GLEE: I Do Look Fabulous in a Blazer
Title: I Do Look Fabulous in a Blazer
Author: infraredphaeton
Warnings: Copious OCs, Eric, bullying
Rating: PG-13
Context: Set immediately after Furt. Yeah, you heard me. Furt.
Summary: Kurt moves. Pratik talks to an acquaintance. New Directions realise that they need their counter tenor back.
“Thanks for helping, guys.” Kurt said, as Wes shouldered the last of his bags, and David closed the boot.
“I wish you’d told us what was happening earlier,” Wes said, shaking his head, “I would have done something.”
“He knows Krav Maga.” David informed Kurt.
“...I know, David, thank you.” Kurt said, rolling his eyes, and beeped his car shut.
Unlike at McKinley, the Navigator didn’t stick out in the car parks of Dalton. It was a nice car, but surrounded by Italian sports cars and expensive jeeps, it blended. Wes’ Mercedes was one of eight, even if it was the only pearl white one, and Blaine’s Lamborghini was parked between an Aston Martin and a Ferrari.
“So, where’s my sugar?” Santana asked, sliding her sunglasses down her nose. She had deigned to wear normal clothes instead of a Cheerio uniform, and was dressed in a short, tight mini dress, her hair falling loosely down her back in chic waves.
Kurt raised an eyebrow.
“You know, tall, dark and muscley?” Santana said, crossing her arms under her boobs to make them look larger, a pissy expression on her face.
“Be more specific,” David said, “we have a lot of that here.”
“The hot piece of man who follow the crazy ginger around.” Santana specified, “Yay-high, chest you could crack a coconut on?”
She gestured to somewhere above her head.
“...Liam?” Wes asked slowly, “Do you mean Liam?”
“Like I bother remembering his name,” Santana rolled her eyes.
“She is scarily Jim-like.” David whispered to Wes.
“I think I’ve heard him say that. Like, word for word.” Wes whispered back.
“Point me the right way, boys.” Santana checked her lip gloss, “There’s a reason I came to Gayton Academy, and it wasn’t to cheer on the fabulous Kurt.”
David pointed towards one of gyms, “He has hockey practice right now.”
“Hockey?” Santana smiled to herself, “Does a boy’s legs good. I will be back in several hours time, and I expect you to still be here to give me a ride home.”
With that, she headed off towards the gym David had pointed out, and the boys headed for Keiran Hall, and Kurt’s new room- shared, of course.
“Where’s Blaine, anyway?” Kurt asked, high-fiving Steve as he entered the Keiran common room. The other boy looked ecstatic that someone had finally actually returned the gesture instead of leaving him hanging.
“He has community service hours.” Wes said, flopping onto one of the couches. Pratik edged closer to the arm of the couch to give him space.
“What?” Kurt frowned, taking a seat more primly on one of the navy blue wing back chairs.
“He’s walking dogs or something,” David said, flopping onto Wes.
“Sorry, did you say he has ‘Community Service’?” Kurt asked incredulously, “What did he do? Accidentally maul someone with his charisma?”
“Um. Not like that.” Pratik said quietly, “I-it’s a CAS thing.”
That said, he looked away from the three boys and went back to writing down whatever it was he was doing with the guitar.
Wes clapped Pratik on the knee, “Sorry, Tiki, didn’t see you on this couch.”
“S’okay.” Pratik said, edging away.
“You are really quiet and small. It’s easy to miss you.” David apologised, and ruffled Pratik’s hair.
The guitarist frowned, and neatened it back to it’s usual porcupine imitation. David and Wes, looking back at Kurt, immediately forgot about his presence and accidentally knocked his notebook onto the floor.
“So, wait, what’s CAS?” Kurt asked, crossing his legs.
“Creativity, Action, Service.” Wes explained, as Pratik grabbed his notebook, shooting the two other Keiran boys a mildly unhappy look.
“I’ll just go...” Pratik said, picking up his guitar. He smiled at Kurt, “Um. Welcome to Dalton, Kurt.”
“Thanks, Pratik.” Kurt said, and turned back to Wes and David, “So, wait, what’s Creativity, Action, Service?”
“One hundred and fifty hours of CAS must be completed over grade eleven and twelve,” David recited, “Fifty hours in each category.”
“That sounds like fun...” Kurt said, shaking his head.
“Oh, just wait, new kid. You’ll have all the fun you can bear.” Wes said threateningly.
David laughed evilly.
Pratik escaped, waving goodbye to Kurt with a crooked smile as he headed for the dorms.
“So, you’re definitely in Keiran?” David asked, and Kurt nodded, opening the folder he’d been presented with by the receptionist.
“Well, he was moving into the Keiran dorms, Davey. We’d assume he’s in Keiran.” Wes said, rolling his eyes, and David pushed him into a wall.
“I’d assume you could see well enough not to walk into large stationary objects,” David said innocently, and Wes caught him in a headlock, scrubbing his fist over David’s shaved head.
“I’d assume you could avoid a noogie by now.”
Kurt raised an eyebrow, shaking his head, “I’d assumed you were more mature than this.”
“Never,” they chorused, and grinned at him, “come on, Kurt, we’ll take you down to the uniform shop.”
“You too can wear a stylish blazer.”
“Blaine won’t know what to do with himself.”
“He will have to hide his face.”
“Hide it in shame,” David shook his head sadly, “as his boyfriend steals his look, and looks better in it than he does.”
“It’s true, I am very handsome in a fitted blazer,” Kurt said thoughtfully.
“To the bat-uniform shop, batman!” David declared, hooking his arm through Kurt’s.
On Kurt’s other side, Wes did the same, and between them, they lifted him off the ground, running down the corridor.
“What?! Put me down! How are you this strong, anyway?”
“I do Krav Maga,” Wes said, giving Kurt a baleful stare, and David nodded.
“And he’s learning Capoeira.”
“Put me down, right now.”
“Never! Onwards, Wes-ster! To victory!”
“Victory and Dalton ties!”
“Hi, I’m Julian Delacroix.” a dark haired boy with friendly hazel eyes offered Kurt his hand, “We’re going to be lab partners.”
“Kurt Hummel.” Kurt replied, shaking his hand delicately, and sat down on the stool next to Julian.
“You’re in Keiran, right? I’m Hallman. That’s not going to be a problem, is it?” Julian asked, straightening the school supplies on his half of the lab table.
“No, of course not,” Kurt shook his head, unloading hi own books, “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
“Okay, cool. I’m a little bit CDO, so you’ll have to bear with me.” Julian apologised, ducking his head.
“CDO?”
“Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.” Julian explained.
“I thought that was OCD.” Kurt said, and Julian nodded.
“I have a thing about being alphabetical.”
“Which would be the Obsessive Compulsive part of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, right.”
“On the other hand, it makes me really accurate when we do experiments.”
“Good, because I dislike touching dangerous chemicals and/or body parts.” Kurt said, straightening his blazer.
“I can do that.” Julian said meekly, and Kurt smiled.
“How was Biology?” Blaine asked, when Kurt met him outside the Physics lab.
“Educational. My lab partner is easily dominated and weak willed, and my teacher believes in the teaching power of the slide show.”
“Easily dominated and weak willed?”
“Well, I’m not going to be touching any hydrochloric acid for the rest of the year, let’s put it that way.”
“Double oh manipulative, eh?” Wes said, as he and David trooped out of the classroom behind Blaine.
“I take great pride in my ability to avoid doing what I don’t want to do,” Kurt said, smoothing down his tie.
“Maybe we were wrong- you’re not Bond, you’re a Bond villain.”
“In that case,” Blaine said, taking Kurt’s hand, “we’re off to go get him a white persian cat.”
Kurt laughed mock-evilly as Blaine pulled him away, and David hid behind Wes dramatically.
“You’ve already made him mad,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow at David and Wes, “that was fast.”
Behind him, Pratik hitched up his backpack, humming the chorus line from Crazy.
“We’re quick and efficient in our work.” Wes said proudly.
“We’re thinking of getting it put on our business cards.”
“You have business cards?” Harry asked.
“Not yet. But we will.”
“Wes and David: Crazy is our business.” Wes said, framing the words in the air.
“Insanity incorporated.” David added.
“Founded in 1993.”
“Ooh, we don’t just drive you round the bend, but round the roundabout, too.”
“The Satnav of insanity.”
“Onstar of crazy.”
“...We have to go study.” Harry said, grabbing Pratik’s sleeve and edging around the pair.
Pratik waved, following Harry.
“Oh, oh, I know!” David bounced, “Wes and David: like a crazy bullet to the brain.”
“No, I don’t like that one.” Wes shook his head.
“Let’s brainstorm over ice cream.” David suggested, swinging an arm around Wes’ shoulders.
“With sprinkles?”
“Is there any other kind?”
Kurt’s new room mate was nice, fairly bookish sort- his name was Sebastien Hadwick, he was half Scottish, half Chilean sixteen year old with short, dark hair and the kind of ridiculously perfect complexion that caused spontaneous fury in Kurt when he realised Sebastien barely bothered to wash his face, let alone moisturize. His side of the room- and apparently he had thought it was going to be a single, before Kurt transferred- was stacked with books and notebooks, and more often than not, he was curled up on his bed with a book and his iPod headphones in. Apparently his closest friends were in the other residential house- Hallman- so he didn’t spend a lot of time socialising with his own housemates.
Kurt didn’t mind- Sebasiten was friendly but quiet, unobtrusive but happy to help his roommate when he looked lost, and was, in Kurt’s opinion, pretty much a perfect roommate.
Although, he had to admit, his only previous experience with sharing a room had been the debacle with Finn last year, and that had ended so badly that sharing with Sweeney Todd would have been a step up.
As he carefully hung the last of his eight new uniform shirts in his wardrobe, ties already hung neatly over one of the hangers, there was a knock on the door, and Blaine let himself in.
“Hey, new kid,” Blaine smiled, and Kurt smiled back, just a slight twist of his lips, “you’ve got a jacket this time. Good going.”
“What can I say? I had a really good guide the first time I came,” Kurt said, checking his reflection in the mirror.
He looked good in the Dalton uniform, he decided. The deep navy made his porcelain pale skin look flawlessly pale, while the contrast of the red in the tie and piping helped draw out the natural pink in his cheeks and lips. The pin on his collar wasn’t irritating- a simple silver Keiran rose that was unobtrusive but easy to identify.
“You look amazing,” Blaine assured him with a charming smile, “now, I was wondering if you’d be interested in joining the Warblers?”
“Interested in joining the Warblers? Is the pope Catholic?” Kurt grinned back, and Blaine blinked.
Kurt raised an eyebrow when Blaine continued to stare at him dazedly, not answering.
“...The answer you’re looking for is yes, Blaine.”
“Right, of course. Yes to what?”
“Joining the Warblers?”
“That was why I came here, yes,” Blaine agreed, eyes fixed on the knot of Kurt’s tie.
“I’m afraid the uniform has shorted his brain out,” Sebastien drawled, not removing his headphones, and Blaine reddened.
“That’s silly.”
Kurt propped a hand on his hip, “You don’t think I look good in uniform?”
“Yes! Of course you do! You look amazing,” Blaine said quickly, and added another charming smile in an effort to make Kurt stop rolling his eyes, “let’s go to the music room, shall we?”
“Smooth subject change, Anderson,” Sebastien said, still not looking away from his book.
“Shut up, Seb,” Blaine said, offering Kurt his hand, “Let’s go?”
Kurt took his hand, letting Blaine pull him out the door, and smiled, “Let’s go.”
“Alright, so we all know what we’re doing. Rachel, you’ve got the front. Take it away!” Mr Schue smiled, counting them in, and Rachel stepped into the front of the stage, the other glee clubbers forming a pseudo-chorus behind her as she sang.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hVKamC2ZQKM
Afterwards, Mr. Schue was frowning, “That sounded....good, guys!”
He applauded lightly, and Mercedes and Rachel traded an unhappy look as they walked back to their seats.
“After school,” Mercedes leaned into Rachel’s space, “We’re all meeting up.”
“Good. My house is free,” Rachel nodded decisively, and Mercedes shook her head.
“That’s...sweet, Rachel. But no. We’re going to the bowling alley.”
Mr Schue was already talking about their next project.
“Hey, Pratik,” Corbin Sullivan was one of the few other students taking IB Music, and one of Pratik’s closer acquaintances, “I heard you guys at the Battle of the Bands last week. You were really good.”
Pratik smiled back politely, looking up from his composition notebook, “Thanks, Corbin. Y-you guys were pretty good, too.”
Corbin waved it off easily, taking a seat on the desk next to Pratik’s work, “Not as good as you. You write all the music, right?”
Pratik nodded quietly.
“You’re really good,” Corbin complimented him, “you should play with us sometime!”
Pratik laughed mildly, “I’m pretty happy with the band I’m in, but sure, I’ll jam with you.”
Corbin’s smile went a little plastic, “Well, I’m sure I’ll get you to play with me eventually, right?”
“Right...”
He leaned over Pratik’s shoulder, looking at his piece, “A requiem, huh? Challenging.”
“I guess...”
“Well, good luck. I’ll talk to you later.”
With a backwards wave, he wandered off, and Pratik turned his attentions back to his work, dismissing the conversation as he went back to his own world of floating notes and phrases.
“It was completely off,” Rachel said, crossing her arms as she looked at the rest of the club with a moue of distaste, “what was wrong with it? I was impeccable, as always.”
“We were missing the right high voice,” Tina volunteered, “because Kurt wasn’t filling in like normal.”
There was a silence as they thought about their absent ex-teammate.
“Well, somebody will have to fill in,” Rachel decided, “I can’t have this affect our chances at Sectionals. This is far too important. And if it is affecting us this early, who knows how it would affect our chances at Regionals, or even Nationals!”
“We need Kurt back,” Mercedes agreed.
“He’s not leaving,” Puck said, taking a sip of his coke angrily, “you know I’m cool with him, but no way will he come back while Karofsky’s still roaming the corridors like Tyranno-douche-us Rex.”
“I can substitute for now?” Tina suggested, and Mike smiled at her approvingly, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll talk to Kurt,” Mercedes said, “but until then, yeah. That’s probably our best bet.”
“We need Kurt back,” Rachel declared.
“...Yeah, Rachel, we just agreed to that.”
“I wanted to sum everything up for those of us who might not have been paying attention,” Rachel smiled at the assembled club, and Sam raised an eyebrow, “so that’s the whole of it: we need Kurt back.”
“All those in favour of asking Kurt to audition?” Mr Matthews asked, and Eric straightened from his position under the piano, slithering out and standing.
“I think that we should make him audition. In fact, I’m not even sure if we should let him join so close to Sectionals. It’s very suspicious, he might be trying to steal our set list, or sabotage our performance before returning to his old glee club!”
“He’s not going back,” Blaine said, stroking his thumb over his and Kurt’s joined hands.
“But it’s not unfair to ask for an audition song, if you have anything prepared, Kurt?” Mr. Matthews asked, as Liam nodded Eric into place in a seat.
“No...no, it’s fine,” Kurt said graciously, and stood up.
“Do you need backing music?” Pratik asked quietly, from where he sat, surrounded by the rest of his band.
“Sure. Do you know Stay With Me Baby?”
Pratik nodded, and headed for the guitar.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0vnKxN8YaGw
“Those in favour of allowing Kurt into the Warblers?” Mr Matthews asked, as the last note faded away, and every hand in the room, except Eric’s, went up.
“He’s just going to transfer back as soon as he’s jeopardised our chances,” Eric sulked, as Kurt took his seat.
Blaine stood up, glaring at the ginger, “He transferred, Eric. He isn’t going back. Right, Kurt?”
The Warblers turned to face Kurt as one, and he smiled weakly, thinking of Karofsky and dumpster dives and being kissed against his will and death threats and the thousands of reasons he had to never, ever return to McKinley, “No. I’m not going back.”
Author: infraredphaeton
Warnings: Copious OCs, Eric, bullying
Rating: PG-13
Context: Set immediately after Furt. Yeah, you heard me. Furt.
Summary: Kurt moves. Pratik talks to an acquaintance. New Directions realise that they need their counter tenor back.
“Thanks for helping, guys.” Kurt said, as Wes shouldered the last of his bags, and David closed the boot.
“I wish you’d told us what was happening earlier,” Wes said, shaking his head, “I would have done something.”
“He knows Krav Maga.” David informed Kurt.
“...I know, David, thank you.” Kurt said, rolling his eyes, and beeped his car shut.
Unlike at McKinley, the Navigator didn’t stick out in the car parks of Dalton. It was a nice car, but surrounded by Italian sports cars and expensive jeeps, it blended. Wes’ Mercedes was one of eight, even if it was the only pearl white one, and Blaine’s Lamborghini was parked between an Aston Martin and a Ferrari.
“So, where’s my sugar?” Santana asked, sliding her sunglasses down her nose. She had deigned to wear normal clothes instead of a Cheerio uniform, and was dressed in a short, tight mini dress, her hair falling loosely down her back in chic waves.
Kurt raised an eyebrow.
“You know, tall, dark and muscley?” Santana said, crossing her arms under her boobs to make them look larger, a pissy expression on her face.
“Be more specific,” David said, “we have a lot of that here.”
“The hot piece of man who follow the crazy ginger around.” Santana specified, “Yay-high, chest you could crack a coconut on?”
She gestured to somewhere above her head.
“...Liam?” Wes asked slowly, “Do you mean Liam?”
“Like I bother remembering his name,” Santana rolled her eyes.
“She is scarily Jim-like.” David whispered to Wes.
“I think I’ve heard him say that. Like, word for word.” Wes whispered back.
“Point me the right way, boys.” Santana checked her lip gloss, “There’s a reason I came to Gayton Academy, and it wasn’t to cheer on the fabulous Kurt.”
David pointed towards one of gyms, “He has hockey practice right now.”
“Hockey?” Santana smiled to herself, “Does a boy’s legs good. I will be back in several hours time, and I expect you to still be here to give me a ride home.”
With that, she headed off towards the gym David had pointed out, and the boys headed for Keiran Hall, and Kurt’s new room- shared, of course.
“Where’s Blaine, anyway?” Kurt asked, high-fiving Steve as he entered the Keiran common room. The other boy looked ecstatic that someone had finally actually returned the gesture instead of leaving him hanging.
“He has community service hours.” Wes said, flopping onto one of the couches. Pratik edged closer to the arm of the couch to give him space.
“What?” Kurt frowned, taking a seat more primly on one of the navy blue wing back chairs.
“He’s walking dogs or something,” David said, flopping onto Wes.
“Sorry, did you say he has ‘Community Service’?” Kurt asked incredulously, “What did he do? Accidentally maul someone with his charisma?”
“Um. Not like that.” Pratik said quietly, “I-it’s a CAS thing.”
That said, he looked away from the three boys and went back to writing down whatever it was he was doing with the guitar.
Wes clapped Pratik on the knee, “Sorry, Tiki, didn’t see you on this couch.”
“S’okay.” Pratik said, edging away.
“You are really quiet and small. It’s easy to miss you.” David apologised, and ruffled Pratik’s hair.
The guitarist frowned, and neatened it back to it’s usual porcupine imitation. David and Wes, looking back at Kurt, immediately forgot about his presence and accidentally knocked his notebook onto the floor.
“So, wait, what’s CAS?” Kurt asked, crossing his legs.
“Creativity, Action, Service.” Wes explained, as Pratik grabbed his notebook, shooting the two other Keiran boys a mildly unhappy look.
“I’ll just go...” Pratik said, picking up his guitar. He smiled at Kurt, “Um. Welcome to Dalton, Kurt.”
“Thanks, Pratik.” Kurt said, and turned back to Wes and David, “So, wait, what’s Creativity, Action, Service?”
“One hundred and fifty hours of CAS must be completed over grade eleven and twelve,” David recited, “Fifty hours in each category.”
“That sounds like fun...” Kurt said, shaking his head.
“Oh, just wait, new kid. You’ll have all the fun you can bear.” Wes said threateningly.
David laughed evilly.
Pratik escaped, waving goodbye to Kurt with a crooked smile as he headed for the dorms.
“So, you’re definitely in Keiran?” David asked, and Kurt nodded, opening the folder he’d been presented with by the receptionist.
“Well, he was moving into the Keiran dorms, Davey. We’d assume he’s in Keiran.” Wes said, rolling his eyes, and David pushed him into a wall.
“I’d assume you could see well enough not to walk into large stationary objects,” David said innocently, and Wes caught him in a headlock, scrubbing his fist over David’s shaved head.
“I’d assume you could avoid a noogie by now.”
Kurt raised an eyebrow, shaking his head, “I’d assumed you were more mature than this.”
“Never,” they chorused, and grinned at him, “come on, Kurt, we’ll take you down to the uniform shop.”
“You too can wear a stylish blazer.”
“Blaine won’t know what to do with himself.”
“He will have to hide his face.”
“Hide it in shame,” David shook his head sadly, “as his boyfriend steals his look, and looks better in it than he does.”
“It’s true, I am very handsome in a fitted blazer,” Kurt said thoughtfully.
“To the bat-uniform shop, batman!” David declared, hooking his arm through Kurt’s.
On Kurt’s other side, Wes did the same, and between them, they lifted him off the ground, running down the corridor.
“What?! Put me down! How are you this strong, anyway?”
“I do Krav Maga,” Wes said, giving Kurt a baleful stare, and David nodded.
“And he’s learning Capoeira.”
“Put me down, right now.”
“Never! Onwards, Wes-ster! To victory!”
“Victory and Dalton ties!”
“Hi, I’m Julian Delacroix.” a dark haired boy with friendly hazel eyes offered Kurt his hand, “We’re going to be lab partners.”
“Kurt Hummel.” Kurt replied, shaking his hand delicately, and sat down on the stool next to Julian.
“You’re in Keiran, right? I’m Hallman. That’s not going to be a problem, is it?” Julian asked, straightening the school supplies on his half of the lab table.
“No, of course not,” Kurt shook his head, unloading hi own books, “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
“Okay, cool. I’m a little bit CDO, so you’ll have to bear with me.” Julian apologised, ducking his head.
“CDO?”
“Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.” Julian explained.
“I thought that was OCD.” Kurt said, and Julian nodded.
“I have a thing about being alphabetical.”
“Which would be the Obsessive Compulsive part of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, right.”
“On the other hand, it makes me really accurate when we do experiments.”
“Good, because I dislike touching dangerous chemicals and/or body parts.” Kurt said, straightening his blazer.
“I can do that.” Julian said meekly, and Kurt smiled.
“How was Biology?” Blaine asked, when Kurt met him outside the Physics lab.
“Educational. My lab partner is easily dominated and weak willed, and my teacher believes in the teaching power of the slide show.”
“Easily dominated and weak willed?”
“Well, I’m not going to be touching any hydrochloric acid for the rest of the year, let’s put it that way.”
“Double oh manipulative, eh?” Wes said, as he and David trooped out of the classroom behind Blaine.
“I take great pride in my ability to avoid doing what I don’t want to do,” Kurt said, smoothing down his tie.
“Maybe we were wrong- you’re not Bond, you’re a Bond villain.”
“In that case,” Blaine said, taking Kurt’s hand, “we’re off to go get him a white persian cat.”
Kurt laughed mock-evilly as Blaine pulled him away, and David hid behind Wes dramatically.
“You’ve already made him mad,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow at David and Wes, “that was fast.”
Behind him, Pratik hitched up his backpack, humming the chorus line from Crazy.
“We’re quick and efficient in our work.” Wes said proudly.
“We’re thinking of getting it put on our business cards.”
“You have business cards?” Harry asked.
“Not yet. But we will.”
“Wes and David: Crazy is our business.” Wes said, framing the words in the air.
“Insanity incorporated.” David added.
“Founded in 1993.”
“Ooh, we don’t just drive you round the bend, but round the roundabout, too.”
“The Satnav of insanity.”
“Onstar of crazy.”
“...We have to go study.” Harry said, grabbing Pratik’s sleeve and edging around the pair.
Pratik waved, following Harry.
“Oh, oh, I know!” David bounced, “Wes and David: like a crazy bullet to the brain.”
“No, I don’t like that one.” Wes shook his head.
“Let’s brainstorm over ice cream.” David suggested, swinging an arm around Wes’ shoulders.
“With sprinkles?”
“Is there any other kind?”
Kurt’s new room mate was nice, fairly bookish sort- his name was Sebastien Hadwick, he was half Scottish, half Chilean sixteen year old with short, dark hair and the kind of ridiculously perfect complexion that caused spontaneous fury in Kurt when he realised Sebastien barely bothered to wash his face, let alone moisturize. His side of the room- and apparently he had thought it was going to be a single, before Kurt transferred- was stacked with books and notebooks, and more often than not, he was curled up on his bed with a book and his iPod headphones in. Apparently his closest friends were in the other residential house- Hallman- so he didn’t spend a lot of time socialising with his own housemates.
Kurt didn’t mind- Sebasiten was friendly but quiet, unobtrusive but happy to help his roommate when he looked lost, and was, in Kurt’s opinion, pretty much a perfect roommate.
Although, he had to admit, his only previous experience with sharing a room had been the debacle with Finn last year, and that had ended so badly that sharing with Sweeney Todd would have been a step up.
As he carefully hung the last of his eight new uniform shirts in his wardrobe, ties already hung neatly over one of the hangers, there was a knock on the door, and Blaine let himself in.
“Hey, new kid,” Blaine smiled, and Kurt smiled back, just a slight twist of his lips, “you’ve got a jacket this time. Good going.”
“What can I say? I had a really good guide the first time I came,” Kurt said, checking his reflection in the mirror.
He looked good in the Dalton uniform, he decided. The deep navy made his porcelain pale skin look flawlessly pale, while the contrast of the red in the tie and piping helped draw out the natural pink in his cheeks and lips. The pin on his collar wasn’t irritating- a simple silver Keiran rose that was unobtrusive but easy to identify.
“You look amazing,” Blaine assured him with a charming smile, “now, I was wondering if you’d be interested in joining the Warblers?”
“Interested in joining the Warblers? Is the pope Catholic?” Kurt grinned back, and Blaine blinked.
Kurt raised an eyebrow when Blaine continued to stare at him dazedly, not answering.
“...The answer you’re looking for is yes, Blaine.”
“Right, of course. Yes to what?”
“Joining the Warblers?”
“That was why I came here, yes,” Blaine agreed, eyes fixed on the knot of Kurt’s tie.
“I’m afraid the uniform has shorted his brain out,” Sebastien drawled, not removing his headphones, and Blaine reddened.
“That’s silly.”
Kurt propped a hand on his hip, “You don’t think I look good in uniform?”
“Yes! Of course you do! You look amazing,” Blaine said quickly, and added another charming smile in an effort to make Kurt stop rolling his eyes, “let’s go to the music room, shall we?”
“Smooth subject change, Anderson,” Sebastien said, still not looking away from his book.
“Shut up, Seb,” Blaine said, offering Kurt his hand, “Let’s go?”
Kurt took his hand, letting Blaine pull him out the door, and smiled, “Let’s go.”
“Alright, so we all know what we’re doing. Rachel, you’ve got the front. Take it away!” Mr Schue smiled, counting them in, and Rachel stepped into the front of the stage, the other glee clubbers forming a pseudo-chorus behind her as she sang.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hVKamC2ZQKM
Afterwards, Mr. Schue was frowning, “That sounded....good, guys!”
He applauded lightly, and Mercedes and Rachel traded an unhappy look as they walked back to their seats.
“After school,” Mercedes leaned into Rachel’s space, “We’re all meeting up.”
“Good. My house is free,” Rachel nodded decisively, and Mercedes shook her head.
“That’s...sweet, Rachel. But no. We’re going to the bowling alley.”
Mr Schue was already talking about their next project.
“Hey, Pratik,” Corbin Sullivan was one of the few other students taking IB Music, and one of Pratik’s closer acquaintances, “I heard you guys at the Battle of the Bands last week. You were really good.”
Pratik smiled back politely, looking up from his composition notebook, “Thanks, Corbin. Y-you guys were pretty good, too.”
Corbin waved it off easily, taking a seat on the desk next to Pratik’s work, “Not as good as you. You write all the music, right?”
Pratik nodded quietly.
“You’re really good,” Corbin complimented him, “you should play with us sometime!”
Pratik laughed mildly, “I’m pretty happy with the band I’m in, but sure, I’ll jam with you.”
Corbin’s smile went a little plastic, “Well, I’m sure I’ll get you to play with me eventually, right?”
“Right...”
He leaned over Pratik’s shoulder, looking at his piece, “A requiem, huh? Challenging.”
“I guess...”
“Well, good luck. I’ll talk to you later.”
With a backwards wave, he wandered off, and Pratik turned his attentions back to his work, dismissing the conversation as he went back to his own world of floating notes and phrases.
“It was completely off,” Rachel said, crossing her arms as she looked at the rest of the club with a moue of distaste, “what was wrong with it? I was impeccable, as always.”
“We were missing the right high voice,” Tina volunteered, “because Kurt wasn’t filling in like normal.”
There was a silence as they thought about their absent ex-teammate.
“Well, somebody will have to fill in,” Rachel decided, “I can’t have this affect our chances at Sectionals. This is far too important. And if it is affecting us this early, who knows how it would affect our chances at Regionals, or even Nationals!”
“We need Kurt back,” Mercedes agreed.
“He’s not leaving,” Puck said, taking a sip of his coke angrily, “you know I’m cool with him, but no way will he come back while Karofsky’s still roaming the corridors like Tyranno-douche-us Rex.”
“I can substitute for now?” Tina suggested, and Mike smiled at her approvingly, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll talk to Kurt,” Mercedes said, “but until then, yeah. That’s probably our best bet.”
“We need Kurt back,” Rachel declared.
“...Yeah, Rachel, we just agreed to that.”
“I wanted to sum everything up for those of us who might not have been paying attention,” Rachel smiled at the assembled club, and Sam raised an eyebrow, “so that’s the whole of it: we need Kurt back.”
“All those in favour of asking Kurt to audition?” Mr Matthews asked, and Eric straightened from his position under the piano, slithering out and standing.
“I think that we should make him audition. In fact, I’m not even sure if we should let him join so close to Sectionals. It’s very suspicious, he might be trying to steal our set list, or sabotage our performance before returning to his old glee club!”
“He’s not going back,” Blaine said, stroking his thumb over his and Kurt’s joined hands.
“But it’s not unfair to ask for an audition song, if you have anything prepared, Kurt?” Mr. Matthews asked, as Liam nodded Eric into place in a seat.
“No...no, it’s fine,” Kurt said graciously, and stood up.
“Do you need backing music?” Pratik asked quietly, from where he sat, surrounded by the rest of his band.
“Sure. Do you know Stay With Me Baby?”
Pratik nodded, and headed for the guitar.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0vnKxN8YaGw
“Those in favour of allowing Kurt into the Warblers?” Mr Matthews asked, as the last note faded away, and every hand in the room, except Eric’s, went up.
“He’s just going to transfer back as soon as he’s jeopardised our chances,” Eric sulked, as Kurt took his seat.
Blaine stood up, glaring at the ginger, “He transferred, Eric. He isn’t going back. Right, Kurt?”
The Warblers turned to face Kurt as one, and he smiled weakly, thinking of Karofsky and dumpster dives and being kissed against his will and death threats and the thousands of reasons he had to never, ever return to McKinley, “No. I’m not going back.”