Chapter four- we can always party on our own

Kurt:

We have everyone here. Blaine's not sitting next to me. Rachel is chasing Finn. Santana is provoking Rachel. Puck is chasing Rachel. Sam is chasing Mercedes. Brittany just wants to be in a closet with her girlfriend for once. I'm chasing... I can't. I can't do that. No matter how much I want to. The players are in place, the board is set, and no one wants to spin first. Let the game begin.

*

Rachel, after attempting to sit between Finn and Blaine and failing because of the lack of space between them, sits confidently between Mercedes and Santana, as if that was her intention all along. "Who wants to spin first?"

"I will," Santana says. This doesn't seem to shock anyone as she takes the bottle and spins it neatly (sniffing in annoyance when she sees the carpeted floor, and Blaine thinks she is going to say something, but, to his surprise, she does not). Everyone is staring at the wall or the floor except for Santana, who is looking at Brittany, Brittany, who has her eyes closed and her head slumped on Santana's fishnet-clad arm, and Kurt, who is looking at Rachel still. She has not noticed the intensity of his look, because she is smiling widely and falsely and staring at the wall behind Finn but sliding her gaze to Finn every other second and then her smile loses a little of its falseness.

The bottle goes around and around, Blaine sees its greenness in his peripheral vision, and he notes that it is a ginger ale bottle, and if that wasn't evidence enough that he is attending the lamest party in Ohio, well, the pink, flowered wallpaper of Rachel's basement should be some indication.

Finally, it stops spinning, and everyone's heads jerk in unison to see who it's pointed at. With the exception of Kurt, who has switched his gaze from Rachel to Santana.

"Absolutely not," he says, and Blaine looks at the bottle's neck, which is pointing directly to Kurt.

"I quite agree," Santana says. "Hummel and I have had enough scarring memories in our lifetime. Re-spin?"

"Re-spinning's for pussies," Puck says with a wicked grin, and Santana's eyes snap to him.

"Lucky for you I got one," she says darkly. "I'm not going in a closet with Hummel for seven minutes if we're not gonna do anything. It's a waste of time."

"If?" Puck says, pulling the pin from the grenade.

"We're not gonna do anything," Kurt says. "I can confirm that. We've done enough."

"Kinky Skanks," says Puck, but Santana looks at him murderously and he shrugs. "Whatever, man. Re-spin. I don't give a fuck."

"That's what I thought," Santana says, and spins the bottle with an almost ferocious glint in her eye.

It slows and skids slightly on the carpet and points at Rachel.

"Let's do this shit," Santana says, and stands and opens the door to the closet.

"I—uh—" Rachel stutters, and looks at a loss for words in maybe the first time in her life.

"C'mon, Berry. Git. You're the hostess, you chose the game, now you're gonna play your damn game," Santana says, stepping into the closet backwards. She's giving a classic smirk, but her eyes are unreadable, and almost too-pointedly not directed at Brittany.

"Fine," Rachel says, voice small, and gives her watch to Mercedes. "You know the time, I guess."

"Seven minutes of awkward, yeah," Mercedes says, and sets the watch. Rachel walks into the closet and Santana closes the door behind them with a smirk. The watch beeps.

"The worst part about this game," Kurt says after less than a minute of silence, "is that if you're with a bunch of non-talkative losers, you have absolutely nothing to do for seven fucking minutes."

"Tru dat," Artie says. Tina sighs in agreement, and they fistbump.

"At least Rachel will have a good time," Brittany says quietly from where she's propped herself against the couch and stroking the carpet.

"What?" the Asian guy says. "What's that supposed to imply?"

"Santana is good with girls," Brittany says simply, and closes her eyes again. She's petting the carpet in earnest as if it's a cat. It's more than a little disconcerting.

"Oh...kay," the Asian guy says. He's still confused, but he's not confused enough to regret asking in the first place.

Blaine abruptly realizes that Kurt is looking at him. He swings his gaze from the floor to meet Kurt's eyes, but Kurt flicks his eyes to the wall behind Blaine instantly. Blaine feels the tips of his ears flush and redirects his gaze to the floor. It occurs to him that Kurt did the same thing to him as Rachel was doing to Finn, and he gives an involuntary smile. He doesn't know whether it's better or worse that when Kurt looks at him, the blackness flickers out of his sight.

*

Puck:

I don't know if anyone else heard that stifled moan, but something wanky's going down in Berry's closet.

*

Kurt:

Was that a moan I just heard oh my fucking god—

*

Finn:

This is boring. Why does Kurt keep looking at Blaine and then looking away? Why did Blaine just smile? Was it because of that moan I heard? Or something else? Whatever. I'm bored. Seven minutes in heaven? More like seven minutes in boredom. Ugh.

*

Tina:

Mike's avoiding me even though we're sitting right next to each other. Did I do something wrong?

*

Brittany:

That was not Santana's moan. It must've been Rachel's. Lord Tubbington isn't used to his mommy being away from him for so long. I need to go home. Seven more minutes, I guess. This party was cool until the color lady's song started playing on repeat. Who's the DJ? They should fix that.

*

Puck:

Hummel's giving the short kid the eyes. For his sake, I hope that they end up in the closet together. For my sake, I hope Rachel and Finn don't.

*

Mercedes:

Will anyone notice if I change that seven minutes to six? Will anyone care? I think not.

*

Rachel's watch beeps impatiently in Mercedes' hand. She sighs and turns it off.

"Who wants to do the honors?"

"Please tell me that wasn't a moan," Artie blurts, eyes large and horrified under his glasses, but he's cut off by—a moan.

"That's not Santana's," Brittany says under her breath. She narrows her eyes slightly before closing them yet again.

"Oh god," Tina murmurs.

"I'll get 'em out," Puck says, standing, and knocks on the door loudly. "Uh, ladies? Time's up."

A distinctive 'fuck' comes from within the closet, though through the door, it's impossible to tell whose it is. The door swings open and Santana strides out, taking her place next to Brittany again. Brittany's hand travels from petting the carpet to petting Santana's boob. Blaine averts his eyes to the open door, where Rachel Berry is stumbling out. She actually looks very presentable, considering what they were hearing, but one of her bra straps is hanging out of her shirt and trailing near her elbow. No one comments.

*

Mercedes:

Oops. Turned out the people in the closet cared.

*

"If we're going in a circle, I'm next?" Finn says. It's not really a question, though his voice pitches up at the end. He takes the bottle in his hand and spins it with the poor skills of someone who has, well, never spun a bottle before. It does spin though, after traversing the carpet wobbly, and the neck points to the empty space between Mercedes and Rachel.

"I think it's on me," Rachel says, a tad too eager, but Mercedes shakes her head.

"No. It's between us."

"Then does Finn get to choose between us?" Rachel persists.

"According to the official rules which I just made up in my head," Puck says, "it means that Finn gets nothin'. Next person spins."

"Sounds legit," Santana says.

"Oh really?" Rachel says, sassing, but Santana rolls her eyes.

"You just wanna get in the closet wi—"

"Rachel, you've already been once," Kurt says, saving Rachel and killing her at the same time. "Do you really need to go again?"

"I—well—no," Rachel says, a happy mask settling over her fuming features. "It's Shorty's turn, then."

"He is honestly not that short," the Asian guy observes, "compared to you." Rachel's mouth opens and shuts in a fashion that is almost robotic.

"Thanks, I guess," Blaine says. He would tell them his name, but he's not feeling polite, he's just feeling tired and like he wants to go home already. But he can't, not now. It's his turn to spin. He takes the bottle in his hand and spins it fast. He doesn't care what the outcome is, he's just gonna go in the closet and not do anything—like if Santana and Kurt had been in there together.

And the bottle is still spinning when he realizes he should probably attempt to watch it or something, and it stops without even slowing down first, and it's pointing at—Kurt.

Fuck.

There is a short, awkward silence that Tina breaks.

"Kurt's gay," she says, "so like, if you don't want—"

"I know," Blaine says tiredly. "It really doesn't matter. He's not going to force anything on me just because he's gay."

Blaine gets up and walks to the closet. He doesn't both to look at Kurt's expression. He doesn't care what it is. He's so, suddenly drowsy and his limbs feel heavy and his head hurts, throbbing along to the beat of 'Raise Your Glass,' which is unfortunately still pounding away upstairs.

He senses Kurt behind him and steps into the closet. Kurt follows him and closes the door.

*

Puck:

I knew it, I fucking knew it, I so called it—they're gonna have a hell of a time, I just know. The Puckermans ain't never wrong.