Prompt #48: Unacceptable
Warnings: Not Blaine or Klaine friendly
What a little asshole.
Those were the words playing over and over in his mind as he watched Blaine commit blasphemy by sullying the memory of one of the greatest vocalists of the twentieth century.
That crime alone demanded punishment.
He wished he were surprised but, sadly, he wasn't. The part of him that he tried so vainly to repress, that which was the bitter and cynical little boy he no longer desired to be, had been whispering at him for weeks to expect this. Longer, really. Perhaps even from the moment Sebastian Smythe had announced himself as the heartless, shallow deviant that he was.
And Blaine.
Poor, simple, foolish Blaine Anderson, who honestly believed he meant more to Sebastian than an easy lay. In the end, however, that's all he had proved himself to be.
The unmitigated gall of this performance was thoroughly obnoxious. How dare this arrogant, shameless Thumbelina stand up there before their peers and beat his breast while singing about how he had been done wrong?
Kurt was mildly surprised, and therefore only mildly disappointed, by just how effective it was. He watched with a casual eye as the glee club, allegedly comprised of those who purported to be his friends, once again fell under Blaine's spell.
Only those who truly knew Blaine, which were none of these people, would have recognized the gleam in his eyes so obvious to Kurt. Facetiously self-effacing to the point of meekness, Blaine often insisted he was ignorant of how he was perceived, but Kurt knew better. The sad fact was that he himself had always recognized the Blaine Effect, but he had ignored, had abetted and encouraged it, all for the sake of having a boyfriend.
That was just pathetic and he was disgusted with himself for allowing it. He deserved more, was worth more, than the waxing and waning attentions of a self-aggrandizing narcissist with a Napoleon complex and delusions of adequacy.
But it was just more of the same, wasn't it? Kurt had sabotaged himself, had willingly sacrificed himself and his ideals, for the meager crumbs thrown at him by someone who could never love anyone as much as he loved himself.
The Gap Attack should have been the first clue – and it had been – but Kurt had overlooked it in favor of pitying the boy who, by all accounts, had stalked, publicly humiliated, and ultimately gotten fired a man who had no idea who Blaine Anderson was.
Instead, Kurt had felt sorry for Blaine, forcing himself to see not a dickhead, but a young boy who had supposedly misread the allegedly mixed signals of an older man.
He definitely owed Jeremiah a muffin basket for misjudging him so badly.
Next had been that debacle at Rachel's party. He had forgiven them for their foolish behavior, ashamed by his own reaction to Blaine's possible bisexuality, never giving a thought to the struggle that Brittany had faced and dealt with long ago. He should have been more understanding, yes, but for Blaine to throw Karofsky in his face?
Kurt knew he should've walked away right then; again, he hadn't because he thought having a boyfriend was more important, that it would prove, if only to himself, that he was, in fact, desirable.
But Blaine had never made him feel desired, only tolerated at best and pitied at worst, and Kurt had forced himself to let that be enough. Until Blaine, he had never realized the depth of his myriad insecurities. Then he had been stupid and naïve enough to share them with Blaine, who had in turn used them against him. Subtly at times, yes, and at others not so much, but the manipulation was painfully obvious if you knew where to look.
Kurt had known, but dismissed it as ultimately inconsequential. After all, wasn't that how relationships just worked? Finn and Quinn. Finn and Rachel. Quinn and Puck. Puck and Mercedes. Artie and Tina. Santana and Brittany. Santana and everyone. Schuester and his various … liaisons.
He didn't know about Tina and Mike. He and Tina were no longer close and he had never really spoken more than a handful of words to Mike.
It was a startling realization just how much the behavior of his peers had informed his ideas of romance. On the surface, he knew their behavior was ridiculous, but he must have been speculative, wondering if it was simply unacknowledged acceptance, and internalized it.
He had idealized his parents' marriage and desperately wanted that kind of relationship for himself, but his notions of their marriage were rooted in childish thoughts and observations. He knew his parents had loved each other deeply, but he really knew nothing about their marriage.
Baby penguin.
Jesus, how that had infuriated him then! Instead he had focused on the hurt, not the outrage. And, really, had he based his opinions of his own desirability according to the living embodiment of Vanity Smurf?
The audacity of speaking to his father about sex had been beyond the pale. Whatever intimacy issues Kurt was experiencing were his own. Blaine, as his supposed partner, should have been respectful of that and of him. As usual, he had been ridiculously inappropriate and couched his irrationality in helpfulness. It wasn't that Blaine had been wrong, no, it was that Kurt didn't understand that it was for his own good.
Gross.
Good lord, had he just been completely unconscious these past few months? He couldn't even fault Blaine. Well, not totally. Yes, the vacuum between Blaine's ears might indeed have been the cradle of idiocy, but Kurt was responsible for not calling him on his bullshit. His silence had not only indicated acceptance of Blaine's shenanigans, but authorization to continue being a fuckwit.
And what did it amount to in the end? He had returned to McKinley where the bullying was perhaps more circumspect, but still a part of his everyday life. He was once again sidelined in New Directions. Not only did Rachel continue to hog the spotlight, but Kurt himself was unwittingly responsible for providing her with a partner to do so.
Now, here Blaine stood, bleating shamelessly about Kurt's alleged cheating, when he had in fact done no such thing. Were his texts with Chandler ill-advised? Perhaps. Had he truly done anything wrong? No, definitely not.
So what was he going to do about this?
Well, as Kurt saw it, he had one of two options.
The first, since Blaine was apparently putting the ball in his court, was to wait this out and then take his lumps. That meant let Blaine finish his song, shed a few tears, and then sorrowfully shuffle his way to the front and sing, with great conviction, some classic dependent victim song in which Blaine was perfect and Kurt himself was the scum of the earth.
Looking at the reproachful glares of Rachel, Finn, Mercedes, and Tina, this was exactly what he, as half of this asinine Klaine monster, was supposed to do.
No, thank you.
The second, which was far more palatable and reminiscent of the man he thought he once was but had been lost, was to call bullshit on all of this and put these people on notice once and for all.
Yes. A much better option.
He turned toward Brittany, who was staring at him in confusion. He knew that she knew he would never cheat on Blaine. He wouldn't cheat on anybody. He simply didn't operate that way.
But his friendship with her had faltered. Admittedly, much of that was his fault. He had gone off to Dalton, slunk back with his tail between his legs, and allowed Blaine to consume his life. He had distanced himself from Brittany not out of any malice, but out of fear. Fear she would ask questions which he didn't want to answer. Well, now was the time to answer.
Unfortunately, Quinn and Santana were a draw. He loved them dearly and considered them far better friends than he ever had Mercedes or Rachel, but they too were on the Blaine Blame Train, which was veering straight at Kurt. Quinn's heart had been broken so many times that she, unfairly or not, now viewed Kurt as yet another guy who had done someone wrong. Yet another in a long line of endless male disappointments. That he had never hurt her was irrelevant.
As for Santana, she was projecting the abominable way she had treated Brittany onto him. That was something he refused to accept. No one was responsible for Santana but Santana, and she would have to pay the piper for her dismissal of a relationship she wanted more than her own life. It was not his job to be her mirror.
Artie was useless. That was nothing new. He always caved to popular opinion, whatever it was, and was so desperate to be one of the boys he had no problem throwing Kurt under the bus.
Puck was a wild card on which he couldn't truly depend. He and Noah had made a lot of progress in their strange but welcome friendship, but what was true of Santana also applied to Noah, who had far greater expectations of Kurt than he did of himself.
That just left Sam.
Sam, who had wanted to sing with him.
Sam, who had fought for him. Who would have continued fighting if Kurt hadn't run away.
Sam, who had once been accused of something similar, coincidentally with Kurt, and understood the power of rumor and gossip.
Sam, who he had forced himself to stop thinking about months and months ago.
Sam, for whom Kurt still held a tiny candle in the window of his heart and was terrified Sam might one day see the light and walk right on by.
Sam, who would sometimes look at him and Kurt would force himself to turn away, because down that road was the potential for serious hurt. Sam could hurt him far more than Blaine ever could. Because … well, because …
Kurt wasn't in love with Sam, no, but knew he could be.
It would be so easy to fall in love with Sam.
And the truth was that Kurt, who wanted so desperately to be in love, didn't want to be in love with Sam. He knew he wouldn't be able to hide from Sam, not the way he had hidden so many parts of himself away from Blaine. Because Sam would never settle. He would ferret out those secrets, those feelings, and then … Sam would know him. Well and truly know him.
That was terrifying.
That was intimate.
He shook his head to clear away those distressing thoughts. He had no business thinking of Sam. Not in that way.
But unlike the others, the anger in Sam's eyes was not directed at him. Not completely.
Sam was angry that Kurt wasn't fighting back. Not that Kurt had to defend himself against these scurrilous charges, but that Kurt was once again sitting back and letting Blaine speak for both of them. Just as he had been doing all of these months.
Letting Blaine speak for him. Letting Blaine make all the decisions.
Why had he done that?
Because it was easy. Because Kurt Hummel wanted, for once, an easy life.
But life wasn't easy, it wasn't meant to be, and he wasn't owed anything.
If he wanted to be happy, he had to seize it. And that started with choosing happiness for himself.
He knew he would never be happy with Blaine. He would never be himself with Blaine. Kurt Hummel would cease to exist and all that would be left would be some horrible Klaine amalgamation where Used To Be Kurt just smiled and nodded at everything Blaine said or did.
Well, fuck that.
He calmly withdrew his phone from his pocket and sent out a group text, which was nothing more than a forward of every so called flirty text he had shared with Chandler. They could judge for themselves just how unfaithful he had been. Not that he gave a shit. He was done being judged by these people.
He then texted Sam and Brittany, who were the only ones paying attention to their phones. The others were far too busy willingly letting Blaine hold them in his thrall.
They nodded.
Kurt nodded in kind, stowed his phone, placed his hands in his lap, and waited.
Blaine finished eking out his little ditty and reveled in the applause, though his kicked puppy expression suggested he really wished all of this hadn't been necessary.
Did Blaine honestly believe the lies he told himself or was he just that good an actor?
Kurt no longer cared. The bottom line was that, for all his talent, Blaine was never going to be the leading man.
He was the first to jump to his feet and applaud loudly, which totally threw off everyone else, who sat and stared at him.
"Very well done, Blaine," he said smoothly.
" … what?" asked a baffled Blaine.
"Your arrangement was excellent," Kurt continued. "I'm most impressed with the tremendous effort you surely had to expend to scale back the majestic Ms. Houston's vocal embellishments. It must have been so difficult. Thank you for sharing it with us."
"Ooh, burn," said a now very interested Puck, leaning forward in his seat. No one threw shade like the Duchess.
No one.
"Kurt …" Blaine chidingly began.
"Oh!" Kurt exclaimed. "Was there more?" He shook his head in mock sorrow. "I guess interpreting lyrics never really was your forté. It's too bad you can never let the song stand on its own." He waited a beat and then cocked his head. "Did you have something else to say?"
Blaine predictably puffed out his chest and shook his head. "My artistry speaks for itself."
"It certainly does," Kurt agreed.
Again, Blaine was confused.
"Kurt," Rachel hissed, "I really don't think you're being fair to Blaine. After all, you're the one …"
"I didn't ask."
She blinked harshly … and shut up.
He sniffed and nodded. "I think it's about time I addressed this poor version of the Harper Valley PTA."
Sam, the only one who understood the reference, snickered darkly.
"Sam?" Kurt said. "Brittany?"
"Yay!" Brittany cheered, bouncing over to him.
"Brittany," Blaine said in a small, hurt voice.
"What?" she demanded.
Startled, he stared at her.
"You've said what you wanted, now it's Kurt's turn," she said easily. "Isn't that what this is supposed to be all about?" She scratched her head. "I mean, I know since you've replaced Finn …"
"He didn't replace me!" Finn barked.
"When was the last time you sang lead?"
His mouth fell open, but no sound emerged.
"Instead of the Rachel and Finn Variety Hour," Sam said, "this club is now The Blaine and Rachel Show." He shook his head. "All of you who thought Kurt and Rachel were the same person with different equipment, do you get how wrong you were? Rachel and Blaine's constant duets are the ultimate masturbatory fantasy."
"That's inappropriate, Sam," Will scolded.
Sam turned toward him and raised a brow. "No, what's inappropriate is that you continually ignore more than half the members here in a lame attempt to relive your glory days with your own glee club."
"That is not true!" Will said hotly.
"Right," Sam drawled, "and how many times have you cast yourself as the lead opposite Rachel?"
"You've all had solos!"
"Kurt hasn't."
Will colored and fell silent.
"And please don't trot out that tired line that Kurt is inappropriate. I don't know what your bias is against him, Schue, but it's there. We've all seen it. Kurt has the largest range in this club. And even if we're just talking about range he can comfortably sing, his is still greater than hers."
Rachel became very still.
"Now I know I'm not a vocal teacher," Sam continued, "but I am a musician. From what I've heard, Rachel is a soprano whose range is two octaves, one note, and a semitone." He paused. "Is that right?"
"Yes," Will said slowly, surprised.
"And Kurt is a lyric countertenor with a three-point-one octave range which goes from A2 to Bb5."
Everyone, Kurt included, stared at him. It was obvious Sam had been paying more attention to Kurt than anyone realized.
"It's not just about octaves, Sam."
"You're right," Sam agreed, "and, like I said, I'm not a vocal teacher. Rachel is a wonderfully technical singer with an excellent grasp of her voice as a whole. Everything she does is always well supported. Her modal register is crystal clear and she's easily able to mix it with her head voice to reach the higher belts. Her intonation and diction are flawless."
"All true," Rachel said happily.
Sam looked askance at her. "You're also melodramatic and overly theatrical, which gives the impression show tunes and power ballads are the limit of what you can do. Your chest voice can be overly piercing and your high notes often border on shrill. That doesn't take into account those awful faces you make when you belt. You're so concerned with the technicality that, though you sing everything perfectly, there's no emotion in your delivery. You don't interpret songs, Rachel, you just sing them. That makes you a singer, not a vocalist."
Her mouth fell open and she flushed with embarrassment and rancor.
Sam smiled. "But like I said, I'm not a vocal teacher."
"And Kurt's so perfect?" Rachel howled.
"No one is perfect, Rachel, but I believe everything Kurt sings. He doesn't mimic the original production; he makes it his own. He rearranges the music and rewrites the lyrics. He makes it personal to him, which in turn makes it personal for his audience. It becomes a shared experience. He invites us to participate with him. He might not have experienced everything he sings, but he makes us believe that he has, and that makes the lyrics relatable. It makes all the difference."
"Kurt's notes are light but strong. He has an easily identifiable voice that can be sweet and lyrical or powerful and piercing. You don't need to see the face to recognize the voice. He's completely unique. No one else sounds like him. You can make yourself sound like Barbra Streisand or Céline Dion and that's great, but they have record contracts. We know what they can do."
He looked at the others. "How many of you have Rachel or Blaine on your iPods?"
There was some discreet coughing and turning of heads.
"And how many of you have Kurt?" he asked, raising his own hand.
Brittany's hand shot up immediately, quickly followed by Santana and then Quinn. Next was Mercedes, then Finn and Puck. Then Mike. Finally, Artie and Tina.
Sam nodded. "Rachel and Blaine are impressive and I'm not arguing otherwise, but when you put your buds in, are their voices the ones you really want to listen to on your own time? I have dozens of files of Kurt. I listen to them all day long. My brother and sister asked for copies. So did my parents."
Quinn fidgeted. "My mom asked for her own."
Puck shrugged. "I listen to Princess all the time. His techno stuff is awesome during workouts."
"Techno?" Rachel faintly repeated.
"I really like his arias," Tina shyly admitted.
Will stared at Kurt. "You sing opera?"
Sam laughed and shook his head. "You and Rachel, you're so technical, so knowledgeable, and you pay such careful attention to how all of us sing, right?"
"Of course," Will said sternly.
"Absolutely," Rachel insisted.
"Well, this was before my time, but I've heard about that little Diva Off, the one in which Mr. Hummel had to come down here and threaten to sue the school just to get Kurt a shot?"
He held up his hand to stave off their interruption.
"And since you're such good students of music, you had to know then that Kurt blew that note on purpose. There's no way you didn't know. I've heard him hit it since. He's done so in this room. Often. He's gone beyond it. Often. I've heard him easily make high G." He raised a brow. "And higher."
"Wait, what?" Santana demanded. She turned to Kurt. "Is that true?"
He shrugged. "It doesn't matter anymore."
"The hell it doesn't," Puck said. "I was all in and doubling down on you, Duchess, until that note."
A chorus of nods echoed his statement.
Mercedes was mortified, humbled, and not a little ashamed.
Sam turned back to Will. "You never questioned it, did you? I bet you never even asked why he blew that note. It was easier not to, right? That way, Rachel won, which is really all that concerns you."
"That is not true."
"Yes, it is," Quinn said quietly, "and it's the same with Blaine. It's Rachel all over again. You put them front and center while handing the rest of us a rose to wave in the chorus line." She sighed and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Kurt."
"There was no reason for you to know."
Her eyes met his. "That's not why."
He looked down on the floor and gave a small nod, color rising high in his cheeks.
"None of this is relevant!" Blaine whined.
"Of course not," Brittany agreed. "After all, it's not about you. And if it's not about you, then it doesn't matter. Right, Blaine?"
"He cheated on me!"
Kurt pursed his lips and nodded. "Assuming facts not in evidence, but all right, let's go with that theory." His gaze widened. "Everyone please check your phones."
They all complied.
"There's the extent of any and all communication I've ever shared with Chandler."
Santana was the first to dive in. After ten seconds, her brow furrowed and she frowned. "Wait, that's it?" She looked over at Blaine and scowled. "This is it?"
"This is nothing," Quinn sniffed. "I've read more salacious things on the bathroom walls of retirement centers and kindergartens. It barely even qualifies as flirting."
Finn looked hard at Blaine. "Dude, all I see here is some kid telling Kurt over and over again that he thinks my brother is cute and nice. Kurt thanks him a lot and replies with smilies and winky faces." His lips thinned. "That's it? That's all you've got? Really?
"Oh, wait, no. Here's something else. Kurt wrote a long paragraph that basically says he feels like his boyfriend is bored with him. The boyfriend can't be bothered to return calls or texts, cancels dates at the last minute for unknown reasons, and flirts constantly with another boy who picks on Kurt and calls him names whenever they meet. The boyfriend complains whenever Kurt tries to kiss him outside of their …" he looked down and squinted, "… scheduled makeout time?"
Blaine flushed.
Puck threw up his arms. "Are you kidding me? If you're gonna be gay, you pick a guy like Hummel. You hit it on the regular and then tell everyone about it so they know how lucky you are."
"Huh?" asked a startled Tina.
Puck rolled his eyes. "Really, Gothica, you were friends with the Duchess for how many years?" He shook his head. "Look, gay or not, you can't look at Kurt and see anything but an incredibly hot dude. Blank? Not so much." He turned toward Kurt. "You definitely downgraded, even from Finn, which I didn't think was possible."
Mike glared at Blaine. "And you bring this bull here, to us, and stage some grand production about how he did you wrong?" he demanded. He then scoffed. "More like you just wanted to milk the spotlight again." He shook his head in disgust. "And Kurt was right: you should let Whitney rest in peace. She suffered enough."
Blaine crossed his arms defensively across his chest. "He probably deleted some of the texts!"
"Would you like to read them, Blaine?" Kurt asked reasonably. "You'll see I deleted nothing. After all, you've read them before, correct? When you went through my phone behind my back."
"Aw, hell no," Mercedes said, standing up. "I've had enough of this shit. I'll be the first to admit I've been a crap friend to Kurt lately." She blushed. "Part of it was because I know I've overstepped way too many times in the past and I didn't want to be accused of interfering in your relationship."
Her eyes narrowed. "I even tried to be your friend so that Kurt would understand I was on his side, that I supported him, but you knew that, right? You played on it. You isolated him from me and me from him. You came between us because you knew eventually I'd see through your bullshit and have no problem telling Kurt. But the worst part? I let you do it."
She shook her head. "I'll never forgive myself for that. The first time I met you, my gut told me you didn't deserve him. I should have paid attention."
"Do you really mean that?" Kurt quietly asked.
Her nod was frantic. "Yes, baby. I backed off because I wanted you to have your happy ending. You deserve that. You deserve everything. I know how I can be and you've let me get away with a lot, stuff you probably should've called me out for doing." She bit her lip. "But at the end of the day? You're my boo, not this jumped-up hipster wannabe who needs to be deported ASAP back to Fraggle Rock … preferably with my foot in his ass."
"All of you need to sit down and think before you speak," Will angrily interrupted. "Attacking each other like this solves nothing!"
Mercedes stomped across the room and got in his face. "You need to have several seats, Schue. Don't think because the topic shifted that we weren't paying attention to what that fine-ass white boy was saying," she thundered, pointing at Sam. "I've had enough of playing second-fiddle to a prima donna you've convinced yourself is the only person in this club who can sing."
He opened his mouth.
"Think hard, Schue," she seethed, "because if you say the wrong thing right now, I guarantee that come tomorrow Barbra Berry and her Brillo Pad will be the only ones who show up to perform."
His eyes widened as he stared at her before slowly panning to the others.
Quinn shrugged. "In this case, I agree fully with Mercedes."
"I don't need to be here to sing," Brittany said.
"If I wanted to be ignored and abused," Santana said, "I'd clone myself and do double Cheerios duty."
"Now that's not fair, Santana," Kurt said.
Will sighed in relief.
"Ms. Sylvester actually allows you to prove yourself," he finished.
Santana paused in thought and at last nodded. "True facts."
Will groaned and dropped his head. Was it really as bad as they were claiming? Was … was he as awful a teacher as they suggested?
"What I've never understood, Mr. Schuester," Kurt said, not unkindly, "is why you view Rachel as this club's salvation. Yes, she is an extraordinary singer. No one is debating that. However, Mercedes, Artie, Tina, and I have put in equal time here, yet we are continually passed over for everyone else, including those with far less seniority. No matter how you cut, it simply is unfair."
Will drew in a sharp breath.
"Originally I believed your problem was with me, because I'm gay."
Will's eyes widened in horror. "No! Kurt, no! I swear! I have absolutely no problem with you being gay!"
Kurt gave him a long, critical look. "I believe you," he said at last. "Ignoring me repeatedly was one thing, but ignoring Artie, whose tenor is more rich and full than any other male in this room is short-sighted. Mercedes' range is superior to Rachel's and her tremendous belting ability is beyond measure. Tina is absolutely brilliant."
His eyes narrowed. "That debacle with True Colors demonstrated clearly that Rachel not only expects to be given the lead on every song, but feels fully entitled to demand it. It was only for rehearsal, not a show piece, but Rachel stormed out of the room like some overblown, arrogant diva and then expected us to come crawling back to her."
He shook his head. "Say what you want about Sandy Ryerson, and I've certainly said my share about him and his wandering hands …"
"His what!" Finn, Sam, Puck, and Mike bellowed.
" … but he never would have allowed that behavior, nor would he have allowed her to come back. He would've wished her well and that would've been the end of it." He turned to Rachel. "You know I'm right."
She said nothing, but her eyes betrayed her.
"Please answer this question truthfully, Rachel: back then in freshman year, when it was only the five of us and we weren't competitively viable, didn't you have more fun than you do now? It was about the singing, not awards. We were small, we fought and argued, but we all sang together: duets, trios, quartets and quintets. We were a true choir."
He sighed. "Now we're nothing more than fractured squads whose allegiances shift according to whom we're dating or gossiping about. This room used to be my haven, my one safe place in the school where I felt welcomed and appreciated. I don't feel that any more. Every day I come in here wondering what awaits me: friends or a firing squad."
"You're not … you're not entirely wrong," she whispered. "We sang because we were moved, because we were inspired, and there were no limits placed on the material. It was about what was right for us, not watering down our feelings and pain to make them more marketable. It wasn't about trophies; it was about people." Her eyes closed. "People … people who need people …"
"Stop," Tina hissed. "Now."
Rachel stopped.
Tina looked down at her hands, wringing themselves in her lap. She had really fucked up here. She glanced at Artie, who looked pale and wan. They had chosen the wrong side.
The question was why?
What was about Blaine that had so dazzled them? A glance at Artie showed he was wondering the same.
Sure, Blaine had flattered them, but looking back on it now, it had been an obvious ploy to isolate them from Kurt, just as he had done with Mercedes. Had they really been so shallow as to glom onto some showboat who mumbled pretty words? Ones they had perhaps been desperate to hear because they knew those words would never come from Schue?
They hadn't missed Kurt's defense of them just now. He wasn't one to offer lavish praise unless it was warranted. He could be critical, even cutting, but only when asked and he was never untruthful.
Perhaps Rachel was right and it was all about marketing. Blaine was, on the surface at least, the nice Kurt. He wanted everyone to like him and went out of his way to accomplish it, even though it was much more likely that his words and deeds were machinations. Blaine was the attentive friend, the life of the party, and the more palatable version of Kurt. Blaine was gay, attractive, talented, and confident.
But Kurt was also confident; he just wasn't showy. He didn't care if you liked him or not and, honestly, wasn't that preferable? Wasn't it better to know someone was your friend because they wanted to be and not because they were using you to prop up themselves? Wasn't it better to want friends rather than fans?
When push came to shove, both Artie and Tina knew they could call Kurt in the middle of the night for anything and he would come running – even now, after their relationships with him had fallen so far. They couldn't say the same about Blaine.
"What about me!" Blaine exploded.
Santana turned toward him and offered a lazy blink. "Are you still here?"
"This is all very entertaining," Kurt said, "but let's hurry this along. The unwritten rule in this club has always been that, if someone sings about you, you're entitled to respond, so I wish to do that now. Then I will leave. I haven't decided whether or not I'll be back."
"Kurt," Rachel said softly, "you need us. We need you."
"You need me to fill a quota. I don't need this club, Rachel, not anymore."
"We're sorry about …"
"This isn't about Blaine," he interrupted. "Well, perhaps obliquely it is. It's about the fact that I'm virtually ignored. It's about the fact that my talent not only isn't showcased, it's not even recognized. It's about the fact that, on the basis of absolutely nothing, you sided with Blaine over me. You didn't even ask for my side; you just took his."
She looked down.
"How long have we known each other, Rachel? Would I do that to you?"
"Probably not," she admitted. "I really am sorry."
"That's fine," he said, "but we both know it's only a matter of time before we're at each other's throats again. I'm over it. I've been over it. As Brittany said, I don't need to be here to sing. I'm tired of being overlooked and disrespected. Sue has asked me to take over the Cheerios again and I've accepted."
"What?" asked a startled Quinn.
He nodded. "My first order of business was to appoint you, Brittany, and Santana as my co-captains. There's no reason there should be only one. We each have our weaknesses and strengths. We each have our allies and detractors on the squad. I know that we will work well together. I trust all of you to do your best for the team. We're going into our last year and we're going to win everything."
"Hell, yes," Santana moaned. She knew just how lucky she was. She hadn't had a hope or prayer that Sylvester would make her captain and accepted she'd be once again Quinn's enforcer. She couldn't even express to Kurt how much this meant to her. Even if she could, she wouldn't. It wasn't her style and he wouldn't care. Which was why he was so fucking awesome.
Quinn was grateful. She had accepted the captaincy but had the sneaking suspicion Sue had been setting her up for something and most likely would have replaced her prior to Regionals. She knew Sue didn't like or even respect her. The other Cheerios, however, feared her and Sue was more than happy to capitalize on that.
Sylvester did like Kurt, however. It said a lot that she didn't even bother trying to hide it anymore. That Kurt had pushed for her meant a lot.
Brittany was just happy she'd be spending more time with her favorite mammal.
"Are you really that unhappy here, Kurt?" Finn asked quietly.
"Aren't you?" his brother volleyed.
Finn said nothing for a long moment before at last nodding slowly. "Then you should go. I want you to be happy. If that's not here, I'll miss you a lot, but your happiness is more important."
Kurt stared, eyes wide, before he blinked harshly and fought the tears. "Thank you, Finn," he said roughly. "No one besides Dad has ever said that to me before."
"We shouldn't have waited so long to tell you," Mercedes whispered. She shook her head and cleared her throat. "Go on then, boy. Get up there and show us what you can do. It's been too damn long since I've heard you wail."
He smiled and nodded, turning toward Sam and Brittany. "You're still with me?"
"Always," they both said.
Kurt ducked his head, smiling.
"I can't believe this is happening," Blaine muttered.
"Can't believe we finally saw through you, you mean," Mike said. "Shame on us. Go on, Kurt."
"Thanks, Mike," Kurt said, smiling.
"We're sorry, Kurt," Artie and Tina said simultaneously.
He studied them. "I know," he finally said. "There have been mistakes all the way around." He forced out a breath. "Let's … let's not do that anymore, okay? You both are too important to me. I should have said that before."
Tears streaked down Tina's face.
"We should have known," said a rueful Artie. "You've never given us any reason to think otherwise."
Finally, Kurt turned to Blaine. "I could forgive a lot of things, but not this. You lied. You lied to me, you lied about me, and you tried to use my friends to bolster your weak argument. I hope you find someone to make you happy, Blaine, I really do, but I'm glad it won't be me."
"You … you're breaking up with me?" Blaine gasped.
Kurt cocked his head. "You never even imagined that scenario, did you?" He laughed. "You honestly thought I'd just take whatever you dished out with a smile on my face. I'm not your Stepford wife. You probably thought you could use me, screw me, and then leave me when something better came along. What you've never understood, plebeian, is that there is no better than me.
"What did you think was going to happen after your little performance? Oh, I know: I was supposed to beg and plead for your forgiveness, right? Even though I had done nothing wrong. Then things would go back to what they'd been."
Blaine said nothing.
"Well," Kurt continued, "things haven't been good for a long time now, Blaine, and I'm done. I'm done with it and with you. I don't need a boyfriend to make me feel complete, and I certainly don't need one who lies and projects his own guilt on to me." He scoffed. "If you even feel guilty for what you've been doing with Sebastian, which I doubt."
Blaine paled.
"Who the fuck is Sebastian?" Santana demanded, leaping to her feet. "Wait, that Dead Poets Society reject who threw rock salt?" She whirled on Blaine. "You've taken up with that weasel? Then tried to shift the blame onto Tink?"
Blaine began backing up, only to run into Mercedes.
"No, no," she said, "I don't think so. Kurt had to sit through your bullshit, so you're going to plop that flat Hobbit ass in the nearest chair and take your lumps like a man." She started pushing him.
"I didn't do anything!" he protested. "I never cheated on Kurt!"
"Right," Kurt drawled. "It was all so very family-friendly, yes?"
Blaine glared and nodded.
Again Kurt pulled out his cellphone and sent another mass text.
"How family-friendly does this look to all of you? There was a video, but I deleted as soon as I realized what it was. It definitely wasn't safe for school and, since Sebastian is still seventeen, it's pretty much child pornography. It was rather sad he hadn't realized that until I told him."
"Oh, god," Blaine whispered. "How did you get that?"
"How do you think?"
"You went through my phone?!"
Kurt blinked. "No," he said slowly, "that's what you do. Again, I don't operate that way. Sebastian forwarded me every text, Blaine." He startled and then laughed. "You didn't think he wouldn't? Your naïveté is terminal."
The others looked between the two boys before slowly reaching for their phones.
"Oh, gross," Quinn sniffed, glaring down at the screen.
"There are pictures," Finn complained. "Nice abs, though," he said reluctantly.
"Mike and Sam's are so much better," Kurt and Brittany said.
The two aforementioned beamed shyly at them.
"Family-friendly?" Rachel said before snorting. "Maybe the Manson family."
Kurt honked out a laugh.
"Not impressed," Santana said flatly.
Puck agreed. "He needs lessons."
"He needs a lot of things," Tina remarked, "including a life. And he's not the only one."
Artie and Mike glared at Blaine, who said nothing and took his seat.
Kurt gave him a menacing look. "You should be very glad I don't lay bare some of the truly reprehensible things you've done to me."
"Nothing happened," Blaine growled, blushing and staring at the floor.
"Do you really want to open that door?" Kurt demanded. "Because I'll be the one to close it."
"I was drunk!"
"Yes, you were drunk. Just like you were drunk when you kissed Rachel and decided you might be bisexual. Then you came to me in the cold light of day and didn't understand why I wasn't turning cartwheels for you. When I had the audacity to question it, you compared with to Karofksy. You know what he did to me, Blaine."
"I apologized," Blaine whispered.
"You told me I should be more understanding, that I should feel sorry for him and make excuses for his pain and suffering. I didn't put him in the closet nor did I keep him there, but somehow he decided it was my fault. Just like every time you screw up, it's somehow my fault. I didn't do the right thing or say the right thing or feel what you told me I should feel."
His eyes darkened. "If anyone is like Karofsky, it's you."
Blaine stared up at him with wounded eyes. "How can you say that?"
"Because I lied, you idiot. I lied because I was embarrassed and humiliated and ashamed. He tried to force more than just that kiss."
"What," whispered a pale and shaky Finn. "He did what?"
Blaine shook his head in horror. "I … I didn't know."
"You didn't want to know! I tried to tell you, but you didn't want to hear it! All you did was spout useless platitudes and stupid buzzwords. Our whole relationship has been nothing but you trying to change me into the person you think I should be. You lie; you manipulate; you try to make me feel guilt for things that aren't my fault.
"When I work up the courage to call you on your nonsense, you fall back on your excuses. You were drunk. You didn't mean it. I didn't understand what you did or said. Can't I just forgive you? Not that you're ever truly repentant, because you never believe you do anything wrong.
"And I forgave you for a lot, Blaine. The Gap Attack, the mess at Rachel's party, blaming me for that bird dying, telling me I needed to fit in better at Dalton. And don't even get me started on what you tried to do to me in your car outside Scandals. You act like you saved me from Karofsky. I saved myself, you asshole, just like I've always done, and when he came for you, I saved you too!"
The others looked fearfully at each other, wondering what on earth Kurt was talking about, terrified to know the answers.
Kurt scoffed. "You're not strong, Blaine. You're only strong when it doesn't matter. You're only strong when someone else is doing all the work. You act like I should feel privileged to be with you. The privilege is yours and I'm taking it back. You don't deserve it."
"Kurt," Will softly interjected, "I think you and I are long overdue for a discussion."
Kurt considered his teacher for what seemed like minutes. "Perhaps, but not today."
Will nodded, not wanting to push his luck. "The floor is yours."
"Thank you, Mr. Schuester, but it's unnecessary. I refuse to waste further words, time, or voice on something that no longer matters; that never truly did."
Blaine winced that Kurt couldn't even be bothered to substitute a personal pronoun for his name. Instead he had been reduced to an object, a thing, which, he was beginning to realize, was what he had done to Kurt from the beginning.
Kurt looked back at Blaine. "We're over. And as angry as am, as angry as I always will be, I still wish you a better partner than you were to me."
He gathered up his things and left the room, escorted by Sam, who gave him a hug at the door and sadly watched him leave.
He then closed the door and turned around.
Santana, Quinn, and Mercedes stood.
"What happened outside of Scandals, you teacup poodle?" Puck growled.