Chapter Text
It was T-minus one hour to glee club practice, so everyone was probably convened in the choir room— unless they were planning on actual choreography for the final group number, but Kurt knew the likelihood of that happening was slim. New Directions had really slipped in that regard since his class had graduated; even if they were doing an uptempo number, they’d probably just end up running around with balloons or something. He knew Rachel had zero interest in his ideas and contributions to directing the club, but on the off chance she recognized that he was generally better with choreography than she was, he planned to get their group dancing again.
Kurt made his way through the halls with a bounce in his step, boots tapping along the linoleum floor. He allowed himself a twirl as he rounded the corner— Sue Sylvester was terrible, but her war against adipose had come with the positive side effect of pushing the slushie tradition clean out of William McKinley. (He was technically a staff member so he should have been spared either way, but he looked young enough that it had been a real concern for him)— and strolled into the choir room happily.
The din of conversation coming from the New Directions alumni scattered across the first two rows of risers died as he entered, and they all turned to face him silently like one single organism. He waited for someone to start saying something so that everyone could start saying something until one voice (probably his, preferably his) rose above the clamour, just so they could all get the yelling over with and out of the way, but nobody stepped up to the plate. Huh, maybe they were all growing up?
He wouldn’t question his good fortune. Kurt strode forward and dropped into the first free seat in his path, one leg crossing over the other primly. He glanced to the side and did a double take when he noticed the heart-shaped container standing to the side of the room. The thing was humongous, probably tall enough to reach Kurt’s chest, and filled with who even knew how many fun-sized candy bars. Damn, how’d he miss that thing? “What’s with all the chocolates?” Kurt asked, tipping his chin at the display.
“It was my engagement present to Santana,” Brittany chirped from where she was sitting by Kurt’s shoulder in the row above him. “One mini Mounds bar for every minute we’ve spent together. Do you want some? Lord Tubbington will probably eat whatever we can’t finish, and he already used his new diet’s cheat day for this week.”
“I’m more of an Almond Joy man myself, but thank you, Britt.”
A snort drew Kurt’s attention to Puck. “Oh, I bet you are,” he said with a waggle of his eyebrows.
Kurt blushed and turned his nose up at the crude (but not inaccurate) euphemism, turning to look the other way. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And I’m pretty sure that’s a love bite right there.” Puck reached across the empty seat between them and poked at a bloom of red peeking out from behind the scarf wrapped around Kurt’s neck. He only grinned when Kurt whipped back around and shoved him away. “And it’s fresh too! Hummel got a little afternoon delight before he drove back into town!”
Once again, Puck was crude but not inaccurate. Sixteen-year-old Kurt Hummel had long believed that necking in the backseat of a car like a 1950s power couple at make-out point was the absolute pinnacle of steaminess. When twenty-one-year-old Kurt Hummel found himself pinned against the driver’s side door of his car for a fifth or sixth “one last kiss,” he confessed as much to Sebastian, the words spilling from his mouth to Sebastian’s ears between breathy giggles.
As it turned out, sixteen-year-old Kurt wasn’t completely stupid. Sure, necking in the backseat didn’t exactly feel steamy when the guy you were doing it with had recently had his tongue in your ass, but boy, was it good fun. Kurt could have happily whiled away hours in that cramped backseat— he missed his Navigator so freaking much. They would have had room to spare in his Nav— doing nothing more than revelling in the feel of Sebastian’s skin under his lips. They would have, if it weren’t for the fact that Kurt had mashups to sing and breadsticks to eat, and Sebastian had lectures to sit and asses to beat. (Kurt was fairly certain Sebastian wouldn’t actually beat Daniel’s ass, if only because that was not a fight Sebastian would ever win.) So it was that they parted ways reluctantly, with promises to call and make plans to see each other soon— the very first thing Sebastian had done during his hour of alone time with Kurt’s phone was add himself to Kurt’s contacts, because even when he was being creepy and invasive he was charming about it— and new marks on Kurt’s throat and clavicle (“for symmetry,” Sebastian had claimed as he unwound Kurt’s scarf).
“I’m sure you don’t know what you’re talking about either, Puckerman.”
“And normally you’d be right,” Puck agreed jovially. “But I know my hickeys. I’m a connoisseur, a master of the art.”
Kurt was about to tell Puck that they weren’t his hickeys (and thereby invite the barrage of questions/comments/criticisms he knew was forthcoming) when the clacking of heels echoing ever closer prompted him to do a headcount of the people in the room. Two very prominent figures who would have contributed to the inquisition in a big way were missing.
“Kurt, there you are! Oh my god, I was so worried. I tried contacting the authorities to report a missing person, but apparently the fact that you’re technically an adult now negates your last known whereabouts involved being close at hand to a notorious libertine! Seriously, they wouldn’t even listen when I told them you missed morning practice! Where have you been?”
There was Rachel.
“Oh my god, scrounge up one of your ratty old argyle knee highs so you can put a sock in it!” And there was Santana walking close behind, carrying a stack of sheet music. “He was clearly busy getting busy, look at him.” She dropped the stack into Rachel’s arms, leaving Rachel to squeak and almost keel forward with the sudden weight, and turned to Kurt. “A word?”
Kurt clenched his jaw but nodded once in acquiescence. He rose from his seat and exited the choir room quickly, arms and hips swinging (because he had recently been laid and his body would swing as it pleased, there was no holding it in). He pivoted around once he was back in the hallway, and this was just uncomfortably familiar.
It doesn’t matter what she has to say, Kurt thought as he crossed his arms tight, hugging himself discreetly as he waited for her to follow him out. It has been exhaustively proven that Santana Lopez doesn’t know shit. And she already passed the threshold of acceptable retribution against me for interrupting her moment the last time, so if she decides to spit more anger at me then that’s one hundred percent on her. I won’t let it touch me.
Santana closed the door behind her and marched forward, stopping with less than a foot of space between them. “Do you really think I’m a shitty friend?”
Kurt’s arms dropped to his sides as surprise overtook him. “I don’t remember saying that.”
“Twunk Timon did, and I would assume he got that from you.”
“Oh.” Kurt fidgeted with the ends of his sleeves as he turned to stare at a random flyer on the wall besides them. He really should have looked when Sebastian mentioned cussing out the group chat. “I didn’t use that exact wording, I don’t think.”
“That doesn’t sound like a no.”
Kurt turned back to look her straight in the eye. “What do you want me to say, Santana? You haven’t exactly been a good one.”
“Why, because I snapped back at you? Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.”
Kurt let out a mirthless laugh. “You have never been able to take it, Santana. You are still the same girl who ran out of that room when Rachel said you’d end up on a stripper pole after you bullied her relentlessly for over two years,” he said, pointing at the door they’d come out of.
Santana’s hands balled into fists at her side, and Kurt knew that had to hurt if her nails were as sharp as usual. “That’s different,” she said, eyes flashing dangerously.
Too bad Kurt wasn’t even remotely afraid of her. He’d already been subjected to her worst. “You’re right. You were way worse to me.”
“You interrupted my proposal!”
“So snap at me for that! Yell at me for being rude and selfish because that was what I deserved. I didn’t deserve to have you start attacking every little thing about my appearance and my relationship and anything else you have ever known me to be the slightest bit insecure about. I know you get your kicks out of making people feel terrible about themselves, but were you just cataloguing weaknesses whenever I talked to you for the entire time we’ve known each other? Have we ever actually been friends at all or was I always just a place for you to crash and a person to step on?”
Santana took a step back as if she’d been slapped. “You don’t really think that, Kurt. I love you. You are family!”
“I interrupted your proposal because the idea of seeing anyone I love hurt the way I’m hurting, the way I’ve been hurting, terrifies me. And you responded by going out of your way to make me hurt some more, so excuse me for thinking the love might not be mutual.”
“No,” Santana said, shaking her head vehemently. “You know I love you. You know I love you, you know I’m your friend, and one little shit-talking session is no reason for you start talking crazy like this!”
“You seriously think that’s all that happened?” Kurt huffed out another laugh, edging on hysterical. “You haven’t been a friend to me in months. I barely heard a fucking word from you since the breakup. And at first I thought maybe you were on Blaine’s side, which I guess you kind of were since you think it was my fault for being so intolerable, but it was mostly that you just didn’t care, right? You don’t care about me.”
“Of course I care about you.”
“Then where were you?” Kurt shouted. And yeah, he had maybe slipped over into full blown hysterical mode, but his awareness of that wasn’t enough to stop him from talking. “I know Rachel can be self-centred and I know Mercedes and I aren’t as close as we used to be, but where were you, Santana? I thought you were one of my best friends but you couldn’t even bother picking up the phone when I called so you could at least talk to me! Why did you abandon me? Why did all of you abandon me?”
“No one abandoned you, Kurt,” she said quietly, like she was trying to calm a trapped animal.
“Everyone abandoned me! These last six months have been lonelier than junior year when nobody noticed what Karofsky was doing until he’d already sexually assaulted and threatened to kill me! And I wasn’t hiding any of my pain this time around. I wasn’t hiding and you just didn’t care. Nobody cared. We always say we’re all here for each other, and I try so hard to be there whenever anyone needs me, but no one was willing to do the same for me.” Kurt scrubbed furiously at the tears leaking out the corners of his eyes. “Am I really so difficult to deal with that I can’t even get a fucking hug once in a while?”
Santana stepped forward and yanked Kurt into a tight embrace, tucking his head into the crook of her neck.
Kurt pressed his face into her shoulder and sobbed.
“I’m sorry,” Santana murmured, one hand scratching lightly at Kurt’s scalp while the other rubbed up and down his back until his breaths evened out. He tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t release him from her hold and she was very strong, so he stayed where he was. “I’m here now, okay? I’m here and Britt is here and we’re here for you. So you can vent and cry and talk as much as you need. And you can watch us be hashtag relationship goals as a reminder that it can be done in real life, even if most people aren’t on our level.”
Kurt laughed, watery but genuine, and hugged back. “I’ve missed you so much, Tana.”
“Yeah, I kind of got that.” They hugged a few moments more before she took a step back to look over Kurt’s face and made a noise of disapproval. “Come on, let’s try to flush the cry splotches out of your face,” Santana said, linking their arms together.
“I’m sorry for interrupting your proposal,” Kurt apologized as they made their way into the girls washroom.
“It’s okay, so long as you don’t interrupt the wedding.” Santana shoved him into the (now obsolete) slushie seat and set to work dampening paper towels with icy water.
“Oh god, no!” Kurt winced as she set the cold paper on his hot skin. “If I ever hit that level of trashy, I give you full permission to slap the bitch out of me.”
Santana chortled. “Not even the hand of God could slap the bitch out of you, Twinkle Tush.” She lifted the paper towels and nodded in approval, moving back to let him stand up again as she tossed the towels. Santana reached into her bosom and pulled out a tin of rosebud salve, handing it to Kurt. (Kurt would forever be impressed and mystified at how she used her boobs for storage without disturbing how they sat in her dress. He couldn’t even put a tenner in his pants pocket when he wore skinny jeans without ruining the clean lines of his silhouette.) “Is my dress gonna stain from all the saltwater you subjected it to?”
“It’s made of rayon and spandex,” he said as he applied the moisturizer and handed it back. “You’ll be fine.”
“We should go shopping this weekend. So you can buy me a replacement just in case,” she decided as she put her tin away and they both stepped back out into the hallway. The statement was clear Santanese for ‘we are spending time together this weekend, but I don’t want to sound treacly about it,’ and Kurt really had missed her so much. “I can’t believe Preppy Douche-bler Part Deux was right.”
“Right about what?” Kurt asked as he stooped down at the water fountain— hydration was essential after a screaming and/or crying session. “He told me he texted the group while I was asleep, but I didn’t check to see what he said.”
“I thought you were just being petty for the hell of it at this point, which, y’know, is normally something I would encourage,” Santana said with a shrug. “I’m so used to watching you pull yourself up by the bootstraps, I didn’t even consider that maybe this time you need a little help.”
That didn’t really answer the question, but Santana had clearly said all she felt there was to say. She elbowed Kurt out of the way so she could take a drink, and Kurt pulled out his phone so he could read whatever the hell Sebastian had written.
#squad
From: Me
Ok look I’m working with one hand here so I’m gon keep this short
u r all stupid.
n awful
but mostly fucking stupid???
ur friend ends the first n longest rlshp of his LIFE but u guys r up his ass about how he needs to get over it already bc he’s annoying YOU by still being sad. As if any of u fuckers did the slightest to help him out while the wound was gaping open. Funny how easy it was for u all to txt him last night considering how his summer went. Lmao maybe if u had done it back then he’d b in a better place now? Just a thought. I kno u guys aren’t too good with those.
anyway, I have been in his ass n I can tell u there isn’t enuf room for u all. Pls crawl out.
OH and also blind. I forgot to mention that ur all blind.
U gotta be blind if u think anyone who looks like Kurt Hummel is ever gonna be single for a second longer than he wants to be. As the only dude who likes dudes up in this bitch rn (tho some of u are suspect) I can tell u fuckwads that he just needs to go out and he’s good. Like his options r narrowed compared to NY but he’s good. He walks into a gay space and walks out with AT LEAST 2 ppl wanting his #. Funny how u think Kurt is the desperate one for going out to a club so he can let off some steam after dealing with u TWATS when Bland got dumped and immediately hooked up with a dude semi infamous in certain circles for having been obsessed w Kurt when we were all younger.
in summation: u guys are stupid blind assholes. I am an asshole of the first degree but at least I’m not a shitty friend. U don’t even have that going for you. Super sad.
Kurt smiled so hard his cheeks were already starting to sting and he had to twirl where he stood just to get some of the emotion out of him. Thank god they were going to be singing soon! He held his phone to his chest with both palms folded over it as he waited for his heart to stop going pitter-patter.
“You get off on the weirdest shit,” Santana said, regarding him with crossed arms, a raised eyebrow, and lips pursed in a failed attempt to hide her amusement.
“I’m not getting off on this, I’m swooning,” Kurt insisted as he rattled off a quick text to Sebastian. “There is a universe of difference between the two!”
To: Sebastian Smythe
If you had led off your confession of dickishness in my car by showing me the rant instead of the selfie, I probably would have blown your whistle right there in the front seat.
(There was not a universe of difference between the two.)
“I can’t believe you’re swooning over Sebastian Smythe. Are you guys, like, a thing now?”
“We’re going on a date next week,” Kurt admitted, giddy smile not fading in the least.
“Best believe we’re gonna be discussing this.” She shook her head and uncrossed her arms. “Later though. Berry and I arranged one kick ass mashup that is bizarrely fitting for the occasion, and the three of us are sharing lead, so we gots harmonies to go over together.”
From: Sebastian Smythe
BRB, switching majors to physics so I can figure time travel out.
From: Sebastian Smythe
Daniel is stealing my phone because he doesn’t appreciate me ~sexting~ during class time. You gotta help me help him with this prudery, you were an expert for a while there! Talk to you soon
“Oh yeah?” Kurt slid his phone back into his pocket and held his arm out for her. “Thank you for your generosity, future Mrs. Lopez-Pierce.”
Santana tightened the hand clutching his bicep and breathed sharply. “Say that again,” she demanded, joy bubbling out of her.
“Mrs. Lopez-Pierce,” Kurt said, enunciating every syllable for her. He still got a twinge of fear on her behalf that one day her joy would just vanish away, but it was a lot easier to ignore it now, and just hold on to hope that things would work out better for her and Brittany than they did for him and Blaine.
“That sounds so good,” Santana said, sounding more than a little swoon-y herself. “Let’s get this week’s lesson over with so everyone can say it some more while we get our Breadstix on.”
Kurt opened the choir room door and let Santana through first. “I’m surprised no one is shaming me for consorting with the enemy,” he whispered as they nudged their way into the practice circle, not wanting to interrupt Quinn and Tina as they worked on their harmonies— they sounded great together, wow, how had they never made use of that before? “Maybe after practice is over?”
“I’m pretty sure they all still feel kind of guilty after your new boy toy dragged us, but if anyone does give you shit, I’m on your side,” she whispered back. “Besides,” she continued, voice picking up so everyone could listen, “I don’t give a flying fuck what a rat bastard he was three years ago. If he can keep you as glowed up as you are right now, then that’s the only thing that should matter to any of us.” She sent a warning glare to everyone before stepping into Brittany’s side and resting her head on her fiancée’s shoulder.
Kurt grinned and gave her a firm side hug before Rachel thrust a copy of the sheet music into each of their hands, already colour coded with their parts, from where she stood at Kurt’s other side.
This, this right here was what he had needed since yesterday. Since six months ago. He had his friends beside him, and not just physically. He had a song to sing. He had a spring in his step and hope in his heart and a chance to try to keep it.
Rehearsal went smoothly, and Rachel shot off a text to the New(er) New Directions to meet in the auditorium. The Old New Directions headed over together, and Santana knocked a shoulder against Kurt’s as she walked hand in hand with Brittany. “Yesterday is never going to happen again, I’ve decided. From now on this,” she gestured between the two of them, “is a supportive zone. We’ve got weddings and hot dates to plan and we’re gonna need each other for that.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Kurt grabbed her free hand and gave it a squeeze. Sometimes Santana Lopez did know shit.