Edited.
Notes: The Warblers deserved to win.
"I'm going to tell you what I think, and you can pretend I'm not right if you want."
Nick remains silent for a moment, staring at the screen before him, but it's impossible to know whether Wes is being serious or just pissed and patronizing.
"Go ahead." He says finally.
Wes takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a second, like he always did when he was about to start a rant about how they needed to coordinate more, or how he and Jeff needed to stop fooling around and focus, or...He forces himself to stop thinking about these things because Wes is at the other side of a computer screen and it's painfully obvious that that's where he's going to stay.
"The way I see it" The former Warbler starts. "You had these two great weapons; with Sebastian's charm and Hunter's discipline you could have won nationals with little to no effort, but you just..." He pauses, looks around his dorm room as if searching the walls for the right words. "Those two, they're like a current of water, and instead of showing them the course to follow you let them drag you straight to the waterfall. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"
Nick wishes he could say that he doesn't, that the other Warblers are not to blame -that he's not to blame, that it was all Hunter and Sebastian's fault, but he finds himself nodding nonetheless.
"I understand...I guess we just... With Blaine leaving and you and David going off to college and all the changes and... We just lost our balance."
Wes's gaze softens and he leans forward, until it seems like he's at arm's reach (only he's not)
"You are a good leader, Nick, you have empathy, and good intentions; if you call them, they'll follow you."
Nick scoffs.
¨Not Sebastian nor Hunter."
"Especially Sebastian and Hunter. Most of the time, you should know, those who seem to know exactly where they're going are the ones who have no idea where they are, and you can't know where you're going if you don't know where you are."
"You always knew where you were going; we could always follow you and know you'd take us to the right place."
Wes laughs the kind of laugh of someone who knows something you don't.
"I never knew where I was going, Nicky; I was just unafraid because I knew you'd follow, and wherever it was, I wouldn't go there alone."
They stay in silence, and the seconds drip from the walls and melt to the floor, and something inside Nick twists and stretches like it's waking from a long nap, and at that very second, he understands.
"It's not about knowing where you go, you see. It's about knowing that you won't go alone."
It has been as simple as that all along.
.
The clapping echoes in the empty auditorium. Eyes closed, Blaine relished in the sound, allowing himself to be back on the stage where he was the star of the show, and the familiar feeling of power washes over him like a steam of hot, welcoming water.
Then the voice rises, and the water turns ice cold.
"I have to admit, you're not half bad when you're not dancing in the background of your talentless friends."
Blaine sighs and opens his eyes to glare at the newcomer.
"What do you want, Sebastian?"
Sebastian shrugs and smiles slightly, and Blaine -even though he's not paying attention, notices that there's something weird in the way he smiles.
"Just came to congratulate you, the whole thing you did to get us kicked off the competition...not even I could have done it better." And somehow that doesn't seem like a compliment at all.
"I didn't do anything." Blaine tries to sound as nonchalant as possible as he busies himself with picking up his stuff from the corner where he left it. "You were the ones who cheated by taking steroids."
There's silence for a moment, and when Blaine begins to think that he's gone, Sebastian's voice comes back, soft and raw and full of something he can't quite catch.
"Some of us didn't. I didn't." And he says that last part like it's very important, like he needs Blaine to know.
Blaine straightens and turns around to look at him then, and it strikes him like the first time, just how unfairly beautiful he is, but there's something more there now; in his eyes, at the corners of his mouth, in the way he has his hands clenched to fists at his sides.
"Do you expect me to believe you?" He asks, almost angry.
Sebastian just lets out a soft, humourless laugh.
"I'm past caring about what you believe or not. But this...I worked my ass off for this." His voice raises just a notch, and his eyes bore into Blaine, filled with resentment. "And I was amazing. It doesn't matter how hard you try to convince yourself that you lost because we cheated, the truth is that you lost because your song selection was a joke, your dancing skills inexistent, and your little group of special ed kids had zero to no chemistry on stage."
Blaine remains silent, eyes fixed on his feet, and he feels Sebastian's words pool over him, sticking to his bones like honey.
"The reason Trent was kicked off the team was not because he refused to take the steroids, it was because he couldn't keep up, with or without them." He goes quiet for a second, and when Blaine raises his eyes to look at him, his eyes are shinning with pride, the most beautiful shade of green. "I was amazing, I know I was, it was the last chance I had to prove that I could do it, that I could be the good guy and do things the right way, and I did. Whatever you do, you'll never be able to take that away."
A car honks from the outside, and Sebastian turns to the door, then back at Blaine.
"I just wanted you to know."
Blaine watches his retreating figure; tall and lean, head held high, step sure and strong, and he sees for the first time what the real-truthful, proud Sebastian looks like -and it's the most breathtaking thing he's ever seen.
It hits him then, like a frying pan smashed right on his face: Sebastian was telling the truth.
He jumps off the stage and runs to the door, almost twisting his wrists with the force with which he pushes it open, and there, outside in the parking lot under the blinding sun, Sebastian's standing by a car, hand on the handle, and peaking from the window, he can make out the purple, bloodied and bruised face of Hunter Clarington.
.
"This might be the last time I sit on this bed."
Neither are very sentimental people, but the silence between them stretches a little too long for it to not feel nostalgic.
Sebastian, seated at the edge of his own bed, raises his gaze from the floor and looks at Hunter. He parts his lips to say something, anything, but it's surprisingly difficult to find the right words, like he's still scared that if he says what he wants to say, Hunter might run off. It doesn't really matter all that much anymore, because he is running of anyway -and the empty feeling that though brings is as foreign as it is scary.
"Fuck. There are so many things I wanted to tell you." Hunter takes a deep breath and passes a hand though his hair.
Sebastian stares at him, and suddenly, for just a second, he thinks that maybe Hunter knows, maybe he understands, maybe, just maybe...
"We don't need to talk." Sebastian murmurs, as Hunter looks at him. "This might be the last time we spend as roommates, so..."
"Sebastian." Hunter cuts him off, standing up and walking up to stand directly in front of him. "I really need you to know. I'm just...you know, I'm not good with words."
Sebastian tills his head up, and Hunter's looking down at him, eyes shining with something so intense and so pure, something that Hunter himself doesn't seem to understand, but Sebastian recognizes instantly.
He grabs Hunter's hand and pulls him down, until he's straddling him, and their lips collide with the force of a waterfall, and their mouths move together like they've been doing this forever, like their eyes have shared these kisses long before their lips even said each other's names.
Hunter is all brute force and rough shoves and hard muscle, and Sebastian tries to grab onto anything he can; Hunter's hair, his arms, his neck. He leans back until the other boy is on top of him, all over him, hands everywhere, lips everywhere, and then the most amazing sound comes out of Hunter's mouth and almost sends Sebastian over de edge.
"God Hunt, I..."
"Don't, don't, just..."
They kiss the words away, and Hunter runs his tongue over every inch of Sebastian's skin, tracing patterns and writing down everything he's not brave enough to say, using the kind of ink that never fades, and murmuring silent promises they both know are meant only for this night, and will be forgotten tomorrow.
.
"I assume you know why you're here, mister Clarington."
Hunter nods curtly, keeping his head high and his back straight.
"Then you'll understand why I'm not going to try to sugar coat this conversation. The thing is that this...incident will be the first permanent stain on Dalton Academy's otherwise perfect image. The board members were furious, as you can imagine, and the word expulsion was considered one or twice."
A fear he didn't know he felt settles in the pitch of Hunter's stomach then. The fact that he might have to leave Dalton becomes something real, almost tangible, and he can see the path to Colorado Springs wrapping around him like a snake.
He tries to breath, but he's suddenly out of air, and it seems like his lungs have forgotten how to work, and he's left there with his mouth slightly open, trying to breathe without air.
"Do you understand the gravity of what you've done, Hunter?"
"Yes." he exhales.
"You came to Dalton because we needed you, but as it turns out, it was you who needed us. You have to know that Dalton has never, and will never turn its back on a student who needs it."
Hunter closes his eyes for a second, manages to suck in enough air to choke an answer.
"No one wants me here anymore."
Saying it out loud is way worse than just thinking it.
Headmaster Wells's gaze softens, and he leans forward, placing both hands over the desk.
"That only proves that you're not ready to leave, for you've learnt nothing." He grabs a plain white envelope from a corner on the table and places it before Hunter. "This letter arrived the morning when the board was evaluating your case. It is two pages long."
Hunter's eyes are locked on the thin white envelope, and he has to use all his strength to keep himself from opening it.
"What does it say?" He asks; voice raw and broken.
"It enumerates all the reasons why Hunter Clarington should not be expelled from Dalton Academy, as well as your many good attributes as a human being, and all the potential you have to become a great man, if given the chance." He makes a pause, studies the incredulous look on Hunter's face, and smiles softly. "It's signed by the Dalton Academy Warblers."
And there, just like that, his lungs remember how to function, and he takes a deep breath, and everything falls into place.
"It appears, Hunter that Dalton's not ready to let you go."
"I'm not ready to leave."
It's all very complicated, but just for now, it's as simple as that.