Summary: Kurt's still at square one with Blaine, Rachel's still Finn-less, and the two make an arrangement. Emphatically NOT a "turning Kurt" story.
Pairing(s): Much referral to Finn/Rachel and Kurt/Blaine
Rating: T – some fucking language, underage drinking, and sexual situations
Category: Drama/Friendship
Spoilers: Non-specific; assumes you've watched up to 2x10, "A Very Glee Christmas," after which this story picks up.
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to FOX/Ryan Murphy, and I am neither.
Notes: So…I'm sorry I suck at updating. I hang my head before you guys, because you all left such lovely and encouraging comments and I took forever getting this up. Unfortunately, I post chapters as I write them – I keep pretty vague outlines of multi-chapter stories and consider your comments as I go along – and now that spring semester's started I'm just about buried in work, so the next chapter will probably take another couple of weeks, depending. Also, I didn't get a chance to watch the new episode, so I'm crossing my fingers that nothing game-changing was revealed about any characters that seriously interferes with the story.
That said, thank you all so much for your reviews; I was amazed at how many people read and left comments! I hope you enjoy the new chapter.
A Modest Proposal
Part Two
Rachel was in front of her bedroom mirror, preparing to launch into "Think of Me" (Phantom of the Opera was an inferior musical in her opinion, but she'd always had a soft spot for this song), when her phone chimed, announcing a text message. She paused her iPod and dug her phone out of her purse.
One new message, her screen read, the words scrolling in the small window. Kurt Hummel. Her stomach clenched nervously. It was Wednesday, four days since they'd struck their strange bargain, and this was the first she'd heard from Kurt. At the time he'd seemed fine with the arrangement, but at the time he'd also been fairly drunk. Maybe he'd contacted her now to say thanks but no thanks – or no, maybe he wanted to viciously berate her for preying on his emotional weakness and using him for pressure-free hookups.
Maybe she should open the message and see. Rachel took a deep, centering breath and closed her eyes as she flipped open her phone.
When she opened them, Kurt's message filled the screen.
Hey Berry – this isn't a hint about our set list, but Warblers rehearsal today was all Streisand. Thought you'd appreciate that. See you this weekend?
She grinned in relief; she'd been more afraid than she thought that her tentative bond with Kurt would utterly dissolve in the sober light of day. But his message, she determined as she read it again, was perfectly friendly. Chummy, even. And if he wanted to see her this weekend, it meant that he wasn't disgusted by what had happened Saturday night.
She sat down on the edge of her bed, still clutching her open phone, and began to consider logistics. Her dads would be home all weekend – at the suggestion of their couples' therapist, they were giving redecoration another go, with plenty of communication – but they wouldn't think it was suspicious if she had Kurt in her room for an extended period of time. If their last "open and mature discussion" about wallpaper was any indication, they would be so absorbed they might not notice he was there at all.
She absolutely didn't want to go to Kurt's house. After all, Finn lived there now. Her mouth pulled into a frown at the thought of him. Even the most fleeting memory of his blunt rejection brought her back to that awful moment in the auditorium, and she had to shake her head to clear the vision of him walking off the stage. Dwelling on it was no good; she'd give him his space, devote her energy to performing, and maybe, if she helped them win at Regionals, Finn would realize what he was missing.
Of course, that would entail beating the Warblers…and Kurt. Even though they weren't vying for solos anymore, they were still rivals.
Who now happened to make out a little on the side.
She looked around her room and frowned, remembering Kurt's distaste for the décor the last time he'd visited. And truthfully, all the white and yellow and pink was getting kind of old. She wondered if she'd be able to convince her dads to kick off their redecorating spree with her room between now and Saturday.
OOO
When the last bell rang the next day, Kurt joined the sea of blazer-clad boys in the hallway of the language building, his head spinning. Conversational French at Dalton was a far-cry from the badly-accented joke of a class at McKinley; Madame Bennett was a ruthless stickler and came down hard on every garbled vowel and incorrect article, and most of the time in her class was spent in cringing expectation of criticism. Plus, Kurt's partner for conversation in the most romantic language in the world was horse-faced, pimple-ridden Brandon Stetner, who spat on practically every consonant. After one class Kurt had taken to leaning back at an extreme angle whenever they paired up, which did his spine precisely zero favors.
He massaged his lower back as he entered the dorm and tried to think positively. The day was over, he hadn't outright horrified anyone with his personality, and in less than 24 hours he'd be on his way home for the weekend. Which, of course, made him think of Rachel, which brought on all kinds of brain-splitting dissonance.
Sure, when he'd woken up on Sunday with a throbbing headache, he'd had his "Dear Gaga, what have I done" moment. And admittedly, if Rachel had suggested that when he was sober, he would have flatly rejected her. In the shower that morning, he'd even been pissed off for a minute at what he then believed was her manipulation.
Except. It wasn't like it had been bad. He seemed to recall enjoying himself a bit even if it hadn't been exactly titillating. And Rachel hadn't tricked him or made him sign a contract in blood or anything. She'd presented her case; he'd considered. And on Wednesday, after another discouraging Warblers rehearsal during which Blaine alternately seemed to croon lyrics in Kurt's direction and then studiously ignored him when he was finished singing, Kurt texted Rachel…and that was that. At least with Rachel he knew what he was getting. In the meantime, he'd try to calm his Blaine adoration and let the other boy decide whether he was going to come to Kurt or not.
In his room he fed Pavarotti and shrugged off his blazer, thinking about how stupid it was that, except on weekends and when you were in the privacy of your dorm room, you had to wear the thing at all times. As if the students would forget where they went to school if they couldn't look down at their chests and read the crest. Oh, Dalton. Of course, how silly of me. I thought I was at Hogwarts.
Kurt stretched out on his stomach on the twin bed and pulled Tess of the d'Urbervilles out of his bag. AP English was all 19th century novels this semester; they'd already plowed through Bleak House and Mill on the Floss, and here was another fallen woman. Kurt would have preferred something by Oscar Wilde; at least that would have some relevance to his life. He'd mentioned as much to Blaine, who'd promptly expounded on his love of British literature, Thomas Hardy and Tess in particular. Who knew?
"Tess is such an interesting character," Blaine had insisted, gesturing enthusiastically as he spoke. "Do you know how unusual it was for a woman protagonist to be described so sensuously? Pay attention to how many times Hardy brings up her lips – back then it was practically obscene."
Unfortunately, the conversation about sensual lips didn't lead anywhere other than Blaine's moving a lot as he constructed an impressive, impromptu defense of the English curriculum. By the end of it, Kurt had worried that he'd come off as some kind of literature-hating philistine. Still, he had made note of the many times Hardy's narration returned to Tess's mouth, and had earned an approving check mark when he mentioned it in his "initial response" paper.
Kurt studied the cover of the book, dawdling, and before he got around to actually reading it someone knocked on the door. He opened it and revealed Blaine grinning at him from the other side of the threshold.
"Hey, a bunch of us are studying in the common room before dinner if you want to come down," Blaine said. By "us," of course, he meant Warblers; like the McKinley glee kids, they tended to group together outside rehearsal as well. And here Blaine was, going out of his way to invite him into the fold. Acknowledging him. Warmth bloomed in his chest and he said, "Yeah, absolutely. Let me…"
He practically bounded to his bed and returned Tess to his bag.
"Blazer," Blaine reminded him, and Kurt shrugged it back on. They descended the stairs together, and Blaine asked, "Any plans for the weekend?"
"Not many. Heading home."
"Again?" Blaine glanced at him, eyebrows raised, then looked ahead again. "The home cooking must be excellent."
"If I do it myself," Kurt joked. Blaine smiled.
"But I guess it's really about your friends. For me home and friends are pretty much separate."
"Really? No one from middle school or anything?" Kurt looked at Blaine with interest; he rarely talked about himself, as in his life outside of Dalton – most of their conversations were strictly about shared interests, and any personal details came from Kurt.
"Not so much." His expression was composed, unreadable, but his tone was upbeat as he continued, "So I guess you actually have things to do besides sit at home."
"I'll see Rachel on Saturday," Kurt offered. And then I'll make out with her. Probably while thinking about you. Because that's not weird.
"Rachel's the diva, right?"
Kurt thought of Rachel helping him with his audition piece and listening to him on Santana's dim stairs, and he felt a stab of guilt.
"Well, the whole McKinley glee club has varying levels of diva-ness," he admits.
"You don't have to tell me, Evita," Blaine said, his playful tone and expression throwing Kurt off-balance. Before he could form an appropriately articulate and witty response, they'd reached the common room, where a small group of Warblers occupied one of the tables. Kurt sighed inwardly and forced his mind back to academics. Blaine continued to be friendly, but the brief flash of flirtatiousness didn't return.
OOO
On Saturday afternoon, Kurt sank down onto Rachel's new forest-green comforter, pulling her with him. Rachel had to adjust to the new angle; whenever she'd wound up kissing a boy on her bed before, she'd always reclined against the pillows as Kurt was now. She was glad she'd pulled her hair back, otherwise it would be hanging in both of their faces.
Kurt had commented that the new color scheme of her bedroom stabbed his retinas a lot less; now, with the lights off and the room illuminated only by the sun through the window, the freshly-painted cream walls lent a pale glow over everything. Different, but nice – although Rachel had only been able to move her stuffed animals as far as her closet.
"I'm glad we don't have a plushy audience," Kurt said now, as if reading her thoughts, although with his eyes constantly clamped shut he wouldn't have had to look at the bears anyway.
"I would have made them face away," Rachel said sweetly, and laughed when Kurt snapped his eyes open and gave her an incredulous look.
"Might not even be a joke," he muttered, then hummed in the back of his throat agreeably as Rachel pressed a row of kisses down his neck. Kurt smelled really good, better than Jesse had, and Jesse had at least avoided the Axe deodorant Finn and Puck might have shared for all she knew. And his skin was soft, especially his hands, which cupped the back of her head. She noticed he never moved his hands to her back or waist. It was actually harder than she'd thought it would be to be mindless about this, when she was constantly wondering if she felt too girly for Kurt to possibly be comfortable.
But then he rolled them over so he was on top of her, barely breaking their current kiss, so it probably wasn't that bad.
Downstairs there was a loud clatter, like one of her dads had dropped a paint can, and a brief flurry of raised voices. Kurt and Rachel paused, looking toward the bedroom door at the same time.
"They should really just hire a professional," Kurt said – she'd filled him in on their decorating drama to explain why they didn't come out to meet Kurt when he arrived.
"Too late now," Rachel sighed. "They've pretty much seized on the opportunity to multitask: redo your wallpaper and your communication style – the ultimate domestic makeover," she added in a cheesy, T.V.-commercial tone. Kurt snorted.
"I think their therapist is fucking with them."
"I think that means you're sane."
By unspoken agreement, Kurt rolled off of Rachel and lay on his back next to her; both of them stared at the ceiling and listened as her dads continued to squabble downstairs, the occasional emphatic, "Well, I feel…" distinct from the muddle of syllables.
"So how are things at school?" Rachel asked after a brief silence, the nature of which she couldn't quite gauge.
"Oh, business as usual, I suppose," Kurt said, folding his arms over his chest. "Blaine's being…I don't know. He gives these mixed signals."
"Like what?"
"Basically like I told you – when we're alone, he's great. Sometimes it really seems like he might want to be with me. When we're singing, too – it feels like he's always looking at me. But the rest of the time he's just friendly. There, but distant."
"Well, maybe he's worried the other guys will get uncomfortable if he flirts with you."
"They're fine with him otherwise," Kurt protested. "They've known he's gay for a long time; seeing it shouldn't be that different. It's not like he'd be hitting on them."
"I guess not."
"And even when it's just us talking," he continued, "it can sometimes be weird. He barely ever talks about himself – I don't know anything about his family, or what his life was like before Dalton. It's like he didn't exist before high school."
"Some people are like that," Rachel tried to reassure him. "One of my dads used to date someone – they went out for two years, and after he'd met my other dad and the relationship ended he realized that he barely knew anything about the guy's life. Like, he'd told him his entire life story, but he didn't even know where the guy was from. But apparently they really loved each other anyway."
"And then they broke up," Kurt said dryly. "A love story for the ages."
"Well, okay, but not because of that," Rachel insisted. "It was just that he loved my other dad more. That's the love story."
Kurt turned onto his side, facing her, and said, "Hey, that reminds me – so how do you distinguish between your dads? Like, if you want to call for one of them, but not the other?"
Rachel gave him a Duh look and poked his chest. "If I need to distinguish, one's Dad, the other's Daddy. It's not rocket science."
"So sue me for not immediately grasping the intricacies of gay parent identification." He rolled over onto his back again and sighs at the ceiling. Rachel watched the shadows of tree branches on her ceiling for a moment before speaking again.
"If Blaine did say he has feelings for you, are you…are you sure you care about him? Or is it just that he seems like the only option?"
"He kind of is, though," Kurt pointed out, but added, "And yes, I care about him. He's…kind of everything I could hope for. You know, besides not immediately falling at my feet and showering me with roses and adoration."
Rachel chuckled. "Big, romantic gestures – you spend your life being theatrical, so you're conditioned to expect it everywhere."
"Exactly."
Rachel's smile faded as she said, almost to herself, "Of course, they don't always work."
Sometimes a whole winter wonderland, complete with serenade, didn't move the recipient at all. She hugged her arms to her torso and turned her head away, and was surprised when she felt Kurt's hand pat her hair.
"I guess both of us have to wait things out," he said. "For now."
"I guess."
Rachel twisted her head to look at her bedside clock. "It's almost six. You probably have dinner plans."
"I'm meeting Mercedes," Kurt admitted. "Uh, but you can…"
Rachel shook her head, declining before he could finish the invitation. "I better make sure my dads don't wind up knocking out a wall. They can get pretty intense when they're on a decorating roll."
"That sounds terrifying," Kurt remarked, propping himself up on his elbows and then sliding off the bed. He smoothed out his shirt and hair as Rachel opened the door.
"I'll, uh, show you out."
He followed her downstairs; she poked her head over the railing, listening for her dads. Apparently they'd moved on to the kitchen and were heatedly "discussing" the installation of a hanging rack for their pots and pans.
"Well, maybe they can say hi another time," Rachel said, descending the remaining steps with Kurt in tow. She put a hand on the doorknob. "Have fun at dinner."
"Breadsticks," Kurt sighed, shaking his head. "The carbs have probably seeped into the air in that place. Hey, I'll text you this week."
Rachel surprised him and herself by grabbing him in a short, tight hug.
"It, uh…" she released him and cleared her throat. "It was good to see you. To talk."
"You too," Kurt said, sounding a little stunned. "I'll see you next weekend?"
"Sure. Stay in touch."
Rachel opened the door for him and waved when he backed out of her driveway, headlights blazing. When she shut the door on the almost complete darkness outside – it got dark so early in winter – she leaned against it for a minute. Strange how it took actually spending a couple hours with someone before she realized how lonely she was the rest of the time. Now that Finn was gone, she didn't really have a friend anymore.
She clenched her eyes shut and composed herself. Deep breath – like she decided, she was going to give him time to work things out. If nothing else, she could look forward to seeing Kurt next Saturday, as weird as their interaction was.
From the kitchen, there was a clatter and her dad called, "Rachel? Come help us settle something!"
She shook her head, smiled, and went to her dads.
OOO
"Sure hate dropping you off, Kurt," Burt Hummel said as he pulled into the Dalton parking lot. Kurt was already beginning to associate Sunday afternoons with a hollow feeling in his gut; he forced himself to smile at his dad.
"It's only five days. You call me every night anyway."
"Well, it's not the same as having you home," Burt said gruffly. "Finn always burns the toast."
"As long as he doesn't see the Virgin Mary or Buddha or whatever in it, I think it'll be fine."
He hugged his dad and got out of the car, looking away before he had to watch the car pull out of the lot. He passed under the stone archway that brought him back into his not-quite-wonderland. The campus was mostly empty, since this time of year the cold kept everyone confined to the dorm, dining hall, or library. He didn't run into anyone on the way back to his room. When he opened the door and flicked on the light, Pavarotti twittered excitedly – at least he got a warm welcome from someone, even if they had a brain the size of a seed.
Disliking the thought of shutting himself into his box of a room, Kurt left the door ajar as he unpacked his weekend bag. There was some laughter from farther down the hall, faint strains of music that was mostly wailing guitars. Kurt imagined blasting the Sound of Music soundtrack at full volume, the reactions that would get, and snorted. Not likely.
A rap on the doorjamb jerked him out of his thoughts. Blaine raised his eyebrows and smiled from the doorway. "Welcome back."
"Hi, Blaine," Kurt said, trying to control the breathlessness in his voice. He almost never saw Blaine out of the Dalton uniform, and he looked amazing in a fitted turtleneck and jeans. "What's – what's up?"
"I saw your door open," Blaine said evasively, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "Did you just get back?"
"About ten minutes ago." He gestured at the half-full duffel on his bed.
"Have you had lunch already?"
When Kurt shook his head, Blaine brightened.
"You want to head over to the dining hall, then? I realize it isn't gloriously homemade, but…"
"I think you've about exhausted the home-cooking jokes," Kurt told him, his bored tone offset by his wide smile. "Sure. You want to go now?"
Blaine flourishingly motioned for him to step through the door. "After you, good sir."
Unfortunately his mock-chivalry didn't actually extend to taking Kurt's arm, but you can't have everything. A far-cry from showers of roses, sure, but at the moment, with everything still uncertain, it was enough.
End Notes: God, Blaine got hammy at the end. Who writes this shit? Anyway, as the story's taking more definite shape in my head Kurt and Blaine's uncertain relationship is becoming more prominent, but I don't intend for it to overshadow Kurt and Rachel's interactions. Hopefully the POV-switches weren't too distracting in this chapter, but I wanted Rachel's perspective on the situation as well. The story isn't going to be very long – probably a couple more chapters – but many, many thanks to those who intend to stick around and see what happens.
Thanks for reading!
