Chapter Text
Turbulence.
A metaphor? For what, exactly? Life and love, hopes and dreams? Honestly, it could mean many things, and it has meant many things—especially in high school in regard to bullies and crushes and breakups and makeups—but right now, turbulence can apply to one thing and one thing only.
It shakes him from his core, causing nausea to bubble up his weak stomach and clench deep within his twisted abdomen. Breathing sharply, he clutches onto the armrest beside him, digging his dull fingernails into the gray plastic as he shuts his eyes tightly.
The man next to him—who has spent most of the flight falling in and out of consciousness—guffaws at his terrified posture, because apparently this gut-wrenching terror is something hysterically funny, though Kurt’s not laughing.
He’s seen the movies Passengers and Flight, and even that super far-fetched television show, Lost. Although it didn’t make much sense towards the end of the series, what occurred throughout could definitely be considered realistic, and there is no way in hell he’s going to end up like the passengers of Oceanic Flight 815. The last thing Kurt wants is to land on an enigmatic island with sophisticated natives and killer polar bears.
Slowly releasing his grip on the armrest once the turbulence calms down, Kurt opens his eyes and lets out a long sigh. He looks over to his right and scoffs at the heavy set man beside him. Once again, he’s fallen asleep, head lolling back and forth as a pool of drool spills down his chin and onto his yellow sweater. Kurt grimaces at the sight and shifts so that he can take his phone out of his back pocket.
3:24pm.
The plane should be touching down any minute now and—the big man beside him makes a gurgling noise, and Kurt rolls his eyes up to the ceiling—the sooner he can get off of this stupid plane, the better.
The holidays are finally over, and he couldn't be more relieved. It was nice seeing his father and Finn, hanging out with Mercedes and Mike (since apparently Tina and Sam sided with Blaine after the breakup), but he’s so happy he decided to cut his trip short in order to get back to New York.
It was nice seeing everyone, but Kurt has to admit it was a bit awkward (and annoying) running into Blaine at almost every holiday party he attended. Before, it had seemed mildly childish and extremely immature to hide away in New York in order to avoid his ex, but now Kurt wishes he would have followed Rachel and Santana’s lead.
Finn would have no doubt drove Rachel crazy with his soul mate talk, blabbering on and on about how he and Rachel will get back together sooner or later despite the odds because they’re endgame and made for each other and blah blah blah. (After a whole hour of that jabbering, Kurt had blanked out and started texting Henry.)
Brittany, on the other hand, looked a freaking wreck. Kurt had heard about the breakup before Santana even showed up at their apartment, and apparently it hadn’t gone well. He knew that much from the breakdown Santana had on their couch as soon as they welcomed her inside. What he didn’t know, however, he quickly learned from the gossip queen herself. Mercedes filled him in on all of the juicy inside information.
So, here’s the dish.
Allegedly, Santana’s summer workouts for the Louisville Cardinal cheerleaders were starting up in just a week when the breakup occurred. Brittany, still broken up over getting left back, had admitted she was afraid of Santana moving on without her.
Santana, the whipped firecracker that she was—and probably still is—for her girl, did everything in her power to ensure Brittany that they were okay, that she’d never move on from Brittany, because Brittany is the love of her life and yada yada yada—Kurt wasn’t paying attention at that particular moment either because he had just received an adorable text from Henry—but then Brittany had eventually broken Santana’s heart on one of their last dates at the annual Lima Summer Fair because of her insecurities and whatnot.
So, yeah, it was probably a good idea they stayed away from their exes, or else Santana definitely would have been pulled back in with a one night stand, or something equally as backtracking, and Rachel would have more than likely done the same thing with Finn.
Kurt has to say though; he’s kind of proud of himself for not giving into temptation. Blaine’s skinny jeans are the epitome of tight, and it was definitely a struggle to look away at times, but Kurt did it. He simultaneously remained faithful and proved that it’s not impossible to avoid the ever dreaded ex sex.
The idea of going back to New York is more than a pleasant revelation, though the journey back certainly isn't a welcome one. The grumpy man sitting beside him, Chuck, Kurt thinks, if his memory serves him right—”You can call me Chuck, honey,” the fat man had told the flight attendant with a wink after accepting a bag of pretzels, in which she sneered in response—had fallen asleep and unceremoniously snored in Kurt’s ear multiple times throughout the flight.
A little girl behind him had kicked the back of his seat with her foot for a good five minutes straight until he gave up and turned around to inform her mother of the problem. The same flight attendant with the nasty sneer—Tricia, according to her name tag—had refused to serve him alcohol without proper identification, and to top it all off, some rebelliously dressed teenage boy had listened to rock music through his headphones so damn loud half the cabin could hear it.
Basically, it's been the worst flight ever, so when the pilot announces that they'll be touching down at JFK airport in about ten minutes or so, it's not really necessary to say Kurt’s relieved.
--
Crowds of travelers and tourists push their way through and past him as he makes his way down the platform and towards baggage claim. Travelling may seem nice once you’ve reached your destination, but the journey sometimes isn’t worth the hassle.
His back hurts, there’s a crook in his neck, and his toes feel like they’re cramping up right in his shoes. To put it simply, he’s exhausted, utterly so, but then he sees Rachel waiting for him, holding a sign of a picture with his face on it, and Kurt almost cries in relief.
He doesn’t, of course, but he does rush toward her with a broad smile that’s readily mirrored once she sees him approaching. They hug tightly, jabber on about how much they missed each other, and then Rachel proposes they stop somewhere to eat before leaving the airport, and Kurt’s never loved the girl more, because he is absolutely starving.
It’s kind of funny, actually. Their friendship, he means. Sophomore year, Kurt would've gagged at the thought of ever missing Rachel Berry, but once she stands on her tiptoes and throws her arms around his neck to give him another tight hug, Kurt realizes it is what it is. It was all kind of inevitable anyway.
They’ve always wanted and loved the same things; Broadway, the spotlight, Barbra Streisand, Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Either they were going to kill each other over who was the bigger diehard, or they were going to put their differences aside, mash their similarities, and then become stronger through that. Kurt’s happy to say it turned out to be the latter.
But not only does Kurt recognize his affection for Rachel at this moment, but he also can’t help but notice there's something amiss. It's in Rachel's posture, the way she doesn't stroll around with that light-hearted skip. He feels it now in their hug. It’s still lingering and strong, but now she leans into him with a quiet kind of devastation usually only expressed after something unexpected occurs.
He also notices his friend's distracted gaze. Right now, as they make their way to a sandwich shop within the airport, Rachel looks as if she’s somewhere else, absentmindedly thinking about someone else.
Kurt watches her silently as they chat about NYADA and the upcoming auditions for the spring musical, but he doesn't say a word about his suspicions, selfishly hoping Rachel will tell him herself once she's ready to talk about it.
Kurt's always prided himself on being exceptionally observant when it comes to the people closest to him. They may not think so, but he always has an ear out. After all, he did spend most of his high school years being friends with Mercedes Jones, queen of everything gossip and scandal.
Kurt allows Rachel to take a seat with his luggage as he orders them the regular; an avocado veggie patty on toasted garlic herb bread for Rachel, and a salami and provolone cheese sandwich with lettuce, pickles, mayo, and tomatoes for himself. He really wasn't kidding when he said he was starving.
Rachel peeks up from her phone with that same distracted look in her eyes when Kurt gets back to the table. As he takes a seat, Kurt eyes the phone curiously and wonders who's on the other end of the messages Rachel keeps sending out so sporadically.
Kurt lifts an eyebrow. “So—”
"Let's not beat around the bush,” Rachel cuts him off, smiling tightly as she pockets her phone. Her eyes turn soft and heavy with an odd amount of sympathy. “Did you happen to see Blaine while you were in Lima?"
This is actually the last topic of discussion Kurt would like to talk about. "More times than I'd hoped to," he mumbles through a bite, reaching across the table for a napkin. Rachel nods in understanding, and it makes Kurt wonder how she could possibly relate to recently seeing someone who broke her heart. "You can ask, you know?"
Rachel glances up from the table, eyes simultaneously wide and weary. "I—I just," she stammers, rolling her eyes at her lack of eloquence. "...how is he?"
"Better than I thought he'd be. He looks really good." Kurt tries to sound as nonchalant as possible when breaking the news. He knows how heartbreaking it can feel to hear about an ex. It's painful and hard and it feels as if a sandbag is weighing down on your chest. "He's been focusing on leading the glee club, losing some weight. I think he's actually trying to do better this year."
Rachel takes this in with a shaky intake of breath. "Okay."
Unimpressed, Kurt waits for more. But nothing comes. "That's it? You don't want to know whether he's seeing someone new, or if he asked about you, or—"
"No, Kurt. I'm content with what you told me," Rachel interrupts with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
Kurt is not convinced. The first thing he did after arriving in Lima—besides texting Henry that he got there safely, of course—was ambush Tina (his ex's new bestie, apparently) about details on Blaine. Surprisingly, she wasn't as forthcoming with the gossip as he thought she'd be, but that's neither here nor there.
It's not like he's afraid of Blaine jumping ship and switching teams or anything. Not anymore, though it wouldn't really matter to Kurt anyway. They're over. Done. Kaput. Kurt’s with Henry now. He loves him, actually. Told him so before he left. The last thing he should be thinking about is Blaine.
Content on leaving his ex behind in both his mind and heart once and for all, Kurt straightens in his seat with a dubious look. Rachel's reluctant to admit the truth, and that seems like a better distraction than any from his wandering thoughts about Blaine.
"I don't believe you," he says. If it's one thing he and Rachel have always shared, it's blunt honesty.
Rachel sighs and pokes at her untouched sandwich, because she knows he's right. "You need space in order to move on, and that's one of the many reasons I didn't go to Lima," she explains, patiently. "Space."
"Space?" Kurt sputters with a laugh. "That's funny, seeing as how I doubt you found any space this holiday with Santana around."
It's quite a fancy trick Rachel does when her entire face drains of all color. "What do you mean by that?"
Kurt notices her uneasiness immediately but decides not to mention it. His friend already seems on edge as it is. "Rachel," he says dryly, sliding a tomato out of his soggy sandwich. "The girl has no sense of personal boundaries. She's always in your face, or borrowing your clothes, or in the bathroom with you."
The way Santana and Rachel depend on each other nowadays is actually quite ridiculous and slightly disgusting. Kurt would have never guessed these two out of everyone in their glee club would have ended up attached at the hip, but that's what their relationship has seemingly become.
They’re basically inseparable, and Kurt rolls his eyes at just the thought. Rachel goes with Santana to work at Cobblestones; Santana accompanies Rachel on her errands; they go to the grocery store together; they cuddle on the couch and watch episode after episode of Supernatural or Nip/Tuck or Lost, or anything they can find on Netflix with more than three red stars; they share plates of food; they sometimes fall asleep in the same bed. They. Are. Inseparable.
Kurt would call their dependency on each other moderately unhealthy if he didn't have the same kind of relationship with Mercedes. "I don't know about you," Kurt dabs at his lips daintily, "but I'd feel suffocated by now."
Rachel ducks her head, and if Kurt didn't know any better, he'd actually think the girl was blushing. "I don't know. I guess I kind of find the attention...endearing?" She makes an unsure face, seemingly asking herself if that's a weird thing to wonder, and yes, Kurt thinks it is. Definitely weird, indeed. "At the moment, we're all trying to get over our high school sweethearts, so what's wrong with depending on each other a little bit?" she asks, cautiously.
Kurt doesn't have an answer to that, because he's already completely over Blaine. Well, mostly. Furrowing his eyebrows, he hastily changes the subject. "You know, I'm still kind of jealous the two of you got to see A Christmas Carol at freakin' Radio City. Although I guess it worked out for the best," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "I mean, how awkward would that have been?"
Rachel pokes at her sandwich again. "What would’ve been awkward?"
"Having to break it to Santana that you were bringing me instead of her."
Rachel's mouth moves wordlessly for a moment, and Kurt watches on in bemusement. "Oh," she murmurs, quirking her lips to the side. She lets out a forced laugh. "Yeah. So awkward."
"I'm actually surprised nobody got upset, or offended while I was gone," he continues, taking another bite out of his sandwich. "You’re sure no one tore out anybody's weave?"
"No weave tearing. Promise," Rachel giggles weakly, pausing to take the first bite out of her sandwich. Chewing, she hums at the taste, and then mumbles, "We had a good holiday, but now I'm ready to go back to NYADA and refocus on surviving the rest of the school year with Miss July attacking every little thing I do."
Kurt purses his lips. "I swear, Rachel, you describe her as if she's some kind of fire breathing dragon."
Exasperated, Rachel slams her sandwich down. "That's because she is!"
"Oh, please," Kurt waves her off with a roll of his eyes. "I doubt she gives you any more flak than Santana did in high school."
Shiny brown eyes turn cold for a quarter of a second. "Don't compare her to Santana," Rachel says, almost firmly. "It's not the same thing."
"Santana can be mean, tortuous, and cruel for no reason. Tell me how that's not the same thing."
"It's just not, Kurt. She's changed," Rachel continues to defend, huffily, and Kurt can't help but stare at his friend blankly, because it's only been a few months. Really, how much can a person change in such a short amount of time? "She has," Rachel exasperates after seeing the dubious look on Kurt's face. "Santana can be very..." Her face contorts strangely as a small smile spreads across her cheeks. "She can be very loving when she wants to."
"Santana? Loving?" Kurt almost chokes on a bite of his sandwich just thinking about it. "I doubt she's even interested in her own feelings, never mind yours."
Rachel presses her lips together and picks at her sandwich. "Well, what do you know."
“Just as much as you, it seems.”
Kurt shrugs at the wounded look Rachel gives him, but he has no remorse for what he just said. Although he may hate that puppy dog look on his best friend’s face, Kurt can’t bear to lie to her. Santana’s never showed any sign of caring about anyone but herself and Brittany. Yes, Santana’s been a lot less...terrifying lately, but that doesn’t mean she’s changed. She’s just simply acting different.
Kurt respects Santana and everything she’s been through, but the truth is, he’d never put money on her ever changing. People don’t change; situations and circumstances do.
--
As crazy as it sounds, he missed this stale New York air. The city may sometimes smell like dumpster trash and the residual stench of sewage rats, but this place is his home, and he's never been happier to step out of a taxi to look up and see their tall, broken down building.
After hauling his suitcases up six stories of steps, Kurt breathes out a sigh of relief when they finally enter the loft. It's just the way he left it, thankfully, and hopefully if Santana stayed out of his curtain—like he instructed (warned, threatened) before leaving—his room should be just the way he left it as well.
Speaking of Santana, "So, where is the little devil?"
Rachel shrugs helplessly as she heads into the kitchen. "She usually gets off of work at around five, so Cole's place, probably."
Her voice is low and laced with mild annoyance when she says it, and Kurt can’t blame her. The amount of sex those two have is ridiculous, disrupting, and more than likely unhealthy. "I bet their reunion was an exhaust-inducing one," he jokes, carefully placing his suitcases beside their beat-up sofa.
"Kurt," Rachel huffs, pulling a bottled water out of the refrigerator. "Must you be so..."
"What?" Kurt raises a challenging eyebrow, leaning over the kitchen counter, elbows propped up. "A laid Santana is a happy Santana. Don't act like you don't love it when she's in a good mood. Life is better for everyone when she's not bitching at us."
Rachel screws her face up into a grimace, as if she doesn't know whether to frown or smile. "You know I'm not one to judge, Kurt," she begins hesitantly, tilting her head sideways, "but I don't think Cole is right for Santana."
Kurt laughs, because that's so obvious even Finn could have figured it out. "Of course Cole's not right for her."
Rachel looks dubious with a pinch of hope. "You...agree with me?"
"Duh. Cole is—how shall I put this—she’s mysteriously dull to the point of captivating, but Santana has the attention span of a gnat, so once Cole stops being interesting, Santana will move on to the next willing participant." It's science. Math. Maybe even physics. Cole plus Santana does not equal happily ever after. The two are so not made for each other. Anyone with eyes can see that.
If there’s anyone in this world who was made for Santana Lopez, it’s definitely Brittany S. Pierce. How the two of them could put up with each other every single day of high school is truly a miracle. Being in the same vicinity as Brittany for too long used to have Kurt feeling like he was in some kind of Barbie Princess movie. Nice, sure, but not particularly ideal.
And Santana? Don’t even get him started. Half the time, that girl is a dormant volcano on the crux of combustion. He never knows when to push or when to back off; it was sometime around the end of junior year when Kurt just stopped trying to figure her out. The gay jokes were more annoying than insulting after awhile, especially after learning Santana's gay herself.
Twisting the cap to her water bottle on and off, Rachel eyes him uncertainly. "How do you know so much about this?"
"Henry's friends." Kurt shrugs at the bemused look on Rachel's face, and then explains, "They're very...knowledgeable about every type of relationship there is, which I find both informatively helpful and mildly disturbing."
Lawrence, Henry’s best friend, is the most disturbing of them all. He’s a know-it-all with an ego the size of the Great Barrier Reef. What’s worse; he and Henry used to have a thing—much like what Cole and Santana have now—back in college before deciding they’d make better friends.
Kurt’s not jealous, of course, because Henry’s assured him multiple times that he never felt anything but companionship toward the other man, though that doesn’t take away the fact that Lawrence is a total jerk with a highly irritating holier than thou complex. Although the man is a sight for sore eyes, Kurt cannot manage to see past all of the disgusting bravado he puts on for his friends, and to top it all off, Lawrence is bisexual—which Kurt doesn't really have a problem with anymore—but it does get quite annoying when Lawrence never fails to run out of stories about his many desirable conquests.
Kurt is grating his molars together just thinking about it when Santana comes bustling through their metal door—which he and Rachel mistakenly left wide open—and quirks an eyebrow in amusement as her eyes scan the living area. "Damn, Hummel. With all these bags, one would've thought you were gone for a whole year."
Smiling, Kurt raises his arms and goes in for a hug. "I missed you too, Santana."
Reluctantly, Santana hugs him back. "Don't put words in my mouth, Lady Lips. Sure, the apartment was oddly more spacious without you, but that doesn't mean I missed you hogging the bathroom every damn morning."
No matter how volcanic Santana may seem at times, there is no denying he missed the girl’s quick wit and well-placed quips. He does have to admit it’s nice having someone around that’s as a sarcastically blunt and cynical as he. "Please," Kurt scoffs, pulling away from her with a smirk. "You had to have missed me in some form or capacity."
"Yes, you are absolutely right. I missed your Henry," she jests, elbowing Kurt in the ribs as she makes her way past Rachel without even a look. "When's he coming back anyway?"
Kurt watches as the two of them completely ignore each other. Rachel ducks her head, eyes narrowed on the kitchen counter as Santana pulls a roll of crackers out of the cabinet. Well, that’s rare. By now, the two are usually happily hanging off of each other as Rachel asks Santana about work, and Santana rambles on and on about how incompetent her useless co-workers are.
"His flight from Chicago arrives Friday morning," he drawls suspiciously, sitting down on the armrest of the sofa as he carefully watches Rachel watch Santana.
Santana claps sarcastically, and then cuts Rachel with a look. "Goody. Now there'll be enough buffers in the apartment now, huh, Rach?"
Rachel doesn't even respond, but the expression on her face is so suddenly downtrodden that Kurt can't help but cringe as she leaves the kitchen with a roll of her eyes, quickly disappearing behind her curtain without so much as another word.
"Whoa," Kurt mumbles, drawing his eyes away from Rachel's curtain to Santana, who's still lazily munching on her crackers. "What was that all about?"
Waving dismissively, Santana stops mid-chew and frowns. "Oh, you know Berry. Always the dramatic one."
Kurt can smell bullshit a mile away, and this here is the biggest pile he's come across in a very long time.
--
There's something unusual going on here. Now, Kurt’s no detective or anything, but ever since he’s been back, it’s like his roommates were attacked by the body snatchers or something.
Not only is Rachel acting like there’s ants in her pants whenever Santana gets too near, but even Santana’s attitude has recently been stuck on a setting between subtly peeved and nonchalantly compassionate, as if she's trying to hold something back by hiding behind unnecessary rudeness.
Santana's rollercoaster of a mood usually wouldn't even be on the forefront of Kurt’s mind, but then a whole entire week goes by without his roommates even talking to each other, or simultaneously using the bathroom in the morning, or watching Netflix together as they cuddle up on the couch.
It's a bit disconcerting how quiet the apartment has been over the last few days, and Kurt eventually finds himself spending more and more time at Henry's place to get away from the tense stares between his roommates whenever they pass each other in the kitchen, or both wind up on the couch after dinner.
Somehow Kurt always ends up right in the middle of them when they plop down on the couch, which then forces him to initiate awkward conversations whenever the commercials disrupt a rerun of whatever mindless program they're all only pretending to watch in order to remain civil. He doesn't know what happened, why it happened, how, who, or when it happened, but whatever happened, happened, and Kurt's not really sure if he even wants to know anymore.
He never used to understand what it meant when people said silence is the loudest scream, but now it makes all the sense in the world. The apartment is so quiet sometimes he can even hear the pipes rattling through the walls.
Santana's been spending most of her time at Cobblestones—which Rachel's been avoiding like the Black Plague lately—and disappearing out of the loft without even offering Rachel to join her. Rachel does the same, heading out with Angela and Daniel at any given opportunity for no other reason than to just simply get away from Santana.
Kurt can't even say it's turned back into when Santana first moved in with them, because at least they argued back then. Now, it's nothing. Just a bunch of longing glances, tight-lipped expressions, and clipped sentences in the kitchen to please pass the syrup or something equally as meaningless.
But against all nature, Kurt decides to keep his musings to himself. He has way too much on his plate to even contemplate meddling with all of the backstage work he's been doing ever since the second semester started. It's really none of his business, so he busies himself with work, work, work, instead of sticking his nose into places it doesn't belong.
Speaking of work, life at NYADA has been way more stressful than usual because of one reason and one reason alone, and that reason's first name is Cole. Since she’s head of the costume department, Cole gets to make all of the final decisions, and annoyingly, every idea Kurt’s proposed so far has been slammed down.
The spring musical this year is Hairspray, and although Kurt would have desperately went after the role of Link back in high school, he is content to remain behind the scenes these days, though his passion for costume designing is slowly dwindling the more and more Cole continues to thrust her ideas into everyone's faces and slip them in before anyone notices.
But Kurt notices, and it's absolutely driving him bonkers; the way Cole's so mellow about everything, like when he tries to bring up a certain color or texture, all she has to do is squint her eyes, smile lazily, and slowly shake her head without saying a word for him to know his ideas are inferior to hers.
God. It makes his blood boil just thinking about it.
She wants to change everything about the 60's attire and make it more modern vintage so that the new generation can better relate, while Kurt would rather stick to the original costumes from the Broadway play. Yes, they have creative differences, and Kurt would usually love a challenge like this, but Cole won’t freakin’ budge. It's called compromise, but every time his marvelous ideas are shot down, Kurt finds himself more and more pissed off and ready to argue back.
After about two weeks of this, Kurt can't take it anymore and comes home bitching about how insane some of Cole's ideas are. Rolling her eyes, Santana tries to ignore him for as long as possible until his voice reaches that, "High register of whining irritation," according to Santana. Irritated with his rambling, she finally speaks up, no doubt siding with the woman she continuously sleeps with on every occasion possible.
They argue about it over fixing dinner—Rachel not saying one word—and only when Kurt takes a breath to form his thoughts does he notice the way Rachel bristles at every mention of Cole's name. As soon as she's finished fixing her plate, Rachel turns away from the stove. "I'm going to eat this in my room," she says, slowly inching out of the kitchen.
Kurt watches Rachel leave with a frown and then looks across the table at Santana. Her eyes are focused down, somehow unaware of the change in mood, though Kurt can tell there's something up with her by the way she swallows her food as if there's a giant bullshit lump lodged in her throat.
Twitching his nose curiously, he leans over the table with furrowed brows. "Is Rachel okay?" Kurt asks hesitantly. "She's been acting...different lately." He uses the word different instead of strange for two reasons. One; Rachel's always been kind of strange, so that question would basically be asking nothing. Two; Santana would most likely jump at the opportunity to rave on just how strange Rachel Berry is.
All three of them have always been individuals of many words, both eloquent and repellent, so when Santana simply shrugs her shoulders, Kurt knows this is way worse than his roommates' usual disagreements. This is something very sensitive that could have hurt either one or both of their feelings. Kurt inwardly groans at the thought of how long this can go on for before someone sucks up their pride and finally apologizes for whatever it is they said or did.
Kurt looks Santana up and down as he noisily scrapes his fork against their cheap glass plates. “Santana,” he calls from across the table, and she reluctantly glances up at him, but not for too long, her eyes finding her plate once again with a sigh. She looks...tired. Guilty, almost. "Are you sure there's noth—"
"Look, how should I know?" Santana bites, lifting her shoulder again in a stiff shrug. "I'm not Rachel's fucking keeper, okay?"
Taken aback, Kurt blankly stares at her. “Retract your claws, Santana,” he says dryly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “There’s no reason to get defensive.”
Santana purses her lips and crosses her arms like a pouty baby, but she doesn’t say anything in response, so Kurt decides to drop it. He knows when to dig and when to back off.
After shoveling the rest of his food into his mouth, he shoots off a text to Henry and then lets out a sigh of relief when his boyfriend extends an invitation to hang with him and some friends from work.
Santana's sitting on the couch with her legs drawn into her chest when Kurt reappears from his curtain. He tries not to stare as he walks past. "Don't wait up," he calls out over his shoulder.
Santana lifts a hand dismissively. “Don’t get mugged.”
--
Henry works for the New York Journal, so he's a busy guy. They don't get to spend as much time together as Kurt would like, but he understands the demands of a career in writing. His mother was trying to make it as an author when she first became ill.
Henry's in his prime; this is the time when most young men are primarily focused on their careers, so Kurt tries not to be a bother, but Henry's sweet. Despite his friends being way older than Kurt by about five to eight years or so, he always makes it a point to include him.
Tonight they're out at this sushi bar off of West 58th Street, and it's the best raw fish Kurt has ever tasted. He closes his eyes to savor the succulent flavor, and then tells Henry that he absolutely must try the smoked hamachi shiitake by night's end. Henry laughs at his enthusiasm, resting an arm around his chair as he tries to steal a piece of shrimp off of Kurt’s plate for himself.
Lawrence, sitting all the way on the other side of the table, breaks out of his own conversation with Justin to aww sarcastically at them when they start playfully fighting over whether or not they should share a full platter for the main course.
Goodness, Kurt can’t stand that man. Sure, he’s Henry’s best friend, and he’s only looking out for his college buddy’s best interest, but Lawrence could definitely do that without being such a jerk about it.
If Kurt could compare Lawrence to anyone he knew back in high school, it would totally be Jesse St. James. The curly hair, the boyish charm, the impish grin—even those imploring blue eyes of his—has Kurt gritting his teeth as everybody at the table suddenly look his way.
Kurt flushes when Martin and Conrad start joking about how domestic the two of them act, how they'd gladly be Henry's best men, and how Lawrence's co-worker, Super Gay Tay, could totally be the interior designer when they buy their first house.
Henry, always the chipper one, laughs off his friends' teasing, but Kurt doesn't exactly have the same reaction. Suddenly, the realization of Henry being in his mid 20's is a lot more intimidating than it was before. All of his friends talking about him settling down and having babies has Kurt's head spinning. He's not ready for kids, or to buy a house.
By himself, Kurt is plain broke. He has nothing to his name, not even a career or a college degree. Caught completely off guard, Kurt can only do what he does best.
Panic.
Not only is Kurt disturbed by the idea of settling down and getting married so young, but he also knows about Henry’s mini-breakdown at the loft right after he left. Rachel can’t hold water to save her life and told him all about how Henry was disappointed he didn’t get invited to Lima for the holidays to meet Kurt’s family.
At the time, Kurt had thought it was cute, but now everything seems to be moving just a tad too fast. There’s Henry’s earnest eyes staring at him, Lawrence’s grimy smirk slowly spreading across his lips, and a whole conversation about what would look better, a burgundy sofa or fuchsia couch on top of a beige rug, and Kurt suddenly finds himself sweating through his cashmere turtleneck sweater.
Pulling out his phone, he feigns receiving a text message and then makes up some stupid excuse about Rachel having a wardrobe crisis. It's not totally out of the realm of possibilities, and Henry should know this better than anyone at the table, yet he still seems dubious as he kisses Kurt goodbye with a skeptical look and tells him to call when he gets home.
Santana's the only one there when he gets in. She's...well, Kurt's not exactly sure what it is she's doing. As he unravels his scarf and hangs it up on the coat rack, he eyes his roommate lying on the fuzzy burgundy rug in front of the television set, staring up at the ceiling.
"I'd ask what you're doing on the rug, but that question would more than likely garner a vulgar response about carpet munching."
"You know me too well, Hummel," Santana deadpans, folding her arms underneath her head comfortably.
Kurt stifles a chuckle as he makes his way into the living area. After all, he can never let Santana know how charmed he is by her clever responses. It would do nothing for his street cred. "Well, I do pride myself on my vivid clarity and observance," he easily quips.
But Santana only snorts humorlessly, a cheeky grin spreading across those plump lips of hers. "You? Observant?" she cackles, sitting up slightly as not to choke on her own random burst of laughter. "You wouldn't know observance if it bit you in the stones. But cluelessness? Now that's something you've got down pat."
Choosing to ignore Santana's words—because it's probably just another jab at him not seeing Blaine's infidelity coming—Kurt leaves Santana to grab some peanut butter from out of the refrigerator.
"Don't tell me you ate my entire jar of Jiffy again, Santana," he mutters irritably, because he's kind of hungry since his sushi meal was never really finished because of his abrupt departure from the restaurant earlier. Shit, that reminds him; he has to text Henry.
"Actually, the absence of your precious peanut butter is all Rachel this time around," Santana mumbles with this faraway look in her eyes. He's been seeing that look a lot lately in regards to his two roommates. It's like some kind of distant memory always seems to bring them out of the present and snap them into an unknown event from the past.
"Where is Rachel anyway?" Kurt raises an eyebrow as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. He taps out a quick message to Henry before re-pocketing the device.
Santana shrugs. "Out with Angie and Dan, probably. She's been hanging with them a lot since New Years, but whatever." It should be a known fact by now that whenever Santana says the word whatever, it never is whatever. The dismissive word usually comes before or after a statement, and it always, always, means more than she'd like to admit.
Unsure if he should meddle, Kurt circles the counter and leans back against it for a moment, regarding Santana with narrowed eyes. Santana's still staring up at the ceiling, so for once he's allowed a few seconds to look at her without being afraid of the girl snapping at him about keeping his beady eyes to himself.
When Santana's thinking, deep in her mind with that faraway expression, she actually looks like a normal human being, with actual feelings and actual emotions. So, maybe Rachel's right. Kurt wouldn't exactly call the girl loving, but is she anything like Miss Cassandra July? Kurt's had the pleasure of being in the same vicinity as the crazy dance instructor more times than he would have liked, and no, Santana's nothing like her.
If Kurt could describe Santana in one sentence, it'd go a little something like this; deeply vulnerable and sensitive to the point of feeling too much, which causes her to build walls and shield herself from love by biting out cruel barbs pricklier than the spikes on a pitbull's collar.
Kurt's phone vibrates loudly against the kitchen counter as he's pulling a box of waffles out of the freezer. He smiles at Henry's response—Glad you're home safe. Already thinking of seeing you again—but suddenly the smile doesn't feel as genuine as before. It almost feels like they rushed into this relationship, and now everything is just moving way too fast.
"What's with the face?" Santana crawls across the carpet to lean up against the armrest of the couch. "You look like you just found out Liza Minnelli died."
Kurt doesn't laugh. "Never joke about Mrs. Minnelli in such a morbid way," he scolds, waving a solid cold waffle in Santana's direction. Rolling her eyes, Santana raises her hands in mock surrender, and then pulls herself up to walk into the kitchen. "And to answer your previous question...it's because, well...Henry and I may be—"
"Skipping into way-too-serious territory way too fast?" Santana takes a waffle out of the box and pops it into the toaster before Kurt can even unwrap his from the plastic.
He's more focused on being startled stiff. "How could you have possibly known that?" he asks in astonishment, and then whirls to check if there's any mikes or wires hanging off of his clothing.
It wouldn't exactly be surprising to discover Santana attached some kind of tracking device or spyware on either himself or Rachel. His roommate is oddly dependant for someone who swears by being a loner. She already went through most of their things when she first arrived here. Stalking, perhaps, is probably next on the list of Santana's strange habits.
"Fire Engine Red has it bad for you, Hummel. He talks about you like you're the fucking Chancellor of Analville." Kurt crinkles his nose at the distasteful analogy, but Santana continues nonetheless as she pulls a tub of butter out of the fridge. "Anyway, I wouldn't make a big deal out of it. Henry may be...spontaneous, but he's not going to propose or anything stupid like that."
As Kurt grabs the syrup from out the cupboard, he absently wonders when Santana started to know more about his boyfriend than him. It's a unnerving thought, so he pushes it to the back of his mind and listens to Santana about the last thing he ever thought he'd earn advice from her about; relationships.
"Just go with the flow, Kurt," she tells him, rounding the counter with a contemplative look. "After my breakup with Britt, I've learned not to take things for granted, so don't you either."
Santana settles down on a stool across from him as she squeezes out a dollop of whipped cream on top of her waffles. Kurt smiles warmly at the sight. Maybe Santana's not all barbed wires and biting words after all. Her expression remains guarded whenever she talks about her ex, which just proves she does in fact have a heart, one bigger than Kurt might have originally presumed.
--
Another week of unbearable silences and awkward tension go by, and Kurt's beginning to think that whatever happened between his roommates is not going to fix itself all on its own. Either he's going to have to do something about it, or somehow trick his two roommates into making up, which no doubt will take a whole lot of thought and energy.
Not that their friendship isn't worth it, but Kurt's been kind of exhausted from both class and all of his extra-curricular activities. With everything he has going on in his life with NYADA and his boyfriend wanting more out of their relationship, Kurt is on the crux of discombobulating and it's really starting to take its toll on him.
He's beyond stressed at the moment, and his roommate's fighting/avoiding each other is doing nothing to help that, especially since he's been in the middle of it most of the time, both literally and metaphorically. Choosing sides without even knowing of the problem is not a fun thing.
After a long and tedious Adam's Apples rehearsal, Kurt comes home one night to find Rachel on the couch with these giant headphones squeezed around her ears.
"Again?" he asks tiredly, a loud series of muffled groans and curses making his stomach turn nauseously. Sure, it's nice that Santana's getting some and everything, but he'd like it a whole lot more if they did it at Cole's place more often than they do it here.
Rachel just nods with this despondent look on her face as she tucks her knees under her chin. Kurt absently wonders whose bright idea it was to build this place without any doors or locks. Because of this reason alone is why he spends most of his time at Henry's apartment.
It's actually quite convenient having a boyfriend with his own place. They can be just as loud as they want without disturbing any roommates. Maybe the neighbors can hear them every now and then when they're particularly enthusiastic, but there's never been any complaint, so it's not like they're as bad as Santana and Cole.
To show that he understands Rachel's pain, Kurt makes a face as he joins her on the couch and wraps an arm around her shoulders. When another stifled whimper makes its way through the curtain, Rachel just buries her face even deeper into her knees, and Kurt begins to wonder if maybe there's more pain behind Rachel's expression than meets the eye.