GLEE: I Prefer 'Leader of Cheer'
Title: I prefer 'Leader of Cheer'
Author: infraredphaeton
Summary: The Keiran boys go out for ice-cream. Kurt gets recruited. Lee has some news. Part 17 of the spah!verse
Warnings:foul language, OCs, slight transphobia
Rating: PG-13 (for Lee's mouth)
Masterpost: The Spah!verse Masterpost
“Field trip time!” David carolled, swinging on the door frame of the Keiran common room, “Pack up your bags, boys- we’re going out for ice-cream!”
Kurt, who was absorbed in the latest issue of Vogue, just shook his head.
“You’re not coming?” Blaine asked, pausing as he put away his text books.
“I don’t do ice-cream,” Kurt shook his head, turning a page, “it goes straight to my waist.”
“Y-you could get frozen yoghurt,” Pratik suggest softly, closing his composition book and tucking it in his blazer pocket, “t-that’s what I d-do.”
“Tiki’s allergic to dairy,” Wes explained, and the guitarist nodded, offering Kurt a shy smile.
“Fro-yo is still-” Kurt rolled his eyes at the look on Blaine’s face, “Okay, fine. Stop giving me your kicked puppy face.”
“Kicked puppy face?” Blaine asked with a charming smile, “I know not of what you speak.”
“He really should have got lead in the school play, shouldn’t he?” David asked Wes quietly, and the other boy nodded.
“He’s got the acting chops, it’s true,” Wes agreed, “but I think only when he’s playing ‘falsely accused boyfriend’.”
“Not true,” David shook his head.
“Oh?”
“He does falsely accused best friend very well, too.”
“Kurt’s coming!” Blaine grinned, and Steve whooped, throwing his hands in the air and beginning to fist pump.
“Steve, as much as we love Double Oh Fashionable, I don’t think it’s really fist-pump worthy,” David said, and Steve shrugged, hopping off the table he’d been sitting on.
“I’m just happy to get out for a while. The St. Jude’s girls have today as a free travel day, too.”
The entire common room burst into action, boys running for their rooms to check for phones and wallets and brush their hair at the thought of seeing girls.
“He knows because he has a sister there,” Blaine explained to Kurt, who was watching the sudden commotion, “a twin sister, actually. Although she’s far less...”
“Steve like?” Kurt suggested, and Blaine smiled, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.
“Thank you. Exactly. She’s a dancer, actually, and I think she’s on their cheerleading team. You might have met her at Nationals last year.”
“Nationals is a haze of protein shakes and Celine Dion,” Kurt shook his head, accepting Blaine’s hand as he stood up, “I have no memory of anything except how much I hate polyester and that coach Sylvester is surprisingly magnanimous after a win.”
Blaine tucked Kurt’s arm through his, heading for the door, “Oh? You’ll have to elaborate on that.”
“It’s nothing as fun as you’re thinking,” Kurt said with a smile as they dodged Liam pressing at his hair with the flat of his hand, as if sheer pressure would somehow tame it, “She let us have pizza. Although I had broken my diet program and had some the week before.”
“You’re a rebel,” Blaine said solemnly as they left the common room, heading for the car park.
“I flaunt my rule breaking,” Kurt agreed.
“How?”
“Well, let’s see...once, I broke curfew and stayed out until ten thirty instead of ten.”
“Do you have a motorbike?”
“I have a YSL motorcycle jacket, does that count?”
They looked at each other, deadly serious for about five seconds before falling into quiet laughter.
“Well, isn’t this touching,” came a sneer from the staircase that lead towards the Hallman dorms.
“Oh God, you’re like a bad movie villain with your sense of timing,” Kurt groaned, looking up to where Jim sat, perched on the top step.
The blond stuck out his tongue and flipped the two Keiran boys the bird, nails shimmering opalescently under the bright winter sun that filtered through the windows.
“Look, it’s not my fault that you two keep turning up and being sickeningly in love everywhere I go. Can’t you keep that private? I’m sure there’s something in the handbook about public displays of saccharine,” Jim said, stretching out his legs and leaning back on his elbows.
“I’m even more sure that there’s something in the handbook about public displays of nudity,” Blaine said evenly, “like, say, what I saw you and Gary doing behind the gym last Wednesday.”
“Oh no,” Jim replied, just as evenly, “surely they will believe your word over mine, what with my spotless academic record and extracurricular activities, as opposed to someone who left a public school after a fight.”
“A fight?” Kurt interrupted, looking at Blaine, “You were in a fight.”
“Oh? You didn’t know?” Jim’s blank face immediately switched to an evil grin, and he stood up, leaning over the banister, “He got into a huge fight with...how many footballers was it, Anderson?”
“Six,” Blaine said, “but that wasn’t a fight, it was a beating where I managed to score a few lucky hits.”
“I’m sure the administration will see it your way,” Jim agreed, nodding, “I mean, it’s not like I’ve been on the honour roll every year since I got here.”
Kurt crossed his arms, glaring at the blond, “Maybe the administration won’t have a problem. As you said, you only act out during extracurriculars, and even then, if someone so much as threaten detention, you shut up. But I’m sure your father would have something to say about it.”
“Are you threatening to call my parents?” Jim laughed, but his eyes were suddenly shadowed with worry.
“Yes. So you can leave, or I can call Bond senior,” Kurt said stonily, “his number’s in the student phone registry, after all.”
Jim turned and walked away, with exactly the same ‘this was my idea, you had nothing to do with it’ swagger that cats have been perfecting since the dawn of time.
“You’d call his father?” Blaine asked, turning to Kurt, and the other teenager shook his head, hooking his arm through Blaine’s again.
“You may be the master of the kicked puppy face, honey, but I have my own dramatic skill set.”
“...I think I love you.”
Kurt turned a bright smile on him, pulling him towards the car park, “That’s perfectly normal.”
---
“I’ve solved the problem,” Santana declared, striding into the room and tossing her hair back.
“I’m so glad the pills are working,” Quinn murmured, and smiled brightly when Santana rolled her eyes.
“I mean the Kurt problem, obviously,” Santana folded her arms, ignoring Quinn as she noted something down in her binder.
“Does this mean I don’t have to go on a date with Eric?” Rachel asked, “Because if so, I am one hundred percent behind you, Santana.”
“Yes, it does. And Mercedes doesn’t have to fish for information on her lady-date with Hummel this weekend,” Santana nodded, tucking a hair back behind her ear, “people, this is Ryan. Ryan, say hello and tell them how much you want to join Glee club.”
“H-hi?” Ryan stuttered, and Quinn rolled her eyes, “I really want to join Glee Club.”
“Why?” Artie asked, and Ryan’s eyes slid towards Santana’s chest.
“Okay, so I may have promised that he can touch my boobs if he joins,” Santana explained, flipping her hair back over her shoulder, “but he can sing in a weirdly high range, and I don’t see you guys coming up with anything better!”
“Do we get to touch your boobs for joining Glee club?” Mike asked curiously, and Tina giggled.
“Have you actually heard him sing?” Tina asked, and Santana shrugged.
“His speaking voice is high, he says he can sing, so, whatever.”
Artie frowned slightly, “Can you sing?”
“Yes?” Ryan warbled uncertainly.
“That’s a no,” Quinn said, and Mercedes nodded.
“Not the first time someone’s lied to get their hands into a girl’s shirt,” Mike observed, and Puck stood up, jumping down off the risers.
“Scram, kid,” Puck glared, and Ryan bit his lip, eyes flickering from Santana to Puck to the door and back.
“I-”
“Get out,” Santana waved a hand, “I wasn’t going to let you touch my chest, anyway.”
Ryan ran for the door like the choir room was on fire.
---
Blaine and Kurt gave Liam a lift to the Kieran boys’ usual hang out- an old fashioned ice cream parlour with its own soft serve frozen yoghurt bar- and he sat, cramped up in the back of the Lamborghini, making small talk with Blaine about the upcoming soccer game.
When they arrived, the tall teenager tumbled out of the car with a relieved sigh, and immediately walked around the car park several times, muttering about leg cramps and third wheels. The small lot was already mostly filled with expensive cars, although a battered old hippy van painted a deep blue stood out because of its age, despite being well taken care of. When Kurt raised an eyebrow, Blaine began pointing out which car belonged to who- the sleek black porsche was Pratik’s, the van Harry’s, Wes’ was a silvery white Ferrari. After about five cars, however, he stopped.
“The rest are St Jude’s, I think. Our sister school, and just as...how did you put it?”
“Precious? Posh? Elitist?”
“...Expensive,” Blaine finished, and Kurt shot him an unapologetic smile, “they’re nice girls, but they drive most of our guys insane.”
“That’s because they’re teenage boys at an all boys school, Blaine.”
Blaine shrugged, “I do okay.”
“Yes, but you have a boyfriend,” Kurt patted him on the shoulder, following Liam as the taller boy finally headed for the door, “your situation isn’t exactly the same.”
“Eric does okay,” Blaine said mulishly, trailing behind the pair.
“Eric is insane,” Kurt replied, and Liam paused in his murmured chant of ‘girls girls girls girls’ to frown, “no offence meant, of course.”
“Of course,” Liam said slowly, opening the door to the ice cream parlour, adding loudly, “Oh look, it’s cheerleading national championship winning soloist Kurt Hummel!”
Half the parlour, mostly girls, went silent, turning in eery unison to focus on Kurt.
“...I think he took offence,” Kurt muttered.
“I think you might be right,” Blaine agreed.
---
Lee jerked at his tie uncomfortably, rolling his cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other. Fuck it. He’d hoped, when he left Ireland, that he’d never have to come back to this place.
But for his brother, he’d do it. He’d hate it, but he’d do it.
He stood in front of the huge, wrought iron gates that bordered the edge of Reilly Grammar School, the lush green trees blocking his view of the campus.
He wondered if they’d finished rebuilding the gymnasium yet.
Eventually, he realised he couldn’t avoid the reason for his visit anymore, and stubbed out the cigarette on the bottom of his boot, chucking the butt into the gravel and heading up the gravel drive.
He flicked the hood of his jacket up, mostly because of the misted rain, but partially because he had a less than stellar reputation at Reilly, and he’d like to reach the administration building before the shocked gasps of ‘Lee Dwyre’s back, secure your valuables and make sure there’s nothing flammable around’ started up.
The building was just like it was at the end of year eight, when he’d been ignominiously dragged to the principal’s office.
“Hi. I’m here to pick up the coursework for Ruari Dwyre,” he told the receptionist, who hummed approvingly, offering him a tight smile.
“That shouldn’t be hard, Mr. Dwyre. If you’ll sit tight, I can get his class schedule up for you, and you can go talk to his teachers. Is there anything else?” the question was automatic, but she was clearly hoping he would say no.
Lee nodded, pulling a packet of papers out of his jacket and dropping them on the counter.
“And I’m here to enrol.”
---
“We have cones, cups, and many other delights. Also ice-cream,” David said, half juggling the large amount of cones he carried, while Wes’ cups were carefully stacked.
“Pass,” Blaine said, grabbing at one of Wes’ cups, but the other boy pulled away with a grin.
“Answer me these riddles three, and you may have your ice-cream, Blainemeister.”
Blaine sat for a second, and then sigh thoughtfully, propping his chin on one hand.
“When Wes was fifteen, in early May, he decided it would be an awesome idea to-”
“Here’syouricecreamBlaineyouenjoythat,” Wes shoved the cup in Blaine’s face, and he smiled, eating a spoonful.
“Nice?” Kurt asked, stirring his pomegranate frozen yoghurt.
“It tastes like victory,” Blaine said, still staring at Wes and smiling.
“You mean blackmail,” Wes muttered, and David patted his shoulder.
“That’s what I said. Victory.”
Kurt laughed, leaning against his boyfriend, and watched Wes sulk as David tried to comfort him.
“You want sprinkles? I’ll get you some sprinkles, Wes.”
“...I do like sprinkles,” Wes allowed, and David grinned, holding out a fist.
“And hot fudge?”
“You know that’s right,” Wes agreed, and they fistbumped.
Suddenly, someone tapped Kurt’s shoulder from behind.
“Hi,” greeted a short, dark haired girl, “I’m Cheyenne, I’m the captain of the St. Jude Bluebirds.”
She kneeled on her side of the booth, half hanging over the side to talk to Kurt. She was fine boned, with lively, sparkling eyes and minimal make up (to Kurt’s expert eye, he would guess that she wore only mascara, a little concealer, and some lipgloss). A blue tanktop set off her tan, and her sparkly black shorts seemed a little too formal for the ice cream parlour.
“...That’s nice,” Kurt said, “and you interrupted us because?”
“The Bluebirds are the cheerleading team,” Cheyenne said, “we’re taking part in an international competition next month, and we were wondering if-”
“I go to Dalton, not St. Jude’s. I lack the proper chromosomes to go to your school, and therefore be part of your team,” Kurt said, looking back towards the Keiran conversation longingly.
“We’re an all inclusive school, Kurt Hummel. You don’t need the proper chromosomes to be a girl,” Cheyenne said sharply, and Kurt nodded.
“That’s great. I’m glad that there are such forward thinking schools, but I’m not a girl.”
“If you would just listen to me, you’d know that I’m not asking you to join the school! We’re a partnered team, there are boys too, but we need a really good soloist, or we’re going to get smashed by the competition.”
“I’m really sorry,” Kurt said, this time sounding slightly more invested, “but I’m really busy right now, settling in at Dalton. I’m already part of the Warblers and the vice-president of the Fashion Club, I just don’t think there’s any time in my schedule.”
Cheyenne sighed, pushing back her hair, “I guess that makes sense. Well, if you change your mind, we’ll be waiting.”
“That sounds both welcoming and slightly creepy,” Wes said, suddenly appearing next to Cheyenne in the next booth over, “hi. I’m Wes Heely.”
Cheyenne smiled, offering him her hand to shake, “Cheyenne Lan. Nice to meet you.”
“So, Cheyenne, were you saying that you’re a cheerleader?”
“The cheer captain, actually,” she said, winding a strand of hair around her finger, and Wes slid into the booth to sit next to her properly.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Kurt said dryly, and turned back to the other Keiran boys.
“Getting back on the horse,” Liam noted, watching David flirt with the cheerleader, “nice.”
“Hi, are you Kurt Hummel?”
Kurt looked up from his now partially melted frozen yoghurt to see another teenage girl standing in front of their booth. This one was hispanic, with wavy black hair and a stubborn chin. She wore a denim miniskirt and a lacy black top, her lips stained a dark and dramatic red.
“Yes. Can I help you?”
“My name’s Luna. I’m the vice-captain of the-”
“St. Jude’s Bluebirds,” Kurt said, in time with her.
“So you already know what I’m going to ask you. Good, that’ll save time.”
She sat down, practically in Liam’s lap, and the athlete looked almost ecstatic.
“Now, have you thought about crossdressing?”
“I can honestly say no, no I haven’t,” Kurt said, and Luna nodded, tossing her hair back.
“You have very fine bone structure. I reckon you could pull it off.”
---
Pratik sat in the blue music room- one of the five that Dalton had, and the one least used by classes- with his acoustic guitar, noodling along and occasionally noting phrases down in his composition book.
“Hey, Pratik.”
He ignored the greeting, continuing to play.
“I said, ‘hey, Pratik’.”
“And I believe, in Tiki-ian, he said, ‘fuck off’,” interrupted a far more welcome voice.
Pratik looked up from the guitar and smiled at Jim, before going back to his work.
“Jim Bond, what a surprise.”
“Corbin I-can’t-be-bothered-to-remember-your-last-name, I can’t even pretend to be surprised,” Jim said brightly, leaning against the wall next to where Pratik sat.
Corbin smiled, crossing his arms.
“Look, I’m just here to extend an offer.”
“The same offer you’ve been extending to Tiki every week since Team/Blu got together and you realised how good he was?”
Corbin’s smile grew more oily, and he padded closer to the pair.
“Well, from what I hear, Team/Blu won’t be together much longer, will it? You can’t have a band without a drummer.”
“We have a drummer, thanks,” Jim said, his own smile going brittle, and Pratik didn’t look up from his guitar.
“There are actually plenty of bands without drummers,” he said quietly.
“We have a drummer, Pratik,” Jim repeated, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“I know,” the guitarist said, and went back to playing.
“Well, I know where I’m not welcome,” Corbin said, and headed for the door. He paused in the doorway, and turned back, “but the offer’s still open. For you too, Jim. We can always use another bassist. Even one who’s only use is eye candy.”
The door closed behind him, and Jim snorted.
“Only use is eyecandy my sweet ass. I am the best bassist in Ohio, if not the entire Mid-West. If not the entirety of America. Right, Tiki?”
“Sure, Jim,” Pratik agreed, and scratched out a chord progression in his notebook.
“That guy is such a dick. I cannot believe I slept with him.”
Pratik hummed in agreement, and Jim slid down the wall to sit next to him on the carpet.
“So, what’re you working on?”
“New song.”
“Can I see?” Jim asked, and Pratik nodded. The blond picked up the composition notebook, “Missing Pieces? That’s a little dark.”
“I’m feeling a little dark,” Pratik said, matter of fact, and Jim nodded.
“I know how you feel, Tiki. I miss him too.”
Pratik hummed, playing a little trill.
“Not that I want to talk about it, or anything, but if you want to, I’m here,” Jim said, looking at the notebook hard.
“I don’t really talk.”
“...How about I talk, and you listen?”
“That might work.”
---
“You know what’s awesome about sharing with someone who spends all their time at Warbler meetings?”
“You get the room to yourself?” Ben guessed, turning the page of his book.
“Fifteen points to Gryffindor,” Seb said proudly, and Ben snorted, leaning up to kiss him.
The pair were tangled together on Seb’s bed, Ben still in uniform and reading a Diana Wynne-Jones novel, Seb in a Hufflepuff Quidditch tee-shirt and jeans, rewriting his history notes. Kurt’s side of the room, as always, was empty except for his extensive wardrobe and Pavarotti’s cage, so the pair were free to cuddle and trade kisses as much as they wanted to.
And they wanted to.
“What happened to taking me out on a date?” Ben wondered, as Seb darted in and stole another kiss.
“I have a fantastic reason.”
“Go on.”
“There’s a basilisk haunting Dalton that only goes after English boys,” Seb said solemnly, “I’m protecting you from it, with risk to my own life and livelihood.”
“You’re so noble,” Ben agreed, “was part of the reason also the History test you had completely forgot about until I reminded you?”
“No,” Sebastian shook his head, “no, no, yes. Yes, a bit.”
“It’s a good thing you’re cute,” Ben said, leaning in and kissing him, “because otherwise, I would not put up with this sort of thing instead of a second date.”
“You think I’m cute?” Seb brightened, biting the end of his pencil, “Tell me more, Benjamin.”
“I think you’re awfully cute,” Ben told him, opening his novel again.
“No, don’t read! Tell me how cute I am!”
Ben patted his head appeasingly, still reading, “very cute. Shh now, Ben’s reading.”
“It’s a good thing you’re cute,” Sebastian grumped, going back to his notes.
“Shh, reading.”
---
“You’re Kurt Hummel, right?”
Kurt stopped on the staircase, turning to see a very enthusiastic junior behind him.
“That’s me. Can I help you?”
“My name’s Jasper Mordialic. I’m a Hallman, but that’s irrelevant.”
“Yes, it is,” Kurt agreed, looking Jasper up and down.
He was tall and gangly, with dark curls, disproportionally large eyes and a wide mouth that he constantly worried at with bright white teeth. His uniform wasn’t especially neat, and was quite a bit too large for him, his blazer almost falling off his shoulder.
“I’m the head of the cheerleading team here,” Jasper said enthusiastically, “and well, when I heard that you were coming here, I couldn’t help but want to recruit you. But I mean, it would have been rude to ask right away, so I decided to give you a bit of time to settle in before I approached you.”
“That was nice,” Kurt said slowly. He felt like he was talking more slowly to offset Jasper’s rapid speech, “but this is an all boy’s school. You have a cheerleading team?”
“Well, half a cheerleading team. We’re part of a joint group with our sister school, St. Jude’s. The team is called-”
“The St. Jude’s Bluebirds,” Kurt said in chorus, “I know.”
“Please will you join? We’re desperate. We’re in this international competition right now, and we know we’re better than almost every team.”
“That doesn’t sound very desperate,” Kurt said, crossing his arms.
“No! But there’s this one team, from South Korea, they’re crazy. They’re from this elite all girl’s school that’s like, funded by the government or something, and they have a huge budget and they’re amazing, and you were on the Cheerios, you’re amazing, I saw you at Nationals, you have to help.”
Kurt caught Jasper’s arm before he could fall to his knees to beg properly.
“Okay. Say I believe you. There’s no way they’re that good. There’s only one Sue Sylvester, after all, and she’s at McKinley.”
Jasper nodded rapidly, curls flying everywhere, “I can show you. I can totally show you. They send out these videos, they call them intimidation vids, and they’re like proper music videos with costumes and everything, we just got ours yesterday.”
“Is that why I keep getting mobbed by cheerleaders?” Kurt asked, and Jasper nodded again.
“I’ll show you, I have it on my USB, if we go to the lab I can show you.”
Jasper scrambled down the stairs in a flurry of elbows and knees.
In fact, there didn’t seem to be much to Jasper that wasn’t elbows and knees. Kurt kept his distance, just so that he wouldn’t end up losing an eye to a free flying limb.
“Here,” Jasper said, slightly calmer once he was seated, cueing up a video, “they’re called The Brightest Stars, because they’re from Bright Academy. And they’ll be here in less than a month and we’re going to be slaughtered.”
“Jasper, let me watch the video, please?” Kurt asked, putting down his satchel and taking a seat.
The cheer captain nodded rapidly, and the door flew open.
“Mordialic, my dear, I’m here to save you from your plight.”
“Jim, what are you doing here?” Kurt asked, frowning slightly.
Jim laughed lightly, falling into a chair and putting his feet up on Jasper’s lap.
“I was summoned by my Ke$ha-dar. Now, hush, Hummel, and let me listen to the dulcet tones of my goddess.”
http://youtu.be/q_gfD3nvh-8
(SNSD- Run Devil Run)
“Wow,” Kurt blinked, and Jasper sighed miserably.
Jim laughed brightly, jumping to his feet.
“Sorry, Mordialic, but you’re totally fucked. Good luck with that!” he clapped Jasper on the shoulder, shot Kurt a fake salute, and sauntered out of the lab.
“We are. We’re totally fucked,” Jasper agreed, fiddling with his tie.
“Not so fast,” Kurt said, and sighed, “I can’t believe I’m doing this, but...I’ll help.”
“Thanks,” Jasper said, still melancholy, “we have meetings every Tuesday. I’ll get Staircase to get you a uniform.”
“Staircase?” Kurt asked, hitching up his bag.
“Uh...sorry. Trent. Trent Jones. We all call him Staircase- don’t ask why,” Jasper said, as Kurt opened his mouth to ask.
“Okay then. I’ll keep an eye out for Staircase.”
“Oh, don’t worry about. Staircase will find you,” Jasper assured him, loading up the video again.
“...Why are all the cheerleaders here so creepy?” Kurt muttered, closing the door behind him as he left.
---
“So I’m fucking staying here,” Lee said, biting his lip.
“That’s...good,” Harry said slowly, “I mean. Your brother needs you.”
“Yeah. He does,” Lee agreed, watching Jim on his screen.
“We’ll miss you,” Pratik said slowly, fiddling with his fingers.
“I’ll miss you fuckers too, you know that. It won’t be the fucking same without you. And I mean, this might not be fucking permanent. I could be back next year or some bullshit like that...”
“Whenever you get back, there’ll always be a place for you here,” Harry promised, putting his arms around Pratik and Jim.
The blond shrugged him off, staring at his manicure.
“Jim...”
“Whatever, Lee. Stay in Ireland. Look after your brother. It’s the most important thing to you, isn’t it?” he paused for a second, “That’s good. I’m glad. It’s better if you stay there, really.”
“Jim, don’t fucking-”
“I mean, I actually have a proper boyfriend, and if you were here, you’d probably set fir to his shoes or something,” the blond continued, ignoring Lee, “I really don’t need that kind of stress in my life. And hey, without you, there’s no band. You can’t have a band without a drummer-”
“There are lots of bands without drummers,” Pratik said quietly, but Harry silenced him with a look.
“So I can finally concentrate on my studies, like my father wants me to. I’ll have my priorities straight. Thanks, Lee.”
“Jim, don’t you-”
Jim turned to leave.
“Don’t you fucking walk away!”
“See you around, Lee.”
“Don’t go! I fucking lo-”
The door slammed behind him.
“...I’ll miss you a lot,” Pratik said again, breaking the silence Jim left behind him.
“I’ll fucking miss you too, Tiki,” Lee said, with a wobbly smile, “you look after those two numbnuts for me, would you?”
“They’re not so bad...”
“You know what I mean. Keep fucking rocking out, okay? If you don’t fucking email me regularly, I’ll track you down and skin you with a fucking spoon, you hear?”
“I hear,” Pratik smiled.
“And Harry?”
“Yeah, Lee?” Harry looked away from the closed door, back toward the laptop screen.
“Keep an eye on Jim for me, would you?”
“I can’t promise to do it as well as you do,” Harry said, “I’m not nearly as good with the kerosene. But I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all I fucking ask,” Lee sighed, “alright. I have to go buy some fucking stupid Reilly uniforms. Catch.”
“We’ll talk to you later,” Harry promised, and the drummer switched off his end of the webcam.
“So...” Pratik asked, looking up from his hands, “...does this mean the band’s broken up?”
“Let’s call it a hiatus,” Harry said, putting his arm around Pratik’s shoulders and steering him towards the door.
“I hope he comes back.”
“So do I, Pratik.”
“I think Jim hopes most, though.”
“No, Pratik, the problem with Jim is that he doesn’t hope at all.”
Pratik nodded, although he looked confused, “Even though the band isn’t together, can we still go play?”
“Sure. The blue room should be free right now.”
---
“Did we have a practice scheduled for today?” James asked, watching a tall blond stomp across the quad towards the gym.
“No,” Aaron shook his head, “Not until Wednesday. Why?”
“I just saw Captain walk past with his gear,” James frowned, “do you think he sent an email or something, and we just didn’t get it?”
“Maybe!” Aaron immediately brightened at the idea of a practice, “How about you go grab Danny and the others, and I’ll go see what’s up?”
James smiled, a little unsure, “How about we reverse that.You go grab the others, and I’ll check on Captain?”
“But-”
“Aaron, he isn’t going to decide to ravish me just because you aren’t there. And if you go, he isn’t going to ravish you. There won’t be any ravishing going on,” James said, face stony, and the other boy blushed.
“I know that! Fine, I’ll go get the others,” Aaron grumbled, stomping off towards the day student halls.
James slipped into the gymnasium to see the team captain, Jim Bond, running laps furiously, still dressed in his school uniform.
“Captain?”
“Go away, mini-me,” the blond grunted, dropping his jacket and tie over a bench.
“Do we have practice?”
“No, I have rage. Leave me alone,” Jim said acidly, picking up his sabre.
James grabbed a helmet and one of the spare practice sabres that sat on the wall.
“It might be more productive to work out your rage against an opponent, captain.”
“It’s your funeral,” Jim shrugged, pulling on his own helmet, “I’m not wearing any padding.”
“Neither am I. Please don’t impale me. And don’t get impaled, either. Aaron would cry.”
“He’d cry if you got impaled, too,” Jim said, smirking slightly.
“Not nearly as much as he would if it were you. Salute!” James took up his place opposite Jim on the strip.
“En Guarde!” called another voice- Danny, another one of the fencers, stood in place to referee, halfway down the strip, “and just so you know, you’re idiots for doing this without protection.”
“That’s what she said,” James murmured, and Danny rubbed the bridge of his nose, careful to avoid his glasses.
“And Commence!”
Author: infraredphaeton
Summary: The Keiran boys go out for ice-cream. Kurt gets recruited. Lee has some news. Part 17 of the spah!verse
Warnings:foul language, OCs, slight transphobia
Rating: PG-13 (for Lee's mouth)
Masterpost: The Spah!verse Masterpost
“Field trip time!” David carolled, swinging on the door frame of the Keiran common room, “Pack up your bags, boys- we’re going out for ice-cream!”
Kurt, who was absorbed in the latest issue of Vogue, just shook his head.
“You’re not coming?” Blaine asked, pausing as he put away his text books.
“I don’t do ice-cream,” Kurt shook his head, turning a page, “it goes straight to my waist.”
“Y-you could get frozen yoghurt,” Pratik suggest softly, closing his composition book and tucking it in his blazer pocket, “t-that’s what I d-do.”
“Tiki’s allergic to dairy,” Wes explained, and the guitarist nodded, offering Kurt a shy smile.
“Fro-yo is still-” Kurt rolled his eyes at the look on Blaine’s face, “Okay, fine. Stop giving me your kicked puppy face.”
“Kicked puppy face?” Blaine asked with a charming smile, “I know not of what you speak.”
“He really should have got lead in the school play, shouldn’t he?” David asked Wes quietly, and the other boy nodded.
“He’s got the acting chops, it’s true,” Wes agreed, “but I think only when he’s playing ‘falsely accused boyfriend’.”
“Not true,” David shook his head.
“Oh?”
“He does falsely accused best friend very well, too.”
“Kurt’s coming!” Blaine grinned, and Steve whooped, throwing his hands in the air and beginning to fist pump.
“Steve, as much as we love Double Oh Fashionable, I don’t think it’s really fist-pump worthy,” David said, and Steve shrugged, hopping off the table he’d been sitting on.
“I’m just happy to get out for a while. The St. Jude’s girls have today as a free travel day, too.”
The entire common room burst into action, boys running for their rooms to check for phones and wallets and brush their hair at the thought of seeing girls.
“He knows because he has a sister there,” Blaine explained to Kurt, who was watching the sudden commotion, “a twin sister, actually. Although she’s far less...”
“Steve like?” Kurt suggested, and Blaine smiled, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.
“Thank you. Exactly. She’s a dancer, actually, and I think she’s on their cheerleading team. You might have met her at Nationals last year.”
“Nationals is a haze of protein shakes and Celine Dion,” Kurt shook his head, accepting Blaine’s hand as he stood up, “I have no memory of anything except how much I hate polyester and that coach Sylvester is surprisingly magnanimous after a win.”
Blaine tucked Kurt’s arm through his, heading for the door, “Oh? You’ll have to elaborate on that.”
“It’s nothing as fun as you’re thinking,” Kurt said with a smile as they dodged Liam pressing at his hair with the flat of his hand, as if sheer pressure would somehow tame it, “She let us have pizza. Although I had broken my diet program and had some the week before.”
“You’re a rebel,” Blaine said solemnly as they left the common room, heading for the car park.
“I flaunt my rule breaking,” Kurt agreed.
“How?”
“Well, let’s see...once, I broke curfew and stayed out until ten thirty instead of ten.”
“Do you have a motorbike?”
“I have a YSL motorcycle jacket, does that count?”
They looked at each other, deadly serious for about five seconds before falling into quiet laughter.
“Well, isn’t this touching,” came a sneer from the staircase that lead towards the Hallman dorms.
“Oh God, you’re like a bad movie villain with your sense of timing,” Kurt groaned, looking up to where Jim sat, perched on the top step.
The blond stuck out his tongue and flipped the two Keiran boys the bird, nails shimmering opalescently under the bright winter sun that filtered through the windows.
“Look, it’s not my fault that you two keep turning up and being sickeningly in love everywhere I go. Can’t you keep that private? I’m sure there’s something in the handbook about public displays of saccharine,” Jim said, stretching out his legs and leaning back on his elbows.
“I’m even more sure that there’s something in the handbook about public displays of nudity,” Blaine said evenly, “like, say, what I saw you and Gary doing behind the gym last Wednesday.”
“Oh no,” Jim replied, just as evenly, “surely they will believe your word over mine, what with my spotless academic record and extracurricular activities, as opposed to someone who left a public school after a fight.”
“A fight?” Kurt interrupted, looking at Blaine, “You were in a fight.”
“Oh? You didn’t know?” Jim’s blank face immediately switched to an evil grin, and he stood up, leaning over the banister, “He got into a huge fight with...how many footballers was it, Anderson?”
“Six,” Blaine said, “but that wasn’t a fight, it was a beating where I managed to score a few lucky hits.”
“I’m sure the administration will see it your way,” Jim agreed, nodding, “I mean, it’s not like I’ve been on the honour roll every year since I got here.”
Kurt crossed his arms, glaring at the blond, “Maybe the administration won’t have a problem. As you said, you only act out during extracurriculars, and even then, if someone so much as threaten detention, you shut up. But I’m sure your father would have something to say about it.”
“Are you threatening to call my parents?” Jim laughed, but his eyes were suddenly shadowed with worry.
“Yes. So you can leave, or I can call Bond senior,” Kurt said stonily, “his number’s in the student phone registry, after all.”
Jim turned and walked away, with exactly the same ‘this was my idea, you had nothing to do with it’ swagger that cats have been perfecting since the dawn of time.
“You’d call his father?” Blaine asked, turning to Kurt, and the other teenager shook his head, hooking his arm through Blaine’s again.
“You may be the master of the kicked puppy face, honey, but I have my own dramatic skill set.”
“...I think I love you.”
Kurt turned a bright smile on him, pulling him towards the car park, “That’s perfectly normal.”
---
“I’ve solved the problem,” Santana declared, striding into the room and tossing her hair back.
“I’m so glad the pills are working,” Quinn murmured, and smiled brightly when Santana rolled her eyes.
“I mean the Kurt problem, obviously,” Santana folded her arms, ignoring Quinn as she noted something down in her binder.
“Does this mean I don’t have to go on a date with Eric?” Rachel asked, “Because if so, I am one hundred percent behind you, Santana.”
“Yes, it does. And Mercedes doesn’t have to fish for information on her lady-date with Hummel this weekend,” Santana nodded, tucking a hair back behind her ear, “people, this is Ryan. Ryan, say hello and tell them how much you want to join Glee club.”
“H-hi?” Ryan stuttered, and Quinn rolled her eyes, “I really want to join Glee Club.”
“Why?” Artie asked, and Ryan’s eyes slid towards Santana’s chest.
“Okay, so I may have promised that he can touch my boobs if he joins,” Santana explained, flipping her hair back over her shoulder, “but he can sing in a weirdly high range, and I don’t see you guys coming up with anything better!”
“Do we get to touch your boobs for joining Glee club?” Mike asked curiously, and Tina giggled.
“Have you actually heard him sing?” Tina asked, and Santana shrugged.
“His speaking voice is high, he says he can sing, so, whatever.”
Artie frowned slightly, “Can you sing?”
“Yes?” Ryan warbled uncertainly.
“That’s a no,” Quinn said, and Mercedes nodded.
“Not the first time someone’s lied to get their hands into a girl’s shirt,” Mike observed, and Puck stood up, jumping down off the risers.
“Scram, kid,” Puck glared, and Ryan bit his lip, eyes flickering from Santana to Puck to the door and back.
“I-”
“Get out,” Santana waved a hand, “I wasn’t going to let you touch my chest, anyway.”
Ryan ran for the door like the choir room was on fire.
---
Blaine and Kurt gave Liam a lift to the Kieran boys’ usual hang out- an old fashioned ice cream parlour with its own soft serve frozen yoghurt bar- and he sat, cramped up in the back of the Lamborghini, making small talk with Blaine about the upcoming soccer game.
When they arrived, the tall teenager tumbled out of the car with a relieved sigh, and immediately walked around the car park several times, muttering about leg cramps and third wheels. The small lot was already mostly filled with expensive cars, although a battered old hippy van painted a deep blue stood out because of its age, despite being well taken care of. When Kurt raised an eyebrow, Blaine began pointing out which car belonged to who- the sleek black porsche was Pratik’s, the van Harry’s, Wes’ was a silvery white Ferrari. After about five cars, however, he stopped.
“The rest are St Jude’s, I think. Our sister school, and just as...how did you put it?”
“Precious? Posh? Elitist?”
“...Expensive,” Blaine finished, and Kurt shot him an unapologetic smile, “they’re nice girls, but they drive most of our guys insane.”
“That’s because they’re teenage boys at an all boys school, Blaine.”
Blaine shrugged, “I do okay.”
“Yes, but you have a boyfriend,” Kurt patted him on the shoulder, following Liam as the taller boy finally headed for the door, “your situation isn’t exactly the same.”
“Eric does okay,” Blaine said mulishly, trailing behind the pair.
“Eric is insane,” Kurt replied, and Liam paused in his murmured chant of ‘girls girls girls girls’ to frown, “no offence meant, of course.”
“Of course,” Liam said slowly, opening the door to the ice cream parlour, adding loudly, “Oh look, it’s cheerleading national championship winning soloist Kurt Hummel!”
Half the parlour, mostly girls, went silent, turning in eery unison to focus on Kurt.
“...I think he took offence,” Kurt muttered.
“I think you might be right,” Blaine agreed.
---
Lee jerked at his tie uncomfortably, rolling his cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other. Fuck it. He’d hoped, when he left Ireland, that he’d never have to come back to this place.
But for his brother, he’d do it. He’d hate it, but he’d do it.
He stood in front of the huge, wrought iron gates that bordered the edge of Reilly Grammar School, the lush green trees blocking his view of the campus.
He wondered if they’d finished rebuilding the gymnasium yet.
Eventually, he realised he couldn’t avoid the reason for his visit anymore, and stubbed out the cigarette on the bottom of his boot, chucking the butt into the gravel and heading up the gravel drive.
He flicked the hood of his jacket up, mostly because of the misted rain, but partially because he had a less than stellar reputation at Reilly, and he’d like to reach the administration building before the shocked gasps of ‘Lee Dwyre’s back, secure your valuables and make sure there’s nothing flammable around’ started up.
The building was just like it was at the end of year eight, when he’d been ignominiously dragged to the principal’s office.
“Hi. I’m here to pick up the coursework for Ruari Dwyre,” he told the receptionist, who hummed approvingly, offering him a tight smile.
“That shouldn’t be hard, Mr. Dwyre. If you’ll sit tight, I can get his class schedule up for you, and you can go talk to his teachers. Is there anything else?” the question was automatic, but she was clearly hoping he would say no.
Lee nodded, pulling a packet of papers out of his jacket and dropping them on the counter.
“And I’m here to enrol.”
---
“We have cones, cups, and many other delights. Also ice-cream,” David said, half juggling the large amount of cones he carried, while Wes’ cups were carefully stacked.
“Pass,” Blaine said, grabbing at one of Wes’ cups, but the other boy pulled away with a grin.
“Answer me these riddles three, and you may have your ice-cream, Blainemeister.”
Blaine sat for a second, and then sigh thoughtfully, propping his chin on one hand.
“When Wes was fifteen, in early May, he decided it would be an awesome idea to-”
“Here’syouricecreamBlaineyouenjoythat,” Wes shoved the cup in Blaine’s face, and he smiled, eating a spoonful.
“Nice?” Kurt asked, stirring his pomegranate frozen yoghurt.
“It tastes like victory,” Blaine said, still staring at Wes and smiling.
“You mean blackmail,” Wes muttered, and David patted his shoulder.
“That’s what I said. Victory.”
Kurt laughed, leaning against his boyfriend, and watched Wes sulk as David tried to comfort him.
“You want sprinkles? I’ll get you some sprinkles, Wes.”
“...I do like sprinkles,” Wes allowed, and David grinned, holding out a fist.
“And hot fudge?”
“You know that’s right,” Wes agreed, and they fistbumped.
Suddenly, someone tapped Kurt’s shoulder from behind.
“Hi,” greeted a short, dark haired girl, “I’m Cheyenne, I’m the captain of the St. Jude Bluebirds.”
She kneeled on her side of the booth, half hanging over the side to talk to Kurt. She was fine boned, with lively, sparkling eyes and minimal make up (to Kurt’s expert eye, he would guess that she wore only mascara, a little concealer, and some lipgloss). A blue tanktop set off her tan, and her sparkly black shorts seemed a little too formal for the ice cream parlour.
“...That’s nice,” Kurt said, “and you interrupted us because?”
“The Bluebirds are the cheerleading team,” Cheyenne said, “we’re taking part in an international competition next month, and we were wondering if-”
“I go to Dalton, not St. Jude’s. I lack the proper chromosomes to go to your school, and therefore be part of your team,” Kurt said, looking back towards the Keiran conversation longingly.
“We’re an all inclusive school, Kurt Hummel. You don’t need the proper chromosomes to be a girl,” Cheyenne said sharply, and Kurt nodded.
“That’s great. I’m glad that there are such forward thinking schools, but I’m not a girl.”
“If you would just listen to me, you’d know that I’m not asking you to join the school! We’re a partnered team, there are boys too, but we need a really good soloist, or we’re going to get smashed by the competition.”
“I’m really sorry,” Kurt said, this time sounding slightly more invested, “but I’m really busy right now, settling in at Dalton. I’m already part of the Warblers and the vice-president of the Fashion Club, I just don’t think there’s any time in my schedule.”
Cheyenne sighed, pushing back her hair, “I guess that makes sense. Well, if you change your mind, we’ll be waiting.”
“That sounds both welcoming and slightly creepy,” Wes said, suddenly appearing next to Cheyenne in the next booth over, “hi. I’m Wes Heely.”
Cheyenne smiled, offering him her hand to shake, “Cheyenne Lan. Nice to meet you.”
“So, Cheyenne, were you saying that you’re a cheerleader?”
“The cheer captain, actually,” she said, winding a strand of hair around her finger, and Wes slid into the booth to sit next to her properly.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Kurt said dryly, and turned back to the other Keiran boys.
“Getting back on the horse,” Liam noted, watching David flirt with the cheerleader, “nice.”
“Hi, are you Kurt Hummel?”
Kurt looked up from his now partially melted frozen yoghurt to see another teenage girl standing in front of their booth. This one was hispanic, with wavy black hair and a stubborn chin. She wore a denim miniskirt and a lacy black top, her lips stained a dark and dramatic red.
“Yes. Can I help you?”
“My name’s Luna. I’m the vice-captain of the-”
“St. Jude’s Bluebirds,” Kurt said, in time with her.
“So you already know what I’m going to ask you. Good, that’ll save time.”
She sat down, practically in Liam’s lap, and the athlete looked almost ecstatic.
“Now, have you thought about crossdressing?”
“I can honestly say no, no I haven’t,” Kurt said, and Luna nodded, tossing her hair back.
“You have very fine bone structure. I reckon you could pull it off.”
---
Pratik sat in the blue music room- one of the five that Dalton had, and the one least used by classes- with his acoustic guitar, noodling along and occasionally noting phrases down in his composition book.
“Hey, Pratik.”
He ignored the greeting, continuing to play.
“I said, ‘hey, Pratik’.”
“And I believe, in Tiki-ian, he said, ‘fuck off’,” interrupted a far more welcome voice.
Pratik looked up from the guitar and smiled at Jim, before going back to his work.
“Jim Bond, what a surprise.”
“Corbin I-can’t-be-bothered-to-remember-your-last-name, I can’t even pretend to be surprised,” Jim said brightly, leaning against the wall next to where Pratik sat.
Corbin smiled, crossing his arms.
“Look, I’m just here to extend an offer.”
“The same offer you’ve been extending to Tiki every week since Team/Blu got together and you realised how good he was?”
Corbin’s smile grew more oily, and he padded closer to the pair.
“Well, from what I hear, Team/Blu won’t be together much longer, will it? You can’t have a band without a drummer.”
“We have a drummer, thanks,” Jim said, his own smile going brittle, and Pratik didn’t look up from his guitar.
“There are actually plenty of bands without drummers,” he said quietly.
“We have a drummer, Pratik,” Jim repeated, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“I know,” the guitarist said, and went back to playing.
“Well, I know where I’m not welcome,” Corbin said, and headed for the door. He paused in the doorway, and turned back, “but the offer’s still open. For you too, Jim. We can always use another bassist. Even one who’s only use is eye candy.”
The door closed behind him, and Jim snorted.
“Only use is eyecandy my sweet ass. I am the best bassist in Ohio, if not the entire Mid-West. If not the entirety of America. Right, Tiki?”
“Sure, Jim,” Pratik agreed, and scratched out a chord progression in his notebook.
“That guy is such a dick. I cannot believe I slept with him.”
Pratik hummed in agreement, and Jim slid down the wall to sit next to him on the carpet.
“So, what’re you working on?”
“New song.”
“Can I see?” Jim asked, and Pratik nodded. The blond picked up the composition notebook, “Missing Pieces? That’s a little dark.”
“I’m feeling a little dark,” Pratik said, matter of fact, and Jim nodded.
“I know how you feel, Tiki. I miss him too.”
Pratik hummed, playing a little trill.
“Not that I want to talk about it, or anything, but if you want to, I’m here,” Jim said, looking at the notebook hard.
“I don’t really talk.”
“...How about I talk, and you listen?”
“That might work.”
---
“You know what’s awesome about sharing with someone who spends all their time at Warbler meetings?”
“You get the room to yourself?” Ben guessed, turning the page of his book.
“Fifteen points to Gryffindor,” Seb said proudly, and Ben snorted, leaning up to kiss him.
The pair were tangled together on Seb’s bed, Ben still in uniform and reading a Diana Wynne-Jones novel, Seb in a Hufflepuff Quidditch tee-shirt and jeans, rewriting his history notes. Kurt’s side of the room, as always, was empty except for his extensive wardrobe and Pavarotti’s cage, so the pair were free to cuddle and trade kisses as much as they wanted to.
And they wanted to.
“What happened to taking me out on a date?” Ben wondered, as Seb darted in and stole another kiss.
“I have a fantastic reason.”
“Go on.”
“There’s a basilisk haunting Dalton that only goes after English boys,” Seb said solemnly, “I’m protecting you from it, with risk to my own life and livelihood.”
“You’re so noble,” Ben agreed, “was part of the reason also the History test you had completely forgot about until I reminded you?”
“No,” Sebastian shook his head, “no, no, yes. Yes, a bit.”
“It’s a good thing you’re cute,” Ben said, leaning in and kissing him, “because otherwise, I would not put up with this sort of thing instead of a second date.”
“You think I’m cute?” Seb brightened, biting the end of his pencil, “Tell me more, Benjamin.”
“I think you’re awfully cute,” Ben told him, opening his novel again.
“No, don’t read! Tell me how cute I am!”
Ben patted his head appeasingly, still reading, “very cute. Shh now, Ben’s reading.”
“It’s a good thing you’re cute,” Sebastian grumped, going back to his notes.
“Shh, reading.”
---
“You’re Kurt Hummel, right?”
Kurt stopped on the staircase, turning to see a very enthusiastic junior behind him.
“That’s me. Can I help you?”
“My name’s Jasper Mordialic. I’m a Hallman, but that’s irrelevant.”
“Yes, it is,” Kurt agreed, looking Jasper up and down.
He was tall and gangly, with dark curls, disproportionally large eyes and a wide mouth that he constantly worried at with bright white teeth. His uniform wasn’t especially neat, and was quite a bit too large for him, his blazer almost falling off his shoulder.
“I’m the head of the cheerleading team here,” Jasper said enthusiastically, “and well, when I heard that you were coming here, I couldn’t help but want to recruit you. But I mean, it would have been rude to ask right away, so I decided to give you a bit of time to settle in before I approached you.”
“That was nice,” Kurt said slowly. He felt like he was talking more slowly to offset Jasper’s rapid speech, “but this is an all boy’s school. You have a cheerleading team?”
“Well, half a cheerleading team. We’re part of a joint group with our sister school, St. Jude’s. The team is called-”
“The St. Jude’s Bluebirds,” Kurt said in chorus, “I know.”
“Please will you join? We’re desperate. We’re in this international competition right now, and we know we’re better than almost every team.”
“That doesn’t sound very desperate,” Kurt said, crossing his arms.
“No! But there’s this one team, from South Korea, they’re crazy. They’re from this elite all girl’s school that’s like, funded by the government or something, and they have a huge budget and they’re amazing, and you were on the Cheerios, you’re amazing, I saw you at Nationals, you have to help.”
Kurt caught Jasper’s arm before he could fall to his knees to beg properly.
“Okay. Say I believe you. There’s no way they’re that good. There’s only one Sue Sylvester, after all, and she’s at McKinley.”
Jasper nodded rapidly, curls flying everywhere, “I can show you. I can totally show you. They send out these videos, they call them intimidation vids, and they’re like proper music videos with costumes and everything, we just got ours yesterday.”
“Is that why I keep getting mobbed by cheerleaders?” Kurt asked, and Jasper nodded again.
“I’ll show you, I have it on my USB, if we go to the lab I can show you.”
Jasper scrambled down the stairs in a flurry of elbows and knees.
In fact, there didn’t seem to be much to Jasper that wasn’t elbows and knees. Kurt kept his distance, just so that he wouldn’t end up losing an eye to a free flying limb.
“Here,” Jasper said, slightly calmer once he was seated, cueing up a video, “they’re called The Brightest Stars, because they’re from Bright Academy. And they’ll be here in less than a month and we’re going to be slaughtered.”
“Jasper, let me watch the video, please?” Kurt asked, putting down his satchel and taking a seat.
The cheer captain nodded rapidly, and the door flew open.
“Mordialic, my dear, I’m here to save you from your plight.”
“Jim, what are you doing here?” Kurt asked, frowning slightly.
Jim laughed lightly, falling into a chair and putting his feet up on Jasper’s lap.
“I was summoned by my Ke$ha-dar. Now, hush, Hummel, and let me listen to the dulcet tones of my goddess.”
http://youtu.be/q_gfD3nvh-8
(SNSD- Run Devil Run)
“Wow,” Kurt blinked, and Jasper sighed miserably.
Jim laughed brightly, jumping to his feet.
“Sorry, Mordialic, but you’re totally fucked. Good luck with that!” he clapped Jasper on the shoulder, shot Kurt a fake salute, and sauntered out of the lab.
“We are. We’re totally fucked,” Jasper agreed, fiddling with his tie.
“Not so fast,” Kurt said, and sighed, “I can’t believe I’m doing this, but...I’ll help.”
“Thanks,” Jasper said, still melancholy, “we have meetings every Tuesday. I’ll get Staircase to get you a uniform.”
“Staircase?” Kurt asked, hitching up his bag.
“Uh...sorry. Trent. Trent Jones. We all call him Staircase- don’t ask why,” Jasper said, as Kurt opened his mouth to ask.
“Okay then. I’ll keep an eye out for Staircase.”
“Oh, don’t worry about. Staircase will find you,” Jasper assured him, loading up the video again.
“...Why are all the cheerleaders here so creepy?” Kurt muttered, closing the door behind him as he left.
---
“So I’m fucking staying here,” Lee said, biting his lip.
“That’s...good,” Harry said slowly, “I mean. Your brother needs you.”
“Yeah. He does,” Lee agreed, watching Jim on his screen.
“We’ll miss you,” Pratik said slowly, fiddling with his fingers.
“I’ll miss you fuckers too, you know that. It won’t be the fucking same without you. And I mean, this might not be fucking permanent. I could be back next year or some bullshit like that...”
“Whenever you get back, there’ll always be a place for you here,” Harry promised, putting his arms around Pratik and Jim.
The blond shrugged him off, staring at his manicure.
“Jim...”
“Whatever, Lee. Stay in Ireland. Look after your brother. It’s the most important thing to you, isn’t it?” he paused for a second, “That’s good. I’m glad. It’s better if you stay there, really.”
“Jim, don’t fucking-”
“I mean, I actually have a proper boyfriend, and if you were here, you’d probably set fir to his shoes or something,” the blond continued, ignoring Lee, “I really don’t need that kind of stress in my life. And hey, without you, there’s no band. You can’t have a band without a drummer-”
“There are lots of bands without drummers,” Pratik said quietly, but Harry silenced him with a look.
“So I can finally concentrate on my studies, like my father wants me to. I’ll have my priorities straight. Thanks, Lee.”
“Jim, don’t you-”
Jim turned to leave.
“Don’t you fucking walk away!”
“See you around, Lee.”
“Don’t go! I fucking lo-”
The door slammed behind him.
“...I’ll miss you a lot,” Pratik said again, breaking the silence Jim left behind him.
“I’ll fucking miss you too, Tiki,” Lee said, with a wobbly smile, “you look after those two numbnuts for me, would you?”
“They’re not so bad...”
“You know what I mean. Keep fucking rocking out, okay? If you don’t fucking email me regularly, I’ll track you down and skin you with a fucking spoon, you hear?”
“I hear,” Pratik smiled.
“And Harry?”
“Yeah, Lee?” Harry looked away from the closed door, back toward the laptop screen.
“Keep an eye on Jim for me, would you?”
“I can’t promise to do it as well as you do,” Harry said, “I’m not nearly as good with the kerosene. But I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all I fucking ask,” Lee sighed, “alright. I have to go buy some fucking stupid Reilly uniforms. Catch.”
“We’ll talk to you later,” Harry promised, and the drummer switched off his end of the webcam.
“So...” Pratik asked, looking up from his hands, “...does this mean the band’s broken up?”
“Let’s call it a hiatus,” Harry said, putting his arm around Pratik’s shoulders and steering him towards the door.
“I hope he comes back.”
“So do I, Pratik.”
“I think Jim hopes most, though.”
“No, Pratik, the problem with Jim is that he doesn’t hope at all.”
Pratik nodded, although he looked confused, “Even though the band isn’t together, can we still go play?”
“Sure. The blue room should be free right now.”
---
“Did we have a practice scheduled for today?” James asked, watching a tall blond stomp across the quad towards the gym.
“No,” Aaron shook his head, “Not until Wednesday. Why?”
“I just saw Captain walk past with his gear,” James frowned, “do you think he sent an email or something, and we just didn’t get it?”
“Maybe!” Aaron immediately brightened at the idea of a practice, “How about you go grab Danny and the others, and I’ll go see what’s up?”
James smiled, a little unsure, “How about we reverse that.You go grab the others, and I’ll check on Captain?”
“But-”
“Aaron, he isn’t going to decide to ravish me just because you aren’t there. And if you go, he isn’t going to ravish you. There won’t be any ravishing going on,” James said, face stony, and the other boy blushed.
“I know that! Fine, I’ll go get the others,” Aaron grumbled, stomping off towards the day student halls.
James slipped into the gymnasium to see the team captain, Jim Bond, running laps furiously, still dressed in his school uniform.
“Captain?”
“Go away, mini-me,” the blond grunted, dropping his jacket and tie over a bench.
“Do we have practice?”
“No, I have rage. Leave me alone,” Jim said acidly, picking up his sabre.
James grabbed a helmet and one of the spare practice sabres that sat on the wall.
“It might be more productive to work out your rage against an opponent, captain.”
“It’s your funeral,” Jim shrugged, pulling on his own helmet, “I’m not wearing any padding.”
“Neither am I. Please don’t impale me. And don’t get impaled, either. Aaron would cry.”
“He’d cry if you got impaled, too,” Jim said, smirking slightly.
“Not nearly as much as he would if it were you. Salute!” James took up his place opposite Jim on the strip.
“En Guarde!” called another voice- Danny, another one of the fencers, stood in place to referee, halfway down the strip, “and just so you know, you’re idiots for doing this without protection.”
“That’s what she said,” James murmured, and Danny rubbed the bridge of his nose, careful to avoid his glasses.
“And Commence!”