Smile

I'd spent months pining over Finn Hudson and his gorgeous dopey smile. There were more times that I'd like to admit that I'd just stare at him, watching as he laughed or talked or smiled, and would feel my heart flutter. I fell in love with that little lovesick smile he wore around school, the smile that made his eyes light up and his dimples show.

Except that smile wasn't mine.

At first, it was Quinn he was smiling at. The hopelessly-in-love-with-you smile that made my pulse race was directed at her, the perfect girlfriend. She was perfect for him; beautiful, smart, blonde, and female. She pranced around in her Cheerio's skirt and owned the school with her popular, quarterback boyfriend. But that was before she got pregnant and fell off the social ladder.

I intervened.

And then I thought, maybe, if I was nice enough to him, cool enough, pretty enough, smart enough, he'd start to like me instead. I thought I could earn that smile, win that smile, and have him smile at me, for once. If I listened to him, let him vent about Quinn and his baby and how his life was falling apart, he'd let me pick up the pieces. I thought it would be like a fairy tale. I thought he would fall for me, like I had fallen for him.

But that never happened.

When the tears dried up and the smile returned, even after everything I'd done for him, his smile was still directed elsewhere. At Rachel. Because no matter what place the loud and obnoxious girl came in during this race, she would always be ahead of me, because she was a girl. It didn't matter that she was awful or dressed like a toddler, she had a better chance than I, no matter how much she screwed up, because she had boobs.

And that just made me try harder.

I thought after Rachel sort of broke his heart with the whole break-up-and-then-suddenly-start-dating-the-enemy stunt she pulled, he'd want something different. Girls were his problem, you see. He needed me to fix things for him, to help him through this though time in his life. He needed me, because I was different, and he'd appreciate it later.

At least, that's what I told myself.

Maybe I came on a little strong, and setting up our parents hadn't been the best (or least creepy) idea I'd ever had, but I thought that it would be worth it. I was angry at him for a while for stealing my father's affections, and I tried my best to hate him.

But I could never hate him.

I loved him, so I got over it. I let him bond with my father. At least it would be easier on Dad when he was finally my boyfriend, I reassured myself. If they became friends, Dad wouldn't be adverse to me dating him. We could skip the entire awkward interrogation phase I was dreading. I told myself it would all get better, as soon as we moved in together. I thought I could convince him of the secret homosexual tendencies he harboured, and convince him to love me back.

I was terribly mistaken.

He didn't take well to my forwardness. He was irrationally (or maybe not irrationally) angry at me, and when I tried to make things better by redecorating, he used the word. I'd heard the word before, heard it directed at me in a mean and spiteful manor. But I'd never heard it from Finn, and it broke my heart. I thought he was different, I thought he was kind and genuine and perfect.

I was, again, mistaken.

Finn had flaws, like every other human being on this Godforsaken planet. He was imperfect, and I'd always known he was; it just took living with him for me to see them. I let myself pick at them, worry them like holes in cheep fabric until they were ten times their original size: He was stupid. He was straight. He was too tall. He didn't have any fashion sense. He snored. He didn't like Lady Gaga. But, worst of all, he used the word. He used it, and he meant it. In a fit of rage, he pulled all the stops, and used to one word that could reduce me to tears.

Fag.

I told myself I could get over him. I made myself believe I didn't love Finn; I just loved the idea of Finn. The tall-dark-and-handsome boyfriend that would come to my rescue, the sweet and genuine guy who could see the real me, and liked what they saw, the kind soul who loved me like I loved them. It took until then to realise that Finn could never be any of those things for me.

He would never smile at me like that.

I was so sure I was over him. I was so convinced that I could just go on living without him, as if none of it had ever happened, as if I'd never pined for him or dreamed of him or fantasised of him. But then he had to go and do something so stupid, so out there, that I fell back to earth again, hard.

He stood up for me.

I forgave him instantly. I couldn't help it. I hated myself for loving him again, when I knew he couldn't return those feelings. I let myself love him from a distance, never even hinting at anything more anymore. I let myself believe we could be just friends, and that I could be happy with that. Having a little of Finn was better than not having him at all, right?

We lost Regionals.

We weren't friends outside of glee club, and if glee club was no more, then so was out friendship. My heart broke a little more every time I thought about it, but I couldn't get it out of my head. If I couldn't be his friend, I couldn't be his anything, and that was worse than any punishment I could have been given.

I died a little inside.

I didn't believe Mr. Schue at first, when he said we had another year. There was a rushing in my ears, a feeling of shock and disbelief setting in. I held Quinn and Mercedes's hands with both of my own, pressing them to my heart as both girls looked close to tears while our teacher and Puck began to sing Somewhere Over the Rainbow. I looked over at Finn, who had Rachel's head on his shoulder.

He smiled at me.

There are some things you just can't help. Being in love is one of them. I imprinted that smile on my memory, like I had to those of my mother, making it an immortal piece of me, of Kurt Hummel. That smile was meant for now one but me; how could I not treasure it? No matter how much either of us screwed up, I'd still love Finn and that dopey little smile of his, even though I knew I could never have him.

At least I could have that smile.