Seblaine Oneshots ❤

Birthdays are for Breaking the Rules - pt 8

For the last hour, Audrey's been standing in the doorway of her dad's room, a lollipop hanging out of her mouth, watching him toss clothes in every which way.

"I don't know what to wear! Aud, why'd you sign me up for this?"

"You're the one who set up a date!" She sasses back, smirking.

"Yeah, mhm, thanks to you."

"Why don't you just wear your favorite outfit? You always say it's comfortable and fashionable."

"No, it's not right, I need something perfect!"

"Okay, okay. That shirt," she points to a floral navy and brown button-down. "Those navy pants. And that brown sweater-thing, with the brown shoes you always wear."

Blaine follows her line of sight with each new piece, considering them as she speaks. "I guess that works, yeah."

"Of course it does. You'll look great." She then turns on her heels and disappears.

Blaine can't help but smile as he shakes his head, simultaneously over the moon happy and also wondering what the hell he's just gotten himself into.

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With Audrey spending the next couple hours at Sam's, Blaine confidently heads towards the café, moving fast before any doubt can catch up to him. He's doing the right thing; he's doing what he's always wanted, but that doesn't mean his subconscious might think otherwise. The guilt for going on a date with Sebastian, of all people. The fear that his ex will find out, or worse, Sebastian will change his mind. He swallows hard in an attempt to push the thoughts away and opens the door.

Seeing Sebastian at the table makes the thoughts suddenly disappear altogether.

The man's smile is welcoming, like an embrace after a long day. His posture is confident, causing Blaine to straighten his own back instantly. His eyes, ever so green, seem to sparkle as they make contact with Blaine's. Every feeling repressed from his teenage years comes back full force; his hands twitch in excitement.

"Hi."

"Hi. Glad to see the Chinos have stuck around all the years."

"Oh shut up! Says the man who dresses like Barry Allen."

"Hey, it's comfortable but formal. Can't blame the man for having good style."

And just like that, they're back to their usual banter. Twenty years apart, not a word spoken to the other, seemingly erased as if it never happened.

"I like the hair, glad you eased up on the gel. Didn't know you had such gorgeous curls under all that raspberry scented cement."

"Ha, ha, ha. Funny."

"No, I'm serious though. It looks nice."

"Thank you. I, uh, only recently started to leave it alone. Used less and less throughout college, but in the last few years, I decided to let it be."

"I'm happy you're accepting that part of yourself, B. Uh, if that's what it is. Or part of it."

"It is. I mean, Dalton was always picky about their dress code, which included hair, so I kinda had to use it. But uh, it also labeled me a pretty strong target when I went to Westerville High. It became a thing where I could fit in better if I looked more like everyone else. Used it to protect myself. College, I learned, it's okay to be different. Well, not at NYADA, but NYU, where I finished after Carmen Tibideux cut me."

"She did what?!"

"Oh, yeah, um. Let me grab a cup of coffee before I unravel this mess."

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