Work Text:
Kurt knew he was in for it. Of course, he always had a daily suspicion he was in for something, but this time was a first: Sebastian’s birthday was coming up. And if he knew anything about him, it was that he got insufferable whenever he wanted attention. He knew there was no stopping that hereditary impulse: not on an occasion as special as this.
But Kurt was glad for the semi-distraction, really. It helped take his mind off the disastrous Valentine’s Day he’d had the previous week. His least favorite holiday by far was made even worse by the fact that everyone in New Directions seemed to be paired off as of late.
He did enjoy the discounted chocolates the day after, of course, which Sebastian made endless fun of him for. It was called an opportunity buy, Kurt had informed him at the time.
“Any more rules?” Kurt asked, figuring he’d take the path of least resistance. “Should I be referring to you as Lord Smythe?”
Sebastian scoffed, as if it was above him to consider it. “You look like you’ve never heard of a birth week before.”
Kurt rolled his eyes. He couldn’t be serious. But oh, he was. “I have. When I was like, nine. And I never actually believed in them.”
“You don’t believe in much, do you?” Sebastian observed casually, swirling his biscotti around in his cup of coffee. “You rebel, you.”
Somehow, Sebastian managed to make Kurt feel like the ridiculous one for not celebrating his birthday for six extra days than necessary. But that was also unique to the Smythe siblings, the ability to talk utter nonsense with confidence.
When Sebastian went to order more coffee, Kurt placed a hand atop his. “I’ve got this one, birthday boy.”
Sebastian snorted. “On second thought, I liked Lord Smythe.”
He didn’t look any different since the night of Kurt’s unfortunate revelation. He was still fashionably challenged; still wore that same forcibly coiffed hair and deceptively plain looking tops that cost more than Kurt’s designer eBay finds. He still blinked several times when he was nervous, still twisted the rings around his fingers when deep in contemplation. He still had that subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth whenever he was surprised or challenged or delighted or enraged; most times all four at once.
Kurt wanted to kick himself, and more importantly, he wanted to kick Sebastian. How dare he come into his life with all of his infuriating qualities and still have the audacity to be someone worth caring for?
It was something he couldn’t shake. Something that would outlast this latest iteration of misplaced desire. Because, crush or not, he sort of always cared about Sebastian. Before, it used to be concern over what Smythe thought about him; what he said about him behind his back. Then it devolved into a general sense of caring for him; a complete oversight on Kurt’s part.
Still, spending Valentine’s Day anywhere near him was a big no-no.
He decided to go to the new girl Sugar’s party instead, knowing Sebastian’s particular disdain for the Motta family and their “new, dirty money” would keep him from attending.
It was a few days before said party that the letter from his so-called “secret admirer” showed up in his locker. He'd thought it was a cruel joke at most.
“Kurt!” Burt called out to him. He groaned, running through a mental list of off color things he’d done lately that could get him in trouble. He ran downstairs to see Burt holding an envelope, eyebrows raised. Kurt wasn’t expecting any mail.
“Do you know a Smythe family?” His dad asked, puzzled. Phew. Not in trouble.
“Yeah. My friend on the Warblers, remember?” Kurt pointed out, reaching out for the envelope. “What’s this?”
“Say’s we’re invited to some charity thing.” Burt said. “See? It’s addressed to the Hummel/Hudson family.”
And so it was. Kurt remembered Sebastian mentioning his parents planning a celebration. He complained that they were using his birthday as some excuse to throw a benefit gala, even going so far as to saying Sebastian wanted nothing in the way of gifts, but instead preferred donations to The Leukemia Research Foundation.
“How do I even win that argument?” Sebastian had remarked while telling him. “No, actually, I hate the children with leukemia? They’ve backed me into a corner here.”
Kurt wondered if the invite was Penny’s doing. The two of them were actually friends now, talking mostly fashion trends or making fun of Sebastian. Either way, he knew he couldn’t pass this up.
“Let’s go.” Kurt said. “It’s at the Ritz.”
“Are you sure I know this kid?”
“Drives an Audi?”
“Ah.” Burt said; glad Kurt was finally speaking his language. “Sure. Always wanted to be invited to a gala.”
His dad did have aspirations for government, after all. Kurt figured this could be good practice. And if he wanted to have friends in high places, you didn’t get much higher than Michael and Claire Smythe.
“What’s the dress code?” Kurt asked in French, the purpose of their phone call being that he needed help practicing for his oral exam.
“Ah, so you got my invite.” Sebastian answered in that slippery Parisian accent. He’d accused Kurt of sounding like he was from a smaller village from time to time.
“Duh.” Kurt said. “So that was you? Not Penny.”
“It’s my party.” Sebastian pointed out. “Not that she isn’t overjoyed you’re coming.”
Kurt smiled. “Dress code?” He repeated.
“No tassels. No pink.”
“No heels?” This he said in English, teasing more than anything else.
“En français.” Sebastian chided, but he heard the grin in his voice.
“Oh, pardon.” Kurt said, debating in his head the most outrageous outfit he could get away with.
“Bring your secret admirer, if you like.” Sebastian teased. Oh. So he knew. Kurt had hoped the story would die down, but it somehow found his way back to him. Or maybe he went digging for it.
“I’d rather not.”
“What? He isn’t what you hoped for?” So he didn’t know everything. He was fishing for information, and Kurt wasn’t going to bite.
“It’s called a secret admirer, Smythe.”
“Fine. I’ll give you your privacy.” Kurt didn’t know if he’d meant to sound harsh or if that was just a byproduct of his dialect.
“Merci.”
“Ouais, ouias.”
The Valentine’s Day debacle was really more of a series of misunderstandings. At the party Karofsky had cornered him outside to tell him he was behind the letter—thankfully, in private, Kurt didn’t know what he would have done had there been some spectacle. Kurt originally wrote it off as some cruel joke. But then he remembered the detail of the letter, how it hardly focused on the physical. He remembered how it highlighted his courage. It couldn’t have been written as some mean joke, but rather by someone who was paying attention. All this time, Karofsky had been paying attention.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he did neither. He just hugged him, burying his face in his oversized shoulder. He lingered for a moment or two before stepping back, tried not to notice those large, wet eyes.
“I’m sorry. But I-”
“I know.” Karofsky said quickly, resigned. Kurt wished he could choose who to want. Wouldn’t that be simpler? “And I’m sorry.”
“Dave-”
“I mean it, I am. For everything, alright?” The look in Karofsky’s eyes was a heavy one, like he’d been struggling alongside Kurt with what happened in that locker room, and worse, the threats that followed. “I made your life so hard because I was scared of who I was. Of what I wanted. And you were so brave in ways I wish I was.”
Kurt got that, too. He was scared of his desires for years. Still is, sometimes.
“It’s okay.” Kurt said. “Well, not okay. But it’s fine. I’m fine.” And that was true. Kurt’s biggest problem was an unrequited crush he had on the most inconvenient person on the planet. He’d worked past his phobias since then, no longer recoiled when guys kissed him at parties.
“Okay.” Dave said, already breathing easier. “Okay. Well…I guess I’ll let you get back inside.”
Kurt nodded, headed for the door before turning back around once more. “Dave? You’re pretty brave, too.”
Of course, Finn ended up inviting Rachel to the gala, and Rachel couldn’t help but blab to everyone else, and Kurt had to be the bad guy that explained that he couldn’t take the entire glee club. And of course, they all got dressed up and decided to come anyway. Sugar’s dad even rented them a handicap accessible limo so Artie could arrive in style.
‘Oh you are gonna murder me.’ Kurt texted Sebastian.
‘No, I’ll probably sue you.’ Sebastian replied instantly, then:
'I’m not the violent sort.’ Then:
‘Wait, why am I suing you??’
Kurt slipped his phone into his jacket pocket. He’d find out soon enough when the cavalry arrived. He had to admit that they did all clean up nicely, surveying everyone as he slipped into the limo next to Finn.
“Help yourself to champagne!” Sugar harped, and Kurt made eye contact with his dad, who wordlessly dared him to. He resisted as long as possible but then Carol poured him a glass and now he had to drink some to be polite.
Their arrival was a spectacle , and he would’ve been self-conscious a year ago. But now, The New Directions were every bit a family to him as his own, and he said just as much when he explained to the bouncer they were all arriving under the Hummel/Hudson docket.
They walked into the main ballroom and Kurt’s eyes lingered on the décor, a rather predictable gold and crème color scheme that was topped off by three or so chandeliers and a mahogany wood floor. He wondered if they were shopping for anyone to redecorate, when he felt someone clap a hand on his shoulder.
“Ah, so you must be Kurt Hummel.” Kurt twirled around to see a man he was only familiar with from pictures and portraits. He looked older in person.
“Mr. Smythe!” He smiled, reaching out for a firm handshake. Michael Smythe was the same height as his son, and still had his full head of hair, although it was greying at the temples. Kurt was surprised Sebastian’s father even knew who he was, especially well enough to pick him out of a crowd.
“I’m glad you and your…” Mr. Smythe’s eyes wandered to the large group of glee kids already dispersing throughout the party. “…Family could join us.”
The eyes were different, Kurt decided. Sebastian and penny must’ve gotten their mother’s eyes.
“These are just some of my friends from glee club.” Kurt explained.
“Yes, I recognize a few of them from Regionals. Congratulations on the win.” He said, continuing to scan the crowd until his eyes got wide. Kurt turned to see who he was looking at. Oh shit. Sugar.
“I didn’t know you were friends with the Motta family.” Mr. Smythe said with an air of nonchalance. Because that’s how stuff worked in their world. Clans aligned with clans.
“I’ve never met her family, actually. But she’s nice enough, and-” Kurt caught sight of his dad and called him over. “Speaking of, this is my dad, Burt.”
Kurt ducked out of the conversation while the two adults chattered, heart pounding. Well, he botched that one.
He recognized some of the kids from those Westerville parties, looking a lot more clean-cut now that they were out of their street clothes. He couldn’t find Sebastian, though, who wasn’t even with Blaine and Hunter like he suspected he’d be.
And then it clicked. He hadn’t checked the bar. And there he was, leaning against the countertop with a drink in hand, glancing over his shoulder periodically like he was looking for someone. But he always had the aura of someone searching.
“Lord Smythe.” Kurt teased, standing next to him.
“Took you long enough.” Sebastian chided. “I see you've met my dad.”
Of course he did. He did have a decent vantage point from here.
“You could’ve helped me at any time.” Kurt noted, leaning forward and taking a sip of Sebastian’s drink.
“I was punishing you for bringing all of Lima, Ohio to my party.”
“Touché.”
“You look nice.” Sebastian said begrudgingly, eyeing the touch of paisley on his lapels. “Didn’t know you could reign it in.”
“I’m capable of subtlety.” Kurt said, making eye contact with the bartender and ordering a gin and tonic. Thank god they don’t card at these things.
“You’ll have to work hard to catch up.” Sebastian said, raising his cup. “This is number three.”
Kurt tilted his head in question. “Why are you always trying to get me drunk?”
“You don’t need my help, princess.” Sebastian promised. “Just a little push.”
He gently pushed Kurt’s shoulder in demonstration, and Kurt pushed him right back.
“Your dad hates me, by the way.” Kurt said, grabbing his gin and tonic from the bartender and taking more of a gulp than a sip.
“I’d be more concerned if he didn’t.” Sebastian said, then, suddenly, “Do you think Blaine and Hunter are fucking?”
Kurt nearly choked on his second sip, following Sebastian’s eye line to see the two of them talking. "Um...no?"
“They’re getting really familiar, is all.”
“Why don’t you just ask?” Kurt said, and Sebastian looked at him like he grew a second head.
“Are you insane?”
“Apparently.” Kurt mumbled.
“I don’t think they are.” Sebastian said suddenly, eyes squinting as he watched them. “Hunter isn’t his type.”
“Also Blaine probably would’ve told me.” Kurt pointed out.
This was always the wrong thing to say, Kurt knew. And maybe he liked to take advantage of it from time to time. He'd adapted to Sebastian's game; learned exactly which buttons to push.
“Right.” Sebastian said, amused. “Because you’re two peas in a pod.”
“I’d like to think so.” Kurt pouted. “You’re a mean drunk tonight.”
“I’m not drunk, thank you. This is just the warm up.” Sebastian downed the rest of his drink but waited before ordering another. “So you told Blaine, then? About your admirer?”
Kurt should’ve seen this coming. Sebastian never left well enough alone, always came circling back for answers. “Yes, actually.”
“And what did he think?”
“It’s not a good fit.” Kurt said, keeping his answer simple.
Sebastian laughed at that. “You are such a heartbreaker.”
For Kurt, it felt like the other way around. In a final twist of fate, Dave Karofsky broke his heart. Suddenly, he felt the need to tell Sebastian everything. Just to see what he’d make of it. But there was a celebration to be had and drinks to drink. More unpleasant things could wait.
"How does 17 feel?” Kurt asked instead.
Sebastian pursed his lips in thought, before settling on, “Hopeful.”
Kurt could get on board with hopeful.
The night went by slowly for Kurt. He’d only gotten the chance to talk to Sebastian once before he was whisked in a hundred different directions.
The dance floor was taken up almost entirely by members of the New Directions at any given time, but some of the other attendees took their lead and slowly started letting loose as the night went on. Kurt spotted a few familiar faces amongst them and had fun catching up, but he couldn’t help himself wondering what Sebastian was up to or whom he was talking to. He was infatuated. He was a basket case.
“You’re not a thing with that Hunter guy, are you?” Kurt asked when he bumped into Blaine again; his lips a bit looser since he’d had his most recent drink.
Blaine laughed while scrutinizing Kurt. “Sebastian told you to ask me, didn’t he?”
“Nu uh.”
“I think you’ve had enough, mister.” Blaine said, playfully confiscating his drink.
“You didn’t answer.” Kurt pouted.
“You’re not a thing with Bas, are you?” Blaine countered, raising those infuriatingly prominent eyebrows in mock surprise.
“Ha ha.” Kurt grabbed his drink back. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”
Blaine shook his head. “You do know Hunter’s straight, right?”
“...Yes?”
Blaine laughed, those eyes of his crinkling up at the corners. “Check your source next time.”
Kurt looked at him intently, thinking about all the things that laugh used to make him feel. Butterflies. Puppy love. He contemplated trading this newer feeling for what he used to have, if that would even be possible. It was pure, what he used to feel for Blaine. It was romantic. It had almost no grasp on reality. But he had that beautiful laugh, and those kind eyes. And here Kurt was, chasing ridicule and smirks.
“You check your source.” Kurt grumbled, decidedly turning away from the conversation before he drunkenly said anything dumb out loud.
Claire Smythe was the woman of the hour, one of the few women in attendance who was letting age have its natural way with her. She was wearing a very expensive looking forest green dress, but Kurt zoned in on her face, her familiar cat-like eyes and that trademark Parisian red lipstick that outlined her mouth. Kurt wondered how Sebastian would look in red lipstick. Kurt promptly abandoned his cocktail on the nearest table and decidedly did not examine that thought.
“Pretty, no?” A voice said behind him. “Pity she’s taken.”
Kurt was startled only to see that familiar, smug face. What was it with people sneaking up behind him? “Can you say that about your own mother? Like, legally?”
“You were the one staring.” Sebastian pointed out. “I’ll put in a good word for you.”
“You’re sick.” Kurt shook his head. “Also, Hunter’s straight.”
“Are we sure?”
Kurt sighed. “I’m too drunk for your conspiracy theories right now.”
“Or not drunk enough.” Sebastian said, offering an arm. “To the bar?”
Kurt briefly looked at the cocktail he’d just abandoned before sighing and linking arms with him. “You’re trying to kill me.”
“Consider it a mercy killing.”
Kurt tried to be smart. He tried to nurse this drink like he saw the older people doing, swirling more often than he sipped. The last thing he needed was to exit this event on a stretcher.
Sebastian was on the other side of tipsy himself, but no one seemed to care. He couldn’t imagine that kind of unchecked freedom. But he also couldn’t fathom this level of responsibility either, having to bounce between a whole ballroom full of people. Sebastian was endless bouts of energy as he glided across the room. But with Kurt, in this hallway away from everyone’s eyes, he seemed to slump.
“You’re tired.” Kurt pointed out.
“It’s been quite an evening.”
“You’re having at least a little fun, right?”
“Why do you care?” Sebastian said, eyes squinting, and Kurt thought about him months earlier on his kitchen floor, asking a similar question. Almost like he already knew the answer.
“Because we’re friends, genius.” Kurt rolled his eyes. “Even though you still treat me like the help.”
“I am so nice to you.” Sebastian huffed. “I let you drive my car all the time.”
Kurt laughed. “I guess I’m grateful.”
Sebastian’s eyes were still lingering, pondering an entirely different question. “…we are friends, aren’t we?”
“For the millionth time-”
“Just friends, is that right?”
And all it took were those words to leave Kurt dumbfounded; almost angry at the underlying accusation implied in that statement. How dare he ask Kurt something so personal?
“Yes.” Kurt lied, voice not even cracking. That kind of smoothness took practice, and he had the best teacher.
“So friends tell friends about their admirers.” Sebastian said, and Kurt almost sighed in relief. Always working an angle. Clearly not in tune with Kurt at all. His relief felt vaguely like loneliness.
Kurt told him the story of Valentine’s Day in what felt like one breath, almost ashamed that he didn’t have anything more exciting to reveal. By the end, he found himself sitting on the floor. He didn’t remember drifting to the floor. Sebastian slid down to join him, looking thrilled to finally have an excuse to take the weight off his feet.
“I was a little disappointed.” Kurt admitted, playing with the buttons on his cuff. “Better luck next year, I guess.”
Sebastian didn’t speak, instead taking Kurt’s hand in his own. And Kurt wanted to say so much but he feared whatever part of him was capable of making such a confession might’ve died along with his mother and his head was swimming and why did he think that extra gin and tonic was such a good idea?
But then Sebastian began to stroke his hand with his thumb in soothing circles, and something inside of Kurt quieted.
“You know how they say a sign of madness is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result?” Sebastian asked after a few moments.
“Who says that?”
“People.”
Kurt hummed. “You sure you didn’t make that up?”
“I’m almost positive.”
“Go on.” Kurt urged.
“Every time I feel anything about another person I just…I shove it away. Like if I just ignore it long enough that feeling won’t matter anymore. That person won’t matter. And some days it works well enough, you know? Just enough that I can ignore it. But that’s not a solution, is it? That’s the coward’s way out.”
“You’re rambling.” Kurt pointed out, because that’s all he could manage to say.
“My point is, it doesn’t work.” Sebastian said. “So I have to ask you one more time: are we just friends? And is that all we’re ever going to be?”
Kurt wasn't caught off guard this time. He figured he’d brush him off. “I can’t speak for who we’ll be in like, a decade.”
Sebastian gave his hand a squeeze. “You don’t have to hide, Kurt. Not from me.”
Sebastian’s eyes were searching. Always the searching. Always wanting something. But Kurt just couldn’t say it. He wanted to leave, but Sebastian’s gentle grip on his hand felt like an iron lock to him in that moment. “Please…”
"Yes, anything.” Sebastian answered instantly, with an earnestness that made Kurt want to cry.
“Please don’t laugh at me.”
“Do I look like I’m going to laugh at you?”
“Yes. Always.”
Sebastian scanned Kurt’s face with such an intensity that Kurt had to look away. They were silent for a moment, hand in hand.
“Fine. How about we take turns confessing things? I’ll start.” Sebastian said after a while, turning to face the opposite wall, so they wouldn’t have to look at each other. Kurt bit his lip to hide his amusement and did the same.
“I want to kiss you.”
Kurt felt his face go hot, his palm prickly with sweat where it met Sebastian’s. “Who just announces that?”
He shrugged, sneaking a look at Kurt’s face “Maybe someone who likes it when you blush. Your turn.”
“I…did wonder how you’d look in red lipstick earlier.”
Kurt snuck a glance, too. And ah, there it was, that telltale twitch. “A venture for another day.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” He said like Kurt just disclosed the most normal thought in the world. “I’m kind of jealous that you tell Blaine everything.”
Kurt scoffed. “I’m kind of jealous that you tell Blaine everything.”
Sebastian laughed at that. “I don’t tell you everything because I think, deep down you already know.”
Kurt was quiet. He did, didn’t he? “I like the faces you make when I’m telling a story. Like, you’re right there with me in the memory.”
Sebastian gave his hand another squeeze, like he needed an anchor. “I never wanted to be understood. Not before you, at least.”
“You make me wish I knew more about sex.” Kurt admitted in one breath.
“You make me wish I knew more about the other stuff.” Sebastian countered.
“I’m not as romantic as you think.”
“I regret half of the sex I have.”
“I think you’re right.” Kurt said, turning to look at him.
“Hm?” Sebastian asked, meeting his gaze.
“I think I already knew that.”
Sebastian took a deep breath, then: “I like you more than I should.”
Kurt’s heart fluttered. It was that easy, then. He followed his lead. “I think I've liked you for months. Even while I hated you.”
“I like your dumb clothes.”
“I like your pompous Parisian accent.”
Sebastian scoffed. “You’re a jerk and I still want to kiss you.”
Kurt rolled his eyes, tried to ignore the fluttering in his chest. “You’re drunk.”
“And I’ll still want to kiss you when I’m sober.” Sebastian said with conviction, eyes piercing. “And the only person more terrified by that than you is me, believe me.”
“Then let’s wait.” Kurt said, because it seemed the most obvious solution at the moment. “Until we’re both sober.”
Sebastian looked at him like he often did whenever he did or said something impossible. “You’re serious.”
“Look at my face.”
“I am. I could be kissing that face.”
“God, stop it.” Kurt laughed, letting go of his hand.
“And that neck-”
Kurt pushed his arm. “You’re embarrassing both of us now.”
Sebastian grinned with all the cockiness only a drunken teenaged boy could muster. “Fine. I can wait until tomorrow.” He leaned in anyway; mouth bypassing Kurt’s lips to whisper in his ear. “Question is, can you?”
Kurt hadn't thought that far ahead. What a question, indeed.