Author's Note: So, "Guilty Pleasures" didn't end up being everything I wanted it to be. What better reason to start writing a fic than that? :) Will be Sam/Kurt, starts as a twist on 4.17 "Guilty Pleasures," so there are spoilers for that episode in here. Dedicated to C., the best friend a girl could ask for - this one's for you, as they always are when they end up Sam/Kurt.
"So, what you're saying is that - you have feelings for me? I'm your guilty pleasure?" Sam asked, his voice even and sure as he rephrased what Blaine had just told him. In the silence after it, a pin could have been dropped - a thousand pins could have been dropped - and each one would have been heard with crystal-clear precision.
Blaine dropped his gaze low and examined the fine wood grain on the piano. "Yeah, I guess I haven't been exactly the most subtle about it, have I?"
"Well, you weren't exactly writing it in the sky like they do in those really bad chick flicks that Quinn and Brittany have made me watch time and time again, but, no. Not really. No."
"You're not mad, are you? After all, even if you and I aren't - well, anything - I'd still rather us be bros."
"Nah." Sam smiled at Blaine, a little lopsided. "Besides, can I be honest with you?"
"Of course you can."
"It was - kind of, really flattering? I mean, you're a great guy and I appreciated all the attention, but -"
"But, what - oh, God, is it my hair gel? Do you prefer less hair product? I can go natural, if you'd prefer that - but you remember prom, right?" He shuddered his shoulders.
"If I did, I wouldn't be dating Brittany. She uses enough hairspray to satisfy a small European army. Does the Pope have an army? That would be awesome if he did. But, no, that's not it."
"Then what is it? What did I do wrong?"
"You're - you're the wrong guy. That's - that's just it. All there is." Sam placed his hands forward on the piano and looked straight at Blaine. "You're a great guy, and we'll always be bros, swear, but I'm - I'm interested in someone else."
The expression on Blaine's face dropped considerably; his lower lip jutted out and the sparkle in his eyes had gone dim. "Then - who is the right guy?" he said, his voice wavering ever-so-slightly. "If I'm not it, then who could it be?"
"Since you're my best bro and everything, I won't lie to you; it's Kurt." He bit his lip and frowned. "I - I would have thought it was obvious, considering the macaroni art I made of him - you don't just do that for anyone, you know."
"No, no, you wouldn't. But you'd do it for Emma Stone?"
"Girl was hilarious in Easy A, what are you talking about? Of course I would. It's easier to make art when you're passionate about the subject. Look at you and your singing."
"When I mean the words I sing, they come out so much easier than when they're just words in a melody. You're right."
"So I make macaroni art of people I feel passionately about: Emma Stone's hilarity, the Duck Dynasty guys and their epicness, and Kurt and his -"
"Yeah, I know all of Kurt's best qualities, because I've seen them in him too, believe me. You don't need to tell me all about them."
"I was going to say Kurtness, because there's not really one word that can summarize him very well. At least that I've found."
"And that makes it even worse, because you'd describe me with like, loyal or caring or loving or some word that makes me sound like a labrador puppy that hasn't been housebroken yet. And yet Kurt gets 'Kurtness.'"
"No, I'd call you my bro, and that makes you pretty awesome in my book. Blaine is my bro," he said, his smile turning into a full-fledged grin at that proclamation, "C'mon, let's go hit up the Lima Bean for some mochas and some of those awesome crunchy chocolate pastry things they have there. Hug it out?"
"I'll take you up on the hug, but I'll pass on the mochas," Blaine said, moving in for the hug. "Coffee's supposed to ruin your vocal cords, or something, and I want to stay in tip-top shape for regionals. Rachel forwarded me an email about it. So I'm cutting back." He wrapped his arms around Sam's chest and breathed him in; Sam held him, his arm wrapped loosely around Blaine's back. It felt good to be held. He had forgotten how good it felt to be held by someone else; it had been far too long, and to know that Sam wouldn't likely be supportive if he and Kurt ever were to get back together - it hurt.
Sam patted him a couple of times on the back and moved away from him, his glance still fixated on Blaine's face. "So, I'll be seeing you later? Like, tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow sounds good," Blaine replied. "See ya, Sam."
Maybe he shouldn't have been summoning his inner Phil Collins lover. Maybe he should summon his inner Eric Carmen instead - "I don't wanna be all by myself anymore," indeed, he thought to himself as he left the auditorium, scuffing at the polished tile with the heel of his shoe.
"I don't wanna be all by myself anymore," Kurt mumbled under his breath, adjusting Bruce around his neck as he buried his face into the fabric side and tried to sleep. He'd never realized how alone he really felt in this city sometimes; sure, things were better now that he was at NYADA, and he always had Rachel and Santana, but he missed having someone to hold him at night. Not that he and Blaine spent that many nights together, realistically, but he knew that no matter how far apart they were, that there was some part of Blaine always with him.
And he hadn't had that in so very long, that he was burying himself in the affections of a plush arm of all things, which sounded very B-horror movie of him. At least he knew that Bruce would never leave him. At the very worst, Bruce would need to go to the dry cleaners around the corner to air him out once in a while. And he was certain that a boyfriend pillow was not the weirdest thing they would have ever seen brought in. By far.
He supposed there was always Adam. And Adam was really nice and Kurt thought there might be something there - maybe, even though he kind of felt like Adam might think that he was always going to live in Blaine's shadow.
Which totally wouldn't be the case. At all. Whether it was Adam or anyone else, he needed to learn to move on from always living under Blaine's shadow. There were seven billion people in the world, so roughly three-and-a-half billion guys, so eliminating the far too young, the far too old, the religiously conservative of all stripes and those who wouldn't appreciate fine Broadway entertainment, he was still left with a considerable portion of the world's population.
Maybe it was time to go after some of it.
He didn't know how many more nights he could take sniffing cologne samples in his sleep.
Sam had to admit: he had been brave today. It wasn't every day that you basically came out to your best friend, even if the enormity of his confession had seemingly slipped by Blaine in the confusion of everything else. Which was fine by him. He didn't see the need for the big fuss over labels and whatever - he liked who he liked, and everyone else should just go with his flow instead of fighting against it.
He lay back in bed and looked up at the ceiling. Maybe he should be even more brave. Send Kurt the portrait. He'd send Emma hers too, except he was pretty sure that would get him some lovely restraining orders from a California judge, and it would end up in a landfill somewhere, and he really didn't want the pasta to go to waste like that. At least break up the painting and feed a homeless guy with it, have his art do some good for the world.
Maybe he wouldn't tell Kurt it was him, but then, it'd likely suffer the same fate as Emma's. Except with more finesse, and there would probably be a song sung while doing it. It'd be like sending someone a note with letters cut out of magazines: even if the sentiment is the most awesome thing ever, like "I love you," or something like that, the method makes you seem really creepy without all the intentions being known.
So just how do you tell the guy you're into - who most recently dated your best friend, who's into you - that you made a macaroni portrait of his face? That every placement of every elbow of macaroni was a labor of love?
And how do you say it when you're hundreds of miles away?
Do you even say it at all?
-to be continued-