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serendipity (noun)
the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way
Sebastian jolted awake at the sound of someone sniffling loudly next to him. He blinked slowly, raising his head from where it was crushing his hands; by then tingling from the pressure. He grimaced at the stale taste in his mouth, noting that the movie had rolled to an end.
“You did not fall asleep again!” Blaine whined, giving his side a mostly playful shove as he wiped at his eyes with the backs of his hands.
Sebastian huffed softly, stretching his arms above his head as he yawned deeply. “Well, maybe if you stopped choosing chick flicks for our movie nights, then I’d stop falling asleep.”
Blaine sighed loudly, his eyes taking on a wistful twinkle as tucked a stray curl behind his ear. “But this is a classic. And it’s so romantic.” He turned to Sebastian with a dopey grin. “It’s fate that they’ll end up together. How could you sleep through that?”
“Because I’m not a thirteen year old girl,” Sebastian replied with a snarky grin, ducking off the bed just in time to avoid another blow to his side.
There was a pause as Sebastian rummaged through his closet of their shared Dalton dorm for a sweatshirt, tugging it over his head in one swift motion. Blaine, meanwhile, was tugging on a loose thread of the comforter, humming to himself softly.
Blaine was the one to break the silence, looking up at where Sebastian was patting down the unruly tufts of his hair that were sticking up wildly. “I believe in fate,” Blaine murmured, his soft smile widening to a full-faced grin. “And I definitely believe that fate has a sense of humor, given that I ended up with you as my roommate.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes, tossing an idle sock that was laying on the floor near him in Blaine’s direction. “So, you’re saying fate brought you from your old school, and me from France, in order to ensure that we would meet?”
“Well, maybe not quite like that, but sort of,” Blaine grumbled, the curves of his cheekbones tinting a little pink.
Suddenly, Blaine jumped up, cutting off any additional sneering remarks from his friend. He darted over to their tiny little bookshelf, that was tucked into the corner of the room, housing half a dozen school books, aside from a few others belonging to the boys.
Sebastian watched him curiously as Blaine pulled out his copy of Love in the Time of Cholera - a book that he knew for a fact the other boy had never gotten around to reading. He frowned as Blaine picked up a pen, opening the front page of the book to inscribe something within.
Hang on. “Oh, no. No, Blaine. Your life is not a movie, no matter how often you burst into song,” Sebastian groaned, flopping down onto the end of his bed.
Blaine shushed him firmly, not looking up from the book in his hands. He finished his writing with a flourish, blowing briefly on the ink to make sure it was dry before snapping the book shut. “Tomorrow, I will take this to a second hand book store. And maybe one day, you’ll find it, and read my message.”
“Or I could just read the message now,” Sebastian suggested dryly, completely disinterested in Blaine’s idealism.
Blaine promptly ignored him, tucking the book into his satchel that sat by the door, and casting Sebastian one last look of warning that seemed to say: touch it and die, Smythe.
"Dork," Sebastian mumbled under his breath, with a shake of his head.
Sebastian Smythe did not believe in fate. And that was not a view that would change.
*
Five years later, one a blustery day in November, Sebastian was trudging up the steps to the doors of the grand Columbia University library, on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. He was in his first year of a postgraduate degree at the school and he had come to learn that that meant a lot of nights spend in that particular building.
He was exhausted. He’d been working solidly for the past three weeks to get the first draft of his project done and had reached that stage where the end was, frustratingly, just inching from his grasp.
He tugged off his scarf as he entered the building, quickly showing his I.D. before heading to his usual area of the library. It was like method to him, by then. Take out books. Take out laptop. Stack all on table. Set up a barrier around him so no one would disturb him. Start work. Pause and find glasses. Spend ten minutes digging glasses out of bag. Actually start working.
That particular evening, he had two books specifically that he needed to flip between for reference. He groaned in frustration as one of the books flopped back down against the table once again, vehemently refusing to prop upright as Sebastian needed it to.
He reached out behind himself blindly, grabbing the first book his hand came into contact with. He didn’t even glance at the cover page of Love in the Time of Cholera as he stacked it up behind his textbook, finally getting it settled into place.
In fact, it wasn’t until the light had long, long since faded outside of the windows, sleet battering against the glass as Sebastian gathered his things together, that he noticed at all.
He picked the book up with two hands, lips twitching up fondly at the memory of that evening. The last time he’d seen Blaine Anderson was three and a half years ago, at the the Warblers’ end of summer party.
Blaine had looked especially good that night. It was bittersweet, knowing that it was just as likely that they would stay friends as they would amicably part ways as friends that night. They stayed in touch for a month or two, as was typical. But soon the messages became fewer and further between.
It was nothing intentional, on either side. They had only ever just been friends - regardless of any feelings that Sebastian may or may not have harbored for the boy. Feelings he never quite felt he was in the right to express.
So, life got in the way, and the boys could do little to stop it.
And yet, here was fate, handing a book to Sebastian Smythe, some five years later than the first and only time he’d seen Serendipity with possibly the most wistful boy he’d ever met.
“It’s just a book,” Sebastian whispered to himself, thumbs tracing the edges of the cover gently. He was not going to open it. He didn’t need to open it. There would be nothing inside, besides the Columbia stamp and possibly a coffee mug ring or two.
Decisively, he tucked the book back into the shelf where he’d found it, letting out a breath when he’d done so. He threw his bag over his shoulder, storming towards the front door of the building.
Sebastian stood for a moment on the front step, watching the sleet-turned-rain lash down uninvitingly over the school’s campus. It had been raining that night too: the night that Blaine had inscribed a message in the book. It hadn’t mattered though, not when they were tucked up inside their dorm room with no wish or need to leave the comfort and warmth.
He couldn’t explain why he went back; he wouldn’t explain. But for whatever reason, he turned on his heel, dashing back through the library to the corner he’d previously been occupying. He knelt down next to the shelf, his bag falling to the fall with a thump as he pulled the book out.
With fumbling, shaking hands, he opened the front page of the book; nearly dropping it entirely as he looked down at the familiar handwriting. He hadn’t seen it in years, of course, but it brought back so many memories. Memories of essays that were finished at three in the morning and handed in that same day. Memories of exam preparation and endless cups of coffee.
He tilted the book so as to be able to better read the message, smoothing the page down with his palm. He read it and re-read it over and over, eyes skipping over each individual word and letter, mouth turning dry.
I think I might be in love with you.
Yours, B.
Just two lines. Two lines that meant more to Sebastian than if he’d read an entire paper on the reasons why Blaine Anderson thought he might be in love with him, at some point in their lives.
He stood up, not loosening his tight grip on the book, committing the image to memory. But then the book really did go tumbling from his hands, falling to the floor with a soft thud, thanks to whomever had stumbled into his back.
Sebastian turned around to snap at them, freezing as he looked down at exactly the man that was then on his mind. He looked different, older, of course. His hair a little longer and significantly less styled, a shadow of stubble across his chin, his torso looking just a touch rounder than it had been in their teenage years.
“Blaine,” Sebastian whispered, a grin splitting across his face.
The other man smiled back speechlessly, hands flying around in aimless, uncoordinated gestures. “You wear glasses now?” he murmured finally, chuckling in disbelief.
Sebastian shrugged, nodding as he touch the rim of the glasses still perched on the end of his nose. “You look..” he trailed off, almost blushing (except that Sebastian never blushed) before he continued. “You look great.”
Blaine bit down on his lower lip to try and stop his smile from stretching right off his face. He opened his mouth to say something, shutting it again as his gaze landed on the book abandoned on the floor. “Is that my book?” he asked quietly, ducking down to pick it up, and catching a glimpse of his own handwriting on the inside.
For a moment, neither man said anything, exchanging small, shy glances. The clock on the librarian’s desk ticked rhythmically; the cough of someone from further within the library echoing towards them.
Sebastian took a breath before taking a step closer to Blaine, slipping his hands down over his arms until he could lace their fingers together. “I think am, too. I think I always have been.”
And before he could even consider anything to add to that, he had two arms full of Blaine. Wild Blaine, always so full of life, so dynamic. Blaine whose lips were firmly attached to his with more energy than Sebastian was sure he had ever mustered in his life.
“Fate,” Blaine squeaked happily when they broke apart, not moving further than to lean his forehead against Sebastian’s, warm noses bumping softly.
Sebastian snorted, resting his palms flat against the small of Blaine’s back. “Dork.”