Sebastian arrived at McKinley the next morning a little out of it.
After getting home last night, he'd spent a few hours at home experimenting with cocktail making for no good reason other than as soon as he opened the front door his parents ambushed him and tried to get him to talk about his feelings. He should've gone in through his bedroom window; he thought bitterly, much more work but much less parental hassle.
He waited (impatiently) for them to give up trying to get him to talk about it and retire to bed before raiding their alcohol stock which was after all, expansive. Part of him believed he may still be a little bit drunk now, what with the way the ground shifted unsteadily under his feet as if it was made from foam.
Mostly he just had a dull headache growing lightly as the morning wore on and the sun got higher in the sky and the temperature rose with it.
He got out of the car, careful with how lightly he slammed the door and walked on into school. He didn't notice the stares or the quiet giggles from several groups of girls as he walked by, and if he did, he mistook it for their attraction to him. Duh.
He'd blissfully forgotten the events of the previous day, and wasn't reminded until he'd had his head stuck in his locker long enough to be surrounded by half a dozen, quite intimidating jocks.
It wasn't until he heard them shifting impatiently; still trying to be quiet, but a lot heavier on their feet than they probably thought, that he even noticed they were there. Which was surprising seen as there were more than yesterday. Whether to reduce his chances of escaping unharmed or to increase the levels of humiliation, he didn't know.
Either way, there was no way past them, as the hallway now almost full to breaking point, with students crammed into every available corner all turning their attention to the circle of jocks surrounding the new kid. He sighed quietly; he should have known that yesterday's incident had too small an audience to satisfy the crowds of McKinley, who seem promote anti-bullying every time they were shoved into lockers or slushied in the face or had their lunch money stolen, but apparently forgot all conceivable morals when it allowed them to have a good laugh at someone else's expense, for once.
What a gripping double standard, he thought, as he slammed his locker shut, took two deep breaths and plastered a confident smirk onto his face before turning around to face them.
As his eyes scanned the semi-circle to meet the eyes of each jock dressed in those ridiculously oversized McKinley High letterman jackets, he remained totally calm on the outside. Inside, he was desperately thinking of any way he could avoid having to go the rest of the day in soaked, stained clothes which, for once, he actually made some effort in planning. He knew he should have brought a change of clothes.
He walked two baby steps forward away from the wall of lockers and the jocks moved two steps backwards with him, now forming a complete circle in the middle of the hall and completely blocking it, forcing all students present, whether interested or not, to pay attention.
Well, shit. He hoped this didn't backfire on him any more than it already had. His headache was already getting worse and he could barely concentrate properly.
"Morning boys, can I help you with anything?" He asked, which was most definitely stupid, because he knew, they knew, the entire hallway knew why they were there. He was really stalling.
They all laughed, not the nice, satisfactory kind of laugh that you get from your friends when you tell a particularly funny joke, but the cruel, mocking kind - the kind that blatantly screams that 'we're laughing at you, not with you, you jerk.' Sebastian hated that laugh.
"News kid is a posh boy and dumb? Wow. All those years of private education really paid off." One tall jock spat, turning to accept a high five from the shorter man on his left.
"Well at least my parents have money." He spat back, he wasn't taking this shit and he wouldn't be the victim. The jock must have took some offense to that, as he stopped laughing and turned to face Sebastian, taking a step forward and almost violently grabbing the collar of his shirt. His face had hardened, his jaw set and his eyes cold – a contrast to the cruel smile of a moment ago, eyes wide with superiority.
"Are you talkin' back to me? What did you just say about my family?" The jock retorted. Sebastian's words were a low blow and he knew it. He was raised into the belief of not judging people on their wealth, family values or history. In fact, it was one of the things he admired the most about his family, they never let their wealth go to their heads and translate to an elitist attitude.
Despite the private education, decent sized house, collection of cars and numerous trips to Europe, Sebastian thought his parents were pretty down to earth about money. They weren't in any 'millionaire clubs' and whilst they frequented the neighbourhood of Ohio's elite class, they never once pretended to share their views. They even held charity benefits three times a year and Edward Smythe donated 25% of his annual income to various charitable groups in and around Ohio.
He was pretty sure at the last benefit that half of the money raised had gone to the schools in the West Lima district, including McKinley. Sebastian was pulled his thoughts by a rough shove to his right shoulder.
"That was uncalled for." He grimaced.
"I said, what the fuck did you just say about my family?" The jock repeated, advancing on Sebastian, raising the slushie in his hand higher, as if it would threaten him more.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, you know. You see, my dad's sort of what us more knowledgeable call a state's attorney, so-" He was pretty sure he'd parroted some variation of this line to every person he'd ever met at one point in his life. It was sort of his 'get out of jail free' card, though apparently this time it wasn't working.
"Posh boy's hiding behind daddy", he taunted, moving to pinch one of Sebastian's cheeks as if he was a child. Sebastian pulled back quickly. "My guess is you'll be too embarrassed to tell daddy about your struggle at the bottom of the food chain here", he paused. "Don't need no private education to feel the waves of superiority coming off you. And we're here to teach you your first real life lesson and put you back where you belong." He said, inching closer with each word. His words were obviously meant as a fear inspiring speech about how he should back down and play his part, but hell would freeze over before Sebastian Smythe ever bowed down to any of these self-righteous, dumb twats.
"Will you just get this over with? I'm bored and I have class in-" he replied, ignoring the dig and raising his wrist to glance at his watch. He dramatically calculated the time, "three minutes." He shrugged his shoulders and smiled innocently – he hoped they didn't catch on to his fake nonchalance. He could feel his façade cracking just a tiny bit and that was tearing him apart inside. He could pretend it was nothing all he wanted, but deep down he knew getting slushied was undeniably humiliating, no matter who you were.
"As you wish." The jock smiled, he nodded across the circle at another guy who presumably also held a slushie. He pulled the hand holding the slushie back slowly, aiming it back up into Sebastian's face.
Sebastian didn't think twice when he ducked down and slightly left a moment later, avoiding the majority of the blue coloured liquid. It felt like it was happening in slow motion – like something from a cheesy superhero blockbuster with too much CGI. He heard the gasp of the jock behind him as he took the hit of drink, but all he could see was the ten pairs of shoes he was now six inches from.
Part of him really thought they weren't going to do it. The threats about his father's powerful status had never failed to ensure him the highest respect before.
There was a beat of silence that went on for too long, then a group of gasps of disbelief from various points in the corridor and finally laughter. Laughter that sounded slightly frightened, though, as if they themselves would be slushied if they so much as acknowledged this moment.
Sebastian himself had developed a look somewhere in-between disbelief, pride and disgust at the parts of the slushie that were now unavoidably trailed down his back and through his brand new, quite expensive shirt.
"What the fuck man?!" The slushie donned jock exclaimed, looking down at Sebastian. Oh of course he'd get the blame, because he was clearly the one who came here with the intention of assaulting someone in the face with an icy cold beverage first thing on a Wednesday morning, he though bitterly.
He rolled his eyes and the jock pushed out his right foot to kick Sebastian in the stomach. He hit him, but not too hard. Sebastian hardly grimaced at the pain, having gotten into much worse in drunken bar fights. He put his weight into his right hand and pushed himself off the ground, hard and fast, pushing through two of the smallest looking jocks who were wearing twin looks of confusion, clearing having not caught up with the events yet. He briefly thought about kicking the guy back, but he was way too outnumbered, and, though he was reluctant to admit it, he really didn't want to cause any more trouble today,
They parted easily with his direction, as did the rest of the hallway. Sebastian was almost running to the unfortunate haven of math class at this point, hoping that the turn of events had been unexpected enough for the jocks to either take a short sabbatical to come to terms with it, meaning he'd be safe for at least the rest of the day or for them to have learnt their lesson not to mess with Sebastian god damn Smythe.
When he reached the end of the hallway, he turned on his heel, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted "oops", really working up the fake sincerity, then shrugged his shoulders again and turned the corner away from the over dramatic scene. So much for not digging his own grave.
He glanced at his watch again when he was three classrooms down from math; he only had one minute left. He cursed quietly under his breath, by now the cold drops of the slushie were beginning to spread more than he originally thought and he smelt faintly of blueberry. But hey, at least it hadn't ruined his hair or his precious face.
He looked up and down the hall again, glanced at his watch for a second time, decided 'fuck it' and headed towards the restroom.
He scanned the room swiftly, and upon determining that he was alone, he chucked his bag down by the sinks, moving towards the paper towel dispensers. He looked in the mirror briefly to access the damage, and then began to unbutton his shirt. The majority of the slushie was on his back, and he could hardly dry it properly with it on.
Halfway through the task he heard the unmistakable sound of the door opening to his right, followed by a completely, undeniably recognisable high pitched remark of protest. His hands stopped cold.
"They got you again?" Kurt asked, recovering from his initial shock of finding Sebastian near topless in a public bathroom. And if Sebastian didn't know any better he say that he detected a note of sympathy hidden under a quiet chuckle.
Kurt tried to catch his eye in the mirror but Sebastian turned to face him before he could. Which may have been a mistake. Because now Kurt had crept closer to him and was practically within brushing distance of Sebastian. And it was stepping way too far over any boundaries he thought he didn't have to explain to Kurt.
Kurt had reached blindly for one of the paper towels and started to reach for Sebastian's face to get some unnoticed slushie crystals from the back of Sebastian's neck.
He didn't get very far before Sebastian exclaimed "don't fucking touch me!" Skipping backwards speedily and violently hitting the sink behind him. Apparently he was going to get a lot of bruises today.
This time he did grimace at the pain which shot up his spine and made him reach backwards suddenly. Kurt noticed this and took two full steps back, eyes darting straight to the floor.
"I was only trying to help. I'm kind of an expert in this field, you know? It was a reflex." He laughed, it sounded quite self-depreciating. Kurt's cheeks started to go slightly red, blushing at the rejection of trying to help.
"I'm fine, they missed my face, see?" He replied, it wasn't apologetic but it wasn't patronizing or harsh either, which must be something.
Kurt looked up then, noticing that his face was, in fact, really free of blue ice. He smiled just a little.
"First time I've ever heard of anyone dodging a slushie. Must have quite a talent there." Sebastian ignored the compliment in favour of turning around to continue unbuttoning his shirt.
"Could you not?" Kurt almost yelled, but tried somewhat to keep his voice low.
Sebastian glanced sideways at him and smirked, removing the shirt completely and holding it up in front of himself.
"Oh come on!" He relented, groaning at the state of his shirt, half of which was covered in dark blue splotches that were still spreading rapidly. He looked towards Kurt again and noticed that he had his eyes pinned shut and was facing away from Sebastian.
"My god you're such a prude." He said, knocking Kurt on the shoulder in an attempt to get him to open his eyes. Kurt protested. "It's fine, look I've got an undershirt on, see?"
Sebastian didn't know why he was telling the boy the truth, to be honest it would probably be much more fun to leave him squirming, or even to get fully naked, but a quick glance at his watch again told him he was already four minutes late. Not that he cared.
"Seriously, Kurt, you can open your eyes. The sight of my perfectly toned, slightly tanned and completely gorgeous arms isn't going to burn them out of your sockets."
"For some crazy reason I don't believe you." Kurt retorted, turning further away.
"Well you'll just have to trust me then, won't you?" Kurt actually snorted at that.
"Trust you?" He snorted again; Sebastian's smirk fell a little. "You?" He repeated, breaking out into a full on giggle fit, but opening his eyes anyway.
Relieve and just a tiny bit of shock covered Kurt's features when he finally risked facing Sebastian. He stopped laughing and an awkward silence fell over the two. Kurt averted his eyes again, turning his attention to the clock placed behind Sebastian.
"Shit! I'm so late!" Kurt said. He reached for his bag and dashed towards the next mirror to check on his appearance which he'd already spent a good hour working on. He rubbed under his eye lids self-consciously, worry coating his expression. He pulled out a moisturizer roller-stick, glanced at Sebastian to check his attention was elsewhere, and began to dab a light coat under his eyes.
"Are you wearing makeup?" Sebastian said, with such a tone of accusation and downright judgement, that it flipped the defensive switch in Kurt immediately.
Kurt huffed and turned to face Sebastian. "Congratulations on your totally new and offensive insult. Excuse me whilst I go and cry like the little girl you think I am." Kurt said, all smiles and sarcasm.
Sebastian stared.
"It's moisturizer, you dumbass."
"Sure, whatever." Sebastian laughed.
"God, will you quit judging me already? I refuse to be the stereotype you think I am. Never had a bad day?" Kurt said, his voice slightly more strained. He closed the cap on the moisturizer and placed it back in his bag with a little more force than needed. He turned quickly on his heel, bee lining straight for the door, which unfortunately he had to pass Sebastian to get to.
"Someone's touchy this morning." Sebastian responded, just as Kurt's hand reached the door handle. He turned slightly to catch Sebastian's eye.
"Oh fuck you." Kurt countered, it was utterly cold. "And I was just about to offer you my pocket sized stain remover to save your hideous but blatantly expensive shirt."
It was then that Sebastian saw how truly tired Kurt was; even wearing copious amounts of concealer couldn't hide the dark circles that rested under his eyes. It stunned Sebastian and he had no reply. Well, no reply that wasn't 'I'm sorry Kurt, I didn't mean that' or 'what's happening to you?' or even more worryingly 'Kurt what can I do to help you?'
Instead he just remained silent, and let Kurt walked out of the door.
The rest of the day went by without another hiccup. It didn't fly by, per se, but nobody bothered him, nobody even looked at him. Sebastian never thought he'd be glad for the lack of attention, but he was actually pretty grateful.
A strange energy had been building between Sebastian and nearly everyone he'd encountered – even the New Directions, although that was for a completely different reason. It was clear now why that was, the entire school had been waiting for Sebastian's luck to run out, and they seemed to be a mix of scared and excited for it.
He wondered what made these people's lives become so boring that they live for the events of petty bullying and food fights twice annually in the cafeteria.
Kurt had even stayed completely silent during the last two periods. Sebastian had thought he'd at least crack some form of condescending smile or look of horror at the outfit Sebastian had been forced to adopt for the entire day.
After an extra fifteen minutes in the restroom, desperately trying to dry out his shirt by dabbing paper towels onto it and then pushing it under a hand dryer for a good long while, he gave up, realising he was in fact, making the situation a whole lot worse.
He regretted pissing off Kurt earlier, he could really have used some decent stain remover before it was too late. He grunted silently, cursing that stupid jock, and put the shirt in the trash. He was perhaps more annoyed at the inconvenience of having to go out and get a replacement shirt – it was a very nice shirt – than the heartbreak of such an expensive, recently bought item being ruined.
He walked back over to the mirror then, pulling at the hem of his vest shirt to make it appear more casual. The vest was off-white and made of an expensive material so he thought it could appear causal enough to look like summer wear as opposed to an undershirt. He shrugged at himself; he didn't really have any other options, picked up his almost neglected bag and strutted out towards math.
Instead, Kurt didn't even acknowledge Sebastian even when he slammed his bag down a little harsher than necessary. By accident, of course. He rolled his eyes at the lack of response but took his seat next to him after a particularly accusatory glare from his teacher.
It remained the same for the entire hour. Kurt replaced their usual verbal sparring battles by actually throwing himself into his work, his pen hardly leaving the paper from the moment the first bell rang until the second one which signalled the students to move on.
Kurt was always very studious, Sebastian had noted, but usually he'd take a relaxed approach to the subject, taking time to plan and think and breathe, to give his hand a break from writing and actually talking – or arguing, if Sebastian was involved – with those closest to him. He was intelligent enough to do it and still keep straight A's, Sebastian was sure. He'd never read any of his work, but based on the creativity and wit of his insults alone, he was most definitely the cream of McKinley.
Something must truly be bothering him; Sebastian thought and then admonished himself for even noticing, never mind worrying about it. That didn't stop Sebastian from trying to wind him up though, even if it was a one sided fight.
What was perhaps more interesting was that even by last period, where Kurt sat by Rachel, his mood hadn't improved much. His usual quips about the last hour spent with Sebastian or comments about her narcissistic attitude because she'd just been denied the solo for this week's group number 'again' were absent, from what he could hear. In fact, he could hear nothing but the whining tones of Miss-Barbra-Wannabe filling the otherwise silent conversation. He wondered if Rachel even noticed Kurt's melancholy mood.
Perhaps this was normal. He'd only ever known Kurt to be strong willed, upbeat, confident and witty, but then again, he'd only been here for a fortnight and saw Kurt in an academic, emotionally scarring and homophobic setting twice a day at that.
He pushed these thoughts aside, growing agitated with Kurt for taking up so much of his time, even indirectly. Sebastian didn't exactly have a reputation for being the concerned, selfless, good willed guy.
That evening, like every other evening for the past two weeks, Sebastian begged his father to let him return to Dalton. Each night, he came up with a slightly reworded but no less meaningful and inspiration (according to himself, anyway) speech about how he's learnt his lesson, how he'll never fool around again and how he finally understands the true value of graduating high school from a prestigious private school.
Of course, none of these things were actually true, except the last one. That one was becoming an increasing concern on his list, slightly below not being able to get laid as easily. It wasn't quite that bad, yet.
The time of acceptance letters was approaching, and whilst he already had early acceptance into several colleges around the west coast, including Columbia, part of him worried that somehow the news of his lesser status at this dead-end-school-for-peasants would have reached the admissions board and they would immediately revoke his place.
He was trying harder and harder and each evening his father laughed harder and harder before refusing him and sending him upstairs.
Sebastian had even begun to promise all sorts of things he never intended on fulfilling in the eventuality of his return to Dalton. He promised to buy his father the oldest, most expensive bottle of gin from his own allowance, to wash his father's entire fleet of vintage cars, and even to get a job one night. It was a low point in a few aspects of Sebastian's life right now.
This evening, after his parents had finished discussing plans for their delayed spring break or whatever, he wasn't really listening; he started on the grovelling and apologies again. Edward managed to keep a straight face for a little longer this time as he glanced at Sebastian, giving him a look of almost genuine consideration before winking at him and laughing as he sipped his wine.
"No, Seb. You may be pretty apt at maths and outstanding at French" he winked at Amelié, "but no one, not even you, can learn the life changing lesson we want for our son in less than two weeks." He gave a smile that to those who didn't know him would interpret as honest sincerity.
Sebastian's face hit the table dramatically with a loud clunk. He didn't know which was more destroying for his soul – actively apologizing night after night against his better judgement to regain some dignity of a situation which all of his control had been cruelly stolen, or having to attend that damn diversity school for Lima losers where he couldn't shake the feeling he was losing a few hundred brain cells per day.
"We'll sit down and review the situation in a couple of months." Edward said whilst Amelié patted his shoulder lightly.
"But I'll have graduated by then!" Sebastian's head shot up.
"Really? Oh no. What a poor coincidence of timing." He mock pouted.
"Dad. You can't. Please, this game is getting old now. I'll do anything! It was a stupid idea, it's benefiting no one. You're basically ruining my entire life." He retorted, his face twisted in growing rage.
"Son, you were ruining your own life, that's why we decided to do this. There are plenty of benefits! You're home now, so we can keep our beady eyes on you at all eyes of the day, you're facing new challenges – granted, not with the curriculum, but with the people, right? Spice up the otherwise dull walks between classes. It's fun. It's a learning curve!" He chirped. "I'm actually pretty sure it's my most genius idea to date." He added, mock whispering it as if it was a great secret.
"Those are all benefits for you and mom! Do you enjoy fucking up my life? It's like you have nothing better to do."
"Language, 'Bastian." Amelié admonished. It was the first time she'd ever spoken whilst they were 'discussing' the topic.
"Oh like you care."
"Don't take the consequences of your mistakes out on your mother, Seb." Edward said, reaching for Amelié's hand.
"My mistakes? Like what? Living my life? Well my sincerest apologies." Sebastian mocked. He hated it when his parents got onto their high horses. He knew some of the grittier details of his parents past.
Amelié sighed. He had an idea that she was thinking the same thing, this was harsh and she knew it. It was ruining the family dynamic – however unusual and slightly deranged it had been. Damn his father's stubbornness.
"You were getting out of control, your priorities were wrong. I'm only trying to do what's best for you and your future." Edward said, seriously.
"My future? Exactly. Don't you think I'm old enough to make my own choices?" Sebastian replied, much calmer now that his father had stopped making a joke out of every word.
"I think you should be old enough, you're definitely smart enough. I just think you're… misguided." Edward answered.
Sebastian scoffed.
"I know what I'm doing. I got early acceptance, my finances and accommodation are already sorted out for the fall. My grades are- or were, perfectly secure, and I was headed straight to captaining our team to win the national lacrosse championship. And I did that all by myself."
Edward had no reply. In fact, Sebastian was just as dumbfounded that he'd actually managed to list achievements other than 'most hook-ups without calling back the next morning in a single weekend' or 'most consecutive shots by an underage regular' at Scandals. Which his parents did not know about.
"Well- I don't see how being in Lima changes any of that. Besides the, you know, lacrosse."
"You really have no idea about high school, do you? There is nothing there for me." He didn't want to admit that but apparently it was too late.
"I thought you were trying out for the basketball team or whatever?" Edward asked.
"Baseball. And there is no championship, well, not nationally. And you cannot compare that team to Dalton's."
"What about that other Warbler kid. Surely you have some common ground?" Amelié asked.
"Blaine?" Sebastian didn't even remember mentioning Blaine around his parents. "He's not really in many of my classes. And he's kind of annoying and clingy; I think his loser of a boyfriend has finally gone to his head. He was mighty fine though." He mused, more for his own benefit now than anything else.
Edward and Amelié frowned at him.
"You'll find your place soon honey." Amelié encouraged, reaching out to pat his shoulder again. Before she could reach across the table, Sebastian had stood up and headed upstairs to his room.
The next morning, Sebastian had received an e-mail from Coach Beiste that, whilst yes, it was ridiculously late in the year to be trying out for anything, she wouldn't begrudge anyone the chance of finding a place in this vicious school hierarchy. Sebastian had wondered if she'd still give him a chance if she knew him more. No one else seemed to.
She sent details of his try-out, which was today during the lunch hour, and Sebastian confirmed his attendance. Something to pass the time, right? He wasn't exactly settling in and admitting defeat. Not yet.
He decided to skip lunch and head straight to the locker room to get ready. He'd just changed into his oversized baseball shirt and made his way outside to the pitch, (the weather wasn't particularly bad today, which was a plus considering how it had been rather temperamental lately), when he saw it.
He'd heard of Sue Sylvester and her reputation of ridiculously over the top, totally insane routines of military style expense that had won her seven consecutive national championships - which even to Sebastian's low opinion of public school, was pretty impressive. But nothing could prepare him for seeing it play out right in front of him.
He heard the beat of 'Crazy In Love' drifting faintly across the open space, followed by a fleet of girls dressed in red and white uniforms. Several were being propelled one after another into the air and landing elegantly into the arms of three girls stood in a triangle below. They each had bright, wide, somewhat forced smiles painted across their faces, and held their positions so perfectly it was as if they would actually be killed by Coach Sylvester if so much as a hair moved out of place.
The girls had moved to form a bizarrely complex pyramid-with-a-twist, and then all movement stopped. There was a beat of silence, followed by a figure emerging right in the centre, supplying the lyrics to the extended instrumental homage to Beyoncé. He recognised the 'girly' overtones of voice immediately; it was the one and only, Kurt Hummel.
"Oh my god" Sebastian exclaimed.
Initially, he laughed because Kurt could not be any more of a stereotype. But then after several moments of watching from behind the bleachers, he was captivated.
He had to give it to Sue, she hadn't lost her edge yet. Kurt was absolutely perfect for this number; his whiny lady voice surprisingly suited the song better than even Queen Bey herself. Arguably. He hit the notes in all the right places and really dramatized the song. Perhaps the most surprising thought Sebastian was unabashedly hit with was that Kurt could move. Like, really move. His hip movements would undoubtedly rival those he'd seen at the gay bars down in Columbus.
He was momentarily distracted by Kurt grabbing the waist of the Cheerio in front of him to slowly move against her followed by an overtly sexual hip shaking to realise that this was Kurt. As in innocent, romantic, Broadway loving, always the designated driver Kurt.
He couldn't see perfectly from this distance, but either Kurt was out of his drama queen mood from yesterday, or he really was that good of an actor. He looked to be throwing himself into this performance either way, complete with a show stopping smile, as the song was drawing to a close and he grabbed the shoulder of another Cheerio. He leaned astoundingly far backwards, kicking his leg up high – and under any other circumstance Sebastian would have laughed callously in his face, drawling on about how it was the gayest thing he'd ever seen – but again he found himself slightly turned on. No.
Sebastian was sure his mouth had actually hit the floor at this point, but whether in shock or desire he did not know. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, either.
What he did know was that he seriously needed to stop staring.
But he couldn't. It was the uniform – he was sure. It had to be. But he'd never had a thing for uniforms before, had he? He was getting ahead of himself, this was just shock.
Kurt's voice was still travelling across the field, it was unusually high for a guy, of course, but that was no shock. He'd heard Kurt sing before around Blaine, sometimes quietly with Rachel during history class (well, Rachel wasn't quiet), and even sometimes quietly under his breath during English. The first time he had heard Kurt sing was when he supplied the background vocals at Regionals.
It was strange how at the top of the pyramid, Kurt seemed more appreciated here, surrounded by hot, attractive, blond cheerleaders that he wouldn't look twice at. (In fact, Sebastian thought he could see one or two cheerleaders look at Kurt in a not so innocent way), than in the mess of a diversity group he pledged his life and soul too. He was the star and the life of the performance.
His voice was soft and breathless, even angelic. His face held the same qualities; he was pale and slightly sweating, because he had belted the song out like his life depended on it. He clearly had so much talent and passion, and he really could move.
The uniform complemented him in all the right ways, the short sleeves emphasizing the rounded muscles in his arms and the tight fitting fabric stretching across his stomach, pulling in slightly at the waist and sweet hell his legs went on for days. Sebastian sort of wished that the material of the trousers was as tight as the shirt because he had seen Kurt's ass in those jeans he favours so much and Coach Sylvester really was missing out by not showcasing that.
Still, he can't fault anything else because the high V-neck of his shirt highlighted the lines and smooth, flawless skin of his neck particularly well, and Sebastian found his thoughts wandering again to inappropriate, sexually frustrated measures before grounding himself in the Kurt-freaking-Hummel of it all once more.
For the finale of the number, Kurt was lifted graciously upwards through a pyramid of Cheerio's until he reached the top, closing the number on a drawn-out "love", completely changing the impact of the original version, and definitely displaying Kurt's amazing- no, Kurt's shrill vocal range.
Kurt stilled after lifting both arms up into the air and after a beat of silence he heard the piercing noise of megaphone static.
"Outstanding." Sue said which must have been rare if the shocked but incredibly grateful faces of all the Cheerios were anything to go by. They were all panting heavily and looked truly exhausted. "Now get off my pitch and hit the showers, sloppy babies." She said, and the megaphone screeched again. Wincing at the sound, Sebastian turned back towards the pitch where his try out would take place (for which he was already slightly late). Before Kurt could get down from the pyramid and see him watching, and found Coach Beiste waving him over.
He couldn't think of a worse or equally better place to spend the rest of his day than two hours with Cheerio Kurt. Whether that was for him or for Kurt he hadn't decided. He'd seen some pretty decent material for their ritual verbal spars. And he couldn't focus on this dumb try-out at all.