Redemption
If you were to ask him what the hell possessed him to show up at the Hummels' home at one o'clock in the morning that day, Finn wouldn't be able to give you a straight answer. But there he is, one AM, his truck blocking Burt into the driveway and everything, standing on the porch in pajamas and texting Kurt to come upstairs and let him inside, preferably without waking up his father, because Finn doesn't think that Burt has forgiven him for their fallout yet or that the ungodly hour makes this the best time to be sorting that mess out.
Kurt doesn't send a reply text, and maybe Finn's a little concerned that the boy is fast asleep and can't let him in the house, but he pushes that to the back of his mind. He's already sent the message; he doesn't know if he can deal with Kurt's confusion if he were to not find out about this until morning. The wheels are already in motion, and the only thing Finn knows how to do is to see this absurd tryst through right now.
So he stands there on the porch, shivering a little, pulling the pillow he'd thought to bring over a little closer to his chest and praying to God that Kurt is coming up. Now that he's here, he needs to see this through. He needs to.
And then Kurt is opening the door, blearily livid, decking silk pajamas and his hair five times messier than Finn had ever seen it, and Finn is breathing a sigh of relief, and Kurt is whisper-shouting, "What the hell is your problem that you thought it necessary to show up here at—"
"One-oh-seven," Finn supplies amiably. It takes him a second to realize that the precise time is far from the most pressing question on Kurt's mind, and he shakes his head a little, his eyes wide. Why on earth did he come here again? Oh, right. "I know this is gonna sound crazy, but do you mind if I crash here tonight?"
"Do I mind if you crash here tonight?" echoes Kurt.
Finn doesn't know much about anything, couldn't even tell when Quinn lied to his face and said they had an immaculate conception on their hands, but he's pretty sure that means Kurt's angry. He tests out a hopeful smile that Kurt does not return. "Look, dude, I just... I don't even know myself, to be honest. Your dad probably told you that he was out with my mom tonight, and she hasn't come home, so I thought she probably went back to your place, and it just reminded me about how we were trying to be a family last year before I screwed it up, and I couldn't sleep, and... I know it's stupid. I'll leave if you want me to."
If he was having trouble reading Kurt's expression before, that's nothing on his utter confusion now. There's a growing look of something or other on Kurt's face, though, and Finn's best guess is a cross between pity and heartbreak—but no, that can't be right, Kurt hasn't looked at him like that since before Finn moved out, and anyway, Finn thought Kurt was over him by now, isn't he? Either way, the look is gone in a second, and then Kurt is rolling his eyes and ushering him inside and grumbling, "We took the extra bed out of the basement, so you'll have to take the couch I have down there, but you're crazy if you think I'm giving up my blankets—"
"I don't want to take any of your blankets," Finn assures him with a frown as it starts to sink in just how bizarre this all is. But one in the morning is not the time to be thinking anything through, and anyway, it's too late for them to fight. It's too late for them to struggle.
"I'm kicking you out at six; that way, you'll be out of here with plenty of time before my dad wakes up," says Kurt now, snapping Finn out of his thoughts.
"Six. Okay." He'll need time to drive back home (snail's pace; he doesn't want a repeat of what happened with the mailman) and get changed anyway.
He follows Kurt downstairs and gets settled on the couch without another word, and it starts to hurt again, worse than before when he was sleepless back at home, if only because now he's here and even that hasn't fixed any of this.
It's insane. He must be going insane to have come here. Finn blames the time.
He doesn't get a wink of sleep and leaves at five-thirty, and Kurt doesn't mention it at school the next day. At first, Finn wonders whether Kurt even believes it happened, but then he catches him staring at him in Spanish and knows that Kurt knows it wasn't just a dream.
Passing it off as an instance of fatigued delirium, Finn moves on.
But then it happens again the next week, and again five nights later, and one more time the following weekend, and he can't just explain away that kind of pattern as a couple of weak moments, can he?
The fifth time it happens, Kurt doesn't have a snappy comment in store for Finn, and when he goes to get comfortable on the couch, he's a little shocked to find that Kurt's laid out sheets—still in the packaging, set on one of the cushions, but still.
Finn doesn't know what to say, except, "I can pay you back."
"Don't worry about it," says Kurt, and Finn thinks he can see the beginnings of a blush on Kurt's cheeks, even in the dim lighting.
Kurt sits on the edge of his bed across the room as Finn does up the sheets, tucking them halfway into the cushions for good measure. "Why do you keep coming here?" Kurt asks finally, quietly enough that Finn almost misses it, as he's finishing up.
He wonders whether he should cross the room and sit closer to Kurt, but he decides against it. "I don't know," he says after a moment; then, "I can't sleep when I'm here."
"Then what's the point?"
"I can't when I stay at home, either," says Finn truthfully.
And maybe Kurt is uptight and unreceptive and still reeling from the last time Finn used to sleep here, but somehow, Finn can't quite convince himself that he's looking for late-night comfort in the wrong place. Kurt bids him goodnight, and for the first time in a while now, he sleeps like a baby through the remaining half of the night.
Also for the first time, Kurt brings it up in glee club the next afternoon; for probably all the wrong reasons, Finn is relieved. "I don't suppose there's any chance of you giving me advance notice the next time you decide you want to have a sleepover," he says dryly as they're waiting for Mr. Schue to arrive, sitting in the empty seat beside Finn and putting up a visible effort to look nonchalant about it.
"Not unless you want to make it a nightly habit," says Finn, half kidding, and Kurt gives a little nervous laugh and doesn't say anything directly after that.
He avoids Kurt for a week and a half after that, and that's how Finn finds out that it is possible to sleep even less than he was in Kurt's basement. He tosses and turns and wonders when the hell Kurt Hummel became his own personal Lunesta.
Because honestly, Finn doesn't know what his own problem is. His grades are a little more passable this year; he's still the football quarterback and glee club co-captain; he has Rachel; Kurt's laid off the flirting, so much so that Finn can share a room with him and not feel on edge about it.
(He's not a father, though, and as happy as he ought to be that Quinn's baby wasn't really his, he loved that little girl, and he just can't find it in himself to think of her as a liability. And when she was born Quinn asked Puck and Mercedes to be there with her and didn't give Finn a second glance—and Kurt still puts him on edge, honestly, but nowadays it's because he's ashamed, not uncomfortable, and he doesn't know why he's starting to need him, but he does.)
(Karma's a bitch.)
Then it's half past eleven on another long night, and he gets a text. Do you want to come over?
Finn's not sure whether it's an invitation or just the reassurance that he's always welcome, but either way, he texts back that he'll be there in twenty. When he gets there, Kurt offers him a genuine smile, and it's the first time in a while that he's directed one of those at him.
"Missed you," Finn mumbles as they're descending the stairs.
"So why did you leave?"
"I didn't think you wanted me around," he admits.
And Kurt answers, smiling sadly, "I've never minded having you around, Finn Hudson."
And to that, Finn says abruptly, "I had sex with Santana."
The smile drips right off Kurt's face, leaving just puzzlement and a small degree of shock. Finn can hardly believe that he brought it up himself, but it's like the first time he came over—now that he's started this, he has to see it through. "And when was this?"
"Last winter. I didn't want anybody to know."
"Finn, it's October, and you're just now starting to talk about this?"
"I didn't want anybody to know," Finn repeats, blinking. "And even though she's hot and everything, I didn't really like it, and I thought it was because I was in love with Rachel, but then last summer I had sex with Rachel, and I didn't really like that, either."
Kurt makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat but seems to think twice about interrupting. Finn continues, "I'm probably just bad at it. I mean, I'm not gay, no offense. I like boobs and stuff."
Shell-shocked, Kurt says, "Why are you telling me all this?"
"I don't know." He seems to be telling Kurt that a lot these days, he reflects. This is about Kurt, he realizes, it all comes down to Kurt, the insomnia, the guilt, the unhappiness that nothing in his life seems to be able to fix, it all comes down to his broken family and needing Kurt to understand; and then, before he can control himself, he splutters out, "Kurt, I never meant to call you a... a fag. I was an asshole to say that."
He doesn't answer again, and when Finn looks down at him, he's horrified to see that Kurt's lips are trembling. "Kurt..."
"I know you didn't," says Kurt, his voice all wobbly and his face blotchy-red, and Finn is humiliated for him that he's seeing him like this, and he can't decide whether or not to be glad that they're having this talk. "I was an asshole for pushing you. I know you're not... you can't... you didn't screw this up, Finn, I—"
Without a clue of what he's doing or where this is headed, Finn seizes Kurt's hands, effectively silencing him, and he tells him, "Kurt—God, don't apologize, don't make up any excuses for me—"
"I got over you," whispers Kurt. "I got over you, Finn, don't do this," and Finn realizes just how tightly he's holding Kurt's hands, just how close he's leaning in, and—