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And Sebastian kind of knew that nothing (everything) would really come of this—that this was (never) just a moment in an ocean of moments, that eventually (a few days, weeks, months) this feeling would(n’t) fade, that they would go their separate ways and become strangers (who knew so much about each other). They’d break each other’s hearts, Kurt and him. Because that’s what they both seemed to be so good at doing—breaking things. (Just Sebastian, really.)
They had their ugly moments, yes. But Sebastian hated (secretly adored) it, the fighting. It was brutal (you fight when you care, though), the screaming and the crying (meant he felt something, that they felt something), it scared him. And then, somehow (miraculously, beautifully), they became intertwined again. Fingers and lips and hands (and hips and legs and tongues and teeth), all against one another, moving together, the bitter salt of tears replaced with the sweet salt of sweat (as if they’d never fought, as if they hadn’t just cut each other open with their words).
Oh, but those blue eyes. They deserved the flowers, they deserved a permanent fix. (So much) More than a body to lay down next to—those (blue, ocean blue) eyes deserved someone who held hands, who held the door, who remembered anniversaries (someone who wasn’t Sebastian). And Sebastian knew (hated) that. Sebastian knew that eventually (never, please, never ever) he would have to let Kurt go. Because he knew (hoped) that Kurt wouldn’t do it himself. That Kurt didn’t realize that (Sebastian was a coward) this wasn’t a forever. Just (so much more than) a moment in an ocean of moments.
And Sebastian knew he couldn’t (wished he could) love Kurt the way Kurt deserved to be loved. He knew he would never (wished he could) be the man with flowers. He knew he wouldn’t be Kurt’s permanent fix (he wanted to be, though). He could love Kurt through his lips and hands, through a stubbly kiss at dawn—he could give Kurt his body (that’s all he felt he had to offer). But he didn’t have anything else (he was lying, he was just afraid).
But Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to just let go (how could he, when Kurt was everything?). So those weeks turned into a month, two, three. And he watched (adoringly but sadly) as Kurt attached himself, as he seemed to get comfortable in what they had (nothing, everything, something in between). And Sebastian hated himself for letting it happen, for loving every second of it.
Because it had to end eventually, right?
Three months turned into four, five, six. Six months, and he was falling, falling hard. And he started to think that maybe (definitely not) he was wrong. That he could love Kurt the way he deserved to be loved (flowers, hand holding, anniversaries). That he had more than just his body (teeth and hands and legs and hips and tongues) to offer Kurt, that maybe—just maybe—
But they don’t tell you everything about falling. They don’t tell you that (you hit the ground).
They don’t tell you that (eventually the screaming becomes too much, you can care too much).
They don’t tell you that (make up sex isn’t always a good idea, that it’s a bandaid on a bullet hole).
They don’t tell you that (making reservations for a six month anniversary would make you so nervous).
They don’t tell you that (the flowers you bought would wilt in only a day’s time).
They don’t tell you that (holding hands is so much different than the way they dance across naked skin).
They don’t tell you that (it’s all too much, and you’re never going to be enough).
They don’t tell you that (you hit the fucking ground so hard it knocks all the air out of your lungs).
And so Sebastian loved (feared) Kurt so much he let him go, after that celebratory six month dinner. Because Kurt made Sebastian feel things, feel things he’d never felt before. And Sebastian wasn’t ready (was afraid) to feel all of that. So he let Kurt go, for Kurt’s sake. So he wouldn’t have to witness, so he wouldn’t have to see everything that was Sebastian. Self sacrifice (self slaughter), he called it. He was letting Kurt go for Kurt. Kurt didn’t deserve this, this (cowardly) mess of a person.
And so Sebastian watched him walk away, and for a second he was sure it would be a grief he couldn’t get through, losing Kurt. It felt like a part of him was dying, watching him walk away. A martyr, perhaps (a tiny suicide). And how he wished he could wipe Kurt’s tears, but he had to settle for running his sleeve across his own face, in shock at how it came back damp.
Because he knew, right then and there, that Kurt would have loved him through it (all of it, every flaw, every mistake, every ugly scar). Because he knew that he had just let go of what he knew he’d never find again.
(A forever in) A moment.