It's Hard To Be The One Who Stays [Kurtbastian]

Lullaby (May, 2012)

After checking himself back into Dalton, Kurt finds himself standing near the entrance and letting out a long sigh. He knows it's late, and he definitely ought to go for that beauty sleep. But his thoughts, they just wouldn't shut up.

Almost without his conscious decision, his feet begin moving in a long winding detour away from the dorms and to the echoing halls of Dalton's main building. It's chilly, and almost pitch black except for the moonlight streaming in through the arch windows. He thinks with some amusement that if this were a year or two ago, he'd be walking huddled in on himself, frightened out of his mind that some ghost—or worse, some creep—was hiding just around the corner. There's a reason he almost never watches scary movies.

But now? The school's too familiar, overridden by too many memories of dancing and singing and laughing in the halls in his Warbler uniform. And soon, it'll be over. Perhaps for the first time, Kurt lets himself get overwhelmed with the full force of his premature fear and nostalgia, as his feet trace their usual path.

Soon, he's standing right outside the Warblers' practice room. Where he's spent half of his time at Dalton in, Where he'll soon have to say good-bye. Except—his feet pause on the last half-step.

Kurt frowns at the light spilling out from the open door.

Kurt locked the door himself last practice. And though most of the Committee Warblers have keys, there's no reason any Warbler would be in there this time of the night, since they got knocked out at National semi-finals earlier this spring and had only a couple of garden party gigs coming up, where all they have to do to look cute and wink at old ladies.

He creeps slowly to the door, and edges it open a tiny bit wider.

Where he promptly sees Hunter with a bottle of Courvoiseir cognac in hand sprawled all over the piano bench, and a couple of feet away from him, a drunken-faced Jeff and Nick in wingback chairs.

Kurt rolls his eyes and pushes the door open the rest of the way. He narrows his eyes at them.

Jeff and Nick, upon seeing him at the door in his white blazer like an avenging angel, jump and hastily pull themselves up. Hunter grins and gives a salute.

"What's up, boss?" He slurs, "How was dinner with the Lost Directions?"

"Wow, where have I heard that one before. Oh. Right. From your mouth for the past two years. You need more quips, Clarington," Kurt replies. He points to the alcohol. "Is that Sebastian's?"

Hunter shrugs. "Well, it's not like he's here to enjoy it. Want some?" He indicates the tumblers on the piano surface. There was even a bucket of ice next to them, because why go halfway.

He really shouldn't give the bastard any satisfaction by taking him up on his offer. But... after the reunion he just had... it was... tempting... just a little.

He looks at Jeff and Nick, who slowly begin to relax as they see the appraising way he's taking in the alcohol.

Jeff smiles mischievously. "It's very good," he says, while Nick groans and leans back on his chair. "And it makes you forget about impending finals. Ugh, I'm going to fail calculus," Nick says.

Hunter scoffs as he pours another drink. "At least if you fail they won't make you repeat the grade. Again." He shakes the glass at Kurt. "How about it?"

Kurt eyes the cognac again. Well, Dalton's RAs were the most liberal in all of Ohio—or too exhausted to bother, maybe. And Kurt supposes it isthe weekend. And eerily quiet, with seniors on the brink of graduating and everyone else preoccupied with finals.