give your heart (a break)

Kurt counts the small dots on his ceiling: one, two, three, four . . .

"Kurt?" Rachel calls from outside his door. She's worried, but Kurt can't bring himself to care. He feels—numb. Empty. "Kurt, are you okay?"

No, Kurt wants to say. The boy I've loved for the past two years just admitted that he cheated on me—and it only took him, what, three weeks? And what's even worse is that I feel guilty about it, because I'm the one who left him there alone, knowing that he has no one but me, that his family life is in ruins, that all of his friends came through me first. And I hate myself for that and him for making me feel guilty for his choices, what he decided to do.

Kurt can't say any of those things aloud, so he stays quiet. He hears Rachel sigh.

"I have ice cream," she says, coaxing. "And Moulin Rouge! and Funny Girl. Come out and we can wallow together." She raps against the door, the rasp of her knuckles pleading. "Please, Kurt. I know you're hurting right now, but so am I—we can help each other through this. Isn't that what best friends are for?"

Kurt considers it. He sits up, slow and tired. Ever since Blaine's visit, he moves like an old man—his bones ache, his body feel stretched and useless.

"I just want to be alone, Rachel," he says. His voice sounds cracked, ragged at the edges—it's the first time he's spoken aloud since Finn left.

There's a pause outside the door. "Kurt, I want to help you. I want us to help each other," Rachel whispers. "Please come out."

Kurt considers the door, then looks back at the bed. Looking at it hurts—every time he sees Blaine's face, the anguish in his eyes as they laid down to sleep, not speaking to each other. He keeps hearing Blaine say I'm sorry over and over, can't get Teenage Dream out of his head.

"Yeah," Kurt says, standing. "Okay. Give me a minute to tidy up?"

"Yes!" Rachel says, overjoyed now. "Yes, of course! I'll get the movies started. And the popcorn!" Kurt hears her hurried footsteps as she moves away from the door.

He takes a deep breath, then looks in his mirror. He looks like a walking corpse—his face is the palest it's been since his junior year of high school, he has dark circles under his eyes, his mouth is dry, chapped. He runs a hand through his hair and grimaces—oily and unkempt, disgusting. He needs a shower, and badly.

Kurt opens his door and peers out, strangely cautious. Rachel is in the kitchen, quietly making popcorn. Kurt's laptop is on their coffee table, movies next to it—he and Rachel have yet to invest in a T.V. Kurt sneaks into the bathroom and starts his shower.

He tries not to think of all the times he and Blaine had in showers—both at McKinley (which he was never going to tell Finn, ever) and at their houses, when their parents were away. Kurt likes messing around in the shower—it made cleaning up the mess easier and Blaine was incredibly hot with water pouring off of him—

Kurt takes a deep breath. No thoughts of Blaine, not tonight. He doesn't want to think about Blaine's lips against his own, the way Blaine was so easy to hold, the way Blaine had supported and loved him at his worst. He doesn't want to wonder about Blaine's hook-up—if he's better looking than Kurt, better in bed than Kurt. If he's worth everything Blaine threw away.

He steps out of the shower feeling more like himself and wraps a towel around his hips. In the living room, Rachel settles down, setting out candles. She glances up when Kurt exits and her eyes soften.

"Feel better?" she asks.

Kurt tries to smile, but his muscles stopped working that way the moment Blaine said I was with someone. "Much," he rasps. "What're we watching first?"

"Moulin Rouge!" Rachel says. "Then Funny Girl. Maybe Breakfast at Tiffany's, if we can fit it in?"

"Or Roman Holiday," Kurt says. "I always liked that one."

Rachel smiles. "Me too," she admits. "Finn—" her voice catches and she coughs before trying again. "Finn always thought it was too sad."

"So did—" Kurt stops, mouth thinning.

Rachel shakes her head. "Come on," she says. "Go get dressed and we can start. Not that the thought of watching movies with you in a towel isn't one of my dearest fantasies . . . ." She smiles again, waggles her eyebrows.

Kurt rolls his eyes. "I'll be right back," he says and slips into his bedroom.

He pulls on comfortable yoga pants and a simple, clean shirt and runs through a shortened version of his nightly routine, trying not to wonder if Blaine still does his, if he's doing it right now back in Ohio. He runs a comb through his hair and goes back into the living room, which is dark except for the candles and the glow of the screen. Rachel sits on their couch, legs pulled up to her chest, chewing on popcorn.

Kurt slides next to her and Rachel immediately curls into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. He sighs against her hair and wraps an arm around her shoulder as he reaches out with his free hand to start the movie.

"There was a boy, a very strange enchanted boy . . . ."

"We're going to be okay, right?" Rachel asks, sounding very small.

Kurt remembers her return to New York when she went after Finn. He had almost been tempted to go with her, but the thought of seeing Blaine again, knowing what he'd done, hurt too much and he'd stayed home. Rachel had come back with tear stains on her face, eyes hurt and angry, on the edge of collapse, and said that she and Finn were done, officially over. Kurt had envied her certainty. Now he only feels sad for her, for himself—and even for Finn and Blaine, in a way. They'd been so in love and now it was all broken.

Kurt kisses Rachel's head. "We're going to be okay," he promises, and hopes it will come true.

Life continues on for Kurt. consumes much of his time, his thought, his energy—and when he comes home, late at night and exhausted, Rachel is always there with movies, mindless chatter, and the all important cake. He finds that he rarely has time to think about heartbreak in his daily routine. Instead, thoughts of Blaine come to him when he's on the edge of sleep, alone in his bed, surrounded by darkness. He stares at his off-white ceiling and counts the dots there as he thinks about Blaine's smile, his innate kindness, the way his eyes light up when Kurt enters a room, the way his mouth looks when he says I love you, when he says I was with someone—

Kurt only allows the tears to come at night. If he wakes the next morning with puffy skin under his eyes, he never allows himself to think of the reason why.

As the days pass, Kurt finds himself getting more and more tense. He snaps at other interns at work, when Rachel complains of Cassandra July for the nth time, at random hobos on the street. He gets irritated at the smallest things, the easiest slips, and soon he becomes a seething mass of tight, angry emotions—his hair flops, his eyes develop dark circles, his fashion suffers . . . .

After a week, Kurt looks at himself in the mirror—dead-eyed, droopy, clearly not at his best—and comes to a decision. He needs to unwind, to forget. He needs a night to himself, where he won't think of Blaine or their failed relationship.

"Rachel," he says that night, after he gets home from work. "I'm going out tonight."

She gives him a puzzled look. "For coffee?" she asks.

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Out," he stresses.

Rachel's eyes widen and she stops in the process of making her nightly cup of chamomile tea. "To a club?" she asks, completely scandalized. "A gay club?"

Kurt sighs. "I just—" he shakes his head. It sounds stupid in his head to say that he needs a night of abandon, a night to forget Blaine ever existed. He doesn't even know if it's possible—his night at Scandals hadn't exactly made him crazy about gay clubs. But it's the only way he can think of to at least try.

Rachel's eyes soften. "Do you want me to come with you?" she asks.

Kurt smiles. "Yes, if you're willing," he says. He's heard too many things about New York City's nightlife to be completely comfortable going himself. He winks. "Maybe you'll even get picked up."

Rachel laughs. "How could they resist all this?" She gives a little shimmy.

"You could get it any day and you know it, Berry," Kurt tells her. "Especially after my makeover."

Kurt's still privately smug about that little experiment. Rachel looks more polished than she ever has in her life, and Kurt can't help but preen whenever men and women stare at her in the street, as proud as if they are staring at him instead.

Rachel beams at him. "Can Brody come too?" she asks.

Kurt frowns a little, but shrugs. "I suppose," he says. "If he wants to." Brody seemed nice enough the few times he and Kurt talked, but he is—well. Ridiculously good-looking and straight, and Kurt has never really had a good rapport with boys like that, not really.

Rachel takes out her phone and gives him a look. "Don't judge him until you get to know him, Kurt," she says, dialing. "Hey, Brody? Listen, I was wondering if you were busy tonight . . . ."

Kurt stares at the bright lights flashing out of the gay club and gulps. He had been so sure that this was the best way to forget about Blaine, but now that he's actually here—

"Don't fold on me now, Hummel," Brody says at his shoulder. He grins at Kurt. "It looks like a bit much, but I promise it's more fun than frightening." He makes a sign with his hand. "Scout's honor."

"How do you even know about this place?" Kurt asks as Rachel comes up on his other side and links their arms.

Brody shrugs. "My old roommate used to drag me out here so he could pick up guys. It was a lot of fun, actually."

Kurt thinks about what any of the guys back at Lima would have thought about hanging out at a gay bar. He doubts any of them would have thought it was fun. As much as he loves Finn, it's really, really hard to dislike Brody.

He eyes the people in line and tugs self-consciously on his corset—the one he hasn't pulled out since sophomore year, when he'd realized that he was far too fashion-forward for a backward place like Lima. He's surprised it still fits—he had to loosen the laces a tad, but otherwise it's perfect. That, combined with his skin-tight black jeans and favorite bitch boots, are perfect for a club, in Kurt's opinion. Looking at the rest of the crowd—most of them wearing some sort of fishnet—he wonders for the first time in his life if he's made the wrong fashion decision.

Brody leads them to the front of the line and the doorman waves them through without even looking at their IDs. Inside, lights pulse to the heavy beat of something that sounds like techno.

"I'm going to go get a drink," Brody shouts over the music. "Did you guys want to come with?"

"Kurt's going to dance," Rachel yells, giving Kurt a stern look. "I'll come with, though."

Kurt wants to protest—the dance floor is a writhing mass of bodies, twining together so tightly that it's hard to see where one person begins and the next ends. But Rachel is right. He wants to forget tonight, and the dance floor is probably the best place to do that. Kurt takes a deep breath then soldiers forward, pushing his way onto the floor.

For a moment, he's swept away by the people, the press of bodies, the smell of sweat and sex. Then he takes another deep breath. He is Kurt motherfucking Hummel and a little thing like a gay dance floor is not going to send him screaming for the hills. Everyone might think he's some sort of wilting flower and sexual pansy, but he isn't. For a moment, Kurt wishes Sebastian was there, just so Kurt could rub in his face how little all of this freaks him out.

There's a pause as one song stops and another begins: Kurt uses that to gather his courage. As a heavy base line thumps through the speakers, he begins to twist his hips. He ignores how awkward and thoroughly unsexy he feels—he knows he isn't. He isn't. Instead, he tries to focus on the moment, on the way it feels to move his hips, on the smell and warmth of the people around him. Kurt wishes he'd had a drink first, though he'd sworn off alcohol after his incident with Ms. Pillsbury. A drink would have loosened him up enough to make this easy.

Slowly, though, he relaxes. It's easier with everyone around him ignoring him for the most part, all of them focused on grinding up against their own partners. Kurt watches them for a moment, smiles, then throws his hands up. He closes his eyes and lets himself go—the music is all that matters, the twist of his hips.

He dances that way for a while—one song turns into another into another—for so long that he jumps out of his skin when hands grasp his hips. He half-turns to see a blinding smile.

"Do you mind?" the guy says—or mouths, since Kurt can't hear him over the music.

Kurt considers him. He's blond, blue-eyed, tall. Everything Blaine isn't, a little voice whispers in the back of his head. Kurt shoves it away and smiles back.

"No!" he mouths back and they begin to move together.

Tall, Blond and Handsome isn't a bad dancer. And he's the gateway dance partner—after one song, Kurt is pulled away by another guy, then another, then another—Kurt feels dizzy from the attention, from the erections he can feel pressed into the small of his back, from the heat and the press of bodies.

Kurt is grinding with a tall Hispanic boy when the song changes—Single Ladies. Kurt grins and throws the boy off of him, moving to a clear spot in the dance floor. He's hyped up enough on dance and the attention to not care who sees him do this, to not think it embarrassing as he strikes a pose and begins. As he mimics Queen Beyonce, people began to give him room, clear the space. Men around him hoot and holler as he slaps his ass, flips his damp hair out of his eyes. Kurt grins.

Sudden hands clench his gyrating hips. Kurt pauses, but when the hands only squeeze and don't restrict, he throws his head back and keeps moving, mindful of the partner behind him, whose hips move in alignment with his own. Kurt grins wickedly to the boys around him as he slaps his partner's ass instead of his own, throws his hand with as much sass as he can and, in general, has the best time he can remember since he broke up with Blaine.

When the song is over, Kurt pauses to catch a breath as the rest of the dancers fill up the space around him again, some of them clapping him on the shoulder and grinning, wide and amused. He remembers for one vivid moment the way the football boys had reacted when he'd taught them that dance. Sometimes he can't get over how different New York is.

"A sex life did wonders for your dance skills."

Kurt freezes at the whisper in his eye-his partner, he realizes with distant horror, who'd stayed behind him even as others moved on. His partner, who has a voice Kurt knows, knows all too well. He whips around to meet the smirking face of Sebastian Smythe with the kind of horrified terror that he can only remember feeling around Dave Karofsky when he was still a bully.

"Not you," Kurt breathes. Over the music it's impossible to hear, but Sebastian smirks anyway.

"Nice to see you too, Kurt," he yells. A guy knocks into Kurt's side and he goes crashing into Sebastian's chest. Sebastian catches him round the arms and grins down at him. Sebastian, Kurt realizes suddenly, is still as good-looking as ever. Kurt stomps on that thought until it dies a horrible, painful death.

"Wanna get a table?" Sebastian asks.

Kurt stares at him, incredulous. Then without saying anything, he turns on his heel and marches away, furious beyond belief. He'd been having such a good night and then Sebastian Smythe of all people had to show up and ruin everything. If there is a God, Kurt's sure his mission in life is to make Kurt's life as miserable as possible, and he has the evidence to prove it to any disbelievers.

Kurt spots Rachel and Brody at a table in the back, talking with their heads bent close together. He watches them for a moment, anger fading away a little at the besotted smile on Rachel's face, before stomping over to join them. Away from the music, it's a little easier to hear.

"You will not believe who I just met on the dance floor," Kurt says as he drops into the last remaining chair at the table. Rachel and Brody exchange looks.

"It wasn't Blaine, was it?" Rachel asks, putting her hand on Kurt's.

Kurt ignores the spike of pain at Blaine's name. "Nope. Two words for you: Sebastian Smythe."

Rachel gasps, though Brody still looks confused. "Sebastian's here? What—"

"You know it's rude to leave someone on the dance floor alone," Sebastian interrupts as he saunters up to their table, hands in his pockets and a grin on his face.

"Well it's rude to come to a gay bar wearing the clothes of a rejected frat boy drop out, but I don't see that stopping you," Kurt snaps back.

"Kurt!" Rachel scolds, though he knows she thinks it's funny. "Sebastian, it's nice to see you again," she says, perfectly polite as she turns back to Sebastian. "This is Brody, a friend of mine. Brody, this is Sebastian—Kurt and I knew him back in high school."

Sebastian turns considering eyes onto Brody. Kurt groans—he can already see where this is going.

"Why, hello," Sebastian purrs, holding out a hand for Brody to shake.

Brody merely smiles back, takes Sebastian's hand, and says, "Totally straight." Kurt wants to buy Brody a bouquet of flowers and some really expensive chocolate.

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. "No one is totally straight," he says, still trying. Kurt grudgingly gives him points for persistence, then subtracts them for the horrible popped collar.

Brody's smile widens and he darts a glance at Rachel. "Straight enough that I'm not interested, dude."

Sebastian, to Kurt's surprise, makes a face and leans back. "Dude," he mutters, sounding disgusted. "Instant turn-off." It's too bad that Kurt agrees-he doesn't want to think anything Sebastian says is worth agreeing with. Sebastian sighs. "It's too bad," he says, eyeing Brody's admittedly sculpted body. "We could have had fun."

"I'm actually a little shocked that you have turn-offs, Smythe," Kurt interjects, crossing his legs primly. "After all, that would imply you have standards."

All three of them turn to stare at him.

"Now I know what you meant when you said he could be catty," Brody tells Rachel. Kurt turns on her with betrayal, but Rachel just shrugs and pats his hand.

"It's all part of your charm," she assures him.

Sebastian's snickering so Kurt kicks him in the ankle. "Ow!" he shouts, scooting back, away from them. "What the hell, Hummel?"

"Gentlemen don't snicker," Kurt informs him. "Especially not gentlemen of Dalton."

"Is that what Blaine told you?" Sebastian asks.

Kurt doesn't look, but he can feel the sudden tension from Rachel and Brody. He takes a deep breath around the pain Blaine's name brings. "No," he bites out. "It seems like you and every other Warbler have forgotten, but I did go to Dalton too, you know." He rolls his eyes. "Some of it stuck—though, thankfully not the frankly horrendous fashion sense." He shudders, remembering some of the get-ups Thad or David would wear on the weekends.

There's a strange light in Sebastian eyes—though that could just be the glimmer of the strobe light in the background. "You probably made a horrible Dalton boy," he mocks. "What with your diva attitude and all."

"Well, you'd know," Kurt says, flips his hair back. It's a little disgusting from the dancing and sweating and Kurt vows to double his skin routine when he gets home to make up for it.

"Sebastian, what are you doing in the city?" Rachel asks with a touch of desperation. Under the table she taps Kurt's knee twice: code for be nice. Kurt crosses his arms and tries not to look grumpy.

"I live here," Sebastian says. "My aunt got me an internship at her . . . newspaper. I start in a few days."

"That's lovely," Rachel says with genuine warmth. Kurt sometimes wonder that Rachel can forgive people so easily. "Are you going to school as well?"

Sebastian's face shutters. "No," he says. "No, I'm not." He stands. "Well, I'd better go. So many people to meet, you know?" He winks for good measure, but it feels half-hearted. Kurt watches as he strides across the dance floor, disappears into the writhing bodies.

"Was it something I said?" Rachel asks, stricken.

Kurt pats her hand. "We're better off without him," he says. "With any luck, that'll be the last we ever see of him."

Kurt should've known better than to trust luck, that great bitch. She's never been on his side.

Kurt is typing up a new article when Isabelle drops by his desk, smiling bright. He smiles back at her and straightens in his chair as she approaches, trying to look professional. It still amazes him that he's on casual speaking terms with Isabelle Wright, that she knows his name.

"Kurt, I just wanted to let you know that we have a new intern arriving this afternoon," Isabelle says. She leans in, confiding, "He's actually my nephew. My brother sent him here because he's causing some . . . trouble at home."

Kurt smiles. "Ooh, a troublemaker," he says. "Is he cute? I've always had a thing for bad boys."

Isabelle laughs. "He's adorable," she assures him. She pauses, then adds, "And also very, very gay, so." She winks. Kurt hits her arm before he realizes that this is Isabelle Wright. He flushes, but she just laughs. "I think this'll be good for you," she says, and her laughter softens. "You're still broken up with your boyfriend, aren't you?"

Kurt's stomach flops and he forces a smile. "Sadly, no dramatic reunion has yet to occur," he says. "I haven't talked to him since we broke up. He keeps texting me and telling me he's sorry." Kurt shakes his head. "I don't know why he thinks I can forgive him."

Isabelle considers him. "I don't know what happened between you two," she says. "But sometimes when we forgive someone we give ourselves permission to . . . move on, in our lives." She smiles, gentle, considerate. Kurt suddenly feels the urge to cry. "Remember that, okay?"

Kurt leans forward and hugs her. She's smaller than he is, he realizes, almost surprised. "Thank you," he says. "I'll try."

Isabelle smiles again and bops him on the nose with her finger. "Now, my nephew will be here in an hour or so. He'll be following you around to figure out what we do here, okay?" She winks. "So show him how a real intern works, you got it?"

Kurt salutes her, watches as she sashays back to her office. He glances at the phone, bites his lip, and decides to think about it another time. Right now, he has work to do and a new employee to prepare for. He sighs, cracks his fingers, and gets to work.

Kurt is knee-deep in an article when Sebastian Smythe walks through 's doors.

"Oh no," he hears, though he registers it more as thoughtless noise. When he's invested in an article, he doesn't normally pay attention to little things like food or sleep or people. When he hears, again, "Oh shit no—" he looks up with exasperation to see Sebastian staring down at him in horror, expensive sunglasses propped up over his dramatically wide eyes.

For a moment they stare at each other.

"Please," Kurt says, "don't say you're Isabelle's troublemaking nephew who's here for his new internship."

"Please," Sebastian says, with the exact same intonation, "don't say you're the promising new intern who's supposed to show me the ropes of this place?"

Kurt suppresses the flush of joy at being labelled promising and levels Sebastian with a glare. "How does this even happen?" he asks. "You never said Isabelle was your aunt. You never mentioned that the aunt you were coming to intern for was Isabelle Wright."

Sebastian rolls his eyes. "I must have forgotten to mention it at one of our numerous slumber parties," he says. "You didn't say you were interning here."

"You mean you didn't get that Facebook message I sent you?" Kurt asks, all mock-surprise—which slips into the real thing when he sees Sebastian's lip twitch.

"Must have got lost in the mail," Sebastian says wryly. He looks around the offices, which are mostly abandoned. "Where is everyone? It's the middle of the day—"

"They had an early meeting," Kurt says. "Isabelle took them out for lunch."

"What, not pretty enough to be invited?" Sebastian mocks.

Kurt doesn't let the hurt show on his face—instead, he rolls his eyes, pretending composure. "I had some work to finish," he says. "You know, what those of us with respectable work positions do?" He sneers at Sebastian. "Not that you'd know anything about it." Little rich boy, hangs in the air between them and Sebastian glares at him.

"Just show me what the hell I need to do so I can leave," Sebastian says, all amusement gone.

Kurt looks at his half-finished article and sighs, standing. He can spare an hour to show Sebastian around—he'd promised Isabelle, after all.

"Come on," he says, standing. "I'll show you around the offices and then tell you what the interns do around here. Isabelle didn't tell me what you're going to be doing exactly so we'll just go over everything." He starts down the hall, Sebastian trotting at his heels.

"Great," Sebastian groans. "I'm so excited."

Kurt doesn't look back at him. "Over there is the main conference area," he says, gesturing to the round table through the glass doors. "That's where Isabelle and everyone else work their magic." He can't quite keep the envy out of his voice—there's nothing more he'd love to do than actually be a part of the team, not just an upstart intern allowed to sit with them.

Sebastian snorts. "Yeah," he says. "Magic, right."

Kurt stops and turns on his heel so quickly that Sebastian nearly runs into him. "Why are you even here?" he snaps. Sebastian's eyebrow raises. "For as long as I've known you, you've hated fashion—especially my fashion, which is really what celebrates! So what's up?" He sneers. "Lose a bet?"

Sebastian's face closes off so quickly that Kurt actually takes a step back in surprise. "Something like that," he says—toneless, dead, utterly unlike himself. "Come on," he says, striding ahead of Kurt, who's frozen in place. "Let's get this over with. The sooner we're done, the sooner I can get out of here."

Kurt stares at where Sebastian was standing for a long moment before he turns on his heel to follow him down the hall, his mind whirring with confusion.

"What happened to NYADA, by the way?" Sebastian asks as they finish the tour.

Kurt tenses, but says, "I didn't get in."

Sebastian's silent for long enough that Kurt looks back at him—his eyebrows are drawn together in something like surprise. "Oh," he says at last. "That's—"

"—what you expected?" Kurt asks, bitter.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. "That's too bad," he says and Kurt feels a bit guilty. Sebastian eyes him. "You know, I think you're always going to expect the worst from me."

"Well, you did try to steal my boyfriend and blind me, so I think that's to be expected," Kurt snaps back. "Don't you have a bar to be whoring yourself out at?"

Sebastian steps into Kurt's personal space so suddenly that Kurt can't even wrap his mind around it before he says, "Listen up, Hummel. This may be too much for your tiny, romance-obsessed brain to handle, but sometimes people like to have a lot of sex. And that's not a bad thing." Sebastian steps away. "So I'll thank you to keep your prissy, judgemental little nose out of my sex life, thanks."

Kurt stares at him. "And sometimes," he says, voice calmer than he feels, "people like to have sex with one person and have a real relationship with them." He glares up at Sebastian. "And that's not a bad thing."

Sebastian's mouth softens with surprise, and then quirks in a sort of rueful amusement. "Touche," he says. "Now can we finish this up? I want to get out of here before—"

"Sebastian!" Isabelle cries as the elevator pings open.

She spills out of it, followed by the rest of the employees, who chatter amongst themselves as they go back to their desks. Isabelle grabs Sebastian in a tight hug.

"I'm glad to know you made it okay," she says, pulling back and examining his face. "You didn't even call to let me know you were here."

Sebastian shifts, obviously uncomfortable. "I didn't think it was a big deal, Aunt Isabelle," he says, darting a look at Kurt, who does his best to maintain a straight face. "I take planes all the time, you know."

Isabelle waves a hand. "I just worry, that's all," she says. "Can't stand planes, myself. I always feel like they're going to crash. LOST ruined me for air travel, I'm afraid." She turns to Kurt, beams at him. "Thank you for showing him around, Kurt. I really appreciate it!"

Kurt can't resist. "Well, it's always good to catch up with old friends," he says.

Isabelle's eyes widen and she glances between them. "Old friends?" she asks, nonplussed.

"Kurt and I met last year, Aunt Isabelle," Sebastian says, glaring daggers at Kurt. "His boyfriend used to attend Dalton."

Kurt sees Isabelle's eyes widen in comprehension and hurries to say, "Actually, I went to Dalton for a small period of time as well," before she can correct Sebastian about his ex-boyfriend. Sebastian still doesn't know about Blaine, and Kurt wants to keep it that way. He doesn't think he can live with the ridicule. "Sebastian started the year after I left, though. We competed against each other in glee club competitions."

"I should've guessed," Isabelle says, attention distracted. Kurt sighs a little in relief, only to tense when he realizes that Sebastian's watching him, eyes intense. He gives Sebastian his best bitch face, but the intent look doesn't fade. "Ohio's a small place, after all. Ah well, this will just make it easier for you two to work together, I guess!" She beams at them. "Kurt, I'm expecting you to get Sebastian up to date on how things work around here, okay? Consider yourself his trainer."

"I think it'll take someone hardier than me to train Sebastian," Kurt comments. Sebastian glares at him, but Isabelle laughs.

"Sebastian, don't you dare give him a hard time," she says, leaning up to kiss Sebastian's cheek. "Kurt here is my angel—he's been more of a help since he started than all of my other employees combined." Kurt flushes at the praise. He's still not used to someone other than his dad or—Blaine being so vocal with their compliments.

"I'll play nice," Sebastian promises, but his eyes are wicked. "Or as nice as I can, aunt."

Isabelle pouts. "What happened to the little Sebastian who used to run around bum naked and call me Auntie Bella?" she laments.

For a moment, they're all silent. Then, unable to stop himself, Kurt bursts out laughing. Sebastian scowls at him, but Kurt can't stop.

"Bum—naked—?" he gasps out.

Isabelle is grinning like she's a cat who just caught a particularly fat canary. "Well, except for the cape."

Kurt breaks out into even more peals of laughter and Sebastian's scowl deepened. "Aunt Isabelle," he says stiffly. "I thought we agreed to never speak of that again?"

Isabelle pats his cheek. "But it was so adorable!" she protests. Her innocence is ruined by the wicked smirk. "And Kurt here needs some something to keep you in line, you know?"

Kurt reaches in and hugs her before he can stop himself. She gives a surprised squeak and Kurt leans away, beaming at her.

"You're my favorite person," he tells Isabelle, then turns to Sebastian. "Don't think I won't ask for pictures," he threatens. Sebastian's face pales in a amusingly dramatic fashion. "And send them to the entire staff." Not to mention keep them in his wallet to show Sebastian's conquests, if it came to that. But Kurt will keep that little strategy up his sleeve, for the tough times ahead.

"You're both evil," Sebastian tells them, then marches out, flouncing through the door to the stairway with the sort of pomp reserved for royals and the Kardashians.

"What a drama queen," Kurt observes, then smiles at Isabelle. "So, do you have pictures?" he asks.

Isabelle grins back at him. "Do I?" she says as they hurry into her office. And if they're cackling a little, there's no one around to see it.

It's nearing the end of the work day and Kurt's bored - he's already finished all of his work for the day and most of it for the week, because unlike some people, he actually has the motivation to finish his projects. He glances over where Sebastian sits, mindlessly throwing a paper ball into the air, and huffs.

Sebastian's eyes dart over to him and he grins. "Problem, darling?"

Kurt purses his lips. "You've been doing that for over an hour," he points out, irritable.

Sebastian's grin widens. Kurt wants to smack it off of his smarmy face. "I got done early." When Kurt raises a polite eyebrow of disbelief, Sebastian makes a face. "Okay, so I ditched my work early, so what? Most of it isn't due until the end of the week."

"This isn't like homework, Sebastian," Kurt says, pouring as much disgust as he can into it. Sebastian blinks at him, taken aback. "If you don't complete things on time, everyone suffers for it, not just you." Kurt leans forward over his desk, eyes narrowed. "So get your shit together or so help me I will put it together for you."

For a moment, Sebastian seems blessedly speechless. Then he grins, wide and slow and wicked. "You're not so bad when you're being all commanding, Hummel."

Kurt throws his hands up in the air in despair, pointedly ignoring the way his face is flushing. "I give up," he says, and ignores Sebastian for the last 20 minutes of their day.

Kurt's engrossed in an episode of Teen Wolf over his break, eyes glued to his computer screen as he inhales his salad. Usually he likes to sit with his co-workers and chit-chat but there are times when he just wants to be alone-well, alone with Derek Hale's abs to keep him company. Kurt doesn't admit it to his cultured friends, but he enjoys cheesy, overdramatic teen fantasy T.V. shows far too much. He owns all of The Vampire Diaries, keeps up avidly with True Blood. That and his secret love of One Direction are all details of his personal life he plans to never reveal to his glamorous co-workers, who talk about reading Vonnegut on their days off or attending high-end art galleries.

Kurt can understand the appeal of art galleries and classic books-he likes them sometimes himself. But Kurt likes these shows too, watches them to make himself feel better, uses them the same way he uses mac and cheese as comfort food. The abs and eye candy don't hurt either-like now, when one of the werewolves is ripping off his shirt for no other reason than to be shirtless.

Kurt doesn't hear the footsteps behind him until it's too late to hit pause.

"Let me guess," Sebastian says, leaning over Kurt's shoulder. "You watch this show for the plot, right?"

Kurt jumps, fumbles for the pause button, face burning as if he'd just been caught watching porn. "Can I help you?" he snaps, heart thundering.

Sebastian grins down at him. "Don't worry, princess," he says, flopping into a nearby chair with a boneless grace that Kurt doesn't want to admire or notice. "I won't tell anyone your dirty little secret."

Kurt glares at him. "I know it's a stupid show," he admits finally. "But it's fun."

Sebastian waves a hand. "Whatever floats your boat. Personally, I find werewolves over-rated."

"Vampire fan?" Kurt asks dryly. "You would like the creature that sucks on a neck to live."

Sebastian grins at him. "You know, vampires are so unimaginative," he says, leaning forward. "I mean, they have to suck out of a major artery to live, right? Well there's more than one big artery in the body. There's one in the neck, sure, but there's also one . . . ." He reaches over and before Kurt realizes what's happening, traces the inseam of Kurt's upper thigh. "Here." Sebastian's grin is dripping wickedness as he pulls away and Kurt knows he's beet red. "If I were a vampire, that's the only place I'd suck from."

"Pervert," Kurt accuses.

Sebastian only shrugs. "Guilty as charged."

Kurt eyes him, embarrassment fading a little. "What shows do you like?" he asks, suddenly curious. Back in high scool, he'd never imagined Sebastian had hobbies other than sex and spending all his time at the Lima Bean.

Sebastian shrugs, looks a little flustered. "I like movies more," he says. "T.V. just takes forever to tell a story sometimes and I'm impatient. But I did like . . . well, Friday Night Lights and . . ." He grimaces. "Well, I know about your secret fantasy love, right? Fair's fair. I really like Doctor Who." He glares at Kurt, daring him to laugh.

Kurt smiles a little. "I've seen some of it," he admits and Sebastian relaxes. "There's even a werewolf in it, isn't there?"

Sebastian makes a face. "The best part of that episode was Queen Victoria," he says. "And David Tennant's face."

Kurt's smile widens. "You're a geek," he exclaims, half in amusement, half in wonder, because who knew that Sebastian was a real boy? "You've totally watched the episodes over and over again, haven't you? Have you watched the classic episodes? Did you cry when that Rose girl left?"

Sebastian's silence is telling.

"You have!" Kurt crows. "I would never have thought suave Sebastian Smythe was a geeky fanboy at heart."

"How many times have you watched Teen Wolf over and over, huh?" Sebastian snaps, looking irritated. "At least my shows have some integrity. Teen Wolf is just emotional porn with werewolves thrown in."

Kurt waves a hand. "My show has shirtless hot guys," he says.

"Mine has all of space and time," Sebastian counters smugly.

"Badass archers," Kurt says, raising an eyebrow. "Magic."

"Badass companions. Science."

"Derek Hale's face."

"David Tennant's hair."

"Lydia Martin!"

"Donna Noble!"

They look at each other for a long moment and then start laughing. Kurt hasn't laughed like this-huge, gulping, from the belly laughs-since before he broke up with Blaine. Sebastian's eyes are crinkled up, disappearing into his laugh lines. It's ridiculous and a little endearing.

"We'll have to agree to disagree," Kurt gasps as the laughter dies. He smiles shyly at Sebastian. "We could watch Doctor Who during lunch one day," he offers, even if he wonders in the back of his mind if he's gone insane because this is Sebastian Smythe-

Sebastian smiles back, all warmth. "I'd like that," he says.

They're in the middle of a Doctor Who episode during lunch a week later (and Kurt will never admit this, but Doctor Who is pretty much resoundingly better than Teen Wolf even though it lacks magnificent abs) when Sebastian leans over into Kurt's space and asks, "Are you going to re-apply to NYADA?"

Kurt stares at him. On screen, the Doctor and Rose are in the middle of World War II Britain. "Maybe," he says. "I don't know. Why do you ask?"

Sebastian shrugs. His expression is inscrutable. "Just curious," he says, leaning back. "I mean, this place isn't going to get you anywhere anytime fast, is it?"

Kurt frowns at him, leans forward to pause the screen. "Do you really believe that?" he asks. "I mean, it's not like it's a big paper or something, but I could probably get a leg up if I kept interning here."

"I thought you wanted to do theater," Sebastian says, raising an eyebrow. "Going into fashion instead?"

Kurt shrugs. His future has been weighing more and more on his mind since his move to New York and he's given it some thought. "I love fashion," he says honestly. He doesn't say that sometimes he thinks that fashion and singing are really the only things he's good at. He doesn't even know if he's really that good at performing in a non-musical context-the only time he ever tried he literally got laughed off stage. "Isabelle likes me, I'm sure she'd be willing to help me get my name out into the industry."

"Designing?" Sebastian asks, nose wrinkling. "Do you know how long it takes to get established?"

Kurt shrugs. "A long time," he says. "I'm 19, Sebastian, I've got some time. And it was just an idea."

"Do you even have any designs?" Sebastian asks, and it surprises how persistent Sebastian is, how interested in it he sounds.

Kurt thinks of his small portfolio at home, slowly developed from his late teens onwards. He's never been much of an artist, but he can manage to put together sketches of clothes well enough. They look clumsy to him still, and he's not certain he'd show it to anyone he doesn't trust innately, like Rachel or his dad or-

"Some," Kurt says. He eyes Sebastian. "What about you?" he asks. "You said you aren't going to school, are you just going to-"

"Let's keep watching," Sebastian interrupts, flicking the screen back on. Kurt frowns at Sebastian, who keeps his gaze fixed on the computer screen, nonplussed by his obvious dismissal of the subject.

As Kurt turns back to the show, he puts the information in the back of his mind to be looked at later: Sebastian doesn't want to talk about his future, and Kurt wants to know why.

Kurt's typing up the last bit of an article when he hears a crash and a shout of wordless frustration behind him. He turns, in part out of curiosity and in part because he can recognize that voice no matter what the situation, to see Sebastian staring at the communal printer with wild rage. Kurt bites back around a laugh and slides to his feet.

"Jerry being hard on you?" he asks, all sympathy. Sebastian turns to Kurt and Kurt smiles a little at his dishevelment.

"Jerry?" Sebastian asks with disbelief. "This thing from hell actually has a name?"

"Emma named it," Kurt says. "She said it reminded her of this character from a T.V. show." Kurt admits that after watching an episode of Parks and Recreation he can see why. "Trust me when I say he never works - or when he does, he never does what he's supposed to do."

"Has my aunt," Sebastian says, in the careful voice of those homicidally inclined, "ever considered buying a new printer?"

"Well, yes," Kurt says, and it's getting harder not to laugh now. "But our budget isn't very forgiving, you know, and honestly we've all kind of gotten used to Jerry."

Sebastian stares at Kurt like he's lost his mind. "Gotten used to him," he repeats with disbelief. "You keep a printer that doesn't work around because you've all gotten used to him?"

Kurt shrugs. "He's kind of pathetic," he says, patting Jerry. "It's endearing." He pauses, considers, then adds, "And I wasn't kidding about the budget thing." Kurt raises an eyebrow. "Did you need help? I've learned most of the tricks by now."

Sebastian makes an exasperated noise. "I was trying to print out a hard copy of my article," he snaps. "But then Jerry had to get a paper jam and he's insisting that it's still jammed even though I've already cleaned the paper out."

Kurt makes a sympathetic noise. "Oh he does this at least twice a day." He steps in front of Sebastian and fiddles with Jerry's buttons for a moment until Jerry emits a beep that could, if one were inclined to personification, be constituted as smug before cleanly emitting two sheets of paper covered with bright pink type.

Sebastian grabs the sheets before Kurt can look at them, examines them closely, and, despite the color of the type, gives Kurt a huge, genuine smile. "Thank God! I thought I would have to write them out by hand!"

Kurt's brain can't quite move on from that smile, because he doesn't think he's ever seen such genuine happiness from Sebastian-ever. And damn if it didn't look as good on him as arrogant sarcasm, the bastard.

"You're welcome," he says, irritable because Sebastian's really ridiculously good-looking and Kurt doesn't like noticing that.

Sebastian's smile slips a little and Kurt does not feel guilty. "Thanks," he offers. There's an awkward pause. "I'd better get this to Isabelle. Hopefully she won't mind about the color . . ." Sebastian says finally and hurries away. Kurt watches him go, eyes lingering a little. Jerry beeps again, pointedly.

"Oh be quiet, Jerry," Kurt snaps and whirls around on his heel to stomp away.

"You know, we're going to have to talk about Blaine eventually."

Kurt tenses, stares at his computer screen where he'd been trying to write yet another article. He looks up to see Sebastian considering him over the top of his computer. He's ready to walk out if Sebastian looks smug or amused or arrogant. But Sebastian is only curious.

"We really, really don't," Kurt says, clipped, and returns to his article.

"You haven't mentioned him once," Sebastian muses. Kurt punches his keys with more force than necessary. "Which is unusual for an old married couple like you guys. I mean, whenever we talked in high school, he was always Kurt that and Kurt this all the time. Drove me up the wall."

"Probably because it reminded you he was sleeping with me, not you," Kurt points out before he can stop himself.

A moment of silence. "Me-ow," Sebastian says finally, but he sound amused. "Claws out, Hummel? Did it bother you that much?"

Kurt considers the computer and wonders if he should tell Sebastian how jealousy had eaten him up back in high school, that knowing Blaine was so willing to talk to a guy who was so obvious about his intentions made something hard and bitter pool in his stomach. It had hurt, he admits that now, because Blaine wasn't an idiot and Sebastian wasn't subtle. And every time Kurt heard about a conversation Blaine had with Sebastian that Blaine never told him about, he couldn't stop the hurt, because why not tell Kurt if it was all so innocent? Why continue doing it even if he knew that it hurt Kurt?

"No," Kurt lies. He darts a glance up and Sebastian looks thoughtful.

"Liar," Sebastian says. "Your little gay face crumpled every time Blaine and I had a nice little chat. You should have seen it when I told you about the Michael Jackson incident."

Kurt purses his lips. "In the end, Blaine chose—" he stops, remembers. In the end, Blaine didn't choose him, didn't choose them—he chose a stranger instead, because Kurt was hundreds of miles away, immersed in a new life. Blaine didn't choose Kurt at all. He swallows, looks back at his computer.

"Hummel," Sebastian says, softer now. "What the hell happened?"

"It's none of your business, Sebastian," Kurt snaps, on the edge of his patience. He thought he got over this, he wants to be over this. "I have work to do, could you please leave me alone?"

"Sebastian!" Isabelle calls from her office. "Can I have a word?"

Sebastian hesitates. "I'll get it out of you one day, Hummel," he says before leaving at last. Kurt waits for his footsteps to fade before relaxing in his chair, abandoning his work altogether as he tries to breathe.

It's late at night and Kurt's phone is ringing again. Kurt doesn't know why he picks up when he sees that it's Blaine (again). Maybe he's just tired of having it constantly ring, maybe he just wants to hear Blaine's voice again. Maybe he just wants it to be done.

"Hello?" he croaks out.

There's a moment of silence, as if Blaine's too surprised at Kurt actually answering to speak. "Kurt!" he rushes forward, words tripping over themselves. "I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting—"

"What do you want, Blaine?" Kurt asks tiredly.

"I just . . . ." Blaine sounds troubled. "Wanted to tell you how sorry I am."

Kurt considers it. "Thank you," he says.

There's a moment of silence. "Just . . . thank you?" Blaine asks, hesitant.

Kurt's hand tightens on his phone. "What did you expect?" he snaps, anger rising, sharp and wild because he's so pissed about everything and talking to Blaine is just making it all rise to the surface. "Did you think I'd forgive you and everything would be right again? You cheated on me, Blaine. And not some semi-innocent flirty text cheating—full blown, body on body—" Kurt shakes his head. He can't finish, can't force the words past his throat. "It's hard enough to talk to you right now." Kurt pauses, then throws in, "And I don't know if I can forgive you."

"Kurt," Blaine says, sounding desperate. "I'm so sorry, you have to believe me—"

"I don't have to do anything," Kurt asserts coldly. "You've offered your apologies and I've accepted them. But you broke my heart, Blaine, and honestly? I don't know if I'll ever forgive you for it. Maybe, in time, we can be friends again." Kurt sighs. "I'd like that. But right now what I really want from you is space and time."

"Kurt, please," Blaine begs. "I still love you—"

"If you loved me," Kurt says staring dry-eyed at his walls, "then you wouldn't have cheated on me." He hangs up.

Kurt looks at his hands and realizes, with some sort of distant shock, that he's shaking.

Kurt starts to dream about Blaine. In them, Blaine is smiling with another boy, laughing with him, kissing him-

Kurt's phone is vibrating, and he knows without looking at it that it's Blaine. Blaine, who's tired calling him almost every hour for the past week, despite their last conversation. Kurt studiously ignores it in favor of his lunch time salad. Really, it's scrumptious. Mmm, greens.

Kurt jumps when the chair across from his scrapes across the floor—when he looks up to see Sebastian sitting across from him, he's barely even surprised. Kurt's not sure if it's because Sebastian loves to torment him or if he's just clinging to a familiar face, but Sebastian seems to follow Kurt around like a tiny little puppy dog. Kurt considers the thought, then says it aloud. Sebastian grins.

"Does that mean you'll put me on a leash?" he asks, leaning forward, eyelashes fluttering.

Don't be affected, Kurt tells himself, but he can't stop it—the blush already rages, spreading up to his ears. He curses his fair skin and innocent disposition as Sebastian laughs.

"Didn't get that kinky with Blaine, huh?" he asks with smug satisfaction, leaning back in his chair. Kurt glares at him and, on cue, his phone begins to vibrate again. Kurt's starting to think his life is just one big cosmic joke.

As the phone continues to buzz, Sebastian eyes it and Kurt's indifferent response with confusion. "Not going to answer it?" he asks, eyebrows tilting together.

Kurt doesn't look up at him. "No," he says, terse.

He tenses when Sebastian leans over to look at who it is. Sebastian lets out a low whistle when he sees Blaine's name flashing on the caller ID. "Trouble in paradise?" he asks. Kurt's fingers are digging into his fork and he stabs a fresh piece of lettuce with force.

"It's none of your business," Kurt says between gritted teeth. "So maybe you should just leave it alone."

"You know, back in high school, I thought you and Blaine were it," Sebastian says thoughtfully. Kurt's head snaps up.

"Was this before or after you tried to break us up?" he asks, on edge and not hiding it.

Sebastian laughs. Honest to God laughs. Kurt wonders if there's something hallucinatory in his salad. "After," he says. "When I gave up on Blaine after that whole slushy thing. You guys were perfect. Like, you both were basically the ideal couple that every gay rights campaign wants to showcase you know?" Kurt shifts uncomfortably.

"I wouldn't say that," he murmurs, thinking of their fights, their ugly break-up.

Sebastian shakes his head. "No, you were," he insists. "Which is why I want to know what changed now. You're ignoring his calls?" And in his voice, a thread of condemnation. Kurt loses it without warning, slams his fork into his salad.

"Well, what do you expect me to do to the person who cheated on me?" he snaps, half-yelling, getting the attention of the nearby tables. They all stare, but Kurt can't even summon the will to care. "What do you expect me to do to the person who blamed me for cheating on him, who said he was lonely because I was getting distant and that's why he broke my fucking heart." Kurt's starting to get hysterical, but— "What on earth would I have to say to a person like that, huh?"

Sebastian sits in his chair, face blown open with surprise. He looks like Kurt just told him the sky is purple and dinosaurs once again roam the Earth.

"Blaine . . . cheated on you?" he repeats, dumbfounded.

Kurt suddenly feels exhausted. "Yes," he says, shoving his uneaten salad into his bag. "Yes, he did. Goodbye, Sebastian."

"Kurt!" Sebastian calls after him as he strides out of the dining room, but Kurt doesn't stop.

He barrels ahead full-stop until he finds the nearest bathroom. Tears sting at the edges of his eyes and once he's inside that safe, white space he lets them fall. Bathrooms are sanctuaries, in Kurt's opinion. In McKinley, the only peace he was able to find was in the bathroom—albeit, the girl's bathroom, but still. Kurt clutches a hand dryer, bends over it and sobs.

Kurt hears the door open behind him and attempts to straighten, to stop the steady flow of tears. He barely manages to hold back the flood as he turns. When he sees that it's Sebastian he lets out a hysterical little laugh-sob.

"What do you want?" he asks, voice swollen with tears. "Didn't get enough of my humiliation? Had to get the whole show?"

Sebastian steps forward. "Kurt," he says, sounding troubled. "I'm—" he hesitates, starts again. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"You know what, Sebastian?" he says, turning to glare at him. "I really don't care." He tries to march out past him, but Sebastian grabs his arm. Kurt struggles immediately, panic rising. He can't get free, he can't—

"Kurt!" Sebastian says, letting him go, throwing his hands up. "I'm sorry, I just—"

"Don't touch me ever again," Kurt snarls, then leaves.

The next day at work is awkward. Kurt expected it to be so, and it almost doesn't sting when Sebastian sits at another table for lunch, pointedly not looking at Kurt. He doesn't even know why there's a twinge of disappointment in his stomach, why he cares at all. It's Sebastian.

But, Kurt admits as the day draws to a close without either of them talking to each other, Sebastian is probably the closest thing he has to a friend at work aside from Isabelle. Because Sebastian's a perverted dick, but he makes Kurt laugh, he laughs at Kurt's jokes. Kurt remembers a time when the only people that laughed at his joke were Blaine and his dad. His heart tightens at the thought, so he shoves it aside.

Maybe now that Blaine's once again free—and Kurt has to swallow around the bile the thought brings—Sebastian isn't interested in Kurt anymore. After all, he only ever bothered Kurt in Lima because he wanted Blaine. Kurt laughs bitterly to himself as he starts to gather his things to go home. No one ever wants him, after all. They all want Blaine, the one who's so charming and doesn't act too disturbingly gay.

He reminds himself of Chandler, of the dozens of interested glances he's gotten walking down New York City's streets, but it doesn't make him feel any better because he can still remember Sebastian's eyes, intent on Blaine's face, and the way Blaine always got what Kurt wanted without trying: the solos in Glee, the lead in the musical, and now the McKinley election, according to Tina. When they were together, it was easy to be happy for Blaine because Kurt wanted Blaine to succeed—now, with his heart lying in pieces around him, Kurt can only summon the energy to be bitter.

"Kurt," Sebastian says, and Kurt jumps because he didn't even hear Sebastian approach.

"What?" he snaps, throwing his bag over his shoulder.

"We need to talk," Sebastian's eyes are unreadable.

"You've made yourself clear," Kurt says, passing by Sebastian. Sebastian reaches out, grabs his wrist. Kurt jerks away, trying to get free, panic rising—

"I'm not going to hurt you!" Sebastian exclaims, letting him go. Kurt stares at him, eyes wide. "Jesus, I'm not—I'm not that guy, okay? I was never—" Kurt's eyes narrow and Sebastian throws his hands up. "Okay, I was that guy once upon a time! But I've changed!" He lowers his hands, stares at Kurt and Kurt can't ignore the hurt in Sebastian's eyes. "Why do you think I'd hurt you?"

Kurt rubs his wrist. Sebastian had barely even grabbed him—no bruise. "It's just a reflex," he says, looking away. "I guess my old Lima instincts haven't really left me."

There's a long enough pause that Kurt looks up. Sebastian looks— "It was really that bad?" he asks. "I mean, Thad said, but—"

"Thad talked about it?" Kurt asks, a little hurt. Thad and the other Warblers had promised they wouldn't after they found out about Kurt's past.

Sebastian shrugs. "It was one of their Blaine days," he says. At Kurt's confusion, he adds, "You know, when they moaned and groaned about Blaine transferring? They re-lived his glory days, yadda yadda. It was actually hilarious. They always talked about you, though. Said even though you stole Blaine away, you were one of their best." There's something oddly searching in Sebastian's eyes now. Kurt looks away.

"I thought you forgot that I went to Dalton," Kurt says.

Sebastian shrugs. "You're so unlike the Dalton Man that it's hard to remember," he says. There's contempt in his voice, but it's not really for Kurt-maybe, Kurt thinks, a little surprised, it's for the Dalton Man, of whom Kurt was so thoroughly lectured about during his short stay at Dalton. The Dalton Man: charming, successful, focused. The perfect aristocrat. "Those guys loved you, though," Sebastian continues. "You and Blaine."

"Yet they were still on board with the plan to throw a slushie full of rocks at me," he comments. It's not really hurt he feels about that incident-he's never really considered the Warblers friends, not the way Blaine does, but he'd thought they liked him better than that. Even Karofsky never threw tried to damage him like that.

"It was all my idea, you know," Sebastian says.

"You're not really making a good case for me forgiving you," says Kurt.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. "Let me finish, Hummel," he says. "I don't usually say this shit, alright? I just—It was all my idea and those guys were idiots to go along with it, but being idiotic isn't the same as being malicious." He sighs. "I said I was sorry for that, okay?"

"No," Kurt says, a little angry now. "You apologized to Blaine for his eye, but you never apologized to me for being the intended recipient."

"Well, I am sorry. Does that satisfy you, princess?"

Kurt's spine snaps straight and he starts to march out. "You're such a gigantic asshole, I can't even—"

Sebastian grabs his elbow. It's as light as the touch to Kurt's wrist had been, but as Kurt pauses he can feel his heart fluttering in his chest. His rabbit instincts are on fire: flee, flee, flee, they tell him, running will keep you from getting hurt.

"I know you don't have any reason to trust me," Sebastian says. "Or—hell, even like me, okay? But I don't want you to hate me, Kurt."

Kurt stares at the long fingers curved into his elbow. He wonders if Sebastian plays the piano. "I don't hate you," he says, then pulls out of Sebastian's grip and walks away.

"So I couldn't help but notice that you and Sebastian aren't speaking to each other," Isabelle says over their morning coffee.

Kurt's proud that he maintains his composure. "I can't imagine what you mean," he says, taking a sip of his non-fat grande mocha.

Isabelle rolls her eyes. Kurt's a little jealous that she manages to make an eye-roll look elegant. "I mean," she says. "That a couple of days ago, you two were giving back and forth like old pals and now you hardly look at each other." She pauses and concern fills her face. "Did he do something to you?"

Kurt ignores the rush of warmth at her concern. "No," he says. "We just had a—disagreement. It's fine."

Isabelle considers him. "Is this about your ex?"

Kurt stares at her. "Are you omniscient?" he asks.

Isabelle laughs. Kurt likes her laugh, the way she throws her head back and just enjoys it. "No," she says, still smiling. "Just perceptive. So come on, tell a lonely old woman the gossip."

Kurt purses his lips, makes a snap decision. "Once upon a time there was a boy," he says. Isabelle's eye gleam with amusement. "This boy had a very lonely life because no one in his kingdom really understood him. Then, one day, he met his prince, who lived in a neighboring kingdom where everyone tried to understand each other, even if people were . . . different. The prince took a while, but eventually they fell in love. And they were happy."

Kurt's voice breaks and Isabelle's amused look softens. Kurt stares down at his hands. "One day, the prince and the boy met a . . . meerkat." Isabelle laughs and Kurt manages a smile. "The meerkat was interested in the prince, but the prince and the boy were in love and the meerkat didn't stand a chance. He kept trying and trying though, and even went as far as to try and injure the boy." Isabelle gasps, and Kurt takes her hand. "But the prince took his place instead, though the injury turned out to be minor. And the meerkat realized the error of his ways and apologized."

"What happened to the boy?" Isabelle asks. "Did he and the prince live happily ever after?" Her eyes betray that she knows it doesn't end that way, but Kurt realizes he needs to tell her anyways. Isabelle knows about Blaine, but Kurt never managed to explain the details of why they broke up: where before it was too painful to tell, now it's too difficult to keep to himself.

"No," he says. "You see, the boy got the opportunity of a lifetime—to go to a land where he would be accepted and have his dreams come true. But it was very far away and even though the prince said he was okay with it, he wasn't, really. And even though the boy was just caught up in his new life and still loved his prince, the prince got lonelier and lonelier until he—" Kurt chokes on the words, his hand tightens on Isabelle's.

"Kurt—" Isabelle starts, worried, but Kurt needs to say it.

"Until he cheated," Kurt spills out. Isabelle goes still. "He cheated on the boy with another man and then tried to tell the boy about it, to say he was sorry. But the boy was just so hurt and confused and—"

"Oh, Kurt," Isabelle says, and pulls him into a hug. In her arms, Kurt is tense for a moment, unwilling to succumb. Then, without warning, he curves into her body and begins to cry.

"I'm sorry," Isabelle says into his hair. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry."

Kurt hiccups around a laugh. "I didn't think I could cry any more," he says. "I've done so much of it lately."

"You know, when I broke up with my first boyfriend, I barely cried?" Isabelle says. Kurt blinks in surprise, leans out of her tight hug to look at her face. She looks a little wistful. "I didn't love him, you know?" She glances down at Kurt's face, smiles. "All I'm saying is . . . everyone grieves their own way. And if what you and your prince had was special, then you're allowed to be sad when it's over. An ending is always hard and you can take as long as you need to cry." She wipes away one of Kurt's tears. "Just remember that there's life after it too, okay?"

Kurt takes her free hand in his own. "I'm so glad I met you, Isabelle," he says, fervent because he means it so much.

Isabelle laughs, gives him a tight, quick hug. "Ditto, Kurt," she says and they stay like that, hugging tight, for a long time.