I'm trying to bring Kurt back to his normal, angst-ridden-yet-adorable-and-bitchy self, but no promises. (Do I ever make promises anymore?)
17: I Want It All (Ashley Tisdale & Lucas Grabeel)
The fact that Kurt shouldn't be jealous didn't mean that he wasn't. Quite soon after he had gotten over the shock of something so spectacular happening to his boyfriend, he felt the nasty tendrils of jealousy creep their way into his chest. The fact that he should be happy for Ryan and that he should be completely overjoyed and proud of his accomplishment didn't stop his brooding.
Later that evening, Kurt lay curled up on his bed in a pair of flashy red-silk pyjamas, simply fuming over the fact that it hadn't been him. It just seemed that once again, he'd gotten the short end of the stick. When a talent scout came to Nationals and saw New Directions perform, who was invited into the cast of a major Broadway musical? Not Kurt, no; Rachel had stolen the show. When their performance was mentioned in the newspaper, whose solo was given an honourable mention? Not Kurt's, of course not; Artie had been commended on his performance and how it brought the audience to the brink of tears.
This time, Kurt hadn't even been given the chance to try; Jackson had gotten a part over him, and the guy danced like he had three left feet, not to mention the fact that he couldn't dress himself any better than Rachel Berry could in high school. Kurt was contented to lie in his miserable heap of misery, silently being angry over things he could not control, but his phone started buzzing on his dresser and he felt compelled to answer it, on the off chance it could be his father. (They rarely got time to speak anymore, because business was booming at Hummel's Garage and he had little free time these days; Kurt hadn't heard from him in a week.)
Ryan's number was the one what appeared on the screen instead, and Kurt felt his heart flutter. He still really, really liked Ryan, even though he was supposed to be angry at him. The fact that he hadn't done anything wrong, per se, came to mind, and Kurt put on a big fake smile before answering.
"Hey," he said quietly, his tone attempting to be friendly and sweet. He could practically hear Ryan frowning on the other end, and he scowled in response. He had never been as good an actor as he was a singer, and he supposed it showed in his voice.
"Are you alright, Sweetheart?" Kurt felt himself resenting the nickname. It made him feel foolish. "You kind of dashed out of there pretty quick. Are you sick, or something?"
The genuine worry in Ryan's soft voice made Kurt cringe. He wanted to hate the guy, and there he was being all sweet and caring. Kurt sighed.
"I'm fine, Ry. I have a... headache, I suppose." He rubbed his temples gingerly. He actually didkind of feel a headache coming on. "You go on and have fun with Sharpay while she's still here. Didn't she say she wanted to go clubbing?"
Ryan sighed through the phone, and it sounded like static on Kurt's end. "Yeah, but I won't go if you need me."
Kurt's eye twitched. "I'm fine," he insisted, his resolve shaking slightly under the pressure. "Go have fun with your sister. She's flying out tomorrow, right?"
"Yeah, she didn't even unpack, really. Are you sure you don't want to come along? It won't be the same without you." Ryan's voice was comforting and soft, trying to be persuasive. But Kurt really wasn't up to it.
"You think I want to go to a club, with lots of people and loud, tasteless music? No, thank you. I'm just going to go to bed. Talk to you in the morning?"
Ryan sighed again, and reluctantly agreed. "You might have to wake me up, though; depending on how late Sharpay makes me stay up." Kurt laughed and wishing him a quick goodnight, not feeling at all better when he hung up. He was a mess, really.
He tried to keep his mind off the fact that he was a failure by vigorously washing his face, planning the next day's fabulous outfit, doing a little online shopping... the kinds of things that usually kept him occupied in times of stress. None of them particularly helped him. He decided, dejectedly, he might as well video-call Mercedes like he had promised, so that they could mope together; he was sure she had her own problems to vent about.
The call didn't go quite as planned. Mercedes had company (Alex, the young man she was seeing, stood awkwardly in the background while she told Kurt that she didn't have much time, because they were studying for some important upcoming test.), and didn't want to talk to him all that much. He bid her good wishes and introduced himself to her boyfriend burdensomely, and then bid her farewell shortly after. He feared he might have interrupted more than just a study session, and he didn't want to take that away from her.
There was a part of Kurt that had always felt inadequate, and that little part of him was now causing him to become whiny and irrational. He decided, quickly, that he had to be happy for Ryan, no matter what. He was going to be there when he auditioned, and if he didn't get the part (the idea seemed oddly appealing, though it really shouldn't have) Kurt would be there, a shoulder to cry on. He would be completely supportive of Ryan, because he would expect the same when he, eventually, ascended to the throne of stardom. Not that he expected anything anytime soon, but he felt as if one day, he would get his chance— and he didn't want to ruin Ryan's for him just because he happened to get it first.
"Wake up, sleepyhead," Kurt laughed, knocking on Ryan's door with his elbow (because his hands were full) sometime just before noon. "I brought coffee." There was a loud groan from behind the door, and when Ryan appeared, he looked notably disgruntled in his flannel plaid pyjamas and mussed hair, his eyes red-rimmed and watery from sleep.
"Did I hear 'coffee'?" Ryan asked hopefully, and Kurt happily offered him a cup from one of his hands. Ryan took it, taking a second to blow off the steam and then eagerly taking a taste. He smiled contently, ushering Kurt into his dorm room and closing the door behind them. It was quiet, but it was comfortable. Kurt pulled the lid off his cup and took a long drink of his own latté, watching Ryan's face.
"You've got foam on your nose," Ryan commented, and Kurt blushed, reaching up to wipe off the offending sugary substance. Ryan stopped him, leaning down the kiss the foam away. Kurt's eyes fluttered closed on the contact, and he opened them to find Ryan smiling at him lazily, slowly becoming more awake. "You're really pretty when you do that."
Kurt flushed, lightly smacking Ryan's arm. "Am I not always pretty?" he asked jokingly, drinking from his latté once more, this time careful not to tilt it too far and get any on his face. He eyed Ryan warily. "Why do I have the feeling you're hung over?"
Ryan chuckled and flopped onto his bed, almost sloshing his coffee down the front of his pyjamas, but managing not to. "Sharpay wanted to celebrate. Apparently, my sister can drink me under the table. Ugh." He took a long drink from his coffee, sighing into the warm liquid before grabbing his pillow and hugging it to his chest. "Apparently, I have very little alcohol tolerance."
Kurt laughed, perching himself on the end of Ryan's bed delicately. "And you have a class in three hours. A dance class, might I add." Ryan groaned, and Kurt poked him in the ribs. "Come on, Ryan. You need more coffee, some aspirin and..." He wrinkled his nose. "A really, really long shower."
Ryan lifted his arm and sniffed, wincing. "Ugh. Gross."
"I can smell you from across the room," Kurt told him, his nose still wrinkled in disgust. "Use lots of soap, pretty boy, or I will hunt you down."
"Yes, mother," Ryan replied sarcastically, gulping down the last of his coffee and making a face. The sugar had all settled at the bottom.
He gathered the things he would need for a shower while Kurt stood by casually leaning against his vanity. As he was picking out which hat to wear with the outfit he had selected, he decided to make small talk.
"Do you think I should call Coppola?" he asked. Kurt flinched, but remembered his promise to himself. Be supportive, Kurt, he told himself, internally sighing.
"I don't see why not," Kurt said slowly, ignoring the pangs of jealousy settling in his stomach. "It's a huge opportunity. Who knows when you'll get a chance like this again?" He put on a smile, looking at Ryan's careful examination of two newsboy caps. "Wear the blue one; it brings out your eyes."
Ryan promptly added the blue hat to his pile of clothing, and then looked at Kurt. "Sharpay is only pretending to be excited, I reckon," he confided, his eyes downcast, "I mean, I know she loves me and all, but she has a major superiority complex, and I figure it's only going to take her a little time to realise that I'm the one who's got an audition and not her. We always used to do these kinds of things together... she's going to have trouble coping with the fact that, for maybe the second time in our lives, I'm doing something she can't." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Do I really want to do that to her?"
Kurt had never witnessed such an internal conflict before in anyone besides himself. Seeing it second hand was like walking in on an extremely intimate moment; he felt as if he were almost intruding on Ryan's most private thoughts.
"I don't think this is about Sharpay," Kurt reasoned, his hand catching Ryan's arm. "This is about you. Do you want to audition for this part? Do you want to be in the spotlight? Forget about your sister for a moment, Ryan. This is your decision."
Ryan nodded, and scooping the pile of things he needed off his bed and holding them to his chest, said, "I just need time to think. A shower sounds like a really good idea right about now."
Kurt nodded. "That's good, because you reek."
Ryan stuck out his tongue before leaving his dorm room to go take a long, hot shower. He needed time to think things through. He needed time to breathe; everything was happening so fast, he felt like life was trying to suffocate him.
Once he was under the hot spray of water, his thoughts started becoming clearer. He needed this audition. He needed to prove to Kurt, to his mother and to Sharpay, that he was good enough, that he could really do this. Because there was a big difference between talking and dreaming about it, and actually making it happen.
Content with this realization, Ryan began to sing unconsciously while lathering shampoo through his hair.
"I want it all. I want it, I want it, I want it. The fame and the fortune and more; I want it all..."