The air outside is freezing, but Kurt doesn't care; in fact, it feels kind of nice against his skin, which is prickly and sticky with half-dried sweat. Kurt takes a deep breath and wraps his arms around his stomach, trying to get his head to clear. The cold is good for this as well, brushing away some of the liquor-cobwebs from his brain.
Blaine convinced Kurt to come back into the party room, if only so that he could keep an eye on him, but as soon as they went through the door Kurt had begged off to go to the bathroom and then made a beeline for the little patio outside a glass sliding door at the far end of the room. He just needs a second to pull himself together, to reflect on and then force himself to get over what a stupid idea it was to get so plastered tonight. Beat Sebastian at himself—yeah, thanks Quinn, that worked super-well. Kurt knows that, in actuality, this is Quinn's fault not at all; it's his choice, his body, his own stupid insecurity. Kurt doesn't want to drag Blaine away from this party, especially since he's already made so much of it weird for him, but he can't quite force himself to head back inside and be around his friends from McKinley and Dalton, knowing every single one of them has an opinion about the way he's acted tonight. Shit, poor Wes and David, and all the Warblers…Kurt ignored them all to get humiliatingly drunk and then got his freak on in Wes' house without even having greeted him after entering said house. Someone deserves to lose a few Brownie points over this.
"Back up on your feet?"
No. No no no no no, not him, anyone but him, and of course the second Kurt prays for Sebastian to be magically teleported to deepest Africa there he is, swoopy hair and meerkat face in full attendance, wearing his dumb stupid fashionable pea-coat and smoking a cigarette a little ways off from the floodlight that's shining directly over Kurt. He slinks along the stone-studded patio and smiles at Kurt, blowing a stream of foul-smelling smoke into his face and obviously taking a lot of pleasure in the total lack of togetherness that Kurt possesses right now. Kurt does his best to summon up a bitch-please face, although he knows it's a useless endeavor.
"Don't you have an Artificial Teeth Whiteners Anonymous meeting to get to?" Kurt mumbles, and it's pretty impressive for the condition he's in right now, but Sebastian just snickers and flicks ash off the tip of his cigarette.
"Nice. You overhear that behind the Avon free sample counter?"
"Shut up," Kurt parries dully. Wow, this just isn't even okay, this whole thing right here.
"Ooh, witty. You know, Kurt, just because you choose to clothe your body, which by the way has all the muscle definition of a pair of knitting needles, in shitty product value doesn't mean you have to do the same for all your conversational contributions."
"Would you…just leave me alone? Please?" Kurt manages between clenched teeth. His brain is so infuriatingly slow and dizzy right now, he can barely follow Sebastian's insults, let alone respond to them. Sebastian laughs and blows a smoke ring that floats in the air, perfectly formed, before dissolving in a chilly little breeze.
"Aw, don't worry, chickadee," he says with exaggerated faux-sympathy, puffing away on his cigarette. "Look on the bright side, you've got a little street cred now. I haven't seen a sloppy mess this hilarious since I partied in Madrid, and let me tell you, they have some rowdy twinks over there."
The word twink is gross and gravelly in Kurt's ear, and if he trusted himself to yell without slurring his words right now, he'd give Sebastian a verbal beatdown that would make Santana extremely proud. But this really is kind of the worst scenario imaginable, because Kurt is totally unsure of his ability to form coherent sentences and the world still tilts and jiggles if he moves too quickly and Sebastian is standing there apparently completely in control of himself, so Kurt has no choice but to just take this guy's crap and he can't retaliate or run away or do anything because if he does then Sebastian wins even more than he is already.
"God, you're such a joke," Sebastian says quietly, and all of a sudden the mood shifts: he's not superior anymore, not making fun of Kurt in that snide, careless way that is so profoundly irritating. Instead something serious and sinister is lurking underneath Sebastian's tone, and there's no real smile or fake smile on his face, and a shiver runs through Kurt that has nothing to do with being cold.
Sebastian steps a little closer, his head wreathed in cigarette smoke, stark shadows angling across his face from the patio light overhead. More than anything in the world, Kurt wants to be sober, because he could barely handle this on a good day and right now he just feels like plopping down on the ground and burying his head in his hands and dry-heaving.
"Kurt, aren't you embarrassed? Even a little? Prancing around town like you're special, like you're this big fucking deal with all this talent and determination and all these dreams, and guess what? It's so insanely funny, because you're an idiot. You're retarded if you think that anyone like you, all these fancy clothes and the hair and the girl's songs, if you think that you're going anywhere. You're gonna be like the rest of us, Kurt. Alone, and sad, and really fucking useless. And Blaine is going to wake up very soon and realize what I'm saying right now, and you'll know that's happened because you're going to find him in my bed, getting what he needs from me, not you."
Kurt's ears are ringing. This is like a nightmare, only it's too cold and smoky and sickeningly real to be a dream, and as Sebastian comes even closer Kurt notices the way his eyes are having trouble focusing and the looseness of the cigarette in his fingers, and he realizes Sebastian is actually drunk too, it's just that his malice is stronger than any blood alcohol content. For some reason that Kurt can't quite wrap his mind around, some reason more than just you're dating the guy I want to sleep with, Sebastian hates Kurt, he really loathes him, and that hatred is washing over Kurt like a dark, burning tsunami.
"You know what's the best part?" Sebastian whispers, rolling his cigarette between two fingers as he sways just a tiny bit in the pool of yellow light. "The best part is that Blaine is getting out. He's going to be that one guy who really fucking makes it in real life, and I'm going to do what I do best and get laid and get high and I'm always going to find someone who I can make want me, who I can make give me things, and you—you're going to be here, forever, no matter where you go, you'll be here. And you'll think about me, and about Blaine, and you're going to wonder why he ever wasted his time with a pathetic wannabe like you. But I'm nice and so I'll tell you why now, spoil the surprise. You ready? You ready to hear this?"
Sebastian leans in closer, and Kurt's vision is going all blurry and tilted, and he's so angry he's biting his lip hard enough that he tastes blood. Sebastian's bloodshot eyes meet his, and something rotten stares deep down into Kurt.
"He feels sorry for you."
Kurt doesn't plan it, doesn't make the conscious decision, doesn't lay out a sequence of action; he just punches Sebastian in the face because it's what has to happen next in the story of this god-awful night.
His knuckles slam into Sebastian's cheekbone and the bony ridge beneath his eyebrow, hard enough to send bolts of pain shooting through Kurt's hand and wrist, but they don't bother him because Sebastian gives a gloriously distressed shout and staggers back, dropping his cigarette and clutching his face in one hand. Kurt stands there on the patio, breathing hard, victory coursing through every single inch of his body, and the high of finally having delivered back a fraction of the pain Sebastian has caused him lasts up until Sebastian drops his hand, snarls like a wild animal, and tackles Kurt, driving his shoulder hard into Kurt's stomach and knocking the wind out of him.
They wrestle and shove and tear at each other, both of them too drunk to do anything requiring real coordination but definitely far enough from sober that neither of them feels any qualms about putting their all into every blow and using whatever means they have—fists, fingernails, elbows, knees—to cause some kind of hurt. Sebastian is grunting loud and choked in Kurt's ear, or maybe it's Kurt making that noise, and he gets an arm around Sebastian's neck and wrenches downwards, shoving his knee up into Sebastian's face and experiencing a savage rush of joy when it connects with teeth and Sebastian bucks in pain within his grip; but it's only a second before Sebastian throws him off and hits him hard in the solar plexus, a middle-knuckle punch that hurts so badly Kurt's vision goes black for a moment and before he can recover there are nails digging into his neck and dragging downwards, scoring his flesh and flooding his head with red-tinted pain. Kurt staggers, feels Sebastian reaching out and grabbing hold of his wrists, and either it's because he's drunk or because he's never been this way before—so angry he's lost himself completely, almost bestial—but Kurt finds new strength and throws Sebastian off, lowers his head and charges and the crown of his skull collides with Sebastian's ribs, which hurts a little but elicits a fabulous, choked groan from Sebastian, and then their arms are around each other and they're trying to tear each other apart, tear down the representation of everything they want gone and dead and forgotten in the world—
"Oh what the hell!"
Sebastian is there and then he's not, his body suddenly wrenched out of Kurt's grip, and Kurt looks up with wild eyes to see Sebastian, his face covered in blood and his gnashing teeth bared, being dragged away by Nick and Trent, both of whom seem to be using every ounce of their strength to hold onto his flailing limbs. Kurt moves forward, driven by the red-hot whip of his instinct to strike while his opponent is confined, but then there are strong arms clamping down around him too and yanking him backwards, nearly knocking his feet out from under him as they tug him across the patio and away from Sebastian.
"Jesus Christ, what the fuck!" shouts Wes as he charges through the open sliding glass door, and everyone at the party seems to be trying to crowd out behind him (Kurt can't see Puck and Mike, it must be them holding him so tightly) and there's Blaine all of a sudden, his eyes wide, his mouth falling open, and as Kurt looks at his boyfriend he catches sight of his own reflection in the glass of the door and he doesn't recognize himself: hair wild and mussed, eyes bulging, bloody streaks on his neck from Sebastian's nails, his clothes yanked and stretched out and hanging off his body, looking generally more unhinged than he ever has in his life.
"Get—off—arrrrgh—" Sebastian half-screams, straining so hard against Nick and Trent that David shoves his way out of the bottleneck at the door and lends a third pair of hands, the three boys forcing Sebastian down onto his knees. Kurt can't think clearly, he can't think at all, he just wants Sebastian to be in as much pain as physically possible and so he goes on struggling too and he can hear Puck swearing behind him and then Finn is also pushing through the knot of staring high school kids, ducking behind Kurt and pulling Kurt back so powerfully that he loses his balance and falls backwards. Giant arms wrap around his chest and Finn has him in a bear hug, pinning his arms to his side and squeezing his chest until he can barely breathe, but Kurt doesn't give up that easy and he digs his heels into the patio floor and drags himself forward, for a moment succeeding in loosening Finn's grip but then Puck and Mike have four hands pressed to his chest and they're pushing him back and this is it, he actually can't move.
"Are you two completely god. Damn. Nuts?" Wes asks, his voice dangerously quiet. Kurt is panting, his ribs trying to expand but compressed on all sides by Finn, and he can't answer Wes right now because he's too busy hating Sebastian's existence. They stare at each other from across the patio, and if eyes could spit fire they'd both be burned to a crisp. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Wes continues, looking back and forth between them with disgust. "This is a fucking party, not RumbleMania!"
"His fault, he punched me, fucking little diva—" Sebastian growls through clenched teeth, and Kurt snaps, not for the first time tonight.
"Oh I am going to kill you, I swear to God Finn let me go so I can stomp on his face, you stupid stupid stupid jackass with the hair and your sweater and I'm not taking this anymore, I'm gonna—"
"Enough!" someone shouts, and everyone turns in surprise to see Tina of all people standing behind Wes, her eyes blazing as she stares Kurt down. "Enough, Kurt. And you," she turns on Sebastian, who's giving her a look like you're female and loud and why the hell are you talking right now. "I don't know what your problem is but you need to back off and leave him alone, and both of you get your shit together. Jesus Christ."
Tina marches past Wes, who is apparently too overwhelmed by the idiocy of what is happening on his patio to do anything but weakly step out of her way, and lifting one hand she brushes Puck and Mike off of Kurt. She shoots Finn a look like a laser beam and he slowly lets his arms drop. Kurt staggers forward a little, but he gets his balance pretty quickly because Tina is right in front of him and she is very scary right now. Lips pursed, eyes hard and furious, she looks him up and down, her lip curling.
"You know, I am so tired of this! For three years, it's always the same, no one can ever just be with other people, there's always some drama and some fight and I can't figure out why! I've been watching all of you screw with each other for so long and Kurt, you used to be one of the ones I felt like understood how stupid all of this was and now you're—you're fucking crazy, is what you are!"
Tina throws her hands in the air and steps back, apparently oblivious that two glee clubs and a couple of college students are staring open-mouthed at her. "It's this thing called talking, being grownups and not sneaking around behind your father's back or cheating on someone because you can or making everyone else miserable just so you don't feel so alone and scared! I mean, dammit, you guys! Don't you wonder what's going to happen when you graduate and you leave McKinley and people expect you to be able to handle things like this? Without biting someone?" she half-screams, flinging an arm towards Sebastian, and Kurt follows her movement and sees (oh Jesus) teeth marks on Sebastian's neck. Tina huffs, tries to compose herself, glares at all of them with enough heat to singe hair.
"I just…can't, anymore. Everyone is leaving, you're all going away and I'm going to miss you so much and I can't stand to see you like this," she says quietly, and suddenly the glare softens and her eyes are shining. She looks back towards Kurt, who wants to curl up and die and melt into dust right then and there. "Kurt…you have the chance to be happy. So so happy, because you're amazing and you have Blaine and you love him and you're going to New York one way or another, so why are you acting like this? What's so hard to deal with, that you have to do this with him?"
Sebastian makes a low, gurgling noise in his throat and suddenly wrenches himself away from David, Nick, and Trent, getting unsteadily to his feet. For a second he stands there in front of everyone, a total mess, ripped and torn and all his elegance shattered. With a final piercing, hateful look at Kurt, he turns on his heel and heads off into the darkness, snatching up his coat and disappearing around the edge of Wes' house. Trent takes a step, hesitates, then follows, muttering, "He can't drive, I'm just gonna—can't let him drive, sorry."
The patio is silent: Tina is done, tears hovering at the edges of her eyes but held back by some iron power of will. Everyone is looking at Kurt now, the only combatant left, standing wrecked on the stone floor with cold seeping over his skin and blood drying on his shoulders and no excuse for himself.