If it wasn't already fairly obvious, Sebastian didn't like Kurt much. He knew from the moment Blaine Anderson, former top Warbler, serenading dreamboat and one of Seb's many potential thrushes, said the word "boyfriend" to him that he wasn't going to like Kurt.

To be honest? Sometimes he didn't know why he'd even bothered with Blaine from that point on. Kurt Hummel, that hanger-on with his soft voice, damn perfect skin and devotion to "high" (read: flaming) fashion, was so lame and hilariously predictable as a stereotype that just looking at him, even in photographs, of which Blaine's social media profiles had many, made Sebastian cringe.

He would be the first one to tell you there were many types of gay men in the world—trust him, it was his goal in life to sleep with most, if not all of them—but one of the types he always steered clear from, without fail, were the ones like Kurt. The musical theater and Gaga loving, domestic partnership having, old-fashioned die-hard romantics, who wanted to raise a family with the husbands of their dreams in picket-fenced, rosy, mediocre suburbs.

He didn't care how intimidating Kurt tried to come off, or how "risqué" it had been for Kurt to lose his sacred virginity to the only boy who had ever loved him, and surely the only one who would ever be able to stand listening to his shrill rants and harpings. Every time Sebastian ran into Kurt senior year, at the Lima Bean or in Blaine's arms at an event they both unfortunately happened to attend, he found him boring and weepy to death.

His existence as a gay male, and his immature obsession with "true love," was tiresome.

Unless, of course, Sebastian decided to have some fun with it. Above all, Sebastian loved fun. Last fall, once it become clear to him that Blaine was into the whole loving relationship thing, Sebastian cared much less about trying to get into Blaine's pants and much more about pressing jealous boyfriend Kurt's buttons. Whenever he ran into the two of them at the Lima Bean in Westerville, when he decided to frequent some New Directions performances with the rest of Blaine's Warbler friends, he sincerely enjoyed the way that Kurt's distaste for him was blatantly and embarrassingly tangible. Kurt made it a point to glare at Sebastian, whisper and finger-wave at his best friend Tina Cohen-Chang, with one of those haughty little eye rolls he wielded as a signature.

It was compelling to watch Kurt realize that he'd found someone he had to keep up with in Sebastian, even after Blaine was completely out of Sebastian's question. That was how Sebastian knew: Kurt didn't care about the Blaine of it all. He cared about the game. He cared about winning. He cared about proving to Sebastian that he could keep Blaine's sweet ass and still come out on top as the "better gay."

And Sebastian did like that. He liked knowing that, without even trying hard, by just existing he got under Kurt Hummel's skin. He bothered Kurt. He won.

Them becoming roommates was completely coincidental, but Sebastian saw it as an opportunity when it came: a chance for him to continue trolling the steadfast, stubborn reason he didn't get to bang Blaine Anderson, after months of recess. What unexpected luck!

When he did those little things—the ill-timed socks on the doorknob, the dirty clothes on the floor, and the admittance that yes, he was watching gay porn on his laptop—it was funny to watch Kurt scramble for a bout of defense.

While he made it appear, at the start of their year, that he and Kurt used to have and still have nothing in common, there was this: they were both stuck an hour away from their hometowns together. Ohio State hadn't been Sebastian's first choice either, not even his tenth or a hundredth, honestly. Preferably he'd wanted to study abroad, as in out-of-the-country abroad. He'd been in France as recently as last summer, and his desire to live there permanently someday was just about as active as his sex life. Very, very. There were reasons, however, that he couldn't travel there or anywhere that wasn't local to his parents' vast expanse of Ohioan estate, for a while; reasons that he liked not to get into, like, with anybody ever.

His similarities with his roommate probably started and ended there, though; Sebastian was a pretty damn good singer, ask any of the Warblers at Dalton, where he crash-landed and cleaned ship his senior year, but he wasn't into musicals, for real, like Kurt was. Not at all, in fact. None of his long term career goals involved him being a performer, he was an International Business major. Sebastian took up vocal lessons when he was young and carried out with them through high school simply to be able to add singing/serenading to his list of many talents. And, yes, he'd have you know, there were many. The list consisted of things like excelling at academics (he'd had a flawless A average and perfect attendance since seventh grade), lacrosse, baseball, soccer, water polo, stunts, poetry, pole vaulting, crushing at beer pong championships and tying cherry stems into knots with his tongue. Plus, his personal favorites: bribing and blow jobs.

Sebastian Smythe just wanted to be known as a well rounded man, that was all. Not known for the fact that yes, he also fucked men, but for the fact that his work ethic, despite being raised an almost-millionaire, was superior. So far, he thought was succeeding at life.

Needed a little bit of something to knock him down.

The GLBTSA held a mixer for the freshmen and transfers that Friday night. Kurt stood with with Rachel, a few other freshman girls, and a boy by the name of Chandler, each of whom all chirped and argued about who the best Elpheba on Broadway was, since it was currently making its tour. Other than giving his two cents (okay, a thousand bucks) about Idina Menzel, he was zoned out on the conversation, his eyes were fixated on Sebastian's tall, intrusive figure moving about in the room. When Kurt saw him here, when he arrived, he felt like throwing himself off a cliff. Okay, or just walking out and going back upstairs, considering this attempt at socializing without a critical audience a bust. He stayed, but almost the whole night, he couldn't keep his eyes off Sebastian, watching him, suspicious. Which one of these guys was he going to gimmick into a facade of intimacy this time?

It annoyed him that Sebastian looked so comfortable and at ease here, so seemingly charming (if only they knew) with his stories from his transatlantic vacation this summer, his knack for conversation, and that face; oh, Kurt hated him, but objectively, Sebastian just naturally had the kind of face that movie stars paid thousands for.

This event was supposed to be Kurt's thing, tonight, Sebastian didn't even like public gay pop culture, he'd said it himself to Kurt just the day before. This was supposed to be the thing about going to such a huge state school, far from the little Lima cul-de-sac where he grew up: even if he did know a classmate or three here by name, the odds of him seeing them unless he wanted to were supposed to be zero.

Every time Sebastian caught him watching him he darted his gaze over, smiled, winked. Kurt rolled his eyes or turned his back, and when Rachel asked him, "What's your roommate doing here? I thought you said he wasn't into gay culture," he replied,

"I think Sebastian's only into anything that gets on other people's nerves. Like mine."

Sebastian had very little agenda at the mixer besides that he hoped (and would turn out to be right) that it might get him laid at some point in the future. After exchanging a few numbers, thinking he might try that junior from the men's volleyball team later on this evening, Sebastian left the mixer, relatively early.

Once he was out of the room, Kurt felt a bit more relaxed, like he could unclench. However, there was the fact that this Chandler boy was a bit too friendly, and eager. He was sweet, dorky-cute and the horn-rimmed glasses were really a nice touch, and he shared Kurt's intense love of Patti Lupone's musicals for some reason. When he asked for Kurt's number just before he had to leave, the thought of giving it to him crossed Kurt's mind, as friends—but he knew that having "friends," especially flirty ones, in a relationship, was complicated. Said that he'd just see him around instead.

"Aw, well. If you insist. By the way, may I just say, your eyes are just spectacular. Like diamonds and emeralds and everything sparkling and good in this world."

"Uh, thanks?"

Kurt almost wanted to laugh off and debate the compliment, but he realized that was because he had never really been in a place where other people—other men—would find him attractive. At McKinley he was considered about as physically appealing and date-able as one of those wrinkly, plastic troll dolls. Except, of course, to Blaine, but Blaine was from another school. Clearly there was something in the water of the out-of-towners, and Kurt had always considered himself lucky to have kept the eye of someone as classically good-looking (and dare he say straight-acting?) as Blaine for so long.

Kurt tried to stay in as amicable of spirits as he could until he felt it appropriate to leave the mixer, drained from the social interaction. At around midnight, when he got to the room, he found all the lights off save for the one on Sebastian's desk. Sebastian was shirtless, etching something into a leather-bound notebook, his back on Kurt.

Kurt said nothing as he let down his satchel and began to unzip his coat, get rid of his many, many layers and suspenders, among things. He stayed quiet and eyed Sebastian suspiciously every couple of seconds, wondering why he hadn't so much as even glanced in Kurt's direction, hurled an insult at his clothing choices today yet.

Then, all of a sudden, he heard a slight groan and movement coming from Sebastian's mattress.

There was suddenly a dark-haired boy in it that Kurt must've missed the first glance over, covered up to the shoulders in Sebastian's sheets. When he turned over onto his back, eyes still closed, Kurt almost jumped a little; he realized that his hair was curly like Blaine's, and in the dark, he almost resembled Blaine, and that made his heart sink fast.

He knew that that wasn't his boyfriend, but still, it'd scared him. The thought of finding Blaine in bed with Sebastian was no stranger to the back of his mind.

Now, as he continued to change clothes, he thought about the fact that he couldn't imagine sleeping with someone random, someone who wasn't Blaine. He couldn't imagine being so intimate, so weak, and so up in arms in front of someone foreign, someone he didn't trust. Kurt changed into his silk pajamas and went to down the hall to do his facial routine. Came back, ready for bed, and nothing about the way the room looked had changed.

Kurt sighed loud and weary enough for Sebastian to turn around and look at him. Enough for the boy in bed to start to stir awake.

"Do you really need the light on?" Kurt said.

Sebastian looked first at the digital clock on his desk, as if to imply that it was early, and then back at Kurt.

"I'll turn it off when I'm done," he said shortly.

Kurt made a dissatisfied face and crawled into bed, facing towards the wall and covering his eyes with a silk mask. Yes the mask made it dark even with the light on, but not pitch dark, he liked things a certain way and why shouldn't he get to have them sometimes?

And now that he was in bed, he wasn't tired. That was usually how sleep went these days. It got very cold in this room at night so Kurt bundled himself in his down comforter extra tight, just lying there. Nothing beat the feeling of Blaine's arms around him to keep him warm, as he slept. He so sorely missed the days when Blaine was by his side nightly, and he might've missed even more, the days he used to be able to fall asleep alone. Those seemed far away days, now. Now, he was used to things, so used to the feel of Blaine's bed. Sometimes it could take hours for him to drift off, when he wasn't there.

Or maybe it was the irritating knowledge that presently, in this ill-conceived room, the light was still on behind him just wasting, or maybe it was the persistent, nagging distrust of ever allowing Sebastian to be awake in the room while he wasn't. He hadn't tried putting Kurt's hands in warm water or drawing on his face or anything (yet), but regardless, Kurt found himself tossing and turning, the faint sound of pages turning behind him putting him needlessly on edge.

Just when he felt himself starting to doze off, after god knows how long, he heard a voice come from Sebastian's bed.

"Hey. I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep. I think I'm just gonna go."

Kurt heard Sebastian stand up from his chair.

"You don't have to drive tonight, if you don't want." Kurt tried not to notice but Sebastian's voice sounded—different, when he said that. No snark, less bite. "Really, I don't mind you staying here."

The next silence dragged on for what felt like minutes. This was so horrifically awkward, Kurt waited restless, anxious for the boy to respond like he was living through a soap opera. What was it like, being with and trying to make sense of a creature like Sebastian?

"Look," the boy finally said, lowering his voice a little. "I know that you're not just,you know. With me."

Kurt could hear the smile in Sebastian's voice. "Yes, and I told you that from the start."

"I'm not—" The boy sighed. "I'm sorry, but I'm just not into this kind of thing, with how many other people you're seeing. You're a cool guy, and you're really, really great in bed, but it's been, like, two whole months, and I feel like I still don't even know you. Hell, I don't even know your last name."

"Smythe."

"I don't feel comfortable. Staying here."

Kurt heard Sebastian take a few steps.

"And I feel like I c-can't even—" the boy's voice faltered— "talk. When you're in the room."

Sebastian's tone dipped low, somewhere wicked. "You sure have a lot to say when my cock is inside you."

Kurt almost let an offended gasp slip. How was he allowed to just say things like that to people?

"A-ah, well—"

"You knew what you were getting yourself into the moment we met. In the bathroom, at Scandals, me making you scream into my hands over that mouth. Or did you forget. If you'd like, my friend here and I can remind you."

"I know, I know I came off like this is what I wanted, but I changed my mind, alright?"

It was silent again. Uncomfortably so.

"I see you, Sebastian, and I feel you. But I don't know you. And I can't keep sleeping with someone I don't know."

Kurt heard a zipper, keys jingling, and then soft steps towards the door. It opened, it closed, and Kurt couldn't help it: he opened his eyes and inhaled and exhaled, as if in some kind of relief.

Certainly loud enough for Sebastian to hear.

"Have fun eavesdropping, gay face?"

Shit.

Kurt turned onto his other side slowly, pushing the mask off his eyes blinking rapidly, attempting to appear as if he'd just woken up. Probably failing miserably. Sebastian had his arms crossed, staring at him from his side, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Kurt decided he was too sluggish for confrontation, cut his losses where he could.

"Goodnight, Sebastian," Kurt said, his heart thumping wildly. He turned his back once more.

Sebastian said nothing, turned the desk light off, shrouding the two of them in darkness.

Kurt waited until he heard the ruffling of sheets in Sebastian's bed before he even attempted to relax, and try sleeping, again.

The next morning, Kurt woke up way before his roommate, relieved for the temporary lonesomeness that brought. After his long, relaxed shower he gathered his things for a trip to the library, phoning Blaine as he walked through the breezy campus.

"Do you know anything about Sebastian's parents?" Kurt said.

Blaine hesitated on the other line."Uh, no, I don't, actually Why do you ask? Is something going on with him again?"

"No, no," Kurt answered, light. He smiled at a girl he recognized from class and waved, changing his grip on his phone to his other hand. "I was just wondering what kind of humans could possibly raise such demon spawn. God, it's just sometimes, when he talks, I think, what would his mother say? Does he even have one? I mean if I knew that my son was going off to college only to become a world class, well, a world class porn star I don't think I'd let him out of my friggin' sight."

Blaine laughed, somewhat genuine, but not so comfortable. "Gee, Kurt, wanna bash the guy anymore?"

"Oh c'mon, you love bashing him with me." Well, he did sometimes. "You should have heard him last night, Blaine, I caught him in the middle of a break up talk that was much less 'break up' than it was something out of a bad movie, if you know what I mean."

"Uh?"

"Not so much from the other guy's stance. Poor thing, whoever he was he was just trying to get out of there and Sebastian was trying to hook, line, and sink him with some terrible, low down talk about dive bar bathroom stalls—"

"Wait," Blaine interrupted, "are you listening to his phone calls?"

"It happened while I was in the room! In person! And then he put on this conceited bravado after it was over and asked me 'why I was eavesdropping.' But if he didn't want me to listen, why didn't he just take it into the hall? They weren't exactly being discreet, and I couldn't sleep. It was like he was having the fight there on purpose."

Blaine sighed. "It sounds like he was looking for attention," he suggested.

"His entire life is a cry for attention."

He was almost at the library doors now, which meant he had to go; the last time he'd tried to walk in phone-in-hand, he'd gotten hateful stares from stressed out upperclassmen researchers, foreign exchange students, and underpaid, overworked, matronly librarians. He wasn't good at whispering, especially with gossip.

"I have to go," Kurt said to his boyfriend. "Library calls. Still really, really worried about these first exams."

"You're gonna do fine, baby. You've got this. You've been studying like crazy."

"I know, I got this." Kurt smiled and sighed. "Thank you. I love you. Talk to you."

"Love you too."

It was true, he had been studying a lot this week. Turns out his homework load at McKinley had been laughably low and light compared to that of sixteen units at a four-year. He hadn't felt this stressed out since his auxiliary stint at the accelerated Dalton Academy, for all of nine weeks. He wasn't saying public schools were inherently lesser-than, but his hadn't done him quite all the favors he'd needed it to.

One night he almost pulled an all-nighter studying for his bio and pre-calc exams—he'd been kicked out of the room because of the sock rule anyway, so instead of bothering with going back and forth, he just stayed there. He even felt compelled to turn off his cellphone for most of that time, so that he could focus.

Once the math and sciences tests were past, the second half of the week had Kurt gearing up to perform his first number, and oral exam, as a theater major. In his Introduction to Musical Performance and Production class, every student was going to be auditioning for that fall's musical, Urinetown. They didn't have to land a role or even sing, necessarily, but Kurt, who'd marathon-ed this musical on YouTube for months straight some years back, had a small shred of confidence he could land a part, even just as a background singer. It was small, though, very small. He was so much younger than everyone else.

His classmates all had assigned dates and times to audition for their professor and the senior student directors of the show. He managed to get a time slot that was the exact same as Rachel's, so they were there, and Kurt was seriously trying not to hate her for her talent, for how recklessly she killed Barbara Streissand's "My Man" to audition, and later become the second understudy for, the female leading role of Hope Cladwell. She was totally overbearing sometimes, and her dresses were terrible, but holy hell, could she sing.

When Kurt entered the room, he curtsied to the panel of judges.

"My name is Kurt Hummel, and I'll be auditioning for the role of Little Sally. While this character is traditionally played by a woman, I believe my androgynous visages and lightning quick wit would me a unique choice for the part. I'll be singing 'Popular,' from Wicked."

"Great." His professor seemed impressed, if only for the one-point-five seconds he ever seemed to get of her attention. "Let's hear what you've got."

Unfortunately for Kurt, the song that started blaring from the speakers was not the homemade CD he'd given the volunteer deejay backstage forty minutes ago. It was, instead, "I Just Had Sex" by the Lonely Island. Kurt was mortified, face searing and he hoped that by standing there jabbing his hand back and forth in front of his throat, the volunteer deejay and panel would realize this was not his intention or the statement he wanted to be making, not at all.

The music stopped after almost a minute.

"Is that all you'll be performing?" said his professor, chuckling.

"I'm sorry, just—" he began to skipping to the off-sides of the stage, "there appears to be a slight mix-up with my music, just slight, you understand. But I will fix this, I promise you."

He marched up to the volunteer deejay, who had his headphones on watching YouTube on his phone.

"Hey." He snapped his fingers in the short, stubby upperclassman's face. "Hello? Earth to disk jockey? What the hell? Where's the CD I gave you?"

"Oh, that? Your boyfriend came and said you gave me the wrong one. Something about you were tired this morning, weren't thinking straight." He gave Kurt's outfit a once over. "I'll say."

Fucking Sebastian.

And then, Sebastian was there, after it ended. It ended, by the way, after Kurt ran back on stage to offer to let them stream the song with an aux cord and his phone. His professor just smiled sympathetically.

"The point of the assignment wasn't to land a role," she said. "It was to get up on stage and make a statement, show your personality. You certainly did. I thought it was kind of funny. Thanks."

Sebastian was outside in the hallway as Kurt walked out of the auditorium, leaned up against the wall, texting casually.

"What is your problem?" Kurt yelled at him.

Sebastian shrugged, held up his hands.

"Don't blame me. Blame the dense kid handling the audio for this shindig. He's the one who decided to trust me when I said I was your boyfriend."

"Yeah, about that," Kurt practically seethed. "I would never date you, you're a terrible person."

"If it'll help things, I'll fess up to your teacher," Sebastian said. "But, not now. I have to go, I'm up."

"You're auditioning for Urinetown?"

"Yes. Now you understand. Why I had to nail my competition."

"Hey! Did you find out about your test grades?"

Days later Kurt had his cellphone pressed close to his hot cheek, listening to Blaine's cheery voice and staring daggers into the back of Sebastian's head, from where he sat, watchful and alert, on his bed.

"Yes," Kurt sighed to Blaine. "My theater professor somehow had mercy on me and gave me a C," and Sebastian's audition wasn't successful either apparently, so there was that, "but my math professor wasn't so accommodating. I had no idea I was supposed to be paying attention in algebra three. No matter what I wrote down, that sweet old lady Mrs. Filikins gave me 'happy face' and 'rainbow' as my grades. At least I got an A in biology. Somehow."

Sebastian was currently clad in boxers, hair still wet from the shower, arms and shoulders slicked up with some kind of oily balm, for massages and muscle aches. Kurt resented him and his cut body, which he would never have no matter how many times he worked out, for numerous reasons right now, but the first on his mind at the moment was that thing that happened earlier. Sebastian and Kurt had showered simultaneously that morning, not on purpose, in the big, floor-shared bathroom that had each shower head separated with a mere flimsy curtain.

It wasn't that uncommon to be in there at the same time as someone else on the floor—about thirty guys had to split four stalls—but up until that morning, Kurt had always timed it right enough to never be there the same time as Seb. Being naked around him? Too much vulnerability, unsafe.

This morning Kurt woke up late for pre-calc, had no choice, and knew exactly what he'd heard Sebastian doing. That first tight, exasperated groan, followed by another, then another, more tuneful and frustrated.

Kurt just about wanted to die when his own dick began to perk up because of it. Not because it was him, god, sick, but because it was just that time of the morning, he was groggy and sheepish and anything, probably—anything, clearly—would've gotten him going at that hour.

"I'm sorry it didn't all go the way you planned it to, Kurt." Kurt felt terrible, dozing off on his boyfriend like this. "But I mean, you're just getting your foot in the door. You're a freshman, you know? You have your grunt work now, and it'll be hard, but there are still four more years to improve your scores. And, plenty of other musicals."

That was true, but Kurt knew he wasn't cut out to be a career singer, professional. Even as he still majored in theater in college, in blind hopes of one day possibly owning his own stage, even as Mr. Schue and others told him he could really make it, if he tried, and quite possibly changed the way he looked—through all of this the logical and sensible part of him knew he wasn't ever going to live his starlit, childhood dream, of being in basically-drag on stage in front of thousands. All of high school he was in a troupe, anyway. Being a star meant flying solo.

That didn't mean he couldn't still love the music, and still sing on his down time. But he wondered, sometimes, how long his love would last.

"You're quiet," said Blaine.

"It's just," Kurt started. "I don't know."

Sebastian was completely ignoring him now, but yesterday, Sebastian's interruption to their FaceTime conversation had occurred when Blaine brought up a certain Spanish teacher. That of course, Sebastian and Blaine had both had at Dalton. Kurt knew Blaine hadn't done it ill-willed or on purpose, but for at least five minutes he had talked right back at Sebastian amicably, laughing and recalling as Sebastian knelt far too close next to Kurt's bed.

Blaine didn't always enjoy the interruptions. Most times he gave Kurt a little "wow, this guy" eye roll after Sebastian had slipped from the camera's eye. But still, that wasn't really Kurt's problem. Kurt's big problem was that he was supposed to be going away to college to escape, relax and have time to discover himself, and what he loved. Growing up as an only child, he'd always had his own room, always had a place to go to when he just wanted to sulk, or cry about getting called 'fag' or 'cocksucker' by boys at school.

But now, he couldn't unwind in his own room if this other person came around, without feeling embarrassed about his feelings. Sure he could drive home to Lima an hour and half each way, to his dad's house, if he needed. But his parents didn't have the money to support him taking all those trips. It was enough they could even pay half of his tuition.

Even when Sebastian was making it clear he wasn't listening to Kurt, Kurt didn't want him in the room at all as he talked to Blaine late nights, telling him he couldn't sleep without feeling his arms wrapped around him, hearing him tell him how much he loved him. Seb was there when Kurt was feeling tired and stressed from a long school day, coupled with teenage love nostalgia, just wanting to curl up into a ball with his curtains drawn shut, sleep the rest of the day off.

He was there when Kurt became outwardly, vocally, far too frustrated at the sight of Sebastian's fine jeans bundled up on his side of the room, and yes, it was just laundry but sometimes Kurt wanted to look at a clean floor, for once in their miserable shared existence, was that too much to ask?

He was a person, with aches and pains as well as triumphs, and he was supposed to be able to express them in privacy. Sebastian, though? He wasn't like that. Most days he seemed a robot, even after a whole month the boy came off to Kurt as severely emotionally-stifled, about as one dimensional as the day he and Kurt moved in together.

Moved in together—god, did that sound wrong. He'd never imagined the person he'd found trying to pick up Blaine at the Lima Bean last fall, the lanky dirty blonde he'd immediately sized up and hated as Blaine's "competition," was someone he was going to end up living with.

Sebastian wasn't making any friends who stuck around, from what Kurt could tell; as in people on campus that he didn't just speak to in order to sleep with. Sebastian was a lone wolf, levelheaded in control, and perfectly content with himself.

He got away with being a jerk, didn't seem to have repercussions from it. And it wasn't, like, fair.

"Kurt?"

Kurt realized he'd zoned out on Blaine again.

"I'm sorry," he said into the phone, exhaling. "I don't know what's up with me. It's like I can't focus on anything. Not having a very good start to the week, I guess. I know it'll get better, I do. I'm not always this dismal about the future, but—"

Across from him Sebastian was finally putting clothes on. Staring at himself in the mirror on his closet door, stringing damp, gold hair through long, agile fingers.

"I just miss you," Kurt said. "A lot."

"I miss you too, Kurt. A lot."

Kurt closed his eyes, and pictured rose-colored coffee dates with Blaine in matching scarves, hand-written notes and meeting each other at his locker every day.

"Life was easier to deal with when we did it together, in person, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. But we'll be okay, Kurt. This is just, you know. Part of growing up."

By Friday, though, Kurt was feeling rather restless, about his lack of a best friend and support system on campus. This, and the fact that Blaine was going out with Sam and Artie all night, is what found him being dragged to another fraternity sponsored party by Rachel and two other Alliance members he met at the mixer.

The party was off campus this time, thirty minutes away at some warehouse venue, and Kurt was dressed up in dark skintight jeans, knee-high boots, and a crimson scoop-neck sweater, complete with diamond-crusted broaches and chains. Rachel noted, as she let him into her dorm room to pre-game, that he might have overdressed for this, but Kurt didn't dignify that with a response. This sweater was Marc freaking Jacobs, and anyway, at least he wasn't wearing a too-big dress made entirely out of pink plaid, and penny loafers. Actual, unironic penny loafers. Was this a costume party, and was she going as a twelve year old dressed as a grandma?

One of the people joining them, and offering to drive them all there, was Chandler. The beady-eyed boy who'd asked for Kurt's number at the mixer, had appeared a little frustrated at lack of said number ever since. Kurt tried to pretend that the fact he'd turned him down wasn't a point of awkwardness between them, but it was; as Rachel and her other friend threw back vodka shots and argued loudly about music, and he and Chandler watched them, he noticed Chandler watching him more than he did the others. He wondered if he'd ever make a new, platonic male friend he didn't have some kind of weird, sexual energy with.

At eleven they arrived at the strobe-lit club/party, which already sweaty and overcrowded. Their ragtag group waited nearly twenty minutes at the supposedly-ID-checked bar, elbowing other OSU students and then some, until Chandler could buy everyone (including Kurt, who vehemently declined) a round Everclear shots, with his fake.

Judgmentally Kurt watched Chandler, the supposed designated driver, as he took both his and "Kurt's" shots and later on, as Rachel found other friends to combine their group with, tried and failed to get Kurt to get drunk with him. "Come on, just have one shot. For me?" But Kurt explained to Chandler that he didn't like or have to get drunk to feel good about himself. He couldn't deny, though, that sometimes he was thirsty for how being drunk might feel.

He certainly felt extremely lame every time he said no.

Kurt did dance with Rachel and Chandler a little at one point, since dancing did always brighten his mood, and he could use it. But for the most part through all of this, he just felt like going back to his room a half hour drive away. It was too loud to have a real conversation with anyone, so all he was was awkwardly shaking hands with the friends of Rachel's he was meeting (how did she know everybody?), whose names he couldn't even make out. Kurt didn't know Rachel well enough to feel safe and put his guard down here.

Plus, of course, Sebastian was here. Kurt had caught him at the bar earlier, his arm around his next willing victim. For crying out loud, he was seriously everywhere Kurt went.

At about midnight Kurt was teetering on the edge of his patience and boredom, watching as Rachel played beer pong against three random senior boys on the golf team, swirling the virgin Cosmopolitan in his red cup around. He kept feeling like he was being stared at, but it wasn't coming from the most obvious perp, Chandler, who was actively chatting with two girls at the moment. Pretty soon Kurt realized that he could see Sebastian sitting on a couch across the way, next to a short, dark-haired guy (he really had a thing for picking up dudes who looked like Blaine at first glance, it was unsettling). Said guy was just leaving his pursuer, to get another drink, and Sebastian took that moment to notice Kurt, smile and wink.

Kurt rolled his eyes, then swiftly tore them away.

As he stood there hating himself for having any sort of biological reaction to Sebastian Smythe, Chandler came out of nowhere at his side, touching his arm a bit too much for comfort and rambling about something Kurt couldn't understand.

"You did another Everclear shot?" Kurt shouted at him eventually. Chandler's breath smelled like it was two hundred proof. Why oh why hadn't he driven himself here? Chandler grinned and attempted to draw closer to Kurt, but he stumbled far too much, and Kurt backed away.

The next thing he knew Rachel was in his face, taking him by the hand and asking if he wanted to do a "celeb shot" at the pong table.

"Celeb shot?" he repeated as the increasingly incoherent Rachel yanked him, pulled him towards the game. "What is that?"

"Shoot for me! Here!" Rachel placed the sticky white ping pong ball in his soft hand and her partner, one of the seniors, eyed Kurt up and down not-so-expectantly.

And oh, what the hell, Kurt thought. Rachel took his red cup from him and handed it to Chandler so that Kurt would have two free hands. He rolled up his sweater's beautiful sleeves as he glanced up at the two hot but probably douchebaggy straight guys waiting for him to strike across the way. One of them was laughing, the other saying something to the extent of, "The fuck is this guy wearing?"

Kurt felt himself blushing, but his competitive nature motivated him to make this, prove them wrong. Like a hawk he eyed the seven red cups that remained, arched his wrist back, and flicked it mocking the way that he'd seen people play this tomfoolery on TV, at the few parties he'd attended in high school, completely sober. When the ball plopped into the farthest cup back, sloshed beer on the table and tipped over a second cup with it, the people watching the game around booed but mostly cheered for him. To be honest he was more surprised than his opponents clearly were that he'd made it.

Kurt smiled smugly, and curtsied, at the bro-dudes across from him and maybe this wouldn't be so bad, if he could make a sport of this game.

"See that? See? Beginner's luck, beginner's luck!" Rachel was yelling, leaning onto Kurt's shoulder and grinning up against his collarbone. "You should be my partner next time. Has anyone ever told you have magnificent ears?"

Kurt laughed and pat her on the back awkwardly. "No, because all ears look the same." He got out of her hug when he could and then Chandler was before him, offering him his virgin cup back.

Kurt took it and sipped from it absently as Rachel's former partner decided to sub himself out, the bright cranberry juice and bubbles from the triple sec substitute tickling his tongue. He swallowed down about a third of what was left, and when he finished, he still found Sebastian staring at him from the couch, still alone.

Kurt tried to ignore it; it made his stomach turn, being the object of Sebastian's attention.

Meanwhile Sebastian, on the couch, finally forced his eyes away from Kurt and mulled over what he'd just caught. That freakish beanie-d kid who'd taken Kurt's cup—Chandelier or something, wasn't it?—had just slipped a distinctive little pill inside the liquid, then handed it back to Kurt. Even from yards away, Sebastian had instantly recognized it as Ambien, the most common roofie for this area. He'd just watched as Kurt sucked half of said roofie down the long expanse of his throat, along with what he thought was just cran-juice and melted ice.

And, well, what was Sebastian going to do about it? He wasn't supposed to be giving a damn about Kurt Hummel's wellbeing, he was supposed to be at this party to scope out and challenge one of these new "questioning" college guys.

The guy he'd been with so far, some random who didn't dorm on campus and whose name he was constantly forgetting, presently returned from the bar with two shots of Patron and Sebastian's refill full of Kamikaze. Sebastian gave his "friend" a knowing smile, bringing the rim of the shot glass to his lips, tossing it back-but as the Patron burned, making the edges of his vision all blurred, his body hot, he realized begrudgingly he couldn't stop staring at Kurt.

Sebastian felt on edge waiting for the first signs the drug was working, no doubt tearing itself through Kurt's system as he walked around somewhat drowsy, unaware. This was bad, really bad, and moral conflicts were something Sebastian didn't do well with. He was an extremely selfish person, and in his mind, there was nothing wrong with that. If you weren't watching out for yourself, you got screwed over, in any way the powerful people around you could manage, in his experience.

Self-fulfillment was the eighteen-almost-nineteen year old's prime concern, the name of the game always. If people decided to get hurt or bothered by him not caring about them back, that was their fault. They knew what not to expect from him, as he always started any conversation or relationship off by making his intentions very, very clear.

And that was why he resented, so much right now, this compulsion to keep tabs on his roommate. To toss his intentions aside, put someone before them.

Sebastian pulled the boy at his side up to dance with him suddenly, just so he could "casually" move himself to the side of the room where Kurt was. He could see Kurt was wondering off from his "friends," starting to trip over himself, and the problem for Sebastian now, as much as he'd fucking deny this to his grave, was that he'd been staring at Kurt on purpose, for almost an hour, long before the roofie had even happened. Had he not been watching him, bored with the conversation his current next fuck was trying to fiddle with, had he not been cynical and laughing at the idea of sober princess Kurt having what it took to win a game of beer pong, he wouldn't have even seen the disturbance.

He wouldn't have given guilt this opportunity to cross him.

Sebastian had this random guy, who devastatingly wanted him, pressed up against the wall, his hands around his waist. He could feel how hard this guy was, against his thigh. Telling him in his ear they should "get out of here."

But one more flicker of his eyes towards Kurt, by himself, and Sebastian knew that he couldn't ignore this feeling.

He needed to get rid of it first. Now.

He pulled the strange boy in front of him closer, so they were chest to chest.

"Wait for me here," he demanded, trailing fingers down his lower back, scratching hard. The guy nodded and bit his lip, appearing to fall in line and obey as Sebastian handed him his new full cup of drink, telling him "Babysit this" as he left him.

He weaved in and out of the sweaty dance floor, all the while keeping his eye on his stupid target, who was now sitting alone on the arm of a loveseat, arms squeezed tightly around his stomach. As Sebastian drew close enough to notice details, he found that Kurt's skin was paler than usual, if that was even possible, and that he was sweating and trembling. In a matter of hours, if that, he'd be passed out.

Sebastian pitied the way Kurt's head was buried in his hands, remembered how bad that felt, to be so fucked up you couldn't even stand. Sebastian put his hand on Kurt's shoulder and ran it briefly down the small slope, and to his surprise, Kurt stared up at him directly, through dazed, exhausted eyes, and held his cold-sweating hand over Sebastian's.

Sebastian could tell by the way Kurt's pupils were blown, unable to focus, that the drug had already taken him well under. He was screwed.

"You're not Blaine?" Kurt shut his eyes and keeled forward, reaching his hands out to grab onto Sebastian's shirt for leverage. Sebastian hated to let Kurt's hands touch him below the ribs and at the belt, like this, but he managed. Kurt's slender fingers dug and worked into the fabric of his tee.

"You need to leave." Sebastian had to shout to be heard over the music, staring down at the shiny top of Kurt's luxurious hair.

Kurt shook his head, handsing Sebastian's abs and holding him tighter.

"I don't—" he attempted, shakily, "I don't know what's happening. Why is there lightning, flashing above your head?"

Sebastian looked irritably for the chirpy little Jewish girl he'd seen Kurt running around with.

"Who did you come here with?" he demanded, searching for her name. Instead of answering, Kurt lost even more of his balance and almost slumped entirely off of the couch. Sebastian caught him by both shoulders and propped him back up, as two girls sitting near this sloppy interaction got up, laughed and pointed.

Kurt's eyes opened into Sebastian's again, a hurricane of hazel, blue and green, a storm.

"What are youdoing here?" Kurt said, his words languid.

Sebastian gripped tighter around Kurt's shoulders, as Kurt grew more limp.

"Someone slipped you something."

Kurt didn't seem to understand this; instead he, confused, glanced back and forth at either of Sebastian's hands, probably wondering why they were touching him, like this. But far too out of it to even protest. Maybe in the state he was in, he even—liked them there. The pressure against his skin in the midst of feeling like he was floating in the dark, completely sick.

Sebastian wanted so badly to leave him here, couldn't stand unironically helping this kid. He wanted to take his hands off of the whiny, effeminate show queen who'd once said Sebastian was "a trashy waste of human existence"—Blaine told Sebastian more about Kurt than Sebastian thought Kurt would ever realize—

But now Kurt was staring deep into his eyes, and he wasn't all that sober himself, feeling a lump form rapidly in his throat.

This was the wrong time to realize that Kurt's eyes were sort of thrilling.

"You got drugged," Sebastian said again, louder this time.

Kurt sighed, shaking his head. "It's—I'm not—"

"You need someone to take you back to school."

Sebastian stood up then, letting Kurt halfway-pass-out against him and lean his head up against Sebastian's abdomen. Sebastian let him stay there as little as the image of him did for his perverted mind, as he stood still, searching the venue one last time for the little Jewish girl. He presently found Rachel Berry at the side of a friend who was throwing up violently in a corner. Rachel herself was drunk-crying, trying to avert the attention of the people who were staring.

This party was a hot fucking mess.

The only other reprieve for handling this alone would be for Sebastian to confront the doer Chandler, but he could fight that prick right about now. He didn't need that little street urchin distracting him. Sebastian was despicable and all, with more schmoozing skills than actual character, but even he would never, ever roofie someone. Ever. That was fucking cheating.

He'd deal with a guy like that later—would he? Fuck that, he needed to get his priorities in order—

Sebastian's massive alcohol tolerance, which he'd been polishing since he was twelve, hadn't had enough to make him incompatible with the wheel, so he was going to hate himself, really, for what he was about to do.

And he swore, he would murder Kurt if he threw up in his brand new car.

"Get up."

Sebastian's order came harsher and louder than he'd planned on, and at it, Kurt pressed his lips together and tried to get some leverage, his hands almost comically dragging down so hard on Sebastian's shirt, it was sliding and near-tearing well past his sternum. He was going to fall the second he got anywhere near to being on both feet, so Sebastian, stopping this nonsense, lifted him up by his arms and threw one over his neck, so he could carry Kurt pretty much entirely with his shoulder.

Though Kurt was attempting to make messy, miscalculated steps in time with him, Sebastian was doing the real work of steadily dragging Kurt towards the exit doors of the venue. He hadn't seen the guy he'd been with earlier leave, but could only figure. Now it was Kurt's body to which he was somehow close tonight, too close as Sebastian had a hand gripped tight around Kurt's trim little waist, Kurt's head resting lazy against his collarbone.

"We're going?" Kurt tried to look up at the person who was saving him, but instead, his wet lips gently grazed Sebastian's neck. Sebastian tensed.

"Don't talk," Sebastian groaned, hoisting Kurt up further. "You don't know what's going on and you won't remember a lick of this tomorrow. You don't want to regret anything you might say to me."

Sebastian disregarded the cat calls and whistles from the frat guys at the door as he passed through, eventually graduated to carrying Kurt on his back all the way through the parking lot.

He fished his keys out of his back pocket aimed them at his all-black, push-to-start, eighty thousand dollar car. Seriously, if Kurt hurled, he'd scalp him, maybe turn the hair on his head into a wig—

He spread Kurt down across his back seat, turning him over onto his side being careful not to touch him anywhere that might even remotely be suggestive. Kurt was panting, frowning through shut eyes, beginning to gag a little already.

"What's happening? Why are so many stars out?"

Sebastian didn't bother trying to make sense of Kurt in this state and shut the door, gliding around to the driver's side. Started up the car fast and, as soon as he was able, sped into the night at a hundred mph.

He ignored Kurt's faint groans and moans as his sleek car slid down the empty one way street. They were on a nearly unpaved road way outside of the Ohio State campus area, with very little civilization; no street lights lined them and dead grass stretched out on either side, the half moon in the sky the only light, the only comfort.

Sebastian just really didn't want him to throw up. He'd dump him on the street and he wouldn't come back—

He'd almost made it to a cross street and a ramp onto the freeway but, as fate would have it, his battery started cutting out, died just before he could get there. Fuck. He glared at his charge gage, smacking his hand against the steering wheel and realizing the lever was way below empty.

This was why the fuck Sebastian never did things for people.

Sebastian groaned to himself in his seat, clicked his hazards on, staring at Kurt through the rear view mirror. He'd definitely blame this on Kurt entirely in the morning, and not on the fact that he'd been too impatient, restive to get to that party, to stop at an electric charging station earlier on. It's not like the bumfuck middle of nowhere that was Ohio had that many. Kurt had stopped moving as much, eyes shut and lips parted, so Sebastian got out and opened the door to the back seat, leaning into its opening.

He gave Kurt's vital signs a once over, okay, a thrice over and determined the situation was not 911-worthy, at least yet. More time would be needed to assess just how much he'd been given. It seemed he was already sort of gently hallucinating. He might not puke and just pass out instead, but it wasn't looking likely. He'd blow at least once, twice.

Because the drug obviously hadn't been mixed with any booze though, he could rule out Kurt needing emergency attention from the sometimes lethal mixture of Zolpidem and liquor. He was breathing fine. He just needed to stay calm, and who knew what calling cops might do for the chances of that happening right now.

Seb fished into his phone for a certain contact.

"Sebastian?" The high school senior, Kurt's boyfriend, was sheepish, mumbly-sleepy on the other line. "It's late, you probably shouldn't be calling me. I'm not—interested in, that. A-anymore—"

"Don't bother working up that ego of yours this late about me, Blaine. This is about Kurt."

Blaine hesitated. "Kurt? What's up, did something happen?"

"He's just about passed-out in the back of my car, and I'm done taking care of him."

"Passed out?"

"He got roofied. Do you have a car?"

"I'm sorry, what? How the hell did he get roofied, Seb? Was it you?"

Sebastian looked at Kurt, who was starting to move and make noise in the seat again.

"I didn't even know that the two of you were—hanging out, at this time of night—"

"Do you have a car or don't you? I told you, I'm done taking care of his ass, so either you can come do it, or he's at risk of getting worse. Much worse. I'm not staying up with him all night to make sure he doesn't choke on his puke."

Blaine was silent. Kurt started coughing a little, and Sebastian felt himself growing angrier and angrier.

"M-my dad has my car, it's getting shopped—"

"So you can't come get him."

"N-not unless I stole my dad's keys, but, I'll—see who I can call, to give me a ride to—where even are you, is he oka—"

Sebastian's impatience got the better of him, and he quickly ended the call.

"I feel—ugh—"

Kurt was muttering nonsensically again.

.

"If you have to let it out, crawl yourself out of this open door and do it at my feet." Sebastian was now dialing the toll number for roadside assistance on his parents' insurance line.

"Sebastian?" Kurt said.

Sebastian held the phone to his ear, glared down at his unoffending flower of a nemesis. Kurt was staring blankly at him, upside down.

"Hi. Yeah, I'm out of battery on Olive and Interchange, before the I-15—"

"I think that you're lonely," Kurt said suddenly.

Sebastian frowned. Moved the speaker of his phone from his mouth.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said," Kurt paused, swallowing hard and closing his eyes again, "that I think you're lonely," he repeated. "Mmh, it's so cold." He was still trembling a bit, tugging at the collar of his rose-colored sweater. "I don't feel—"

"An hour?" Sebastian repeated to the phone call. "Are you kidding? For an emergency charge?"

"Where are we? Is Blaine? I want him to be here—"

"No, you don't get it, I don't have an hour."

Sebastian fumed listening to the dispatcher on the other line make up a bunch of bullshit excuses, like it was one in the morning and they were in a part of Ohio their techs "rarely serviced."

"Don't give me that," Sebastian cut the man on the phone off eventually, he'd hardly been listening to his words anyway. "What is this, am I a premium customer here for nothing? Give me someone to talk to, a supervisor or manager or someone who actually matters. I don't care what time it is, sir. Transfer me."

Sebastian stared down at Kurt again, channeling a death stare that he knew Kurt wouldn't interpret.

"This morning," Kurt mumbled now, probably to himself. But then: "Sebastian?"

"What?"

"This morning, in showers, in the sh-hower."

Sebastian, angry as he as, almost felt like laughing at that, and at his memory of this morning. He'd known Kurt was there, and hadn't cared. Hadn't known his prissy roommate liked to listen. So Kurt was the kind of drunk who liked to say things he shouldn't say?

Sebastian stayed quiet in response, waiting to hear what else Kurt might have to say of his rituals.

"Who do you—" Kurt kept holding onto his stomach tighter and tighter, as if trying to keep it from coming off of him. "Who do you even think of? When you, you know? Come?"

Oh, god, that was it. Sebastian let it go, laughed viciously at first from deep-sated amusement, but then it was from—oh, what was this feeling, nervousness? Why on earth was Kurt asking him this?

Though, he supposed, this wasn't exactly Kurt.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you, the drugs are making you incomprenhisible." He'd heard Kurt say it, he just really wanted to hear him say it again. Maybe record it and send it to Blaine. No, that was mean. Yeah, he should.

"I would," Kurt began again, "never, never, ever, think of you."

Sebastian scoffed.

"Good to know."

He rolled his eyes.

The man on the phone came back into his ear telling him that someone from roadside assistance would be there in fifteen. Sebastian didn't bother saying thanks and hung up, grazing his eyes over the lit screen of his phone and realizing he had nine missed calls from Blaine. And counting.

Funny how the tables turned in life, he thought. It used to be Sebastian calling Blaine late at night, going unanswered time and time again.

Sebastian decided, for no real reason, that he liked this, giving Blaine a dose of his own medicine. He slipped his phone carelessly into his pocket and watched as one lone car sped by on the otherwise pitch black expanse all around them. Then he gazed back into his open car door, at Kurt and his stupid, freakishly delicate face.

"I don't understand what's happening to me. Am I dying?"

Sebastian knew the feeling. He didn't like to get into it, but the reason he'd recognized the Ambien was that he'd been slipped it once himself. Kurt still had his eyes closed, still sickly pale and restless, but he clearly had a point:

"Please? I asked a question, about who it is." Kurt managed to continue. "Answer."

Sebastian tried to put Kurt's usage of "please" like that out of his mind, and his pertinent demand, "answer," even further. He considered the question, instead. He realized that he never thought about anything or anyone particular really, lately, when he was got himself off. Maybe a faceless body. But he decided to keep Kurt amused with a load of crap instead.

"You wanna know what I think about? Boobs." Sebastian took his phone back out of his pocket, tossed it up and down in his hand. "I think about boobs."

"Ick." Kurt made a face, gagged a little. Sebastian watched him like a hawk, at that sound.

"But you're gaaaaay," Kurt slurred.

"Doesn't matter," Sebastian replied. "I like what I like."

He would admit this to no one, but as he stood there in the dark, he was, well, scared. He didn't now what to do to make this any better.

"Boobs are weird," Kurt clenched his eyes shut tighter. "They're all flabby, and—milk, comes from—they're just weird, Sebastian, gross."

Sebastian let an anxious laugh break through the bitterness, but that laugh would be very short lived. Kurt was suddenly writhing like he was in pain, and then he was gagging consistently.

"Oh no, you, out of the fucking car—"

Sebastian reached into the back seat and pulled Kurt roughly by his shoulders, sliding him out and clumsily onto his feet as he started to choke up. Sebastian had almost dropped him onto his knees in nearby grass but, before he could, Kurt was already letting it rip. On him. It dripped and soaked onto his pants and in his shoes, and fuck if Sebastian wasn't ready to walk back to the dorms at this point, alone.

Thirteen more minutes before the truck was going to show.

Once Kurt was done, got it all out of his system, he finally passed out completely. Sebastian picked him up off the ground and laid him and his barf-covered sweater back into the seat. There was nothing else he could do, but this. And maybe a trip to the hospital was in order, if Kurt really got worse.

But not before he changed his fucking clothes.

The insurance's truck came shortly, and once he was charged enough to go he sped back to the dorms with a dormant Kurt. He found that the worst of things seemed to be over for him and carried his little body bridle style up the stairs, into their frighteningly too-small room and didn't let him down until he was sideways, breathing, in his bed.

After it was over he practically ripped his soiled clothes off, planned on taking a quick shower and then probably drinking. But first, he decided to call Blaine back.

"He's fine," was all he said when Blaine picked up, after the very first ring.

"Where the fuck are you?" Blaine practically belted it into in his ear, always a songbird, him. "I haven't been able to breathe since you hung up, you seriously think you can just tell a guy his boyfriend was date raped and not expect a fight? Where is Kurt?"

Sebastian sighed.

"Calm down, I just said he's fine. We're both in the dorm, and he's asleep."

"People don't just get roofied and then go to sleep, Sebastian." Actually that's pretty much exactly what they do, he didn't bother saying. "This is serious—"

"Blaine."

All Sebastian had to do was say his name that way, stern and just so, the way he used to. And Blaine shut up.

Sebastian stared at Kurt in his bed, watching the slow rise and fall of the other boy's chest.

"It's two o' clock in the morning," Sebastian said, coolly. "I'm going to bed. If you want to come up here and see him right now, dressed in a candy striper outfit to check his pulse, do it. Nothing's stopping you. Drive, run, walk. Find a way."

Blaine was still silent.

"And if you have nothing else to say to me right now, then, goodnight. Sweet dreams. I'll take your boyfriend to the hospital, if he needs it."

Sebastian didn't wait for an answer and was mildly surprised when another call didn't come, after he hung up. But he knew Blaine had no way to come to the probable, dependable rescue; he had no car, no resources. Nothing but his worries.

Guess the "teenage dream" of a power couple wasn't so dreamy, Sebastian thought.

As he rinsed himself down in hot water, he jerked himself off in quick, angry strokes again, thinking about that faceless body, wishing he hadn't gone out tonight.

Kurt woke up in his bed feeling wretched the next morning. All around there was this awful smell, he was sticky and he couldn't stop trembling, he was still in last night's clothes, and he felt like his body had been drained of everything good.

That was when it hit him. What happened last night? He had no recollection of leaving that stuffy warehouse party, of ever coming home.

"Oh my God."

The last thing he remembered was the beer pong table, the celeb shot and realizing oh well, there went the designated driver, might as well try and have some fun to wait this out, and Rachel screaming and Chandler hanging onto his cup while he played.

Other than that, it was pitch blackness, the dark.

Except, perhaps at sunrise this morning: a voice, and bright lights. Strong arms, lifting him.

Kurt winced and tried to sit up, finding that very hard when every move he made made his guts feel too queasy. The putrid, acrid smell around him was only getting worse, and through hazed vision, he glanced around the room and found Sebastian sitting at his desk, calmly. Shirtless and in glasses, appearing to be writing something in a notebook.

When Sebastian noticed that Kurt was awake, he smiled, wide and foreboding, shut the book.

"Let me guess," his evil roommate beamed. "You're wondering how you got home last night, right?"

Kurt's stomach lurched as he watched Sebastian slowly stand, start walking towards his bed.

"Well, you have me to thank for that," Sebastian said, and that voice made the hairs on the back of Kurt's neck stand up. "Out of the kindness of my heart, I drove you, wasted, back from that warehouse and all the way here. Didn't even get so much as a 'thank you, Sebastian' the entire time, or once it was all said and done of course. For someone who's so judgmental all the time, you could really stand to up your manners, Kurt."

Oh, god, not this. Kurt didn't get it. Why was Sebastian so mean?

"I wasn't drunk." Kurt's shook his heavy head, in disbelief. "T-this doesn't make any sense, I didn't have anything to drink last night—"

"The barf stain all over your fancy girl sweater doesn't say the same."

Kurt looked down at himself in disgust to find his latest Marc Jacobs piece completely destroyed.

He shut his eyes, sank back into the bed and tried to placate his nausea and gag reflex as he struggled to pull the still-vomit-crusted sweater up over his head. How much of that party was he there for? What had he done and who talked to him, saw him like that? Had he done this to himself, somehow? Or had someone tried to hurt him?

He so wanted to be home right now, at Burt and Carole's quaint house in east Lima in his old bed from high school, still there. He wanted Blaine, wanted safety and he certainly wanted never to go to another frat party, where apparently you could get fucked up without even remembering. What was in that supposed-virgin Cosmo?

"Thank you, for taking me back." Kurt didn't look Seb in the eye when he said it, can't even to begin to imagine how that must have been for either of them. Trying instead to folding the disgusting sweater while lying on his back, as if that would make it any less disgusting.

"But would you mind, just—please, please, leaving me alone about this? Forever? Seriously, this isn't funny, this isn't a joke."

This not knowing, not remembering anything? It hurt him.

"I can't remember the last ten hours of my life and that would scare most people, maybe even people like you who have endless money and virtually no empathy for any living thing besides themselves. So please, just. Back off me, for once."

Sebastian took a moment to respond.

"Fine." He seemed to be conceding defeat. "But just so you know, you didn't last two seconds after you had that drink. Don't start hemorraging worrying that someone cherry-picked and took advantage of your delicate little body, while you were comatose. I practically babysat you. Lucky for you, I was around."

Kurt was much too sick, and much too tired, to try and contest Sebastian's recollection of the event, to try and have the final word.

Blaine would tell Kurt the story of how he got something slipped to him once Kurt had the energy to reach for his phone on the dresser— after a groggy, hour long, miserable half-nap—and found that Blaine was currently en route—after a confusing two hours spent trying to communicate with Sebastian.

As far as whodunit, there was only one likely, too persistent, too nice culprit, and Kurt swore never to trust another boy, besides his first love, who ever tried to flirt with him, ever. There was always an ulterior motive, always.

No doubt Blaine would soon come to Ohio State on the train, to look after his love. Gratefully, Sebastian was out the whole day.

Sebastian, who found a friend or another to stay with all day, didn't bother mentioning the Ambien or the running out of gas, or the fact that he'd had to throw away his shoes from them getting puked on, to Kurt.

He didn't say a word about the moment Kurt's lips grazed his neck, those tortuous minutes he'd had to put his hands on him, the fact that it made something in him, however slight, ridiculous and reluctant, stir.

Sebastian decided that once Kurt found out what happened exactly for himself, post hospital visit and Blaine's heavy petting, only then he might, just might, tell him his side of the story. The truth was he had stayed up all night for Kurt, checking his breathing periodically whilst sipping on a fifth of Corvoisier. He didn't like Kurt much but he just simply couldn't have it on his conscious, letting the kid die from this sort of freak of an accident.

Dying by some other way, by Sebastian's own hand some day, as payback for this, sure. Until then, he was waiting for Blaine's sleek and shiny gelled self to wander his way in. He finally did at around seven thirty, wearing sweatpants, a duffel on his back, as Kurt slept soundly.

"Good morning." Sebastian tipped his bottle up, cheers-ing him. "You're late. I'd start by taking him to someone who's a doctor. I'd have done it, but I've practically bathed myself in cognac. He has a long day ahead of him."

Blaine looked, and sounded, exhausted. "Who was it?"

"Some loser named Chandler."

For now, Sebastian wanted to grapple with the facts of last night as little as possible. No more frat parties for him for a while, either.