I own neither Glee nor This Side of Paradise. This piece is largely unedited in an attempt to publish it before I get hit hard with classwork, so I apologize in advance for any typos I've missed.
"And he could not tell why the struggle was worthwhile, why he had determined to use the utmost himself and his heritage from the personalities he had passed...
He stretched out his arms to the crystalline, radiant sky.
I know myself," he cried, "But that is all." – F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise
The first time Kurt feels that he's really and truly losing his hold on his mother, he's still at McKinley, realizing that he won't be able to attend this year's Sound of Music sing-along screening because he scheduled his interview at Dalton for the same afternoon.
"She'd want you to take this opportunity, kid," Burt insists during a tense car ride to the hardware store that Wednesday. "All either of us has ever wanted was for you to be happy."
Kurt nods at his father slowly, biting back a snappy retort about the futility of such a quest in Lima of all places, then shifts a bit to look out the passenger-side window at the street signs whizzing by.
Kurt has always been good with words, but the emotions behind them still flummox and fluster him.
He's making tea and trying not to look at the pile of bills left unpaid when Dalton's financial aid office calls with a question for Mr. Hummel.
"M-my father's in the hospital right now," he responds. The kettle starts shrieking but Kurt ignores it, walking over to the living room table and picking up a Dalton brochure. "I'm sorry, but even if I was accepted, I really don't think we could afford it at this point."
"That's what we're here for," the woman on the other end responds. "And Kurt, let me just say that I'm so sorry and I hope he gets better soon."
Kurt runs a finger over the smiling group of boys on the cover of the pamphlet, making no noise in the silence of his empty house. Maybe one of them would like to be my friend, he thinks. The moment passes. Don't be stupid, he chides himself as he goes back into the kitchen.
The first sip burns his throat going down. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to the red-hot sting of ginger tea.
Burt wakes up a few days later and Kurt wants to cry with relief, but there's nobody at McKinley he tells other than the guidance counselor.
Almost as few people find out when he gets a surprise acceptance and decides to transfer to Dalton.
Dalton seems like a dream at first, a dazzling but disorienting wisp of a dream whose details he can't quite recall but whose essence is light and elusive. In the same way his first morning blurs right by, a mess of new faces and classrooms he cannot hope to keep straight. He's relieved to find that the boys are allowed to eat lunch anywhere on campus so long as they clean up, so he takes his salad to the library where he can find a seat without disturbing anyone. It's a grand old room outfitted in warm wooden panels and stately golden lamps, and he takes a moment to look around whenever he finishes a section of This Side of Paradise. Fitzgerald has always been his favorite author, and Kurt's reflecting sardonically that soon he'll be able to understand the prep school attitude of the first few chapters of Amory Blaine's life when he hears a whispered "Hey, new kid."
He looks up to find a boy with obviously gelled-down brown hair and friendly eyes smiling at him. "I'm Blaine," he continues. "I'm in your English class and I'm pretty sure I'm your new roommate. Kurt, right?"
Kurt nods, startled by the sudden appearance of the boy and his eagerness. He swallows audibly, then murmurs, "Yes, that's me."
"Awesome," Blaine replies. "What are you reading?"
Blaine finds out a few things about his roommate in their first few weeks together. Namely, Kurt is shy around new people but calls his father almost every night, he drinks coffee in the morning and tea in the afternoon, and he seems to be effortlessly gorgeous but his eyes glitter with the brightest light when he's sharing some insight about a book they're reading.
When it turns out that Kurt transferred a month into the first semester for the debate program, Blaine isn't too surprised. He only has the one class with Kurt, but he can tell that the other boy is brilliant.
"I made the first team," Kurt tells his father one evening over the phone. "I'm going to Columbus in two weeks for an invitational."
"I'm so proud of you, kid. But how are the other boys? Are you making friends?"
"Blaine's a great roommate; we're really getting along." Kurt pauses. "Um, let's see, there's Wes, my new partner, Thomas in my music theory class, and Jeff in pre-calculus."
It's not entirely a lie. He and Blaine are close (and he might have a tiny little crush on the other boy, but that's not something his father needs to know). As for the others, well, he and Wes will be spending a lot of time together, Thomas was his partner for a research project, and Jeff borrowed his notes one day after missing class for some Warblers performance.
It's not a lot, but it's more than he had at McKinley.
Blaine kisses him at 3:20 in the afternoon on December 16th, one hand cupping his shoulder and the other tracing his cheek where a pale pink flush works its way up his face. Kurt waits an entire week to tell his father because it doesn't feel real.
He doesn't understand it, but he'll take every kiss Blaine gives him if it means feeling this special to someone.
Sebastian isn't exactly excited to start a new school in Ohio of all places in his junior year. Looking around the cafeteria one week into the new school year, he remembers why. He sees some faces he remembers from classes scattered at various tables, but the groups seem so set and unchanging.
The Warblers call their newest addition over, and Sebastian starts putting names to faces as they introduce themselves. The cute dark-haired boy across from him is Blaine-"Blaine, the charmer," Trent interjects.
"I'm not doing any charming," Blaine retorts. "I have a boyfriend, you know."
Sebastian gradually determines that Blaine's boyfriend is Kurt, the quietly sarcastic boy who appears to live in the debate office. They've been together for almost a year, but Kurt never hangs out with the Warblers.
For a moment he thinks it's a bit strange, but he doesn't care enough to reflect any more than that.
The tenth anniversary of Lisbeth Hummel's death falls on a Saturday that year.
"Any fun plans with the other guys while your boyfriend's out of town?" Blaine asks Thursday night, packing a suitcase to some bubbly pop song playing on his computer.
Kurt smiles a bit too sharply. "No, I'm afraid I'm just going home this weekend. I need to study for chemistry." He pauses almost unconsciously.
Blaine grins at him. "That's my Kurt. Don't work too hard, or you'll make the rest of us look horrible."
Kurt sighs inwardly while fixing a playful look on his face. "I have nothing to worry about. You need to not make all the other kids visiting Yale feel utterly incompetent in comparison."
His chemistry test was last week.
The year drags on and entire weekends start vanishing for debate.
Kurt always makes a point to ask unnecessary procedural questions at the start of every round of a tournament. His teammates may have gotten used to his voice, but this way the judges can have their respective moments of shock (and definitely disgust that one time in Omaha) before they're expected to listen to him attentively. Sebastian himself used to make snide jabs at Kurt's voice and general mannerisms before giving up as if even he realized I was too pathetic a target to pick on, Kurt thinks disdainfully.
Wes has to have noticed his habit by now, but he doesn't say anything.
It's the team's general policy, really. They're not friends. Greg walks in on Wes being berated on the phone by his father for his 3.9 GPA, but he doesn't say anything. Sebastian finds Kurt's journal one day, bookmarked to page 11/15/2011 – I wish Blaine would ask me the right questions, but he doesn't say anything.
Sebastian spends his summer break before senior year getting drunk with his old friends from France and avoiding talking about his new friends from Dalton.
He doesn't really have any, and therein lies the problem.
Sure, he talks to the other Warblers, and he sees a lot of his lacrosse teammates, and he spends hours upon hours with the other debaters, but he's not close to any of them and none of them seem to want it any other way.
He takes another shot because it starts to hurt if he thinks about it for too long.
After the first debate meeting of senior year, Sebastian turns to Kurt, already thoroughly disgruntled.
"I did not sign up to babysit. How the hell are we supposed to teach these kids?"
Kurt starts, realizing that the other boy is speaking to him. "Oh, um, well, Wes was really good with getting me up to speed when I was new, so maybe we can just run some practices the way he did and hope for the best?"
Sebastian scowls, and Kurt feels like he has somehow said the wrong thing. "L-look, I know you probably don't want to partner with an underclassman…"
"You're right," Sebastian interrupts, "and I won't. Looking forward to working with you, Hummel."
It's almost kind of complimentary, which makes it the nicest thing Sebastian has ever said to him. Kurt fires back something vaguely intended to be an insult, only to catch himself gawking as the other boy saunters out of the room.
With every kiss, Kurt wishes he could stop time so he can linger in the feeling of Blaine being entirely his and him being entirely Blaine's. They're both so busy that sometimes it feels like they rarely have each other at all.
Sex evokes the same wistful thoughts, except they fall asleep wrapped up in each other and for a little while that's all there is.
Everything falls apart in a remarkably short span of time.
Cleaning out his childhood home after the funeral is an immensely surreal experience. Kurt knows he can't afford to keep up mortgage payments, especially now that he's thinking of dropping out of Parsons, so he ends up sorting the contents of the house into piles for storage and piles to take back to New York. Tracy, the realtor who lives just two doors down the street, brings him lemonade and assures him that she has everything taken care of.
When she leaves, he pours the lemonade into the sink and makes another cup of bitter ginger tea.
He saves his father's bedroom for last, knowing it will be the worst to clean up. He feels numb more than he feels upset, but a heavy weight seems to settle on his chest the second he opens the bedroom door. Kurt starts with the closet, selecting a few careworn plaid shirts that still smell vaguely of detergent and car oil for the New York pile. The photos on the bedside table are gathering a thin sheen of dust. Kurt picks one up at random and stares into his and Sebastian's faces, smiling widely if politely, as they each grasp one handle of a large golden trophy.
Once upon a time Kurt thought that perhaps Sebastian could have turned out to be a friend, but he'd always had problems with approaching people. With Blaine and Burt gone, he'd never felt so aware of his own loneliness.
The table drawer is small but contains a photograph of a five-year-old Kurt with Lisbeth, grinning at the camera. His mother's hair was still long then, before the chemotherapy, and swirled around her head with the wind.
There's one other thing in the drawer, a copy of Kurt's final English essay from his senior year at Dalton. The school required seniors to write a twenty-page essay on their favorite novels, and Kurt's essay was chosen for high honors at a banquet for seniors and their families. Burt had been so proud that day when Kurt was called up to receive a plaque from the principal; he remembered that twinkle he saw in the corner of his father's eye.
There was something romantic about writing a paper on the book he was reading when he met Blaine, Kurt had figured at the time.
Sebastian feels like he's sleepwalking through everything. One day he wakes up in New York and realizes that Blaine and the other men he's slept with are the closest things he has to friends.
Kurt loses track of how many years he's spent in the city, every month a blur of fabric swatches and strong tea and no faces but his own and his assistants'. He buys an apartment in London, hoping that a change of scenery will bring new people, but deep down he knows he's too reclusive for things to be any different in a different country. The French villa is entirely for his mother, who'd always spoken about visiting Paris as a young girl with a distant, wistful expression.
Sebastian takes in a sharp breath as he reads the first sentence scrawled in a familiar handwriting. He flips through the small book quickly, realizing that he's holding Kurt Hummel's journal and the other boy is nowhere to be found. It's a slender black leather notebook, but it feels heavy in his hands as he ponders what to do with it. The door opens suddenly and Sebastian freezes, only to hear the gruff voice of one of Dalton's custodians saying, "Sorry, sonny, but I have to clean up in here." Sebastian nods politely at the man as he leaves, pocketing the book before he can give it a second thought.
Sebastian realizes very quickly that this new Kurt he's interviewing is much less the haughty one he knew in high school and much more the withdrawn one he knows from his journal.
All it takes is a bit of inquisitive baiting: "Any men in your life?" he asks in their first recorded interview in Kurt's London apartment. ("I need to get out of the city for a bit; I'll send a car to pick you up at Heathrow," Kurt had emailed him the day they were supposed to meet in New York. Sebastian was mildly irritated at the time.) "I think everyone at Dalton thought you and Prince Charming would be married by now."
Kurt shrugs and crosses his legs. "I couldn't keep him."
"I must say, you're looking much less like a friendly gay ghost and much more like a human being. There has to have been someone else."
Kurt's avoiding his eyes. "Thank you, I think. But no, there's been no one."
Sebastian's wandering around the apartment a few days later when he finds the other man running on a treadmill, shirtless, headphones rendering him oblivious to his presence. Kurt is pale and skinny, almost gaunt, and Sebastian is seized by an impulse to yank the other man off the treadmill and feed him some of his mother's most fattening French food. Fuck, he thinks, when did I start caring about Hummel?
Then they go to France, to a secluded sprawling villa where the honeysuckle smells just like Sebastian remembers it. Kurt drives them to some market where he buys an entire rainbow of tiny glass beads ("I had a dream about this one summer when I was little and we went to the beach. My mother and I went snorkeling and I'd never seen so many colors in my life," is the explanation Kurt gives for his upcoming line).
There's something remarkably sad about the way he tells the story, but then there's something remarkably captivating about the way his eyes gradually change from crystal blue to a paler gray as they wander through the market stalls.
Sebastian wakes up from a dream that night painfully hard. It's only after he brings himself off that he realizes he's started seeing Kurt in his imagination's frequent nighttime romps and not Blaine.
Sebastian is surprised by a lot of what he reads, but then he thinks about how he never sees the boy with anyone but Blaine and suddenly it makes much more sense.
He thinks that Kurt might understand him better than anyone. Maybe they've never had a real conversation, and maybe Sebastian's parents are alive and in good health, and maybe Sebastian did have friends in France before he had to leave and become a stranger at Dalton, but the loneliness is the same. And when Kurt copies down a literary quote in his journal-"I know myself, but that is all"-he thinks that it stabs them in the exact same part of their hearts.
"Can I ask you a question, Kurt? Entirely off the record?"
They're in the dining room in Kurt's New York penthouse. It's a dark and rainy day, and a single gloomy cloud seems to hang over the entire city. Sebastian sips at a latté as Kurt stirs a cup of tea, waiting for it to cool.
"You can ask; I may elect not to answer."
"Clearly you're a very private person, but it doesn't seem to me that you're a very happy person. Why all this solitude and isolation?"
"Fashion is a very emotional process. Anyone who says he never feels the sum of his life's experiences when he's designing is a liar. My darkest thoughts and feelings have always been my muse."
He pauses. "It's just like how you always used to take a shot of Courvoisier before a major tournament; you fed off the rush of it all. I thought you might understand. I think it's why I let you do this interview."
"But do you ever think about putting yourself out there, opening up to people, maybe even being happy?"
"They don't want me, Sebastian. Nobody does. They want Kurt Hummel."
Sebastian's eyes are too wide and earnest as they gawk at him, so Kurt looks down to take a sip of tea. He winces at the strength of it.
Sebastian thinks back to that one seemingly inconsequential morning at Dalton when he stumbled upon Kurt's journal. I wish Blaine would ask me the right questions. He looks at Kurt, really looks at him, and sees the resignation in his face and the way his hands clench around the porcelain cup like he's afraid to let go.
"Let me rephrase the question," he starts, acting every bit the reporter, but then something in him softens as Kurt looks up cautiously. "It's not just a creative device. You haven't been happy for a long time, have you, Kurt?"
Sebastian has always thought he was fairly good at reading people, so when Kurt's mouth drops open slightly and he starts to push his chair back, he know he's hit on something. He gently places a hand over Kurt's but firmly keeps it pinned to the table.
"Talk to me. I don't want to know Kurt Hummel, I want to know you."
"No, you don't," Kurt hisses. "You want your paycheck. You don't care about me."
Sebastian sighs. "Yes, I want my paycheck. But I stopped recording an hour ago. Right now I want to know why you keep drinking that tea you seem to find so unpalatable and why you're so sad all the time."
"I…I…"
"You're lonely, aren't you? It's okay to need people."
Kurt swallows audibly, blinking a few times so he won't start crying. "Maybe I do need people, but they don't need me. Look around you. There's no one here but me and the clothes I named after my dead parents. Even the fucking tea was hers," he exclaims, his voice quickening with his angry heartbeat.
"Kurt, what-"
"My mother drank ginger tea. Two cups a day, every day until the day she died. I hate the taste of it-it's like drinking liquid fire-but sometimes it helps me pretend she's here."
His voice breaks on that last word and he's not going to cry, he refuses to cry, but suddenly Sebastian's other hand is reaching across the table to stroke Kurt's hair and he hears it, a gentle "Kurt, it's okay, I'm here, I'm not leaving," and he wants nothing more than to believe it.
A few hours later, they're curled up on the leather couch in Kurt's living room, some mindless MTV show playing on the television screen in front of them.
Sebastian cards a hand through Kurt's hair and pulls the other man closer to him. It's still not close enough.
Kurt lets himself be drawn in, then wraps his arms around Sebastian's waist. It's still not close enough.
Sebastian wakes up slowly the next morning in what has to be the most comfortable bed in the world. That in itself is strange, so he blinks his eyes open and realizes he's next to a seated Kurt Hummel who holds a book open on his knees, lips pursed.
Sebastian sits up sharply, realizing that he is fully clothed but for his jacket and shoes, and Kurt turns his head slowly, thoughtfully to address him.
"Don't worry, we didn't do anything." Kurt pauses for a few seconds, tilting his head slightly as he pierces Sebastian's eyes with his own. "Why?"
"Why?" Sebastian repeats, slightly stunned. "You're not one of the guys I meet at clubs; you're better than that, Hummel."
"No, Sebastian," he replies quietly, "why did you stay?"
"You needed me to, even if you don't know it yet."
Kurt ducks his head back down as he fiddles with the book in his hands. Sebastian notices that it's an old paperback and a well-loved one at that, if the bend in the spine and the wear of the cover say anything.
"You stayed, too," Sebastian continues. "Why?"
Kurt freezes for just a second or two too long before pasting that familiar sarcastic smile on his face. "You know, you're very cuddly when you're sleeping. I couldn't have escaped if I tried."
With that, Kurt closes his book and places it on the nightstand next to him, shuffling out of the room with a quiet "I'm making oatmeal; you can use my spare towels in the linen closet if you want to take a shower."
The dismissal stings him worse than any insult or lacrosse injury ever did.
Sebastian goes back to Blaine and it's almost like nothing has changed. Almost, but he knows that something has.
A bit over two months after he leaves Kurt's apartment, confused and mortified, Sebastian's calling the other man from outside his building to insist that he let him in.
"What in the world are you doing here?" Kurt huffs, arms crossed, as Sebastian steps into his apartment from the elevator.
Now that Sebastian's finally talking to him, he can't fathom where to start. Words start spilling out of their own accord.
"You keep This Side of Paradise on your bedside table, don't you? It's really worn out, so I guess it's probably the same copy you had in high school. I'm a reporter, Kurt, I notice things."
Kurt stares at him blankly. "Why is that any of your business? Did you come here just to interrogate me about my pleasure reading?"
Sebastian presses on. "No, you see, I understand. 'I know myself, but that is all.'" He groans, exasperated, and runs a hand through his hair. "Look, Kurt-I read your journal."
"What? Why would you do something like that? Was this for the article?"
"No, look, I'm sorry, it was back at Dalton, senior year, and I swear I was just going to put it back but then Larry had to clean the debate office and I ended up taking it with me. If you want I can even tell you that it was November 16th because you'd just written in it the previous day that Blaine was fucking things up and the day before that you'd copied down this passage from This Side of Paradise."
Kurt blinks. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. Why are you only telling me this now? Why are you telling me at all?"
"Because I read that book and I think it's one of the fucking silliest things I've ever read but when he's talking about knowing himself and everything else being a stupid pointless struggle, that meant something. To both of us. I need you to let me in, Kurt, and you need it, too."
"I should be mad at you for reading my journal," Kurt sputters. "Why am I not mad at you?"
Sebastian takes a careful step toward Kurt, then another, eyes pleading, and insists, "Because this could be something great. Tell me you didn't feel something, anything, when we were lying on your couch together and if you really mean it I'll leave."
"I felt…I felt less alone than I have in a long time. Is that what you want to hear?"
"Only if you mean it. But that's the thing, isn't it? You think it's only temporary and you think I'll leave."
Sebastian edges closer to Kurt, close enough that he reaches out and clasps the other man's hands in his own. "I felt special, Kurt, I felt like I meant something, and I'm right here telling you that I don't want to give that up."
Kurt stares directly at him, eyebrows slightly raised as he says, "Then don't."
Sebastian kisses him for the first time sooner than he'd normally be proud to admit, but he can't find it in him to be ashamed at his own eagerness when it means he's kissing Kurt Hummel, Kurt who kisses back almost shyly at first but every bit as readily.
They have good days and they have bad days, but the most important thing to both of them is that they have them together, whether drinking coffee together on a blanket in some secluded corner of Central Park or curled up in bed for hours on days when Kurt's too anxious to do anything but cling to him. Sebastian still sees Blaine for dinner some evenings when Kurt is in a mood and doesn't want to be disturbed from his work, but his patience with the other man is wearing thinner by the day.
Then one Sunday morning, Kurt is searching for a packet of buttons when he happens upon his old English essay from Dalton. Sebastian knows this because he wanders into the room just as a few silent tears start to spill down his face. Soon the two of them are sitting on the living room sofa, Kurt's legs sprawled across Sebastian's lap as he gathers the smaller boy in his arms and attempts to comfort him. He's never been good with crying.
Luckily for him, Kurt's never been much of a crier, and in a matter of minutes he's murmuring into Sebastian's chest, "I can't be happy. I'm not supposed to be happy. Blaine, Dalton, Vogue…they all think I'm brilliant when I'm miserable. I think they're right. I think it's the only thing I'm good at."
Sebastian trails a hand down his back to hold him even tighter. "You're so much more than that, sweetheart. And," he hesitates, "you know I love your work, but have you ever thought about just taking a break for a while? I can't stand to see you making yourself so sad."
Kurt shakes his head slowly. "I can't. If I give up then none of it is worth anything. If I give up then I struggled for nothing and I'll be just as anonymous as I was before."
Sebastian sighs. "I'm here, Kurt. Right now, any time you need me, anywhere, and I'll never think any less of you if you decide to put your health first."
Kurt leans back into the arm of the sofa so he can reach an arm around Sebastian's shoulders. "You're so good to me, you know. You're wonderful."
When Sebastian finally kicks his somewhat-friend out of his apartment, he does it knowing that both he and Kurt deserve better than Blaine and have found it in each other.
The past few months have been remarkably good for them, so Sebastian's surprised to receive a text in the middle of his GQ party that simply reads, I really didn't want to interrupt but I need you, please. I'm in your old office.
Sebastian hurries to the twentieth floor without so much as an excuse to his former coworkers.
"You look handsome," Kurt observes in a tense voice as Sebastian closes the door and draws the blinds closed.
"Thank you, gorgeous." He pauses. "Kurt-"
"It's been eight years today. Eight whole years since my father died and all I could think about was planning a surprise date to congratulate you on the new job. I'm a terrible son," he chokes out, wiping harshly at his eyes the way he does when he's trying desperately not to cry.
"No, Kurt, the fact that you're this upset about it says that you're a wonderful son. I know you miss him every day, but you've only got one life and it's yours alone to use." Kurt quirks a small smile. "I know, I sound like a motivational tape. I'm sure all the writers upstairs would slaughter me."
Kurt starts at Sebastian's flippant comment. "The writers…I shouldn't have come, it's your party, I'm so sorry, it isn't your fault I'm such a fucking train wreck."
"Don't. Don't you even try this, sweetheart. I told you whatever you need, whenever, and I meant it."
"I don't even know what I need, I'm sorry, I should just leave."
Sebastian loves the way his arms wrap around Kurt so easily, so instinctually, but that's not on his mind as he tries to steady the other man from shaking.
"It's okay, you're here and I'm here and I'm not letting you go. And that's it. Forget about everything else for a while, it's just you and me."
They make love for the first time that night, slow and steady so they can hold each other impossibly close.
"I love you," Kurt whispers into the darkness as they lie in bed half-asleep.
"I love you," Sebastian whispers back, and it feels awfully like perfection to both of them.
"You're right," Kurt tells him one morning, a few months later, over their daily coffee. "I can't do it."
Sebastian stares at him blankly for a moment.
Kurt exhales slowly, then explains, "I'm going to call Phoebe and Alexander today. I need to get away from fashion for a little while. I…I think I deserve better than living in constant fear of my own mind."
Sebastian cleans up their breakfast plates when Kurt heads into his office to call his assistants. He can't keep a silly buoyant smile off his face.
Not even a few days later, after he's finished telling Blaine off for daring to cast puppy-dog eyes at his boyfriend.
It's almost a familiar scene. Kurt's cleaning out his closet for keepers and items to be stored and the apartment is growing steadily emptier.
But this time, Sebastian's pulling him into a strangely syncopated dance to Edith Piaf playing on his computer, and Kurt's saying, "I think France will be the best decision we ever made."
The song ends and Sebastian hands Kurt a red cardboard box. "I found this in your pantry; it's almost completely full. Is it a keep or a reject?"
Kurt eyes the box of ginger tea for just a fraction of a second before he responds, "Have you noticed I haven't been drinking it? I suppose I have something better now," and he doesn't even have to look to know that his favorite crinkled-eye smile is playing across Sebastian's face.
Because Kurt still doesn't know a lot of things, like how calculus really works, why there are so many sad people in the world, or what they're even going to do once they get to Kurt's villa, but that's okay.
He knows he loves Sebastian, and the rest will take care of itself because Sebastian loves him back. It's something beautiful and invigorating and better than anything Fitzgerald ever dreamed up about love.