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Chapter Text

Ever since he can remember, Kurt has secretly dreamed of having the power to put the world on mute.

It's a fantasy that he's nursed through all the years of yelling and taunts he's had to endure in school. He thinks of it during Rachel's fourth hour of chatter about her new Off-(Off, he adds in his head)-Broadway role. He thinks of it on the days that the vindictive honks of the New York streets are truly aggravating his morning migraine. And he thinks of it when Blaine turns on his juicer at 1:00 in the goddamn morning because he's just come home from his latest gig and he's thirsty.

He's had this fantasy for as long as he can remember, probably since he was a child.

And now, it's finally come true.

No matter how hard he tries, he can't hear a thing. He knows it's not actually quiet around him. He can see, as he slowly (so painfully slowly, as if there's molasses on his shoes) enters the room, that there's people talking, laughing, gesturing, everywhere around. He sees someone's phone is ringing, he watches someone bump into a table, and by the fact that some people are swaying, he would even guess that there's music.

But he can't hear any of it. Funny, how the things you want come to you at the worst possible times.

Kurt stands there silently (so silently), frozen at the entrance, trench-coat halfway off his shoulders, and simply watches – like a strange version of charades, except he has no clue what he's supposed to be guessing.

He wonders if this is what having a stroke feels like. He wonders, if he were to start talking, whether he would hear himself speak. He wonders what Sebastian sees as their eyes meet suddenly across the room; it must be something different than usual, because he lowers his champagne glass slightly and tilts his head, a smirk only half-hovering over his lips.

Suddenly, Kurt's vision is obscured by a petite brunette making her way across to him from the other side, very briskly and very matter-of-factly. By the way Rachel's mouth is moving, he can tell she's already started talking at him rapidly, but for the life of him he can't hear a thing. Behind her, Santana is stalking towards him as well, eyes ablaze, mouth set in a grim line of "You did not just fucking do what I think you did."

He chances a glance back at Sebastian and sees that he's started making his way over as well – a little more casually, but still, with a definite purpose to his step. And fuck, on a scale of one to Macaulay Culkin, he must look pretty fucking bad if Sebastian of all people can tell that something's wrong. Why on Gaga's green earth did he think coming here was a good idea?

Rachel's in front of him now and looking at him expectantly. He doesn't lipread, but even he can guess the over-enunciated, "Well?"

Now Santana's reached him, too, and he can't help but think that she's managed to make a string of matronly pearls look rather sexy with a crimson satin V-neck. He'll have to compliment her on that later.

Finally, Sebastian's there as well, head still tilted, eyes squinting slightly as he studies him.

"And if I haven't gotten all three of my wishes at once," Kurt wants to say – really wants to say, except for some reason, he can't quite get his mouth to work.

And suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he sees black curly hair and a navy suit, and just like that, the sound is back on.

"- searching everywhere for you. I had to tell Blaine you were stuck in traffic," Rachel is hissing. She stops to catch her breath and seems to take the moment to survey him. "Kurt, what's wrong? Are you alright?"

"Hey, Velma, talk to us," Santana snaps, with her patented mixture of concern and irritation. "What's happened?"

Kurt glances over at Sebastian, who's watching him quietly, one eyebrow quirked, while still sipping champagne. It's this very Sebastian-like behavior that finally seems to snap Kurt out of his stupor.

"Nothing," he says, and he marvels at how smooth and calm his voice sounds. He finishes sliding off his trench coat and folds it neatly over his arm. Everywhere around, the muffled din of conversation and music comes and goes in gentle waves.

Normal. Everything is normal.

"I'm fine, Rachel. Just a last-minute fashion disaster at ELLE, I needed to come in."

Rachel looks horrified at this new information, even more so than when she'd thought that some emergency had delayed him. "Couldn't – couldn't someone else have come in? Tonight of all nights, Kurt – I mean…" She trails off unhappily in a tone she has perfected over the years. Kurt privately calls it her I'mnotangryjustdisappointed voice.

"I'm sorry, but you're telling us we were covering your ass with your fiancé because someone lost the button on their Chanel blazer?"

"Now that's hardly fair, Lopez," Sebastian finally chimes in, thumb tracing the rim of his glass. "It could've been two buttons. Or even a zipper."

Kurt rolls his eyes – and God, it feels good to do something that's so normal – and gives his best one-eyebrow glare. "As hard as you all may find it to believe, working in fashion involves more than just sewing on buttons. If you must know, they sent off the wrong centerspread to copy. I had to be there, it was all hands-on-deck." There, that lie sounds believable enough.

"I still can't believe you thought that was more important," Rachel says, in a tone close to whining.

Santana shakes her head, tapping one black stiletto-ed heel against the floor with her arms crossed. "Just don't expect us to cover for you again, Cinderella. You run from the wedding, you're on your own." She shoots a glare over at Sebastian, who has made no move to leave their little circle. "Something you need, Lothario?"

He looks at her with a signature smirk – Kurt genuinely wonders if he's taken out a copyright on it – and replies, "I was just realizing that the devil does, in fact, wear Prada."

"It's Vince Camuto, you idiot," Santana snaps back, and when Sebastian laughs, Kurt snorts with him, because she did (kind of) just admit that she's Satan.

"Alright, well, you're here now. That's what's important, and it means that we can finally start," Rachel breaks in primly. God bless Rachel's heart, the girl could compartmentalize.

"Good," Sebastian says, smoothly pulling a folded piece of paper from his front pocket, "because I have a hell of an embarrassing speech cooked up for the two of you."

And then, something about the way Sebastian shifts slightly to the right, and Santana takes a step slightly to the left, suddenly puts Blaine – gorgeous, sweet Blaine – right in Kurt's line of sight. Their eyes meet across the room, and he can't help but think that it's romantic, really – almost exactly like how they show it in the movies.

Blaine begins walking over, and if that isn't slow-motion, then Kurt has never seen the Matrix (he has, on Sam's request – three times, to be exact, and each time, Sam has refused to call Blaine anything other than Mr. Anderson for at least a week after).

With every step that he takes, Kurt feels his heart beginning to beat faster and faster. He can do this. He can do this. He can –

"Nope, I can't do this."

He breaks Rachel off mid-monologue on the planned schedule for the evening. He slides the trench coat back on, watching Blaine's welcoming smile falter into confusion, and turns on his heel, starting a brisk walk toward the door. There's a small eruption of noise behind him.

"Kurt, what do you – "

"Hummel, you better – "

"Kurt?"

The last one is Blaine's voice. He knows if he turns to look, he'll be dragged back to the depths of hell, and he'll be damned if he's going to make the same mistake as Orpheus, that lyre-strumming fool.

The air outside is cold and sharp and sour but somehow comforting. If the New York weather can't be bothered to give a fuck about his problems, why should he? Maybe he should go to that bar winking at him from across the street. Or maybe he should head to the Thai place a block from their apartment, he's been craving their sticky rice for –

"Hey! Hey, Hummel, I'm talking to you." The clicking steps are surprisingly fast for someone he knows is tottering in six-inch heels, but that surprise is nothing compared to the sharp slap he receives against his cheek a moment later.

"What the hell, Santana?" he hisses, because really, did they land in an episode of Real Housewives of Brooklyn when he wasn't looking?

"Snap out of it, Hummel," Santana bites back sharply. "Don't do this. Whatever celestial sign you think you've seen, someone's shirt color, your horoscope, whatever – it's all in your head! Do you understand? You do not have the privilege to have a Berry meltdown right now."

Rachel has finally caught up to them, breathless, the hem of her dress clutched in her hand. "Kurt, honey, I know it's stressful," she says in a sympathetic voice, all traces of her previous anger gone. "I know it is. I almost considered calling it off, too, you know. Right on the day of the wedding. But I didn't. And honey, if even I somehow managed not to screw it up, then you know that you definitely can't, right?"

"Don't make a mistake you'll regret for the rest of your life on some kind of, some kind of, fucking impulse!" Santana gestures to the air around her in anger as she talks.

"You know, I'm glad you were the one who slapped him, because if I had, that would not have come off the right way."

Santana whirls on Sebastian, who is leaning against the stone wall behind them. "I'm sorry, Gossip Girl, but did I say you could join us? This is inner circle only."

"Well actually, as Blaine's best man, I'm here as his representative in the 'inner circle,' as you call it," Sebastian uses air quotes, all while managing to delicately hold his champagne glass, "and since it looks like Groom One here might be making a runner, I kind of have to keep abreast of the situation on his behalf."

"Don't be ridiculous, Sebastian," Rachel says. "No one's making a runner. Right, Kurt?" Rachel turns to look at him pleadingly.

He shakes his head sadly at her, but sees that she interprets it the wrong way from the relief that lights up her face.

"I'm sorry, Rachel," he whispers. "I can't go through with it."

"To hell you can't, you – you – pendejo!" Santana retorts. "I am dragging you back in there by your blonde-tip highlights if I have to – "

"Please, Kurt, if you just talk to us – "

"Look, Hummel, have some champagne, and – "

Suddenly everyone's crowding him, blocking his way out, penning him in, and he really can't breathe anymore.

"Look, Porcelain, you made me promise if you had a freak-out, that I would – "

"Kurt, you know we just want you to be – "

"Why am I not surprised that is turning into a shit show before we even – "

"He fucked someone else!"

Kurt doesn't mean to shout it, he really doesn't. He means to say it firmly and calmly, with a defiant tilt of his chin, but instead it comes out as a desperate yell. He's fairly certain the whole street hears him, but all he can focus on are the three shocked, drawn faces staring back at him right now. Santana's mouth is hanging open slightly, Sebastian is looking at him as if he pulled a parrot from beneath his coat, and Rachel looks close to tears.

Surprisingly, she's also the first one to break the silence. "What – what do you mean?"

The strength goes out of Kurt in an almost audible whoosh, and he can no longer muster the anger of a second ago. "I mean he cheated on me, Rachel."

"But – but – "

"How do you know?" Santana asks, quietly but with tight lips.

"I just do," Kurt mutters.

"Well, maybe you're wrong," Rachel starts babbling. "Maybe it's a mistake, like the time I thought that Macy's sent me the wrong pair of pumps, except it turned out I'd ordered the wrong ones, but then I spent so long arguing with them on the phone that they sent them to me anyway and then I ended up with two pairs – "

"Shut up, Berry." Sebastian's voice is clipped and short, similar to how Santana's had sounded, and he repeats her question. "How do you know?"

Kurt doesn't want to look at any of them, but he ends up holding Sebastian's eyes. They're a dark green, and right now they're intense and searching and afire. He's reminded of the gleam of green beer bottles, the reflected light that he used to follow with fascination as a child when his father would sit down to watch a game.

"A video," he answers quietly.

"What?" Santana asks.

"Someone, I – I don't know who, but someone, anonymously, thought that they should send me a video, the day of my rehearsal dinner."

"A – a video of what?" Rachel asks tentatively.

Kurt exhales sharply through his nose. "What do you think, Rachel?"

"Well, how can you be sure – "

"Fine, you want to see it yourself, go ahead," he snaps, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He's losing his temper now, because it's becoming clear that they don't believe him, that they'd all prefer to assume that he's suffering from some hysterical delusion. And God, part of him wishes he is.

He regrets it a second before he does it, but he thrusts the video towards Rachel anyways, and winces as her face turns from foreboding into horror. Santana snatches the phone from her hand and brings it up almost to her nose, watching it a good twenty seconds before bringing it down with an expression of disgust.

"How do you know it's not from before you guys got together again?" Sebastian says, once again leaning against the wall, still cradling his glass.

Rachel face briefly melds into hope. "That's true, the video isn't dated, and – "

"There's a tattoo. He didn't get it until after we got back together," Kurt says robotically.

"It doesn't make sense," Rachel says. "Why would someone send it the day of the dinner?"

"And why won't they put their name to it?"

He doesn't understand why all of these questions matter. He doesn't understand why he has to explain it at all, why a perfectly clear situation to him is proving to be so confusing for all of them.

His fiancé cheated on him. It happens. It's hardly even the most shocking news of the day, if he thinks about it – someone at work today told him they'd heard that flannel is coming back into style (ghastly, with an underline).

"Well then, how – I don't understand how you're so calm about this?" Rachel says slowly, as if chewing through the words as she says them.

Kurt is about to answer her, something along the lines of "Probably because of my friends, Smirnoff and Captain Morgan," when Sebastian's voice breaks in instead.

"Because that's the way the world ends."

Something about how calmly and simply he says it sends a chill down Kurt's spine, and he turns a literal one-eighty in order to look at Sebastian, who is staring down at his shoes, almost thoughtfully. When he finally looks up to meet Kurt's eyes, the dark green is inscrutable, just like the tone of his voice.

"Hey, kiddo, something wrong with this place we should know about? Or is being late to your own rehearsal dinner one of those fashionable New York things that I don't get?"

Kurt's heart drops out from under him. The door slams shut behind his father as he joins them outside, dressed in a neat, black suit, and with a beer bottle in his hand (his only request for the festivities – "I'm not a picky man, but I need my Sam Adams"). His tone is light, but his eyes are searching, like they often seem to be when he's talking to Kurt – probably a side effect of how little Kurt had confided in him during high school.

Kurt's heart sinks, because he certainly can't make a run for it anymore, and he definitely can't call it off - at least not tonight, in front of his proud, misty-eyed father who's flown out to New York just for him – just for this week.

"He was negotiating the terms of his contract. Officially, it all disappears at midnight, but he was trying to push it out to 1:00." Sebastian's contemplative tone is gone, replaced with his usual filter of snark and smirk.

Burt turns a long, bracing stare onto him, and then looks back at Kurt. "I don't know, kiddo. It's your rehearsal dinner. I think you can push for at least 2:00."

Sebastian chuckles and raises his champagne glass to Burt's beer.

Kurt has always been under the opinion that life has certain unsolvable enigmas – the existence of sweatpants outside of the home, Patti LuPone's possession of only two Tony awards, and, most recently, the relationship between Sebastian and his father.

He isn't able to explain it. The first time they met, at his and Blaine's apartment-warming party, he expected his father to immediately give Sebastian the "unmovable rock" routine. It certainly hadn't helped that Sebastian's first words to his father were, "So… adopted?"

But instead of stone-cold silence (best case scenario, he had thought), he found them in the kitchen a half hour later, bonding over their hatred of Lite beer and their mutual amusement with Kurt's experimental fashion.

They've gotten along ever since, and he's tried not to be hurt by how much more comfortable Burt has always seemed with Sebastian than with Blaine.

"Talking to him's a lot like talking to you," is the only explanation Burt has ever offered on the matter.

"Look, Burt, Kurt and we – we and Kurt – all of us were just trying to – " Rachel stutters.

"We were just about to go in, Dad," Kurt breaks in, and just like that, the mask is on and he wonders why something so familiar to him provides him so little comfort. He supposes that now, the same could be said for his fiancé.

Rachel freezes much like a rabbit sensing danger. He knows Santana and Sebastian are sending him strange looks, but he ignores the stares like he's ignored them all through high school.

Linking arms with his dad, he gives his best attempt at a smile – and really, in that moment, Meryl has nothing on him. "Will you walk me in? It'll be good practice." Just like that. Pretending like the wedding is actually happening tomorrow. Just for tonight.

Because this is they way the worlds ends - not with a bang, but a whimper.

Chapter Text

Back inside, his father goes over to Carol, and Kurt actually looks at the room he's spent planning for so long for the first time that night.

The floral arrangements are just the way he wanted them, the lighting is the perfect blend of cheerful and intimate, the music is the right cadence – and everything is going to hell in a Louis Vuitton handbasket.

Within all of a minute he finds himself forced to slip into host mode with the people milling around, clearly waiting to greet him.

"Yes, thank you so much for coming." "So sorry about the hold-up." "What lovely earrings!" "Someone's ahead of the trend. I hear emerald's going to be the hue of the season." Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes in, he snatches a champagne glass from a waiter's passing tray, only to have it removed from his hand a moment later.

He turns to see Sebastian standing there. "I thought you said I should have some champagne."

"Yeah, well, that was pre-Fuckgate. Now, I think you need something a little stronger." He hands Kurt a tumbler of amber liquid. "Don't tell anyone, but there's a couple bottles of Glenfiddich that I've hidden in the centerpiece of table twelve."

"What, decided against spiking the punch?" Kurt asks drily, taking a sip – strong, but it's what he needs right now. That doesn't stop him from coughing slightly, though, or Sebastian from smirking at him.

"By the way, aren't you supposed to be over with – with him doing damage control right about now? You are his best man."

Sebastian shifts, and sips at the champagne glass he's stolen from Kurt.

"Please, don't be here on my account. Go, be his 'representative.'" When Kurt does air quotes, it is much less gracefully than Sebastian, and he sloshes a good few drops of his drink onto the floor. Despite his words, he doesn't want him to leave. Because this, this banter they have, is normal, and more than anything, he needs normal right now – as well as strong alcohol.

For the first time since he's known him, Sebastian looks uncomfortable (and, Kurt reminds himself, this is the man who thinks full-frontal is first base).

"Look, just because he's my friend, it doesn't mean – that is…" Sebastian exhales through his nose in frustration. "What he did, it's fucked up, alright? And I – I don't think it's right."

For the second (third, fourth?) time that night, Kurt locks eyes with Sebastian, and the intensity of indignation that he finds there – indignation on his behalf – is the thing that almost pushes him over the edge.

Because it's in that moment he realizes that Sebastian is his friend as well, that Kurt isn't just the bitchy girlfriend that he's put up with all these years in order to hang out with Blaine, that he genuinely cares about him. Maybe it's been obvious to everyone else for ages now, but to Kurt, who's spent so long burrowing into the insecurity of how they met, it's truly an epiphany.

And suddenly there's a warm, beautiful happiness pooling in his stomach, a feeling of friendship and protection and acceptance, and it's partly replacing the hurt and betrayal that's been sitting there since the moment his phone pinged this afternoon.

Kurt drains his glass in one large gulp, and then just goes for it, enveloping Sebastian in a giant, sloppy bear hug he's only ever felt comfortable giving to his dad, Blaine, and Finn.

Sebastian totters slightly under the sudden shift in balance, but holds his ground, hands coming up to Kurt's waist. "You okay there, Hummel?" he asks softly against Kurt's cheek.

"We're friends," he whispers back, as if that's all the explanation that's necessary.

Sebastian pulls back slightly. "And it's taken you this long to figure that out? Who did you think I was, the help?"

Kurt smiles broadly – too broadly, maybe to keep from crying, but he knows at least part of it is real – and finally pulls away.

"Actually, I thought you were a punishment sent to me for being gay but not liking Wendy Williams."

"Please, as if those bowties aren't punishment enough."

Kurt snorts, and of course, in all of this, Sebastian has somehow managed to not spill a single drop of his champagne.

"Are we ready, do we think?" Rachel has darted up to them, much like Tinker Bell, out-of-nowhere, and is looking at them both anxiously.

"For…?" Sebastian asks, taking the tumbler from Kurt's hand and mouthing the word 'refill' at him.

"What do you think?" Rachel huffs. "For speeches. This is a rehearsal dinner, you may remember. That means toasting is necessary. You're the best man, Sebastian, you have to speak. You did write something, didn't you?"

Both Sebastian and Kurt turn to stare at Rachel.

"I'm sorry, but you want me to give the speech I was going to give back when I thought they were Lucy and Ricardo, and still, you know, planning to be married tomorrow?"

Rachel just flicks up an eyebrow unapologetically. "This whole night is about playing along, isn't it?" She looks sharply at Kurt, as if his miniature life crisis is putting her out. "We'll sort everything out tomorrow, okay? For now, we just all stick to the script, and everything will be fine. You didn't lose it, did you?"

"No, Berry, Jesus, I just don't think that this is what – "

He stops himself abruptly, looking over at Kurt with something dangerously close to pity in his eyes, and Kurt will be seen wearing denim overalls before he'll be treated as "Fragile, please handle with care" by Sebastian Smythe.

"I agree with Rachel completely," Kurt says, and she looks pleased, if surprised. "We just get through this as if everything is normal. You give your toast, everyone else will give theirs, and then we can all finally go home."

Sebastian carefully places the paper back in his pocket, studying Kurt closely with an unconvinced expression. "I mean, if that's what you want…"

"It is," Kurt says firmly, and he can almost convince himself he as any kind of clue what he actually wants right now. "You only have three jobs tonight – give toasts, look pretty, and keep me supplied with alcohol at all times."

Sebastian assumes a rueful smirk, lacking its usual sharp corners. "Well, two out of those three come naturally to me. Speaking of that third one, by the way…"

He bows his head slightly to excuse himself from their group – and really, Sebastian is the only person Kurt knows who can pull that off without looking corny – and disappears behind an alcove, tumbler and champagne glass in hand.

"Are you sure about this?" Rachel's hand is at the small of his back, her face tilted up towards his, and he suddenly notices there are tiny crescent tears brimming at the corners of her eyes.

"I'm just trying to keep everything going, you know, because I figured being host is probably the last thing you want to do right now, and besides, if we stop to think about it too much, then I think we'll just…" she trails off into a whisper, and he feels a pang of guilt for feeling ungrateful and irritated with her earlier.

"I know, Rachel. And may I say, you are doing a first-class job," he whispers back, trying to breathe evenly, because if there's one thing that can always set him off crying, it's seeing his friends cry. "Best maid-of-honor I could have asked for. And I'm sorry that I've been harsh with you tonight."

Rachel gives him a watery smile and wipes lightly at the corners of her eyes. "It's not your fault, you know," she murmurs, and to a passerby, it might have sounded like she was replying to what he'd just said, but he knows what she really means, and he loves her for it.

"Alright, alright, everyone, settle down, I'm kicking things off. Now, I may not have a way with words, especially compared to my son - those of you who know him, you know what I mean. So any speech I give is something he could probably write ten times better, and in half the time. But, as you all know, this is his special weekend, so I decided to crack open a thesaurus or two and give it a try anyway."

Kurt has been dreading his father's speech since the moment he decided to go back inside, but strangely, now that it's started, it doesn't feel so horrible.

Maybe it's the fact that he knows the sweet, loving things his father will say about him never have and never will have anything to do with Blaine.

Or maybe it's the surreal, floaty buzz the alcohol is beginning to wreak on him as it hits his bloodstream. As asked, Sebastian has been keeping Kurt dutifully topped off, and somehow, in the process of getting to his table for toasts, Kurt has managed to both finish a refill that Sebastian brings him and get started on a third one.

All of the drinks – stronger and faster than he's used to – are giving him an artificial warmth and a dangerous sense of indifference. When Blaine leans over to whisper to him, almost disbelievingly, "Are you drunk?" just before the toasts begin, Kurt is already tipsy enough to reply with a rather mature "Are you?"

It's still a better reply than the strong temptation to throw a drink in his face that he had a half hour before.

"What can I say about Kurt and Blaine that our friends and family don't already know? When they first met, they were young – I can't say anything about that, I met Kurt's mother when we were pretty young, too." Burt pauses, and for a moment, the sincerity and mistiness in his father's voice almost break through his liquored haze. Instead of giving into them, thought, Kurt drains his glass.

"All I ever wanted for my boy was for him to be happy. I – I couldn't care less if that meant that he was living in Paris married to some European royal, or if that meant he was busking outside of a Walmart with a cat shelter at home." The room laughs lightly, as Burt sends a teasing glance at Kurt, and then turns back to face the tables.

"It didn't matter to me, so long as he was happy. So right now, if living in New York and marrying his high school sweetheart makes him happy, then that's what I want for him. And I say, damn all the people who say any different." His father turns to Kurt, raising his glass to him.

"This is to you, Kurt, to always being happy, and to never letting other unhappy people get in the way of it. And to Blaine, who makes my son happy and who I want around in his life for as long as that first part is true. To Kurt and Blaine!"

The room erupts into applause, and when Blaine places a hand on his back and tries to catch his eye, Kurt is instead reaching for his champagne glass, and pushing the empty tumbler to the edge of the table where it can be easily grabbed for a refill.

Except the person who is supposed to be refilling it is currently pushing back his chair and standing up with a champagne glass and – oh, shit. He'd told Sebastian to go ahead with the best man toast, hadn't he?

The room quiets down to attention as it becomes clear another toast is on the way. Sebastian, who is at the table next to theirs, has pulled the folded piece of paper from his pocket and has set the glass down for a second to unfold it. Kurt watches with a mixture of wooziness and dread as Sebastian picks up the glass again, eyes still on the paper as he begins to speak.

"So, I'm the best man." He looks up briefly. "And also, Blaine asked me to be his chief groomsman."

Kurt snorts incredibly loudly, heard well above the polite chuckles of the rest of the audience. Sebastian looks up at Kurt, at first with surprise and then with a grin. Their eyes hold, and the silence stretches out for several seconds before Sebastian clears his throat unceremoniously and his grin slips down into thoughtfulness. He glances down one last time at the paper before folding it up again and tucking it back into his pocket.

"So," he restarts, and now, he is characteristically Sebastian again. The awkwardness and corniness from a few seconds ago are gone. "You all may not know this, but I actually met Kurt and Blaine in high school as well. And what else you may not know is, I actually tried to steal Blaine away from Kurt."

A few nervous laughs resound throughout the room, but most people seem to be trying to gauge the seriousness of his tone. If Kurt is being honest, he's trying, too.

"I know, I know. Clearly, I wasn't successful. And Kurt made it very clear that I was to go nowhere near his boyfriend. But still, I gave it a good effort, put my back into it, so to speak. I took them to a gay bar, I bought him coffee, flirted with him, you know, the usual. But the real kicker of it all … is that Blaine knew exactly what I was doing, didn't you, buddy?" Sebastian lifts his glass in Blaine's direction, and Kurt looks over to see that Blaine's face has become stony.

Not even the nervous laughers are heard anymore; the room is bordering on pin-drop silence.

"Yeah, he definitely knew," he continues when he gets no response from Blaine, "and now, all these years later, we're friends, and he's asked me to be his best man, so, you know, read into that what you will."

Only one laugh breaks through at that, and Kurt looks over to see Santana giggling as she tries to fit an entire spring roll into her mouth. By the way that she's doing a one-handed lean on the table and her shoes have been kicked off underneath it, Kurt would bet his autographed Wicked playbill that she's found Sebastian's stash of alcohol.

"And you know, I would even go so far as to say that he liked the attention. You know, it probably made him feel special." Sebastian chuckles darkly as he traces the rim of his glass. "Little did he know I was also chasing after every properly equipped male in the Tristate county at the time."

Blaine makes a sudden movement, almost as if to get up, but seems to think better of it.

"Okay, Sebastian," Blaine starts awkwardly, clearly trying to cut him off without being too obvious. "Thank you for – "

"And you know," Sebastian raises his voice, "when I first met Kurt and Blaine, my very first thought was, 'Well, that's never going to work.'"

He stops talking, and the room lapses into an awkward silence as it becomes evident that no second part to the sentence is coming.

Without warning, he raises his glass. "To Blaine and Kurt. What a couple!"

It takes several seconds, but once the initial shock wears off, applause sparsely echoes across the room with a few half-hearted "Here, here."

After taking a long draw from his glass, Sebastian sits down, pushing his chair back clumsily in the process. It finally occurs to Kurt, from the slight unsteadiness and the overly careful pronunciation, that Sebastian is drunk as well.

At least, he hopes Sebastian didn't give that speech sober.

"Okay, everyone, may I have your attention?" Rachel has stood up and is clinging a knife against her glass. Santana, already in another fit of giggles, takes up a knife and begins imitating her.

"So, those toasts were, umm… they were fun, right? So, umm, we're going to take a little break for dessert right now," she glances over at Kurt searchingly, but he pretends he doesn't see, "and then we'll start up again with toasts in a few minutes, okay?"

A few seconds later, the rumble of individual conversations starts up again, finally swallowing the painful silence that was born a few minutes ago.

Immediately Blaine shoots up and begins walking toward Sebastian. Kurt spends a good ten seconds struggling with the mechanics of his chair, before realizing that one of the legs is sitting on the corner of his trousers. When he finally extricates himself, he makes a beeline for Blaine and Sebastian, who already seem to be in a heated discussion. Kurt sees with horror that in addition to Rachel, his dad and Carol have just joined them as well, though at least Blaine seems oblivious to their presence.

" – hell was that? Was that really the best you could come up with on the spot? Jesus, Sebastian, five minutes of complete silence would have been better than that."

Sebastian shrugs nonchalantly, leaning into the back of his chair. "What was wrong with it?"

Kurt knows right now is the time to usher Burt and Carol, who seem a raised voice away from intervening, to a different corner of the room, but he really kind of wants – no, needs – to stay for this.

"What was…?" Blaine splutters. "What was wrong with it? Seriously? God, I knew I shouldn't have asked you to be my best man. Whether it's that speech, or getting my fiancé trashed, you just always manage to fuck everything up!"

The last part is spit with total spite and vile, and Kurt feels his heart break slightly as he sees the hurt that passes, as quick as a shadow, across Sebastian's face.

"I fuck everything up?" Sebastian asks slowly, his voice laced with venom. "That's rich, and I mean, really fucking rich coming from you, Anderson."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You fucking know what it means, you little – "

"Was he better than me?" It takes Kurt a few seconds to realize that he is the one who spoke.

Blaine and Sebastian both break off instantly and turn to him, along with Burt and Carol, whose expressions of misgiving only seem to deepen.

Blaine's entire face washes into confusion and then panic. "What? Kurt, what are you talking about?"

"Did you love him? Do you love him, or was he just one of – of the others?" And oh God, he can't seem to stop anymore; now that he's started talking, the filter is gone, and the words are all tumbling out.

"Why would you stay with me? Why would you lie to me? Did it make you feel like you were better than me? Why would you go through with the wedding if I wasn't enough?" Kurt's voice breaks at the end, and Sebastian moves forward slightly, almost as if on instinct, but stops abruptly.

Kurt looks over to see his father sending Sebastian the iciest glare imaginable – except he should be glaring at Blaine, shouldn't he? Kurt's muddled brain is trying to work through all of the logic before it finally clicks.

"Oh God, Dad, it's not him. It's not Sebastian that Blaine cheated with!" Shit, he really should have been clearer with his pronouns – prepositions? – no, pronouns, he's pretty sure that's –

"Oow!" Blaine's scream breaks through Kurt's molasses thoughts like a bullet shattering through glass. Carol is pulling Burt away within a matter of seconds, but Blaine's nose is already bleeding, and with both hands clapped to his face, he looks both furious and terrified.

Rachel, hands covering her mouth mid-gasp, looks one breath away from fainting. His father is rubbing at his knuckles, clearly just barely allowing Carol to restrain him.

Blaine finally lowers his hands, and Kurt's stomach churns squeamishly at the strange angle which his nose is at. At some point that escaped all of their notices Santana had joined them, and she is now leaning against Kurt and giving a low whistle. "Damn, old Paul Bunyan still has a kick to him."

Blaine's eyes, quickly surveying everyone, fall finally onto Burt, but his self-preservation seems to kick in, and he looks away quickly. Kurt is just beginning to feel relieved that the violence is over when Blaine turns and launches himself suddenly at Sebastian.

Sebastian seems just as surprised as everyone else, but recovers quickly, blocking his wildly thrown punch and shoving him backwards. Blaine stumbles against a table but manages to ricochet off of it, throwing himself at Sebastian a second time. Kurt is watching Blaine being pushed back, narrowly missing him, when for the second time that night a hand connects with his face, this time much more painful than Santana's slap.

The world becomes a little hazy, and when it comes back into focus, Sebastian's face is directly in front of his, and also for the second time that night, the sound seems to have completely disappeared.

It's only for a few seconds this time, however, and then it seems all his senses have been restored (something he doesn't think he'll ever take for granted again).

" – okay? God, please tell me you're okay. How bad is it? How bad does it hurt? God, Kurt, I'm so fucking sorry, I didn't mean to – I wasn't – I would never fucking hurt – God, I'm so fucking sorry!"

Sebastian is dabbing at Kurt's face with something that Kurt soon realizes is his best man speech, and his expression is one of horror mixed with panic.

"I'm okay," Kurt manages to say through a herculean effort, because his mouth doesn't seem to want to quite move, if only to try to calm the hysterical glint in Sebastian's eyes. He reaches his hand up to take the paper from Sebastian.

"Maybe something a little more absorbent?" Kurt says lightly, trying to show him that he is, in fact, just fine, but his upper lip is swelling, and the slurring of his words just seems to make Sebastian more agitated instead.

The next moment, Carol is gently pushing Sebastian to the side and taking over, first running a wet cloth over his lip, and then, judging by the fact it suddenly hurts like a mother, applying some antiseptic. Finally, she hands him a bag of ice.

"There, sweetheart. All better." She directs her words at Kurt, but also at Sebastian, who is standing to the side and looking like he's about to offer to run himself into the wall. When Kurt looks to see the state of the rest of their group, he finds that only Santana remains, with Blaine, Rachel, and his father nowhere in sight. Kurt gets a sudden image of Blaine tied up in a room somewhere, sobbing and struggling, while his dad and Rachel solemnly burn his bowties in front of him, one by one.

He snorts indelicately at the thought, pressing the ice to his mouth. Sebastian seems unsure how to react to Kurt's sudden mirth.

"You sure you're okay?"

Kurt smiles, feeling better than he has all night. "You were right. You hitting me did not at all come off the right way."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

"You sent the video, didn't you?"

Even as he asks it, Kurt expects an immediate outburst of indignant denial, but the silence he gets instead as Sebastian stares at him, breathing heavily through his nose, is the only answer he needs.

"Oh my God, you sent it, didn't you?" Kurt whispers, only this time he actually believes it. "How – how could you?"

Sebastian continues staring at him, eyes flashing with intensity and defensiveness and anger.

"I don't regret it," he finally whispers drily, licking his lips.

He stands up with a clatter of his chair, having shoved it backwards roughly. "I don't regret it, Kurt," he repeats loudly, his voice booming around the empty room. "You needed to know, you deserved to know."

Kurt stands up, too, icepack falling to the floor, because he'll be damned if he's going to be towered over in this argument.

"And you thought sending me anonymous porn was the way to tell me?" Kurt asks, mentally cursing his voice for quavering. He still remembers the shock of opening the text from an unknown number that afternoon, seeing the still of the sent video and then slowly realizing what it was as he started to play it. His complete lack of preparation for it, the impersonality of the way it was delivered, had made the whole thing a hundred times worse than if a friend had gently sat him down and broken the news to him.

"You don't understand, Kurt," Sebastian started.

"You're right, Sebastian," Kurt says, and for the first time that night the name feels unwelcome on his tongue. "I don't understand. I don't understand at all. I don't understand why after all this time it is still your sole purpose in life to make me fucking miserable."

"Are you kidding? Miserable? Blaine was already making you fucking miserable, Kurt, I was trying to help you, I was trying to fix everything for you. What was I supposed to do when I found out, pretend like nothing had fucking happened?"

"Why didn't you tell me? Why did you have to send some nasty anonymous – "

"Because you wouldn't have believed me, Kurt! Look at how long it took you to decide that I'm trying to screw you over. How many seconds was it? Five? Ten?"

Kurt takes a deep breath to steady himself. Would he have believed Sebastian if he'd come to him? He instantly decides yes, of course he would have, except a tiny little voice at the back of his head whispers differently. How often had he questioned and double-checked Sebastian's motives these past few years? How often had he given a suspicious once-over to him when he and Blaine came back from a night of drinking? Even tonight, how many things had it taken to finally convince Kurt that Sebastian cared for him, and how quickly had he jumped back to his old prejudices?

He wouldn't have believed him. He would have convinced himself, through his impressive talent of denial and self-delusion, that the video was some kind of clever hoax, and would have promptly ejected Sebastian from his life while happily proceeding with his upcoming marriage.

As it was, getting the video with no biases attached had made him really watch it – and re-watch it, and re-watch it, until he was almost physically sick from both the pain and his own punitive masochism, but was most definitely convinced that it could not have been faked.

Unfortunately, realizing all of this does not make him any less fucking angry.

"You should have come to me. You should have talked me to like any decent human being would have. You shouldn't have fucking filmed him, you – "

"Right, because not having any proof, that would have gone over really goddamn well with you," Sebastian spits. "But you know me, even when I'm trying to do the right thing, I just fuck everything up!" His face is contorted into anger, but as someone who is a connoisseur of emotional masks, Kurt can tell that it is sloppy and applied too hastily; beneath it, he can see the swirling pain and insecurity, the desperate need Sebastian feels to justify himself.

Instead of feeling the desire to back down or remove the hurt, Kurt can only see it as an upper hand, and digs in double-deep.

"On the day of my rehearsal dinner? My rehearsal dinner? The day before my wedding? Did you have a fucking alarm set on your phone - oh, look, five hours before the rehearsal dinner, time to send my amateur sex tape to Kurt!"

"I sent it right before the rehearsal dinner because I know you!" Sebastian's voice is rising, just a hair away from yelling. "If I'd sent it a week before, you would have spent the week fucking rationalizing it to yourself, telling yourself why you could still go through with the wedding. I did it right before so you wouldn't have time for that bullshit, so you could just – just not show up and that would be the end of it. I was trying to make it easier for you, I didn't expect you to actually fucking show up anyway!"

"And what then? Huh? You could have comforted poor, abandoned Blaine, kissed all his pain and daddy issues away?"

Kurt knows that his accusations are making less and less sense, that everything Sebastian is explaining does seem, in a twisted, misguided way, to have been geared toward helping Kurt - but he is angry, goddammit, with everything and everyone, and there is only one other person in this room right now, and he needs to let it out. Sebastian will just have to do as the target for his fire storm, because at this point, he can't hold it in anymore.

"How could you?" Kurt yells, and because it feels good, again, "How could you?"

Suddenly, they are the only words he knows, and he is throwing himself at Sebastian, beating his fists against his chest with every, "How could you, how could you, how could you?" He finds that tears are streaming down his face, and he knows it means the shock is wearing off and the grief that he's been sheltering this whole night is finally pouring out of him, out of him and all over Sebastian.

Sebastian starts out trying to defend himself, but seeing how half-heartedly Kurt is hitting him, ends up wrapping his arms around his waist and holding him instead.

At some point, the words seem to lose their meaning, to where Kurt doesn't even understand what he is supposed to be saying anymore, so instead he stops yelling and buries his face in Sebastian's neck, sobs still shaking him intensely, and tries desperately to wish the rest of the world out of existence.

It hurts, is the only coherent thought that Kurt can really form. All of it really fucking hurts.

It feels like the longest and shortest time all at once, but finally, with painful little gulps, the sobs lessen and subside. Kurt tunes back into his surroundings slowly, first feeling Sebastian's hand on his back, the other wrapped at the base of his neck. He feels the pain in his upper lip, feels the tear marks on his face, feels Sebastian's breath against his ear. And because he feels all those little things, and only because he feels them, he is able to finally pull back, away from Sebastian's arms and into his own space and air.

Sebastian is staring at him, with flickering, fiery eyes and flared nostrils, and Kurt can tell he is wrestling with his own pent-up anger and frustration, trying desperately to rein it in, pull himself back from an edge he knows he cannot uncross.

But Kurt knows from experience that when you've built yourself up to some pinnacle of rage and unhappiness, it's very hard to come down from it at the flip of a switch. The descent has to be gradual and careful and natural, and so, instead of trying to say anything, he waits, quietly, for Sebastian to guide himself down.

"I was trying to help," Sebastian finally whispers, eyes flicking left to right, looking anywhere but Kurt. "You deserve better. You do."

Kurt wishes he would look at him, but settles for him finally talking. "I know you were trying to help. It's just – there's no easy way for this – this sort of stuff to happen," he replies softly, hugging himself.

Sebastian looks straight at Kurt, laser-sharp, eyes still intense, but now filled with some emotion less harsh than anger. "I'm sorry," he exhales. "I know I fucked it up."

Kurt doesn't quite know what to say, because only a few minutes before he'd been intent on ripping Sebastian down into shreds and placing the entire blame for his relationship's shambles on him. Now, he just feels empty and tired and defeated.

So instead of saying anything, he walks over and gently hugs him, waiting for Sebastian's hands to tentatively come up to his waist. "I forgive you," Kurt whispers after a few seconds, when he's finally sure that he means it.

He feels Sebastian exhale against his shoulder, and Kurt knows they're going to be alright.

"So, your half-deaf aunt finally agreed to – oh."

Kurt pulls away from Sebastian to see Rachel frozen behind them, seemingly torn between being scandalized and embarrassed.

"Dammit, Rachel. Horrible timing. We were just about to have spontaneous sex on the petit four platter," Kurt says in exaggerated disappointment, looking over at Sebastian with a hidden smile. "Ah, well."

His heart does a cartwheel of relief when Sebastian smirks back. "And we were going to put them to good use, too. Lots of whipped cream," he says suggestively, popping up an eyebrow.

They look over to see Rachel blushing furiously, and both burst out laughing.

"Would you relax, Rachel? It was just a hug. Believe it or not, I'm feeling a little fragile at the moment."

"I – no! I wasn't assuming that you two were – I – that was all you!" Rachel stammers, and then seeing their barely concealed amusement, mutters, "Oh, shut up."

"So, I was thinking I'm probably ready to call it a night," Kurt says with a smile still on his lips, knowing he probably looks like a watery, disheveled mess.

"Yes, of course," Rachel is immediately back on track. "Jesse and I are going to make up the guest bed for you, and you can stay there as long as you – "

"Rachel, I appreciate it, but I only need a place to stay for the night. I'm not prepared to give up my apartment, and if Blaine's stupid enough to think he's staying there, then he's deserves to be hit over the head with a frying pan."

"You can crash at mine," Sebastian says out of nowhere, and Kurt turns to him, surprised.

"Yeah, you know, if you don't feel like having a pity posse around, no offense," he glances at Rachel, who frowns, "you can always stay at mine, and you know, do cool, macho things, like watch M.A.S.H. reruns and bottle up your feelings."

Rachel looks cautiously at Sebastian. "Well, I sort of assumed that Blaine would be – "

"Blaine won't be welcome," Sebastian cuts her off sharply, and Rachel probably couldn't look more surprised if Sebastian had undone his buttons and revealed a "TEAM KURT" t-shirt underneath.

"Oh, well, alright then. I guess – wherever you feel more comfortable, honey."

Kurt knows he should feel more comfortable in the apartment that he's spent so many dinners and Broadway marathons in, but the thought of Jesse and Rachel hovering over him all night and all morning (and God knows, the two of them could out-hover a hummingbird) is already exhausting him slightly.

"I think – I think I'll crash at Sebastian's tonight, actually, if that's alright. I don't want to put you guys out. Besides, I think you'll have your hands full with getting a sloshed Santana home as it is. Do you think – do you think you could explain to my dad and Carol that I'll see them tomorrow?" Facing his parents and breaking down in his father's arms are tasks for another day.

"I will, if you're sure," Rachel says, waiting for Kurt to nod in confirmation.

"Okay," she says, and the next second she is hugging him fiercely. "If you need anything, anything at all, just call. And if you get to Sebastian's and find out that he has, like, a sex dungeon in his washing room, you know you can still come over and stay with us, right?"

Kurt laughs. "It's a deal, Rach. But I'm sure, like any respectable person, he has his sex dungeon in his second walk-in closet."

"Actually, you're both wrong," Sebastian says, clapping a hand to Kurt's shoulder. "It's in the apartment I rent out directly beneath mine."

He says it so seriously that Kurt makes a mental note to look out for trap doors.

The title at the top of the page, written in scraggly, smudged ink, is "Shitty Best Man Speech, Take # 1,520,345."

Kurt finds it in the drawer of the bedside table when he's looking for a tissue (so maybe he was indulging in a little silent crying before bed – he's earned it).

Kurt wasn't particularly surprised when Sebastian insisted that he take the master bedroom.

"I like the couch, it's more comfortable. Besides, I just changed the linens, if that's what you're worried about," he added with a suggestive eyebrow raise.

Kurt would have argued, but he suspected that it probably helped Sebastian feel less guilty about his split upper lip, and he did kind of want a decent night's sleep.

Kurt has been in Sebastian's apartment only once before, with Blaine, when he'd invited them over for a nightcap after a late-night show. That first time, Sebastian had walked in with an obvious sense of pride. "It's not much, but it's home."

"You don't get to say that when you have a two-bedroom in central New York and a skyline view," Kurt had said, because he was (not-so-)secretly jealous, and because he'd made it his life mission to never let Sebastian have the last word.

Sebastian had only grinned and offered brandy with some chocolate raspberry cake he had left in his fridge. Chocolate raspberry was Kurt's favorite, though when he mentioned it, Sebastian seemed uninterested. "Well, enjoy it while you can, then. You won't you be able to shimmy away the fat from your hips forever."

"And you won't be able to grind it away forever, either," he'd shot back, because again – life mission.

Blaine had ignored them like he usually did when they started their bickering. "God, this is good brandy. You know how I'll know I've made it? When I can afford brandy this expensive."

Kurt had wanted to tell him it was distasteful to comment on someone's wealth, but that would have seemed like he was on Sebastian's side, and he wasn't (supposed to be).

Kurt has never been in Sebastian's bedroom before, however, and as he enters it now, he is surprised not by how tasteful it is, but by how un-Sebastian it is. Nothing in the room indicates Sebastian's sharp wit, his partiality to contemporary art, his French roots. It all rather looks like a stock bedroom of a divorced middle-aged accountant, and an uninventive one at that. Kurt's hands itch to add some color and personality to it, imagining for a moment Sebastian's surprise if in the morning he was to walk into a bedroom redone in rouge and gold, like a French boudoir.

It sounds like a project for another day, however, and instead of deciding on color schemes, Kurt carefully slips Sebastian's coat off his shoulders and lays it neatly across the back of a beige armchair.

It turned out that Santana had borrowed (though that implied he had hope of having it returned) Kurt's trench coat to sleep in one of the back rooms, so when they had exited outside into the brisk New York weather, Sebastian had immediately laid his coat over Kurt's shoulders.

"You don't need to – "

"Please. You're sensitive, Princess. I don't need to hear from you how you froze your little ass off trying to get to my apartment."

Kurt hadn't answered, and, for the first time, decided that maybe getting the last word in wasn't the most important thing in the world.

After the coat, Kurt takes off his tie, his suit jacket, his belt, his shoes, arranging them carefully on or beside the chair. Finally, he crawls into the bed (not before a quick sniff test to see the sheets were, in fact, freshly laundered) and then proceeds to bawl his eyes out for a good thirty minutes in total silence.

And then, on the hunt for tissues (and it takes him a good few minutes of soul-searching before he decides he's brave enough to open Sebastian's bedside drawer) is when he finds the paper with the best man speech.

Except beneath the title, there isn't an actual speech.

Instead, there are phrases, half-sentences, and unconnected words scattered all over the page, written at different angles and with very little sense of unity. In one corner, Kurt sees Powerball scribbled out. At another place are the words Lucky son of a bitch. Tucked into the margin he just makes out what looks like a list – flamboyant, gorgeous, pushy, high-maint., worth it.

He finds the start of what looks like an almost complete thought toward the top of the page. To Kurt and Blaine, the way they are together, and how they almost make me believe in happily ever after's. To Blaine, my best friend. And to Kurt, the guy who doesn't know And to Kurt, the guy I want to be when I grow up And to Kurt, the guy I want …

Kurt can almost picture Sebastian struggling with the paper in front of him, a few beers into an evening alone at his apartment, trying in vain to come up with the words he wants to say, giving in to sudden impulses or thoughts and then bitterly redacting himself. The immense effort and time he seems to have put into writing this speech is at odds with the Sebastian that Kurt knows, the 'I'll jot down a few words and give them a McConaughey smile' Sebastian.

The entire page is crowded with more disparate and unfinished thoughts. Birthday? is written haphazardly along the edge. Scandals story, with don't be stupid added after it in a different color ink. Why? is written completely upside down relative to the title. And in the largest print, in the righthand bottom corner, scrawled out in an unsteady hand (maybe more than a few beers in) is written, SO THIS IS THE WAY THE WORLD FUCKING ENDS.

And out of the blue, the final mysterious trick of the night reveals itself, and suddenly, Kurt understands. He understands, and Sebastian's motives and actions are a hundred times clearer, and he feels like an idiot.

It's something that isn't written down anywhere, but he can now see it clear as day between all the literal lines, a secret that's bled unintentionally into every inch of the paper in front of him. It's hidden in the double-guessing of every word, it's nestled in the double underline of Lucky, it's tucked into the gentle, almost calligraphic way that Kurt's name is always written.

It's all clear, and yet so unclear, and there are still a thousand questions to be answered, but he understands. He understands, and for tonight that'll have to be enough.

Kurt takes the paper and folds it, tucking it safely into his pants pocket, and then slides back into the bed, flipping off the light. He's starting to get used to the warm, swirling happiness that keeps unexpectedly overtaking him, and he hopes that he won't have to say goodbye to it anytime soon.

The Kurt at the start of the night thought that the world was ending, but this Kurt begs to differ.

Everything that's happened, it isn't the world ending.

It isn't the world ending at all. It is rebirth – it is recovery, it is redemption and rewriting, it is a second chance at a second chance, it is a familiar jacket with a new meaning, it is the bitter-sweetness of chocolate raspberry. It is a shitty speech that also happens to be the world's best speech, it is a best man who is a good man, and maybe even the right man, it is lucky (double-underlined) and, most importantly of all, it is the big bang and a beginning.