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If someone had told Jacob a year ago that he was going to feel his most miserable sitting alone in one of the nicest bars in the city while at least three pairs of eyes were ogling him from across the room, he would have laughed in your face. And then offered to buy you a drink, because you had come and approached him, and that opportunity should not be wasted.
The bar was nice. Not quite as nice the old one he’d used to frequent, but good enough. A little darker, and a little louder with the live music up at the front.
Live music was always a must for Sebastian when they went out. He’d prattle on and on about proper ambience, about setting a mood and then proceed to talk over the entire performance the whole time they were out.
And Jacob would roll his eyes and poke fun and tell him the only mood that mattered was the one after they weren’t in public anymore, but he’d always find them live music, and he’d always get them a table close enough to hear but far enough away so Seb didn’t have to shout to be heard while he picked the performance apart with that wonderful glint in his eyes.
And no matter how he complained, Jacob would always listen. Hell, at this point he knew more about music theory than any music history major in existence.
He’d said once that Sebastian should consider teaching. The world needed more people as passionate as him. Seb had laughed it off, like he thought Jacob was making fun of him again, and they hadn’t brought it up since.
That was usually how conversations ended between them. And that was Jacob’s fault. Him and his inability to hold onto a single thread of serious, heartfelt conversation without panicking and backing out.
He could joke, he could flirt, he could tease and bicker. They could talk about music and booze and work. He could talk all about getting his hands on Sebastian’s dick without so much as blushing, much to Seb’s constant, flustered frustration.
But the second Sebastian’s gaze lingered a second too long, the minute their words went soft, the moment conversation shifted into something a little too vulnerable, Jacob was gone. Pulling back into the safety of a familiar smirk and a joke, a vulgar comment, a distraction, anything to steer it away from something that might make this real.
He knew it pissed Sebastian off. But pissing Sebastian off was what had gotten him into Jacob’s bed in the first place, so. A win is a win. Better to play it safe.
Safe and distant and shallow. That was Jacob Palmer. Sebastian would throw in words like infuriating, and self centered, and obnoxious, probably, which were all true too. But this whole thing had started because Seb had been so infuriated he couldn’t keep his hands off him. So once again, a win is a win.
Jacob was a good fuck. He was fun, and he got blood boiling. As soon as it went beyond that, Sebastian would realize Jacob wasn’t something to keep around. He wasn’t something to understand past a surface level.
It was enough that they’d kept sleeping together after the first time. It was a wonder they’d kept spending time together outside the bedroom. If Jacob knew any better, he’d call them dates. Hannah certainly had, more than once, after he’d confided in his one and only ex girlfriend about his current fuck buddy.
But they weren’t dates. Because they’d been doing this for months now, and Jacob still couldn’t look Sebastian in the eyes unless he was trying to fuck him.
And usually that was fun. For both of them. Except for all of the times it wasn’t.
Like tonight, when Sebastian had clearly been trying so hard to get something, anything that wasn’t hidden behind a joke. Something real.
And Jacob had wanted to. Tonight had been good, and quiet, and Jacob couldn’t stop staring at Sebastian’s lips while he talked on and on about the performance on the stage. Not even because he’d wanted to kiss him stupid. He’d just wanted to memorize what he looked like when he was happy.
And then he’d thought about what it felt like when Sebastian smiled at him, in those rare moments, and how they might go away completely if he started looking at him like something other than a means to get off at the end of a shitty day, and he’d clammed right back up.
Except that had backfired. Because instead of sparking an argument that ended with Jacob shoved up against the bathroom wall with a hand down his pants, Sebastian’s face twists, and falls, and crafts itself into something carefully blank.
“Okay,” Seb had said. He’d stood, chair scraping across the floor, and gathered up his jacket. “I’m not doing this with you.”
Jacob had laughed, because he was an asshole, and the sudden panic was making him a little stupid. “What the hell?”
Seb doesn’t answer. He puts his jacket back on, a deep maroon that matched his tie that Jacob had picked out for him a few weeks prior. The color made his eyes pop. He loved buying Sebastian clothes.
He loved buying him everything, actually. Before, buying a girl a drink or covering the bill on a dinner had been an afterthought. Something nice to do that might make them more inclined to spend the rest of the night with him. There wasn’t much more to it then just a gesture to be forgotten whether they ended up in his bed or not.
But he liked buying Sebastian things. He liked putting the thought into what Seb liked to drink, or what he might like to eat. He liked going to the store and picking out clothes that matched his eyes, or a necklace that would match his watch.
He thought about it all the time. He never left a store these days without at least one thing packaged up under his arm to give to Sebastian next time he saw him.
So it was entirely Jacob's fault that Sebastian looked so good while he was walking away. God damn.
“Hey,” Jacob had tried to reach for Sebastian’s arm, and Seb had yanked away so fast Jacob may as well have burned him. “Hey, come on. You didn’t even finish your drink.”
It’s a weak excuse, and the blank stare he’s given is a reminder of that. Sebastian doesn’t care. He hasn’t bought his own drink since he’d met Jacob.
“Enjoy the music, Jacob.”
And then he was gone, right out the door to take a walk or hail a cab home. Or maybe he’d make a pit stop and key Jacob’s car in the parking lot. He’d deserve that.
Jacob did not enjoy the music. He did, usually. He’d learned to love it the same way Sebastian did. Or maybe he just loved it when Sebastian loved things.
He sort of hated every part of it right now. It was too loud and grating and the bassist was out of tune. It just wasn’t worth listening to without someone talking over the entire thing, trying to explain the meaning behind the song, dissecting every note, critiquing every hiccup.
Fuck, when did he become such a fucking sap? Since Hannah? Should he be mad at her for making him a better person?
Actually, better person was giving him too much credit. He hadn’t become better at anything. He’d just become more aware of how completely shitty he was.
He’d tried the commitment thing with her. The open, honest vulnerability. It had been hard, but he’d made baby steps.
And he’d ended up single. Mutually, and still with a good friend, but single all the same. And now he had Sebastian, and whatever they had going on that neither of them had tried to put a name to, and he can’t cross that line again. He can’t bear his soul the way he had with her, laying in the dark, the walls crumbling down.
He knows what Sebastian wants. He knows it's more than this. He knows he wants it too.
But he’d rather disappoint him than lose him. He doesn’t think he can do it again. Which is stupid, coming from the guy who had a new girl in his bed five days a week at least, but it’s the truth.
Except now he’s disappointed Sebastian and lost him. So that’s great. It was bound to happen eventually, and he’d known that, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
Jacob’s throat feels tight and there’s a stinging behind his eyes, and- no. Nope. He’s not doing that. He’s a grown man, and he isn’t going to cry over Sebastian Wilder in the middle of a crowded music bar.
They’d fought before. Not all of their arguments ended in mind blowing, sometimes semi-public sex. This just… felt more final. There was no yelling, no snarky remarks, no insults. Just a blank look, and then Seb was gone. Like he’d given up.
That was his right. He’d stuck it out longer than Jacob had expected. Not as long as he’d wanted but. Well. That’s just the way these things go.
He finishes his drink in one go, and ignores the way his hand is shaking. He’s not upset. He isn’t upset. He’s fine, he’s completely totally fine.
He finishes Sebastian’s drink, too. It doesn’t make him feel any better.
He’s so caught up in pretending he isn’t miserable, and the absolutely atrocious taste of the cocktail he’d gotten Seb, that he doesn’t notice someone else making their way towards his seat until there are fingers brushing against his arm.
He doesn’t jump, which is great, but it’s a near thing. He turns in his seat with a raised eyebrow, flickering down to the hand now resting just above his elbow, before rising to the face attached.
There’s a man standing over him, his hip cocked against Jacob’s table. His cologne is strong, something vaguely recognizable. Expensive. His suit is pristine, shaping his board shoulders perfectly, his collar loosened at the top.
He’s got a sharp face and a sharper grin, slicked back hair and bright blue eyes taking in Jacob and his two empty glasses. He looks like a douchebag, actually. He looks… okay, he sort of looks exactly like Jacob with darker hair.
So, a douchebag.
“Hey,” the guy says. “Come here often?”
Jacob blinks. He actually has to take a second before he realizes what the fuck is happening. “...Are you actually using that line? That’s a terrible line.”
The man laughs, like it's the funniest thing he’s ever heard in his life. Holy shit, Jacob feels like he’s looking in a mirror. This sucks.
“What can I say? You were so handsome, I got nervous. I didn’t have time to bring my A-game.”
Jacob leans back a little in his chair. It’s not a very big table, and there isn’t much room for him to move away unless he pushes this guy aside and stands up.
“I’m not worth your A-game?”
“You’re worth more than that,” the guy says. “I’ll do better next time, how’s that? Let me buy you a drink and I’ll show you.”
Okay. So he’s been alone in this bar for a total of two minutes, and he already has someone trying to get in his pants. That’s impressive. He should be flattered.
He feels a little sick.
“You’re flattering,” he says, and it feels disorientating to be on the other side of this. “But I’m here with someone.”
The man doesn’t back off. Jacob knows he’s relentless when he flirts, and it usually pays off, but he knows when to cut his losses. When a girl or guy says they have a partner, whether it's true or not, it’s usually indicator Number 1 that you need to cast your net somewhere else.
But Jacob’s admirer doesn’t back off. In fact, his hand slides up a little higher on his arm, fingers curling around his bicep. Jacob glances at it, a hint of unease bubbling to the surface.
“I saw your guy,” he says, his voice lowering. “Looks like he left. Shame to leave you unattended, don’t you think? Seems like a waste of the evening.”
So the guy has been watching him and Sebastian fight, waiting for a moment to try his luck. That’s great. That’s really great, he’s so flattered. Whatever.
He’s annoyed. He doesn’t want to go home and fuck this guy, he wants to go home and fuck Sebastian.
Except that’s not even true. He doesn’t want to fuck Sebastian, he just wants to go home and find him waiting there. He wants to lay in bed and wrap his arms around him and apologize and apologize and apologize until the sun comes up and Seb is still there with him.
He won’t get that. He knows he won’t. But as much as he doesn’t want to go home alone, he’d rather an empty bed to a stranger right now.
The guy leans further into Jacob’s space, his cologne a little too thick, and Jacob's feet feel planted to the floor. He turns his head away, but his admirer just ducks a little to meet his eyes again.
“You didn’t strike me as the shy type.”
Jacob laughs. He doesn’t know why he keeps fucking doing that. It’s like his body is betraying him, like the panic is taking over and making him grin through it, when he should man up and say anything else.
First when Sebastian had gone to leave, and now with a stranger he has no interest in practically trying to crawl into his lap.
“Hey, come on,” Jacob says, instead of no. Instead of get off me. “I really can’t. I’ve gotta get going.”
“It’s cute when you play hard to get.” The man’s other hand finds Jacob’s waist, pressing down above his hip and effectively boxing Jacob into his own seat. “I’m gonna buy you a drink, okay?”
Jacob laughs again, high and a little strangled because clearly there’s something really fucking wrong with him.
He’s not going home with this guy. He’s not letting him buy him a drink, he’s definitely not drinking anything he’s been near, and he doesn’t want to be touched.
Those are all very simple things to get across. And it isn’t like Jacob can’t fight back if this guy turns out to be an even bigger asshole than he’s already proven he is. He’s fine. He can leave.
Except he isn’t doing any of that. He’s just sitting there, hands held palm up like he’s fucking surrendering, frozen in his seat while this stranger practically feels him up.
He doesn't know if he’s ever actually told anyone no before. He’s always been in charge. Always the one flirting, taking someone home, asking what they want and showing them what he can do.
The only person to ever give him a run for his money was Sebastian, and there was never a moment where he didn’t want Seb’s hands on him. Anywhere, everywhere, whatever he wanted.
He’d spent so long crafting himself, building a persona, a picture, something nice to look at. Skin that wasn't so hard to live in. Something that couldn’t be taken apart. Something nobody could abandon again, because nobody could get close enough to try.
All that confidence, and it was all coming apart. Because of a stranger. Because someone wanted to take him home and undress him when he just wasn’t in the mood.
“Hey, c’mon,” the guy says, and Jacob doesn’t even have his name. “Lighten up.”
He doesn’t want to lighten up. He wants to go home now, actually. He can’t move. He needs to say something, anything, just open his mouth and fucking say no-
“Are you fucking kidding me? Get off him!”
Jacob’s vision had started to go a little blurry around the edges, which probably isn’t good, so it takes him a second to realize what’s happening.
There’s a blur of red- a maroon suit jacket and matching tie- and Sebastian’s voice makes everything clear up a little as soon as Jacob recognizes it. He lets out a breath, shuddering and small, and blinks until he can see again.
Sebastian isn’t quite as big as Jacob, but he’s big enough. He’s a few inches taller, when he isn’t slouching over his piano and actually listens to Jacob about the importance of good posture, and he’s shoving himself in between Jacob and the stranger with ease. A hand on the broad chest sends the guy stumbling back a step, and Jacob is left staring at Sebastian’s back.
Sebastian who… should not be here. What the hell?
“What the hell?” The guy spits, apparently sharing the exact same sentiment. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“My fucking problem?” Sebastian says, and Jacob is apparently in his body enough to be very aware of how hot Seb still is when he’s angry. God, he really does look good in that suit. Jacob’s got great taste. “Back the fuck off.”
The man’s face twists into something ugly. He stiffens, puffing out his chest, because guys like that can’t stand being put in their place in front of something they want to fuck. Jacob is the same way, except when Sebastian does it, it always turns him on.
Jacob’s knees still feel a little weak, but when the man puts his big hands on Sebastian’s chest and shoves, sending him stumbling backwards into the nearest chair, none of that matters anymore.
Jacob can’t get his shit together when there’s a stranger fondling him, but he sure as hell can jump up from his seat and throw a punch when he sees Sebastian go down.
He lands a solid hit against the man’s face, and he doesn’t think to take his rings off so it hurts like a motherfucker but it leaves a nasty cut across the guy’s cheek. He stumbles, furious, but doesn’t back off.
So, yeah. They get kicked out of the bar. Obviously.
It’s been a long time since Jacob has gotten kicked out of anywhere. He’s usually pretty good about sweet talking the bouncers. He’s sure Seb’s history is a much more wild one, and normally he’d tease him about the irony of a music bar owner getting thrown out of a music bar, ask if it’s bad for business if this makes the papers, but for once he knows better than to run his mouth.
He’s not sure what will come spilling out if he opens it, anyway.
And Sebastian is clearly, properly, pissed the fuck off. Rightfully so. He’d already been angry- the real, not fun kind of furious- and that had been before he’d seen Jacob with another man within five minutes of being left alone.
It wasn’t like Jacob hadn’t slept around since Seb. They both had, though Sebastian wasn’t as inclined. They weren’t exclusive. It had never been a discussion, and he knew they’d both enjoyed the occasional game of ‘who could make the other more jealous’ back when they’d first met.
That had just sort of… stopped, over the last couple months. It was the same thing that had happened with Hannah. He’d stopped thinking about anyone else. He’d stopped wanting to play his games.
He’d just wanted Sebastian. And that was dangerous, and unfair, because he didn’t have Sebastian. Not in a way that wouldn’t go away eventually. Because they weren’t together. They were fucking around.
Fucking around for almost a year. Sleeping together almost every day for a year. Waking up in each other’s beds. Cooking together, sharing breakfast and lunch and dinner. Jacob almost never went out to eat without bringing Sebastian along and insisting on paying the bill. Half of Sebastian’s wardrobe lived in Jacob’s closet, and the other half had been gifts from Jacob.
Sebastian was the first thing Jacob thought about when he woke up in the morning now. And even if he wasn’t falling asleep on top of him, he was the last thing he thought about when he went to bed.
They held hands when they walked. They kissed each other goodbye, and hello, and when they were happy, and when they were pissed off and when they were sad.
Sebastian went out of his way to wear the perfume he knew Jacob liked. Jacob listened to jazz for him.
Oh fuck, they were dating.
They’d been dating this entire time. These were date things. This was dating.
Actually, the only thing keeping them from being a couple was either of them admitting it out loud. Which was, in hindsight, probably why Sebastian was so mad right now. He’d been trying, always trying to get a feel for where this was supposed to go, and talking to Jacob was like talking to a particularly well dressed brick wall.
It’s an unfortunate realization to have while Sebastian practically drags him out of the bar, two bouncers glowering behind them.
Seb’s fuming. Obviously.
His collar is crooked from the scuffle, and there’s bruising and a little bit of blood smeared across his lower jaw from where the asshole had gotten a lucky hit before security had ripped the three of them apart.
He looks really good, actually. He’s always been a sucker for Sebastian being a little roughed up, even if the way he winces when he swallows makes Jacob’s blood boil.
Jacob is fine. His knuckles are bruised, from where he’d clocked the guy, and he’d gotten backhanded hard enough to make his nose bleed, but he doesn’t think it’s broken.
It’s a pretty big turn off though, if that guy was still hoping Jacob would go home with him. Not that it had been on the table in the first place.
He’s following Sebastian blindly down the sidewalk, because he sort of doesn’t have a choice when Sebastian has his wrist in a deadlock and won’t slow down, and he stumbles a little when they’re suddenly pulled to a stop.
Jacob does jump this time when a hand peels his jacket back and touches his side, because he didn’t actually think this was the time or place, until he realizes they’ve made it to the parking lot and Seb is just digging into Jacob’s pocket for the car keys.
Right. Yeah, Sebastian can drive. Or Sebastian can take Jacob’s car and leave him stranded out here in the cold. He thinks he’d just let it happen, at this point.
Sebastian looks at him like he’s stupid when he just stands there on the sidewalk, staring numbly at nothing. “Palmer,” he says, yanking open the driver’s door. “Get in the fucking car.”
Jacob does.
He slumps into the passenger seat, aching and drained and… just sort of sad. Defeated. It’s not a good look for him. He hasn't felt like this since his first and only prior breakup. He’s not looking forward to going through this again.
And it kind of sucks that they’re breaking up literal seconds after Jacob even realized they were basically together in the first place, and before they could have one of those god awful what are we conversations, but that’s his own fault.
It takes him a second to notice Sebastian has slid into the driver’s seat, that the car is running and blasting warm air, and that Seb is staring at him.
He should probably say something. He always has something to say. Except now it should be something along the lines of an apology. Like, I’m sorry for being a dick, or I’m sorry I ruined us, or more accurately I’m sorry I let someone else touch me the second you were out the door.
“I thought you were going home,” Jacob says instead, because Jacob is an asshole.
Sebastian’s jaw tightens. His face twists, in that way it does when he’s too angry to speak, like he’s afraid of what might come out of his mouth. “I couldn’t find a cab.”
Jacob doesn’t know if he’s telling the truth or not. God, he hopes he’s lying.
Sebastian looks him over. Just once, quiet, in the same way Jacob might look over someone wearing a particularly offensive outfit. It’s not a good look.
And Jacob can only imagine what he’s seeing now, maybe in a whole new light. If he’s reevaluating just how big of a slut Jacob is. Which would be fair. It makes something ugly curl up in his gut, though. Small and ashamed and filled with so much regret.
He realizes, a little too late, that Sebastian is probably waiting for him to say something. He opens his mouth to try, but apparently he’s run out of time because Seb just sighs, short and curt, and focuses on pulling out of the lot and down the road.
Jacob can’t help but wonder where they’re going. Because he doubts Sebastian is taking him back to his place, and he doubts even more that he’d want to come over. But Jacob had insisted on picking Seb up and driving them both to the bar, like he always does.
He’s a gentleman like that. He opens the car door for him and everything, just to see the smile he tries to hide.
Oh my god, they were dating.
They were dating and Sebastian laughs at his stupid jokes and lets Jacob take him to overpriced restaurants and his eyes sparkle when he’s in the sunlight like he was straight out of a cheesy movie and Jacob likes to hold his face and trace his dimples with his thumbs and Jacob loves him and he’s ruined it before he could even find the words.
And suddenly Jacob can’t breathe. Something lodges in his throat, his chest goes tight, and his body freezes at the sudden intrusion, the rush of pure dread washing over him. The same shame, the same suffocating grief that had hit the moment he’d realized Hannah was going to leave him. The moment he’d realized his dad was never coming home. The day his mother had stopped looking him in the eyes.
It’s all hitting again, again over fucking Sebastian. Because he doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to keep doing this, he doesn’t want to go the rest of this life without being able to touch him again but he doesn’t get a choice. Because he made himself into this. And he doesn’t know how to undo it. He doesn’t know how to stop being so lonely.
His vision goes blurry, and there’s a split second where Jacob doesn’t understand what’s happening until he feels wetness on his cheeks. He sucks in a shaky breath and the tears keep spilling over, and this might be the most humiliating thing that’s ever happened to him.
“Fuck- hey, hey.”
And of course, Sebastian can’t just take the polite route of awkwardly pretending Jacob isn’t sobbing in his own passenger seat. Of course he can’t.
To Jacob’s horror, the car is pulled to a sudden stop on the side of the road, and Seb is unbuckling his seatbelt to turn to face him fully.
His eyes are wide, a little horrified, like he’s staring at some impossible freak of nature. Which is fair. Jacob doesn’t do this. He doesn’t cry. Hell, he’d barely cried when he and Hannah had broken things off, even if he’d been too distraught to get out of bed for a few days.
It just doesn’t happen, no matter how sad he is. It’s buried too deep, along with anything else that might have helped him salvage this.
He presses the palm of his hand to his mouth, like he can muffle himself, like Sebastian can’t already see him coming apart. He tries to angle himself away, tries to hide even a little, but his body is wracked with sobs, shaking, and the tears won’t fucking stop.
Fuck, and what does it matter? It’s over anyway.
“Jacob,” Sebastian says, a little high pitched, a lot frantic. “Jesus, fuck, did he hurt you? Did something happen?”
Jacob shakes his head, a jerky uncoordinated motion, hand still pressed tight over his mouth. Nothing had happened, just a pushy asshole Jacob was too broken to say no to, apparently. Too lost in his own system, his own stupid algorithm that couldn’t let him keep anything real.
Sebastian looks a little relieved, though not entirely convinced. He scoots closer, as close as he can manage in the little space, and reaches over to take Jacob’s wrists in his hands.
He tugs a little, and Jacob doesn’t have the energy to fight it. He lets his hands be guided away from his face, to settle in his lap under Sebastian’s fingers, and cry without anything to cover up with. He just has to sit there, raw and broken open, and quietly sob while Sebastian’s eyes pick him apart.
“Talk to me,” Sebastian says, and he sounds so unsure, so wrongfooted and clumsy. Because clearly neither of them are very good at this part. “What’s wrong?”
Jacob squeezes both hands into fists, nails digging into his palms. Sebastian’s fingers absently run over his knuckles, and that helps too despite the ache it brings to his chest.
He takes a breath, then another, small and unsteady, and tries to make himself sound as put together as possible when he opens his mouth. He knows he misses by a mile.
“I’m sorry,” he says. And hey, look. He did it. He apologized. Was that so hard? It’s too little too late, he knows, but at least he’s proved he’s capable of it. God, he’s the fucking worst. “I wasn’t gonna go home with that guy.”
Sebastian, if anything, just looks more confused. His brow pinches together, and his frown deepens. He squints at Jacob like he doesn’t understand what the hell he’s talking about, which isn’t a very promising reaction.
“Yeah, I know,” he says, like Jacob has just said something stupid. “You looked like you wanted to crawl out of your skin. Anyone could see that.”
Oh. He hadn’t thought he’d been that obvious. Not with the way he’d been laughing along, too frozen to do anything useful.
“Yeah,” Jacob says. He wants to wipe his face, but he thinks that if he pulls away from Sebastian this might be the last time they ever touch. “He was an asshole.”
“He was,” Sebastian says. “He was like you, without any of the charm.”
Jacob laughs, even though he’s still crying, even though his chest still feels like it’s being squeezed, and Sebastian smiles along with him despite the worry in his eyes.
And then his smile fades, his hands tightening a little on Jacob’s wrists, and it looks like he’s mulling his next words over before he finds the courage to say them.
“You know it would have been fine,” he says. “If you’d wanted to go home with him. I don’t care.”
He’s clearly lying, if the tightness of his voice and the way he’s holding Jacob's wrists like he wants to leave bruises is any indication. It’s kind of sweet, the way he’s trying so hard when he doesn’t need to.
“I didn’t.” He hopes, despite everything, that Sebastian can still believe that. He won’t hold it against him if he can’t. “I don’t want to go home with anyone but you.”
Sebastian sucks in a sharp breath, his whole body going stiff for a second. It’s also not an ideal reaction, but at least he isn’t yelling at him.
“Jesus Christ,” is all Sebastian says for a moment, the words coming out in an exhausted rush of air. “Sometimes I don’t know what you want from me, you know that? I’ve got no idea.”
Jacob shrugs. And then he sniffles, which is not seductive or suave of charming at all, but Sebastian hasn’t let go yet. “I want to take you home.”
“I’m driving.”
“Then I want you to take me home.”
“Okay,” Sebastian says, and Jacob feels a dangerous flicker of hope in his chest. “And do what?”
He’s got a million different lines for that. Each one has made a pretty girl or guy blush, and melt, and happily give in. Each one has gotten a stranger in his bed with the ease of riding a bike.
His lines never did work on Sebastian. He’d never needed to play a game with him.
“Honestly?” he asks, voice run ragged from crying, eyes wet when he looks back at him. “I want to get in our pajamas and lay on the couch with you and watch a movie. And then I want to go to sleep.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah,” Jacob says, and it’s terrifying. It’s terrifying to admit it, out loud, that he wants to be with Seb tonight just to be with him. That he doesn’t want to take anything. That he doesn’t have it in him right now to give anything. It feels like he’s offering up something pointless. Unused, unwanted, unnecessary. Something that should get him laughed out of his own car, and sentenced to lonely bars and stranger’s hands and forgettable nights for the rest of his life. “Hey, don’t judge. I can’t help the things I want to do to you, Wilder.”
Sebastian laughs, quiet and so exasperated, but his smile is coming back and that’s all Jacob cares about right now.
“Sounds exciting,” he says. For another second he just stares, looking over Jacob’s flushed, soaked face, still with that awful pinched expression. “So what’re you crying about?”
He doesn’t know. He has no idea. Because Sebastian had walked away, and Jacob had thought this time it would be forever? Because a stranger had reminded Jacob just how broken he was, no matter what he pretended? Because he so desperately wanted to keep something he already had?
Maybe he’d just needed to cry. Everybody does sometimes, don’t they? Nobody had ever just let him sit and cry before.
“I don’t know,” he says, instead of trying to come up with a lie. And maybe crying has loosened his tongue, made him stupid, because he doesn’t stop there. “I don’t want to lose you.”
It’s apparently a little too much honesty for Sebastian’s comfort levels. His hands loosen on Jacob’s wrists but don’t pull away, and he turns his head to stare out the windshield instead.
“You’re not gonna lose me,” he says. “Clearly. Here I am.”
“Yeah, well. Breakups happen. I’d rather… you know. Not break up with you. If I can help it.”
Jesus, Palmer. Real smooth. Where’d that silver tongue go? Did it really curl up and die the second he started talking about something just a little too real?
Sebastian, for his part, looks like Jacob just pulled a gun on him.
So that isn’t great, either.
He’s shot upright, stiff as a board, shoulders practically curled to his ears. He’s back to looking at Jacob with wide eyes, like he’s a paralyzed prey animal, his face pale. He swallows and clenches his jaw, then winces when he seems to remember the bruise.
Jacob resists the urge to move to touch his face. He just sits there and waits, his heart in his throat, like a man at the gallows. He’s never felt so small.
When Sebastian finally speaks, his voice sounds strangled. “We aren’t dating.”
“Oh come on,” Jacob says. “Yes we are.”
“Okay, no we’re not,” Sebastian says. “We’re definitely not. This is the kind of thing I would know about. We are not dating.”
“Why, because I haven’t brought you home for Christmas?" Jacob asks. This is a little more familiar, at least. Most things between them usually end up an argument. “Of course we’re dating. What would you call it? Fucking around? It’s been a year.”
Sebastian closes his eyes. Opens them again. Breathes in deep. In and out. He’s right back to looking like he wants to shove Jacob's head through a wall.
“Okay,” he says. “Fine. We’re basically dating. But you know you’re supposed to like the person you’re dating, right?”
Jacob’s stomach does something unpleasant. “I like you.”
“Do you?”
It’s actually incredible how quickly Sebastian can piss Jacob off by saying the stupidest shit imaginable. Seriously. At least when Jacob did it, it was on purpose.
“Don’t start with that shit,” Jacob snaps. He pulls one hand free to finally wipe at his face, his cheeks stinging and raw. “Are you fucking kidding me? I spend every day with you. I don't like eating dinner without you. I bought you a new cologne so you’d smell like me. I started listening to jazz. For you. Do you think I like jazz? Nobody likes jazz, Sebastian, I just like you. I like seeing you happy. Of course I fucking like you.”
There was also, of course, the argument that Jacob had slept with Sebastian more than he’d ever slept with anyone else in his entire life. He didn’t usually go back for seconds, let alone… however many times he’d had Seb in his bed. He’d lost count by now.
But he doesn’t bring up the sex. It just feels so miniscule, so unimportant compared to everything else about them.
Sebastian isn’t looking at him. He’s staring intently at Jacob’s hand, still intertwined with his own, while his free hand clenches into a fist, trembling slightly on his knee.
“Wow,” he says, barely a whisper. “Yeah. Okay.”
That unpleasant feeling is back. “Do you not like me?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Sebastain says. “Yes, I like you. Obviously I like you. Don’t be stupid.”
“Okay,” Jacob says. “So we like each other.”
“Great.”
God, are they twelve? Are they middle school girls passing notes in class about their crushes? They’re grown men who have been fucking for a year straight, and Jacob feels giddy with verbal confirmation that Sebastian enjoys his company. He needs to get a grip.
“I just didn’t think you wanted this,” Sebastian says. “I’ve tried to bring it up. You just shut down. It kind of sends a message, you know?”
“I know,” Jacob says. “It’s not about you.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.” But he doesn’t sound angry. He holds Jacob a little tighter, his thumb running circles along the underside of his wrist. It’s easy to focus on, a gentle grounding motion. “What’s your deal?”
He knew what his deal was. He’d always known, even before Hannah. It was exactly why he kept up his game, his pattern, someone new every night, an empty bed every morning. Safe, shallow. Alone.
“I’m scared,” he says, and it feels like walking across glass to admit, like tearing out his own throat, like laying himself bare and ugly for Sebastian to see. “Is that stupid? I’m scared shitless that I’m gonna try this and you’re gonna see me and… and you won’t want it. I don’t want to stop being fun.”
Sebastian’s hand is on his face before he’s even done talking. Warm and steady, cupping his cheek. His thumb brushes away the tears that fall, and he doesn’t shy away. He doesn’t stop looking at him.
“You don’t have to be fun,” Seb says. “You just have to be here. If you really want to do this with me, you have to be here. We both have to be real.”
Jacob smiles, but it’s sad and wet and, he can admit, a little pathetic. He’s still crying. But Sebastian doesn’t look much better off, with his big watering eyes and bruised up jaw. So maybe it’s okay. Maybe he doesn’t have to be perfect to have this.
He lifts his head when Seb’s hand guides his face up, meeting his eyes. “You might not like me anymore when I’m real.”
“And you might not like me,” Sebastian says. “Let’s figure that out on our own time, okay?”
Jacob kind of wants to start crying all over again. But it doesn’t feel as bad. The hopelessness is easing, as is the shame, settling back somewhere quiet in his mind. The urge to start bawling until he can’t stop isn’t nearly as suffocating.
It’s just not as scary, when Sebastian says it like that. Like he believes this could work. They’ve already started building something. They just have to put the extra work in now.
“Okay,” Jacob agrees, and leans into his hand. “You know, I’ve had a very hard night. Very emotional. I think I deserve a kiss.”
“Oh, you deserve it, huh?” Sebastian asks, voice dry, but he’s already leaning in. “Drama queen.”
Sebastian’s lips find his, and Jacob has to be gentle, mindful of his own busted nose and Seb’s bruised jaw, but they still fit together like they’re meant to be there.
His hands find the back of Sebastian’s head, fingers carding through his hair, caressing the back of his neck, anything to hold him close, to keep him right here, to keep tasting him, feeling him, having him.
Normally, making out in Jacob’s car would lead to something more, something more needy. Normally, Jacob would be driving home to get them into bed as quickly as possible. Or, he’d be dragging them into the backseat if they were both feeling particularly impatient that day.
There’s none of that now. It barely even crosses Jacob’s mind, even as Seb’s other hand touches his hip and rests there. All he can taste is Sebastian, all he can feel is his lips against his own, and all he wants to do is hold him tighter and never let go.
And he can do that. He can do that, he can have this. And god, he hopes he can keep it. He’d give anything for it.
When Sebastian pulls away with plump lips and a flushed face, Jacob doesn’t think he’s ever looked so beautiful. He just looks so happy.
“Come on,” Sebastian says, reluctantly leaning back. He puts his seatbelt back on, but he can’t take his eyes off of Jacob. “I’m gonna take you home.”
Jacob can't stop smiling. Not even when Sebastian’s attention finally leaves him in favor of watching the road. “Your place or mine?”
“Mine,” Sebastian says, without much thought. “You can wear my pajamas.”
Jacob knows exactly how this night is going to end. They’re going to get changed, and Jacob is going to spend a solid ten minutes making fun of Sebastian’s tasteless pajamas. They’re going to spend an hour on the couch arguing over movies, and when they finally choose one they’ll both be asleep before it’s even queued up.
They’ll wake up tangled in each other’s arms, Sebastian’s head on Jacob’s chest. And they’ll hold each other, until Jacob has the energy to untangle himself and make coffee.
And then they’ll talk. And they’ll figure this out. It’ll be messy, he’s sure, and terrifying. And maybe it won’t work.
But he’d like to try.
He thinks he can’t wait to try.