For Gabrielle Cornell
WARNING: This is very cliché and has probably been done a thousand times but I couldn't resist
I do not own the rights to Glee
:-:
Fair Chances
I walk to Kurt's house in a daze, not quite able to grasp the whole concept behind why he's been acting like a lumberjack and making out with Brittany. It's time for a confrontation; an interpen-, interven-, for one of those things where you rescue someone from themselves. Someone should really try that with Rachel, I think to myself as I reach Kurt's front porch.
But this isn't about Rachel – this is about helping out a mate who is clearly having an identity crisis. I have to admit I kinda missed his normal singing voice at Glee this week. It does something to your eardrums.
Anyway, do I ring the bell or knock on the door? I peer sneakily through the curtains. I've never been good with the big decisions. Maybe if I just stand here long enough someone will come to the door naturally. Even if it means waiting until they go to work in the morning.
I wonder what Puck would think if he knew I was calling at Kurt's house in the dark. Probably that we're dating. Which we're not 'cause Kurt is straight now.
And I'm straight anyway so it's just one long complicated thought – admittedly completely overruled by what I have come here to do. What I have to do.
I ring the door bell.
I wouldn't be here at all if I hadn't overheard Mercedes talking to Rachel earlier. Turns out Sylvester decided Kurt couldn't commit to his supposed sexuality until he had actually kissed someone.
And as I'm shown into a ridiculously tidy basement, I remind myself that fair's fair and this is the sort of thing that a mate should do. Probably a gay mate, but I don't think he has any of those. Which leaves me.
Not, as I have already pointed out, like I'm gay or anything.
Kurt is lying on his sofa, his eyes and mouth opened wide in surprise as he sees me. He regains his composition? Er, well I mean he's back to normal pretty quickly and asks, in what I'm worried may be a 'come hither' voice,
"What are you doing here?"
"Glee" I answer, automatically on the defence. He just raises his eyebrows and I attempt to fill the silence which probably makes it worse.
"You know, I was just thinking about that song you sung and Brittany and how maybe dating within the club is a bad idea-" But then I catch his eye and I see he is mad at me and I realise I have said the wrong thing.
"Oh" He responds and looks back down at the magazine in his hands. And it dawns on me that this probably has something to do with his Dad – but I'm not really sure what as Kurt seems to want to be one big happy family and I've done everything I can to bond with Burt and I wonder if it's not good enough. If I'm not good enough. And I almost turn around and go home right there.
But he looks so small and angry; so lost, that I continue to barge on in where I'm not wanted anyway.
"I've come to help you with your problem." I finally say, aware that I'm rocking slightly from foot to foot.
"And which problem would that be? I already nailed the double back flip at Cheerios practise. Naturally."
I plough on in. "About your sexuality." He is still holding the magazine but has stopped reading it. I speed up, the words tumbling over one another as they hurry to get out of my mouth:
"I mean maybe Sylvester is right – you can't know until you've tried. And now you've had a good go with Brittany I thought to maybe be fair we could, you know, erm, maybe I could help you out?"
He sits up slowly and delicately puts the magazine down on the little table by the side of the sofa. He is shaking very slightly and I wonder if he is angry again. I start to fiddle with my hands.
"You really haven't thought this through, have you?" His voice is steady but his eyes are focussed somewhere on the floor. He stands up and I freeze to the spot, dropping my hands back down by my sides. He wanders over to me and places a hand flat on my chest, before looking up into my eyes.
I panic and take a step back, tripping over the edge of the bed. Righting myself again, I mumble on about no, not really thought it through, sorry to disturb you and start to sprint up the stairs.
About halfway up I stop and turn to look at him. He hasn't moved; his hand still ghosting in the air. And I feel terrible that he might think I'm a homophobe or something, and I'm not 'cause I like Kurt; he's a cool guy and to be honest I owe him this – especially after all those years of dumpsters and slushies – but I'm not that man anymore and I'm going to prove it.
Spinning round, I fly back down the stairs, scoop him up into my arms and lower him onto the bed, kissing him full on the lips before I have the chance to think about what I'm doing and stop myself.
Initially I'm shocked at how soft he is – I mean he's a dude, he's not meant to be soft, but then he unfreezes and kisses me back and I swear all coherent thought goes out the window. I've never been kissed so hungrily before.
And I pull away, resting on the palms of my hands above him, and he gives me this look like he knows I'm going to bolt. Again. And his mouth is all wet from mine. And his usually tidy hair is messed up against the bed covers. And I remind myself that I'm doing this to help out a friend so, taking a deep breath, lower myself to kiss him again.
I have barely touched his lips when he pushes me off again, saying "You don't have to do this."
My reply is immediate and surprises the two of us: "But I want to." And I know was soon as I open my lips that every word is true and that Kurt is kinda beautiful – I mean, he is seriously lacking in the boob department, but I don't think I care because something about him is still so soft and I'm pretty sure he's not going to stop me halfway to include Jesus in our make out session. I mean I'm not really certain of God's policy with gays but I've a feeling it's not good.
And does it make me gay if I'm making out with the cutest guy in the school? And he's giving me that look again and I know I've been silent too long, but is it really my fault if it takes me longer to think than other people?
"I want to" I confess again, if only to further freak myself out, but then his lips come crashing up against mine and once again thinking is no longer an option: I'm enjoying feeling too much.
Maybe I should have given boys a fair chance earlier as well?