he breathes through his nose. Sebastian’s teeth have a hold on Sam’s bottom lip, letting go when Sebastian pulls back too far.  Sam shamelessly tugs on Sebastian’s clothes until they fall away, jackets and sweaters, and the layers underneath. Between kisses there’s laughter, the breathy, desperate kind, spilling from both of their mouths.

They’ve only been this close once or twice, stolen moments throughout the year whenever they can find them. To be this close, this alone, Sam’s almost sad dwelling on the thought that it took a whole year for them to get this far. There are hours left in the day; the sun hasn’t even gone down yet. He knows they’ll stay up late, doing whatever they wanted with each other (to each other), and there’s really no reason to rush.

Sam huffs a laugh, one corner of his mouth tugging up in a smile. “Hey. We should slow down, maybe. I think,” he murmurs, and Sebastian’s grin widens. He moves to mouth at the exposed collarbones and Sam lets his eyes fall shut, because it’s good, so good and he retracts his statement, just takes it back and enjoys the way Sebastian’s tongue soothes over his flesh. The hairs on the back of his neck raise and there’s a delightful tremor that travels slowly down his spine.

In the end, Sam is right. They do slow down, a whole lot, really. To a staggering stop.

They’re all over the house, raiding the fridge, sitting on the sofa, playing games in the basement. In between it all, there’s nothing short of a million kisses shared.

They aren’t together, not really. There’s some sort of thing between them. Can’t label it with a word like boyfriends, or keep it platonic like best friends, but they kiss and touch and talk and kiss and it just is. Like an unwritten law Sam likes to obey.

When the sun finally does go down, it’s Sam who suggests they ditch the living room. Mostly because he’s been inside of Sebastian’s house a dainty handful of times and not once has he ever traveled past the stairs.

Sebastian’s bedroom is different than he’d imagined. It was neat, (almost psychotic, Rachel-type neat), and Sam could swear no one ever came in here. (Of course no one does because Sebastian’s always at his house).

Certificates, plaques, ribbons; they adorn the walls like holiday ornaments on a Christmas tree. Sam picks up various frames and sliding his fingers over the glass awards, reading the inscriptions of Sebastian’s name and assortment of praises he’s received. Photos everywhere, almost carelessly thrown on the top of surfaces like the dresser and the night stand. From the fairs, the movies, the beach, the snow, the time where they got caught in the rain; it’s so personal, Sam almost feels like he’s invading. But Sebastian has extended an invitation and Sam feels like this is the closest he’ll ever get to being inside of Sebastian’s mind. Some of the photos have Stevie and Stacey, others with Rachel, with their classmates. It occurs to Sam that he’s just as much a part of Sebastian’s life as Sebastian is for him. It’s almost like it’s just dawning on him, like it’s a surprise. The breath in Sam’s lungs seems to disperse into nothing as he circles around to find Sebastian lying on his bed. He’s not doing anything but watching Sam, gaze heavy, darkened.

It’s an intimate moment, the look they share. It makes Sam blush and glance elsewhere. He can hear Sebastian’s laugh chime though it’s quiet, and he can form the smile that matches completely by memory up in his head.

Sebastian stretches out over the navy blue colored comforter. “Come here,” he commands, and Sam can’t disobey. His feet take him to the bed and he pulls off his t-shirt, tossing it somewhere to his side. He kneels down, and crawls up the bed until he’s hovering over Sebastian’s body.

“Close enough?” Sam asks with a grin and Sebastian nods.

Sebastian’s hands run over Sam’s chest and he expels a deep breath. He doesn’t look up at Sam’s face and it seems like his mind is worlds away. “When I first met you, you were all skin and bones. Gangly and thin.”

Sam can’t help but laugh. “Thanks,” he mutters unceremoniously. “I’m so flattered.”

Sebastian looks up at him, and Sam’s surprised at the amount of lust he finds swimming in Sebastian’s dark green eyes. “It’s completely different now. You filled out and you’re just—“

His heads tilts to one side and his face scrunches up. “What? Cute?” He questions, because it’s kind of weird to hear Sebastian talking about him this way.

Sebastian chuckles, nodding. “Super cute, especially when you’re blushing like an innocent school boy I know you’re not.” Sebastian traces his fingers down Sam’s body, reaching his belt. “But what I’d meant to say before you rudely interrupted me, was that you’re sexy. It’s weird, almost, how I’ve seen you everyday and you’ve never changed a bit.” Sebastian undoes the buckle and slips the belt out of the loops of Sam’s jeans. “Not one change. A new scar here and there. Tanned skin and muscles.” Sebastian lowers the zipper while he speaks and Sam has a hard time concentrating. “I just think of summertime, when it’s just you and your swim trunks, tank tops and freckles. Just ... skin.”

Sam can’t help the way his body buckles down and falls to lay on top of Sebastian’s body. Sam didn’t know Sebastian could be so observant. Not about him, not about the way he’s grown up.

“I think about you a lot,” he whispers.

Sam kisses him because he can, because the way Sebastian talks about him makes him hard underneath his jeans.

“What do you think about?” Sam murmurs with Sebastian’s lips pressed against his. “Tell me?”

Sebastian chuckle rumbles through his chest and Sam feels the vibrations in his bones. “I think about this, about you and me.”

Without the eyes of his family, his friends, Sebastian’s so honest. About you and me. It’s always been them. The two of them. Maybe not tangled the way they are now, maybe not with the kisses and the touching, but since the first time Sam had met Sebastian, it had always been about the two of them. And only them.

They kiss slowly, savoring the moment, the night, the way the shadows that cast over their bodies illuminate their skin. Sebastian’s body is warm, and when clothes start coming off, Sam is a lot less shy about this. There’s still a regulatory amount of his bashful demeanor remaining, but it isn’t at strong as it had been before.

There’s a part of his brain that revisits the tree house two years ago, where all he wanted was a kiss. Now, he wants Sebastian and his body, his mind, his heart. He wants it all and he won’t stop until he has it. He’s selfish with Sebastian. He wants everything that he can take.

Sebastian is good at kissing him. He’s good at making him feel like he’s going to break, putting him back together only to unravel him again.

There’s a lot of touching, hands on skin that used to be forbidden. Over stomachs and each other’s backs, necks and chests, thighs and hips. Sebastian’s hand brushes between them, grabs hold of his erection and strokes, slowly, torturously.

Sam watches Sebastian’s face, the reminiscence of a smirk. Sebastian leans forward, though, mouths at his neck to leave marks and Sam allows it, lets him. There’s nothing more he wants, he thinks, than to be marked with hickeys, little reminders of what they’re doing now. When Sam looks in the mirror in the morning, he’ll remember every second of this; the way Sebastian’s tongue caresses his skin, lips over the flesh of his throat, the shock that leads down to his cock, the little spike of pain when Sebastian sucks a little bit too hard.

Strangled breath sucked in, Sam chokes on his words. “Don’t—I’ll come if you don’t stop, Seb.”

Sebastian relents, but not enough to come to a full stop. “That’s exactly what I want, Sammy,” Sebastian whispers into his ear. Sam’s body thrives with the words and he has to calm himself down before he does come.

There’s a moment where Sam just lies underneath Sam and breathes, where he lets himself calm down, back away from the fire. Sebastian lies next to him, holding himself up on his elbow.

Sam turns his head to look at him. “We’re really doing this?”

For years, he’s taken to watching Sebastian move, but now, it’s unraveled into this. This heat that turns Sam’s body into ashes and cinder, burning him alive and he enjoys every second of it.

He loves this boy he knows he does. It’s written all over him, and where ever Sebastian touches him, his fingerprints brand into Sam’s skin, permanent tattoos of Sebastian and his adoration for Sam. It’s the kind of thing Sam gets high off of. It’s an addiction Sam can’t kick.

Sebastian frowns and bites down on his lip. “There’s a million other things we can be doing. This is only if you want to.”

Sam turns on his side and mirrors Sebastian’s position. “You want to?”

The way Sebastian nods slowly; it’s like he doesn’t want to influence Sam, make him do anything he doesn’t want to. And that’s always been Sebastian’s demeanor.

Sam smiles and leans forward, and plants a sloppy kiss on Sebastian’s mouth. “So, then, we should.”

Sebastian licks his lips and Sam watches the movement with a starving gaze; there is a load of emotions that course through him, but the most prominent is fear. He knows there’s nothing to be scared of because Sebastian has been by his side for as long as Sam can remember. He can rustle through the memories of his childhood and see Sebastian’s smile, feel Sebastian’s hand in his own, hear Sebastian’s voice reading the books he loves aloud to him. It’s all around him, like a second skin and he knows, knows deep inside of him, there’s nothing he should be scared about. Not with Sebastian.

Swallowing thickly, Sam reaches out his hand to press it against Sebastian’s shoulder. He presses the long body into the bed, his own body sliding right on top of Sebastian’s. They aren’t virgins. Far from it, Sam knows. But there’s a kind of newness that can’t be ignored. And maybe it’s just Sam, because for all the kissing and secret-touching they’ve done, nothing can quite compare to this. Sebastian’s body is like art, already created, colors and figures all painted on a smooth, smooth canvas. And Sam analyzes, worships, finds the freckles and scars his mouth longs to brush against, the flesh his fingers crave to own.

There are breaths, heavy and drawn out, quick and shallow, and the whisper of Sam’s name into dimly lit bedroom that make the fine hair on the back of his neck stand on edge. As his lips drag long the length of Sebastian’s body, he can feel the shivers—not from cold, Sam is certain. It’s hot as hell in this bedroom, and Sam feels a sense of pride knowing he can make Sebastian feel like this.

There are some things Sam hasn’t ventured towards. There are parts of Sebastian’s body that his mouth hasn’t explored, but here, Sam sheds his bashful, shyness like a too-heavy cloak and lets himself feel.

It’s weird; he’s not sure he likes having Sebastian’s cock in his mouth, but Sebastian seems to like it a lot, so there’s no way he can stop. Especially not when he looks like this.

Sam knows his emotions have grown gradually over the years. There was acceptance and curiosity that bubbled into yearning and eventually the love he feels for his best friend. He thinks about it all, as he runs his tongue up the side of Sebastian’s cock, like Sebastian has done all too many times to him. It’s addictive, the motions, and it’s tiring, yes, but he doesn’t stop, not until Sebastian writhing and his breaths are uncoordinated and haphazardly inhaled.

Sam wants to save the coming for the big finish. It might be sappy or romantic or girly but whatever. He wants them to be close when he does come. It won’t be the first time, and Sam has a feeling that it probably won’t be the last, but it doesn’t deter him. This is what he wants and when he voices that, Sebastian seems to understand. He laughs, but he understands.

“Whatever you want, Sammy,” Sebastian says, and his voice sounds unlike anything Sam’s ever heard. It’s torn apart, ragged, breathy and Sam likes it, wants to hear more of it. Wants to hear Sebastian say his name like that, over and over again.

“Anything I want?” Sam asks, and he climbs up Sebastian’s body so they’re looking at each other, green eyes staring right back into green eyes. Sam wants to list a million things; all involving the boy underneath him.

Sebastian nods though, and his face is completely serious and Sam has to calm himself down before he has a heart attack because it’s that moment that things snap into clarity. Sebastian has always been his. And as selfish as Sam is with Sebastian, he shouldn’t be surprised but he is.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Sam murmurs, but he’s smiling and Sebastian is challenging him with an eyebrow raised.

“When have I ever done that?”

When Sam says, “Never,” Sebastian turns their bodies over and pins Sam to the bed. In Sebastian’s hands are Sam’s wrists, and it isn’t as though Sam fights back at all. He doesn’t actually.

“Whatever you want, Sammy, I swear I’ll give it to you.”

The kiss they share is voracious, almost, no sense of time or slowing down. It’s sloppy, dirty, but Sebastian is dragging his hips against Sam’s and Sam is reciprocating and it feels too good to stop. They had other plans, for more, for everything, but the way Sebastian kisses him, like the good lover he is, it drains all from his mind. All he can think of is the ways their bodies align like the planets, and his body explodes into flame like the sun. It’s when Sebastian breaks away, buries his face into Sam’s neck that makes Sam dissolve into a mess. Sebastian whimpers, sighs, groans, says his name in the way only Sebastian can and Sam knows he’s doing the same. His fingers press into Sebastian’s back, urging Sebastian harder against him, pushing them as close as the mass of their bodies will allow.

There’s not a doubt in Sam’s mind that Sebastian would break his promise.

“We have to slow down,” Sam manages to say, his voice broken down and raw—it’s completely unrecognizable.

Sebastian grunts and he’s disagreeing with Sam, and Sam can understand why considering the way he feels then. But he runs his fingers through Sebastian’s face, pulls him up so he can look at Sebastian’s face.

“Because when I come, I want to be inside of you,” Sam says. There isn’t a hint of humor on Sebastian’s face. They’ve talked about this before, laughing, blushing, but there really isn’t anything funny about what Sam is saying. He can feel Sebastian shuddering on top of him.

“You’re sure?” Sebastian says, and it’s almost like Sebastian is scared now. And that’s odd because he knows Sebastian isn’t shy about sex. But he looks away, and when that happens, Sam only pulls his attention back.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

There’s a moment where they don’t move at all. But then Sebastian is rolling off of his body and falling into the space right next to him. Sam is hard—aching, and he wants to come so badly. But he also wants this almost more than anything in the world.

The bottle of lubricant intimidates him and he almost wants to rescind his decision and save it for later, for another day.

“We don’t have to,” Sebastian mutters when he crawls back into bed. He’s smiling and there’s a gentle chuckle, and Sam gives him a look. “You look scared.”

“I know, and it’s because I am,” Sam admits.

Sebastian frowns. “Don’t be scared. I can just blow you, you blow me, and we can do it another day. It doesn’t have to be now.”

But Sam thinks it does, because they won’t have a moment as intimate as this one. Every single guard Sam has held up is shut down completely. And Sebastian—well, Sebastian’s shut his guard down a long time ago around Sam. Sam understands this is a big deal for Sebastian too, because Sebastian never, ever takes the submissive position. Sam knows because you have to trust the person fucking you, and Sebastian doesn’t trust anyone. Sam wants to break down and crumble into shreds of nothing, because of all the people in the world, Sebastian trusts him. And it’s a big responsibility, keeping Sebastian’s trust unharmed, but it isn’t difficult. Not in the least bit.

“No, no. I really do what this. You promised to talk me through it, though. Still think you can do it?”

Sebastian bites down on his lip and nods and Sam thinks there shouldn’t be any more time wasted in getting things going. He’s scared out of his mind, of hurting Sebastian, of doing something wrong that makes Sebastian resent him.

“It’s a piece of cake, Sam. It’ll be fine, okay?” It quells Sam’s anxiety, but only by a little.

“Okay,” is all he can muster.

Sebastian turns over and Sam’s heart is pounding in his chest. Sam thinks of summertime, too, of Sebastian and his freckled skin in the sun, sinewy muscles, modest strength hidden beneath of clean, golden tan.

Sam moves to straddle the back of Sebastian’s thighs. He wants to be as gentle as he can; he knows this hurts when it’s the first time, and maybe the second, and third time too, but he wants to take as much care of Sebastian as he can. Like he always does.

He sets aside the supplies for a moment. Sebastian rests his head over his crossed arms, face to the side. His eyes are closed and his face looks peaceful, almost like he’s sleeping, but Sam knows he isn’t, not with the way his body trembles underneath him. He’s so vulnerable, exposed and Sam adores every moment of it.

His hands splay over Sebastian’s back, creating visible art only he can see. It takes a while for Sam to gather his courage and hold onto it. It’s a fluctuating process he realizes, but when Sebastian chuckles and opens his eyes Sam feels face blush again.

“As much I as I love your hands on me,” Sebastian begins, “could you just get on with it?”

His hands stop and rise from Sebastian’s skin. They feel colder now, and when Sam picks up the bottle from the side of the bed, he stares it for a moment before snapping the lid up and tipping it over so it spills into the palm of his hand. He doesn’t notice his heart is pounding, but he can see his hands are trembling. Replacing the cap, Sam places the bottle next to him; he thinks he might need some more, just in case.

“Um ...”

There’s a smile on Sebastian’s face, soft, patient, and his voice is almost a whisper when he says, “You can start with two fingers.”

Underneath Sam, Sebastian’s legs spread wider, just enough for Sam to reach between them. He presses against Sebastian’s entrance, first with one finger tip, ignoring Sebastian’s suggestion and allowing himself to do what he wants to. Because he’s scared of hurting Sebastian, because he wants to be sure that Sebastian is okay underneath him this way. Sebastian doesn’t protest when his finger sinks inside of him. He doesn’t move or say anything in fact, not until Sam pulls out and pushes back in with two fingers.

Sam watches; his gaze is intense as he takes in the scene before him. His rhythm is slow, almost agonizing, even for him. Sebastian’s hands clutch the pillows underneath him, and his body pushes back against Sam. It’s quiet aside from distilled, labored breaths.

It’s easy to want Sebastian so badly when he’s like this. It’s new, everything is new, yeah, but this is otherworldly. Sebastian, confident, arrogant, icy-insults Sebastian, spayed out on his bed before Sam, just wanting. Sam loves it, loves him and with that, finally, the fear melts and it’s heat, just searing, blazing heat.

When Sam pulls his fingers out completely, Sebastian whines and the ache in Sam’s cock intensifies exponentially. Sam only takes a second to lubricate his fingers again, push back inside. This isn’t completely foreign to him; he’s been in a position akin to this. But he’s never wanted to drape himself over the body underneath him, whisper the kinds of things he’s sure are pretty damn dirty into ears that ache to listen. He’s never wanted to hurry this process up so much so he can bury himself inside.

Sebastian is tight and it takes a while for Sam to stretch him open enough to fit Sam. Even then, Sam has to be sure and by then, he’s made a mess of the sheets and Sebastian’s become wrecked and impatient.

“Sam, Jesus Christ, hurry up.”

Sebastian chokes out a laugh and Sebastian’s eyes meet his and it’s like it steals the breath right out of Sam’s lungs.

“I .. um, okay.”

Sebastian turns on his side for a moment, looks up at Sam. The impatience is there, etched in his face, but his eyes are kind. “You okay?”

Sam surges forward and they fall flat against the bed in a heap, mouths pressed against each others. Sam is okay, he’s better than okay, and he wants Sebastian to stop asking him if he is, but part of him likes that Sebastian is concerned about him. Because he’s still a little wobbly trying to find out who he is, and he probably won’t find himself in the middle of sex, but he’s with Sebastian so he knows everything, no matter what in the end, he’s always going to be okay.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” Sebastian mutters against Sam’s lips and Sam laughs.

“Good, because I am. So.”

They share a look that last for seconds, before Sebastian turns back over, lying on his front. Sam doesn’t want to be stupid, doesn’t want to make this more than it is, but he wants Sebastian to turn over, so he can watch his face, so they can kiss, so it doesn’t feel as impersonal as it does.

Sam doesn’t say anything; the sound of the condom wrapper ripping open is loud, disturbs the quiet in the bedroom. He tosses the wrapper and covers himself with the condom. The bottle of lube doesn’t intimidate him anymore; in fact, Sam thinks he should probably invest in his own little bottle.

Sam takes in a deep breath while he strokes himself. He leans forward and holds himself up with one arm. He’s shaking again. It’s not the sex that makes him nervous but the person he’s having sex with and—and he doesn’t know what to make of that. But he aligns himself against Sebastian’s entrance with the thought in his mind that Sebastian should be the last person making him nervous.

It’s slow the way Sam presses in, sinks further and further inside Sebastian. It’s too slow, judging by the way Sebastian hisses and pushes back against him. His knees are on the outside of Sebastian’s thighs and his body lies along Sebastian’s back when he’s completely inside. Sebastian squirms underneath him, puffs out a breath and he doesn’t need Sebastian to tell him to move; being pressed in tight heat is enough to drive him crazy and his hips pull back and snap forward.

Awkward in the beginning, it takes Sam a moment to find his rhythm. He keeps it slow, but it’s not necessarily tender, soft; the push of his hips is deliberate, and the noises Sebastian makes fill his ears and wraps around his body, the same way the sweat settles on his skin He barely holds himself up anymore, and there’s a thought about his weight on Sebastian’s body like this, but Sebastian does nothing to stop him.

Somewhere in the middle of grunts and names being called, Sam reaches his hands forward and he curls his fingers around Sebastian’s. The grip Sebastian holds on him is tight, both around his hands and his cock and it’s stifling but it keeps Sam going. They kiss sometimes, most times, and it’s almost like their breathing is shared. Sam pushes harder when Sebastian asks him to and Sam wants to destroy the flesh of Sebastian’s neck with hickeys and deep, dark red marks. He tries his best, biting and licking and nipping at the skin; he can feel the vibrations when Sebastian expels his groans.

It’s almost too much for Sam to handle, too much for Sam to keep himself under control. He wants to reach around and take Sebastian’s cock in his hand, stroke him until he comes, but he can’t. Sebastian is pressed between the mattress and his body.

Sam pulls out and kneels behind Sebastian. His voice is dark when he says, “Turn over.”

“What? Sam, what the—what the hell are you doing?”

“Just do it.”

Obeying his command, Sebastian does as he says. Sebastian’s body is just as sweat-slicked as his own and Sam can only fall forward and thrust his hips forward, cock sliding back inside of Sebastian. It’s different this way, noticeably so, and a part of Sam hates himself for being so traditional, so boring with his positioning, but he can mouth at Sebastian’s throat, his collar bones, the hollow beneath Sebastian’s ear. He can wrap his fingers around Sebastian’s dick, stroking with a rhythm that is completely off of the tempo his hips keep. But it’s better this way, so much better.

The kisses are hotter, deeper, and so is the way Sam is able to fill Sebastian. They aren’t loud, not by any means, but the sound of Sebastian’s voice saying his name, over and over again, in that voice he finds he loves to hear, deafens him. Sebastian’s hands hold him close; his fingers wrap around his arms his waist, grab his ass to pull him deeper. Wherever Sebastian does touch him, though, burns in the best way possible.

It’s when Sebastian comes that Sam’s hips push against his body, watching Sebastian’s face contort, unabashed. He chokes on his breath and Sam strokes him through it, feeling the wetness of his come drip over his fingers. Sam doesn’t last very long after that, and he buries his face in Sebastian’s neck, grits out what seems like a million expletives before, finally, a whispered, “Sebastian.”

He collapses on top of Sebastian and just lays there. Sebastian hisses when his cock slips out and Sam knows he needs to get up and clean himself off, let Sebastian do the same, but Sebastian’s fingers are running through his hair and he’s humming like a contented cat, and he can’t bring himself to even roll over.

Somehow, Sam gets his breathing back to normal and his heart slows and, fuck, he’s never been so sleepy after coming. Sebastian pushes him off without any grace at all, but Sam huffs out a laugh, before he stands.

The two of them manage to clean up, find some underwear, all the while pushing each other against walls and taking kisses. It should be out of their system, but it’s worse now and Sam knows it. All Sam can admit to wanting is to curl up with Sebastian and fall asleep so they can wake in the middle of the night and ruin the sheets again.

Instead, they strip the bed and redress the mattress. They stack the pillows at the head, and Sebastian busies himself with ordering pizza.

Sam lies down, stares up at the ceiling. It wasn’t what he’d thought it’d be like, in the best way possible. Sam relives it, thinks of every little moment, movement—when he looks at Sebastian pacing around the room, picking things up, tossing them in their respective places, Sam catches glimpses of hickeys and scratches and he should feel sorry for not holding back a little bit more, but it just makes him smile, ignites the heat low in his stomach.

Sebastian gathers the sheets and Sam calls for his attention.

“I love you.”

Sebastian flashes a gleaming smile. “Love you, too.”

Everything Sebastian does shouldn’t surprise him. Most days he does, and others he doesn’t. Like now, Sam knows. Sam knew the whole time, of course. It’s pretty much evident in everything Sebastian does these days, and all the days before. Sam thinks it took him a long time to catch up, to match the fervor of Sebastian’s emotions. And he’s still working on it, still a little wobbly on who he is with Sebastian. But he knows what he feels, is certain that even though they’re a couple of seventeen year old kids taking advantage of an empty house, it’s about as real as it’s going to ever get.

“I knew it.”

“Not like I tried to hide it,” Sebastian says walking out of the bedroom.

Sam laughs because it’s just about the truest thing he’s ever heard Sebastian say.  

Sebastian is sitting on the counter and Mary keeps swatting at his knees to get him down. He jumps down, only to hop back up moments later.

Sam’s dated people before, but he’s never had an actual sit down dinner with his parents. Sebastian’s always over, but it makes it a little bit different now.

“What time will Marley be over?” Mary asks, checking the oven for what seems like the umpteenth time.

Sam flushes red and he can see Sebastian roll his eyes. “Seven,” he answers, tugging on the sleeves of his sweater.

“Great,” Mary says. “Why don’t you boys get out of here? Go do your teenager-y things. I’ll finish up.” She gives Sam a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek. She definitely hasn’t forgotten last year’s teenager-y things, so she reminds them to behave, and keep where she can see them.

Falling onto the couch, Sebastian starts. “You’re going to bore your parents, having Marley over for dinner.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Stop, dude. She’s not boring.”

Sebastian laughs. “Like hell she isn’t. She’s got the personality of a wet dishrag. And if it were between her and the dishrag, I’m sure the rag would be more riveting conversation.”

Sam is used to this kind of talk. He’s only been dating Marley for three months or so, and it’s been ... nice. That’s about all he can describe it as. In the last year, he’s been tossed back and forth between the girls in his grade. There was Santana, but that lasted only a week before she moved onto some beefy jock, and then a pretty lady cheerleader. There was Mercedes, whose dreams were apparently bigger than him, and so was the quarterback she’d gone on to date. There was Quinn, who was witty and beautiful, but she was all about power play and she could be a little crazy. She’s now dating a member of the football team. Sam’s sure this is a message telling him he should probably join the football team.

Sam kicks up legs up and rests them on the coffee table. He turns the television on and tries to find a movie to watch. “Sebastian, she’s not that boring. Seriously.” Flicking through the channels, he stops on ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas’.

Snatching the remote, Sebastian turns the television off. “She is, Sam. You need to open your eyes to the bright and shining possibilities of all the girls that are not her. I think maybe, you’re picking in the wrong gender pool, but that’s just me.”

Sam grins and shakes his head, looking over at Sebastian. “Think I should try dudes now?”

Sebastian hums and doesn’t say anything, but his eyes glitter. Sam has a difficult time of looking away.

Hours later, Sam, Sebastian, Marley, Mary, and Dwight sit around the dinner table. Sebastian rolls his eyes so much Sam is concerned they’ll stay in the back of his head.

There’s a lot of talking. Marley and his mom bond over cooking and sewing and Marley talks a lot about nature and science, which wins his father over.

“So, Marley, tell us more about yourself,” Dwight begins. Sam can admit that he hasn’t told them much outside of how pretty she is, and how, well, nice she is.

Marley’s voice is gentle, and Sam thinks her smile can light up a whole city. “There’s not much about me that you probably don’t know. I like reading, I love books actually. I’m always trying to get Sam to read more. They’re amazing little worlds trapped in pages—I just love it so much.”

Sam glances from Marley’s face, to his mother, his father and finally Sebastian, and Sebastian’s got an eyebrow raised.

“That’s lovely, dear,” Mary says. “Sam’s always been a TV and movie kind of boy, rather than books.”

Sam laughs because it’s true. Sebastian pipes up, though. “You should probably try reading out loud. Sam concentrates a little better.”

Sam looks at Marley and her face falls a little. “Oh. Well, I guess we should try that sometime.”

Up in his head, Sam thinks that he probably should have told her that.  There are probably a lot of things he should have told her, but he doesn’t because he can never think of those things when he should.

“What about music?” Sam’s father offers. “What kind of tunes do you listen to?”

Marley looks over at Sam and smiles. “All kinds of things, really. I’m kind of an eighty’s power ballad girl at heart. Adele really gets me going, too.”

Sam smiles. “She has a really great voice. I keep telling her to audition for stuff. She’s great.”

“You should try hooking up with Rachel. She’s probably the greatest singer I know. Unrecorded, of course.” Sebastian messes around with the food on his plate and Sam shoots Sebastian a look because she’s always complaining about Rachel’s high, squeaky register. He doesn’t say anything, though. Just nods.

Marley’s smile is a little colder this time. “I guess I should. I’m sure Sam can have us meet. I hear a lot about Rachel.”

The conversation calms after that. Whenever Marley says something, Sebastian counters it, and it’s usually the embellished truth, or a straight out lie, or something Sam knows is wrong. He’s confused what exactly is going on, and it’s like Sebastian really dislikes Marley, rather than actually thinking she’s boring. Something’s really wrong here and he’s probably the only one who sees it.

Sebastian manages to steal the spotlight. It’s been four years and Sebastian can still charm the pants of his parents. He makes jokes and his intelligence keeps a strong conversation between Sam’s father and him. It’s riveting to watch and somewhere in the middle of finishing dinner and dessert, Marley slinks her hand into Sam’s underneath the dinner table, but it doesn’t take away his attention to what Sebastian is saying to him.

Sam mostly watches at the interactions that happen around the dinner table. It’s calm and festive and everyone seems to be having a good time. Except when Sebastian says something off, only noticeable to Sam, and Marley’s mood seems darker and darker.

By the time dinner ends, Sam is relieved when Marley excuses herself.

“Mr. and Mrs. Evans it’s been wonderful. I haven’t had a dinner that great in a very long while. I’m grateful for the invitation,” Marley says, smiling as she takes her coat.

“Aww, honey, you’re always welcome here. I hope there are many more dinners you come around to. You’re a lovely girl.” Sam watches as his mom takes her into an embrace. His father does the same and tells her to take care.

Parents retreat into the kitchen and Sebastian follows, helping with the dishes on the table. Sam takes Marley’s hand after slipping into his own coat to walk her home.

“Ready?” he asks, once they’re outside.

“Sam, dinner was great, so wonderful. Thanks for inviting me over.” Marley’s face conveys sadness and Sam is confused as to why. Her words are warm, but they make his stomach churn.

Sam frowns and tilts his head to one side. “Why am I feeling a ‘but’ coming along?”

Marley sighs and she crosses her arms over her chest. She looks like she’s cold and Sam wants to pull her closer to him, warm her up. But instead she takes a step back and Sam doesn’t stop her.

“Sam, you’re great. You’re amazingly handsome and I like being alone with you. You make me feel comfortable and it’s almost strange, I think. No one’s ever made me feel this way. I really, really like you. But I can’t be second best.”

Sam is wildly confused; he’s not cheating on her if that’s what she thinks, but the first thing he blurts is, “Second best to who?”

Marley looks like she’s losing her patience, but her voice is still gentle. “Why did you invite Sebastian here? Tonight? Of all nights? You knew this was my first time meeting your parents and I wanted to make a good impression on them, and I feel like I didn’t because Sebastian was just sitting there, making jokes and being charming, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was upstaging me. And I can’t feel like I’m being upstaged in my own relationship Sam.”

The wind is colder now against his skin and he wants to just fall down to sit on the steps, just ignore everything Marley is saying to him.

“You’re not second best,” Sam says and it’s true, Sam thinks. It’s the truest thing he could say right now. But Marley doesn’t feel that way and her defensive posture unsettles him. “Sebastian’s always here. Like, literally.”

“Yeah, I know. Believe me, Sam, I know he’s always around, always here, always on your mind. And I get that he’s your very best friend. I understand it completely. But I can’t deal with this. Because if I asked, I’m not sure you’d pick me.”

It’s a little scary he realizes. He wasn’t aware there was an ultimatum, and to be honest, right now, he’s not sure he’d pick her either. “Marley, don’t do this. Not right now.”

She licks her lips and inhales deeply. Her grey eyes moisten and he feels like an ass because he’s making her cry.

“Tell me you love me, Sam. Because I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

And wow, Sam really can’t reciprocate that kind of emotion. He’s never been in love before, he’s only sixteen and there’s loads of time before he can admit to himself to feel that kind of emotion. And he’s almost certain he’s not in love with Marley now. And it upsets him, how he thinks of Sebastian at that very moment.

“I ... I ...”

Marley rolls her eyes and kicks the wooden planks of the porch. Snow flutters around; Sam watches because he knows that their nice relationship is crumbling.

“Do you think you could?”

Shrugging, Sam looks up at her, at her face where her cheeks are flushed red; from embarrassment or the cold, Sam doesn’t know. He reaches for her, touches his hand to her face. “I don’t know.”

“Sam, do you want to be with me still?”

“Well,” he says and he doesn’t mean to be so snarky but it comes out, defensive and upset, “you kind of kicked our relationship in the balls right now.” He drops his hand from her face.

She pulls away and Sam just stares. She looks out towards the street. Sam stares at her face.  “We’re done here, okay? I’m going to go home and try to forget about you. It’s kind of funny, because you’re going to go back inside, back to Sebastian, and you’ll probably forget about me the second you close the door behind you. I feel sorry for any girl that tries to be with you because she has some serious competition. Merry Christmas, Sam.”

She almost jumps down the steps and starts down the street. He’d offer her a ride home if he wasn’t so mad at her. Eventually, she disappears and Sam is too numb to pick himself up off the stairs to get himself back inside. It’s Sebastian that comes looking for him. He should be angry at Sebastian, should want to distance himself, and be alone. But he doesn’t. In fact, when Sebastian sits down next to him, Sam’s head falls into his hands.

“Come on, kid.”

Sebastian almost picks Sam up from the stoop and takes him inside. In the kitchen, Sebastian stands right beside him, and Sam is almost void of any emotion.

“Hey, Mom? Can Seb stay the night, tonight?” He swallows thickly and tries not to act like he’s just had his heart ripped apart.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” She asks, at the same time his father says, “Sure.”

“Dwight, can’t you see this is serious?” She chides and Dwight looks up from his newspaper and looks at Sam. He feels like he’s being on display and he doesn’t like it much.

“Sam, what’s wrong?” his father asks.

Sam sighs and shrugs. “Nothing, I’m just asking if Sebastian can stay tonight. Can I please have an answer?”

Mary knows—Sam is an open book to her and she knows there’s something wrong. She nods and doesn’t ask anymore questions. “Of course. You boys know the rules, though.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, just walks outside to the tree house.

He climbs up the rungs of the ladder and Sebastian is quick to follow. Sam falls back onto the pile of blankets and Sebastian falls next to him.

“She broke up with me. She just—she left and she told me she loved me, but I couldn’t say it back to her.” Staring up at the ceiling, Sam doesn’t cry or get angry or anything. He doesn’t feel anything and he doesn’t know why it hurts to bad, at the same time. Doesn’t know why he cares so badly that Marley pretty much crushed him without any thought at all. It’s very selfish the way he thinks because, maybe, he’s been crushing her the whole time.

Sebastian is quiet for a very long while and Sam sighs. Sebastian turns to look at him, and it captures Sam attention. Sam watches him as he speaks. “Why? You were just inside raving about her, telling me how nice she is.” There’s annoyance in Sebastian’s voice, and Sam laughs but there’s no humor. “What did she do to you?”

“She told me that—she told me she loves me and I couldn’t say it back. I just couldn’t because ... I ...”

Sam stops and turns to Sebastian and just looks at him. Really looks, sees, observes. Sebastian’s eyes are dark, green around the black of his pupils, eyelashes long and thick. There are freckles that dust his face and his lips are a little bit chapped.

“Because why?” Sebastian asks, his voice almost a whisper.

He just looks at Sebastian and the words fall out of his mouth. “Because I think I love you.”

Sebastian doesn’t seem surprised. He doesn’t move or leave or say something that’s mean to him. He stays and that’s all Sam wants from anyone.

“Yeah?” Sebastian answers, and Sam laughs.

“Yeah. I think for a long time. Maybe. I don’t know. Marley just kind of—you’re always around you know? Like I can’t remember the last time I spent a whole day not talking to you. I can go days without saying anything to Rachel. But you? Yeah, no, that’s impossible. And last year, when we kissed that first time, my mom kept asking you if I liked you and I couldn’t tell her because I didn’t know. But I kept thinking about it and I told myself I didn’t. I don’t know why because I know I did. And you didn’t say anything, you just went ahead and kissed other boys and you sleep with them and I have girlfriends and everything is okay, but for some reason, when Marley asked me to tell her I loved her, I couldn’t because the only thing I could think about was you—“

Sam’s speech is stopped with a kiss and he’s surprised but he doesn’t do anything to stop it. In fact, he pulls Sebastian closer to him, so close that he falls on top of Sam’s body.

And they just kiss, for a long while, until Sam is out of breath and he feels like he can hear Sebastian’s heart pounding. It’s easy to get lost in Sebastian. He kisses like he’s fixing Sam, like he cares just as much for Sam as Sam has confessed. And Sam takes everything Sebastian is offering. His lips are fused to Sebastian, and his hands want to find the skin that hides underneath Sebastian’s clothes. But he stops himself from going any further and Sebastian doesn’t really move.

“You love me, huh?”

Sam smiles a little bit and it’s terrible how all thoughts of Marley drain from his mind. “Yep.”

Sebastian grins too. He doesn’t say it back, but he doesn’t have to.