Kurt is unclear about Sebastian's feelings for him, but a lame Home Ec project unexpectedly spurns an argument that brings deeper feelings to light.

In this one-shot, Kurt and Sebastian find that they can't keep going on the way they do without the feelings that they've been keeping down finally getting in the way. Inspired by a Klaine one-shot I saw where Kurt and Blaine are given a fake baby to take care of in class. I kind of liked the idea of Dalton having one lame class that no one, not even Sebastian, can get out of, and this assignment being the result.

Warning for angst and a drug reference. Skank!Kurt Dalton!Sebastian

Part seven in a series that is now called "He Was My Almost", about Sebastian living next door to Kurt at Dalton.

Bad Dreams

A Compromised Position

The Bedroom Arrangement

Mutually Amenable

Jack Daniels and Heartaches

Text Messages and Failing Calculus

Kurt waits out in the hall, peeking in at the doorway of the classroom, and watches as their Home Ec teacher, Mr. Heckler – a relic of Home Ec teachers past and an ex-Dalton boy himself – writes the day's notes on the blackboard. Kurt holds his breath and bides his time, choosing just the right moment to make his move. He hasn't served a single detention since he's been at Dalton, and he'll be damned if he gets one in Home Ec. When Mr. Heckler turns his back to the door to consult a textbook on the podium beside him, Kurt sneaks in behind his back. He shuffles between the desks, stepping over book bags on his way to the back of the room. He throws an evil eye at one boy, who looks like he might open his mouth and give Kurt up, before finally occupying the empty seat beside Sebastian.

"Do you always come to this class late?" Sebastian hisses, not looking up from the notes he seems uncharacteristically dedicated to copying down.

"Well, seeing as we haven't so much as made a decent soufflé or a foie gras in this class, I don't see a reason why I should be on time," Kurt says in a hushed voice, dropping his backpack on the floor between his feet and digging through it for his notebook. "Besides, Mr. Heckler's so frickin' nearsighted, I doubt he even knows I'm in this class."

At the front of the classroom, Mr. Heckler bends down close to his book, removing his glasses to read a line of fine print, and proving Kurt's point.

"The class is half over," Sebastian says dryly. "If you were enjoying yourself so damn much, why even show the fuck up at all?"

Kurt takes out his pen, turns to a clean sheet of paper, and starts copying down notes, preferring to read over Sebastian's arm than to get them from the board.

"I didn't spend the last twenty minutes sucking some guy off, if that's what you're pissed at," Kurt says when Sebastian turns his body to block Kurt's view. "I was talking to my dad. I just…lost track of time."

Sebastian huffs, but relaxes his shoulders slightly, turning back a bit so Kurt can see his page again.

"Yeah, well, today would have been a good day to be on time," Sebastian whispers, returning to his note taking.

"Yeah?" Kurt chuckles. "Why? Did someone let a chicken loose in class again?"

"You did that," Sebastian points out.

"No, Puck did that," Kurt says through a chuckle. "I just watched."

"Whatever," Sebastian says, not laughing with him.

"So, what's the big deal?" Kurt asks. He doesn't particularly care that Sebastian's miffed at him for being late, except it never bothered Sebastian before. It was actually kind of a private joke between them. Kurt's curious why that's changed. "When did you start feeling that attendance is mandatory?"

Sebastian gestures with his pen to a bag of flour on his desk. Kurt sees it and snickers. He's about to ask Sebastian why he would bring a bag of flour to class with him when he notices more bags of flour on different desks around the room. The boys in class, all sitting in pairs, each have a 5 pound bag of Gold Medal flour placed between them.

"Ooo. So, are we finally going to make something today?" Kurt asks. "A cake? Cookies? Or is Dalton having an Open House, and we need these babies for show?"

"Amazingly, you're right about something for once," Sebastian says.

"Which thing?"

"Babies."

Kurt raises a brow.

"We're going to make baby cakes?" he asks. "That seems…weird. Oh, wait! Is it baby cupcakes? I love baby…"

"No, you limp noodle," Sebastian grumbles, turning his page to the next clean sheet. "They're babies."

Kurt's raised eyebrow shoots straight up to his hairline. "How do you make babies with…oh no."

"Oh yes."

Kurt looks at the bag of flour – their bouncing, baby bag of flour – and snorts. "I ask you, why do they make us do shit like this in an all boys' school? I mean, wasn't last month's production of Romeo and Juliet torture enough?" When their English teacher, Mr. Blumqvist, assigned the play in their A. P. Literature class, Kurt wasn't sure if Dalton Academy was more progressive than he gave it credit for, or just plain obtuse. Regardless of motive, Avery Adams – Dalton Academy's resident hopeful for the Olympic Boxing Team, Heavy Weight Division - got chosen to portray Juliet, a performance that scarred Kurt for life.

"It's apparently mandatory," Sebastian explains. "Set by the state."

"But, we're at a private school," Kurt argues. His voice rises sharply, and Mr. Heckler shushes him. "Doesn't the administration get to decide on the curriculum regardless of what the state says? Isn't that why my dad pays obscene amounts of money to send me here?"

"Yeah, well then I guess the dean let this assignment slip through because he thought it would be funny," Sebastian says. "It's supposed to be a creative, hands-on way to teach budgeting, cooperation, life skills, and decision making."

Kurt gapes at Sebastian and shakes his head. "Man, you really drank the Kool-Aid on this one, didn't you?"

"Mr. Heckler said it at the beginning of the lecture," Sebastian says. "You would have known that if you were here."

"Suuuuuure," Kurt teases. "I know you're just dying to marry me and have my babies." Kurt elbows Sebastian's arm, luring him into teasing back, but he doesn't bite.

"Anyway" – Sebastian rolls his eyes – "they're forcing us to ascribe to traditional family roles. Since you decided to play hooky, I get to choose. You're going to be the mom, obviously."

"Obviously," Kurt says, "because I'm smarter, I dress better, I sing better, and I'm all around just better at everything than you."

"Like you dress better," Sebastian mumbles, reaching inside his blazer pocket and pulling out his iPhone. "In your dreams…okay, I've already set our budget, so the next thing we're supposed to do is find a house in that range." Sebastian pulls up a browser window, muttering as he does a search. "Let's look at the real estate listings in Westerville…"

Kurt's eyes open wide.

"Uh, not that I'm debating the merits of Westerville vs. Lima, because I hate Lima like the plague, but why do you get to decide where we live?"

"Since our budget basically consists of my trust fund," Sebastian says with extreme emphasis, "I choose the house."

"And what about me?" Kurt asks, offended that Sebastian doesn't deem him worthy to help pick out their imaginary house.

"Don't worry," Sebastian says. "I made sure to factor in the one-hundred-twenty-three dollars and fourteen cents you're bringing to the party."

Kurt scowls, deciding to overlook the fact the Sebastian knows exactly how much money he has in his wallet, down to the cent. "So, I don't get a say?"

"No," Sebastian replies, finding something that interests him and jotting down the details in his notebook.

Kurt reaches out and closes the book on Sebastian's hand.

"No?" Kurt repeats, seriously. "What do you mean no?"

"It's simple," Sebastian says, grabbing Kurt's wrist and moving his hand away so he can continue writing. "Two letters, indicating that something is the exact opposite of a thing specified."

"If we're raising this fake flour baby together, then why doesn't my opinion matter?" Kurt asks. He hears the words come out of his mouth and winces. He can't take them back. But he's not as mad about this asinine assignment as he seems. There's really a whole lot of something else on his mind.

"Because it doesn't," Sebastian says. "There. 1.3 acres. Four bedrooms, three and a half baths, two car garage, swimming pool, close to a school. Done. Now we have to find a car."

"No," Kurt says. "Not done. I don't want to live in Westerville. I want to live in New York."

"Yeah, well, so do I," Sebastian says, exiting out of the first browser window and opening another, "but do you think it's the best place to raise a baby? Especially one made of flour. I mean, I've seen you read fanfiction. You know how many bakeries there are in New York."

Sebastian smirks. Another jab. Another deflection. A person would straight up have to be Indiana Jones to avoid the pitfalls of trying to have a serious conversation with Sebastian Smythe.

"Yes, I think it's the perfect place to raise a baby," Kurt replies, his voice softening but still holding its bitter edge. "And you've never told me that before."

"Never told you what before?" Sebastian opens to a new page in his notebook and continues writing, finishing the bulk of the assignment himself.

"That you want to live in New York."

"Yes, I have," Sebastian counters without looking up. "You're just so busy being angsty and emo that you don't listen."

"Fuck you, Bas," Kurt snaps, but only because he has nothing more compelling to say. He'd stopped listening, searching his brain for every conversation he could remember to see if Sebastian's right. Did Sebastian really tell him that he wants to move to New York? When would they have even had that conversation? Sebastian doesn't talk about personal stuff like his plans for the future. When in hell would the subject have even come up?

Kurt's about to come up with a smug retort, but a memory hits him like a hammer to the skull.

Oh fuck!

He did mention it. Kurt remembers now. They were sitting on Sebastian's bed, sharing a smoke. Sebastian wouldn't stop ribbing Kurt over his plans to audition for NYADA. Somewhere between joking about Kurt's voice breaking glass and seeing him dance in tights, Sebastian said he was thinking of applying to NYU. Then he said something about them sharing an apartment together, and how it would turn into the PornHub version of Friends. But he said it offhandedly, made it sound like a joke. Kurt didn't take him seriously, and now…

Shit!

Not only is Sebastian right, Kurt's kind of a jerk.

"Original," Sebastian says, "and by the way, no, because if we hadn't been fucking in the first place, we wouldn't have ended up in this situation."

"What situation?" Kurt asks, guilt taking a back seat to his irritation over Sebastian's blasé attitude toward their relationship so called. "The one where you're always cracking lame jokes so you don't have to have an honest conversation with me? Where you have no problem at all letting me cry on your shoulder, but you won't open up about dick to me? Where you hide what you really feel behind half-ass comments and then make me feel like an asshole when I don't figure out the mystery that – surprise – it wasn't a half-ass comment at all? The one where you choose to be moody and snarky instead of maybe telling me how you really feel about me?"

Sebastian opens his mouth, but in an unexpected move, says nothing. He stands from his desk. Kurt waits for a comeback, but his words hit home…at least for the four or so boys sitting around them, now gawking at the soap opera of KurtandSebastian.

"I meant the baby," Sebastian says slowly. "I was making a joke."

Kurt's mouth goes dry. He hadn't meant to blurt all that out, especially not where anyone else could hear. He had wanted to talk about it, sure, but in a laid back way – the way that Kurt had started to chip away at Sebastian's walls - over some green bud, after a blow job, when they were locked away in his room or Sebastian's room, and the rest of the world didn't matter.

Except, now the rest of the world might have a clue…if they didn't already. It's not like Kurt and Sebastian hid what they did together very well.

They only hid how they felt.

"Yeah…well…jokes are supposed to be funny," Kurt stammers, trying to get the upper hand.

"That must be why your face is hilarious," Sebastian returns coolly, throwing the strap of his bag over his shoulder and picking up his notebook. He walks around Kurt and heads to the teacher's desk at the front of the room.

"You know what? Next time I will be on time," Kurt mumbles, knowing Sebastian is too far out of earshot to hear him. "That way I won't get stuck with you and have to put up with your man-struating."

"You didn't get stuck with him," Nick says, leaning over from the table next to his. "He picked you as a partner."

"What?" Kurt turns to the boy next to him, the one smiling dreamily at him as if the fight he witnessed was the most romantic thing he's ever seen.

"Yeah," Nick's partner, Jeff, adds from the next seat over. "He was one of the first people to raise his hand."

Kurt doesn't want to look stunned, but he is. Sebastian likes to keep their lives separate. On projects like this one, he'd normally ask to work alone, and seeing as he had no problem being difficult with teachers and students alike, most of their professors would let him, just to save the time of arguing, and eventually losing.

For Sebastian to request to be paired with him…well, maybe Sebastian had been closer to admitting his feelings than Kurt gave him credit for.

Or maybe, in his own way, he'd been admitting them all along.

Kurt notices that the two boys to his left haven't stopped looking at him, and he snarls. "He probably just didn't want to end up with one of you two nimrods."

Jeff and Nick share a smile and return to their notebook. Kurt can go ahead and growl excuses at them all he wants. They know that's not it…and so does Kurt.

Kurt watches Sebastian turn in his notebook and leave, a mixture of anger, confusion, and want turning his stomach when he sees him go.