Would you build me a house
All painted white
Cute and clean and purty and bright?

For several hours after Mercedes dropped him off, Kurt was jumpy. He kept expecting Blaine to decide to "check on Burt" and hang around the house. Somehow, whenever Kurt wanted to be alone with his father, Blaine turned up. It would be better now, of course. Kurt had some time off school and Blaine still had classes. Now, Kurt was home with his father and Carole and, of course, Sam.

Kurt didn't quite trust Sam anymore. He was too chummy with Blaine and kept asking questions about New York and how Kurt spent his free time. He also went on and on about what a great 'mate' Blaine was, and how lucky he was to have such a friend, and how complimented he'd been to find out that Blaine found him attractive. That had thrown Kurt for a loop. Blaine had never really expressed much enthusiasm for Kurt's body.

Apparently, Sam was more his type. And Sam—tolerant Sam, who had been so friendly to Kurt when they first met, now seemed obsessed with what a 'bro' and great 'guy' Blaine was. Maybe Sam wasn't quite as straight as everyone believed . . . maybe he just preferred a boy like Blaine.

Kurt felt lucky to have Adam. That blunted the pain a bit. Just a bit.

Whatever was going on, Sam's presence in the Hummel-Hudson household made things strained. Carole couldn't turn away Blaine's best friend—not after welcoming him with open arms all year. Sam wouldn't stop talking about Blaine and all their adventures together. And Finn . . . well, Finn wasn't around much. He was too busy trying to climb out of the hole he'd dug for himself at the University of Lima.

According to Sam, Kurt's step-brother had nearly busted out of college in the first few weeks due to heavy drinking and irresponsible partying. Also according to Sam, Blaine had talked Finn back from the edge.

Funny, that, Kurt thought. Finn and Puck both claim it was Puck who knocked some sense into my brother. Literally.

Kurt realized he was wringing his hands, took a deep breath, and placed them nonchalantly on his knees. He willed himself to relax. His father was sleeping, but when he woke up, Kurt wanted to look calm and happy. He didn't want the stress to show on his countenance or in his eyes. He schooled his face into a neutral expression. Then, he tried for a slight, hopeful smile. Perhaps this is the moment to practice my sense-memory skills.

But no happy thoughts came—except that his father was—for the time being—in the clear. And beholden to Blaine for all those months of "caretaking." Kurt wasn't sure what that "caretaking" had entailed, but apparently the Hummels were endlessly grateful—or they should be.

It's a good thing dementors aren't real, Kurt mused, because if one showed up right now, I would be doomed.

Kurt jumped as his phone buzzed on the bedside table. Grabbing it before the vibrations disturbed his dad, Kurt silenced the phone. Then, he checked his text messages.

Mercedes. What did she have to say so soon after their coffee date?

He opened the message:

"blaine up 2 smth. b prepared. mike followed blaine to jwlry store. xpect big scene."

Before Kurt could fully process the message, a second came through—this one from Mike.

"Advise you to tell Burt and Carole the truth about the breakup. Better that way. Brace yourself for anything."

Once again wringing his hands, Kurt sat beside his father and waited. After Burt woke up and they exchanged hugs and I love yous, Kurt called in his step-mother and locked the door behind them.

"Dad . . . Carole . . ." Kurt started, bracing himself, "there's something we have to talk about."

Carole took one look into her son's eyes and sank into the nearest chair. She and Burt reached for each other's hands—and automatically, unthinkingly, they found each other. It was such a simple gesture—holding hands—and yet when you held hands with someone you truly loved, it could change everything in the world.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Burt was still too hazy from the anesthetic to muster up much anger, but he had understood Kurt's story completely. "Why . . . Kurt . . . why didn't you tell me?"

"I—don't really know."

A tear rolled down Carole's cheek.

"Why didn't Finn say anything?" she whispered.

Kurt shrugged. He'd always hoped he'd become close to his stepbrother, but somehow it had never happened. Finn never stepped up to the plate when Kurt was in trouble, and as much as Kurt loved his brother (and believed his brother loved him), he had finally accepted that he couldn't expect much help from that corner.

Carole was still waiting for an answer, so Kurt offered the best justification he could: "I suppose he didn't think it was his business to tell."

"If we'd known—" Carole started.

"If I'd known—" Burt said at the same time.

Carole inclined her head towards her husband.

"If I'd known," he continued, "I would never have let Blaine talk me into bringing him to New York."

"He said—" Carole swallowed. "He said that you wanted him to spend as much time as possible here since you couldn't be in Lima."

"Why didn't you tell me, Kurt?" This time, Kurt could see the pain in his father's eyes.

"Because—every time I called to try, he was here, hanging out with Sam, or taking you to the doctor's while Carole was at work, or—or—or I don't know what he was doing, but he was here and he'd ask to talk to me on the phone and no matter how I tried to tell him, he wouldn't back off."

The room fell silent.

"Is that all?"

"No."

"What, then?" Burt demanded.

"I—I—" Kurt choked, "I thought that maybe—you liked him, and Sam, and Finn, better as sons."

Carole gasped and Burt shook his head mutely. Once he'd caught his breath and gotten his heart rate back to normal, he spoke:

"You, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, are my one and only son, and I thought you knew that you came first—always. I'm sorry, Carole, but you know it's true, and I know it's the same with Finn for you. If you had told me . . . "

Burt's jaw tensed and Carole covered his hand with hers again.

"Blaine Anderson is no longer welcome in our house," she said.

"And . . . that's . . . final," Burt murmured. His eyes closed.

"Dad—" Kurt jumped up.

Carole shushed him and told him it was just the after-effects of the medication. "We should let your father rest now."

"The medicine . . ." Kurt echoed. "Will he remember—will he remember what we talked about?"

Carole adjusted the blankets over her husband's sleeping form. "I think you can rest assured, Kurt," she said, meeting her stepson's eyes, "that this is one conversation that your father will never forget.

"And neither will I," she added forcefully.

Kurt sank down in his chair, ready to begin his vigil all over again.

"Don't you want a break, sweetie?" Carole asked.

"No," he said, a little too quick. "No, thank you. I'd—rather stay here. I'd rather not hear any more about Blaine or the New Directions or NYADA or any of that."

"Sam talks too much."

"Sometimes," Kurt said. "But back in the beginning—before Blaine, you know—he was one of the best of the bunch. He accepted me as I am."

"Like Adam?"

"Like Adam."

Kurt felt Carole move behind him. She tentatively touched his hair, then changed her mind and squeezed his shoulder. Kurt looked up at her questioningly.

"I—I always used to ruffle Finn's hair . . . when he was upset. But I was afraid you wouldn't like it. You take so much care with it . . ."

Kurt smiled weakly. "I don't mind, Carole. Just this once, behind closed doors."

He felt her tentatively stroke his hair, and memories of his own mom rushed back. Tears sprang to his eyes.

"You know I love you, too, don't you, Kurt? Both of us love you."

Kurt nodded again, then sniffled. Carole sensed that he wanted to be alone—that her boy didn't want anyone to see him this vulnerable.

"I'll . . . bring you some hot chocolate, OK?"

"OK."

Kurt listened as Carole's footsteps went towards the door. As it opened, he said "Thank you . . ."

Just after it clicked closed, he added ". . . Mom."

Sam was trying to coax Lady Tubbington out from under his bed when his cell phone chimed. A message. A welcome distraction from the she-devil with claws who still hadn't forgiven him for the whole locker-duffle-bag incident. Sam grabbed the phone off his rickety desk.

He groaned when he saw what the message was about.

Blaine: "Got it."

He'd actually done it. Actually gone out and bought an engagement ring. Laying back on his rumpled bed, Sam prepared for a marathon texting session.

"Wish me luck, Lady Tubs."

The cat hissed yet again. Sam turned his attention back to the cell phone.

Sam: "is it the rite size?"

Blaine: "Shit."

Blaine: "How do you know about sizing rings?"

Sam: "Me n Britt got married, remember."

Blaine: "Oh. Yeah."

Sam: "i got teh wrong size to, so dont worry. U can return it after."

Blaine: "But once I put it on his finger, I want it to stay there forever."

Sam: "thats a little unrelistic, bro."

Blaine: "What are you implying?!"

Sam: "well, u cant always wear a ring. i take mine off for noodle art bcs of glue n paint."

Blaine: "Oh."

Sam: "so, whats the plan."

Blaine: "I'm going to propose to Kurt."

Sam: "soon?"

Blaine: "ASAP"

Sam: "dude, r u sure thats a good idea."

Blaine: "I can't let him get away. You can't argue this, you and Brittany got married."

Sam: "we thought the world was endng."

Sam: "makes a difrence, right?"

Blaine: "I'm doing this, Sam. Are you in, or are you out?"

Sam: "I dunno, shouldnt we be thinking of reginals?"

Blaine: "I can't think about anything without Kurt."

Sam: " . . . "

Blaine: "I can't think about anything EXCEPT Kurt."

Sam: " . . . "

[Long Pause]

Sam: "isnt it weird how all th show chiors have names that sound like sex stuff? Even the nun-touchables?"

Blaine: " . . . "

Sam: "or is it teh nUnTouchables? rotflmao."

Blaine: "Do you think Kurt would like it if I proposed in my superhero costume."

Sam: "waht?!"

Blaine: "Do you think Kurt would like it if I proposed in my superhero costume? Sorry, forgot the question mark."

Sam: "NO. that idea bites, man. majorly sux. worse than the whosierdaddies name."

Blaine: "Cut it out about Glee Club. I'm thinking about more important things."

Sam: "when artie made u the new rachel i nevr knew youd take it this far."

Sam: "u sure u r ready 4 this?"

Blaine: "I'm sure. I just need the perfect setting and the perfect audience and the perfect song."

Sam: "i think u r going 2 fast on this"

Blaine: "Either help me or butt out."

Sam: " . . . "

Blaine: "?"

Sam: ". . . "

Blaine: "Sam?"

Sam: "yeh?"

Blaine: "Are you going to help me?"

Sam: "its against my beter judgment but ok. no superhero costumes. K wont like that."

Blaine: "How do you know?"

Sam: "u've ben dating him how long and dont know he hates superhros? thats BASIC like knowing Britt likes cats."

Blaine: " . . . "

Blaine: "OK, no superhero costumes."

Blaine: "Should I sing 'Teenage Dream'?"

Sam: "!?what!? maybe u shouldnt sing at all?"

Blaine: "Don't tease me, I'm serious."

Sam: "so was i."

Blaine: "I have to sing. How else can I show him how I really feel?"

Sam: "ok but don't look at me this time."

Blaine: "What are you talking about?"

Sam: " . . . "

[Long pause]

Sam: "never mind"

Blaine: "I've got a bunch of great sheet music, I'll bring it over now. Be there in ten minutes."

Sam: "wait. u cant come here. u r uninvited. carole says."

Blaine: "What? Why not?"

Sam: "i think kurt told them abt eli."

Blaine: "Fuck!"

Sam: "yeah, that's exactly what he told them abt."

Blaine: "Shut up, gotta think."

Sam: "im texting u, im not saying a word. r u sure this proposal is a good idea, i dont think kurt will like it."

Blaine: "It's all about style, I just have to figure out the right words to say and the right song to sing and he'll understand."

Sam: " . . . "

Sam: "ok"

Blaine: " . . . "

Sam: "what abt come what may frm that movie with the dying chick?"

Blaine: "Why would I want to sing that?"

Sam: "kurt said it was ur fantisy wedding song."

Blaine: "Oh. Yeah. But it's a duet. I need to tell Kurt how I really feel."

Sam: "u might want to let kurt get a few words in, pick smthng he knows."

Sam: "dont forget kurt likes brdway better than pop songs."

Blaine: "I don't do Broadway."

Sam: "u did west side story."

Blaine: "That was different, I needed that for my resume."

Sam: "so u dont have sheet music 4 bwy songs at ur place n u cant come here."

Blaine: " . . . "

Blaine: "We need a plan, Kurt's leaving soon."

Sam: "we? its ur proposal."

Blaine: "Sam, you have to help me. I gave you money for food."

Sam: "did u really think the Hummel-Hudsons were starving me?"

Blaine: " . . . "

[Long pause.]

Sam: "never mind."

Sam: "look, dude, i still dont think this is a good idea but ill go to kurts room and look thru his sheet music n stuff. hes out w mercedes now. ill find u the perfect song to expln how u feel n u can set up the rest. ur good at that showmanship stuff."

Blaine: "Cool. You are the best. I know you'll find the right song and Kurt will understand just how I feel about him. Deal?"

Sam: "deal."

Sam put his cell down with a sigh. He ran his hand through his hair, noting just how overgrown and greasy it was.

This whole thing with Blaine was getting out of control.

When had things gotten so complicated? He was pretty sure that if he'd never joined Glee club his life would be a lot simpler now. He'd still be struggling in school, he'd have fewer friends, but he wouldn't be constantly in the middle of crazy-making drama. First there had been Kurt, who'd seemed so sweet and then just . . . backed away. Then Quinn, and cheating, and Mercedes, and cheating, and—Santana, too—and now he was stuck between Brittany, who he cared for, and Blaine, who cared a little to much for him.

And that was cool. It's not like getting crushed on by a gay guy was bad—though maybe he'd gone off the tracks a bit with Blaine. Somehow, he felt like things weren't right—that he'd become a hypocrite along the way, that somewhere on this fucked up merry-go-round of dating, he'd lost a bit of himself.

And that lost part was beginning to feel like the bit of himself that he'd liked the most. He hadn't forgotten how kind Kurt had been to him when he first came to McKinley. He hadn't been afraid of being labeled gay by association. Then things changed—Finn swooped in, the guys formed a circle around him, he'd started dating a cheerleader, and had far too many heartbreaks too quickly. He'd given into the pressure from Finn and the other guys to pick the right, more masculine team.

Then, there had been the strip club. The men who hit on him. The assumptions people had made about him. The way that made him feel inside. The dollars shoved into his hands and thong and even, sometimes, his mouth. When Finn and Rachel had 'rescued' him, he'd put on a brave face, but he was glad to get the hell out of that sleazy joint. He knew what people thought about male strippers. He knew what clientele they usually had. And he knew the whispers that would circulate about him.

And so he'd hardened himself even more. He'd turned towards his ultra-manly 'bros.' He'd pushed away the equal friendship Kurt offered. Even though they lived in the same house, he'd kept his distance. "Lady Hummel" couldn't be a part of Sam Evans's life—because Sam had regressed. He'd gone from tolerant to terrified.

Terrified of what? Of being thought gay? Of being recognized as bisexual? Of being called a prostitute and slut-shamed because he'd picked the 'easy' way to make money and support his family? Was he afraid that someone would walk up to him in public and shove money in his face? Who would do that kind of thing?

Sam paced from one end of his room to the other—which was tough, since his was a tiny room. Still, moving helped him think. He knew he wasn't the smartest guy around, but he wasn't the stupidest, either. He recognized when he screwed up—and he'd screwed up with Kurt. Now, Blaine was screwing up, too. And he felt . . .

What did he feel? Confused? No. Conflicted? Yes, conflicted. Blaine was his friend, and his friend needed his help. Blaine needed his help to get Kurt. All year, Sam had stood by Blaine. Soothed Blaine. Hung out with Blaine. Plotted with Blaine. Dressed up in silly costumes with Blaine. Sung with Blaine. They'd had fun. Just like he and Brittany had had fun—though without the love and the sex.

Except . . . there was love. Blaine's love. For him, Sam. And Sam knew it. He was even OK with it, though he would never cheat on anyone ever again. He was determined to be with Britt forever, bogus as their first wedding had been.

But Kurt—Kurt wouldn't be OK with Blaine being in love with another man. And so to push those two together would be wrong. Wouldn't it?

Sam sat on his bed and opened the drawer in his bedside table. Inside lay the macaroni portrait he'd made of Kurt—Kurt, who should almost be a brother to him, seeing as they'd lived together for so long. Seeing as Kurt, out of all the Glee Club members, had reached out to him first. All this time later, Kurt was still his hero for being friendly, for being strong, for being himself, and for fighting against all odds.

Against all Odds.

Suddenly, Sam felt hot. He was blushing—and he knew why. No, Sam was not the smartest guy around, but he wasn't stupid. He'd seen the changes that came over Kurt when Blaine was around. One thing Sam knew from watching his parents—and from watching Burt and Carole, who were almost like parents to him—was that good partners bring out the best in each other.

And Blaine was screwing Kurt up. And he was going to keep on doing it.

"If I don't act," Sam told the reflection in his mirror, "This Macaroni Portrait is all that's gonna be left of Kurt Elizabeth Hummel."

Sam stared at himself for a long time—or so it seemed—but no matter how hard he thought, he kept coming back to the same place. Blaine's proposal couldn't be derailed. Blaine wouldn't allow it. And Blaine was bad for Kurt, while Kurt had been good to Sam.

It was time that someone did something to put an end to the fiasco. And that someone was Sam Evans. Simple, regular, not-too-bright but not-too-stupid Sam Evans. He didn't even need a superhero costume.

All he needed was the perfect song.

And a haircut. He needed a haircut. Really bad.

DISCLAIMER: Glee, its universe, and its characters do not belong to me.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is inspired by the crack klaine proposals meme and the title of the final episode of the season. Reviews—and especially constructive criticism—are warmly welcomed.

OH, AND: This is my second foray into the Glee fandom. I hope you enjoy it.