Attention: I do NOT own Glee (because we would have continuity, god forbid) and take no ownership or copyright.
Rating: M for future scenes and language (but really, it's for the scenes)
I never asked for a Token Gay but I suppose I should count myself lucky to have one. Kurt is sitting next to me, one leg over the other, his pale hands absentmindedly twirling the silly ends of his knit scarf as he and I scout the Lima Bean for what he calls "the best Lima can offer (besides Burberry, Alexander McQueen, do I even need to mention Marc Jacobs...)"-aka, man candy. It's a ritual he and I have while Blaine gets our coffee but for all I care, it just asserts Kurt's sexuality. For example,
"How about the one in the royal blue cardigan, or is he too baby face," Kurt says, "No, you're right, he reminds me of a cherub. All he needs is a loincloth and bow and arrow to harass everyone with." He leans his elbow on the chair, batting not even an eyelash as he slashes the cherub boy and redirects his attention to another—a middle-aged man with an Ivy League haircut, an "homage to Anderson Cooper. I could melt in those arms any day. Palestine, Libya...swine flu." Kurt sighs as he cups his cheek in his hand, his eyes fixated on "Anderson" from across the room.
I mock him; "Do you want me to get you an autograph?" I know it's a bit wrong to make fun of Kurt and his crush on Anderson Cooper, but I find it endearing that he would push back his "holy" facial regimen to watch Anderson on CNN...even if the sound is on mute and replaced with Marvin Gaye. I can feel icy daggers pinching into my sides even before I meet Kurt's cold look, raising my eyebrows at what he will do next.
"That's a nice push-up bra you're wearing, I'm sure it'll compensate nicely." He tilts his head and smiles. Ouch. It hurts, but Kurt doesn't know that—I don't let him. I don't let him know that every time I go to Glee club, I wish I had Quinn Fabray's perfect breasts and face or Rachel Berry's voice; Mercedes' confidence, Tina's hair, Santana's promiscuity, or Brittany's figure. Is it natural to look at everyone besides yourself and think how much better they are, how even in the slightest comparison they have the upper hand? And what can I do by letting Kurt know? Accept sympathy and "you are beautiful" pep talks? Trips to the mall to find clothes that hug my "figure" or bring out the brown in my eyes? I'm not daft enough to let myself feel miserable, so when I stand in front of the mirror I shut my eyes and walk through dark tunnels, my hands trailing on warm walls until I feel the cold of metal. With a push, my eyes startle me as gold light means to blind me, golden treasure piling high into rooms beyond rooms, I just know it. I am Keeper of this special room, and only with my guidance can anyone else glimpse inside. It's not my intellect—everyone, if they try and care, can be smart. Neither is it my ability to listen to others troubles, successes or stories—what else do you do when you have nothing to say about yourself? My room...is Inquisitiveness. Not Curiosity. Curiosity means that I want to know, but inquisitiveness implies that I am determined to know. In the trail to truth, oftentimes it is easier to stop and give up, to fool oneself into thinking that their thirst and taste of curiosity has been quenched. Not for me. And not for journalists.
I don't let Kurt or anyone know about my insecurities because I don't want sympathy or feel better "bitch talks". I want to be strong, not weak. And secretly, in the smallest ridges of my head, I think that if I don't tell anyone, they can't assert my faults. All the better for me...
"Great things come in small packages," I say, and as a sudden afterthought, "I'm sure you understand," raising an eyebrow and jerk my head to his hips. Kurt purses his lips, but the corner of his mouth tugs upward and suddenly we laugh. I lean in to quickly hug Kurt around the shoulders, his arms reaching around my back. I don't know how he and I became friends—good friends—but I never want to miss a moment of it.
Blaine comes carrying a coffee holder with our orders a while later as Kurt and I are talking. It doesn't matter about what because as soon as Blaine sits down next to Kurt, Kurt leans in to kiss him on the cheek. I've been with Kurt and Blaine for a while now, so I recognize that when Blaine smiles, it's a bit tense, his eyes warily scanning the cafe to see if anyone saw. Winter was fast approaching, the air becoming bitter cold day by day as more and more people flocked to the Lima Bean for comfort. It wasn't packed to the brim like it would be in December, but there were enough people to have glanced Kurt kiss Blaine. Without saying a word, Blaine holds Kurt's hand in his and gives it a soft squeeze. I know it pains Kurt to not be able to kiss Blaine on the lips more than it pains Blaine—Kurt doesn't care what people think of them, but he didn't because of Blaine. I realize that I am once again staring at the two of them, my coffee held mid-air, the heat starting to burn my fingers through the coffee sleeve as I inwardly sigh. Their relationship was the most beautiful out of all of McKinley, like a Broadway musical or storybook tale. A small part of me bitterly thinks how two of the only open gays formed a relationship by happenstance, while I am still single in an overflowing sea of heterosexuals.
We stayed at the Lima Bean for a good hour but our coffee grew cold and the dread of homework and school the next day hoisted us up from our seats. As Blaine leads us to the front door, someone to our right calls his name and both Blaine and Kurt snap their heads to a handsome boy—maybe seventeen—in a school uniform walking towards us with a smile that only a hunter could have after shooting his prey. I didn't need his height, quiff, or strong cologne to tell me he was a douchebag; already I knew he was Sebastian Smythe.
I don't think he's looking anywhere besides Blaine (and I don't mean his face) as he saunters over. "Blaine, what a coincidence to see you here again. It's like fate," says Sebastian, pointedly ignoring Kurt and I. Blaine starts, flustered, looking back and forth from Sebastian and Kurt, his cheeks growing warm. Kurt's jaw is jut, his eyes menacing as he looks at Sebastian with open contempt and loathing. I can tell from the striking color contrast that Kurt's hand is grasping Blaine's tightly, his knuckles turning whiter by the second.
"Is that what you call reading Blaine's Facebook check-ins," asks Kurt, his voice colder than the air outside.
Sebastian looks at Kurt for the first time, his smile if even possible growing larger. He flicks his eyes over Kurt's shoulder and our eyes meet momentarily and an icy shiver goes down my back; I suddenly want to run into a corner and hug my knees. It's not that he terrifies me but rather that people like him tend to make me feel vulnerable. They have all the confidence in the world and aren't scared to rip at anothers throat or make someone feel miserable with one word or comment. I feel myself tense, dreading the awful chance that he attacks me, even if this isn't my fight.
"Is something bothering you, Kurt? You seem a bit...tense," says Sebastian cockily, tilting his head to the side with mock concern. I know it's terrible of me, but he looks kind of cute...for a "smug and raggedy man-whore".
Before Kurt can respond, Blaine hastily interjects. "We were just leaving, Sebastian. So maybe another time." He reaches out to grab the door handle but he's too far away. Instead, Sebastian holds open the door without looking away from Blaine, staring into his eyes, as I imagine it. A small part of me (maybe my evil twin?) wishes he would look at me instead. I scrunch my nose—did I really just think that?
"Online, maybe. Or you could stop by Dalton and we could, uh..." Sebastian smirks as Blaine hurriedly walks out of the door, Kurt shooting icy daggers as he walks out with Blaine. However, Sebastian doesn't notice, his eyes more intent on Blaine's butt, and is why he lets go the heavy glass door as I am halfway through. The door hits my right side and I let out an audible "oof!" My arm is starting to throb as I lead my left shoulder and edge through what little is left of open space. I start rubbing my right arm once I am outside and when I look up, I see myself face-to-face with Sebastian behind the door. My heart misses a beat and I can feel blood rushing to my cheeks. He's smiling, as if he was laughing or something and I can't stand it. The humiliation, his douchebaggery, his absolute lack of boundaries, his stupid handsome face...I'll never see him again and all I can think is how much of a jerk he is. Without thinking or batting an eye, I raise both of my fists and stick out the middle fingers, and slowly mouth "Fuck you," so he can catch the message. I walk backwards for a few seconds with my hands still raised and as coolly and non-rushed as I can, I turn my back on him and walk away. Immediately, dread fills me and as soon as I am sure he cannot see me through the door, I lightly run to where Kurt has parked his car. My heart is pounding and it takes all of my effort to not look over my shoulder, to see if Sebastian is running after me with a battle axe or spear.
That was completely unlike me. It was rash and stupid and oh god I pray I never see him again in my life; if I do, will he tear my throat out? Why did I do it? Why couldn't I walk away? Was it pride, the fact that he laughed at me when the door caught? Do I just hate him in general? The way Kurt and Blaine talk about him, I have always thought of him as a creep and something disgusting and revolting; was I just letting those feelings out? Even though I am anxious to get as much distance between me and the cafe, I cannot help thinking on the ride home how much I wish I could have seen his face then.