DISCLAIMERS:

Once again I own nothing other than the pure au aspects of my story line, I'm no Ryan Murphy.

I'm drunk, well, not quite, but I soon will be. I am here for 2 reasons; the first is that it is New Year's Eve so fuck it. The second is that Blaine Anderson is attending a party that I, yes nobody Kurt Hummel have also been invited to. By invited I mean drunkenly told I could use the bathroom. The party's being held by a weekly, in other words a student who only sleeps at the school on weekdays, perhaps something to do with the fact that his family lives within a fifteen minute walk. We're not officially allowed to stay out late but really no one's checking on us anyway.

Sebastian's was a grand house, the kind of house that only really belongs on TV, thus giving me the impression of being in a movie, an 80's movie. With red cups and kegs littering the rooms, people paired up against the walls with their hands wandering, someone passed out on the couch that had become the party's canvas and laughter, so much laughter, I don't think I'd heard as many people having fun before.

I walked to the edge of the room, assuming my usual role of wall-flower. Said wall was plastered in framed photographs of a beautiful family. A woman with waving brunette hair and a soft face in the arms of a handsome man with cold eyes, but not my father's type of cold eyes either, real cold eyes. I let my gaze dance across the photographs; an only child like me. Him playing in a sandpit with dungarees and green innocent eyes, the little boy wearing presumably his own pants on his head running down the hallway naked, the boy older smiling a familiar smile but this time stiffer posing for a school photograph, older still his eyes looking marginally more like his fathers, and again but now with a matching smirk. I looked down at my red cup, the next photo was sure to show a matching quiff. So 'smirk' was Sebastian Smythe. I felt suddenly intruding, as though I had laid his life out before me and probed it, which essentially I had.

I wondered what people would think if they looked at my family photographs.

My mother died in childbirth but there was someone else, perhaps it's a betrayal to the mother who gave her life for me but my father dated a woman for several years and I loved this woman dearly. One day when I was eight years old this woman didn't come home, I cried out for her every night for three weeks and took to calling her my mother, though my father told me to never use that word he encourages me to think of her in a maternal way. I loved her very much, I really did. She's the reason I hide issues of Vogue under my mattress; to see people who look beautiful like her, who hold themselves like her, who are glamorous like her. I can't bear to speak of her in past tense as we so often do with the absent; to me she is timeless literature that is now and new even though the memory is engrained into my mind evermore.

I love her more than I love my father, I'm not saying that I don't love my father, that's not what I'm saying at all. My father is distant, with every advance I make he pushes, but every so often in that moment between my cries for his affection and his detached eyes I see it; so bright that it almost hurts to look at. I see the sun in my father's eyes, I think it's his love; I have to believe that because I can't cope with any alternatives.

A voice whispered over my shoulder causing it to tense, his breath rolling over my neck, alcohol and peppermint filling my nostrils.

"Welcome to my humble abode…"

"Your hair's… wild to say the least kitty." Sebastian purred against me, his fingers gently running up the back of my neck and winding themselves into my hair.

Looking up I mustered the most monotone voice I could manage "rebellious follicle syndrome."

His wild eyes met mine, our noses so close and I felt the tips of my fingers prickle in response.

Shaking myself out of his snake-like trance I rushed from the room, there are lots of things that I could use to describe Sebastian and funnily enough they're all animals.

Breaking out of the warmth of the room I slipped out the French doors letting the wind slash at me, whipping along the edges of the outer-wall, desperately trying to find an entrance but finding me and instantly drawing the rose from my cheeks. With my back against the unyielding brick and my chest heaving I set to calming my nerves, ceasing the prickling sensation that had begun to ascend my arms.

I heard the doors click and knew someone had followed me out, I felt my whole body tense.

"Are you okay? You look like he shook you up pretty bad." Blaine, he had the whole drunk but sobering up vibe going for him.

"Don't worry about me, he just, he comes on strong doesn't he?" I replied

"Yeah don't worry about him; he… does that to people."

"You don't say" My whole sentence came out in a rush of air.

"I mean it's not exactly fair to come on so heavily to a straight guy" Blaine hastily added

"That was him coming on to me? Wait, straight?"

At that moment of all moments we heard a chorus of a countdown begin, midnight.

"10, 9, 8"

"You are straight right?" somehow we'd ended up so close that all that was between us was our frosty breath was mingling.

"7, 6, 5, 4"

"No" It came out in a whisper

"3, 2"

"Oh" His voice managed to come out even softer than mine had.

I didn't get to hear the '1' or the cheers, all of my senses had manifested to a single point; the feel of Blaine's lips parting against mine, his breath slipping into my mouth, the taste of beer on his tongue.

As the kiss deepened the prickling began to ball up tight, manifesting in my stomach before burning its way up my throat until it was constricting my breathing and forcing me to break away.

I've never ran so hard in my life, I was crying equally as hard.

I could still feel his kiss on the tip of my nose where he had pulled his face lower; stroking his face down mine momentarily until his lips had found mine, lingering on my hot skin.