AN: Sorry that this took so long! I'd been working on it for a few months, trying to get everything right, but then school and moving caught up with me, and I didn't want to update a shorter chapter, and I hadn't had a consistent beta (especially anyone who knew Glee and the characters)... So, I'm sorry.
I know. Excuses are like butt holes-we all have them, and they all stink.
I do not own Glee. Otherwise, I'd be one of the co-stars.
We were in the Lima Bean, and I was helping Kurt fill out his NYADA application. He was taking his lack of achievements (losing the lead in West Side Story, not winning for Class President, losing at Nationals last year) pretty hard, and while coffee and escape from McKinley madness were helping, he still looked pretty dejected. I doubted that even cuddling up to a pint of strawberry sorbet and watching When Harry Met Sally would properly cheer him up.
He sighed again, finishing up another portion of the application. I'd gotten lost in all of it, and didn't even remember what it was. Housing? Major? Essay? He took a sip of his coffee, and moved onto the last sheet in today's small stack. He sighed yet again. It was the one that asked for his extracurricular. It was the one he had been dreading. His GPA was phenomenal, his course load was the most advanced that the school offered, and he was the prince of essays. His only weak point, compared to hopefuls like Gerber-Baby-Murder-She-Wrote-Ultrasound-Harmony, was that his extracurricular was somewhat average.
Sure, he'd been on the football team and had won the first game for the Titans in decades, and sure, he'd been on the Cheerios and helped to win them a seventh consecutive National championship, but that had all been in one year, and if anything, that showed a lack of commitment. Glee might have helped, but 12th place in Nationals isn't great enough to guarantee him a spot as a finalist for consideration. Yes, he was in the musical, but only the lead would have secured interest. I felt another pang of guilt for that, but he never complained. To be honest, his extracurricular and Rachel's were both equally impressive, but hers revolved around dance, Glee, and being Maria, while Kurt's were more half-sports, half-arts.
But Kurt lost his presidency to Brittany (which I personally didn't mind; she's sweet), and Rachel got suspended. Black mark for her, so that pretty much evened them out.
"Rachel and I might as well get used to a life of barista work and summer stock. There's no way we're getting into NYADA, now! If we don't win at Sectionals, I pretty much have nothing to live for," he said, for the umpteenth time, shaking his head and flailing his hands with subdued franticness. Now that he'd brought up Sectionals, I couldn't help but feel even more morose. Kurt was upset over getting into NYADA, which only reminded me that I wasn't going to be going with him at the same time, which reminded me that I'd be alone with McKinley kids for another year, this time without him. Which reminded me of Finn. Which got me miffed. And when I get miffed and can't hit something, I rant.
"New Directions is a mess. I mean, we're gonna lose, Kurt. And I can't do a thing about it! Everytime I open my mouth... Finn gives me these looks like, 'What does he think he's doing?' I know what I'm doing." To be fair to Kurt and his rant, I've said this plenty of times, too. I got a little nervous whenever I caught myself, but I knew that Kurt sympathized with me enough to not berate me for bad-mouthing his step-brother. Conversely, he never spoke up in class, which I understood, but it still hurt a little. He can't take sides like that: step-family versus boyfriend? I wouldn't expect him to. I still wanted him to speak up for me whenever Finn shot me down, though. It's attitudes like Finn's that make me sometimes wish for the unity of the Warblers again.
"Hey guys." Speaking of Warblers... "So crazy! I was sitting over there, checking out this guy, and all of a sudden, I'm like, 'Wait a second, I know that hair!'" I really didn't know why Kurt disliked Sebastian so much. Yeah, he hit on me all the time, but I never reciprocated his intentions, I'd never cheat on him, and... it made me feel good. Especially now, I needed to feel better. Discussing Kurt moving off to college as well as Sectionals was getting to be a major downer. Kurt was rolling his eyes and watching Sebastian like a cobra. "What's up, buddy? I haven't seen you online," he amiably said to me. Crap. I never did anything besides gossip about the Warblers and turn down his occasional proposition or pass, but I still knew that Kurt disapproved of our friendship, and I knew he'd dislike me Skyping him. We behaved. Well, I behaved, and he usually behaved. Sometimes...ish. "Hi, Kurt." Okay. I may be oblivious, but even I caught how dismissive that was. After being with Kurt and chatting with Sebastian, I had caught onto their mutual disdain for one another; neither one was opposed to verbal conflict, either, judging by what I'd seen from Kurt and heard about Sebastian. I decided to answer before they got bitchy, which was an increasingly probable outcome, judging by the vibe I got from them.
"We've been..." Um... like rabbits in heat outside of Glee? "Really busy, with Glee club." Nice equivocation, there!
"Practicing for Sectionals. Together," Kurt said, looking and smirking right at me. Okay, he caught on quick, but he was being much more obvious about the innuendo. I was sure that Sebastian had gotten it when I saw him roll his eyes and barely hold back a grimace, sneering instead. I swallowed my coffee quickly, trying to salvage this conversation from impending bitchiness. Last time all three of us were here together, things got so out of control. I now knew what I was trying to deal with, and I didn't want to go through that again. So I kept the topic safe.
"Congrats on the Warbler win, at your Sectionals. We're up this week." I looked at Kurt, trying to convey a subtle 'Yikes.' I don't think I succeeded with the subtlety.
"Yeah! Well, hey, if there's one guy who can whip the New Directions into a legitimate threat, it's Blaine Anderson, right?" Now he was both complimenting me and verbally bitch-slapping Kurt! Not only did he just hit on my sore spot (Damn you, Finn!), but there was no way I was gonna salvage this, now. I might as well give them time to get it off their chests. I'm low on coffee, anyway.
"Right," I clipped, "I need another coffee." I got up and quickly got over to the barista. There was nobody in line to keep me there longer, so I just ordered another medium drip, telling the barista to take his time. I snuck a look over to our table, but it was mostly hidden behind a pillar. I couldn't hear screams or see blood, so I guessed they were keeping it tame. Mostly. Kinda. Sorta. Possibly. Ideally? I got my coffee, even though it seemed like it had barely been 20 seconds. I thanked and paid the barista, making my way over to them quickly, before anything escalated past... whatever they were doing. Insults? I heard the tail-end of the conversation, with Kurt saying something about Craigslist and Sebastian just humming a mirthless laugh. They had some of the fakest, most pasted-on smiles I'd ever seen. Too wide, too bright.
And I knew fake smiles. I got plenty of them from the silent homophobes at Sadie Hawkins and Prom.
I decided to feign ignorance. They'd believe that I was oblivious to this and naive enough to believe them. "Whaddaya guys talking about?" I asked, a little upset at their animosity; Kurt probably only thought that I'd left and come back upset because of Sebastian reminding me of Finn's tyranny.
"Duh! The next time we're all going out drinking, Killer!" Sebastian piped up, leaning back and trying to act smooth, even though I knew he'd been caught a little off-guard by how soon I'd come back by the slight hitch in his voice.
"Uh-oh." And I meant it, despite my joking demeanor. I got way too loose with the Goose, and we all knew it, and we also knew that Kurt didn't drink, and that Sebastian could hold his liquor. It wasn't a good combo before, and it wouldn't be anytime soon. Not with Sebastian being so, admittedly, attractive, and not with him now knowing about my low tolerance.
"Well, I gotta go," Thank goodness! "but, you take care of that Warbler, Kurt." And then Sebastian winked, got up, and left. What did they say to each other? He called me a Warbler. Was he saying that he expected me to go back to Dalton? Kurt watched him leave, his shiny smile still in place, and I just gave him a bewildered, innocent look that hopefully conveyed some incredulity at Sebastian's words. I took a drink of coffee to prevent myself from answering to Sebastian's insinuation. And hoped that the subject of Sebastian was officially dropped, at least for now. And held back a yelp at how hot the coffee still was.
Why would he call me a Warbler, when I left them, albeit begrudgingly? So maybe I had told him how angry I sometimes got with the New Directions. I never told him that they underappreciated my show and leadership experience and skills; I just blamed it on personal drama. I wasn't quite lying when I said that, but I wasn't gonna give him anything that might be used against us in competition. I didn't think that he'd be above using any info that might slip out.
Warblers practice always started at 3:00, sharp, and ended at 4:45, sometimes. It was annoying for those of us who had sports practice at 5:30 when Warblers ran to 5:15, and I had to all but skip dinner. The student body might worship us, but the coaches and teachers were only appreciative. Not quite enough to brush off a sluggish or faint team member. Unless a competition was right around the corner. Then all-night practices were common.
It was very unusual for practice to end early, though. Today, because Nick had a family emergency and David sprained his ankle, and because not everyone was comfortable with being led solely by me, we basically did vocal warm-ups and a rough run-through of our Regionals show. We were gonna destroy those New Directions, if they even won Sectionals and got to compete with us. After meeting up with Blaine and Gay Face yesterday, I doubted that they were ready. We already had our next show, and it was coming along. They didn't stand a chance.
I was leaving after everybody else at about 4:15, and at a nearby deli, while I was having a cup of soup and a muffin before lacrosse, my phone buzzed.
Blaine
4:22 pm
Hi. Hope practice is going well for you. I might be joining you guys again at this rate.
Blaine... joining... Wait, what? Did someone steal his phone? Was Gay Face playing some prank? If Blaine was anything, annoyingly enough, it was loyal. Loyal to Gay Face. Loyal to New Directions. (Yet not quite loyal enough to the Warblers. Go figure.) Threatening to leave them all was not him, at all. I was instantly suspicious.
Sebastian
4:22 pm
Hi to you too. It went well enough. Before we go farther than that, state Rule One. I need to make sure this is you, because it doesn't sound like it.
Blaine
4:22 pm
Fair enough. Rule One: Don't talk about It. Didn't know, S. Who told you about me?
Sebastian
4:23 pm
Blows off steam. Logan said something last weekend when he could. So what's wrong? Break it off with your beau and need to be surrounded by more talent than Giant Peewee and Dwarf Barbara in a school that appreciates you? That bad over there?
Blaine
4:26 pm
Nobody respects me here but Rachel and Kurt, who is still my boyfriend, so be nice and no ideas, there. I'm not in the mood to put up with rejecting your passes right now. I'm more in the mood to find a punching bag that won't run to the principal. Or try.
So, wait... He was usually in the mood to reject my passes. Oh, I wasn't gonna say anything about it while he was in such a dour mood, but it was something to mull over and maybe bring up. So I was usually a self-esteem boost for him; I knew that much. He's too mad to reject me. But did this mean that he would accept a pass if he was mad enough and needed to blow off steam?
And they didn't appreciate him? This was new. He must've been angry to let that slip. Wonder why he never mentioned it before... Must not trust me as a rival. Smart.
Sebastian
4:27 pm
Wow. Pissed. I'll hold back my comments, despite how much I know they make you feel better, Killer.
Blaine
4:31 pm
Fine, have at. Why are you out of practice this early, anyways?
Sebastian
4:32 pm
David sprained his ankle and Nick's dad had Indian food at a place where the servers don't understand the meaning of 'mortal nut allergy.' And I was gonna tell you that: …
I started typing out the comments I held back, trying to keep them PG13-rated at the worst instead of XX-rated. By the time Blaine asked me what I was gonna say, I had just started to send.
Blaine
4:35 pm
… ?
Sebastian
4:35 pm
You pissed off seems too hot for reality; Boxing is one way to relieve stress, but I can think of better uses for your hands; They don't appreciate you, but I would; No matter how much you reject me, I know you like me and think of me-like my sex drive, I can't be quelled that easily. And other such sentiments as those. ;)
He didn't answer, and I thought that maybe I'd crossed a line...
Blaine
4:40 pm
Well. I'm in the training room now. I still can't think of any responses. And I'm still pissed. I'm gonna attack this bag until I'm not. Have fun at lacrosse. ttyl
Sebastian
4:40 pm
I was about to ask you where you were. Have fun punching imaginary ND members. Will do.
At that, I finished dinner and made my way back to Dalton. I was punctual and prepared, as always. By the time I had finished, gone back to my dorm, showered, and just finished the book I needed by tomorrow's English class, my phone buzzed again.
Blaine
8:02 pm
So... Remember how I was so pissed earlier? Well, Finn walked in on me, I yelled at him, he apologized, and now all is well again. By well, I mean cordial enough to act like a team. By which I mean that we're winning Sectionals in spite of the Trouble Tones. Which means Warblers are in trouble for Regionals.
Sebastian
8:02 pm
That so? How cute of you to say so. Do you guys even have a show for Sectionals yet?
Blaine
8:04 pm
Oh stfu. :P We will so beat you. ND makes shows 2 min before performing them, and then wins.
Sebastian
8:04 pm
LOL I'll take that as a no. Glad you're feeling better.
Blaine
8:05 pm
Thanks. Me too. How are you?
Sebastian
8:06 pm
Wishing that I was sore from making you feel even better instead of from my coach's sadism. I'm pretty sure he wants to kill his team with the laps he makes us run. I have stamina, but come on! Running 5 miles, not getting a break, and then doing drills, 50 push-ups for every time you puke?
Blaine
8:07 pm
You're kidding me.
Sebastian
8:07 pm
I am, mostly. :P It was 3 miles, and we get a minute-long breather before drills. And it's 10 push-ups for every screw-up, 5 minute break on the bench if you puke.
Blaine
8:07 pm
Okay, because the first time sounded like Coach Sylvester, not Coach Zimmerman.
Sebastian
8:10 pm
Well, have fun outshining the rest of ND. Heard through the grapevine that Berry's suspended, so good luck with Sectionals. I'll be there to watch you guys perform, and if you're tired of your lady by then, I'll be there to celebrate you winning. Privately, of course. ;)
Blaine
8:10 pm
'Winning?' Thanks for the vote of confidence. Can't wait to see you there. And no chance, S. G'night. Homework, etc.
Sebastian
8:11 pm
I'll take that as 'try again later, S.' And I g2g, too. Won't tell you why, but I wish you were here. Night! ;)
Blaine
8:15 pm
You're incorrigible. Don't think of me.
Sebastian
8:45 pm
What do you mean? I was drinking dessert. Was only wishing that you were here for a glass. Gutter brain. ;) Of course, now I have to go be contrary. ttyl ;P
Blaine
8:50 pm
I hate you sometimes. :P BYE
Glad not. Otherwise, I'd have to give up on our friendship and my eventual conquest. But I promised to be tenacious, and so I will be. After all, he still hasn't told me to back off, or stop flirting. Heck, he flirts back on good days! And I now had other promises to uphold, starting with me putting my phone on my bed and vividly imagining what the bashful schoolboy looked like underneath his bow ties and sweater vests. And me.
This was disgusting. But Blaine's worth it. Blaine is worth the stench. Blaine is worth the stench. Even the stench of public school. Even the stench of a public school freaking auditorium filled with too many barely-washed bodies and sweaty competitors. Just think of Blaine, and maybe the dried-vomit, B.O. drenched, dollar-store shampoo stench will lessen. Blaine. Blaine. Was that a dead cockroach? BLAINE. BLAINE.
If there is one thing my parents did right by me, it's keeping me in private school. Dalton was pretty par, with everyone maintaining good hygiene, with the custodians keeping all bugs out, with teachers knowing their material. The hot guys and the dorms were just an added bonus. The meals were pretty decent. The indoor temperature was comfortable. But no cheerleading squad. I would've kinda wanted to try out for that. I'd taken some dance at one school and realized my knack for it. That got very fun with some of my more limber classmates. DFC was sufficient most of the time, though, in relieving any of my frustration. Somehow, Ohio managed to have gorgeous men by way of Dalton, but most of them were either genuinely straight or already paired off, so fucking away my frustration became a bit more difficult.
How could Blaine go from Dalton to this dump? Had I really only missed the Killer by a few weeks? He and I would've been un-fucking-stoppable!
I sat down near enough to the aisle that, if the odor got to be too much for my alcohol-toughened stomach, I could sprint to the nearest rubbish bin and barf. Not that I'd had much to eat that I could barf. Today was one of the days that Warblers had run late, and I'd inhaled a granola bar before lacrosse. I also sat far enough in that it couldn't look like I'd been late to Blaine (or Snow Fright); it also insured that I wasn't next to some slob or hobo who was late and sat in the aisle.
I watched the first two groups. They were quite good. I'd met Harmony once when I was checking out dance studios, but then dad got wind and told me to focus on academics. Since I'd automatically want to be a States' Attorney just like my neglectful daddy dearest. And Blaine had told me that the Trouble Tones were pretty great. They were pretty decent. It was fun. Then it was time for the New Directions. Even the name was awkward and bland, just like the school, just like Hummel. Blaine may be awkward, but he was adorable when he was awkward. And he was not bland, if half of what Trent and Jeff and Nick (and David, to some extent) gushed was true. Gushing wasn't strong enough; those guys were fanboys, and Trent was the most hilariously terrible at hiding it.
Aha! Spotlights going up... Wait, what? Michael freaking JACKSON? Well, Jackson 5, but still! Wait... was that Snow Blight? He didn't sound bad when he went into a lower register (not that I'll ever say so out loud)... not too impressive, but not that shrill nails-on-slate horror that he speaks in... And Blaine was in the back. I nodded and clapped along to the song, because it was fun, though it was a little too heavy on Gay Face and too Blaine-Light. The next song, also by a Jackson, started off with some blond girl (either she was acting very well, or, the more likely reason, was genuinely psycho), but then Blaine started singing. Listening to him in person, compared to an audio recording, was like the difference between masturbating and a handjob. He was incredible, and I started to genuinely, properly enjoy myself while listening to him. And watching him dance. There were a couple of other good dancers, and I'd be lying if I said that they were unattractive, but Blaine was something else. Not to mention some of the sounds that he was soloing were pretty damn hot. And him singing about 'control' was so cute, since I could spot a sub half a mile away.
And here it was! The final number! For once, I didn't have to see Legolas' bitch prancing about in my periphery; and I got to listen to the hot guys sing, watch them dance, and see Blaine get more solos. The song was very moving, and though I'd never admit it, it was one of my faves. After "Smooth Criminal" and "I Want You Back," of course. Blaine was really into this...
I could tell that the New Directions would win. Jacksons and Blaine guaranteed that. And Blaine seemed to love this more than most of the performances the Warblers (mainly Trent and Jeff) had shown me from his time at Dalton. I could just add this to our growing list of common interests. Alcohol, Warblers, Michael Jackson, sports, and, eventually, sex.
This was so damn base. If anyone found out, I'd be absolutely ruined. I mean, how do you go from stoic playboy badass, to troubled youth, and back again? For once, dad had actually paid attention. I guess I should be thankful for that much.
Dr. Montgomery was staring intently at me, probably trying to piece me together. Good luck with that, missy. I had no intention of letting on how damaged my parents made me. I already knew my issues. They never noticed that there were any issues, even when I had asked to move to freaking Ohio. If she wanted to crack me, she'd have to get me drunk, and I knew that there was no chance of that happening. I just hoped that she wasn't in league with the bartender at Scandals.
"And, Mr. Smythe, what drove you to assault this boy?"
"Kurt is a bitch. MJ was Warbler territory."
"Had you any intention of hurting him?"
"No. The slushie was so icy that it wouldn't've permeated and stained his clothes very well, so I wanted it to melt some-hence, rock salt. And I knew that slushies were common at his school." Talking too much! Make it terse.
"Yes. His school is a public school, right?"
"Yes."
"And you disdain the public school system, according to your father."
"..."
"So you must really hate that his boyfriend left Dalton for a public school and a 'bitch,' as you so eloquently put it."
Shit. I already said too much. Time to completely clam up before she found out enough to tell dad.
She noticed my taciturnity.
"Look, Mr. Smythe. I'm not going to delve into any personal topics yet. You're obviously uncomfortable with me. Would it be better to have monthly sessions instead of your father's preferred weekly ones?
"... Yes."
"How very terse. That compromise comes with a price." (Of course it does. Everything does.) "Keep tab of your activities and internalized feelings and conflicts in a journal. Yes, it would be subject to my review, but it will also be a lot less embarrassing than talking to someone in person. It would also give you a catalog of your activities and thought processes."
I considered it. Talk to a shrink every Friday after school and cut into my free time, or write in a diary every other night? I could always do it during study hall, and I didn't have to be specific, and I wouldn't be subject to her disturbingly perceptive stare, constantly.
"Deal?"
"Yes," I sighed.
She got up, went to the door, opened it up for me while extending her hand. "Next month. Fourth Friday from today?"
"Yeah," I said, shaking her hand and shooting her my well-practiced, disarming grin reserved for polite company. I walked down the hall.
"Oh, and Sebastian? Start today or tonight. If you're not diligent, I'm rescinding the deal, and you'll see me every Friday evening until your dad says so."
I kept walking, looking over my shoulder and flashing another grin. "Sure thing, ma'am."
Dear Therapist,
I thought that I'd elaborate that whole scenario, since nothing interesting happened this week besides.
Kurt is a controlling bitch. Blaine deserves better than him, better than McKinley. I wanted to humiliate him. I ended up spilling that slushie all over Blaine. I was gonna go by his side and make sure that he was okay, but then he started screaming, and all I could think of was my team behind me, that they'd kick me out of the Warblers, and the Warblers are the main reason that the Headmaster is allowing me to stay at Dalton after that fracas. I have to win Regionals for us. I also couldn't go to Blaine, because he wouldn't stop screaming or writhing on the ground, and BitchFace was next to him, holding him. So I ran.
To say the next Warbler meeting was tense... No. I was on freaking trial. The guys still loved Blaine like one of their own, which they all saw him as, and the only bonding I'd done with any of them was talking about him. Basically, I would win them Regionals and stay, or lose, and Nick and David would go to the Headmaster, telling him exactly everything. Blaine is still a Dalton Warbler, in spirit, even to the teachers, so I'd be out of Dalton faster than Pavarotti II would be out of my dorm if I set him free.
I wouldn't be seeing you if my damn conscience hadn't kicked in. I took a huge chunk out of my personal fund, courtesy of daddy and mommy dearests, to help the Andersons pay for the eye surgery. Dad had decided to check up on his son for once through his bank account. I would have still been fine, but Nick had sent him an e-mail outlining what had happened. Dad think it's anger issues. Whatever.
But there you go. A little more detail about the situation afterward. There was also a duel with one of the ND members (think of a Latina me) and a slushie facial for her, too. I've been called to their auditorium, just now, via text. Actually, all of the Warblers. Something to do with the contest for who will perform MJ at Regionals.
LATER
Aaaaaand now the ND have given the Warblers proof that could get me expelled and arrested. I need to win Regionals, or dad will have my ass for ruining his political standing, and I'll be out of Dalton.
Dear Diary Shrink Person,
I don't need someone to talk to. I need someone to punch me.
My New Year's Resolution was to get Blaine. I mean, I like the guy way too much to make him anything less than a fuck-buddy. I'm not focusing on that, though.
I have a second resolution. Dave, a teen gay who had asked for my advice on how to get a guy only for me to rip him an undeserved new one, attempted suicide a few days ago. I already extended an olive branch to the ND, but I want to do more than a charity collection at Regionals. I want to raise as much money as I possibly can (thanks to dad watching my account like a hawk, I can't just dump money from my account into the fundraiser) for Lady Gaga's 'Born This Way Foundation.' Even if it calls for a freaking bake sale.
I actually had a great idea that just might work to further both of my resolutions. A party at my place, where I charge admission, and invite Warblers, Nightingales, and New Directions. Blaine gets loose with parties, and a game of spin-the-bottle always goes uncontested at a Warbler party. All I need is a little luck, and I could get a few minutes alone with Blaine in a closet, away from anyone who may interrupt.
But, hopefully, that'll raise a few hundred dollars. I plan to donate $5000. I hope the audience at Regionals is gonna be in a giving mood. I seriously don't know how to clear my conscience of this any other way, and I don't expect Dave to forgive me any more than I expected Blaine to forgive me just because I paid 80% of the hospital bills. I keep contributing to hospital patients. I need some serious attitude adjustments. I'm raising money for the charity. I should also visit Dave and apologize. I got some practice with the ND and Blaine. They seemed to take it with a grain of salt.
Better than I'd do in their places.
PS- I'd bet second base will make it easier for Blaine to fully forgive me. I'd've gotten that far long ago if it wasn't for his damn Hummel doll. If I don't get his shirt off or pants unzipped by the time that closet door opens, I'm abstaining from sex and alcohol for... two weeks.
Mom hates me.
Kurt doesn't want me.
My neck hurts.
Dad can't look me in the eye.
I can't escape the freaky stare of this suicide-watch person in this cold, dead, white room.
And now, as if my life wasn't any worse off already, I had schoolwork to catch up on, and I was missing the lessons. I wasn't gonna graduate on time, at this rate.
And my make-up work included Dickens.
And the doctor just kept staring at me. Asshole.
I kept trying to push my way forward in Great Expectations and wondered how English students didn't manage to all commit suicide after trying to read this crap. Then again, most kids read the SparkNotes or Wikipedia the summary, like I'd be doing if I had any other way to spend my time. If only I had someone to tutor me.
But no. Everyone from Thurston avoided me. Plenty of people from McKinley came, dropped off flowers, had some chatter, and left me. They always left me. They'd forget me soon enough. My Attempt was just a flash in the pan, a blip on their radars, and I'd be forgotten very soon. I suck at Trig, English, and life, so why would I succeed at something like suicide? Even something as simple as peace was too hard for me.
I can't get a guy, but I can't be straight. I looked up at the watchman. It was only another couple of days. Maybe life would get better, like those videos everywhere on the internet. Probably not.
Life is just hopeless. This much loneliness is not worth it.
While I was wallowing in my self-pity that somehow made me feel better than reading about Pip and Miss Havisham, I heard a knock on the door. Great. More people to fake being sad about me. What I did not expect was Sebastian Smythe walking through that door. Nor did I want his brand of bullshit.
"Sir, could you give me a moment alone with Dave? I'd like to speak with him, privately." Crap...
The guy actually left! He hadn't done that the entire time, for anyone. Maybe he needed a restroom break, and he thought that I'd be fine with this clean-cut, polite man in the room. The polite man who was as clean-cut as the jocks from Thurston, though he was in his Dalton uniform. The polite man in the room who would either cut me to pieces again or patronize me like everyone else did. The polite man who took a breath and looked me in the eye as I set the book down, preparing myself for whatever onslaught was coming.
"I'm sorry."
Wait, what?
"Wait, what?"
"I. Am. Sorry. I'm apologizing, Dave, now please don't make me repeat it. I'm not good with apologies. I usually don't make mistakes," he said, look away for a moment, seeming a little annoyed and ashamed.
"That you know of."
"Touche. I shouldn't've insulted you when you only asked for advice," he responded, looking down for a moment before looking back at me.
I didn't say anything to that. It was pretty obvious. I just grunted and looked away. Seeing him reminded me of all of the condescending remarks that I'd gotten, and the last thing I needed was to feel even worse, even more unwanted, more unacceptable.
"Do you still want it?"
"Want what? Relationship advice from a guy who can't snag a real relationship for himself?"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He was surprised at that. His shell cracked. Good. Nice to know that I could surprise the polite gentleman in uniform.
"Blaine. I saw you going after him at Scandals that one night. I figured you'd manage to break him down and add another notch to your bedpost by Winter Break, but even by February, Kurt was still with Blaine."
"So you asked out that... So you asked out Hummel on Valentine's Day, or something?" he asked rudely, obviously catching himself before unleashing what would have probably been another perfect insult.
"Yes. I already know that you think he's a virginal stick-in-the-mud, but he's too beautiful and sweet and forgiving and moral and... perfect. But he's too good for me, which is why he turned me down."
"Is that what he said? Because that's not true. And I won't even mention how creepy it is that you were spying on me enough to get my drink code." He tried a smile. I didn't return it.
"He didn't say it. Like I said, he's too nice. But it's true, and you know it. You of all people should know it."
"I was drunk! I didn't mean it-" he tried backpedaling.
"You damn well know how honest people are when they're drunk!" I rasped out, trying to yell, pissed at all of the false apologies, pissed with the fake sympathy, the rotten olive branches.
"Woah, calm down, big guy, don't want you throwing up your esophagus. Look, Dave, you may not be my type, but that doesn't mean that there aren't tons of men who would pick you over me in a heartbeat," he said, holding his hands in front of him while trying to calm me down, while I coughed up a bit. I shot him a look when he called me big, but I stayed quiet otherwise. "Quite honestly, you're kinda nice-looking, and I can see Hummel liking you, given the right circumstances. So. I will ask again. Do you still want that advice?"
I considered it. I thought about it. I rolled the idea around in my head, mulling it over. Taking his advice would be me saying that I had a chance with Kurt, which I didn't think. But it might work with other men, so what could be the harm?
"Fine. I might as well."
"Loving the enthusiasm, there. Do you really want it, or are you just trying to placate me?" he almost seemed hurt by that. Must've been a trick of the light, since his mask was back up.
"Uh... I need it, so yeah, I guess I want it. It's just hard to show enthusiasm when I was reading Dicken ten minutes ago." Might as well make this easier for both of us.
"Dude, I feel ya. That is some of the most boring shit I've had to read for AP. I'll even take a Bronte sister or Milton over Dickens. Though A Tale of Two Cities wasn't as terrible as Great Expectations. What do you have to read?"
"Great Expectations."
"I would like to apologize on behalf of all English students that you have to read that without the internet to help you. I'd offer to tutor you, but I have lacrosse, Warblers, and my own massive pile of homework each night, not to mention that I live an hour away. Do you know anyone smart to help?" he said, grinning a little here and there, relaxing enough to try some of this small-talk.
"No. Everybody from Thurston is avoiding me, and nobody from McKinley cares about me anymore."
"Not even... Hummel?"
"He still hasn't visited, even though his friends have."
"So much for being nice and moral."
"Lay off him. I threatened to kill the guy when he found out my sexuality, so i shouldn't expect him to throw me a pity party if he doesn't mean it." The shocked look on his face gave me a moment of satisfaction at being able to surprise the clean-cut gentleman twice, until what I said sank in.
"It's still early. Dalton had a student holiday today, which is how I'm here, but maybe he's coming after school today."
"Why are you in uniform then?" It was getting eerily easier to talk to this guy. Maybe he was putting on a nice-guy act for me, instead of being a dick, like normal.
"Laundry day. This gets washed separately. So my first bit of advice? Get a tutor. Less work, less stress. Something tells me that missing this much school is a setback to an already, I'm guessing, lax academic track." He started to move toward the door. "Hell, ask Hummel. He seems to have a decent brain behind that gay face and prissy pompadour. Have a good one." And he left. Just like that.
I slumped back a little, ignoring my homework in favor of thinking this over. Sebastian would help me. But I didn't have his number. Maybe he had mine. I wouldn't find out until I got home, thanks to the hospital's policy against cell phones. And the guy wasn't back yet. What if Kurt would show up today? Maybe he'd show up by the end of the week, when I got discharged. Or maybe he really didn't care for me anymore. Maybe he was disgusted with my Attempt and didn't want to see me again. After all, I just demonstrated how much stronger he is than me.
And now Sebastian was a friend. Maybe. Sorta. At least, he was willing to mentor me a little. And now the watchman walked back in.
"He leave?" he asked, short and clipped, like anything he said, his harsh gray eyes boring into me.
"Yes."
"He bother you?" Of course he had to ask that, since it'd be on his head if I'd been bullied on his watch.
"No." And he nodded, and continued to watch me. I picked up my book, trying to escape his gaze, trying to understand what the hell was going on. I didn't know which was more confusing now: my schoolwork, or my life.
Punch bowls with lemonade and pop?
Check.
Vodka and rum beside them for spiking?
Check.
Chips and dip and salsa? Candy and cookies?
Check.
Breath mints and tongue depressors beside them for staying fresh and light?
Check.
Huge bucket inside the front door for money?
Check.
Beds all made with a small bowl of lube, dental dams, and condoms in each room?
Check.
Doors leading to specially stocked rooms locked with numbered keys in my pocket?
Also check.
Music set to a playlist descending from pointless party techno to bump-and-grind chic?
'Check' Republic.
Game supplies in the closet?
Check.
Hordes of guests?
On their way.
Even if people hated my guts, they rarely had to interact with me at my parties, which are legendary, I must say. They'd dance, get sloshed, fuck, puke, and pass out, and I'd have a clean house and breakfast buffet prepared for them when they woke up with a hangover. I couldn't care less if they used the tongue depressors to induce vomiting after too much junk food, if they stayed sober the entire night, or if they regretted their amour du nuit the next morning. I didn't care if they left early to avoid seeing me. My job was to make sure people could enjoy themselves. And I always got my job done.
Which is why they kept coming back, even when they hated me for sleeping with their boyfriends, gay or not, or for usurping power from the benevolent dictators, or for cutting apart their flimsy self-esteem. They had fun. Hell, I usually had fun, too. Even if I spent half the night surreptitiously cleaning up after them, refilling the punch and snack bowls, and replacing the liquor bottles. Nobody was left hungry, thirsty, or unprepared at my parties, and people were rarely left sober and unsexed.
It also helped a ton that my parents never check their grocery bills and accounts except for the source. They didn't care how much I bought or what I bought, so long as it was food. I guess alcohol and condoms count as food, mom, dad. Big surprise.
Dong.
Doorbell. Time to collect the entry fee and begin the hosting.
Warblers arrived, Nightingales arrived, and, finally, some of the New Directions arrived fashionably late. As did many other Dalton students (Warbler worshippers, most likely) and a few other Crawford girls. I stopped admiring the casual attire on my classmates once Blaine arrived. Tiny-teeth was nowhere to be seen. His Frankenteen step-brother was here with his girlfriend, Broadway's bastard daughter. And the Asians. And the cheerleader lesbians. And Beyonce Iglesias.
But Blaine was finally here. And he looked more relaxed than I'd ever seen him. I watched him walk over to the snack counter in the kitchen, and I watched him walk in those ridiculously tight jeans, noted the curve of his muscles under his dark green long-sleeved polo, and smiled a little at how adorable his hair was when he let it a little loose. Adorable? When did I become a crooning tween? I walked toward him, the noise getting less intense as the wall soaked the music and shouting in the other room, and I was slightly less tentative after our kinda-truce at Regionals.
"Hey, Killer. Didn't expect to see you here." No response. "Oh. You're not here to see me." Of course not. He was here to see his Warbler brothers.
"You nearly blinded me." I just sighed. Maybe this was a lost cause, tonight. He still hadn't actually forgiven me, after all. Why did it hurt more than the usual rejection? Or was I just disappointed after trying to make amends, to no avail? "And then you paid most of my hospital bills."
"Yeah. I did." When did he find out? Why?
"Where did you get the money?"
"Dad's rich. Mom's rich. I dipped into my accounts."
"Hospital bills still aren't cheap."
"Dad was displeased when he found out. Thinks I have anger issues now."
"So you tried to buy my friendship back, and you think some community service and bringing me back together with the Warblers will do... what? Get you in my pants? Maybe Kurt had you all figured out, and I was just as oblivious and naive as ever." He started walking away, clearly in a bitter and stubborn mood. I grabbed his sleeve to stop him.
"No, Blaine. Stop. I hated that I hit you, I hated that I couldn't rush to your side to try and help when you fell, and I hated feeling helpless to your recovery. I did what I normally do." It didn't occur to me that I was spilling everything to him, so I didn't question it. Maybe it was that he was my best friend.
"Which is buy people's approval and their silence from the police? My parents were fully prepared to file a lawsuit, and that suddenly changed."
Shit! "No! Well, yes, but not quite like that. I offered to pay all of the bills, but they told me that your health insurance would cover some of the costs. Before and after that, I drank myself into a stupor and slept with half of the gay population in a 20-mile radius. Sex and drugs clear your head very quickly," I said, looking away, almost ashamed of my coping mechanisms. I couldn't see the look in his eyes. He'd be disgusted.
"Sebastian! You've never said anything about drugs!" He was disgusted. And worried. He still cared, if only a little. That was promising (and relieving). Maybe I could salvage this, if I played my cards right...
"Alcohol is a drug, Blaine; don't even kid yourself into thinking that it's any better than most. Depending on the politicians' children I'm landed with, I might also do some weed. Tried coke once. Hated it. I'm 'allergic' to weed. I go for alcohol for the class and the easy disposal out of the body. And I like the high. Makes me forget how much people hate me." How can I be this open without drinking? Clam up!
"Wow. Maybe if you were less of a dick, people would be more open to liking you."
"Rome wasn't built in a day, Blaine. I'm trying," I sighed, looking back up at him.
"I guess that's all I can ask." He started walking away again.
"Blaine. Wait. One more question. What are we? Friends?" I asked, a little too timid for my liking. What's happening? I can be more forceful than this!
He turned around, looking up and around, as if searching for the answer. He finally pursed his (beautiful) lips and looked me in the eye, eyebrows furrowed. "We're... missing the party." He offered a tight smile, nodded curtly, and walked out of the kitchen. I heard some (obviously drunk) and high-pitched girl yelling about spin-the-bottle.
My somber mood evaporated. My mouth involuntarily took on a devious grin, and I sauntered into the room, which had erupted into cheers of drunken assent and jeers of sober dissent. Everyone had gravitated towards each other in a circle, so I ran to the closet, got a bottle from the game box, and stuck it in the middle. People ignored my presence and sat down. Well, some people ignored me. Others left the circle on (probably wise) principle. Blaine wasn't one of them. Apparently, someone had given him a rum and coke while I was getting ready for the game. A heavy one that was now half-empty, by the wide eyes that the Abominable Slow Man was sporting. I also threw, next to the bottle, as Nick wobbled and reached for it, a 10-sided die. He stopped and looked up. All eyes were on me.
"My party, my rules. So. One person spins. The person they spin rolls the die to see how many minutes they have to spend together in the coat closet. Then that person spins for the next round. Continue until the last person is spun."
"Like trapezoidal approximation method?" asked the public school Asian man with the mad moves and a half-empty glass of something in his hand.
I blinked, surprised. "Yes. Like that. In a way." I had no clue that public school had calculus classes. Of course, everyone else had a glazed look. That was more expected.
"Ignore him. He getsss nerdy when drunk... 'r sober... 'r anything, really-hee-hee," giggled the Asian girl, snuggling up to her boyfriend.
Jeff took the bottle before Nick lunged for it again, and, as if the fates finally heard the prayers of any Warbler who had felt the sexual tension, he spun on Nick. They locked nervous googly eyes. It was disgustingly charming. Nick rolled the die. Six. They both walked into the closet. When they came out after someone yelled that time was up... well, the moans and giggles from inside (which earned a few snickers out here) combined with the mussed hair and switched shirts spoke to the mild resolution to that sexual tension. Especially considering how sound-proofed that closet was.
After Jeff spun the Latina lesbian for 2 minutes, he went for the stairs, where Nick had left upstairs to... I didn't even listen to his flimsy excuse. Jeff was blushing, and Booty Lopez saw this and held out her hand toward me as he hit the foot of the stairs, a kindred smirk in her eye. I handed her a key to one of the bedrooms, picking the one with roses and other romantic paraphernalia and shit. She beamed it at him after calling for 'Jeff Warbler-Bieber,' nearly spearing him in the eye. Two down.
Her and a Crawford girl after that. Lopez and other, blonde cheerleader left to go home after that, with blondie looking a little sad. I guess that would've made sense if the girl (Stacey?) didn't look so dejected after coming out of the closet. Bean Taco was trying to comfort her. It was so saccharine. Two more down.
Stacey spun David for 7 minutes. They went in and came out looking perfectly groomed. Except that David's pants seemed slightly tighter. And then he spun me, smirking slightly until the bottle stopped. If I'd been drunk, I think I would've laughed like a maniac at the way his face shattered on seeing that. I rolled 1 minute. Good. I did nothing. He would've kicked me. Besides, he was a dance co-captain, and I didn't want to strain the Warbler command anymore than it already was. We got out, and he sat back down, completely calm in the pants again.
As the fates were being so kind to the sexually frustrated, I so happened to spin Blaine, and I tried to not grin (too broadly). Moment of truth.
He rolled. The many facets of the die teased me.
4 minutes? Too short!
6? Maybe it was workable...
2 minutes? No!
Aaand...
Oh. Oh, fuck. Whatever spirit I sold my soul to for this, thank you.
He rolled a 10.
We had ten minutes alone in the closet, and all of the waiting for the other couples had given him plenty of time for the alcohol to start taking effect. He swayed up to his feet and over to the closet while I got up and followed, ignoring the ice-picks glared at my back by our new peers. Once that door closed behind us, they couldn't touch us, see us, or, thanks to the thick coats hung around, even properly hear us.
Not for ten whole minutes.
Unless we pulled another Niff.
The door clicked shut, and we were engulfed in absolute blackness.
"Where's a light?" he said immediately, the slightest hint of a slur peeking our of his speech. I groped around, found the light cord, tugged down, and tripped over an umbrella. I caught myself on a trench coat and sat down, turning my eyes to Blaine, who was gaping at the coats in the closet with a small 'o' for a mouth. I looked where he was looking and saw all of the fur coats and silk scarves and trench coats and furry hats and ivory umbrellas. I'd like to say that dad collected them, but he only collected the mistresses who had left most of it.
"Is 'is real iv'ry?" asked Blaine, reaching for the handle of one opposite the closet from me. I chuckled, but before I could answer in the affirmative, he took a step and tripped over the same umbrella that had caught my foot, and tumbled backwards, grasping for anything-and getting the light cord.
Once darkness graced us again, I got slammed in my stomach, letting out a breathless 'oof!' Luckily for Blaine, I was sitting cross-legged, and luckily for me, he didn't land on my junk or slam his head against mine.
"Careful, there, Blaine. Don't need you twisting your ankle and accidentally siccing your Glee club on me for hurting their big, bright, shining star again." I thought the Boogie Nights reference was a nice touch. I didn't think that drunk Blaine would hear the reference. I realized that I was wrong when he twisted around in my lap and laughed nervously.
"They know I'm drunk, so you'd be fine, but... How d'ya come off saying that, Seb? I know I'm big, but how'd'ja know yerself?"
I was a little speechless; was he flirting back? He rarely did that. Milk this! Remember your resolution!
"It's not difficult to notice, with those sinfully tight pants you wear," I said, purring in his ear.
"S-sebastian, I-I don't think we should do this..."
"We're not doing anything, actually. In fact, I think we've only got a few more minutes left." I was fudging it a little. We'd barely been in there for a few minutes. But I wanted him, so he had to be calmer. "Besides, I won't do anything. You will."
"How'd'ya figure?" he asked, puzzled beyond description.
"I don't take advantage of the drunk unless they give me license. And I don't kiss and tell. So, you kiss could me, I'd kiss back, and nobody would know."
"But I can't lie to Kurt. We trust each other too much."
"Then why are you still in my lap?"
"It's comfy... Oh gosh! And pokey!" He jumped up a little at (finally) feeling my hardening dick against his perfect ass. But he didn't move away, and his breath was coming a little quicker. "Always wondered what you... No! I'm drunk! 'S not right!"
"So I won't pressure you. Even though you know you want me."
"Oh really?" he asked, laughing lightly. I could catch the slight hitch in his voice, though.
"Yeah. I notice when guys get warmer down under, and you, Killer, have gotten quite warm. Not all of that is the alcohol, either. So. Do you want to actually kiss me? Or spend the next few hours wondering what it'd've been like?" I could almost hear the cogs turning in his mind. He was very tipsy and tempted. I could remember each time that he'd flirted back, however briefly. I could place every compliment that I'd given that had sent him blushing. I could sense his walls breaking down each time he and I were alone together, and while he'd rebuild them when Mr. Sparkles or any other members of New Directions came around, they'd be easier to crumble the next time. The slushie was a major setback, but I was showing that I could be good, too. Donating to a charity, paying for the damage I'd done, relinquishing my pride to apologize and even open up a little. I was making it so hard for him to hate me. And it was harder to deny your lust for someone who you genuinely liked. Especially when you were a lustful drunk.
He seemed to tense up a bit. I listened. Nobody was coming. He chuckled nervously and said, "I can't see you, so even if I did, I wouldn't be able to." He thought that was so clever. Maybe he was a little too drunk? Nah.
"Then I'll help you." He began to question my meaning when I took my hand and placed it on his thigh, which I could pinpoint, since he was still on my lap, his ass pressed against my groin. I dragged my hand lightly up his body, feeling the dips and contours of his chest, and stopped at his face, where my finger was crooked under his chin. I brought his face close enough to mine that I could feel his breath on my face. I then took that same hand, dragged it the same way down his arm, and placed his hand at my cheek. "And now you can continue, if you want to kiss me."
He hesitated. I could feel him moving closer, swore I could feel his lips ghosting across mine, but then he asked, uncertainly, and very lowly, "Only a kiss? Just to try? We never need to speak of it again?"
"Absolutely," I muttered sincerely. But with one kiss, you won't have enough of me. You'll want more. You'll want me. All of me. And I'll be very glad to reciprocate your-
Blaine kissed me, completely interrupting my train of thought. He had taken my face in his hand and pulled me in, lightly pressing his amazingly soft and warm lips against mine. I quickly reciprocated, slightly less timidly, but not to such an extent as to scare him off. My hand found his chest again, and I traced along his body back up to his face, cupping his cheek and bringing him closer. It was so warm, so careful, and so good. I drew back for half a heartbeat to take a quick breath and reposition our lips, also taking my hand from his cheek to the back of his head. I started sucking and nibbling on his bottom lip and threading my fingers through his hair, feeling those soft, warm curls before he locked them away under his helmet of gel again. He kept kissing back, and his hand had even moved back a little, his fingers pressed on the back of my neck.
I sucked on his bottom lip, pulling away slightly, and he chased my lips, letting out a breathy sigh as I moved to his upper lip, sucking and nibbling until both were swollen the same. He started reciprocating, timidly sucking on my bottom lip while I continued to work on his top. I lightly swiped my tongue across his lip, and he let his mouth open just enough for me to slide my tongue inside. I explored it, eliciting a breathy moan from the quickly crumbling man in my lap. Is every part of Blaine soft and warm? Barely remembering the time constraints, I took the hand that was not in his hair, which had gravitated to his waist, and I slowly and lightly dragged it down to his hip, bringing it closer and closer to the center-
Blaine's sharp intake of breath and jerking back from me scared me a little, as I thought I had just frightened him off, but then he sat back down in my lap, finding my lips again, and then I realized a very prominent change: he'd moved one leg over so that, instead of sitting in my lap sideways, he was straddling my lap. Well that's unexpected... He returned to the fervor that we had before I got handsy, and he even pushed his tongue in my mouth and started tasting around. His hand found the back of my head, and he pulled me in harder, moaning lightly. I was shocked at how ardent he was, but I wasn't going to lose myself too much, because we didn't have all night, and I had to at least get him shirtless, or I had to get my hand in his pants, or I'd be having a very tough couple of weeks ahead. Maybe not with the sex, since this was prime fantasy material, but alcohol...
I brought one hand to the back of his head and reciprocated his motion, and brought the other hand down to his ass, and I rubbed at his backside, squeezing lightly. He seemed to stop breathing for a moment, and then he sank into my lap and freaking ground into me. I didn't think that he'd initiate anything like that. To keep him going, I groped and rubbed again and again, and he created a rather steady rhythm. Hell, I smacked his butt once or twice, which earned me a grunt of approval. I took both of my hands to his ass and pulled our hips together, and I ground up into him with a low moan, finally giving into my need for friction, since he was obviously less likely to pull away, considering how hard we both were. With a final squeeze with both hands, I snaked them to the hem of his shirt and lifted up, all hesitation gone. He made no move to take it off, so I started unbuttoning the top to help get it over his head.
While we continued to grind into each other, tongues clashing, lips swollen from the sucking and nibbling and occasional biting, I sank my hands down to the hem of his shirt again, and this time he retracted his hands, and just as I pulled up a bit, he breathed in sharply, kneeling (and taking pressure and heat and friction away from both of our dicks, both quite hard at this point) and, I swear I could sense this, prairie-dogging. I stifled a growl and directed my ears to the door.
Indeed, I did hear a high-pitched voice saying something along the lines of, "Time's up, boys! Time to come out of the closet!" much to the amusement of the others outside, who must've been pretty sloshed to find that genuinely funny. Already? Shit! Whoever was coming to open the door was coming at a clipped pace, her shoes clacking against the hardwood audibly. Blaine sprang from me, and I heard him slam against the wall and fumble with the buttons on his shirt. I hugged at my knees, took a deep breath, and tried calming my heart rate to get my hard-on down a bit, and from the rustling and deep breathing from Blaine's side of the closet, he was doing the same. I rubbed at my face and covered my eyes, just as the door opened. I let the light seep in through my eyelids and hands, and got up. Thanks to my tight (and therefore somewhat restrictive) pants and years of practice at calming down in a pinch, it was barely noticeable that I'd been rock-hard a minute ago. Blaine was still blinking the light away, hugging at his knees. I looked at the door (Ow! Bright! Too bright!) and saw Berry there, looking between us suspiciously.
"Why is the light off?"
"Blaine tripped and grabbed the cord and turned it off."
"Hm. Well, we wanna continue playing, so if you would be so kind as to get up..." And she turned on her heel and walked off at the same clipped pace, until she stumbled. I was wondering when that'd happen. She seemed a bit tipsy, especially when she sank down by her fiance and snuggled up to him. Was everyone here out to be disgustingly saccharine?
I started on my way out, but heard nothing behind me. I looked back and saw Blaine staring at the space I had just vacated. He looked up at me with shell-shocked eyes, looked down at his slowly softening cock, and back up at me. I sent him what was supposed to be a reassuring grin, but it probably turned out wolfish instead, and I extended my hand. He took it, letting me pull him up. Then before I turned around, Blaine muttered, "Never speak of this." I gave him my most innocent blink and asked, "Of what?"
Then I turned on my heel and left him to go get a drink, putting up a slightly dejected facade. Before I took hold of the scotch in one of the cupboards, I remembered my bet, and that I hadn't met it. I groaned, putting the bottle away and opting, instead, for a scotch glass with root beer in it.
Couldn't get anyone suspicious.
I sipped at the glass, ruminating over everything that had happened in the closet. Either I underestimated how loose of a drunk Blaine was, or he was very attracted to me. He hated it, evidently, by the look of shock on his face, the need for secrecy, and his initial declination indicated as much, but he still went for it. He wanted me, and he hated that he couldn't control himself when we were alone. I started worrying, since I didn't know how he'd react when he sobered up. Would he even continue to speak to me? Would he ever drink around me again? Would he hate me?
I heard someone walk into the kitchen a while later. I turned around to see Blaine walking in, looking at me.
"Just spent a few minutes in the closet with a Crawford girl who didn't know that I was gay. It was kinda gross. She tasted like whiskey."
"She's a bit hard-core. So you done with the game?"
"I think I've had enough for one night. I might go home soon."
"You just got here! I figured Lopez and her beau wanted alone-time away from me, but what'll you do the rest of the night, if you won't stay and party?"
"Call Kurt and beg mercy?"
"Would you really?" I asked dryly, as the thought left a bitter taste in my mouth. "Could you even dial his number in your state?"
"Shuddup..."
"And you're not leaving until you're sober. I won't let you leave unless you're under the care of someone sober, and since there are so few eligible drivers left... You may need to spend the night. Before you freak, you get your own room."
"... I guess you have a point."
"I'm gonna continue with this party until everyone's either gone or passed out. Anyone leave while I was in here?"
"Actually, yes. Mike and Tina left, since they have work to do tomorrow. Something about sorting through college acceptance letters. And Finn and Rachel left, too, probably for some alone time away from the enemy."
"The enemy?" I half-laughed.
"Her words, not mine. A few Warblers coupled off with some Crawford girls to go upstairs. I think the rest of the partiers are playing another game, after all of the coupling off. 'Never Have I Ever' drinking game. Like everyone here isn't drunk enough for their own good," he added bitterly.
"Speaking of, did any of your glee-mates drink before coming here, or can none of them really hold their liquor? They were here for, what, an hour? At least the others were here for about two or three hours. They can be drunk off their asses and have a good excuse. Or are your public school buddies just too damn vanilla for a tame party like this-"
"Okay, Sebastian, you can stop insulting my friends right now!" he shouted. I stopped, snapping my mouth shut. His temper must be on a shorter fuse when drunk... "They're a little less insane with parties, yes, and no, their alcohol tolerance isn't as disgusting as some of the others'! Not everyone uses booze to mask their loneliness, and not everyone needs a good excuse to leave a party when they hate the host and aren't attached to the other members! Hell, most of them came for free food and a potential excuse to kick your ass if you tried anything with me, since I was coming with or without them!" He was on a huffing, red-faced, genuinely angry roll now. I held up my hands in surrender, but he had one more thing up his drunk sleeve.
"They don't throw enough parties to be connoisseurs like you, because they have friends or family on a Friday night-" And then his rant and facial expression stopped cold.
That had to be one of the coldest silences I'd endured in a long time. Like, since before I'd left Paris last summer.
He started to walk over, but stopped when I turned away to face the counter. If I ever needed a drink to make me forget, it was now. Damn timing. I refilled my glass with water, and, turning to face him, said, "You're too drunk. You need water. Take this and go to bed. Top of the landing, take a left, end of the hall, on the left. It's unlocked right now. I... I have work to do."
And I left him, glass in hand, a look of horror mixed with sickening regret-the kind that makes you want to curl into a ball and cry and vomit and disappear. I had no time to take shit from anyone, even the guy who was probably my best friend in the world. My mind went blank as I cleaned up and refilled, even though there were only about ten or fifteen people left who could dance or talk anymore. And some of them were heading upstairs or out the doors. I had stopped my count for long enough to completely lose track, but so few people were left to chaperone anyway. I just cleaned, replaced, and led the other kids to bed while I tried to keep my mind blank of Blaine shouting about the elephant in the room to my face.
I looked at the clock on the mantelpiece after I was done getting things spick and span again, surprised to see that it was already 2 AM. When I blinked a few times and looked around, I saw that only one person was left down here, and that was genderbent Biggy Smalls, who was watching me over the rim of a glass of punch. She wasn't glaring, like I'd expect a friend of Hummel to do, but she wasn't smiling, either. She was just staring. It kinda reminded me of Dr. Montgomery. Which reminded me of our sessions,and that I'd have to see her the day I could drink again. Which reminded me of my time in the closet with Blaine. Which reminded me of him losing it. Tonight's really gone to shit.
She put the glass down, which jogged me from my glum reverie.
"Smythe." She said it like it left a sour taste in her mouth.
"I'd respond, but I don't know your last name," I said, not in the mood at all to deal with another verbal spat. I think it showed.
"I'm Mercedes Jones, and I'm Kurt Hummel's best friend. And you want to steal his boyfriend. That shit don't fly with me." How matter-of-fact.
"So why haven't you left with the rest of Piwi's Playhouse?" I snarked, some of my attitude reviving.
"I wanna know why."
"Why what?"
"You want Blaine so badly, even though he's completely in love and uninterested."
Not completely uninterested. And that's not love. That's settling. "Why do you care?"
"Kurt may think that you're Beelzebub in disguise, but the Lord of Filth wouldn't clean up after a party or demand safety against drunk driving or careless sex, so I tend to disagree on that front. So what's your angle with Blaine? You care enough about others to keep them out of danger. Do you care about Blaine?"
"I'll ignore that you've been spying on me all night, 'cause that's just creepy. You say you're Kurt Hummel's best friend? Blaine's my best friend," I admitted, suddenly exhausted and ready for bed, not even bothering to insult Tinkerbell's asexual lovechild.
"Then shouldn't you be happy for how perfect he and Kurt are for each other?" she asked, her face softening (almost) imperceptibly.
"No. They're not perfect for each other. Blaine's too good for Hummel and deserves better," I said, repeating what I'd told Twilight Sparkle at the Lima Bean. I turned on my heel, forgotten trash in hand, and threw it away, turning around to see car-name Jones at the door, shaking her head. Before she stepped over the threshold and before I could snag a breathalyzer, she turned to me one last time, but not with
"I'm sober. And one more question for you: does Blaine really deserve someone like you over someone like Kurt?" she clipped.
And she walked out.
And I stood there, gaping, blinking.
I don't know.
I had stumbled up the stairs, water in hand, ignoring the sounds of fucking seeping from the other rooms, following Sebastian's directions. I stepped into the room and turned around to see what had to be the most sparse room in the whole house: a couple of twin beds, a dresser, and a bedside table between the two beds were all that adorned the room, excepting the bathroom. This must've been the kids' guest room, if kids were to ever grace this mansion of mischief. There was a bottle of anti-inflammatory pills on the bedside table, too, underneath the window behind it. I stripped down to my underclothes, took a couple of pills, downed the water, and laid under the covers, trying to get some rest.
That proved to be nearly impossible, as I felt the room rocking back and forth in my horizontal drunkenness. That, and the aforementioned loud fucking in nearly every other room. Or snoring. Or retching. When things would get silent for a time, I'd drift into semi-consciousness, but then I would hear more bedsprings or snores. When I'd try to drift back to sleep, my mind would go back to me yelling at Sebastian.
Oh, he deserved a taste of his own medicine, sure, but I had taken it too far by exploiting exactly what he never mentioned, exactly what bothered him most. I tossed myself to my other side, trying to find a position that was comfortable and mostly sound-proofing. Sebastian spent so much of his time at home, buying his groceries and school supplies on his parents' credit, his dad is a state's attorney, his mom still lived in Paris, and he rarely let a conquest sleep over. He always did his homework, sometimes even at home if the library was closed or the Lima Bean was too crowded, and he was always punctual and polite to authority. Sebastian was a good schoolboy on the outside. He cared about the safety of those under his responsibility. He was just a domineering, manipulative, sleazy, bitchy lush with a talent for performing, which included lying and improvising insults, when he was surrounded by peers and supposed inferiors.
I turned over again. Most of this, I had gleaned from the few slips he had made after drinking too much. Most of this gave me a peek at why he did and said what he did and said. Most of this was relatively unknown to everyone else. Most of this was too sensitive for him to tell others, since he made so many enemies.
And I used his trust in me against him.
I sat up later, swaying around a little less than before. After getting up to get a few glasses of water from the bathroom, I sat on the edge of the bed and focused on clearing the alcoholic fog from my head. The door closed downstairs after-was that Mercedes talking to Sebastian?-and there were no more sounds of cleaning after that. In fact, there were footsteps coming up, coming to my door.
Sebastian came in, looking distracted. He also looked particularly shirtless, his polo balled up in his hand. He probably heard me getting off the bed more than saw me move.
"Oh! You're still awake!" he exclaimed quietly, seeming to be genuinely surprised.
"Yeah. Hard to sleep with so many loud teens around." Of course, that had to be the moment that the room next door, which had squeaking bed springs before, now included a headboard slamming against the wall and muffled shouts.
Not that it made me feel awkward at all, or anything.
"I can imagine," he muttered, looking over his shoulder in the general direction of the noise. He chuckled softly, turning to face me again. "I thought the alcohol and exhaustion mixed together would've knocked you out cold."
"My head won't shut up. Look, about earlier, Sebastian-"
"Don't."
"Don't what? Apologize for-"
"Yes. Don't apologize. I deserved it." He looked away, so he couldn't see my look of damn-well-justified shock. "You keep telling me to, at least, not insult your friends. I keep forgetting that. Maybe I'll remember next time," he said, barely any inflection in his voice. "Now. We both need to get to bed... Those two should be finishing up soon, and then we'll be able to get some sleep."
"You're not going to try anything, are you?" I asked, after Sebastian had taken pajama pants from the dresser, as well as an undershirt.
"You mean besides changing, brushing my teeth, and sleeping? No, Blaine," he sighed tiredly, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his jeans. Thankfully, today was not a day that he'd gone commando. Otherwise, he'd've been completely naked, except for socks. Not that I care...
"I'm not complaining, but why not?" I asked, confused at this rapid change in his intentions.
"My advances seemed to scare you after our little session in the closet."
"I see," I said, mildly surprised at how considerate he was being, and not letting my mind get into that debacle. He pulled on the pajama pants and walked over, sitting down next to me and looking me dead in the eye, the moonlight from the window making his eyes almost glow green. It was both mesmerizing and eery.
"I have one question before I brush my teeth," he said, pausing for me to decline, but when I didn't, he continued, "Do you truly love Hummel, or did you two only fall in love because you were the most eligible bachelors for each other at the time?"
The question came as a shock, and I was insulted that he'd accuse me of settling. But he'd asked in such a matter-of-fact tone that I didn't feel like I could just blow up at him-not when he'd been genuine, instead of snarky and belittling, like earlier. I felt another sinking feeling, as I again recalled not only losing my temper (again) but also reminding Sebastian of how empty his relationships were. He needed a friend who would make him happy, not more miserable, and he'd declined my apology before I could make it.
That bothered me, for some reason. Like he would take someone's drunken shit just to keep his friendship. Like he couldn't stand up to a friend when he went too far, like I couldn't he have been as much of a stone-hearted bitch with me, like when others insulted him?
I guess it's easier to rebound from a stranger's generic insult than a friend's verbal ice pick. I sighed, realizing that I hadn't answered his question.
"Of course I love Kurt," I said, looking at him tiredly. He met my eyes, raising an eyebrow and giving me a disbelieving smirk. "What?"
"You and I know very well 'what.' So if you love him so much, are you just not the monogamous type? I wouldn't have pegged you for a poly." He smirked even more, leaning into me.
"That's not what happened! I was drunk, and it was dark!" I had to come up with something, and fast. This was still confusing me, and I didn't need Sebastian making it any worse. I leaned away and said, "I was imagining Kurt in your place." Clever distraction!
"What?" he asked, almost yelling in shock, and thankfully backing off. "He and I are nothing alike!"
"Sure you are! Your coloring is similar, you're both much taller than me, and you're both very talented and... clean!"
"Clean? Really? Because he coifs his hair like a stereotype and I shower on a regular basis, we suddenly look alike? I guess I must smell like hairspray and he must taste like alcohol, too, for you to miss the distinctions!" By now he was laughing at me.
"Like I said, I was drunk! And my breath smelled like alcohol, too, so I could've thought that that was me! And he doesn't smell like hairspray!" Sebastian just raised his eyebrow toward me, again. "... Much. But I like it. Smells nice."
"I guess something about that hairstyle should be nice." He caught himself just as he said it, and I saw him backtracking, so I didn't say anything. "Which is to say that I dislike his choice of hairstyle."
"Funny. He feels the same way about you. That's another thing you two have in common: your mutual hatred."
"Damn right, Blaine," I said, smiling a bit.
"Why do you hate him so much? Really?" asked Blaine, his tone shifted completely-joking to hurt in the blink of an eye.
I couldn't very well answer him, knowing that he'd take it as some kind of BS love confession, or something. Why did all of these people love such a possessive prissy bitch? I may be a bitch, but I know how to let people free, I know how to trust them.
Okay. I guess I have issues in that department, too. But for different reasons!
"I need to go to bed. I have to get up early to make breakfast, Bloody Maries, and I need to buy some morning-after pills for the idiot girls who didn't use condoms properly, or at all."
He said nothing to that, just looked at me sideways, pursing his lips, scoffed under his breath, and rolled under the covers. I got up and passed out on my bed.