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The hallway is unusually quiet for a Tuesday afternoon in late May. The students have scattered, the janitor is doing God’s work sweeping the hall, and outside, the heat of DC’s summer is heavy and humid.
Sebastian closes his gradebook with a soft sigh, clicks his pen closed, and leans back in his chair. The window beside his desk is cracked open. Crickets chirp faintly over the low rumble of a passing Metro train in the distance. He listens to it roll through the underground, perpetual and distant, like time moving on without him.
He’s halfway through thinking about what meal he’ll half-heartedly conjure up for dinner or if he should go out when there’s a soft knock on his office door—just a rap of knuckles, no hesitation.
Blaine steps inside without waiting. He’s undone his bowtie, rolled his sleeves to the elbow, and he’s holding a white bakery box in one hand, a grin playing at the corner of his mouth. A giant curl hangs over his forehead, his cheeks faintly flushed. "I come bearing peace offerings," he says, offering the box like a truce.
Sebastian raises an eyebrow. "What did you do?"
"Absolutely nothing. But the theater kids' parents got me a dozen cookies from that bougie place by the Metro stop for my teacher gift. I figured you'd scowl less with sugar."
Sebastian stands and stretches slightly. "I don’t scowl."
"You absolutely do," Blaine says, sliding into the guest chair. "It’s your resting grading face."
Sebastian huffs, but it’s more amused than annoyed. He opens the box. Chocolate chip, pecan, sea salt, smells like browned butter and delight. He holds it out. "Sharing with me, then?"
Blaine breaks one in half and pops a piece into his mouth. "I live to serve."
They fall into silence, it’s comfortable. They’ve walked these halls together for three years. Their classrooms are two doors apart. Same hallway, same morning hellos, same late nights during parent week and finals. They started the same year. A brand-new high school in DC, real budgets, and promises that they would and could make a difference here. They were with other people then. Both engaged. Funny how…life is...how it changes. They’ve had a hundred almost-moments skip like a pebble over a pond, an intense look, or a brush of their hands, only to have it dissipate seconds later as they’ve been healing broken hearts. But that was then, and this is now, and there’s only a day of school left before summer break.
Sebastian watches Blaine swipe a crumb off his shirt, as if it had the audacity to land there like a spider or other unwanted creature. There’s something inherently chaotic about the man—always a little too alive, too bright for these beige walls. Sebastian, in contrast, wonders if he’s become too rigid and muted. Fuck...too predictable. Ugh.
But they fit, somehow. He knows they do. He smiles and laughs under his breath when he realizes… "That’s my cardigan."
Blaine glances over, beaming, he replies just above a whisper, "I wondered if you noticed."
“Oh, I noticed. Today and last week. But why? It’s sweltering in here.”
"It was cold during last month's staff meeting when I snatched it off the back of your chair. Besides! We all know the air conditioning pumps into my room and stops. I teach in the Arctic region while the rest of you are in the Sahara! I meant to give it back."
"Keep it," Seb says with a slight shrug and smirk. "Looks better on you."
Blaine feels his ears go a little warm. "You say that like you’ve been thinking about it."
It’s Seb’s turn to blush, just a faint hint. “Maybe I have. Have you been… Wearing it on purpose? Thinking about it too?”
"I think about a lot of things," Blaine says, eyes suddenly a bit anxious but earnest, searching Seb’s bright green eyes. "Like how you always grade with jazz playing at exactly the same volume. Or how you smell…like…I’m not sure what exactly, but I love it. Or how much I wish we didn’t pretend we’re just colleagues."
Sebastian blinks.
Blaine stands and moves toward the window, worried he may have said too much, his voice softens and cracks. "I watched graduation rehearsal today and saw a group of seniors throwing their caps early, shouting like idiots. They looked so free. I was proud but…Mostly I felt... weary. And there’s an ache for…."
Sebastian joins him by the window, wants to reach out, wrap his arm around Blaine’s waist, but would he want him to? "It’s funny how, at that age, being our age seemed ancient. We thought graduation was everything, our ticket to adulthood, finally. Like we’d have it all figured out in no time."
"Seb…" Blaine murmurs. "I think that’s the secret of life. To stop trying to figure everything out like there’s a right answer. To stop pretending we don’t know what we want if we had just a bit more bravado, like those seniors do, to just go after what they want."
The city seeps in through the window. Laughter of a few lingering students, a train groaning through the tunnels. Still the crickets.
Sebastian takes a step closer, brushes Blaine’s elbow. "What do you want, Blaine?"
Blaine looks over, his honey-hazel eyes bright and hopeful. "You."
It’s not a question. And for the first time in the last year, Sebastian doesn’t overthink it. He reaches forward, fingers brushing Blaine’s jaw. There’s a pause—a heartbeat of permission as their eyes search—and then tilt toward each other and their future.
And kiss.
It lands blissfully, perfectly lined up, with a softness that still manages to steal the air from Sebastian’s lungs. It starts slowly but deepens quickly, pulled by years of glances, shoulder brushes, long hallway pauses, and everything they haven’t said.
Sebastian’s hand slides from Blaine’s jaw to the back of his neck, fingertips grazing the edge of his hairline. Blaine responds instantly, angling closer, one hand rising to Sebastian’s waist, pulling him closer. It’s not desperate, but it’s full of promise and tingles. It tasted like gourmet cookies and teacher’s lounge coffee. Sebastian inhales sharply through his nose, the press of their bodies fitting together with startling familiarity. His other hand cups Blaine’s ribs, just holding him, unable to believe he finally gets to.
When they part, it’s not because they want to. It’s just because they need to breathe and a sudden remembrance of where they are. Blaine lingers close, their foreheads touching. Sebastian’s lips are still parted, his breath unsteady. Blaine’s eyes are half-lidded, and he barely swipes his lips with his tongue, almost as if he’s hoping it still tastes like Sebastian.
"Well…" Blaine murmurs, his voice low, wrapped in a laugh.
Sebastian chuckles. "No more pretending."
"I love the sound of that."
“We should…” Blaine trails off, pulling back to look at him. “We should get some dinner.”
Sebastian grins. "We’ve gotten dinner before. Are you asking me out for real?"
"Yes. I am. Sebastian, would you do me the honor of going on a properly grown-up date? Now. Like right now? Let’s not squander any more time."
"I would love to," he says, with a slow grin. "But only if you bring the rest of those cookies to my place afterward.”
“Mmm…" Blaine hums. "They tasted pretty good on your tongue.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
*
Later, after gathering up their stuff, they leave the school side by side, fingers brushing until Blaine takes Sebastian’s hand like he’s been meaning to for months. The sidewalks are still warm from the day, and the streetlights are starting to pop on, casting golden pools over cracked concrete and asphalt. They decide on a little Mediterranean place a few blocks away, ordering several dishes to share and laughing over some of the chaos of the last few weeks of school.
Conversation is easy, threaded with glances that linger longer now, touches that drift over hands and knuckles, shoulders, knees, without apology. They drift into more personal conversation. Blaine talks about how he always felt like a misfit in relationships—too chaotic, too focused on his work, too much. Sebastian admits he’s grown so used to solitude that he forgot what it feels like to want someone in the day-to-day, not just in the quiet, imaginary spaces of future hopes. When they make it to Sebastian’s apartment, a gorgeous, well-kept place with a superfluity of art and books, Blaine kisses him in the hallway like he already knows the way. They trade slow kisses in the kitchen, sweeter ones pressed against the counter, spicier ones as they lie tangled up on the couch. When the clock starts blinking close to ten, they laugh when they practically yawn into each other’s mouths.
Blaine leans his forehead against Sebastian’s and mutters, “We’re not old. It’s nothing about being old. Right?”
Sebastian laughs. “Hell no, we’re not old. We just live in a constant state of torture and adrenaline as high school teachers.”
“Exactly! Tomorrow is another day to face the biting argument with my first-hour students about whether cereal is soup.”
“God! Are they still on that?” They share a groan, a kiss, another laugh that fades into something slower. Blaine’s fingers rest lightly on Sebastian’s hip when he shifts to get up.
Sebastian stops him with a hand curled into the back of his shirt, pleading in his eyes. “Staaay,” he says, trying too hard to sound casual and cover up the whine in his voice. “Just for a little while. I just got you, and I'm not ready to let you go.”
“For a little while?” Blaine looks down at him, simply radiating joy.
“Shhh…” Sebastian grins. “It’s okay to pretend I mean that, when in fact I mean—”
“Tonight?” Blaine cuts in.
“I was going to say forever, but I’ll take tonight as a start.”