Forgot To Say Out Loud
title: Forgot To Say Out Loud
rating: PG
genre: angst
length: one-shot - for now
spoilers: up to 3x08 I guess?
Summary: Future Fic. Kurt and Blaine are still Kurt and Blaine, will always be Kurt and Blaine and Sebastian Smythe is an unwanted blast from the past.
A/N: I used to write a lot of Remus/Sirius back in the day but this is my first foray in to the Kurt/Blaine, and Glee fandom. I thought my fanfic days were long gone but this little plot bunny won’t leave me alone. If it’s a little rusty then you have my humble apologies. Ha. This fic is just a moment really, it’s part of a bigger ‘verse in my head so if people like it then I might fill in the background on it later.
The title is stolen from a Pink song, cos I'm unoriginal like that.
“If you have feelings for Sebastian Smythe…”
“I do not have feelings for Sebastian Smythe. I didn’t when we were at school and I certainly don’t now….if you don’t trust me, leave.”
“Fine.”
“Where are you going.”
“I’m leaving. That’s obviously what you want.”
“Yes. Yes it is. HAVE A GREAT NIGHT.”
As the door crashes closed behind Kurt, making their entire New York apartment shudder with the aftershocks of their fight, Blaine Anderson lets his head fall back against the sofa and closes his eyes, drawing his knees up to his chest, the magazine that he had been pretending to read in a futile attempt to avoid confrontation sliding from his legs and onto the floor.
To say the afternoon had been a disaster would not be much of an understatement and Blaine wonders exactly how what had started out as a simple ‘coffee with Sebastian’ had resulted in complete and utter carnage.
None of what had actually happened was supposed to happen.
He was supposed to spend an hour or so with Sebastian, because he’d run into him at the park whilst out on his morning jog and he’d been all sweaty and out of breath and Sebastian had been all suave and put together like he always had been and he’d caught Blaine off guard and somehow it had seemed rude to just say ‘no’ to his suggestion they catch up. Besides which he’d given Blaine that grin and made some comment along the lines of ‘unless Kurt says you’re not allowed of course’ which meant Blaine had no choice really because he didn’t want Sebastian to think that his and Kurt’s relationship was anything less than perfect; that it was haunted by insecurities of old; that Kurt didn’t trust him.
Except of course that it seemed that if Sebastian had been thinking any of those things he would have been right, which was just out and out annoying.
So he was supposed to catch up with Sebastian for politeness sake and then spend the evening watching old musicals with Kurt and it was all supposed to be clean and simple and just the way he liked it.
It was not supposed to end up worse than those New Directions get-togethers where everybody ended up blind drunk and fighting, usually with Santana shrill and angry in the middle of it all.
A little voice in the back of his mind laughs spitefully and asks him what he expected; putting Kurt and Sebastian in the same room and adding a healthy pinch of unresolved tension was never going to result in happy ever after.
He lets out a low growl of frustration. He’d quite like to throw something, namely the photograph ofhim and Kurt from last Christmas that seems to be smirking at him from across the room but that’s Kurt’s style not his and so he settles for letting his fist make contact with their beautifully upholstered sofa in a noiseless and unsatisfying expression of emotion: what was Kurt thinking, turning up like that when he knew Sebastian would be there; what the hell was Sebastian thinking of, agreeing to Kurt’s ridiculous suggestion that they all had a (very) late lunch together; what was he thinking of agreeing to let Sebastian come to the apartment in the first place, and more to the point, what was he thinking of letting Kurt storm out like that.
The whole thing has been nothing less than a nightmare on all counts and now Kurt has gone and he has no idea what he’s supposed to do next.
Part of him wonders whether he should go after Kurt, call him back, try to explain but he doesn’t move; isn’t sure there’s any point in trying to talk because Kurt seems to be looking for answers that Blaine isn’t sure he has and his ‘I have no idea what you want from me’ seems to be the last thing he wants to hear which is a problem because right now that is all Blaine’s got to give and he wonders what the hell you’re supposed to do when it turns out that in actual fact honesty is not the best policy.
He doesn’t have feelings for Sebastian Smythe; he never ever has. He always thought he was fun, and a fairly good singer and ok for a laugh in small doses and yeah, a bit of a dick but harmless really, but there’s no way Kurt will ever believe that and if he was to tell him how he’d really felt - that when he’d looked up from where he’d stood, hands on his knees and panting and seen Sebastian stood there like the cat that had gotten the cream, always like the cat that had gotten the cream, he’d felt a little bit like he was going to be sick or that he’d been momentarily worried his heart was going to explode out of his chest, so fast was it pounding, or that whilst Kurt is, has always been, the one for him it is still flattering to know that Sebastian was that into him and whilst he would never ever act on it he couldn’t help that the attention had always been good for his ego, well, he knows Kurt well enough to know they’d be the last words he’d ever say to him and he doesn’t want to even begin contemplate how that would make him feel.
Besides which he has told him countless times that he doesn’t feel anything for Sebastian, has been telling him since the day they met him, almost, and it makes him angry that his words aren’t enough, that the fact that he followed Kurt to New York because he couldn’t bear to not be with him, isn’t enough.
He pushes himself to his feet and wanders towards the kitchen, in search of wine, because what else is there to do but drink himself to oblivion? He blames Santana for the fact that when things don’t go to plan his automatic reaction is to seek solace in the bottom of a bottle; he blames Santana for almost all of his less than good decisions actually. Sometimes he wished she’d carried on pretending to hate him because sometimes she was so much more hassle as a friend than she’d ever been as a facsimile of an enemy.
The thing that gets him as he knocks back the dregs of a glass of red and uncorks another bottle, is what did Kurt expect? Surely he can’t have thought that he could just turn up and that the three of them would make nice polite conversation and it would all be lovely? Kurt hated Sebastian and Blaine was pretty sure Sebastian felt the same. Kurt must have known that whatever they had to say, that it wouldn’t be pretty? Why couldn’t he just let it be and accept that Blaine had made his choice but that Sebastian was in town and having him over for coffee was the friendly thing to do?
Blaine had chosen Kurt, he would always choose Kurt and he thought he’d made that clear.
Why did he have to turn up with his poorly disguised jealousy and engineer an afternoon tea like they were British Royalty, all forced smiles and sandwiches cut into triangles.
All of this could have been avoided if Kurt had just stayed at work.
Surely he should be angry at Kurt, not the other way around; if anybody was to storm out surely that right belonged to him. How dare he act like the wronged party when all he had to do was mind his own business?
But the voice in the back of his mind won’t go away, the voice that’s telling him that he didn’t make it obvious at all; that Kurt was insecure despite his over the top persona; that he’d fought Sebastian for Blaine once before and even though he’d won, even though in Blaine’s mind there had never been a fight, it had still shaken him; that Kurt was Kurt and no matter how obvious he thought it was, the second Blaine had said Sebastian’s name his mind would have gone into overdrive because that’s just the way he was and walking in on the two of them sat on the sofa Kurt had chosen and laughing had probably seemed like all he had been hoping it wasn’t and that maybe he should have just told him that if he had to choose he would choose Kurt every single time, in a heartbeat.
It dawns on him that he probably owes Kurt an apology; he should have put his foot down and said no to ‘tea and cakes,’ or at the very least he should have not been quite so friendly towards Sebastian; he should have bent over backwards to reassure Kurt of how he felt; he should have talked to him; he shouldn’t have yelled; he should not have let him leave.
Maybe he’ll come back, maybe he’ll come back and he’ll have calmed down and they can kiss and make-up and it will all be fine.
He pours another glass of wine knowing that won’t happen: Kurt is hurt and he’s stubborn and in all honesty if Blaine was him he probably wouldn’t come back either.
He reaches for his phone thinking maybe he should call him but even if he did, what would he say? It’s one of those occasions where a simple sorry will be thrown out of the ballpark and he doesn’t know how to voice anything else.
He could tell Kurt how he had always loved him; how Sebastian Smythe could fall off the face of the earth and he probably wouldn’t notice; how he lay awake most nights watching Kurt sleep, watching his chest rise and fall and being so so scared of just how much of him was invested in this boy, this man with the pretty eyes and the long fingers and the laugh that made Blaine want to write a song to match it’s melody; how when Kurt had walked in tonight with his cupcakes and his smile his heart had skipped a beat and his stomach had flipped and he’d never been so pleased to see anybody in his life because this with Sebastian, it was awkward and somehow just seeing Kurt made him feel safe again; how sitting with Sebastian listening to Kurt singing and clattering in the kitchen had made him so so proud and how he’d found himself wanting to make excuses to get Sebastian out of there just so they could be alone; how he was sorry it had all gotten so messy; how he was 100% sure about where he wanted to be and who he wanted to be with and it 100% wasn’t Sebastian Smythe; how every time he catches Kurt’s eye he wants to suggest they run to City Hall and get married but he can’t because he’s absolutely petrified that there is some New York big shot that is just waiting to steal him away, that all of this is too perfect and he’s just waiting, waiting for it all to come crashing down around him.
He could say all of that but he won’t because feelings, or rather overly emotional declarations of feelings make him feel a little claustrophobic, like he’s tied his bow tie a little too tight and so he pours another glass of wine and he looks longingly at his cell phone and he sleeps on Kurt’s side of the bed and he hopes against hope that he hasn’t screwed it up.
rating: PG
genre: angst
length: one-shot - for now
spoilers: up to 3x08 I guess?
Summary: Future Fic. Kurt and Blaine are still Kurt and Blaine, will always be Kurt and Blaine and Sebastian Smythe is an unwanted blast from the past.
A/N: I used to write a lot of Remus/Sirius back in the day but this is my first foray in to the Kurt/Blaine, and Glee fandom. I thought my fanfic days were long gone but this little plot bunny won’t leave me alone. If it’s a little rusty then you have my humble apologies. Ha. This fic is just a moment really, it’s part of a bigger ‘verse in my head so if people like it then I might fill in the background on it later.
The title is stolen from a Pink song, cos I'm unoriginal like that.
“If you have feelings for Sebastian Smythe…”
“I do not have feelings for Sebastian Smythe. I didn’t when we were at school and I certainly don’t now….if you don’t trust me, leave.”
“Fine.”
“Where are you going.”
“I’m leaving. That’s obviously what you want.”
“Yes. Yes it is. HAVE A GREAT NIGHT.”
As the door crashes closed behind Kurt, making their entire New York apartment shudder with the aftershocks of their fight, Blaine Anderson lets his head fall back against the sofa and closes his eyes, drawing his knees up to his chest, the magazine that he had been pretending to read in a futile attempt to avoid confrontation sliding from his legs and onto the floor.
To say the afternoon had been a disaster would not be much of an understatement and Blaine wonders exactly how what had started out as a simple ‘coffee with Sebastian’ had resulted in complete and utter carnage.
None of what had actually happened was supposed to happen.
He was supposed to spend an hour or so with Sebastian, because he’d run into him at the park whilst out on his morning jog and he’d been all sweaty and out of breath and Sebastian had been all suave and put together like he always had been and he’d caught Blaine off guard and somehow it had seemed rude to just say ‘no’ to his suggestion they catch up. Besides which he’d given Blaine that grin and made some comment along the lines of ‘unless Kurt says you’re not allowed of course’ which meant Blaine had no choice really because he didn’t want Sebastian to think that his and Kurt’s relationship was anything less than perfect; that it was haunted by insecurities of old; that Kurt didn’t trust him.
Except of course that it seemed that if Sebastian had been thinking any of those things he would have been right, which was just out and out annoying.
So he was supposed to catch up with Sebastian for politeness sake and then spend the evening watching old musicals with Kurt and it was all supposed to be clean and simple and just the way he liked it.
It was not supposed to end up worse than those New Directions get-togethers where everybody ended up blind drunk and fighting, usually with Santana shrill and angry in the middle of it all.
A little voice in the back of his mind laughs spitefully and asks him what he expected; putting Kurt and Sebastian in the same room and adding a healthy pinch of unresolved tension was never going to result in happy ever after.
He lets out a low growl of frustration. He’d quite like to throw something, namely the photograph ofhim and Kurt from last Christmas that seems to be smirking at him from across the room but that’s Kurt’s style not his and so he settles for letting his fist make contact with their beautifully upholstered sofa in a noiseless and unsatisfying expression of emotion: what was Kurt thinking, turning up like that when he knew Sebastian would be there; what the hell was Sebastian thinking of, agreeing to Kurt’s ridiculous suggestion that they all had a (very) late lunch together; what was he thinking of agreeing to let Sebastian come to the apartment in the first place, and more to the point, what was he thinking of letting Kurt storm out like that.
The whole thing has been nothing less than a nightmare on all counts and now Kurt has gone and he has no idea what he’s supposed to do next.
Part of him wonders whether he should go after Kurt, call him back, try to explain but he doesn’t move; isn’t sure there’s any point in trying to talk because Kurt seems to be looking for answers that Blaine isn’t sure he has and his ‘I have no idea what you want from me’ seems to be the last thing he wants to hear which is a problem because right now that is all Blaine’s got to give and he wonders what the hell you’re supposed to do when it turns out that in actual fact honesty is not the best policy.
He doesn’t have feelings for Sebastian Smythe; he never ever has. He always thought he was fun, and a fairly good singer and ok for a laugh in small doses and yeah, a bit of a dick but harmless really, but there’s no way Kurt will ever believe that and if he was to tell him how he’d really felt - that when he’d looked up from where he’d stood, hands on his knees and panting and seen Sebastian stood there like the cat that had gotten the cream, always like the cat that had gotten the cream, he’d felt a little bit like he was going to be sick or that he’d been momentarily worried his heart was going to explode out of his chest, so fast was it pounding, or that whilst Kurt is, has always been, the one for him it is still flattering to know that Sebastian was that into him and whilst he would never ever act on it he couldn’t help that the attention had always been good for his ego, well, he knows Kurt well enough to know they’d be the last words he’d ever say to him and he doesn’t want to even begin contemplate how that would make him feel.
Besides which he has told him countless times that he doesn’t feel anything for Sebastian, has been telling him since the day they met him, almost, and it makes him angry that his words aren’t enough, that the fact that he followed Kurt to New York because he couldn’t bear to not be with him, isn’t enough.
He pushes himself to his feet and wanders towards the kitchen, in search of wine, because what else is there to do but drink himself to oblivion? He blames Santana for the fact that when things don’t go to plan his automatic reaction is to seek solace in the bottom of a bottle; he blames Santana for almost all of his less than good decisions actually. Sometimes he wished she’d carried on pretending to hate him because sometimes she was so much more hassle as a friend than she’d ever been as a facsimile of an enemy.
The thing that gets him as he knocks back the dregs of a glass of red and uncorks another bottle, is what did Kurt expect? Surely he can’t have thought that he could just turn up and that the three of them would make nice polite conversation and it would all be lovely? Kurt hated Sebastian and Blaine was pretty sure Sebastian felt the same. Kurt must have known that whatever they had to say, that it wouldn’t be pretty? Why couldn’t he just let it be and accept that Blaine had made his choice but that Sebastian was in town and having him over for coffee was the friendly thing to do?
Blaine had chosen Kurt, he would always choose Kurt and he thought he’d made that clear.
Why did he have to turn up with his poorly disguised jealousy and engineer an afternoon tea like they were British Royalty, all forced smiles and sandwiches cut into triangles.
All of this could have been avoided if Kurt had just stayed at work.
Surely he should be angry at Kurt, not the other way around; if anybody was to storm out surely that right belonged to him. How dare he act like the wronged party when all he had to do was mind his own business?
But the voice in the back of his mind won’t go away, the voice that’s telling him that he didn’t make it obvious at all; that Kurt was insecure despite his over the top persona; that he’d fought Sebastian for Blaine once before and even though he’d won, even though in Blaine’s mind there had never been a fight, it had still shaken him; that Kurt was Kurt and no matter how obvious he thought it was, the second Blaine had said Sebastian’s name his mind would have gone into overdrive because that’s just the way he was and walking in on the two of them sat on the sofa Kurt had chosen and laughing had probably seemed like all he had been hoping it wasn’t and that maybe he should have just told him that if he had to choose he would choose Kurt every single time, in a heartbeat.
It dawns on him that he probably owes Kurt an apology; he should have put his foot down and said no to ‘tea and cakes,’ or at the very least he should have not been quite so friendly towards Sebastian; he should have bent over backwards to reassure Kurt of how he felt; he should have talked to him; he shouldn’t have yelled; he should not have let him leave.
Maybe he’ll come back, maybe he’ll come back and he’ll have calmed down and they can kiss and make-up and it will all be fine.
He pours another glass of wine knowing that won’t happen: Kurt is hurt and he’s stubborn and in all honesty if Blaine was him he probably wouldn’t come back either.
He reaches for his phone thinking maybe he should call him but even if he did, what would he say? It’s one of those occasions where a simple sorry will be thrown out of the ballpark and he doesn’t know how to voice anything else.
He could tell Kurt how he had always loved him; how Sebastian Smythe could fall off the face of the earth and he probably wouldn’t notice; how he lay awake most nights watching Kurt sleep, watching his chest rise and fall and being so so scared of just how much of him was invested in this boy, this man with the pretty eyes and the long fingers and the laugh that made Blaine want to write a song to match it’s melody; how when Kurt had walked in tonight with his cupcakes and his smile his heart had skipped a beat and his stomach had flipped and he’d never been so pleased to see anybody in his life because this with Sebastian, it was awkward and somehow just seeing Kurt made him feel safe again; how sitting with Sebastian listening to Kurt singing and clattering in the kitchen had made him so so proud and how he’d found himself wanting to make excuses to get Sebastian out of there just so they could be alone; how he was sorry it had all gotten so messy; how he was 100% sure about where he wanted to be and who he wanted to be with and it 100% wasn’t Sebastian Smythe; how every time he catches Kurt’s eye he wants to suggest they run to City Hall and get married but he can’t because he’s absolutely petrified that there is some New York big shot that is just waiting to steal him away, that all of this is too perfect and he’s just waiting, waiting for it all to come crashing down around him.
He could say all of that but he won’t because feelings, or rather overly emotional declarations of feelings make him feel a little claustrophobic, like he’s tied his bow tie a little too tight and so he pours another glass of wine and he looks longingly at his cell phone and he sleeps on Kurt’s side of the bed and he hopes against hope that he hasn’t screwed it up.