Okay, so this is ever-so-slightly AU in that it's pre-Original Songs and Kurt never confessed in Silly Love Songs; things derail from there in such a manner that the events of Original Songs are still plausible but perhaps unlikely. I actually don't know if it has to be post-Sexy specifically but I don't know what I referenced in there and I'm too tired to go back and check. If this oh-so-vaguely spoils things for you then I'm sorry, but really, what the hell are you doing reading Glee fics if you don't even know what happened in Season Two?
Disclaimer: No part of Glee in any way, shape, or form belongs to me. Blaine's song is a snippet of "Don't You" by Darren Criss because why the hell not; the other two singers mentioned sing a line of Justin Bieber's "Pick Me" and the first verse of "Leave" by Katie Todd, which (Leave, that is) is a really excellent song by a fantastic musician and you should all go listen to all her music. Yay! Please don't sue me!
Kurt's song, Caught In Your Eyes, is my own composition; I think I'll let Kurt apologize for it.
"You can't be serious, Blaine." Kurt simultaneously rolled his eyes, flipped his hair and drank coffee, causing no fewer than two attractive blazer-clad young men to stare in open astonishment at the range of emotions conveyed within the space of a fraction of a second. And while walking, no less.
"Deadly serious, Kurt." Blaine grinned his "excitable-puppy" grin, which, while distinct from his "dapper!Blaine" grin, was practically indistinguishable from his "Kurt's my best friend and that's pretty excellent" grin, something that both elated and depressed Kurt in equal measure.
"If you think for a second that I am entering this stupid songwriting contest, you are out of your frickin' mind, Blaine."
"C'monnn, Kurt! It'll be fun, and you can show off your amazing singing skills to an auditorium full of people! Since when have you turned down a chance to perform! And my Government teacher is one of the judges, so Dalton will give us the day off if we go and compete."
"It's not the singing bit, it's the writing bit. I mean, I can come up with a passable tune in a pinch, but writing? It's your thing, Blaine, you and that notebook you carry around like it's your child. I'm not a poet, not like you."
Blaine smirked. "You're just afraid you'll lose! You can't bear to admit that you might not be the best at something!"
"Um, Blaine? I just did admit it."
"I mean, have judges actually say you're bad. You're just scared!" he taunted.
Kurt sighed. "Okay, first of all, that is the most unsubtle plan ever. Make me get angry and try to prove you wrong? I'm not stupid, Blaine." Seeing Blaine's crestfallen look, he added, "Though I apparently am a sucker for punishment, because yes, I will participate in your songwriting contest."
"Yaay!" Blaine skipped over to Thad, who was walking in the other direction. "He says he'll do it!"
"Oh, is Hummel finally putting out?" he snarked. He glanced at Kurt apologetically. "Sorry, Kurt. Out of line."
Kurt waved his hand dismissively. "It's fine." A casual observer might have thought the apology was solely for the inappropriateness of the suggestion, but of course Thad knew about Kurt's feelings. As Kurt was becoming increasingly (and uncomfortably) aware, all the Warblers knew about Kurt's feelings, except, of course, for Blaine; so, for that matter, did that kid from AP Physics, the twins who were always in the library when Kurt was, and (if the seating arrangements were anything to go by) their French teacher—oh, and Jake from Brit Lit…
Actually, if Kurt was being realistic, about half of Dalton and all the female members of New Directions knew about Kurt's stupid, stupid crush. On stupid, stupid Blaine Stupid Anderson. In fact, Kurt decided, that was going to preempt both Everett and Warbler as Blaine's middle name as far as Kurt was concerned…
Okay. Hold up. That little bit of crazy, Kurt could tell, was a warning sign that he needed to do something about this crush. Which brought him back, once more, to this songwriting contest. Because the only way to combat a stupid crush was by doing an equally stupid thing. An equally stupid thing here meaning writing a song to Blaine and performing it for him at this stupid songwriting contest.
Kurt resolved to end this crush one way or another, as it was seriously messing with his vocabulary and if he lost his witty repartee he'd just be a… a music box with excellent hair.
Wait, never mind, that even sounded stupid in his head.
Wait. No.
Argh!
Kurt was sitting at the last empty library table, the wobbly one with nudibranchs are excellent carved into one leg. His mouth tasted like plastic with a hint of ink, his pen was leaking ink when he wrote, and there were crumpled paper scraps in his hair. But he was getting somewhere at last; finally, some of his feelings were turning into words that—
At this point his deliberations were interrupted by the devil himself, Blaine Stupid Anderson. (Really? He was only kidding about the middle name thing.)
"Hey, Kurt! Watcha writing?" Kurt scrambled to cover it up as Blaine calmly read what lines were visible beneath his fingers.
"Trembling… rose… bed… romance… ooh, serenades. This is a love song! Who did you write a love song to?"
"No one, actually," Kurt muttered. Which I suppose is true, since it's not technically a love song.
"I don't believe you. You like someone! That's great, Kurt!" Blaine was once again in puppy-slash-best-friend mode. Joy of everlasting joys.
"You'll hear the song at the contest, so stop looking!" Kurt finally gave up on hiding the lyrics with his hands and just shoved the whole thing in his bag, standing abruptly.
"I have to go, Blaine."
The requisite weeks had passed, the appropriate auditorium had been located and the necessary traveling had been done. Now Kurt was sitting in the front row with the rest of the competitors, waiting for his turn. Blaine was first, and excellent.
He played the guitar (another hidden depth, Kurt mused) and sang a really quite good song. He actually looked at Kurt during it, smiling—but only for part of the time, Kurt was sure. He didn't quite remember, as he'd had a hard time watching, though he drank in the sound.
Say, wasn't that a funny day?
Gee, you had a funny way-a way about you.
A kind of glow of something new.
Sure-I'll admit that I'm the same.
Another sucker for a game kids like to play,
And the rules they like to use.
Don't you want the way I feel?
Don't you want the way I feel?
Don't you want the way I feel for you?
He was followed by several people, including a really terrible rather androgynous boy with an awful haircut("You should be pick me, so tell me can you dig it")
and a woman with an absolutely astonishing voice and a rather nice hat:
Necessary actions taken only so you'll land on your feet.
And consequences with an action, overthrown in this distraction, please.
And even when the stars align there's always something caught in your teeth.
This and that it's always something with you, I've run out of steam.
Leave, I'm ready to leave, I'm sorry but you see, you're making me bleed, I'm ready to leave.
And then, when they were all beginning to blend together (except for Blaine, never Blaine), it was Kurt's turn.
So he got up out of his seat, clumsy, a poorly-assembled golem, and walked with the resigned terror of a man going to face the firing squad—sensations which struck him as very wrong because it was really just singing, after all, and if he was expressing himself in this a little more directly than usual then so be it. He stood in front of the helpfully provided keyboard and appropriate microphone, spat out what he was pretty sure was an introduction, and just played. And sang. And hoped, staring at Blaine, trying to understand the expressions on his low-lit face.
Sometimes I wish I had walked out when you first asked me
To stay here and see
Sometimes I wish I had parted our trembling hands
And made other plans
There are days when I look back at slow-motion staircases
Old and unknown faces
Serenades saved for the whole
And I listen to myself,
The romance on the shelf
And realize that I'm growing old
You've got me standing here, caught in your eyes
Waiting and wishing for you to realize
And I can't keep on holding
For something unfolding
Too slow
Maybe I'm ready to go
This song was about Blaine. That's it. That's all it was. Blaine. Nothing else.
Hand held in hand is so easy and simple to do
At least for you
The thing in your hand we both know is a wish, not a rose
But that's not what I chose
Coffee-shop memories so simply childish now
And I just don't know how
The dancer keeps holding her pose
Snowy duets
On a bed of regrets
Meant to warm us but missed and I froze
His voice almost cracked, but he caught it, and just in time because here came the chorus again.
You've got me standing here, caught in your eyes
Waiting and wishing for you to realize
And I can't keep on holding
For something unfolding
Too slow
Maybe I'm ready to go
He stopped looking at Blaine, stopped trying to figure out his expression, just stared at the empty space over the judges' heads and concentrated on keeping his voice as perfect as it would be for any other song, any song that wasn't tearing him up inside.
I never claimed to know everything but I knew you
Thought it was true
I never said I could love you but did anyway
Nothing left to say
The distance between us is tiny but so very wide—
I'm dying inside
We've got to let go
Trying to make it work
Thought I could hide for sure
But I am sure we both know
You've got me standing here, caught in your eyes
Waiting and wishing for you to realize
And I can't keep on holding
For something unfolding
Too slow
Maybe I'm ready to go
Maybe I'm ready to go
He played the last few notes, stood up, and bowed. He heard applause, not thunderous, about as much as Blaine's. He suspected it was more for his voice than his words, which had not been as good as he'd hoped, but then there you are.
He managed to get back to his seat without stumbling or otherwise making a fool of himself. He couldn't look at Blaine—what had he been thinking? Slow-motion staircases and snowy duets and coffee-shop memories—oh God, what was wrong with him? Kurt was sure now he'd been either too direct and Blaine had been terribly embarrassed by the blatant love song too him, or he'd been too vague and Blaine would still not know anything about Kurt's crush and he'd congratulate him and offer constructive criticism with his big oblivious dapper smile, and either way Kurt would die. Die horribly.
Neither of them won; Kurt didn't pay much attention to the winner, though staring unseeingly at the blonde woman shaking hands with the judges was easier than chancing actually meeting Blaine's eyes.
Avoiding Blaine was not as easy as Kurt had hoped; his walk over to his car was interrupted by Blaine walking up beside him and Kurt suddenly realized they'd come there together so there was no chance of avoiding him.
"Hi, Blaine," he said, smiling. Acting normal seemed like the best course of action. "You were really good. Shame you didn't win. You could probably become a songwriter, you know. I would have bought that."
"What's wrong, Kurt?" Evidently "normal" was not quite working. "Are you upset because you didn't win? Your song was really quite good, you know, even if the tune was a bit—"
"It was terrible, Blaine, you don't have to lie," Kurt said with a wave of his hand. "It's not that, it's… something else."
"Is it—that was a very emotional song, Kurt. Is something… bothering you?"
Kurt looked at Blaine, who was full of sympathy and concern and friendship and nothing more. He was suddenly very angry, at Blaine, at himself, at the whole stupid contest. He'd been an idiot to agree to this, an idiot to try to tell Blaine, an idiot all around.
"You know what, Blaine?" He dug in his bag and pulled out a piece of paper—the final draft of the lyrics. "Here's the words. Read them. Figure it out."
He regretted a million times over having ever agreed to carpool with Blaine. He'd never even considered that they'd have to drive back after the contest. Stupid, Kurt. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What is wrong with you?
Kurt drove stiffly, in silence, trying to ignore Blaine's careful studiousness in the seat next to him.
"Hmmm, I don't think this line really works, snowy duets isn't quite enough syllables—"
"Oh, for god's sake, Blaine. I'm perfectly aware that it's sentimental crap and rather poor poetry, the point is the sentiment expressed, not the complete failure of the artistic medium in which they are conveyed. Do I really have to explain it to you?"
There was a pause in which Blaine displayed the kind of emotions usually only shown by a puppy that just destroyed your favorite slippers. "…Yes."
"Okay. Fine," Kurt said through gritted teeth, fully aware that he was throwing a fit for no particular reason, and that if he explained the lyrics now Blaine would know how he felt and would never ever talk to him again, but—
"The parted hands and slow-motion staircases thing is when we first met. Yes, you and I, Blaine, the two of us."
"So… you wish we hadn't met?"
"Sometimes, yeah—wait, don't get mad, just listen! Just. Listen. The serenades saved for the whole thing was—well, I'm just going to say it's about Jeremiah."
"Are you still annoyed about that? I know it was a dumb thing to do, but it's not like you ever had any particular desire to shop at GAP anyway."
Kurt repressed a shudder. "Oh, God forbid. Anyway, the chorus is… okay, you know what, to hell with it! The song is about the fact that I have a massive crush on you and you'll never notice, not ever, because I'm your best friend and a baby penguin and all of that. And I've been trying to get over it and stuff, but it hasn't been—it's not quite—and that's what I could write about. I thought it would help, but, well." Kurt petered out lamely, unsure
They sat quietly for a few moments, Kurt afraid to look at Blaine even though he was desperate to know why Blaine hadn't actually reacted yet.
At last, hushed, unhappy: "It's quite a good song, really."
And Kurt, not knowing what to take from this, decided it meant no, I don't feel the same way. He finally, a little of the uncertainty resolved, glanced over at Blaine, who offered a half-smile and a friendship.
Kurt gave a half-smile back and took it.