all of my enemies started out friends
@gleeadvent day 1: apology (a day late but 🤪)
how do i post fics again lksdghf
this is uhh a kurtana fic !!! set in 6x03 because you knowwww tbh i’m not super confident in my characterizations i guess of santana in general i haven’t written her much and of kurt in relation to santana 😬 so idk how this is in terms of that lol but i’m pretty happy with it for nowww so yeahhhhh :D
title from “the archer” by taylor swift it makes sense in my head but i don’t think it’s a very obvious connection lmao but yeah idk (omg what if i make the titles also follow the alphabet along with the prompts slkdhsfj jk)
word count: 768
under the cut and on ao3 !!
Kurt sits alone in the choir room, plunking out quiet notes on the piano but his heart’s not in it, his mind’s not in it, just a swirling mess of –
– shrill –
– sexless, self-centered –
– utterly, utterly intolerable –
His fingers slip on the keys and the discordant notes cut through his thoughts for a moment.
Living with Santana – hell, just being her friend, being in her presence for four years – he did learn not to take everything she said to heart. He learned, as best he could, as much as she allowed, about the spiky walls she put up around herself, and how she might let him get past them sometimes. He’d thought he was somewhat past that stage with her – that they’d become close enough to not warrant all the guards anymore. But he supposes that can always change. He supposes, really, that he did something to make it change today.
It’s funny – ironic, a little sad, honestly – to be back in this choir room. On the one hand, it’s full of mostly happy memories; it’s where his closest friendships were forged, where his skills and character were tested, where he felt so much struggle and hardship but also where he escaped from more of it, and where he felt so much love and found himself comfortable enough to give it, too.
And now, here alone, seemingly with none of that – a love who has anything but love for him, one friend he loves but who’s more focused on herself at the moment, and another friend who… has an admirably extensive vocabulary, he has to say.
Guess you really do have to lose everything to… what, be happy? Find yourself? Well, he’s waiting for that part.
Enough of the fucking pity party, Hummel. He does want to help Rachel, and gain some valuable experience and academic credit for himself as well, so his best option is to take this seriously. Focus on the work like Rachel is. Maybe everything else will fall into place.And if not… he won’t be completely doomed. He does have something.
The sound of heels clicking against the ground doesn’t catch his attention until they’re almost right in front of him, and he looks up to see Santana on the other side of the piano.
Kurt almost cringes in surprise and in apprehension for round two. He hopes it just comes out as a flattening of his lips – his mouth like a cat’s ass –
“I owe you an apology,” Santana says.
Kurt… wasn’t really expecting that. He meets her eyes, dark and guarded as ever. Her expression… doesn’t really show him anything. He’s not sure if he should wait, or –
“I went too far,” she continues firmly, “and… I need you to know that you do matter to me.”
Kurt almost laughs – in any other situation, he’d be able to focus on Santana’s clear reluctance to say this, maybe poke fun at her a little bit in a very different situation. But part of him also warms with something close to pride – not that he’d ever tell Santana, for fear of the razor blades in her hair and in her words, the latter of which he’s already been a victim to more times than he really ever would’ve wanted.
He can see that this is hard, he knows it is, so much harder than verbally spilling insults and borderline cruelty but she is doing it for him. And that alone confirms her words in Kurt’s mind.
“I need to apologize, too,” he says in lieu of an expression of genuine forgiveness, at least for now. He’s not sure if it would be very appreciated. “I… shouldn’t have taken my own problems out on you. I’m so happy for you and Britt, Santana.”
“Fine, enough with the platitudes, Hummel,” Santana drawls after a short pause, rolling her eyes and bringing a hand up in front of her, examining her fingernails. “A little too late for it.”
Kurt huffs, and Santana’s mouth quirks in a slight smile, and he knows they’re leaving it there.
Because he has the walls, too. And when they’re both raw in different ways, guarding pure happiness or heartache against even some of the closest people, and neither of them is putting them down for now, it’s probably best to just leave it there.
So he starts actually playing the intro to something, giving her the excuse she wants to leave under the guise of being sick of all the bursting into song. And they’ll leave it for another time, when they’re feeling more vulnerable, to let those walls down more.