Archive of Our Own

WINTER
December 2005 // January 2006

Much like Sebastian had feared, Henry spirals, though it doesn't exactly come as a surprise to Henry.
He hasn't stepped foot outside of his apartment even once since the day Sebastian and him went out together. He's had a relapsed, self-harming for the first time in a while. Three fresh cigarette burns adorn his forearm, right on top of his old self-harm scars. When that didn't seem to be enough he tried cutting himself too, using an old razor blade from the bathroom. His shaky hand made the whole thing a little difficult, however, so he gave up after a few jagged lines that look more like gashes than clean cuts.
The absence of his family does hit him especially hard this time of year, though that's not the only thing he struggles with.
Despite Seb's constant reassurances, Henry's self-hatred rears its ugly head once more.
His thoughts begin to circle, almost to an obsessive degree. His brain keeps reminding him of how little he deserves someone as kind and caring as Sebastian in his life, how Seb will realise soon enough that he's bitten off more than he can chew by getting so close to a wreck like Henry and will call it quits before anything between them even really has the chance to take off.
Henry keeps thinking back to that kiss they shared and it terrifies him just how much he enjoyed it, enjoyed feeling that close to someone else again.
He'd been trying to convince himself ever since his accident that he didn't care about human contact, that he didn't need anyone in his life anymore. Letting people in, letting them close is dangerous, sets him up to get his heart broken again. If they continue on like this, he feels it is inevitable that Seb will either leave him at some point because Henry's just too much, or Henry will lose him in some other, far more tragic way.

True to his word, Seb calls or texts him whenever he can.
At first Henry replies; despite his worsening mental health he is grateful for the little contact.
He tries to come across as normal, doesn't want to worry Seb, but his replies are obviously short and curt.
Sebastian doesn't call him out on it, just cautiously asks if he's holding up alright.
The last thing Henry wants to do is ruin Seb's time with his family, so he always says he is.
Seb calls him again on Christmas Day.
"Hey," he says when Henry answers the phone.
Something about this call immediately feels different to Henry. Maybe it's the fact that Seb seems to be a little tipsy and sounds happier than usual, or perhaps it's the laughter of his family in the background. It makes Henry's heart lurch painfully.
"Hi," Henry replies. He's sat on his couch, the TV playing some random sitcom on mute. He wedges the phone between his head and shoulder, using his free right hand to press down on the barely healed wounds on his forearm. Henry hisses quietly, hoping that Seb doesn't hear.

"Merry Christmas," Sebastian says on the other side of the line. It sounds like he's smiling to himself.
Henry hums. "Merry Christmas. It sounds lively over there."
"Oh, yeah. My sister is here with her husband and son and there's lots of alcohol too." Sebastian laughs softly before he adds, "I slipped away from dinner for a bit to call you. I wanted to hear your voice." He sounds a little sheepish.
Henry isn't sure what to say. Sebastian's admission simultaneously makes his heart flip and dread pool in his gut.
Henry clears his throat. "I hope you're having a good time."
"I am, thank you," Seb says. He's silent for a while. "How are things on your end?" he cautiously asks.
Henry debates being honest for a moment, but then he remembers Seb's comment about driving back to LA if Henry needs him to. He'd rather suffer in silence than ruin Christmas for him, so he decides to say nothing.
"Fine. I'm okay," he lies, digging his fingers deeper into the marks on his forearm.

"Are you sure? You sound a little down in the dumps," Seb comments.
"Yeah, well. That's to be expected, isn't it," Henry replies, his words coming out more accusatory than he meant for them to be.
Sebastian sighs. "I'm sorry, Henry. It was a stupid question."
"It's fine, don't worry about it." He stares at the people on TV with their big fake smiles, as plastic as their Christmas tree.
"Did you do anything fun today?" Seb asks.
"Not really, no. Been watching TV, I guess. If that counts as fun."
Seb chuckles, the sound tinny through the phone's speakers.
"Well, that's something, isn't it. Listen, I'll be back in LA on the 2nd. Is it fine if I come over then? I got you a present."
Henry stares blankly ahead. "Sure, that's okay. I didn't get you anything though."
"Don't worry about that, it's just something small. I think you'll like it."
Henry's about to say something when he hears someone in the background calling Sebastian's name.

"I'm sorry, they're demanding my presence back at the table. Take care, Henry. Remember you can call me anytime if you need to," Seb says. He almost sounds sad about him having to hang up already. Or perhaps that's just Henry's wishful thinking.
"It's fine. Have a nice time with your family," Henry says and he really means it.
"I'll see you soon then. Bye, Henry."
"Goodbye, Sebastian."
And with that the line beeps, signalling the call is over.
Henry lets his phone fall from its place against his shoulder, the device bouncing off the couch cushions and landing on the shag carpet.
A lot of conflicting emotions swirl inside his head. Happiness, grief, excitement, terror, emptiness.
The emptiness seems to win out in the end, because when he manages to shake himself out of his stupor, the TV is playing some infomercial or other and the sky outside is starting to brighten again.

Henry looks down at his arm and notices it's bleeding. He must have scratched it open without realising, but he can't seem to find it in himself to care at all.
He moves to grab his pack of cigarettes and lighter off the coffee table. His whole body aches from sitting still for so long, but Henry tries to ignore it. He places a cigarette between his lips and flicks the spark wheel with his left thumb. It takes a few attempts for the lighter to produce a flame but when it finally does, he lights the smoke and takes a long drag.
He hasn't been smoking all that much recently, mostly because he rarely leaves the house often enough to keep a steady supply, but he's picked up the habit again after meeting Seb as a way to cope with this tidal wave of emotions.
Henry reaches for the remote and turns off the TV. His warped reflection stares back at him in the now dark screen.
The cigarette hangs limply from the corner of Henry's mouth, smoke curling lazily towards the ceiling.
He lets it burn down without taking another drag, too zoned out to notice until it nearly burns his lips.

Henry grabs the glowing stump and stubs it out on his forearm, right next to another wound from a few days ago.
His face remains perfectly blank as he does this, simply watching the way his skin splits, the ash getting baked into his exposed flesh.
He flicks the remains of the cigarette onto the coffee table, not even bothering to put it into the ash tray.
Henry lets himself slump to the side, then turns onto his back to stare at the ceiling.
It's covered in water stains and cracks—not surprising with such an old, cheap apartment. The stains almost look like the growth rings of a tree, like they're marking the passage of time since they first appeared there.
The next time Henry becomes aware of his surroundings again, it's raining outside. He can't see it from where he is, but he can hear the rain pelting against his windows.
He has no idea what time it is or how long he might have been lying there for. He knows he should probably make himself something to eat, but he's in too much pain now to move. His neck is stiff and his arm feels like it's been lit on fire, only overshadowed by the throbbing in his head.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembers his phone still lying on the floor. It's probably dead by now. Henry hopes Sebastian won't worry when he doesn't reply. He feels a little bad for just leaving it there, but he can't muster up the energy to move, let alone pick it up and charge it.
He closes his eyes, watching little floaters swim around in the darkness.
Henry drifts off into a fitful sleep, his dreams permeated by the smell of burning fuel.

—✧—

There's a knock on Henry's front door. He's sat at the kitchen table, staring down at a bowl of cereal that's long gone soggy. A spoon sits in it, seemingly untouched.
He can't recall how he got here or when he poured himself the cereal. Next to the bowl sits an empty pack of smokes, cigarette butts strews across the table.
He glances over at his left forearm, now covered in even more burns and jagged cuts. His pale skin is caked in dried blood.
There's another series of knocks, this time more insistent.
"Henry? Henry are you there?" It's a man's voice but Henry doesn't immediately recognise it.
He gets up, supporting himself on the tabletop when he nearly falls over. He has no idea where his cane is so he limps his way to the front door holding onto the walls to keep his balance.
Another knock. Henry doesn't bother rolling down his sleeve when he opens the door.

He's more than a little surprised to see Sebastian standing on the other side.
"Oh, thank God," Seb exclaims, sounding incredibly relieved. Henry stares at him, unable to find his voice.
"You weren't answering your phone so I got worried and came back early. I thought you might have gone and done something to yourself," he explains, hands braced on the doorframe.
"Sorry, I think it died," Henry mumbles. He's parched, voice hoarse from what must have been days of disuse.
Sebastian eyes him, brows furrowing more with every passing second.
"You look awful, what happened?" he asks, visibly concerned.
"I don't know," Henry answers honestly. He must look like a ghost, probably has hardly slept since they last spoke. He can't remember at all.
Seb's eyes lock onto Henry's exposed forearm and before Henry can try to hide it, Sebastian takes hold of it and pulls it towards him.
His eyes flit back and forth between Henry's arm and his face, looking helpless.
"Oh Henry…" he begins, but can't seem to find the words to finish his sentence.
"I told you I'm a wreck," Henry says, voice flat and emotionless. He's so tired.

"Why didn't you call me? I would've come sooner had I known."
"I don't remember doing it," Henry admits. "Even if I did, I can't just take away your time with your family. They're more important than a guy you barely know." He doesn't feel like talking at all right now, but he doesn't want to leave Sebastian without an explanation either, so he forces out the words.
Seb pulls him out of his apartment and into an embrace. Henry doesn't reciprocate, too exhausted to move his arms.
"You're not just some guy to me, Henry. You really aren't."
Henry nods, chin hooked over Seb's shoulder. He stares into the middle distance of the hallway.
"I'm sorry," he croaks. He's sorry for giving Seb a scare, for disappointing him like this. Henry's supposed to be better than this.
"Let's get your arm cleaned up, okay?" Sebastian asks. He sounds hesitant but seems to relax a little when Henry gives his assent.

Seb helps him back into the apartment. Henry notices it's surprisingly clean despite his current state—well, maybe not too surprising, considering the apartment is mostly empty.
"Where's the bathroom?" Seb asks, sitting Henry down on the couch. Henry points towards a door on the left and Seb goes there, returning shortly after with a wet washcloth and some bandages.
He plops down next to Henry, placing his injured arm across his lap.
They sit in silence as Sebastian gently tries to clean away the ash and dried blood, reopening some of the wounds in the process.
"I'm sorry, I'll try to be quick," he says as he dabs at the fresh blood.
Henry watches his face as he works, brows furrowed in concentration. Nobody has ever done this for him before, not even Athena, and the faint warmth that blooms in his chest is the first thing he's felt in days.
"You don't have to do this," Henry murmurs.
Sebastian pauses what he's doing to look at him. He smiles at Henry, though it's more sad than anything.
"I know, but I want to. You're not getting rid of me that easily."

Henry looks down at his lap. "Thank you."
Seb hums, wrapping the bandage around Henry's arm. It's not perfectly clean, but certainly better than it was before.
"There, all done," Sebastian says, letting go of him. "Have you eaten anything?"
"I don't remember," Henry says. "Probably not."
"I'll make you something," Seb declares. Before Henry can protest, he's already disappeared into the adjoining kitchen and looks through the fridge.
Seb makes him some eggs on toast, which is about all Henry has in the way of food, and watches him silently as he eats.
He doesn't finish all of it, but Seb seems pleased enough that he ate anything at all.
"What day is it?" Henry asks after swallowing his last bite of food.
"It's the 28th." Seb picks at his cuticles, an anxious habit him and Henry seem to share.
"I'm really sorry you had to drive all the way back here just because I didn't reply," he says, playing with the buttons of his open cuff.

"It's fine. Don't apologise. They wanted me to go, for what it's worth. I guess I must have been driving them up the walls with all my anxious pacing." Seb lets out a dry chuckle.
"I still don't understand why you would care so much about someone like me," Henry confesses.
"Because I like you and want you to be okay," Sebastian explains.
"Well, I don't get that either. I don't get why anyone would like me at all."
Henry's now looking directly into Seb's eyes. He can see a flash of hurt there.
"I'm sorry. I guess I've had a couple of…bad days. I do appreciate you coming by," Henry says in an attempt to salvage the conversation. That's probably putting it lightly, but he really doesn't want to get into it. Not like he can recall much of what has happened, anyway.
"That's okay. It happens to everyone at some point, so don't ever apologise for that. I understand and I don't blame you. I'm just glad you're okay."
Seb grabs his hand across the table and squeezes it. Henry tries to smile, but he's not sure whether or not he succeeds.
"I hope that someday I can make you see what I see in you," Seb says, voice barely above a whisper.
Henry squeezes his hand back in lieu of an answer.

They stay like that for a moment. The apartment is eerily silent, the only noises the quiet hum of the refrigerator and distant sounds of the LA traffic outside.
"Hey," Seb starts, then pauses.
Henry looks at him, waiting for him to find the right words he is evidently looking for.
"Are we…are things okay between us? I know things have been happening rather quickly so…if you're having second thoughts about this, that's okay. If you would rather us just be friends or you never want to see me again, just. Let me know and I'll respect whatever you decide on."
Henry is a little taken aback. He thought they had sorted that all out the last time they saw each other. The night they kissed.
He can't deny that he's been having second thoughts, has—for lack of a better term—been freaking out about this whole thing.
But none of that is due to Seb. He's so kind and caring and Henry really likes him. And that is precisely the problem.
He feels like he's setting himself up for another heartbreak by letting Sebastian into his life. In his mind it's only a matter of time until Seb gets fed up with him, realises his affection for Henry was just a transient thing after all and leaves.
So it's not that he doesn't like Seb, doesn't want this—because he does, he wants this more than he's wanted anything in the last two years—it's that he doesn't have any faith in himself to be good enough for Sebastian to stick around. He didn't think Seb was still hung up on things, too.

Henry's long pause seems to make Sebastian nervous.
"We're okay, Seb. I do want this or I wouldn't have done…that. But you've seen how I am. My brain doesn't like letting me have good things."
Henry lets out a deep breath. He feels like he's been cracked open like an egg—all of his flaws and insecurities just come spilling out and he can't stop it.
But Seb wanted openness. He wanted honesty. And Henry figures it's only fair for him to try and communicate in an effort to make Seb stick around even just a day longer.
"To tell you the truth, it's scary letting someone close again after all that's happened. I worry that one day you'll come to the conclusion that you'd rather not put up with all of me after all and leave. I don't know if I can handle that again. And I know that's probably insane for me to say because really, we don't know each other all that well yet, but I'm trying to be honest here so I'm telling you this anyway." Henry's throat hurts from talking so much, but he pushes past the discomfort.
Seb smiles at him.

"I can't promise you nothing bad will ever happen because life doesn't work that way, but I can assure you once again that if I thought you were too much and wanted to leave, then I would have done so already. I wouldn't have taken you out on that date or kissed you back on that bench. I did that because I wanted to see you again, because I wanted to spend more time with you and get to know you better. It's true, we haven't known each other for that long, but I really do care about you a lot. Every day I look forward to your texts and getting to hear your voice on the phone. I'm sorry if this is too much, but…I've been thinking about kissing you again a lot since that evening. It's all I ever think about. So I think I'm in too deep now to just…leave. I don't want to. I don't mind that you're flawed or that you're struggling. That's normal, it's human. I want to be there for you and spend time with you, if you'll let me. And if you want us to get to know each other better first, we can always do that now."
Henry stares blankly at him, trying to process everything Seb just said.
"Are you asking me to date you?" Henry asks. It's genuinely hard to believe that anyone would want that, especially someone like Seb.
The apartment is fairly dark but not enough to hide the blush creeping onto Sebastian's cheeks.

"We can take things slow, at whatever pace you want. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. Just tell me and we're done. I want you to be comfortable above all else. But yes…I suppose that probably is what I am asking." Seb scratches at the stubble on his jawline, looking off to the side.
Henry lets out an amused huff. Now that he's got some food inside of him, his brain doesn't feel quite as sluggish anymore. He's still out of it, still doesn't feel okay, but it's still an improvement over the last several days.
"Okay, sure. I'll date you." Hadn't Henry decided before that he had nothing left to lose? Might as well take the chance.
Seb's face lights up almost immediately. "Really?"
Henry nods. Seb grabs his hand with both of his and presses a gentle kiss to the back of it.
"I'm stupidly happy right now," he says and it must be true, judging by the goofy grin on his face.
Henry turns away, hoping to hide his own flushed face.
"Before we do any of that getting to know each other better thing though, I still have that little present I talked about," Seb says.
He lets go of Henry's hand, pulling a small rectangular box from his inner coat pocket.
Seb holds it out to Henry.

The box is wrapped in red and green plaid paper with a little golden ribbon on top of it. Henry turns it around to find the tape and carefully peels off the wrapping paper.
When he pulls the box out, he smiles. He can immediately tell what it is, not only because it's written on the box, but also because he's used this product before.
He opens the box. It's a little set of gouache paint.
"Wow, thank you," Henry says, running his index finger over the metal tubes.
"I thought it might help with getting you back into art. I asked around at the store which paints might be best, but if those don't work for you, we can always go exchange them for something else," Seb explains.
Henry shakes his head. "These are just fine, I used to use these all the time back in college."
Sebastian nods. "Okay, great. I was going to get you some brushes too, but there were so many that I didn't know which to pick. I though it best to take you to the store so you can choose them yourself."

Henry smiles to himself, that strange warm feeling returning to his chest once more.
"I appreciate it. This is very kind of you."
"I'm glad you like them," Seb says, propping his head up with his palm.
Henry is overcome by the sudden urge to reach over and kiss him, but he refrains.
"Before I forget," Sebastian begins, "there's a big performance at my club on New Year's Eve. I wasn't going to be here for it originally, but now that I am, I was going to go see it. Would you want to accompany me?"
"Okay," Henry says. Not like he has any other plans, what with him having neither a family nor friends.
"I'm really looking forward to it."
Seb takes Henry's hand once more, interlacing their fingers.

—✧—

After making sure that Henry is up for it, Seb stays the evening so they can get to know each other some more. He makes sure Henry's phone gets charged and they order some takeout from one of the restaurants whose menu Henry has stuck to his fridge. They eat while they talk.
Sebastian suggests they ask each other personal questions about their lives, so that's what they do.
Henry learns that Seb was born and raised in Fresno where most of his family still lives. He has an older sister who has a son, making Sebastian an uncle. That part Henry knew already
Seb's favourite colour is burgundy, he loves Italian food, his drink of choice is a Martini and he collects records.
He tells Henry about how got his Bachelor of Music at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music, worked there for a few years to save up money, then moved to LA at 25 with the dream of opening his own jazz club.
He took whatever job he could for the first two years he spent in LA, then got ripped off by someone claiming to be able to help him open his club.
After that he ended up in even more debt, not even able to pay his bills.
That was when he met Mia. Spurred on by her wish for him to have a stable job he joined a world-famous band. He doesn't talk much about that, only shares that he saved up money while with the band, quit shortly after the breakup and finally opened his club.

Henry doesn't think he's all that interesting in comparison.
He tells Seb how he was born and raised in Jersey City. No siblings, only his childhood dog Olive whom they had to put down when he was only twelve.
He used to be just a little taller than he is now, but having some of his vertebrae fused caused him to lose some height so he's about an inch shorter than Seb. Henry's favourite colour is navy blue. He doesn't have a favourite food or a favourite drink and doesn't really have any hobbies either, apart form making art.
He's not much of a drinker but he smokes and has struggled with his mental health for as long as he can remember.
He's loved making art since he was a little kid, so majoring in that was a no-brainer for him.
As he had told Seb before, following the accident he dropped out and never got his degree, doesn't have any close relatives anymore either and moved to LA. That's all Henry can think of to share.
It once again makes it apparent to him just how different the two of them are and only confuses him more as to why Seb—who apparently is known the world over thanks to that band—would choose him out of all the other people probably dying for his attention.

But despite Henry's doubts, Sebastian listens attentively, soaks up every single detail Henry shares. He asks him lots of follow-up questions too, seemingly eager to learn everything he can about Henry.
Henry still doesn't understand what it is Seb could possibly see in him, but he decides to suspend his disbelief for the time being. If what Seb told Henry about him deserving nice things is true, then perhaps Henry should stop doubting it every change he gets.
"It's really nice, getting to know more about you," Sebastian says with a gentle smile.
Henry watches him closely as he takes a sip of water. Even such a simple act is mesmerising when performed by Seb. The way his jaw works and his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows has Henry averting his eyes, flustered. He reaches for his own water, suddenly feeling a little parched.
"Yeah," he agrees, giving Seb his best approximation of a smile that he can currently muster.
Seb looks down at his wristwatch and frowns.
"It's gotten really late, I should probably leave," he says, not sounding too happy about it. Henry can guess at what he's going to say next.

"Will you be okay by yourself? I could stay over if you'd rather have some company."
Henry shakes his head, picking at the fraying edge of the bandage peeking out from his sleeve.
"It's fine, you must have a lot to take care of. I'll be okay. I'm not gonna kill myself."
Henry would be lying if he said the thought hasn't crossed his mind at all—he's been suicidal for such a long time now, it's something he's always thinking about in some way—but it's faded to more of a background noise now than an active desire to die.
Seb grimaces. "Yeah, but," he starts, gesturing at Henry's injured forearm, "I don't want you to end up hurting yourself again."
Henry huffs. "This just happens sometimes. You really don't have to worry about it."
Sebastian sighs. "But I do worry, of course I do. I'm not going to make you promise you won't do it again, just. Call me if you do so I can take care of you?"
"Fine," Henry concedes, even though he doesn't think he feels comfortable taking him up on that. Not yet, at least.
"Okay. That's good," Sebastian says with a subdued smile.
He gathers their plates and puts them in the dishwasher.
Henry meanwhile gathers the empty takeout boxes and stuffs them back into the plastic bag they came in, tying it up with a haphazard knot.

"Let me take that," Sebastian says, holding his hand out for the bag. Henry gives it to him. wiping his palms on his slacks after.
Seb rounds the table and bends down, pressing a gentle kiss to Henry's temple.
"I'll be seeing you on the 31st then. I'll call you to check in on you, alright? Don't forget to charge your phone."
Henry can tell he's trying to sound lighthearted but the slight tremor in his voice is obvious despite his efforts. He must be nervous to leave Henry by himself after seeing what he did to his arm. Henry can't exactly blame him for it, but it makes his skin crawl. He's not used to having anyone worrying about him anymore, caring enough to be concerned for his well-being.
Henry feels like he can't speak any more without getting choked up, so he simply nods.
Seb pulls him into a sort of half-hug. "I'll see you soon," Seb says again, then peels himself away from Henry like it's hard to let him go.
He runs his hand trough Henry's greasy hair—one last point of contact—then steps out of the kitchen and rounds the corner.

Henry hears the apartment door latch in the distance. He stays at the kitchen table for a while, staring at the wall across the room, once again feeling perfectly empty. He pulls up his sleeve and presses his fingers down on the bandage as hard as he can, watching as blood slowly seeps through the layers in small blotches.
He thinks of Athena, of how distraught she would be seeing him like this. But she can't see him now, can she? She won't be able to see him ever again.
For a moment Henry thinks he can smell pecan pie and coffee. His vision blurs and tears drop down onto the bandage, washing out the red.
Henry doesn't move to wipe them away, just sits perfectly still with his head down.
Out of the corner of his eye he spots a pen sitting at the edge of the table and grabs it. The cap seems to have gotten lost somewhere.
He begins to scribble a few lines onto the table top in his shaky handwriting, barely legible on the dark wood:

What I wouldn't give to see you again, just once.
After all I have done, would you ever forgive me?

He doesn't know why he feels the urge to write these lines or who exactly they are addressed to.
He drops the pen back onto the table, watching as it rolls off the side of it and clatters onto the tiles. Henry drags the pad of his finger across the ink, smudging it until only two words remain visible—forgive me?
Suddenly feeling sick to his stomach he gets off the chair, toppling it over in the process.
He doesn't remain standing for long, however, as his knees buckle out from underneath him and he joins the pen on the kitchen floor.
He bangs his head on the corner of the table, sharp pain radiating through his skull.
His head throbs, as does every other part of him and he drags himself across the floor to the living room.
Henry grabs his phone off the coffee table, then crawls over to his bedroom. He just wants to lie down, hopes that the pain might not be as bad that way.
He feels something warm running down the side of his face and when he touches the spot he hit, his fingers come away bloody. The blood mixes with the ink, obscuring it completely.
He wipes the blood on his shirt, not wanting to leave stains everywhere.

Henry finally makes it inside the bedroom, pushing the door shut with his foot. It's only a little further until he reaches the mattress on the floor. He never bothered getting a bed frame, thinking he wouldn't stick around long enough to need it here. Maybe he ought to get one now.
He doesn't take off his clothes even though he's worn for days now, just pulls himself up onto the mattress.
He pushes the injured side of his head against his pillow, staining it red. Henry whimpers quietly, the pain in his body becoming more apparent now that he is lying still. He never takes his medication but even if he wanted to now, he doesn't have the strength to get back up and grab it—disregarding the fact that he can't even recall where he left it.
So he just closes his eyes, knowing that sleep won't come to him anytime soon.

—✧—

Henry sits in the shower, letting the scalding hot water run over him.
It's the noon of the 31st and he's set to meet Sebastian in a few hours.
The last two days passed by in a blur, but he was thankfully able to pick up his phone whenever Seb called, somehow avoiding him coming back over in a panic.
He looks down at his arm, the scabs being slowly softened by the steady stream of the shower. Henry somehow managed not to add any more wounds to the already existing ones—probably because he spent the last two days hardly moving, only getting up to use the the toilet.
He managed to finally drag himself into the shower earlier—the first time in weeks—so he could at least look a little presentable tonight.
If he's honest with himself Henry doesn't really want to leave the apartment at all, but he does want to see Sebastian again. Maybe getting out of his dark little hole will do him some good.
He watches the water running down his thighs, right over the scars on his left leg. He traces them with his index finger, dragging it over the little raised bumps of scar tissue where the stitches used to sit. Some of the lines are jagged, deep gouges—the injuries from the crash—while others are neat and straight—the surgical incisions and old self-inflicted cuts.
He hates looking at them. He hates looking at any part of himself, really, but especially the scars that remind him of what happened.

He turns his attention elsewhere, craning his head back as far as the screws and plates in his cervical spine will allow and closes his eyes as the water runs over his face.
Henry tries to hold his breath as long as he can—which isn't very long, considering that he's a very out of shape smoker. He's unsure how much time he has spent sitting here, but decides he can stay just a little longer. He doesn't even want to think about the water bill he'll be receiving at the end of the month. He's running low on money and doesn't have a job, so it's only a matter of time until he can't afford to rent even this crappy place anymore.
Henry slicks back is soaked hair so it no longer clings to his cheeks and forehead. He despises the feeling of wet hair, but doesn't make any effort to move out from underneath the stream. The wound on his temple stings a little, but it doesn't hurt much anymore and doesn't reopen. He doesn't have the energy to deal with that right now.
He runs his hands over his torso, feeling the way his ribs poke out. He's always been scrawny, has always been a picky eater, but especially lately he hasn't been taking care of his dietary needs, too tired and in too much pain to bother with eating.
He feels the jut of his hip bones and the long scar running up the back of his left hip.
He reaches around himself as best he can, feels the bumps of his spine through his skin, the scar running up almost the entire length of it, right in the middle. Henry has so many scars now, he couldn't even guess at their number.
There are several ones from his childhood—from scraping his knees open on the pavement at the zoo when he fell while running, too excited to see the manatees; one from Olive biting him when she got upset at him for bothering her only a few months before they had to put her down; a circular scar on the back of his right hand from stabbing himself with a pencil just to know what it'd feel like—but the vast majority of them are from that night and the aftermath, weeks spent in the ICU, in and out of surgery.

Henry doesn't know how anyone could find him beautiful like this. The scars that are visible on his face and head are ugly and off-putting enough already, but the ones that lie beneath his layers of clothes are so much worse.
Sebastian might not mind him being a mentally unstable fuck-up, but he hasn't seen Henry with his clothes off yet. Henry's sure that once Seb does, he'll scream and high-tail it out of there.
He sighs, wrapping his arms tightly around himself and rocks back and forth in an attempt to comfort himself a little.
They'll have to cross that bridge if they ever get to it.
The hot water eases the pain in his limbs just a little, which he is grateful for. He can't remember the last time he wasn't in excruciating pain. If only he actually took his meds, it might not be as bad. Perhaps he ought to start taking them again.
Henry sits for a little while longer, then fumbles to turn the water off.
He shivers as soon as it no longer envelops his body, the comparatively cooler air touching his wet skin.
He pulls aside the shower curtain and clambers out of the tub, sitting down on the bathmat in front of it.
Taking the towel laying in a heap on the floor, Henry dries himself off as best he can. It's a little difficult with his limited mobility, but he manages—he always has so far. He doesn't bother drying his hair.

He pulls himself up at the sink, hands nearly slipping off the damp porcelain. Thankfully today is not the day he brains himself in his bathroom. Wouldn't be a nice way to go out.
Henry comes face to face with the fogged up mirror, only able to make out his blurry silhouette in it.
He wipes a palm across the surface, creating a small gap in the mist so he can see himself.
Henry looks ghastly; his cheekbones are a lot more prominent than he remembers them being and so are his dark circles. Fortunately he doesn't grow much facial hair, but he's still in desperate need of a shave.
Henry quickly turns away, unable to stomach looking at himself any longer. He grabs a fresh bandage sitting on the edge of the sink and wraps it around his still healing forearm. It's not nearly as neat as when Seb did it for him, but it's hard to bandage yourself, even more so when your hand won't stop shaking.
Henry then grabs the stack of clothes he placed on the toilet lid earlier and puts them on—random pairs of boxers and socks he found at the bottom of his drawer, black slacks, a grey long sleeved shirt and dark blue sweater.
Stepping out of the bathroom he leaves the door open so it can air out.
Henry hobbles over to the cough and picks his cane up from underneath the coffee table. Walking gets considerably easier now that he has it.

He heads to the kitchen and rummages through the cabinets, in search of his bottles of pills that he distantly remembers stashing somewhere there.
Henry finally finds them at the back of the last cupboard he checks, hidden away behind pots and pans.
He grabs the bottle of painkiller—probably expired by now but it's the only bottle he has—takes one out and swallows it dry. He stashes the rest in the pocket of his trousers so he can take them with him later.
While he's in the kitchen he snacks on a granola bar he unearthed while looking for his pills. It tastes stale, but he doesn't have much else in the way of food so he forces it down.
Henry grabs his phone from the kitchen table and checks the time. It's 5pm, about time for him to leave soon.
His eyes land on a smudge of blue on the wood—only the words forgive me? are legible. He doesn't remember writing them. His throat feels like it's closing on him so he averts his eyes, looking at the small box of paints sitting a few inches away from it. The ones Sebastian had so kindly gifted to him. A small blotch of blue ink in the shape of a fingerprint sits neatly on the lid. He doesn't remember touching it with his inky fingers, either, but he supposes he must have at some point.
Henry smiles sadly to himself. It's almost like his past and present meeting in one place, or perhaps it could be his future too, if he tries hard enough with Sebastian. It makes all sorts of conflicting emotions well up inside of him. He feels like he's been bouncing back and forth between feeling everything and feeling nothing lately. It's exhausting.

Before he can get all up in his head over it, Henry grabs his coat from where it rests over the back of a chair slipping the bottle of pills into the pocket, shoves his phone into his trouser pocket and heads for the door. He slips his shoes on—they're not very fashionable, not nearly as nice as the ones he used to wear, but he had to get ones without laces after the accident since he can no longer tie them by himself—makes sure he has his keys and leaves.
He takes the bus and makes it to the neighbourhood of Seb's about an hour later.
The bus stop is a five minute walk away from the club, but it takes him nearly fifteen to walk there.
Just as Sebastian had instructed him on the phone last night, Henry makes his way down a small alley to the back of the building. There's a small set of concrete stairs and a wide ramp leading down to a door that says Staff only, which he knocks on.
It takes a short while for someone to open it for him.

He's met by a short lady he's never met before and momentarily thinks he might have gotten the wrong door.
The lady smiles at him, then calls out over her shoulder.
"Seb! He's here!" Henry feels some of the tension drain out of him at hearing Seb's name.
It doesn't take very long for the man himself to pop his head out the door with a big smile on his face.
"Thanks, Angel," he says, signalling for the lady to leave.
"Angel?" Henry asks, his eyebrow raised in suspicion. He refuses to acknowledge the jealousy simmering in his gut at the pet name.
"Huh? Oh, that's her name. Angel," Seb explains and Henry immediately feels very stupid for ever getting jealous at all.
"I'm so glad to see you, come on in," Sebastian says, placing a hand on the small of Henry's back as he guides him inside.
Henry takes a moment to take in Seb's outfit as he has his back turned towards him, shutting the door. He's wearing a dapper brown suit, but his jacket is missing so he's dressed down to only a well-tailored double-breasted waistcoat and slacks. The fabric of his white button down strains against his bicep as Seb handles the door.
"You look good," Henry says, but it's more a slip of the tongue than something he intended to say out loud. He tries to hide his embarrassment with a little cough.

Seb's eyes go a little wider when he turns back around, fiddling with his cufflinks. He breaks into a crooked grin, his eyes creasing at the corners. Henry realises he's grown rather fond of Sebastian's smile.
"Thank you, so do you," Seb says, raking his eyes over Henry's figure. Being perceived like that only makes Henry more embarrassed.
Henry takes a look around the backroom they are in. It's a far cry from the elegance of the front of the club—equipment is stashed up along the walls, rolled up lengths of cable piled up on top of it, leaving only a small path to walk through to the door. It looks chaotic and disorganised but Henry has no doubt that Seb would know exactly where to find everything.
Seb steps closer to him, placing a hand on Henry's cheek, the other one returning to its former place at the small of Henry's back. He glances around, probably checking for any other people in the vicinity, but the coast seems to be clear.
"Can I…?" Seb asks, gently dragging the pad of his thumb across Henry's bottom lip.
Henry's heart thumps harder at the insinuation. They haven't actually kissed again since the night outside the observatory, but he's thought about it a lot whenever he's been coherent enough to. Henry longs to feel Seb's lips again, on his mouth, his neck and other places he'd never admit out loud.
"Okay," Henry says, breathless. He knows what's coming but it still makes him weak in the knees when Sebastian's lips press against his.

He realises this is the first time Sebastian has initiated a kiss. It's just as gentle as the first but lasts a lot longer.
Sebastian's fingers rub slow circles against the scar at the back of Henry's neck and despite himself, he chases Seb's lips when he tries to pull away.
Henry doesn't want this to end yet, wants to kiss Seb more. Sebastian chuckles, the sounds low and rumbly in his throat and Henry makes a whiny, almost needy sound in response. Seb nibbles at his bottom lip—gently, he's always so gentle with Henry—and Henry quietly gasps.
He holds onto his cane with both hands just so he doesn't do anything stupid with them. He has to remember that they're in public and are supposed to take things slow, but he's so touch-starved that right now he doesn't really care about any of that at all. And they are dating now, aren't they?
Henry feels too excited to close his eyes but sees that Sebastian has closed his. Henry dares to run the tip of his tongue along the seam of Seb's lips, seeking to deepen the kiss.
Seb hums, parting them easily. Henry is starting to freak out a little, but Seb seems so relaxed that it puts him at ease. If Sebastian didn't want this, he'd be pushing Henry off right about now, he reminds himself. Seb has made that clear enough.
With Seb's lips parted for him Henry chickens out, not daring to go any further. Sebastian seems to notice it and closes his mouth again, pressing one last kiss to Henry's slick slips.
"Easy there," Seb mumbles when they finally pull apart. He sounds just as affected as Henry feels. Henry can feel his breath ghosting his lips and he aches for more, more, more, but he manages to stop himself.

"Sorry," Henry mutters, trying to force himself to take a step back, but it's easier said than done with Seb holding him in place.
Sebastian smiles and gives him another quick kiss before letting him go. Henry almost mourns the feeling of Seb's hands on his body. He had a problem with people touching him for a long while after his stay at the hospital, constantly being poked and prodded by doctors and physical therapists, but it's different with Seb—his touch never hurts.
"Don't be. That was really nice," Sebastian says, leaning close to Henry's ear. "I'd like to do that again, maybe somewhere more private than here."
Henry flushes, his imagination running wild despite himself. He'd very much like that too.
When Seb faces him again, he looks like the picture of innocence, like he didn't just say that to Henry.
"How're you feeling today?" he asks, changing the topic away from the kiss.
Henry clears his throat, not trusting himself to speak just yet. "Still kind of out of it, a little numb. But overall okay," he manages eventually.
"And your arm?"
"It's healing."
"That's great, I'm so glad." Seb gently picks up Henry's arm, kissing his wrist just under where the bandage ends.
When he straightens up again, Seb adjusts his waistcoat, then gestures for them to head further into the club.
Henry goes first with Sebastian following close behind.

The club isn't open yet, but there are a few people running around the place. Angel stands behind the bar, seemingly taking inventory, another woman cleans the little tables in between the cushioned seats. The stage is jam-packed with instruments, much fuller than it was the last time Henry came here.
"There'll be a big band playing today, since it's a special day and all," Seb explains. Henry doesn't really know much about jazz aside from the things Seb told him that first night, but he nods as if he understands.
"Will you be playing too?" Henry asks. Sebastian shakes his head no. "Not tonight. I wasn't going to be here originally, so there'll be a different pianist, much more talented than me."
Henry feels extremely guilty, knowing that he's the reason Seb came back early at all.
As if sensing that he's about to apologise, Seb speaks up again. "I'm glad I get to see this, though. These guys are very talented." He leans in closer so only Henry can hear him. "And most of all, I'm glad I get to see their performance with you."
Henry can't help but crack a little smile at that. It's small, but it's there.
"Feel free to sit down, I've still got some things to prepare," Sebastian says and Henry nods.

He goes to find a seat in the front row, spotting one that has Seb's jacket draped over the back. Henry sits down on the seat right next to it.
He watches Seb as he walks around the club, checking in with his employees and the musicians. He assists them in tuning their instruments. It's nice seeing Seb at work, so in his element. Everyone around him seems to be having fun—he must be a great boss.
Henry feels very out of place, just sitting here while everyone prepares for a night of business.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asks Seb when he passes by.
"Just sit tight, we're nearly done anyway," he replies. Henry is a little disappointed, but does as he is told.
Sure enough, all but five minutes later Seb takes his seat next to Henry.
"They'll warm up a little and then we'll open," he informs Henry.
He nods, watching the people on the stage plucking away at their instruments, playing a few notes.

Henry can feel Sebastian's eyes on him as they begin to break into what Henry guesses is improvisation.
"Are you feeling alright?" Seb asks. Henry turns to look at him.
"I think so. Don't remember too much since you left but I haven't hurt myself or anything."
Seb nods, apparently pleased with that answer. He cocks his head to the side as if trying to find the right words. Henry fidgets in his seat.
"You look like you've lost weight," Seb eventually settles on saying. Henry knows it's true, so he's not upset at Seb pointing it out.
"I guess I haven't really been eating much," he admits.
"If you need help with getting groceries or want me to come over and cook, just ask," Sebastian says.
"I can't ask that of you," Henry replies almost immediately.
"You can, otherwise I wouldn't have offered," Sebastian assures him. "I know by now that you can't accept kindness easily, but I'd gladly reassure you as many times as it takes to convince you I'm being sincere."
Henry looks away, his eyes suddenly burning. He wipes at them with the back of his hand, hoping it's not too obvious.

"Thank you," he says, the words nearly drowned out by the bass and trumpets.
Sebastian places a hand on Henry's left thigh, squeezing it very carefully. Henry's leg twitches involuntarily.
"I really do mean it when I say I care about you a lot," he offers. "Perhaps more than I should after such a short time, but you make it almost impossible not to care about you, Henry."
Henry says nothing, doesn't move, doesn't even breathe in fear that Seb might move away if he does. Unfortunately for him, Seb does withdraw his hand in the end. The spot where he touched Henry almost feels like it's been branded, untouched by anyone else since the hospital.
"I'll have to welcome some people, but I'll be back soon. Can I get you anything to drink before I go?"
Henry ponders this for a moment. He knows he probably shouldn't drink any alcohol after taking strong painkillers, but there are about to be a lot of people in here and lots of loud noises, so some booze to dull his senses and drown out his thoughts would be more than welcome. He doesn't want to feel bad tonight.
"How about a cocktail? Just pick whichever one you want," he says.
Sebastian nods and gets up, strolling over to the bar. Henry watches him as he goes, observes the way he leans on the counter, drums his fingers against the wood.
Seb returns shortly after with a tall glass filled with and orange drink. There's a colourful little paper umbrella sticking out the side of it, an orange wedge stuck over the rim of the glass opposite it.
"One Sex on the Beach for the handsome gentleman," Seb says, handing the glass to Henry with a wink.
Henry snorts as he takes the glass. "Thanks," he says, but Seb has turned right back around, walking towards the entrance as he shrugs his jacket on.

The lights dim around Henry and he knows it must be time. He takes a sip of his drink in preparation for the lines of people about to walk through the door. He grimaces a little at the sickening sweetness. He hasn't had many cocktails in his life and while it's not his favourite, the fruity taste beats out the vodka and whiskey he had here last time.
Only moments after Henry swallows, the first few people begin pouring in through the door. He suddenly feels much too warm so he shrugs out of his coat, letting it bunch up behind him.
All the patrons are very nicely dressed in fine suits and evening gowns; Henry feels severely underdressed in his ratty old sweater.
He sets his cocktail down on the table and turns his attention back to the stage, watching the man at the piano as he fidgets with his cane where it rests between his legs.
He's an older black gentleman, dressed in a nice tuxedo. His head is shaven clean, a pair of thick-rimmed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He runs his fingers through his greying moustache, smoothing it down. The man looks very friendly, deep smile lines creasing his face as he laughs at something a lady holding a trombone says to him. Henry notices the small gap in between his front teeth and smiles to himself, reminded of a childhood friend of his.
The man seems to notice his staring, shooting Henry a big grin accompanied by a little wave.
Henry nods towards him, then looks over to the bar, uncomfortable with the sudden eye contact.

The bar is crowded already, people sitting at the counter sipping on their beverages. Angel stands behind it, vigorously mixing a drink in a shaker. She quickly notices Henry's eyes on her through a gap in the crowd, sticking her tongue out at him. He raises his hand in acknowledgement. She returns to her work, making small talk with some of the patrons.
The seats around him are slowly filling in but Henry sees no sign of Sebastian. He takes his coat and lays it onto Seb's seat, marking it as occupied. Wouldn't want him to come back to his spot being taken.
Henry grabs his cocktail again, twirling the little umbrella between his thumb and forefinger.
The umbrella is bright blue, with neon pink flamingos and red hibiscus flowers on each of the small panels.
The colours bleed together as he spins it, creating fun little patterns. It reminds him of a kaleidoscope—he used to love those as a kid.
Henry gets lost in watching it, the noise around him fading into the background. A bit of condensation runs from the glass down his wrist, soaking into the fabric of his sleeve.

He feels a tap on his shoulder, startling at the sudden touch. The umbrella drops back into his glass, a few drops of his drink spilling onto the floor when he jumps.
"Thanks for saving my seat," Seb says from where he now sits next to him again, holding Henry's coat out, a drink in his other hand.
Henry lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding. Before he can take back his coat, Sebastian sets down his drink and moves to drape the coat over the back of Henry's seat.
"I hope nobody gave you trouble while I was gone." It's a little hard to make out Seb's words over the idle chatter around them.
"Nobody talked to me," Henry responds, which seems to amuse Seb as he begins to laugh.
"What's so funny?" Henry inquires. Seb smooths back his hair, hiding that charming little strand that loves to come loose back among the rest of it.
"Nothing at all," Sebastian says. His gaze is so full of affection that Henry has to look away. "Whatever," he grumbles.
The lights around them dim a little more and the conversations seem to die down.
A spotlight turns on, illuminating the pianist, now standing in front of a microphone at centre stage.

"It's about to start," Seb whispers to him, practically vibrating with excitement. Seeing him like that makes Henry feel all funny inside, so he takes another long sip of his cocktail.
"Welcome, esteemed ladies and gentlemen, to Seb's!" the man says, spreading his arms in greeting.
Applause and cheers erupt throughout the club.
"Thank you all for coming here tonight. Tonight is a special one—the last night of 2005. And for such a big occasion we have brought a very big band! Please enjoy our live music and the great booze on tap until we all go out to watch the fireworks to welcome the new year!"
The crowds seems very excited, clapping and whooping, so Henry claps too—as best he can.
Sebastian looks over at him and smiles. Henry smiles back at him.
The world seems to soften a bit around the edges as the alcohol in Henry's blood works its magic.
He leans back in his seat, eyes trailing the man on the stage as he walks back to the piano.

He gives a countdown and then they're playing. It's loud and tense, more like a fight than a harmonious piece as the instruments almost seem to battle for dominance.
Henry doesn't really get it, but when he glances over at Seb and sees how much fun he's having even when he's not the one up on the stage, he finds he doesn't really need to in order to enjoy himself.
Sebastian bobs his head, drumming his fingers on his thigh to the ever changing beat of the music. It's infectious.
Henry downs the rest of his drink and before long he too is tapping his foot along with the music. Every so often Seb will look over at him with a big grin, like there's nowhere he'd rather be than here in his club, listening to jazz with Henry by his side. The more Henry watches him, the more beautiful he finds the view.
Seb surreptitiously reaches for Henry's hand across the small table, interlacing their fingers, hidden in the dim lighting of the club. Henry watches him closely. Sebastian's eyes stay trained on the stage, his smile growing just a little brighter when he squeezes Henry's hand. Henry silently hopes it's because of him rather than the music.

Henry can't tell how long they sit there for. He keeps looking back and forth between the stage and Seb and finds he's enjoying himself more and more. The two of them are still holding hands, Sebastian not seeming to mind how clammy Henry's hand has gotten. They've been given several shots of vodka by a passing waitress over the course of the night and Henry is definitely past tipsy now. It makes his troubles seem much further away.
The conversations around them have started back up, albeit a lot quieter than before.
Seb leans across the small table between them and asks "want me to grab you another drink?"
"Yeah, that would be great," Henry says. Seb runs his thumb across the back of Henry's hand. He almost looks like he's about to lean down and kiss it but pulls his hand away instead, likely remembering that he probably shouldn't do that in front of so many people.
Sebastian gets to his feet. "Any preference?"
"Surprise me," Henry says, smiling up at him.
Seb gives him a mock salute, then saunters over to the bar. Henry feels like he needs a smoke but remembers that he's been out of them for days. He sighs. Maybe he could ask someone else for one. No, he'd rather go without for the night and get a new pack in the morning. Or the day after. Whenever the stores reopen.

Seb returns shortly, two drinks in hand.
He hands one of them to Henry, who takes it with a grateful nod. "What is it this time?"
"A Mojito," Seb says as he sits back down, nursing his own drink—likely an Old fashioned by the looks of it.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" he asks, eyeing Henry over the rim of his glass.
"I am," Henry replies, and he realises he has been ever time they've spent time together thus far. Sure, there were some hiccups here and there and he's still a wreck, but it holds true. It's the first time he's able to truthfully say that in over two years.
"Fantastic," Seb says, poking the side of Henry's bad knee with his finger.
Henry thinks of a question he's been dying to ask for a while now.
"How'd you come to name your club after yourself? Not very imaginative, is it?"
Seb groans and drinks some more. Henry does the same, nipping at his cocktail to taste it. He already likes this one more than the last one, though he misses the little umbrella.
"It's a bit of a long story," Sebastian grumbles, setting his nearly empty glass back onto the table, overlapping with the ring of condensation his last one left there.

"Well, I'm here all night," Henry quips.
Seb snorts.
"I was going to name it Chicken on a Stick, but Mia insisted it was a shit name. She came up with a new name, drew a logo and everything. I was dead-set on the naming my club that, but in the end I realised it really is a shit name. So I went with her suggestion."
"She drew that logo out front?" Henry asks, eyebrow raised in question.
Seb hums. "She did," he confirms.
"No wonder it sucks, then," Henry says. He only half means it.
Sebastian lets out a disbelieving laugh. "You think it sucks?"
Henry nods, hiding his smile behind his drink. "A little."
"Wow," Seb huffs. "Well, despite all that happened, I like it."
"Why Chicken on a Stick?"
Sebastian clears his troat, getting ready to explain.

"You see, Charlie Parker—he was an absolutely fantastic jazz saxophonist and leading figure in the development of bebop, among other things—had the nickname "bird". Why did he have that nickname? Because he loved chicken. I had this idea that I was gonna have chicken, beer and jazz at my club—Chicken on a Stick. She said nobody would come to a club called that so I should drop the chicken from the name and the club. And while I appreciated the suggestion and all, I just didn't agree. It had to be Chicken on a Stick!"
Henry finds his wild gesticulation as he tells the story rather amusing.
"Hate to say it, but I actually agree with Mia here."
Sebastian clutches his chest in a dramatic fashion, like someone just hit him. "What? Ouch."
Henry laughs—really laughs—and Seb grins, leaning closer like he can't get enough of the sound.
"Well, didn't you yourself agree with her in the end? You went with Seb's after all," Henry offers.
Sebastian seems to stop and think for a second, then shrugs.
"Yeah, I guess I did." He reaches for his glass again, draining the last of its contents.
Henry is pleasantly drunk by now, and from the looks of it so is Seb.

"So, why'd you use her logo? It's kind of corny."
"I heard you the first time, please stop disparaging my poor logo," Sebastian pleads, though it's obvious from the tone of his voice that he find it at least a little funny.
"I'm sorry, but a note as an apostrophe? That's corny as fuck," Henry points out.
"It's cool! That's the best part of it!" Seb insists, turning in his seat to better face Henry, his arm slung over the back of it.
Henry stares at him in disbelief. He runs his trembling hand through his hair.
"Okay, whatever. You didn't answer my question," he settles on saying.
Sebastian shrugs halfheartedly. "I guess it was sort of a last homage to her, like my final goodbye. I'm not really sure to be honest. But I'd feel weird changing it now."
Henry hums and nips on his drink. He feels like he could get used to this and the thought scares him a little, so he drinks some more.
"Got it. Well, if you ever feel like having a nicer logo, I'll make you one."
Seb looks at him with a strange emotion playing on his face that Henry can't quite decipher, but it quickly disappears, making way for another one of Seb's charming smiles.
"Thank you, I'll keep it in mind."

Henry nods and looks down at his hands. Looking at Seb suddenly feels like too much. He finishes his drink and sets the empty glass back on the table.
The band keeps playing up on the stage and the air in the club has grown warm and uncomfortably stuffy. It's getting hard for him to breathe.
"I gotta step out for a second," Henry says, getting to his feet. He doesn't bother grabbing his coat.
"Are you okay? I'll come with you. We can just head out back." Seb gets up too, leaving his jacket behind as well.
Henry doesn't reply, just head for the backroom they came in through earlier.
It's dark and he nearly stumbles when his cane gets caught among the piles of equipment, but Seb steadies him in time.
Henry shoves the heavy door open, immediately breathing in a lungful of the crisp winter air.
It's dark out now, but he can't see any stars through the smog and light pollution.
Sebastian shuts the door behind them. They don't walk up the ramp, both of them leaning back against the metal door instead.

"Are you feeling okay?" Seb asks him, running his index finger over the back of Henry's hand where it rests next to his.
"Yeah, just got a little overwhelmed in there. Really wish I had a smoke right now," Henry replies, leaning his head back.
"I can get you one if you want," Sebastian offers.
"Fuck, that'd be great," Henry groans.
Seb gently bumps into his side. "Be right back."
Henry clears the door for him, leaning against the metal railing of the stairs.
It doesn't take long for Sebastian to return, a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a Zippo lighter in hand.
"Here you go." Seb holds out the cigarette and Henry takes it right between his lips. Seb lights it for him and Henry takes a long, grateful drag, watching as the smoke curls up into the sky.
"You're my saviour," Henry says, returning to his place next to Seb.
Sebastian laughs a little next to him. "I'm glad to hear it."

"You ever smoke before?" Henry asks, flicking the ash onto the ground.
"Used to for a while in college, but haven't since. Wouldn't wanna pick it back up again," he explains.
"Bet you'd look really hot smoking, though," Henry says. He doesn't have too much of a filter, even less so when he's drunk, so he doesn't really mind saying this to Seb. It's true anyway.
Seb makes a choked noise and though Henry can't see him well in the dim lights of the back alley, he's pretty sure Sebastian must be going red right about now. Henry smiles.
"What? That surprise you? I'm sure people call you hot all the damn time."
"I mean, not really to my face, no?" Seb pauses for a moment, then speaks a lot more quietly. "It's different when it's you saying it."
Henry hums around his cigarette, feeling just a little proud of himself upon hearing that.
"You having fun tonight?" Henry asks, mirroring Seb's earlier question back to him.
"I am. I'm so happy you came," he says.
"That's good, I am too."

"There's just one thing," Sebastian mumbles.
Henry looks up at him with furrowed brows. "'N what's that?"
Seb steps away from the door and circles around on Henry, stepping closer until he's leaning right next to his ear.
"I've been dying to kiss you again," he admits, slurring his words a bit. It's not a surprise, he's said as much before, but Henry's eyes go a little wider anyway. He shudders, but decides to blame it on the cold.
"Do it then," he breathes.
Sebastian's hands settle on Henry's waist, pressing him just a little further into the door. His face hovers inches from Henry's and all he can smell is the whiskey on Seb's breath.
Henry drops the cigarette and his cane when Sebastian finally bridges the tiny gap between them, in favour of clutching at his tie and pulling him in even closer.
This kiss is a lot more heated than the one they shared earlier, Henry's teeth digging into the back of his upper lip from the force of the impact.
He groans, his eyelids fluttering shut. Seb presses in even closer until their chests connect and it's somehow comforting to Henry, having such a weight pressed against him.

Seb's stubble scrapes against his chin as they kiss and the feeling of it is electrifying. Henry gasps but attempts to stifle it. It's shameful how much he's enjoying this and he tries not to think of his family, of Athena, and what they would think of him if they saw him like this, making out with an older man in some dingy back alley.
Henry drags his tongue across Sebastian's bottom lip again in an attempt to distract himself and Seb opens up immediately. The alcohol gives Henry the courage to do what he couldn't earlier and he licks into Seb's mouth, tasting the remains of the Old fashioned for himself.
He hopes Seb doesn't mind that he probably tastes like tobacco and Mojito—an odd combination—but judging from the little moan that slips from him, it doesn't seem like he does.
Seb grabs him tighter, fingertips digging into Henry's waist and hips and he hisses. It stings a little because it's close to his scar, but in just the right way.
Henry wants more, so much more. He's definitely drunk by now, which seems to finally shut his brain up for once. This is all happening so fast but at the same time not fast enough. He wants to be touched, but it's so overwhelming after being alone for so long. He needs to be closer to Seb in any way he can, so he pulls him in as far as he possibly can, running the tip of his tongue over Sebastian's palate.
His breath catches when Sebastian groans and Seb is about to move and do something, when a loud bang on the door makes them both jump.

"Seb! It's almost midnight!" a man's voice calls from inside.
In his surprise Sebastian accidentally bites down on Henry's tongue, not hard enough to severely injure him, but enough to draw a bit of blood.
They quickly pull apart, both of them breathing hard, struggling to catch their breath. Henry holds a hand over his mouth as Seb calls back to the man. "Be there in a minute!"
The man seems to leave and Seb immediately turns his attention back to Henry. "Are you okay?" he asks, obviously panicked.
Henry just laughs, swallowing down his copper-flavoured saliva.
His tongue stings a little, but it's not too bad. "I'm fine."
Sebastian sighs, resting his forehead on Henry's shoulder with a breathless laugh. "You drive me insane," he murmurs. "I don't even want to go back."
Henry huffs, running his bad hand through the hair at Seb's nape.
"You're a good kisser," Henry remarks.
Seb pulls back, grabbing Henry's cheeks between his hands and squeezing gently.
"Don't say that or I might have to kiss you again."
"Fine by me," Henry says but it comes out a little muffled thanks to his face being squished.
Sebastian sighs and goes in for one more kiss, short and sweet.
"I swear you'll be the death of me."

Sebastian lets go of him and picks up Henry's cane, dusting it off.
"Should we go, then?"
Henry's heart races in his chest and it almost feels like it's trying to escape altogether. It's an uncomfortable sensation, but somehow it doesn't really bother him.
Seb steps inside first while Henry stays behind for a moment, pressing his fingers to his lips. It's almost like he can still feel Seb's touch there.
They head inside to find most of the patrons have already left the club. Seb goes ahead to grab their coats and they make their way outside the front entrance.
It takes a while for Henry to climb the stairs, the alcohol only worsening his already lacking sense of balance, but Seb stays right behind him the entire time making sure he doesn't fall.
They join up with the other people crowding the sidewalk outside the club, finding a slightly more quiet spot at the far corner of the building. Sebastian takes Henry's hand into his, hidden behind Henry's coat. It's pleasantly warm against Henry's own cool skin.
"Almost a new year, huh?" Seb hums.
"Time flies," Henry mumbles. He really wishes he still had that cigarette.
They stand around for several more minutes, before the crowd erupts into a loud chorus, counting down the last ten seconds of the year.

The closer they get to zero, the more nervous Henry becomes. He knows he doesn't handle loud, sudden noises well, so he can't tell how he will react to the fireworks. He really doesn't want to ruin the nice evening by freaking out.
"ONE…HAPPY NEW YEAR!!" The people around them cheer and clink their glasses, but Henry barely registers any of it as the first bursts of colour bleed into the night sky with a deafening bang.
He distantly notices Sebastian turning to him. He's saying something—probably wishing him a happy new year—but Henry's ears are ringing too much to make out the words.
He realises he's shaking badly, his breathing's sped up and he's holding Seb's hand in a death grip.
Henry knows exactly what's coming, it's just as he feared. His vision blurs, the edges darkening and closing in on him as he stares up into the sky, more and more fireworks painting it in all the colours of the rainbow. He doesn't want to go back there, to that night—
Suddenly his hand feels empty and he fears Seb has finally had enough, but he appears in front of him seconds later, pressing the palms of his hands against Henry's ears and forcing his to look at his face instead.
Henry can hear his own ragged breathing, the blood rushing in his ears. His heart thumps painfully, but this time it feels a lot worse than it did earlier. He want this all to stop.
Sebastian once again says something and though Henry can't hear it, he can faintly make out the words on his lips—breathe.

Seb takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment, then exhales. He nods at Henry, so he guesses Seb probably wants him to copy his movements.
Henry tries, inhales a shuddering breath of air—it smells like gunpowder and fire—but it doesn't seem to reach his lungs.
Sebastian keeps breathing along with him and it gets a little easier every time. He rubs over Henry's cheeks with his thumbs, likely wiping away tears.
Henry really needs to sit down before his legs give out on him. Seemingly recognising that, Seb leads him to the door, back into the club where it'll be much quieter. It's extremely difficult to walk like that, with Seb still covering his ears, but they make it to the top of the staircase.
Sebastian lets go of Henry to shut the doors behind them, drowning out a good portion of the noise.
"I'm so sorry Henry, I should've thought of this," he says, guilt heavy in his wavering voice. He almost seems to have sobered up a little. "Are you okay?"
Henry hasn't fully calmed down yet, can't so much as shake his head.
Sebastian seems to think for a second, probably realising how unstable Henry is on his feet, so he picks Henry and his cane up in a bridal carry, taking him down to the club.
He sits him down on one of the chairs, then runs behind the bar to grab a glass of water.
He helps Henry gulp it down. It's blissfully quiet down here and Henry finally starts to relax a bit.
"'M fine," he manages to force out. He still doesn't quite feel like himself, especially with the alcohol in his system, but at least he's not actively panicking anymore.

Seb drags a chair around so they sit opposite each other and takes Henry's hands into his.
"I really am so sorry. I'll take you home as soon as things die down outside, okay?"
Henry nods. "It's not your fault. It's okay," he says. He hates that Seb blames himself for this.
Sebastian smiles sadly. "It's upsetting, seeing you like that. I wish I could make things better for you."
"You did. You stopped it in time," Henry says. "Thank you."
He tries stroking his still quivering fingers along Seb's palm, hoping that might comfort him a little.
"I don't think the buses are running anymore and I can't drive, I drank too much. I wouldn't force you to get into a car anyway, not after last time, but it's so far to walk…" Sebastian sounds a little desperate, ruffling his hair in frustration.
"Sorry I'm so difficult."
"Stop that, you're not. You should take as long as you need and try as many times as it takes for you to get comfortable in a car again. And even if that day never comes, that's okay too. I'll take the bus or walk with you. It doesn't bother me."
Henry has never seen Sebastian look so serious before. He gulps.
"Okay," he quietly concedes.

"I live almost within walking distance, it's a lot closer than your apartment. So if you're comfortable with it, you could stay over at my place for the night," Seb offers.
Henry doesn't mind the idea, even less so because he feels dead tired after his panic attack and wants little more than to just lie down.
Even worse, the painkillers seem to be wearing off now too, but taking more after drinking is likely too risky.
"Okay. Let's do that."

—✧—

It's past 2am when they finally leave the club. Everyone else is gone by that point, except for Angel who thankfully agrees to lock up the club.
There are still some fireworks to be seen in the sky, but it's bearable enough for them to walk the mile to Sebastian's apartment. Seb sticks close to Henry's side all the while as he's still a little unsteady.
"I didn't expect there to be this many fireworks, with them being illegal here and all," Seb mutters.
"They are? Why'd the guy in the band announce there would be some, then?" Henry asks, eyes trained on the sidewalk. He feels like he's about to drop but doesn't want Seb carrying him around again, so he sucks it up as best he can.
"There always are, most folks don't really care about all that. They figure with so many people breaking the fire code, the city can't possibly crack down on all of them."
"Huh."
They pass by several clubs, still packed with people. Despite it being New Year's Day now, the streets are surprisingly quiet and empty, the occasional pop of the fireworks aside. Henry jumps a little every time, tries to remind himself he's fine.
It takes them just under 40 minutes to finally get to Seb's place.
Sebastian locks the door behind them and turns on the lights. "Make yourself at home," he says.

Henry takes a look around the place. It's seems rather small at first glance, but it's rather nice. An upright piano stands in the left corner of the room, the opposite wall covered in shelves full of hundreds of records.
There's a couch and an armchair surrounding an oddly shaped coffee table in the centre of the room.
"Would you like to eat something? I have some leftover takeout in the fridge," Sebastian offers as he puts on a record, soft jazz filling the room and drowning out the sounds outside.
"Okay," Henry says although he isn't hungry at all, leaving his coat on the strange chair next to the front door.
He follows Seb further into the apartment, into the kitchen at the back of the living room.
"The bathroom's right here if you need it," Seb says and sniffs, pointing to a door on his left.
Henry peers out through the window into what looks like a small backyard, tiny fairy lights strung throughout the shrubs and trees. "This place is bigger than I thought," Henry remarks, taking a seat at the kitchen table just beyond the counter. He still feels rather untethered and drunk, the exhaustion really starting to creep in on him. Having Seb with him provides some comfort, though.
"Took a while to find, but I'm glad I did. No pesky landlord to deal with either," Sebastian hums as he takes some boxes out of the fridge and gathers two plates, dividing out the contents—seems to be fried rice of some kind—into two equal portions.
"What do you mean?" Henry asks, continuing to look around.
"Oh, I own this apartment."

Henry gapes at him. "Just how rich are you?" he asks, half joking.
Sebastian shrugs. "Not very, I just saved up a lot during my time with the band."
"Right."
Seb heats up both plates in the microwave and soon joins Henry at the table, handing him a fork.
"I hope it still tastes alright," Sebastian says as he sets the plate down in front of Henry.
Henry doesn't have much of an appetite, pushing the steaming rice around on the plate. When he does take a bite it doesn't taste of much.
Seb swallows a bite of food. "I'll grab you some clothes to sleep in in a moment. You can take my bed, I'll sleep on the couch." Henry would almost think he's no longer drunk, if it wasn't for Seb still slurring his words ever so slightly.
"Is your bed that small?" Henry asks, watching his warped reflection in the back of the fork.
Seb chokes on his rice, hitting his chest to dislodge the grains.
"Oh, no, it's big enough for two. I just thought you'd be more comfortable by yourself," Sebastian explains.
Henry half-shrugs. "I don't really mind either way. Wouldn't want you to wake up with a sore back, though."
Sebastian huffs, sounding rather tired too. "Well, alright."

He clears their plates once they've finished eating—Henry's still more than half-full—and leads Henry into his bedroom right next to the front door.
Seb grabs an old black t-shirt and a pair of dark green flannel pyjama pants, handing them to Henry.
"Feel free to use the bathroom first. There should be a fresh toothbrush in the cabinet above the sink."
Henry hobbles across the apartment, back to the kitchen and enters the bathroom. It's just as stylish as the rest of the place.
He gets changed as quickly as he can and brushes his teeth, avoiding his reflection in the mirror.
Sebastian's clothes are much too big for him, baggy on his small frame. They smell of detergent and fabric softener.
When he returns to the bedroom, Seb has dressed down, his button-down open and revealing the shirt underneath. Henry looks away, dumping his clothes from underneath his arm onto the ottoman at the foot of the bed.
"I'll take a quick shower, clear my head a little. I won't be long," Seb informs him, grabs some things from his closet and steps out of the room.

Henry walks around to the right side of the bed, the one that looks unused and sits down on the mattress. It's nice and firm, so with any luck he won't wake up in agony come morning.
He stalls for a moment, too scared to lie down.
Now that he's sitting down, the pain all over his body becomes much more apparent. His head swims, likely still from the alcohol and everything else that happened tonight.
In the end, his overwhelming exhaustion wins out and he lies down, his cane propped up against the bedside table.
There's only one comforter which he pulls all the way up to his neck, burying his nose in it. It predictably smells like Sebastian's cologne and something else that's uniquely him. He almost feels a little creepy for smelling his blankets, but it puts him at ease a little.
The music Sebastian had put on earlier has stopped playing and in its place Henry can hear the running shower through the ajar door. Henry has to focus on the fireworks still going off in the distance to keep his drunk mind from going to places he really shouldn't. Thankfully he seems to be too tired to think about much right now or he might just freak out again.
It doesn't take long for Henry to begin drifting off buried in the soft sheets, so he almost misses Sebastian's return until the mattress dips next to him and he slips under the comforter with him.

"You okay?" Seb asks, leaning over Henry.
"Fine, just really fucking tired," Henry mumbles sleepily.
His eyes are closed but he can feel Seb gingerly tucking a strand of hair behind his ear with a fond chuckle.
"Sleep well," he whispers. Henry expects another kiss, but it never comes.
He's out like a light before he can feel too disappointed about that.

—✧—

Henry wakes up to something warm and heavy wrapped around him.
He feels very groggy, his head hurts and his back feels stiff as hell, though it's not quite as bad as he expected it to be. It takes a while for him to blink the sleep from his eyes, even longer for him to realise what—or rather who—is pressed up against his back, an arm draped over his waist.
Henry holds his breath, trying to process the situation.
He's pretty sure they didn't fall asleep like this and doesn't know how they might have ended up in this position. Did he cuddle up against Seb? Or did Seb hug him subconsciously in his sleep?
He doesn't have much opportunity to question things further as Seb begins to stir behind him.
Henry shudders when Sebastian nuzzles against his neck, planting a soft kiss right on his nape.
"Mhm, mornin'," Seb mumbles. His voice is raspy, a tad deeper than usual, and Henry finds himself wanting to hear it more often.
"Morning," he says, but it comes out as more of a feeble whisper.

Henry still doesn't dare move and despite how foreign and unexpected this is, he realises he actually rather likes being held in this way. His urge to stay like this wars with the part of his brain that's terrified of such closeness.
Suddenly Seb goes really still behind him, then very quickly scrambles back.
"Shit," he hisses, "I'm so sorry, Henry, I didn't mean to—"
Henry's stomach sinks, but tries desperately to convince himself that Sebastian's just been caught off guard, that he didn't hate being like that. Henry turns onto his back, squinting up at Seb.
It's a novel view, seeing Seb in his pyjamas, hair loose and sticking up into every direction. It's kind of cute in a way that makes his mind go blank, quelling some of his fear.
"It's fine, Seb. I didn't mind," he croaks.
Sebastian visibly relaxes and upon seeing this, so does Henry. Looking upon Seb's sleepy figure, he can't quite hide the smile creeping onto his face.
"This isn't moving too fast for you? God, I went and kissed you twice yesterday too…" Sebastian groans, dragging his palms down his face.
Henry shrugs. "Maybe it is, but it doesn't bother me. I don't really know what a 'normal' pace is supposed to be, anyway. It's fine. Really."
Henry pauses. "As long as it's okay for you, I mean."

"It is! It absolutely is!" Sebastian assures him instantly. He takes Henry's bad hand and kisses his palm.
"Anything you're okay with, I am too."
Though hearing him say this should probably chase away the rest of Henry's doubts, he catches himself slipping back into his negative thoughts again, thinking this is too good to be true. He tries hard not to spiral, to just let himself have something good for once, but it's so hard.
"Seb?" he asks, digging the heel of his hand into his left eye.
"Yes?" Seb leans a little closer to him again. He sounds worried, likely sensing that Henry's close to tears.
"Is this really okay? Am I allowed to have this?" Henry feels so much shame just for asking this, but he needs to hear it out loud or he fears he'll break.
Sebastian smiles at him; it's sweet but also deeply pained.
"You are. You're allowed to be happy, Henry."
Henry sniffs and turns his head away, hoping to hide the tears rolling down his face.

"Can you do me a favour?" he asks, his voice cracking on the words.
"Of course, what is it?"
"There's a bottle of painkillers in my coat pocket. Could you get me one?"
Sebastian doesn't say anything, just leaves to get it.
Henry takes the moment alone to wipe away his tears. Being so openly vulnerable still makes him feel a bit sick, but he's such a thoroughly broken person, he'd have a hard time pretending not to be. He's had enough of all the hiding—from other people and from his feelings.
When Seb returns he sets the pills and a glass of water down on his bedside table, then helps Henry up into a sitting position.
He takes out a pill and hands it to Henry, followed by the water.
Henry pops the pill into his mouth and washes it down.
"Thanks," he murmurs.
"Anything else I can do for you? Some breakfast?" Seb asks, holding onto him like he's afraid Henry will leave if he doesn't.
"Can we just lie back down?" Henry almost pleads.

Sebastian nods and does so, pulling Henry down into his arms and the comforter over them both.
"Is this okay?" he asks, gently running his fingers through Henry's hair.
"Yeah." Henry closes his eyes, listening to Seb's heartbeat from where his head rests just below his collarbone.
Sebastian seems to notice the scab on Henry's scalp. "What happened here?"
"I hit my head on the table, but it doesn't hurt much anymore."
Seb sighs a little but decides to say nothing, simply adjusts his hand a bit so he won't accidentally touch it. He probably doesn't want to upset Henry any further with a lecture about taking better care of himself.
"Tell me about your band," Henry requests.
"What do you want to know?" Sebastian asks.
"Just tell me anything. You didn't talk much about it last time."
Seb hums in thought, then begins his story. "I was with the band—The Messengers—for just over four years. I signed on with them during my relationship with Mia—she wanted me to have a stable job, an old school friend offered me the gig and I went for it. I'll be honest, I didn't enjoy myself. You probably have gotten an idea by now how particular I am about my jazz. I am a traditionalist, sue me. But Keith—that's that friend's name—he wanted to revolutionise jazz, mix it with electronic music. Obviously complete bullshit if you ask me."
Henry lets out an amused huff.
"Why'd you join them if you hated it so much?" he asks.
Sebastian sighs. "I wanted to make Mia happy, put her at ease. She moved in with me and quit her job to focus on the play she was writing and I just wouldn't have been able to pay the bills on my own by playing random gigs a few times a week. The band paid well—incredibly well even—and at that point I wanted to support her more than I wanted to follow my own dream."

"You were ready to just give all that up for her?" Henry can't quite believe it, can hardly imagine Seb—with his boundless passion—would ever give up on jazz for anyone.
"Yeah. I truly loved her, and I guess that she—making her happy and supporting her—had become my dream instead. Or at least that's what I thought at the time. Not like it mattered in the end, the band was one of many reasons why things didn't work out between us."
"I'm glad you chose to pursue your own happiness in the end," Henry says, and he really, truly means it. He can't imagine how miserable Seb would have been had he stayed in that band.
"I am too. But it wasn't all bad. I did learn a lot, met a lot of people, saw lots of different places. It helped me later on when opening the club."
"What was touring like?"
"Awful," Sebastian laughs. "We were so busy, I'd hardly get any sleep. On the North American leg of the tour we drove from city to city in this janky old tour bus, I think I permanently messed up my back sleeping on those bunk beds. Even when we weren't playing shows, we'd be stuck doing interviews and photo shoots for magazines, the radio or TV. And don't even get me started on the jetlag. It was great, seeing other countries, even when we hardly had any time for sightseeing at all. I probably went months running on two hours of sleep a night and eight cups of coffee every day. It was rough and I don't miss it at all."

"Wow, you guys really were a big deal, huh. Got any of those articles lying around here?"
Henry can feel him shaking his head. "God no. I looked awful in all of them, I'll be glad if I never have to see them again in my life."
Henry chuckles. He's really curious to see just how bad they really are.
"So you kept touring after you and Mia split?"
"Yeah, I didn't know what else to do with myself. I was honestly beside myself. I knew it was for the best, but it really destroyed me. I somehow felt like I hadn't done enough for her, despite the fact that I had more or less given it all up for her. All the money and fame didn't do anything to make me feel better, in fact I don't think I've ever felt lower in my life than at that time. I didn't feel like I deserved any of it anyway, I was only there for her, not because I liked the music we were making. I was just losing myself more and more."
Sebastian pulls Henry a little closer to himself, like talking about this still hurts him.
Henry tries to think of something to say, something to show even just an ounce of the support Sebastian always gives him.
"From what you've told me, you did more than enough for her. You deserved better than what little support she gave you when you sacrificed so much for her. In fact you deserve all the good things in the world, probably more so than anyone else I've ever met."
He can feel the way Sebastian's breath catches. He falls silent for a moment before clearing his throat. When Seb speaks again, his voice wavers, almost like he's trying not to cry. "Thank you, that truly means a lot to me, Henry."
Henry hums. "Just telling you how it is."

Seb is quiet for a while longer, probably trying to collect himself before he continues telling his story.
"I went home for the holidays that year and Laura—my sister—immediately realised I wasn't doing well at all. She sat me down and we talked. I cried a lot, but I was just so tired of it all, of keeping it in. She had to talk some sense into me, had to tell me that I deserve to be happy. She reminded me that Mia and I had split so I could finally go back to chasing my own dream, so I had to follow through on that. And she was absolutely right."
Henry's heart breaks for him. It hurts knowing that he had to go through all of this, but he also feels a little reassured. Seb seems to know what it's like to feel worthless, to feel like you don't deserve anything good, lending his words and reassurances a lot more weight.
"I spent the rest of the holidays planning. I calculated how much money I still needed to save up to at least rent out a space and pay off my debt, what things I could sell off for more capital, which banks might give me a loan. When I got back I sat Keith down and told him I wanted out as soon as possible. He was a little blindsided by the suddenness, but had expected it to happen sooner rather than later. He knew I was never happy with the band and was actually somewhat concerned when I had seemingly given up on my club. He told me he was glad I got my spark back, wished me luck and all that."

The painkillers finally seem to be kicking in and Henry tries to get more comfortable, tentatively wrapping his arm across Sebastian's waist and grabbing onto his shirt. Seb hasn't stopped running his hand through Henry's hair all this time. It's rather pleasant and Henry closes his eyes, basking in the feeling of Seb's fingers against his scalp.
"What did you do then?"
"We finished off the leg of the tour, I got some severance pay and left, never looking back. It took me a few months to secure a loan and find a location for the club. The connections I made during my time with the band helped immensely with that. I did unfortunately have to give up on the place I wanted—that was the Van Beek, a former legendary jazz club that they had turned into a samba tapas place, can you believe that?!—but thanks to a good friend I was able to actually buy the location my club is at now at a great discount. Spent the months after working on the interior with the help of friends; we did as much as we could ourselves to cut down on expenses. We managed to save so much that I was able to buy this apartment, too. Well, I already told you all about the name. I finally managed to open Seb's last year and I don't think I've ever been happier than on the opening night. Don't think I've ever cried that much, either."
Sebastian takes a deep breath. The hand in Henry's hair stops, moving down to stroke his cheek instead.
Henry relaxes under his touch, his thoughts now reduced to a quiet buzz.
He's unsure if he should ask what's on his mind, but he decides to in the end.
"Do you regret any of it?"

Henry expects Sebastian to take a moment to answer, but to his surprise, it comes almost immediately.
"No, I don't," he says firmly.
"How come?" Henry inquires. He opens his eyes, craning his head back enough to be able to look at Seb.
Seb smiles down at him, his hair still sticking out in places.
"I wouldn't be here with you now if any of that hadn't happened, would I?"
Henry stares back at him, completely dumbfounded. "Huh?"
"As far as I'm concerned all of that was worth it. I have my own club now, and I got to meet you. I think I'm a really lucky guy, all things considered."
Henry can feel his cheeks heat up and quickly averts his gaze.
"Hey, don't hide," Sebastian snickers, poking Henry in the side to get him to look at him again.
"Stop saying weird shit then," Henry grumbles, pretending like his heart isn't doing even weirder things in his chest.
"I'm sorry," Seb says. It's obvious that he's trying to stifle a laugh when Henry looks back up at him with a scowl.

Sebastian snorts and Henry hits his chest very lightly, which only makes him laugh harder.
"I really am, I'm sorry," he forces out in between laughs, holding his hands up in mock surrender.
"Its not a lie though."
"Shut up," Henry hisses, trying desperately to stay serious, though he knows the smile tugging on his lips must be obvious.
"Not a chance." Seb grins at him like it's a challenge.
Henry sighs and pushes himself until he sits, loathe to leave his rather comfortable position. It takes a lot of clambering, but he manages to manoeuvre himself into Seb's lap.
Sebastian's hands settle on Henry's hips, almost as if they're meant to be there.
Henry braces himself on Seb's shoulder with his good hand, placing the other on his cheek.
"Guess I'll have to shut you up myself, then."
He's not sure where the sudden burst of confidence came from, but he moves before he can second-guess himself, crashing their lips together.
Seb's head thumps against the headboard but he doesn't seem to mind, judging by the big, happy smile still on his infuriatingly pretty lips.
Not for the first time Henry asks himself why he'd have to fall for this guy—and that is what's happening, isn't it? He's well and truly falling for Sebastian—but as he deepens the kiss, he decides he doesn't have to figure that out right now.
After all—and Henry can hardly believe he's really thinking this, but he's kissing Sebastian, breathing him in and his brain feels much too mushy for any negative thoughts right now—it seems like they have all the time in the world.