Even with a sweet tooth that's bound to kill him one day and a preference for all things sugary, despite the calories, Kurt still can't understand how Finn can eat waffles with that much chocolate sauce and syrup on before it's even nine o'clock in the morning. He regards him with a sort of disgusted enthrallment as Finn takes the bottle marked "Chocolate Sauce – Finn's property" out of the fridge (and why he keeps it in the fridge Kurt has yet to discover. Some things in life just aren't worth questioning) and pours it on, letting it run over the edges and create a pool of sticky sweetness on his plate. Burt doesn't say a word, they're all used to it, and Finn buys the sauce himself so it's not like it's being taken out of the family budget, but Kurt can't help asking the same thing he asks every morning.
"How is it possible for someone so athletic to eat that much pure rubbish and not have a heart attack?"
Finn looks at him over a mouthful of waffle and swallows, licking his lips.
"It's necessary to keep me healthy. I have to even out the amount of exercise I do with food otherwise I'll have too much muscle gain and my body will seize up and die."
There's a new reason every day, Kurt honestly doesn't know how Finn thinks them up, and they are slowly getting more and more ludicrous. This one tops all the ones he's heard before and he can't help cracking up. Finn watches him with serious eyes, frowning.
"What?" he enquires, then takes another huge forkful.
"Did someone tell you that?" Kurt asks him, copying and nibbling a bit of the toast on his own plate.
"Yep," Finn says, grinning, "me."
Both Kurt and Burt laugh at that. There's nothing like an early morning dose of Finn Hudson, nothing quite so ridiculous, nothing quite so good at kick starting a day with obscure ideas. Kurt gives the chocolate smeared waffle one last look before it's disappeared and Finn is giving him another grin, reaching across and taking the other piece of toast on Kurt's plate. He tries to swat his hand away but to no avail, Finn is too quick and now he watches his own breakfast disappear too.
"Pig," he says lightly, smiling.
Finn overlooks the jibe and asks;
"So what are your plans for today?"
Before Kurt has opened his mouth to answer Burt puts a hand on his shoulder and speaks for him.
"Is it alright if you help me at the garage? Just got a couple of cars to go over and I could use the help," he asks hurriedly. Kurt smiles at him; it's never a problem to help. Amidst fashion and singing and having a sweet tooth, though not for chocolate covered waffles, he also has a penchant for cars, probably due to growing up around them, and always being there to pass a tyre or pump since he was young. They might be more of an acquired taste than a talent but taught to or not, he loves them still.
"Sure," he says, touching his hand briefly and standing up so he can carry his plate over to the sink. He picks Finn's up on the way, all the sauce scraped clean off. Practically better than a dog at clearing his plate, he thinks, but it's an affectionate thought. Suddenly he thinks of something, turning back around. "Wait, will I be back-"
"In time for Blaine to come around?" Burt finishes, a teasing note to his voice. Kurt blushes, a habit that really needs to be gotten rid of, and nods. Burt returns the nod, "Yes, I'll only need you for the morning. Then you can come back and do whatever it is you boys do." He thinks for a second, and then pulls his eyebrows together. "Though Finn will be here too, so be good."
Finn splutters with laughter at that and they both turn to him.
"What?" he says, "They're the definition of good. And if they're not, I don't want to be the one walking in on them."
Kurt throws a wet dishcloth at him and is only mildly disappointed when Finn ducks and it misses him.
Kurt's morning is going quite well, all in all. He's fixed the reason behind someone's SRS light, the airbag being defective, changed the tyres on a four by four that probably could have been changed at home and is just writing a note out on a brake replacement he watched his dad do earlier to keep and learn from, when the sound of a voice in the office area comes through the adjoining door and halts his writing. He pauses for a moment to be sure he's heard right and then, when his suspicions are affirmed, he puts the paper down and lets out a long sigh. Typical. Of all the people who could possible invade the privacy of one of the few places he can love without distraction, the irony of it being Smythe, who seems to have conquered the knack of being everywhere Kurt really wishes he isn't (Ohio being one of them), is not lost on him.
He walks over, puts his head around the edge of the door and sees the back of Sebastian, facing away from him and talking to his dad. Burt sees him standing there and smiles at him, nodding his head, which alerts Sebastian to his presence. Kurt is pleased to see a look of surprise cross his face. Clearly not here to rile him then.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, the pen that's still in his hand lifted to point in Sebastian's direction, emphasising the being there Sebastian's doing. Sebastian raises his eyebrows.
"Hoping to get my car fixed," he states, waving his hand which, now Kurt notices, holds a car key.
"Oh."
Kurt feels a little stupid and he doesn't miss the expression on Sebastian's face, which looks remarkably like a triumphant grin, so instantly returns to his general feeling of annoyance that seems to fill him every time the wretched idiot is near.
"Anyway," Sebastian continues, turning back to Burt, "she keeps stalling and I don't know what to do. So I brought her here."
"Sure you actually put fuel in?" Kurt asks scornfully. Burt gives him a warning look, the one that says if you scare clients away, it will be on your head. Sebastian raises his eyebrows.
"Yes, I'm pretty certain I put fuel in my car, Hummel. That would be a special kind of stupid."
"Which is why I asked."
"Kurt!" his dad snaps. He looks at both of them long and hard and lets out a resigned sigh. "I don't know what the problem is here, and to be honest, I don't really care. All I care about is the problem with your car. So give me a few minutes to check it over, I should be able to see what's wrong, and then I'll be able to tell you more."
He walks towards Kurt, who was leaning on the doorframe, and stops beside him.
"Be nice," he mutters, and then seems to rethink. "Or not. It's up to you. Just stay here and try not to throw anything. Remember it's my stuff."
"Like I'm going to throw anything," Kurt says under his breath, a little hurt.
"Believe me, kid, I know what that glare means. Just don't forget that he's paying me. So try not to kill him."
Burt exits so Kurt doesn't have a chance to respond. Left only with minimal things worth throwing, though he's still a little affronted by the insinuation that he acts like a child, and the relaxed figure of Sebastian Smythe in the room, who's decided that a few minutes is too long to remain standing for, apparently, and has sat down on one of the chairs, Kurt doesn't really know what to do with himself. He settles back against the doorframe, for the sake of having something to do that is not going to sit with Sebastian, and narrows his eyes at the person in question. Sebastian's got a knowing smile on his face and Kurt groans inwardly.
"So this is what you do at the weekends. And I thought you just sat here crying over how your newest trashy dress doesn't fit you quite right. You surprise me."
"You're not funny, Sebastian," Kurt scowls and Sebastian laughs, reclining back.
"I beg to differ."
Kurt decides to ignore him. The best way to relieve pain, his dad always told him, and Finn too, for that matter, is to think of something else. This appears to be an advantageous plan of action, and it's worked in the past, so he puts it into motion and stares at the spot above Sebastian's head, holding his chin high. Astonishingly Sebastian doesn't talk either, just keeps his eyes on Kurt's face, which is slightly unnerving, but at least they're not talking.
Burt is true to his word and comes back in a few minutes later. It's not a second too early because the atmosphere in the room is killing Kurt. He exhales lightly and turns to his dad, waiting to hear the verdict, more out of pure curiosity than anything else.
"It's a bad fuel pump," Burt says, and Sebastian's mouth sets in a line. "I'm going to see if it's clogged or if there's an issue with the fuel line but if I can't sort it out here I'll have to get a replacement."
A frown surfaces on Sebastian's face and he chews his lip, looking almost worried. Burt evidently notices because he adds;
"It won't take long to find, might have to keep it overnight." Sebastian continues to chew his lip so he says, "Because you're a…friend of Kurt's I'll lay off the labour charge for overnight."
Kurt has to cough back a laugh at the misinterpretation of Sebastian's anxiousness. The idea that he might be worried because of the money is just too ridiculous to take seriously. Sebastian looks shocked and shakes his head hastily, giving Burt a grateful smile.
"No, no, it's fine. I'm just not used to being without her, that's all."
"Understandable," Burt nods.
"I didn't even know you had a car," Kurt interjects, twirling the pen in his hands.
"Sorry if I don't inform you on every aspect of my life, princess."
Kurt reminds himself why he was ignoring the prat in the first place and turns his back on him emphatically, hoping he'll get the idea.
Five minutes later an agreement has been made. The car will stay overnight, Burt will do everything he can to fix the current pump but if it's not safe he'll replace it and Kurt, with an unpitying fake smile, promises not to touch the vehicle. After it's all been sorted, Burt, needing to attend to another car and another problem, goes back through to the garage, leaving Kurt to deal with Sebastian. Kurt follows suit in the leaving people behind trend, quickly turning to get away from him, not particularly wanting to spend any more time than necessary in the immediate vicinity. However his departure is halted by a hand on his shoulder, burning like those eyes a few days before.
Kurt shakes him off angrily.
"What?"
"How will I know what you're doing to my car? I don't trust you."
"I won't touch your damn car, Smythe," Kurt says, then adds sarcastically, "How about I phone you tonight, tell you every little detail about how I'm destroying your precious car?"
Sebastian gives him one of the dirtiest looks he's ever seen.
"She's called Nancy Vera and if you hurt her I will kill you. Slowly. Torturously," he threatens. Despite the literally murderous expression on his face, that mocking lilt is already creeping back into his voice. Kurt gazes at him incredulously.
"I have no words."
"Well that'd be a first. Glad I could help you take this step forward."
And they're back to normal – taunting, arrogant, snarky Sebastian and permanently wound up Kurt. He barely has the time to get used to this welcome (and he never thought he'd say that) change to the familiar when Sebastian reaches forwards and takes the pen out of his hand swiftly. He opens his mouth to protest, theft, but Sebastian holds a finger to his lips and, for some unknown reason, he obeys. Sebastian's pulled a crumpled leaflet out of his pocket, Peter's Perfect Pizza Parlour, as far as Kurt can tell from such a brief flash, and is scrawling something down on the paper.
After he's done he straightens up and hands him the pen back, along with the paper.
"Be appreciative, Hummel, that's my favourite pizza place leaflet I've just given up for you," he says. Giving him that God awful smirk he bows slightly, bows, the egotistical jackass, and pulls away, walking out with that faint swagger of his.
Kurt, ever so slightly stunned, but what's new, is left looking down at the crunched up paper in his hands.
And the telephone number inscribed neatly on it.
Well, that's new.
The days would pass by like leaves in an autumn wind, merging like colours on a palette, the colours of Europe, strange, old, intimidating, if not for school. School is structure, routine, and a safety net. He may not be able to understand most of what's going on but it makes more sense than being at home (home it is not, no, house). He is a novelty at school and he isn't lonely, and that's what France feels like, a gaping hole of isolation within life, and that's what it's like in the house, cold and desolate. His father's out most the time, working, and when he's in he's not really there, not for Sebastian. He's there for his '"friends" and his memories and that money on the table. He's there for risk and drink and his own pack of cards that have never performed a magic trick. But not for his son.
Sebastian doesn't mind so much. These men are there to help find his mother, he assumes, perhaps they're spies on a mission, all suave suits and clipped tones, or perhaps they knew her before since they look so similar to the ones back home, who'd come round and play the same games. He's certain his father's doing all he can, so he goes to school and uses the beginnings of French that his mother taught him and comes home and if he's cold he'll light a memory of her flame red hair rather than a fire, because he knows which one warms him more.
He's lucky he goes to school at all; it's only the law that forces his father to enrol him. The law is a big part of his father's life, he thinks, judging by his shiny briefcase and conscientiousness of the police, and here the law works with him. Sometimes his father looks sick, a tired, grieving, angry sick, and other times he looks composed but under no circumstances is he stupid enough to risk his neck over something so trivial to him as Sebastian's schooling. So he makes him go, walks him out and lets Sebastian feel a little less lonely.
The only thing that hurts about school is the absence of Freddie. One day I'll call him and he can come over and join me, he promises himself, and no amount of dust, sea or mud streaks could make him break that promise.
The film is some cliché romantic comedy that tells the typical storyline of a boy and girl meet, fall in love despite various difficulties, break up due to some misunderstanding/mistake/massive foreseen plot twist and then miraculously make up again due to perfect timing and realisation that love is the most important thing in life. Still, even though there's an unoriginal story, the ending that could be predicted from the opening credits still makes Kurt tear up. The main characters were crying on screen, professing their love for each other, apologising for their mistakes, and it still hits him hard in his heart. He tries to blink them away but Blaine, with his safety and comfort and his arm around him, draws him closer, so he snuggles up to him, smiling softly.
"Alright there?" Blaine whispers against his cheek and it's now that Kurt realises he's crying a bit too. "Powerful one, that one."
Kurt laughs and brings his hand up to touch Blaine's face, wiping away the tears. Blaine leans into his touch and Kurt feels that same surge of love he gets every time he looks at Blaine. Every time he looks into those hazel eyes, every time he sees that smile, he swears he falls even further, even when he's sure he can't love him anymore. He just wishes they were together, just like this, more often. Lately it's been…busy.
"I love this," he mumbles, and he feels Blaine nods next to him. "Haven't done this in a while."
"Sorry baby, been really busy."
There's that word again. It seems to always be there, lurking. Busy. Busy doing what? he wants to ask but daren't. He doesn't want to lose this, this moment, this perfection, not for a question he is slightly scared of asking. Or more like slightly scared of the answer. Paranoia is a terrible, twisted thing, he tells himself, and so he pushes it to the back of his mind. Just look at what you have right now. Love that. Love him.
Blaine's voice cuts into his thoughts.
"More popcorn?"
"Sure."
They get up, disentangling from the human knot they always seem to end up in whilst watching movies, and make their way to the kitchen, where no surprise, is Finn, mouth full of banana. He waves a hand at them and throws the peel in the bin.
"Hey," he says, "don't worry, I'll be out of your hair now, I'm going out."
"Where?" Kurt asks, opening the cupboard and getting out the instant popcorn packet. It's at the back of the top shelf so he has to stretch to reach it and he almost falls backwards when he's got it, but Blaine's arms are around him, hands on his hips, steadying him.
"Thanks," he smiles in gratitude, and turns his attention to Finn, who's looking at them with that look he always happens to catch on his face when they're together. It sort of says "I'm not sure whether I should be commenting on the cuteness or running away because I'm clearly the third wheel". "Where are you going?" he repeats, as Finn seems to have forgotten he was asked a question.
"Oh," Finn replies, a grin breaking out across his face, "well, I looked at the two of you over there watching that ridiculous movie so I thought I'd go see my own other half too. I called Rachel, we're going out somewhere."
"Where are you taking her?" Blaine asks.
"It's more of a question of where she's taking me."
They laugh and Finn picks up his keys, leaving with another jaunty wave and massive smile. Blaine pulls Kurt in as they wait for the popcorn to cook in the microwave.
"Another movie?"
"Mmm," Kurt replies happily, "movie afternoons with you. Can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be."
"Me too, me too."
When they kiss it's full of everything they are, fairy tales and cosiness and sweet ice-cream, and it's so damn them that Kurt wants to cry. When did them become things, when did they stop being defined by their two different entities conjoined together in love and friendship and become this one meaning of cute? When did perfect afternoons like this get ruined with that intense regret when Blaine leans away again?
Kurt shakes his head and takes Blaine's hand. There, that's familiar. He scolds himself for being so silly, for thinking what they have has changed. Of course it hasn't. He's just had a confusing day. Keep a hold of yourself, he tells himself, you've got the most wonderful boy in the world making popcorn with you, catching your waist, watching soppy films with you. He loves you. And that's enough. That's everything. They sit down, re-tangle themselves and press play. Blaine looks enraptured but Kurt can't concentrate.
I just wonder where you are. I wish I could reach out to you.
Blaine falls asleep half way through the movie so Kurt puts the blanket around him, touches his hair, whispers,
"Beautiful."
And he is. So painfully, amazingly, beautiful. And so painfully, amazingly elsewhere.
Kurt's just about to brush his teeth, go to bed and sleep away a day that's been as changeable as the weather in April when he hears his phone ring from where he's left it on his desk, next to the empty stapler and the sheets of paper he needs to clear off. Humming under his breath he goes over to his desk and picks it up, reading the caller ID.
Unknown number.
"Well that's informative," he mutters and frowns. Who could be calling this late at night and not be someone he knows well enough to be a contact? "Um, hello?" he says, waiting for the response to reveal the caller.
It does. And it's not who he expected.
"You didn't call," comes the smooth voice through a shaky line. Kurt's mouth falls open in shock. Of all the possibilities that sprang to mind, this was not one of them. Or rather, he was not one of them. "Hello? Hummel?"
It takes him a few seconds to respond while he gets his head around the idea that Smythe is actually going a phone call, and heaven knows what route it took to find his number, into his own time and out of his own way to find new methods to make Kurt's day a little worse. He can hear background noise down the line, music that he can't quite distinguish.
"I didn't call…I didn't think you were serious. And how did you get my number?"
"Well, you didn't call me so I figured if I wanted to know anything about Nance I'd have to call you," Sebastian states matter-of-factly, like it's perfectly logical to hunt down the number of someone he doesn't even like to talk about a car. "And clearly you don't know me at all," he continues, "I love that car. And you're a bitch. Therefore, I want to know you're being nice to her."
"Firstly, you haven't answered my question, how did you get my number?"
He can practically hear the shrug he knows Sebastian's just given down the phone.
"Nothing's impossible if you try hard enough."
"Wow. Second of all, I was telling the truth, something you probably haven't learnt to do, when I said I won't touch your car, so I really don't know anything about it. And lastly, you are a lot more creepy and sad than I give you credit for."
"I'd call it taking initiative and being thorough."
"Some things we're never going to agree on."
"Most things we're never going to agree on. Oh, and while we're on the subject, how's Blaine?"
Kurt can practically feel his blood pressure rising at the subtle dig Sebastian weaves in. He sits down heavily on his desk chair and shoots daggers out the window, hoping Sebastian will at least feel his hatred.
"You know how easy it is to hang up, Smythe? I can't walk away so easily face to face but if you piss me off now you might never hear from me or see your car again," he warns.
"If I'm irritating you, why haven't you hung up already?"
Kurt doesn't have an answer to that, not really, so he glares into the darkness outside and let's Sebastian laugh down the phone. After a moment's pause (Kurt is not going to make conversation for the hell of it, not with Sebastian) he hears Sebastian clear his throat and start talking again.
"Anyway, princess," he says, "I'll be seeing you tomorrow."
"Um, let me think about that. Oh wait, that's right, you won't. I don't know what even gave you that idea." Kurt puts his forehead against his hand, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the arch of his nose. Sebastian, and his stupid voice and presumptuousness, is giving him a headache.
"I'm picking up Nance tomorrow," he replies, sighing down the phone as if to say forgetful, aren't we?
"Then I'll make an effort not to be helping my dad. And Nancy Vera? Really?"
"You don't name your cars?" Sebastian asks, with what sounds suspiciously like real interest.
"No."
"I love my car."
"As you've said. You know, it really shouldn't surprise me that you've got a cold, metal box as your heart. I kind of guessed as much."
It's a biting comment that instantly makes Kurt cringe, no matter how much he dislikes Sebastian, since as far as taking the high road goes, this really isn't it. However it looks as if Sebastian really does take everything as a compliment, because all he gets in response is another laugh and sarcastic comeback.
"She doesn't ever let me down. And she rides like a dream. Can you say the same for your perfect relationship?"
The regret he feels at his words quickly dissipates.
"Oh, do one, Sebastian," he snaps. "And her fuel pump is broken, so apparently she does let you down."
"Again, is that relevant to your relationship? I don't doubt it is."
Kurt pulls a face and really wishes Sebastian is with him, just so he can roll his eyes theatrically or flip him off or something, though that really would be negating off the high road and onto the low. And it wouldn't be his sort of behaviour at all. How can you possess that terrible ability to lower my manners to match yours? he wonders.
"You're disgusting, Smythe," is all he says, "I'm hanging up now."
"I'll see you tomorrow then."
"No, you won't."
"Yes, I will."
The line is left ringing in Kurt's ear, cut off from the other end, and he makes an annoyed noise into empty air. When he puts his cell back on his desk his eyes catch on the crumpled up paper lying there, that he put there when he got back earlier (and why he didn't just get rid of it, he doesn't know) and promptly forgot about for the rest of the day. It's only now, when it doesn't really matter because Sebastian had to be exceedingly creepy and stalk his own number down, that he notices it again. He reaches forwards and stretches the leaflet out, staring at the digits for a second before turning it over to look at the advertisement.
I just don't get you, he thinks, and I don't really want to. But it doesn't stop him saving the number on his contacts. Or stop him folding the paper up and putting it in his drawer.
He'll think about it tomorrow.
A/N: Thanks for favouriting and reviewing :) it means a lot.
I also thought I'd say that if there are any really bad Britishisms coming through, I'm really sorry, I try to check them but I invariably miss a few, so I apologise!
