Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.
"Mr. Hummel, what you are proposing is unprecedented for a student."
Kurt smiled and sat up a little straighter in his seat. "Then I suppose it just merits even more reflection, doesn't it?"
Principal Figgins rubbed at his forehead, looking like he was caught between a rock and a hard place. Kurt could understand that—the man's stress levels over breakfast were exorbitantly high—but he also knew that this was a necessary step in his anti-bullying operation. If he wanted to foster any trust between the unlikely group that was in favor of it, thus far invisible to the general eye, then he needed to demonstrate that he was a capable leader. After a rigorous four hour examination of school legal boundaries and student powers, Kurt had discovered that there were virtually no limitations on 'justified censorship.' As long as he could prove that the slushy machines were harmful in a genuine capacity, then he had the power to petition for their removal.
You would have to be a blind, lame, deaf invertebrate not to see how slushy machines are harmful, Kurt thought. He considered mentioning the same aloud to Figgins before discarding it. Better to retain a semblance of almost humble inquiry than his usual dramatic flare. He needed to be blunt and forceful, but not overly caustic. He ultimately wanted Figgins on his side; the school board would already be striving against him. He did not need the additional road block Figgins could potentially pose.
The principal leaned forward in his chair and rested his palms on the desk, one on top of the other. It was his go-to comfortable-authoritative position, Kurt had noted after the first seven minutes of their controlled debate. Like a businessman consulting his agent on a difficult proposal, he was seeking Kurt's opinion as much as barricading his ideals from altercation. Kurt just had to convince him that he needed to be a little flexible about the deal and he was sold. (Allowing that no external forces—namely one Sue Sylvester—did not interfere, of course.)
At last, letting out a sigh that seemed to come from his toes, Figgins said, "I want to help you out, Mr. Hummel, but I am afraid that parents might complain we are being illegitimately censorious."
Somewhat amazed that Principal Figgins—the same man that mispronounced 'harassment' on more than one occasion—knew a word such as censorious, Kurt reigned in his thoughts and shook his head. "I've checked all the files," he said confidently. "There's nothing stating that a student can't challenge a school policy if it's dangerous."
"This is something on the school menu," Figgins said, as though Kurt did not already know the minor difficulty that posed. By adjusting the menu, he brooked the potential for another 'Tots Riot of '11, an experience that neither principal nor student was eager to repeat. "We cannot simply go around changing it at the fall of a hat."
"Principal Figgins," Kurt said in his most reasonable tone, "we have suffered long enough under the slushy regime. I know that this could incite parent disapproval, but student safety and comfort should be our top priority, and with them here it just increases the chances of bullying. At least once a month, the glee club is targeted with 'slushy facials,' and I know other bottom-feeders face the same treatment. All we're asking is that you take away that power from them. We can oppose their methods all we want but unless you make the change. . . ." He shrugged, letting the unspoken possibility linger between them.
Figgins looked pained briefly before his face turned inscrutable, brow furrowed, gaze tilted downward to deflect easy reading. Kurt waited patiently for a response, knowing that it would not be impossible for Figgins to refuse. Easier, most likely, since the athletics' department would probably lodge complaints that its sweaty inhabitants were no longer getting their corn syrupy retribution on the sub-basement dwellers.
Even after twelfth place at nationals, we're still considered the low-lifes of this school.
Not allowing that to discourage him—they still had this year, and with their glee club vocally stronger than ever (if still as dysfunctional and chaotic)—there was a real chance that they would go to nationals. And maybe even place in the top three this time. Or, Kurt dared hope in that small corner of his thoughts that he would never mention aloud in case it somehow jinxed them irreparably, maybe they would win. Everyone was pushing harder this year to climb the ranks, focusing on how good they would have to be as a team to win rather than obsessing over the strategies of Vocal Adrenaline and other competing teams. It was almost a breath of fresh air not to worry about Jesse St. Sucks and the drama he brought along with his fellow automatons. Kurt still knew that they were still a long way from being to nationals' level.
"Mr. Hummel?" Figgins said, sounding like he had repeated it twice already.
Kurt blinked and refocused, setting nationals' thoughts aside. "Yes?"
"I am willing to grant you a trial period for this proposal," Figgins explained once he was certain he held Kurt's attention. Kurt winced inwardly and mentally noted to stay focused throughout the conversation, even if that conversation consisted of Figgins' staring off thoughtfully into space. "If the uproar is significant, we will have to re-instate the machines until we reach a more decisive conclusion. If, however, there is no resistance. . . ." He let the sentence trail off meaningfully.
Kurt nodded seriously despite the side of him that wanted to bounce out of his seat and hug Figgins, or at least have a fanboy moment by himself. "I understand," he said solemnly. "When will you remove the machines?"
"I can organize our kitchen staff to take care of them before the end of the week."
Kurt paused, considering that, then hedged, "If I could organize the muscle, could we do it today?"
Figgins smiled slightly, his hand reaching over to grab a paper from his desk. "If you could just sign here, then I would be more than happy to grant you permission to do so. It would certainly ease the burden on the cafeteria ladies now that Helga injured her back again."
Signing off on the paper was a wonderful feeling for Kurt. Already he could see the three slushy machines meeting their overdue demise, something that should have occurred shortly after their implementation. It was with a sense of pride and accomplishment that he shook hands with Figgins before almost bouncing out of the office, determined to see this through.
I don't care if people protest. I'm going to fight this, and I know that people will back me up on it, and we'll win in the end because there's no way we can lose.
Feeling invigorated, he pulled out his phone and sent a mass text to everyone in glee club.
URGENT: Meet in the choir room in five.
"Dude, you freakin' rock," Puck said, punching him on the shoulder. Kurt feigned a smile, hiding a wince. Puck didn't really seem to understand that bruising was not a sign of affection, although he was certainly gentler around the girls. Maybe Kurt should feel flattered that even Puck considered him masculine enough to rough around with: he did it to Finn and Mike and Artie all the time, and they never complained. Still, Kurt mentally added to his checklist, Stay three feet away from Puck at all times, before clasping his hands and leaning back on his heels to address the rest of the glee clubbers.
"This is only a temporary measure," he added, hoping his voice sounded more confident that it would become permanent rather than apologetic. He wanted his fellow members to feel emboldened by the success, if not entirely reassured that it would last.
"Kurt, that's amazing," Mercedes said seriously. "When can we get these things the hell out of here, anyway?"
"As soon as I have the muscle power," Kurt replied, looking pointedly at Puck.
"Oh, dude, I am so on this," Puck said, flexing his sleeveless arms as though to prove his point.
"We'll help, too," Finn said, gesturing to himself and Mike, who nodded. "There's, what, two machines?"
"Three, actually. I didn't even know there was a third, but apparently there's one just outside the locker room on the opposite end from the football field."
"Really?" Mike asked, surprised as he stood up from his seat at the front. "I don't remember seeing one there."
"That's because the jocks that use it cover it with a towel most of the time," Kurt answered, wrinkling his nose. The mere thought of a used towel draped over the container that continued the slushy mixture was absolutely disgusting, and he dared not entertain long thoughts of that same foul concoction poured over his face. It was simply too abhorrent to bear for someone who spent on average an hour a day keeping his skin beautiful.
"We can help, too," Rachel chimed in, while Tina nodded eagerly beside her. "Besides, this is like a rite of passage for the glee club, a step towards that maturation of our talents and—"
"Okay, Berry, we get that you're happy, let's just get these things the hell outta here," Puck interrupted, stepping forward. "I'm just gonna grab Zizes," he added, hanging in the doorway and looking at the rest of them briefly. "She's like one of us, too."
Kurt nodded, although he suspected that Puck's generosity also stemmed from an unabated interest in the unusual girl, before turning to the rest of the group. "How do we want to do this?" he asked.
Finn blinked, then frowned. "What do you mean?"
He was standing in the middle of the room, as per usual, apparently convinced that the only way he could contribute meaningfully to a discussion like this was to be standing. After the way he had originally treated Blaine to a cold shoulder, Kurt thought it also was born of a need to simply reassert that he was in charge, no matter what anyone else said. Kurt puffed up a little involuntarily, wanting to tell Finn to stand down so that he could know that he wasn't king of anything.
He saw the earnestness and obliviousness in Finn's expression, however, and he knew that Finn wasn't standing to prove anything. He was just doing it because that was the natural place for him to be, and he couldn't help it if sometimes he went a little overboard with who was supposed to be in charge. You're such a dictator, Kurt thought without heat. Blaine could be an overlord sometimes, too, when it came to the Warblers. At least, he had been, before everything changed and he transferred to McKinley. Still, on those days when Kurt had time in history to let his thoughts stray, he couldn't help thinking that perhaps it was that clashing 'superiority complex' that caused Finn and Blaine to butt heads occasionally.
Even if Finn is doing most of the aggression and Blaine's just trying to fit in.
Setting those thoughts aside, because Blaine had excused himself for the morning in an attempt to recover from the hangover Sebastian's drink had given him (and Kurt was seriously this close to filing a complaint with the police, damn the consequences, because he was certain that no one had a hangover this long), Kurt refocused on Finn.
"I mean, this isn't just some posters we're putting up or a statement we're trying to make. We're actually going to take down the slushy machines, once and for all." He put special emphasis on those last words, hoping his own conviction would be mirrored in his compatriots. They seemed to feel the same, for no one spoke, although Artie, Tina, and Mercedes were nodding while Rachel simply beamed and looked on with enraptured eyes that screamed, I can include this in my best-selling novel someday!
"Shouldn't we make that important? Instead of some covert operation done in the middle of second period?"
"Yeah," Mike agreed, putting his hand on one of the chairs and looking at all of them. "We should do it during lunch, that way more people know what's going on. Then everyone will know about it."
"I agree," Finn said, looking at Mike briefly before returning his attention to Kurt. All of their eyes were on him, Kurt noticed, blushing slightly despite it all. He couldn't help it—they weren't looking at him in terms of soloist or prospective soloist, but actual leader. Like he was someone they could put their trust in and expect to receive confidence and rewards in return. Like he was someone worthwhile following.
Of course you are, Kurt's chipper inner optimist chided, you're Kurt Hummel.
"All in favor of disposing the slushy machines at lunch?" Kurt asked.
Every hand raised.
Kurt grinned. We're really going to do this.
Lauren proved fundamental to the removal of the slushy machines, since she was the only one who knew how to disconnect the myriad of cords that made them work in the first place. Fearlessly diving into the fray of electrical outlets that would have intimidated even the most experienced janitor, she emerged moments later with each of the worthwhile plugs in hand, smirking in a decent impression of Kurt'sbitch, please manner. "Let's get this thing rolling," she said, heaving one side of the slushy machine while Puck gaped stupidly for a moment before hurrying around to the other and grabbing it.
"Hot damn," Kurt thought he heard him say, but he was doing his best not to get in the way of Lauren as she walked past him.
"Okay, everyone," he said, clapping his hands together while Tina and Rachel helped 'escort' Puck and Lauren through the crowded cafeteria. Heads were already turning, several tables looking over in absent interest as the procession commenced. Not trusting Finn or Mike with any technical virtuousity, Kurt stepped over to the second machine and carefully disentangled the remaining cords. "Boys, if you would."
Finn stepped forward and heaved the disconnected slushy machine into his arms, Mike sauntering over to pick up the other half. By now, it was clear that the entire cafeteria was watching the commotion while Kurt marched after the duo. Marcus and Mercedes walked alongside the boys, looking fierce and impressive, while the rest of the glee kids helped keep cords and other parts of the machines from spilling over.
"The hell you fairies doin'?" one of the lacrosse jocks called out.
Kurt ignored him, as did the rest of the glee club, although Marcus did make a growling sound that effectively silenced the rest of the table's building complaints. Even the initial offender looked subdued as he stared at them. That's right, McKinley. May the future commence.
At last the bright, brisk November air greeted them as the first group shouldered open the doors, Artie holding it for the rest of the group until all members were outside. "Ready to get rid of these things once and for all?" Kurt asked, grinning at them, while Puck said, "Hell yeah, Hummel," and the rest made similar noises of agreement.
It was mollifying to watch the slushy machines disappear inside the dumpsters that had for too long been bullying spots for nerds and other geeks. Kurt smiled slightly as Finn and Mike hefted the second one in after the first, the growing muttering from inside seeming to resonate between them all. We're making a stand. Right here, right now. They can choose which side they want to be on, but we're not backing down on this.
"So now we just need the third machine," Kurt said, clasping his hands together.
"No need," a voice interrupted. James was a towering figure, equivalent or perhaps slightly taller than Finn, whose appearance seemed to make everyone in the cafeteria quiet for a moment before resuming. Kurt grinned broadly at him as he and another girl—brown hair, middling height, but with a scrutinizing look that told Kurt he would be promptly removed if he did not demonstrate some unspoken quality—carried the last slushy machine into the lot.
"Who the hell are you two?" Puck asked by means of greeting.
"Peterson, James, nice to meet you," James said, huffing slightly as he bore most of the slushy machine's weight. "Guy couldn't get a hand here?"
"Are you like, transfers or something?"
"Visiting, actually," James said, nodding at the visitor's badge just visible on his chest. He wore a simple white shirt and jeans, with a ruffled collar that seemed more summer than wintry, despite the chilly temperature. He looked completely unbothered by the change of seasons, however, nonchalantly moving towards the dumpster while Marcus replaced the girl's post.
"Thanks," she said, rubbing her hands together as though to restore circulation.
"I'm sorry, I don't think we've ever met," Kurt said, stepping forward. He was the only one who knew James, after all, even if only minimally.
The girl narrowed her eyes at him briefly. "Who's asking?" she said at last, arms folded over her chest.
Oh, great, another Quinn. Or maybe Santana.
"Sadie, be nice. That's his boyfriend."
If anything, Kurt thought, this amendment only seemed to darken Sadie's expression. For several long moments, broken only by the heavy thump as the slushy machine hit the load of trash already in the dumpster, she looked at him in silent appraisal. Then she shook her head, said, "Sadie Jole, pleased to make your acquaintance," and directed her attention at the rest of the group. "So you guys are the glee here, huh?"
"We're the New Directions, yeah," Finn said, stepping forward almost warily. He was still a good head taller than her, but she did not seem overly bothered by this difference, instead looking at him steadily, undeterred. "How'd you know we were . . . ?"
James cleared his throat slightly and stepped forward, Finn bristling slightly at the sudden change in quarry. He's just mad that someone's actually as tall as he is, Kurt thought, amused. Marcus was huge, but Finn was still slightly taller. It was one of his comforts that made him feel more like a leader: verticality. Of course, Kurt had rarely seen someone have a group of people as willing to follow him as Blaine had been with the Warblers, and Blaine was practically a hobbit. Whatever vertical authority Finn tried to claim was effectively cancelled out around James, leaving them on equal ground.
"We were told that you guys were doing something to stop the bullying around here," James eluded, shrugging slightly as the rest of the New Directions looked him over. "Figured we might as well help out at a good cause."
"We just planned this today," Finn said slowly, evidently confused. The truth was, Kurt was confused as well, although he did his best not to let it show. The only way that James and Sadie were connected to him at all was through Blaine. The last Kurt had seen him, Blaine had been holed up in the bathroom with a pair of Tylenol and a promise to call Kurt if he needed him, regardless of whether Kurt was in classes or not. Maybe he had recovered and told them? It seemed plausible—Blaine was known for dramatic gestures—but Kurt felt a cold pit in his stomach as he realized the impossible.
Blaine doesn't have his phone. Blaine wouldn't have known I was planning on doing this today.
Blaine didn't contact James and Sadie.
Kurt barely heard the rest of the conversation over the white noise in his ears.
Sebastian's here.
He scanned the cafeteria frantically, doing his best not to appear that way even though his heart was racing. Half of him wanted to comb the school until he found the bastard and gave him a piece of his mind. The other half wanted to drive home as quickly as possible and make sure Blaine was okay.
Eventually, the latter won out. With only a muttered, "I've gotta go," he took off, ignoring Finn's surprised exclamation behind him.
"Wait, what're we supposed to do with these guys?" he asked, as though Kurt was somehow in charge of James' and Sadie's whereabouts.
Kurt ignored him. Figure it out yourself.
". . . mmm, I wish I had that cake."
"Blaine?"
"Mmmwhat?" Blaine asked, not opening his eyes or making any move to get off the floor in the living room, where he was currently sprawled. One hand on a pillow dragged halfway off the couch, his legs tangled hopelessly in a blanket, it looked like he had fallen off the couch mid-nap and simply not bothered get back up. Kurt could feel his racing heart calming somewhat as he knelt beside him, shaking his shoulder to try and wake him. His fingers trembled and he was less gentle than he meant to be, but he couldn't help himself. He just . . . he just had to know. It had been too close, that night after Scandals,and yes he was still frustrated at Blaine and Blaine had taken the couch instead of his bed for the past couple nights, but he just had to know he was okay above all else. Nothing else mattered against that.
"Kurt, Kurt, stop it," Blaine muttered, sitting up enough to pry Kurt's fingers off his shoulder and rubbing at his eyes as he propped himself awkwardly against the couch. "What happened? What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"Are you?" Kurt retorted, hating the edge of hysteria to his voice.
"Yeah," Blaine said, peering at him through squinted eyes warily. "'M fine. What happened?"
"I'm seriously about this close to reporting Sebastian to the police," Kurt said in a rush, unable to help himself. Blaine tried to sit up, his legs still tangled and half dangling off the couch, but Kurt lost control of his instinctive reactions and just swept him up in a crushing hug instead of letting him sit upright.
"MmKurtkindasmotherinme," Blaine mumbled against his shoulder.
"Shut up."
Blaine was quiet, his fingers tracing light, curious patterns over Kurt's shoulderblades. At last, Kurt let out a ragged breath and said, "I'm buying you a rape whistle. Or, like, ten. Do they sell them in dozen packs? I think they do. Or at least they should. I'm not sure if—"
"Wait, wait, what?" Blaine managed to prize himself away, hurriedly dragging his feet the rest of the way off the couch so he was sitting up, gripping Kurt's forearms seriously. "What happened?" he repeated, voice anxious and nervous and finally half as terrified as Kurt felt. "Come on, Kurt, please talk to me."
"James and Sadie showed up at McKinley today to help out with getting rid of the slushy machines and I know that Sebastian has your phone and—"
"Kurt, Kurt, stop, stop," Blaine urged, his thumbs brushing in soothing circles over Kurt's upper arms. "I told them to go there," he said at last.
Kurt blinked stupidly at him. Then he frowned. "How did you . . . ?"
"I heard you talking about meeting with Principal Figgins today last night," Blaine said with a shrug. "Sorry for 'eavesdropping,' but James and Sadie are big on anti-bullying stuff ever since . . . you konw. So I thought that they might want to meet some of the New Directions." He shrugged again. "I called them on the house phone and they were fine with it. I guess I supposed it would just work out," he added. "Getting rid of the slushy machines, that was. Did it?"
Kurt could feel his heart rate slowing under the combined effects of Blaine's thumbs on his upper arms and the calm, soothing way he explained it. It made sense, he supposed, especially for someone like Blaine. Of course he would want to help out, but being temporarily incapacitated he had chosen to send his friends instead. There had been nothing sinister about it, no Sebastian at all.
". . . watching Ace of Cakes re-runs and I fell asleep," Blaine finished. Then, thoughtfully, he added, "Coach Beiste was right: it was actually a pretty good show, although now I really, really want some cake."
"That's why you don't watch food programs right before bed," Kurt's mouth said inanely and without his permission. Shaking his head, he sobered almost immediately as he realized that he had still yet to stop trembling, the momentary horror seeming to rock him to his core. Sebastian hadn't been the one to contact James and Sadie: Blaine had. Sebastian wasn't stalking them at McKinley. Sebastian hadn't . . . taken advantage of Blaine on the night they went to the gay bar.
Kurt shivered, a full-body shudder that racked him to his core. He didn't even want to think about where that would have led, if Sebastian had decided that he had had enough waiting.
"Kurt, please talk to me," Blaine pleaded. "Something's wrong. Why are you so freaked out?"
"Because maybe one of us is actually concerned that you could have been raped two nights ago," Kurt snapped.
Silence. The expression he 'could have heard a pin drop' had never seemed more appropos in Kurt's life as they stared at one another. Something . . . changed within Blaine's gaze, became dark and serious and lost the almost lightheartedness it had briefly adopted. Kurt opened his mouth to say something but Blaine retreated slightly, the blanket finally falling off his legs as his hands rested back at his sides.
"Kurt, I . . ." Blaine paused, grasping for words before shaking his head slightly. "I'm so, so sorry for that night. I wish I could just take it away completely, but I can't. I'm sorry for hurting you, but I'm also sorry that I put myself in that position. I know what it's like to be in a position where there's nothing you can do, and no matter how hard you fight back the other person just overwhelms you. And it's the worst feeling ever." His fingers clenched, his eyes briefly looking at something Kurt could and would never see before he looked back at Kurt, pouring apology and sincerity and regret all into his gaze.
"For two years, I would have given anything to go back and change that night," he whispered. "I would have done anything to erase what happened on the Sadie Hawkins dance. It wasn't . . . that," he wrinkled his nose at the thought, which Kurt thought was a severe under-representation of how horrible sexual assault was. "But that sense of powerlessness . . . do you think I ever wanted to repeat that? I just . . . I just can't believe I was stupid enough to do it. I spent so long thinking that I would do anything to change that night, to just go back in time and have it never happen, and I almost put myself in the same situation. But now I don't think that way—that I would change it all. And do you know why?"
Kurt shook his head.
Three words, soft, barely audible: "Because I survived."
They sat in silence for a long time, Kurt mulling over the possibilities in his mind, absentmindedly wondering what Blaine was thinking. At last, Blaine pushed himself to his feet and offered a hand to Kurt, who gingerly accepted. It surprised him just how much strength Blaine had, both literally and metaphorically. He didn't bother loosen his grasp once he was standing, instead looking at Blaine seriously for several long, quiet moments. "I just . . . I want you to be safe," he said at last, his voice just as soft.
"I know." Blaine gave Kurt's hand a squeeze before releasing it. "I'm sorry that I scared you like that."
Kurt let out a bitter chuckle. "Oh, trust me, you're the least scary part of this equation."
It was true. Even if Blaine's actions scared Kurt out of his wits sometimes, at least he wasn't the one perpertrating them. Sebastian was.
It all comes back to him, Kurt mused.
He considered telling Blaine that he wanted to go speak with Sebastian before pausing. That would only encourage Blaine to want to come, and for this particular confrontation, Kurt didn't want to put him anywhere near Sebastian. Ideally, Sebastian would simply abandon the endeavor and jump state, but short of that there was only one way to resolve all this: call him out. Make Sebastian so focused on his own problems that he could no longer afford to seek out new ones. Most importantly, keep him away from Blaine. Whatever good Samaritan spirit had possessed Sebastian not to do something insidious that night was dubious at best. In short, Kurt didn't trust him, and he knew that the only way he would feel safe—or that Blaine would be safe—was if he somehow removed Sebastian from their lives.
Not permanently, he thought, almost wryly, since he was not quite ready to cross the line from dislike to murder.
"Give me ten minutes, I'll be back down and we'll go out for coffee or something, okay?" Blaine said, startling him from his thoughts.
Kurt nodded, then smiled slightly. "Are you sure you should be drinking coffee?"
Blaine looked wounded. "Of course," he said, ambling off towards the stairs with a look back at Kurt that said What? Don't you trust me?
"Only sometimes," Kurt muttered, sitting on the edge of the couch, settling down to wait. For now, he would content himself with not letting Blaine out of his sight. Later, he would worry about Sebastian.
Keep Blaine safe.
Get rid of Sebastian.
"Kurt. This is unexpected," Nick said, looking up as Kurt entered the Warblers' hall. He paused in rifling through several sheets of paper to peer at him quizzically as though trying to deduce his purpose without actually asking. Kurt smiled at him, for all the world an innocent bystander, before shrugging a tiny bit and stepping forward.
"You should know that I'm not one to be predictable," Kurt pointed out, pausing in the center of the room and looking around. "When is the next Warblers' meeting?"
Nick looked at him for a moment longer before darting a glance to the clock high on the wall. "Forty minutes," he said at last.
Perfect, Kurt thought, while feigning disappointment on the outside. He needed Nick to believe that he hadn't had any intentions to speak with a specific Warbler, even though that was exactly why he was there. If he came across too forward, word would spread around and Sebastian would know long before he wanted to involve him. Dalton Academy was a notorious gossip mill when it wanted to be: somehow, without any visible communication, the boys seemed to know every knew development that concerned them the moment it began. Sebastian would find out eventually, of course, but Kurt wanted to delay that meeting as long as possible. He needed everything to slip into place carefully, not be wrenched around because Sebastian decided to interfere.
Right now, you control the pieces, Kurt thought, imagining some immense, labyrinthine game of chess spread out before him. Keep that advantage on your side.
"Is there something else you wanted?" Nick asked, folding his hands and looking up at Kurt with an almost weary expression that surprised Kurt. He could never remember seeing Nick exhausted, despite his time at Dalton and his near constant exposure to the Warblers, yet here he was now, clearly worn out. Sebastian's regime had taken its toll on other members, then, who were forced to compensate for his behavior.
He's created his own demise.
All Kurt needed to do was maneuver the pieces just so that Sebastian had no other choice but to switch to the defense of his own reputation rather than rigorously pressing forward. It would take more than a rumor to deter Sebastian from his current cause, but Kurt was confident that he could figure it out.
Exchanging meaningless chatter with Nick in order to placate any suspicions he might have had about Kurt's presence, Kurt finally left with a promise to meet up with some of the other Warblers.
One Warbler, specifically, but he didn't mention that, even if the unspoken question was clear in Nick's eyes.
Kurt wandered down the halls until he was certain that there were no Dalton Academy boys in sight before angling carefully towards the dorm rooms.
The timing needed to be perfect, and it was. No sooner did he approach the wing devoted to the dorms than Jeff emerged, looking slightly startled at his appearance but no more concerned by it. "Oh, hey, Kurt," he said. "What's up?"
"I think I left my scarf with Sebastian," Kurt said, inwardly cringing at the thought but keeping his outward face passive as he said it. "Do you know where he is? I was going to ask him but I accidentally deleted his number and. . . ." He shrugged. The 'accidental' deletion had never actually taken place—Kurt still had Sebastian's number, solely for the purpose of knowing if it was him or some unknown number calling—but Jeff didn't know that. And, thankfully, Jeff was one of the more guillible Warblers, succeptible to rumors as long as they came from 'reliable sources.' Kurt felt almost bad for half-lying to him, but he also knew that it was critical he isolate Sebastian for this particular confrontation and the only way that would happen would be to take the battle to his court.
Jeff looked at him in blank surprise before shrugging slightly and saying, "He was hanging out in his room studying last I heard. Do you, uh, want to come up?" He gestured back at the locked door, dangling his dorm keys in one hand.
Kurt hid a grin. "If wouldn't mind?" he added, inflecting just enough apology and exasperation into his voice that it would have fooled himself if he hadn't known better.
Jeff nodded, seeming appeased, and turned around, unlocking the door and pushing it open for him. Kurt thanked him and walked past, resisting the urge to rub his hands together in triumph. It would look too much like scheming at the moment, and while that was close enough to the mark he didn't need Jeff—or anyone else, really—knowing that. Even Blaine was simply under the impression that he was out on an 'emergency wardrobe correction.' There were few other events that did not involve other people that would effectively draw Kurt's attention away from his regular preference of staying at home after six on school nights and perhaps curling up on the couch to watch some stupid show that Blaine and Finn liked and meant he could just plant his face in Blaine's side and stay there without feeling guilty about 'missing' anything important. Tonight, however, he needed to do this, because he didn't know when Sebastian would make his next move and he refused to wait for it. He wouldn't be a sitting duck, and he certainly wouldn't let Blaine become a target again, either. Sebastian had proven that he was dangerous, and Kurt was determined to force him away.
So by pitching a fit that was worthy of an Emmy in the 'melodramatic' category, Kurt had managed to dissuade Finn and Blaine from pursuit. It had been easy to get Finn off his case—the minute his voice reached a certain octave Finn either zoned out or quickly made himself scarce—but more difficult to convince Blaine to do the same. In the end, Kurt pulled an underhanded 'I need space, Blaine,' that almost made his resolve crumple. Blaine's face had been wounded and apologetic and understanding all in one, and Kurt hated that. He knew that he should have been happy, relieved even that Blaine was so willing to actually follow through with his promise. The thought of actively spending time away from him was foreign to Kurt, and he knew that there were very few things that Blaine could do at this point that would keep Kurt away from him for good. His only consolation as he drove out to Westerville was that Finn would keep the house noisy and Puck and Mike were on their way by the time Kurt had made his equally dramatic exit. Maybe a guys' night was something Blaine could use to his advantage.
Or they'll just ignore him and he'll be left feeling even worse.
Ignoring that, Kurt looked around the hallway leading towards the rooms before turning and slowly ascending the stairwell towards the upperclassmen rooms. He knew the general area Sebastian that would be in—the east end, farthest from the stairs—but he had no clue which room specifically Sebastian inhabited. Playing it by ear was a simple method: most Dalton boys were fairly comfortable with everyone else and left their dorm rooms partially open, letting the 'fresh air' waft in and just generally spreading the inviting atmosphere. Kurt needed only to walk past the first four rooms before he saw a familiar figure lounging shirtless on a bed, a book propped in his hands and an intent expression on his face.
It was almost bizarrely comical, seeing Sebastian studious, but Kurt supposed that even the most villanous people occasionally stopped to handle mere mortal handiwork as well. Perhaps it was a book onHow to Steal Someone's Boyfriend and Get Away with It. Then again, he had probably already mastered that art, given his untroubled air about the insofar unsuccessful pursuit of Kurt's boyfriend.
Steadying himself with a breath, Kurt walked over, not startling when Sebastian's eyes flicked up briefly to look at him, almost black in the lighting. Without waiting for him to knock on the door jamb, Sebastian unfolded himself neatly and stood, his long, towering height complemented by his confident gait. If sharks were capable of walking on two legs, Kurt thought, this was exactly what the approach would look like.
Reminding himself that he was in a brightly lit hallway with plenty of witnesses (he had checked the other dorms for inhabitants in passing, of course, and been satisfied with the results), Kurt steeled himself against the natural urge to run away. Instead, he straightened to his own full height, putting them almost equal as Sebastian stepped out of the semi-darkness of his room and looked down at Kurt in mute contemplation.
Sebastian may have been a shark in another life, but Kurt Hummel was no pushover. Passive-aggressive sometimes, perhaps, but largely in control of himself, aware of everything and capable of making decisions because of that. He had given Rachel that solo so long ago despite his wants because he knew it was better in the long run. He had stepped aside when Karofsky's threats became too much because he knew that it wasn't a matter of pride or strength but his own safety.
He had come here because he knew that, faced point-blank, Sebastian's true colors were like opal. Impossible to discern in the dark, but visible and readily distinguished in the light.
There was a hint of familiar arrogance and nonchalance in his gaze, but the overwhelming emotion was interest. A lazy, predatory desire that looked upon Kurt with bored eyes, knowing that its quarry lurked elsewhere.
"Stay away from him," Kurt said, his voice so low that he barely recognized it as his own.
Sebastian laughed softly, a sharp, almost cutting sound through the quiet around them. "If anything, this only convinces me that I'm closer than ever to winning."
"This isn't a game," Kurt spat, and the rage seemed to intensify within him, a sort of lava that took achingly long seconds to build but scorched once it did. "I'm sick of you harassing us. I'm sick of you being near us. I never want you near my boyfriend again, or so help me God I will have you locked up."
"That's a harsh way to treat someone who saved his ass," Sebastian pointed out, his eyes light and inquiring, with only the faintest shade of contempt that showed he was listening at all.
"Says the person that spiked his drink."
A long, slow smile crossed Sebastian's face. "You take everything far too literally. How do you know that I didn't just want to see how he would react?"
Kurt actually stepped forward until he could properly glower at him and said in the same low voice as before, "Because people like you don't do anything without having some ulterior motive in mind. I knowwho you are, Sebastian. You're a bastard. You don't care about other people. You just want them for whatever physical pleasure you can get from them, and then to leave them as soon as you're bored."
Sebastian smirked. "You make it sound so simple."
"Stay—the hell—away—from my boyfriend," Kurt growled.
"And you call me a selfish bastard," Sebastian said, chuckling. "Who's the selfish one, now?"
The next moment was a blur, but Kurt found his fist captured mid-swing in Sebastian's hand, a light, almost teasing grasp that still carried surprising strength. "Uh uh," Sebastian chided. "You wouldn't want to break your flawless reputation, now, would you?"
"Over someone like you? I could make an exception," Kurt said, kneeing Sebastian in the groin.
"And let me just say this," Kurt added, while Sebastian predictably doubled over. It was a reaction that no male with a pulse could avoid, and Kurt relished the sudden authority, even if Sebastian's attention could hardly be classified as undivided. "I'm not letting you get away with any of this," he said. "The Warblers will know who you are. I already know, and soon enough you're going to find yourself without a single person here that will even stand near you. And do you know why? Because you're evil, Sebastian. I don't know what you did that night, but I know that whatever it was had nothing to do with compassion."
Sebastian straightened after a long pause, his posture seemingly diminished by the blow, almost hunched as he glared at Kurt. He looked more like a vulture now, wary but still contemplative, considering the situation from all angles. "So I'm utterly incapable of compassion, then?" he asked at last, voice almost dry.
Kurt nodded once sharply. "Don't even try and convince me otherwise," he warned. "I just came here for one thing." Ignoring the unnerving possibility that Sebastian would snap the door shut behind him, Kurt pushed past him and snatched Blaine's phone off the dresser, tucking it into his pocket. Sebastian watched him with amused eyes all the while, shaking his head at Kurt's efforts. Kurt shouldered past him, grateful to be back in the hallway, doing his best to ignore the sudden racing of his heart. He hated the momentary spell when he had been inside of Sebastian's room. Walking 'into the lion's den' had never seemed more appropriate to Kurt.
"Once you've figured it out," Sebastian said at last, smirking, "let me know." Then he turned around and, without a word, shut the door behind himself.
Kurt frowned at his back but turned back to the hallway, walking briskly down it, pulling Blaine's phone out after a moment. He scrolled through the messages halfheartedly, knowing that Sebastian would have erased anything he sent. The messages were unsurprisingly missing, with no evidence of any activity over the past two days.
Whatever you are, Kurt thought, pocketing the phone as he sat back in the driver's seat of his Navigator, you're not a good person. You didn't help Blaine.
Feeling mollified with the first phase of his plan complete, Kurt pulled out his own phone before turning on the ignition and writing a quick text to Nick.
Call me after the Warblers' meeting. - Kurt.