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After Rachel, Kurt and Finn leave, he’s lying in his bed in the quiet when he hears his phone softly vibrate on the nightstand next to him. He is tired; the pain medication he’s on for his eye makes him pretty drowsy, but he’s sure the text is probably Kurt saying he got home safe, so he wants to make sure he at least acknowledges him.
But when he looks at the screen, there’s just one pleading sentence.
Tell me how to fix this
He sighs and thinks about not responding. He knows he should’ve blocked the number by now. But he remembers all of those nights they spent texting about nothing and everything, and he wants to prove that this isn’t affecting him as much as the other boy would like. So he keeps it simple.
You can’t
The response comes back lightning fast. It wasn’t meant for you.
He can’t help it; his heart aches.
It doesn’t matter.
I’ve never met anyone that makes me feel the way that you do, the next text reads and Blaine holds his breath as the follow up comes through. Doesn’t that matter?
It hurts Blaine’s eye to cry so he’s trying so hard not to, but the burning just reminds him of everything that happened. It reminds him why it can’t matter, no matter how he feels or was starting to feel.
It can’t and because he’s Blaine and he’s the friend that always has the best heart of all of his friends, he follows it up with I’m sorry.
Just give me a chance the next text pleads and Blaine feels his heart being tugged toward forgiveness, even as he lays in bed recovering from an injury brought on by the person on the other side of the phone.
Blaine can’t take this back and forth anymore; it’s hurting his eye to stare at the screen, to almost cry, so he just picks up the phone. The call is answered on the first ring.
“You had one.”
“Not really,” Sebastian argues, “You’ve always been his since the moment I meant you.”
“That’s never stopped you from doing anything to try to get me. Maybe one of those times…”
This is dangerous. He should’ve just ignored the text.
“Maybe what, Blaine?"
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I don’t want it to matter.”
“But it does.”
“Please stop.” Blaine is pleading now, practically whimpering and he knows his eye is going to be throbbing as soon as he hangs up the phone, but part of him also feels like he never wants to hang up the phone. As soon as he does, he knows it might be the last time he ever hears Sebastian’s voice. And he knows he will miss it.
“Okay.” Sebastian resigns in defeat, and he is silent for so long that Blaine thinks he might have hung up, so he checks his phone to see if the call is still active. It is, Sebastian is still there, just listening. Until he follows up with: “But for the record, I am sorry. For everything.”
Blaine sighs, turning on his side, cupping the phone to his ear. “For the record, I believe you.”
They fall asleep just like that, but neither of them remember disconnecting the call.
Neither of them know how to let go.