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It was a Saturday morning when Sebastian said, for the first time, “Should we make an appointment for Auntie Hope?”
Blaine, still half asleep, said, “Bluh?” eloquently before rolling over into the divot of warmth that Sebastian’s body had left behind. It took twenty long minutes, in which Blaine drifted though vague dreams of coffee shops where all of the napkins were printed with Playbills and the drinks were all theatre themed, before he woke up and said, “Wait.”
Sebastian, who had spent the twenty minutes smirking at Blaine, said, “Yes?”
Blaine, always polite said, “Good morning.” He sat up, and Sebastian leaned in willingly for a brief peck—and a vague grimace at morning breath. “What did you say?”
Sebastian laughed. “Go brush your teeth.”
Morning ablutions done, Sebastian hustled Blaine out the door—“We have brunch with Sam and Tina planned, remember?”—before Blaine could say anything. In the car, Sebastian put on a Top-20 playlist, turning up the volume before Blaine could say anything.
Blaine turned the volume down.
Sebastian turned the volume back up.
Blaine rolled his eyes and said, “Katy Perry is at least a few years old, now.”
Sebastian clicked to a new playlist.
They drove to the sound of Taylor Swift, Sebastian singing along, Blaine harmonizing with him. It was easy and familiar, and Blaine could almost forget the vague question he thought he’d heard in his dreams.
“Sebastian,” he said after they’d pulled into a parking spot. “About this morning—”
Sebastian glanced beyond him. There was a tapping at the window, and when Blaine turned, it was Tina, looking desperate.
“Hurry,” Tina shouted through the glass. “They just called our names for our table!”
“But we’re five minutes early for our reservation,” Blaine protested, unbuckling his seatbelt and tumbling out of the car. Tina hustled them into the pub, Sebastian looking bemused as he sauntered in with his lanky legs. Blaine kept almost tripping as Tina pushed them. Sam was already there, at a table, and then they were too busy with deciding what to order and what Sam was up to for Blaine to ask Sebastian.
Sebastian ordered a great sausage scramble that Blaine ate half of, though. He let Sebastian have half of his banana pancakes in return.
They spent the afternoon playing board games at Sam’s place. Sebastian and Tina were fiercely competitive, and Blaine found himself leaning against Sebastian as Sebastian held his cards furiously away to keep Blaine from peeking at them.
“I wasn’t going to,” Blaine protested.
“Uh huh,” Sebastian said, but he was already frowning at the board. “Sure.”
Blaine exchanged amused looks with Sam.
There was no way that Blaine was going to get anything out of Sebastian in the middle of a game. He might be Mr. Nice Guy, but that didn’t count when it came to board games. There’d been a particularly vicious board game night with Santana and Brittney once, which almost ended in bloodshed, and since then Blaine tried to tailor his outings according to his mood.
This was supposed to be a relaxing afternoon, but the morning, hazy as it was, lingered.
“Ha!” Sebastian exclaimed, only a little viciously as he threw his cards down one after another in triumph, sweeping up points and winning the game. Tina shrieked in fury, and the afternoon devolved into bickering. Smug—on Sebastian’s end—and bitter—on Tina’s. But there was a grin lingering in the corner of Sebastian’s mouth, and Tina had a delighted glint in her eye.
Sam leaned over and whispered, “Want to leave them to it? I’ve got a new Captain America comic you can check out.”
“Yes,” Blaine whispered back.
But as they snuck away, Sebastian leaned over and snagged Blaine’s hand, squeezing it briefly as he continued to detail exactly how he’d beaten Tina while Tina spluttered indignantly.
Blaine squeezed back.
Their apartment was quiet and dark when they returned. Brunch had turned into board games which had turned into pizza and movies. Blaine had leaned against Sebastian’s shoulder, enjoying the warmth of Sebastian’s arm around him.
They moved easily, Sebastian tossing the keys back into the bowl by the door, Blaine going to turn on the lights. There was something comforting about returning home. Like something had settled within him.
Sebastian stretched, humming something vaguely under his breath.
It was no longer the morning, but in the quiet of the evening, the early morning haze seemed to fade away. There was only the clarity of thought.
It had just been a Saturday. There had been nothing special about it, no brilliant fireworks to light the sky, no flash mob at brunch, no ambushes at board games. Just the easy comfort of Sebastian, the way he fit in among Blaine’s friends, his steady presence.
And, Blaine thought, he could have this every day. All he needed to do was choose.
Sebastian had wandered into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. He was leaning against the sink, sipping water with one hand, flicking through his phone with the other. He looked up when Blaine walked in, and his face was soft with affection, warm with the evening light.
Sebastian had chosen.
“Hey,” Sebastian said. “Did you want a glass?”
“No.” Blaine swallowed. He touched his wrist, where a rope would be, thick and strong with the strands of his love. He knew what it would look like, once the matchmaker teased it to light, bound the strands together. It would be full of promise. It would be enduring with love. “Sebastian, let’s go to a matchmaker.”
He set the glass down, twisted their fingers together to press their wrists against each other, where they would be bound, and he was smiling as he bent down and promise, “Yes.”