Sam was divided on Schuester's abilities as a teacher. The man clearly knew the material and could communicate it well to those who were interested, but he tried so hard to get everyone involved that he ended up begging students to participate and sought answers through leading questions. As knowledgeable as he was, he had no real control over his class. Further, Schuester knew it and resented it. He was angry at his students for slacking off and angry at himself for allowing it.

Sam thought it was ridiculous. This was third-year Spanish, not aftercare. He suspected Schuester was one of those teachers who didn't like to fail anyone, regarding his students' failures as his own. It was nice that the man was so caring and concerned, but Sam worried that the laziness of his fellow classmates would impact his own grade. A large curve had both its good and bad points. On the one hand, if he bombed a test, it wouldn't be the end of the world; on the other, he didn't like the idea of grade inflation because he was obsessed with carefully monitoring his scores, using them as accurate and reliable indicators of how he was faring in a course.

While Spanish was not among his favorite subjects, he was a fairly good student of the language. Reading was difficult enough for him, even though it was one of his favorite activities and he indulged whenever possible despite his disability, but to do it another tongue was all but impossible within the confines of a fifty-minute class. That said, he was almost fluent, thanks to his listening comprehension skills.

Where many people were visual, Sam was aural; if he wasn't under pressure and had enough interest in the subject, he could hear something once and usually remember it, and then build upon that information. It was why he was so skilled with the guitar, though he had never taken lessons. His Spanish vocabulary was extensive and he could easily hold entire conversations. It helped that he'd had a Latina babysitter when he was young and both of his parents were working.

Translations were what brought him down. As long as he had enough time to complete the exercises, he was just fine, but when he felt rushed, he started misspelling words or omitting them entirely. He was a walking contradiction. He was smart, but academic situations afforded him little to no chance to shine. It depressed him more often than not, while simultaneously driving him to excel as much as he possibly could, thus doubling the stress under which he put himself. He assumed that Pillsbury had spoken with Schuester regarding the dyslexia and was once again glad for her help.

Sam noted with little interest that Schuester was most focused on the other kids in Glee, as if they could save the class from interminable worthlessness. Mercedes was perfectly adequate, but it was obvious she was bored out of her skull; she had no interest in the language but was required to take it. Tina was good but it was apparent she hated being called on when she wasn't prepared. Schuester tended to ignore her when she raised her hand, but would then single her out when participation was at a standstill. Sam didn't know how Schuester could miss her glares of doom, but it seemed like Schuester missed a lot of things. Tina would sullenly hiss her answers and her accent was atrocious. Sam couldn't tell if it was purposeful or not. He rather thought it was.

Puck was the opposite; he spoke beautifully, but more often than not had absolutely no clue what the hell he was saying. At least, that was how it appeared. Again, Sam wondered if Puck was simply playing Schuester. He had the feeling Puck played everyone just for shits and giggles and didn't care if they caught on or if it upset them. He really was a badass, and Sam admired him for it. He could never bring himself to be so confrontational and uncaring, though there were moments – days, really – where he longed that he could. Regardless, he had the feeling that Puck was a hell of a lot smarter than people gave him credit for being.

He noticed that Hudson had cornered Schuester and was flailing over the assignment. Schuester was kind, concerned, and so very helpful. It was apparent to anyone conscious that Hudson was Schuester's favorite student. Hell, if Sam didn't know better, he would've thought there was something going on between them. Bile splashed the back of his throat at the very idea.

Thankfully the classwork exercises were vocabulary based, so he quickly filled out his worksheet, though he took some time to make sure everything was properly spelled, tried not to proofread obsessively, and then zoned out. It was no surprise to him that most of his thoughts revolved around Kurt.

Sam had always been comfortably bisexual. He was attracted to both girls and boys, and what he had told Pillsbury was true: he wasn't self-loathing. He had never felt as though his sexuality was abnormal or perverse. He had had a girlfriend his freshman year and a boyfriend in his sophomore, though he hadn't gone very far with either of them; mostly kissing and some light petting. Luckily, both Miranda and Caleb hadn't been very interested in taking things further. He had loved them, he supposed, or had felt a very strong affinity with them, and had parted with each on good terms. He still considered them friends and they spoke often.

Unlike most of his peers, he was in no rush to lose his virginity. He had seen what had happened to his old friends once they started having sex; most either became obsessed with having more, or the sex itself often caused relationships to falter because the participants weren't emotionally or psychologically ready to engage in it.

His parents had always impressed upon him that having sex was more than just two bodies fitting together; that, though it felt wonderful, it was supposed to be more than a physical release. Sam knew that he was perhaps somewhat more emotionally mature than most people his age, but he somehow knew that he wasn't prepared to have sex, nor did he want the pursuit of having it to take over his life. During his freshman and sophomore years, five girls in his rather large circle of friends had become pregnant. Three had abortions, one gave her child up for adoption, and the fifth had kept her baby, though she had dropped out of school. Three other friends had contracted sexually-transmitted diseases; sadly, one of that number had contracted HIV.

He didn't understand how people could have unprotected sex in this day and age. It simply made no sense to him. When he eventually had sex, even if his partner was also a virgin, he would demand they used protection.

He was fairly certain that what had befallen his friends had also dampened his desire for sex. He'd never really felt the urge that his other male friends often talked or bragged about. Sure, he jerked off a hell of a lot, and it felt pretty terrific; that was enough for him. He often fantasized about things he would like to do and the people with whom he would enjoy doing said things, and he'd been presented opportunities to act out those fantasies, but he was in no rush.

Most of those fantasies had always involved men and women equally, usually people he barely knew or those he had no chance of ever getting. A frequent fantasy involved him being the meat in a Brangelina sandwich, even if Brad had been looking pretty haggard lately. It made him wonder if Angie was a succubus. She was still smoking hot, though, so he'd have gladly risked it. He'd always be Team Jolie.

He sighed softly.

No one, neither boy nor girl, had ever affected him as much as Kurt Hummel. And in just…he looked down at his watch…over four hours? What the hell was that about?

Sam didn't even know why it was happening. He'd never been so pressed before. He was no Don Juan, but he could usually control himself and his reactions around people to whom he was attracted. He barely knew Kurt, but there was this excitement about just being in his vicinity that was enthralling and intoxicating. It was also worrying. He didn't want to rush things with Kurt. Of course, he was putting the cart before the horse. He had no definitive proof that Kurt even found him attractive, let alone was interested in him.

He didn't know if he believed in love at first sight; not that he thought he was in love with Kurt, but he definitely felt connected to him. The more time he spent with Kurt, even though it was just snippets of mostly unimportant conversation, the more he craved Kurt's company. But he didn't want to become obsessed with the other boy or anything. He didn't want to be creepy.

And then he realized that he didn't even know if Kurt was seeing someone. It was possible Kurt had a boyfriend or was dating someone secretly. Even if that wasn't the case, there could be someone on whom Kurt had his eye. Maybe Puck.

That would be a real bummer, because Sam liked Puck, but not enough not to fight him for Kurt.

Jesus, what the hell was he thinking? Fighting, physically fighting, another boy over the affections of yet another boy? When did his life become a Lifetime movie adapted for the Logo channel?

Sam also thought about the fact that he hadn't popped a single boner over the admittedly hot girls McKinley had in spades, particularly in Glee. Quinn was beautiful, almost a Barbie doll come to life, and she had the same cool and aloof thing going on that Kurt did; Sam had to admit that, for whatever reason, he found that appealing. Tina was just adorable, but he had figured his lack of response to her was from the fact that she very clearly had a boyfriend, and whatever the hell she had going on with Artie.

Santana was drop-dead gorgeous, but she frankly terrified him. Even if he was interested in making a move, he'd be too scared of how she would react. Not to mention she seemed more interested in making out with Kurt than with anyone else. Brittany was perhaps the sweetest girl he'd ever met, even though he sensed she could be a real bitch when the situation warranted, but she was with Artie; of course, there were the looks she shot at Santana and her obvious desire to cling to Kurt like a spider monkey. And Mercedes had tits and ass for days. Of course, she also seemed to be hung up on Kurt. Rachel was pretty and pretty high-maintenance; a relationship with her probably would have ended in a murder-suicide, and he honestly didn't know which of them would be more likely to pull the trigger. Thank god Finn had claimed her.

As hot as all of them were, he hadn't reacted to them, not even to those who he believed were available. It was a strange and curious realization simply because it had never happened to him before. He always noticed how girls looked and how he would look with them. But he hadn't this time.

So he thought about the boys.

Puck was Grade A beefcake, and Sam could tell from the boy's attitude and presentation that Puck had probably fucked his way through most of the school. It was hard to reconcile that with the sweet and goofy persona Puck donned when around Kurt. Finn was handsome but bland. Mike was super hot and had amazing abs, but part of what Sam liked so much about Mike was that the boy was obviously devoted to Tina. It was sweet, but not cloyingly so. They just seemed to fit well together.

Sam thought Artie was really hot; being a dork himself, nerds and geeks tended to turn him on. His ex-boyfriend Caleb was one of those geek-chic guys, though he had more of a hipster vibe than the McFly thing Artie had going on. The wheelchair wasn't a deterrent, either. If he hadn't first laid eyes on Kurt, if Artie were into guys at all, he would've strongly considered making a move.

The other boys he'd seen in the school were all generic.

Sam supposed he should just add his name as a perspective member to the Hummel Harem, as Mercedes had termed it.

Kurt was just stunning, and Sam thought part of the allure was that Kurt shouldn't be so attractive. His features shouldn't go together, but they did, so very well. The wide feline eyes, the color of which Sam could never hope to name; the nose whose tip was slightly out of proportion with the bridge; the sharp cheekbones; the prominent chin. And those lips.

Kurt's body was tight. Hell, he couldn't even imagine just how tight Kurt was, but he sure liked thinking about it.

Legs.

And the ass was seriously stellar. Like, there were no words to describe the awesomeness that was Kurt Hummel's ass. Sam knew his own ass was pretty sweet. It was tight and firm and perky. But Kurt's ass was all of those things, plus it was full. It was just there, begging to be groped and licked and bitten into like the succulent entrée that it was. Sam just wanted to bury his face in it.

Whoa. New kink.

Awesome.

All of this didn't even take into account the flawless skin – and it was flawless. A freckle here and there, which only added to Sam's desire to reach out and run his hands over that skin. Especially the skin which covered that long, milky expanse of slender, graceful gazelle neck. He wanted to run his tongue up that neck and suck on it like a fucking vampire.

He silenced a groan as blood pooled into his crotch, his cock standing up at full salute and demanding attention.

He had it so bad for Kurt.

What the hell was he going to do about it?


Finn considered himself a pretty decent actor when he really made an effort.

He had feigned confusion over the Spanish assignment – well, his confusion was mostly feigned – and cornered Mr. Schuester for some individual attention. There was nothing unusual about this, and he had been positive Mr. Schuester would capitulate as he always did. He felt kind of bad for taking advantage of Mr. Schuester, but it was necessary if his secret plan was to work.

After pretending to pay attention for about ten minutes, Finn nodded happily, indicating he now understood the exercise and then asked Mr. Schuester if he could use the restroom. Schuester nodded and handed him a pre-made pass, and Finn hurried out of the room.

He had to find Kurt. He had to make things right between them.

After Sam had bitched him out in History, Finn knew he needed to start backpedaling immediately before word got back to Kurt, who was already furious with him. Finn just didn't understand why Kurt was so angry. Why didn't Kurt realize that Puck was dangerous and would only hurt him? Why didn't Kurt understand that hanging all over Sam would get the guy killed? He didn't care about whatever Kurt had on the jocks to make them back off; they'd only look for a new target, and Sam was the perfect opportunity.

It was nice that Kurt had brought Sam to Glee Club, and Finn knew they really needed to get Sam to join, to take Matt's place, so they'd be eligible for Sectionals. Sure, he was a little worried that Sam would steal some of the spotlight, but that was okay, as long as they could compete.

But, oh no, Kurt couldn't have just let that be the end of it. He'd had to sing with Sam. Yeah, okay, they had sounded awesome together, but two boys singing? Okay, it hadn't been a love song or a duet or anything, but what if someone had looked in? What if someone had seen them and told everyone that Kurt and Sam were dating or something? Sam would get all upset and quit before he even started.

Of course, the problem was that Sam might not do that. He actually thought he and Kurt were friends. How could Sam be so blind? Couldn't he see that Kurt was obviously in love with him? How could he stand to have Kurt touch him and sit next to him and sing with him and look at him and…

Finn was so jealous.

He was majorly jealous, and he was looking to take it out on someone. As usual, that person was Kurt.

He sighed. He was such an asshole. No wonder Kurt was always mad at him.

Other than the brief touch when they had entered the choir room, it was Sam who had been fawning over Kurt. It had been Sam who looked at Kurt with big doe eyes and those stupid pouty lips. It had been Sam who had stood at Kurt's side as Finn had made a complete asshole of himself over Kurt's friendship with Puck.

And, seriously, what the fuck was that about? Puck hadn't even allowed Quinn to call him Noah. What the hell was going on there? How could Kurt have just forgiven that dickhead?

But that didn't even matter. It was Sam Evans who was the real threat.

But why did he feel threatened? Kurt had been nothing more than perfectly nice. Kurt hadn't looked at Sam with lovesick eyes, the eyes that used to linger on Finn himself every day, the eyes that haunted his dreams even now.

He stopped in the middle of the hallway and breathed heavily. He wasn't gay. He wasn't.

It was just…it was Kurt. Kurt was so damn confusing.

Kurt made him feel so many things that all Finn felt was tied up in knots. And Kurt was taking everything from him! Kurt had taken Quinn, and now Puck. Who was next? Rachel?

He snorted. He knew very well that Kurt and Rachel would never be friends; Kurt simply didn't like her. But Kurt was acting so differently. Sure, he had insulted and argued with Rachel, but he had apologized. Finn couldn't remember the last time Kurt had apologized for anything. And Rachel was the one who had really been out of line. Kurt had been so mature and so…so commanding.

Hot.

No!

And Finn knew Kurt really hadn't taken anything away from him. Kurt hadn't become friends with Quinn until long after she and Finn had broken up. Finn and Puck had never really bothered to repair their friendship; they'd just slapped a Band-Aid over it and left it alone, hoping it would heal in its own time, but instead it had just festered. In truth, he really had no use for either Quinn or Puck. But he sure as hell didn't want them anywhere near Kurt. They would just use him and hurt him as they had Finn himself. Yeah, okay, Puck couldn't get Kurt pregnant, and Kurt would never date Quinn, so it wasn't like she could cheat on him, but it was the principle of the thing!

Why did they like Kurt more than they ever had him?

Even their brief interaction in the choir room had screamed how much Puck liked Kurt. Other than Mrs. Puckerman and his own mother, Finn had never heard anyone call Puck Noah. Even Gracie, Puck's little sister, called him Puck. Puck had been just fine with casually touching Kurt, even seeming to crave it. It had been obvious just how relieved Puck was that Kurt had forgiven him for the past bullying, and when the hell was the last time Puck had sought forgiveness from anyone? Puck legitimately liked Kurt, had stood up for him and wanted to…to care for him, like Kurt was his little brother or something.

Finn gasped. Kurt was supposed to be his little brother!

But he hadn't done such a good job of taking care of Kurt. Because Kurt scared him.

"I'm not gay!" he hissed insistently.

And he wasn't. It was just Kurt. It was only Kurt who made him question. It was Kurt who had put all of these thoughts in his head. It was Kurt who had made him start wondering about things he had never considered. He resented Kurt for that.

He hated Kurt for that.

He did hate Kurt.

He hated Kurt for looking the way he did. He hated Kurt for having a voice that could sing anything. He hated Kurt for having money. He hated Kurt for being so damn smart. He hated Kurt for always knowing just the right thing to say, whatever the situation. He hated that Kurt always had the best comebacks, and probably a dozen more he never uttered. He hated Kurt for the way he got under Rachel's skin in a way Finn himself could never accomplish.

He hated Kurt for having Burt.

He hated Kurt for having friends – real friends – who loved him and protected him and always had his back. He hated Kurt because Quinn and Puck were better friends to Kurt than they had ever been to him.

Hell, Santana liked Kurt.

Fuck, even Coach Sylvester liked Kurt!

And…and he liked Kurt. He just didn't want to.

And now, with Sam's arrival, he realized he didn't want anyone else to like Kurt either. Not that way. Not ever.

What was he going to do?

The only things he had going for him were Rachel and Glee Club. Well, not so much Glee as the fact that he was Schuester's favorite. It gave him the chance to shine in a way that football, no matter how good he was at it, never had. He knew his voice was good, but it wasn't the best. It just sounded the best with Rachel. Not that anyone else had ever really sung with her. He was worried Sam might take that from him.

He hated Sam.

The thought of Sam touching Kurt, putting his filthy hands on Kurt, made him want to puke.

Why hadn't he ever thought about this before? Of course some boy would eventually like Kurt, but he honestly hadn't thought it would happen while they were all still in Lima. And Sam did like Kurt, Finn could tell; even if Kurt, and maybe even Sam himself, didn't realize it yet.

And why wouldn't Kurt like Sam back? Sam was nice and funny and probably smart and could sing well. Sam obviously cared enough about Kurt to stand up for him and didn't care what anyone else thought about it, which was cool. Finn knew he didn't have those kinds of guts. He hated Sam for having them.

And Sam was hot. There were no two ways around that. Sam was exactly the kind of boy Kurt liked and, if that weird letterman jacket was any indication, Sam was also a jock, probably for football, which meant there was a chance Sam might take that away from him too.

Sam would take everything: Glee, football, his friends, and Kurt.

Just like Puck had taken Quinn, the baby, and Kurt.

Just like Quinn had taken Puck, the baby, and Kurt.

Finn had nothing. He was nothing.

Kurt was supposed to love him forever! Kurt was supposed to be the one true thing in his life that didn't change, that would always be there for him. Kurt was supposed to be his constant.

And maybe that would've happened, if not for that horrible night in the basement.

Finn shoved his fist in his mouth to stifle the sob.

Why had he done that? Why had he put it all on Kurt? He knew it was wrong, that it wasn't fair. And he knew that if he had just talked to Kurt, explained how confused he was, that Kurt would've backed off, been the best friend that he had been all year long, and would've helped him through it all. He knew he had been sending Kurt mixed messages, that he had kept the other boy dangling on a string, waving hope in front of him like a carrot. And he had done it because he could.

But Finn Hudson didn't talk. He pushed. And he had pushed Kurt away, because he couldn't stand wanting and needing Kurt so damn much.

And now Kurt had moved on.

Kurt had said as much. He had said that morning in Glee that he didn't love Finn anymore, that he was embarrassed he ever had, and Jesus, that had hurt. Apparently, Finn Hudson was just incredibly easy to get over.

Not that he blamed Kurt. He really didn't. He knew it was all his own fault.

But that didn't make it hurt any less.

And now he would spend the year watching Kurt be best friends with Puck, best friends with Quinn, and possibly more with Sam.

He had to stop it somehow. He had to get Kurt back.

As much as he hated Kurt at that moment, Finn hated himself more.


Finn stole down the hallway toward the choir room in what he assured himself was a very stealthy manner. He knew Kurt had a free period at this time and was sure the other boy would put it to good use by rehearsing. Finn had been startled by how good Kurt had sounded singing with Sam.

Kurt always sounded good, of course. He and Rachel were the only members of Glee who didn't partake in vocal warm-ups. They just opened their mouths and sang perfectly, flawlessly, and always on key. It was sort of irritating. Kurt would often warm up, though, probably in a bid, Finn thought, to placate Mercedes. Also, Brittany had trouble paying attention and staying on key if Kurt wasn't there to keep her on track.

Kurt thought it was cute; Finn thought it was diabolical. He'd seen the smirks on Brittany's face when Kurt would come over and correct her posture or press his palm against her stomach to open her diaphragm.

Even Finn wasn't that clueless. He'd never believed that Kurt was, either, though he seemed to have a complete and total blind spot where Brittany was concerned. She had him completely wrapped around her finger and Kurt was none the wiser. Finn was almost positive that if Kurt were straight, or even bi, he'd be with Brittany and no one else.

It was cute how naïve Kurt could sometimes be. He acted all superior and glamorous, but he could be a total spaz or would get all flustered and red and adorable when something unexpected happened.

Finn grimaced at the thought and then frowned.

Kurt didn't seem like that now, though. He was so different. Finn wondered what the hell had happened to Kurt over the summer.

He knew about the trip to Europe, but didn't know what Kurt had seen and done while away. Kurt had said during Glee that he had studied voice at some Italian school whose name made Rachel look like she was fighting diarrhea. Finn hadn't understood what the big deal was; he still didn't. Kurt sounded, to him, the same as he always did: awesome. But Rachel was real smart about vocal stuff, so he could only assume she had detected some improvements in Kurt's voice. He was sure they would only make her more paranoid.

Finn knew Kurt had been to a bunch of different countries, but he couldn't remember which ones. Some of them sounded so weird that he was pretty sure their names were made up. But now he wondered what else Kurt had learned, other than Portuguese and Irish, which Finn still didn't believe was an actual language. Maybe it was for leprechauns.

Kurt kind of looked like a leprechaun. Well, before the summer he had. Now he looked all...

Fuckable.

Stupid brain.

Why had he never known Kurt's hair was naturally wavy? He had seen Kurt's hair in the locker room after a shower. It hadn't been wavy then. Well, maybe a little. He'd always tried not to look at Kurt too closely in the locker room, just in case any of the other jocks saw him looking. Damn, maybe that was why Kurt was always fussing with his hair, trying to keep it straight. That was stupid. Wavy hair was awesome. Especially on Kurt. And the streaks of blond were amazing, even more so because they were natural. Quinn streaked her hair to make it more blond. That was maintenance; Kurt's hair was glorious. It looked like it belonged in some painting of an angel or something.

Finn had envied Quinn her opportunity to run her fingers through Kurt's hair. He bet it really was as soft as it looked. Given the way Quinn had been purring like a contented kitten, he imagined so. He wondered if Kurt's hair still smelled like coconuts and lime.

The tan was the most major thing, though. Mostly because he couldn't help but picture what Kurt had been wearing – or not wearing – to get such a dark, even color. A tan that was all over, because it went up his arms and what was exposed of his chest was just as dark. He wondered if Kurt had worn shorts. He had never seen Kurt wear shorts. Had Kurt worn short-shorts?

Probably any shorts would be shorts on those long legs Kurt had. He couldn't even imagine what had compelled Kurt to go out into the sun. Finn had always wondered if Kurt was a secret vampire, given how pale he was. But considering Kurt hated all things Twilight and didn't sparkle without the aid of body glitter, he supposed not.

Unless it was all some elaborate ruse to lull the citizens of Lima into a false sense of security. Hm.

The clothes were amazing. Finn could easily believe that Kurt had designed them. They all but reeked of class and elegance and Kurt, and he looked much better in them than he did in his Dolce and Cabana or whatever. Before, Kurt had always looked like he was trying too hard, and Finn could never figure out why. Sure, Kurt looked good in those clothes, but it wasn't like any secret homos had been creaming their jeans over his latest scarf.

Wait. Had there been?

Finn gnashed his teeth.

Sneaky gays! Why couldn't all gays be like Kurt?

Whoa. Evil happy thoughts.

Stop it!

Kurt looked like he had grown…into himself. He seemed more at peace with himself, and thus with everyone and everything around him. He didn't get as ruffled as easily. Old Kurt would have been shrieking right along with Rachel during that fight Finn had with Puck during Glee.

Kurt smelled different, too. Finn had never known what Kurt's old cologne was, but it had smelled good, like wood chips and flowers. Spicy and pretty, which pretty much summed up Old Kurt.

New Kurt smelled like pink grapefruit and freshly-mown lawn and something else Finn couldn't quite identify. It smelled fresh and clean, like after a thunderstorm, but when there was still the odor of lightning in the air. Ozarks? Ozone? Something.

New Kurt smelled like citrus and grass and lightning. It was delicious. It had taken everything Finn had inside him not to lean over, stick his nose against Kurt's neck, and inhale deeply. The only reason he hadn't was because he thought Kurt might have kicked him in the nuts. Even if Kurt hadn't, Santana definitely would have.

New Kurt was a lot more calm. New Kurt didn't let Mercedes bait him anymore. New Kurt made out with Santana. New Kurt was blackmailing his tormenters to end both his bullying and that of Glee. New Kurt was making friends with new kids. New Kurt didn't argue with Rachel, but instead made comments which were carefully crafted to allow her to hang herself out to dry. New Kurt's voice was much more controlled and smooth. New Kurt spoke with a musical cadence that was slow and drawling instead of breathless and overexcited. New Kurt hardly smirked or rolled his eyes or snorted or scoffed or mumbled clever insults under his breath.

New Kurt looked you right in the eye and was perfectly pleasant, even when he was angry with you. It reminded Finn of his mom's favorite show, The Closer. Kurt was just like Kyra Sedgwick on that show, but without the southern accent. Like, Kurt could totally smile at you and say thank you so much and it really translated to fuck off and die, you useless sack of elephant shit. Old Kurt had always been classy if snarky, but New Kurt had a patience and tolerance that were shocking, even if they were feigned.

New Kurt shook hands easily, rather than warily. New Kurt had eyes which were no longer guarded, but vaguely distant, like he wasn't hiding anymore, but rather waiting to be found. New Kurt grinned a lot more, and they were genuine smiles, not faked or pained. New Kurt now only called him Finn Hudson when he was in trouble, like his mom did, in a tone that was mildly scolding rather than flirtatious.

New Kurt appeared to have complete control of himself and no longer felt the need to control everything around him.

New Kurt had grown up, and Old Finn was feeling very much left behind. He also had the sense that New Kurt would no longer tolerate old friends who never learned their lessons.

New Kurt didn't want him, and Old Finn still needed to be wanted.


Finn swallowed heavily and pressed his ear to the choir room door, listening for any signs of life. He closed his eyes and pictured Kurt moving around the space, hips wiggling and hands fluttering, eyes alight with mischief and pride as they always were when he sang.

That was the primary reason why Finn preferred Kurt's voice over Rachel's. Both were justifiably proud of what their voices could do, but Kurt wanted the audience to experience the song with him; he wanted them to feel what he felt. Lyrics were important to Kurt. He chose his songs carefully to communicate something about him, about someone else, or about what he perceived as the human condition.

Rachel wanted people to realize how good she was – and she was; damn good – but her performances were just that. They were showcases for her voice, and while she made faces and crazy eyes when she sang, she was always somewhat removed from the song itself, like she was hiding something. It was weird, and a little spooky.

Finn startled out of his thoughts and shook his head to clear it.

He was going to go in there and demand that New Kurt start acting like Old Kurt. No Puck. No Quinn. No Santana. No Sam. No other boys. Well, except for Artie. Finn wasn't sure Artie's junk actually worked. Brittany said it did, but she also said that she could cast Harry Potter spells with her ruler.

What was he doing again?

Getting Kurt back. Right!

But what was he going to do with Kurt once he had him?

He bit his lip.

There was the rub.

Yeah, he knew Shakespeare. So?


Finn carefully and gently pushed open the door to the choir room, stopping just before the hinges would start to squeak. He knew how the door worked. He knew how to spy.

Kurt was sitting behind the piano, staring off into space.

Finn frowned, puzzling over what to call the look on Kurt's face. Kurt didn't look sad or angry or happy; Finn knew those looks. Kurt also didn't look upset or depressed or scheming. He didn't look lost or evil or innocent or like anything, really, but neither did he look blank.

Kurt looked…thoughtful, Finn supposed, like he was remembering something, but there was a trace of something else. Restlessness?

Idly, Kurt's fingers plinked at the keys.

Finally, Kurt sighed quietly and stood up. Finn backed away and pulled the door shut slightly.

He watched as Kurt rummaged through his messenger bag and withdrew his iPod.

Kurt was going to sing! He loved listening to Kurt sing. He just hated that he always felt forced to look bored and uninterested when doing so. Finn quickly decided he'd rather listen to Kurt sing than have an awkward conversation which would probably end in Kurt being mad at him. Kurt could be mad at him some other time. Kurt was usually mad at him anyway.

Kurt dropped his iPod in the docking station and stood before the piano, facing out at the empty room.

Some kind of cool whistling noise erupted from the speakers. Finn didn't know what kind of instrument could make that sound, but he assumed it was a woodwind. Probably one of the more obscure ones for which the band program didn't offer students instruction. It was quickly joined by the strumming of a guitar and a gentle percussion that had Finn's fingers itching to learn.

Finn didn't recognize the song. Of course, he didn't know most of the selections Kurt chose. He didn't really like Broadway. This didn't sound like a Broadway song, though. It sounded surprisingly adult, like something his mom would listen to. He'd always appreciated that Kurt's musical tastes were more varied and eclectic than Rachel's own.

An electronic keyboard joined the melee and Finn leaned against the jamb of the door and waited for Kurt to begin.

"Better not tell her…"

Finn blinked and told himself to forget how seductive Kurt sounded. He tilted his head. Her?

"…that I was your lover."

Finn's eyes bulged and his mouth fell open. What?


"Better not make her jealous of me," Kurt continued, his voice husky and slightly rough as he dipped into his chest voice, which he now regrettably realized he had not trained nearly as well as he had his head voice.

He rarely used his lower register because the notes got away from him too easily and he abhorred not being in control. However, it suited the song and he was alone. He knew he didn't sound bad, just different.


Jealous of whom? Of Kurt? What?

Finn began panicking.

No.

No, this absolutely could not be happening.


"Better convince her there was nothing between us. I'm not those initials in your diary."

Kurt absently wondered why the song – its lyrics, rather – were so easy for him to sing. He didn't feel awkward or exposed or even slightly choked. There was a modicum of guilt, of course, but he had really done nothing wrong; neither of them had. They had both been single at the time, despite each having feelings for other people. They hadn't intended to hurt anyone, and indeed no one had been hurt.

Miraculously, they had also somehow managed not to hurt each other – no small feat.

They had parted willingly and civilly, if not necessarily as friends. Too much existed between them after those weeks together.

In a very profound way, the separation had been welcomed and somewhat of a relief, though there were still occasional pangs of longing. Kurt thought perhaps there always might be.

After all, he imagined that everyone wanted to be able to look back on their first time with tenderness and fondness. He was one of the lucky ones who would always treasure that experience, thankful to the one with whom he had shared it. It had been the right thing and the right feeling at the right time with the right man.

His first sexual experience was one of the few things Kurt Hummel, in his rather short and bleak life, did not regret, and it had inspired him to make other gratifying and pivotal changes in his life and how he chose to live it.


Finn doubled over with agony, careful not to let the door slip from his grasp, lest its closure signal to Kurt that he was being watched. It was so rare to catch a glimpse of Kurt unguarded, exposed, that Finn knew if his presence were discovered, not only would Kurt never forgive him, Kurt would take to avoiding him at all costs, most likely after making some creative and horrifying threats.

He forced himself to breathe slowly, in and out through his nose. His mind raced, telling him repeatedly that he was overreacting, that the song meant nothing, that not everything sung was autobiographical, but he knew that, in this case, it was a lie.

Kurt had slept with someone over the summer. Kurt had had sex. Kurt had lost his virginity, and not to him.

That was why Kurt had changed, because his world had, as had Finn's own after that…thing…with Santana.

He flashed back to Puck's obnoxious interrogation of Kurt during rehearsal, and it was only now that Finn realized Kurt had never answered the question.

Finn was surprised by the tears painfully pricking at his eyes. He had tried and tried and tried to convince himself that what he felt for Kurt wasn't love, that it wasn't even lust. It was something that hadn't been created or born or nurtured. It was just something that existed, like God, or Paris Hilton. It was present, but could be ignored.

He couldn't love Kurt. He was supposed to love Rachel.

But he hadn't been able to ignore it for a very long time now. He had tried so hard to ignore Kurt, and it had worked for a while, but then it had exploded like a supernova or Lindsay Lohan's police record.

Finn knew what it meant that Kurt had had sex, because he felt he understood how Kurt viewed sex. They might not have had a lot in common, and, though they had never discussed it explicitly, Finn had somehow known that sex would matter to Kurt, as it did with him, as it should have had for him, but he had wasted his first time. He had slept with someone for the sake of it, not because he was in love with his partner. Christ, he didn't even like Santana. But she had been there, she had been willing, and he had been horny.

There had been no fireworks, no white noise or blackouts of pleasure. There had just been the completion of a biological urge and an enormous letdown and sense of disappointment.

It wouldn't have been like that with Kurt. Or Rachel, probably.

Right. He loved Rachel. He was pretty sure that if he just kept telling both her and himself that, he would eventually start to believe it. Nothing could happen with Kurt. He'd made that clear by shooting his mouth off in the basement.

But that didn't stop him from wondering how Kurt's affair had started, and how it had ended. Or if it had ended at all.

What if it hadn't? What if Kurt had a…a boyfriend? Some smarmy European dude with three first names and olive skin who lived in a castle and wanted to keep his claws in Kurt. Kurt, who was so sweet and so naïve and so rich and so…no longer innocent.

Kurt had had sex.

Finn's mind reeled.

"But if you slip and my name comes up, don't deny that you knew me."

Finn dimly began registering the words of the song, no longer caring whether or not they were directly applicable to Kurt's Secret Gay Affair. Because he was pretty sure they were. And if he was hearing right, Kurt had done the nasty with a dude who had a girlfriend. That was just mind-boggling. It was so not Kurt. Not after all the vitriol Kurt had spewed about the cheating ways of Puck and Quinn.

Of course, Kurt had forgiven them for screwing over his supposed best friend. Not that Kurt had ever called him his best friend, and, if truth be told, Mercedes was Kurt's best friend. Though they hadn't seemed so chummy this morning. But Mercedes was always so bossy and possessive of Kurt. Honestly, Finn didn't know how Kurt could stand her.

Finn saw red once more. Puck and Quinn were responsible for this! They were to blame for turning Kurt into some…some harlot! Obviously when Finn had lost his nut and blown up at Kurt, he had turned to Quinn and Puck for comfort, and they had corrupted him with their foul and devious ways! That was probably why Puck had been hanging all over Kurt that morning. Puck must've known that Kurt had gotten laid, and now he figured Kurt would be all his for easy sex.

It was never more apparent that Puck needed to die.

Still, how could Kurt have slept with some guy who had a girlfriend? Not only was it abetting adultery, but Kurt had told him once that he didn't believe in bisexuality, that it was just a buzz word people used when they couldn't face who they really were.

Did that mean Kurt had changed his mind about that? Because if that was the case, then maybe…

No.

Not now.

Not after Kurt had been..had been defiled.

Not after Kurt had been ravaged by some French-Italian-Spaniard with a charming accent and an uncut cock!


"Just leave out the white nights, the moon in your window; the break in your whisper, the promises after."

There were moments late at night when Kurt closed his eyes and could still hear him panting in his ear, could still feel him moving atop his body. In those moments, Kurt had never felt so free and unencumbered, yet so safe and protected.

He had felt beautiful in those hours, that handful of days which had seemed to stretch into eternity, though both knew their time together was limited and would never be repeated. In those hours, Kurt had known the words slipping forth from His mouth were little more than incredibly lovely lies, spoken wishes of secret truths which would never come to fruition, and he had accepted them as such.

He didn't begrudge the falsities, but instead acknowledged that, had they found each other in another time and place, perhaps they would have had a chance. He had preferred not to dwell on such maudlin thoughts, however, choosing instead to focus on the hot, lush mouth before him, on the compact muscles gliding beneath his searching fingers, on the silken skin which glowed like cultured pearls in the moonlight seeping through the foulard drapes, billowing out from the French windows.

He had learned that promises were made in desperation or exaltation, having little meaning in the moments in between, yet he harbored no malice. Once he had that realization, everything else had fallen into place, and he had understood that life wasn't quite as hard as he had been making it out to be. In the end, all anyone could truly call their own was their choices, so he had chosen love, for that was what they had shared. Fleeting, yes, but real all the same.

His acceptance of this had triggered acceptance in his lover, and then hands had become words and they had no longer needed to speak.


"Better not tell her why you love Spanish dancing. Don't bother to say that it's hot in the summer in Madrid."

It must have happened in Madrid, Finn surmised. He knew Kurt had traveled extensively throughout Spain, but he just couldn't understand how Kurt could have met someone, let alone found time to have sex with him, during so brief a sojourn, especially as he had been accompanied by his grandmother and his tutors. Had his grandmother known how Kurt was spending his nights? Had she approved? Had she not cared?

He watched as Kurt moved about the room. Finn recognized the dance, courtesy of Rachel's relentless lectures, as the tango, the most passionate of Latin dances. Had Kurt danced the tango with his…whatever the hell the guy was supposed to be? Kurt's talent and flexibility had never been as showcased as they were in this moment. The way his hips moved, as though independent of his body, the way he flowed from one position into another like water, was breathtaking, though Finn found it obscene and obscenely ugly.

He noticed that Kurt's hands were raised slightly above his neck, as if grasping the shoulders of an invisible partner. But what Finn couldn't figure out was why Kurt didn't look sad. He just looked nostalgic, as though he was remembering something wonderful yet finite.

So maybe Kurt and Mystery Date were over? Well, that was good. Right?

Yes.


"Mmm, let it all go now, like smoke from a candle, like the trace of a song that you hear in the wind."

There were only remnants of feeling left, as though their time had been quilted together but with missing pieces, stitches frayed and sloppy, yet sturdy. He didn't feel as though anything was amiss, however. He didn't feel as though he had loved and lost, because he had never expected to find love, any romantic form of it, at that point in his life. Were he honest with himself, he had never believed he would ever find love, that he would allow himself to do so.

Once free of Lima, though, he had greedily embraced everything the world had to offer. Indeed, he had realized that nothing was really offered; it was seized.

His first night in Paris, dead on his feet and longing for sleep, he had dined with his grandmother, who had given him a hard, searching look and demanded to know if he was happy. He hadn't answered right away; not because he didn't wish to, and not because he had been in search of sympathy, but because he hadn't know what happiness was. Could it be qualified? Could it be contained and measured, and, if so, against what?

He hadn't been happy in a very long time. In fact, he didn't know if he ever had been. He debated whether his treasured memories of his mother constituted happiness, finally deciding that, were that the case, happiness was steeped in blissful ignorance. But did that truly represent happiness? No, he had told himself.

So he had told Katrine as much. No, he wasn't happy, and he didn't know how to change it.

She had scoffed and told him quite plainly that people chose happiness. You couldn't expect it, you couldn't demand it; you had to choose it. You had to wake up in the morning and decide that happiness would be yours because you would not allow it to escape your grasp. One was happy because one wanted to be happy. It really was just that simple.

And he had found that to be the case. It had taken him a few days of wrestling with the concept, of the utter banality and brilliance of it, to appreciate its simplicity and elegance. The next morning, he had woken up and decided to be happy. He had decided that Finn wasn't worth the heartache and the strife, that he had inflated the other boy's qualities to the extent that no one could ever live up to them, and his heart lightened and he had felt that first glimmer of happiness.

As he toured les Jardins de Luxembourg, he had decided that Glee Club would ultimately be little more than a footnote on his high school transcripts, so there was no point in wrestling Rachel for control of it. The sun shone just a little bit brighter at that recognition, and that elusive happiness began to take root.

As the days bled into weeks, as he attended lectures at the Sorbonne and classes as Le Cordon Bleu, as he traveled across the Channel and explored every bookshop in London and ate far too many chips and perfected a posh accent, as he crossed into Ireland and then up to Iceland, back down into Scotland and then England once more, before returning to France via Calais, as he had opened himself to new ideas and new perspectives and new influences and new teachers and new people, he had excised those parts of him that had been born from and responded only to pain.

It had hurt to let those pieces go. At first, he was convinced that if he released them, there would be nothing left of him at all, until he finally understood that it was those parts that had been holding him back for years. It was those pieces, fashioned by despair and fear and self-loathing, that had programmed his behavior, had determined his response to everything from what to have for dinner to a reply to a morning salutation to how he answered the phone.

And as he shed those parts of him, he began a literal growth spurt, as though he were unfurling from the crouched and deformed creature he had allowed himself to become, and he also began shedding those clothes, those ridiculous clothes, that he had worn like a bright, fashionable suit of armor. He no longer needed them, and they no longer fit.

Then there was new clothes and new countries and a new attitude and a new life.

Finally, there was happiness.

Finally he could look at his mother's pictures without bursting into tears. He still cried, of course, but mostly because he had been blessed with a mother who had loved him with everything she had, and that was her greatest legacy. She would have been appalled had she seen what he had allowed himself to become: a bitter, lonely little boy with a poisonous wit who was so busy lamenting what he didn't have, that he never stopped to appreciate what he did.

His memories of his mother were no longer bitter, but instead had become bittersweet. He would always miss her, would always want her back, and would always remember her with some gentle trace of sadness, but he had let go of the anger and the survivor's guilt.

Finally he could sing with everything that he was and everything he knew he could be. He wasn't competing with Rachel. He wasn't trying to impress Mr. Schuester. He wasn't trying to gain Finn's attention. For so long, he had viewed singing as his only available avenue of self-expression; as his discount therapy, so to speak. He had focused so hard on finding the perfect song, on arranging it to suit his needs, on adapting the lyrics to reflect his situation, on perfecting his vocals to win the approval of others, that he had somehow allowed himself to become Rachel.

He had been trying so long and so desperately to be the perfect singer that he had forgotten the absolute joy of singing. He had forgotten what it felt like to wake up in the morning and wanting to burst into song, simply because he had woken up.

He had taken the little things for granted and blown the unimportant out of proportion. His entire life had been out of proportion, and that was why he had been unhappy for as long as he could remember.

Katrine had been right: it was a conscious choice to be happy. It wasn't easy, either. You had to be willing to let things go, including parts of yourself that you had previously used to identify yourself. You had to be willing to excuse the faults of others unless you wanted to be held to your own impossible standards; an uneasy feat, to be sure. You had to look deep inside yourself, past your own layers of defense and subterfuge, to the person who lurked underneath, the one you tried so hard to hide from everyone, including yourself, and you had to come to know that person. You had to want to know that person. You had to learn to love that person.

And, yes, sometimes love hurt, but you were a better person for having loved.

Kurt Hummel became a better person.

Kurt Hummel became happy.

And then Kurt Hummel had gone to Madrid and found an altogether different type of happiness. It had been short-lived, but nevertheless true and wonderful in its brevity. He had come to be thankful for that time, rather than rueful that it had ended. It had been, overall, a positive experience.

Those had always been of short supply in his life. He was glad they were beginning to accumulate.


"Leave out the tears and the laughter. She won't need to know…"

Judging from the song, Finn guessed that Kurt's Euro Trip had also resulted in the loss of his lover.

Lover. What a queer word. Not queer as in gay, but as in strange.

It was a weird word. It was even weird to say. It sounded so old-fashioned. Who addressed someone as their lover, anyway?

My sexy lovahhh.

He sure hoped that Kurt's unnamed and probably unsexy lover was still in Europe and would remain there forevermore. He didn't want some douchebag Spanish viscount skipping across the Pond to take Kurt away from all of this. He also hoped that Kurt wouldn't pout and mope over said douchebag. It had been bad enough that Kurt had been moping over him last year. He didn't want to spend another year watching Kurt being miserable all the damn time. Not the least of which was because it would mean that Kurt still had feelings for the mysterious viscount.

No, Finn decided it was best that Kurt move on from his summer romance. He would help the little guy with this. Not that Kurt was so little anymore. Especially not where it counted. Because he had seen Kurt in the locker room and…yeah. Brittany hadn't been exaggerating. Kurt would make someone a very happy dolphin. And as long as that dolphin wasn't Sam or Puck or anyone in the Lima vicinity, Finn would be happy.

Finn was sure that with just a little more time, he would come to a decision and either admit that he considered Kurt more than just a friend, or they would all go off to college and he'd never have to deal with it. Maybe their parents would just get married and then Kurt would be his brother and all of the strange feelings would go away. Because incest was just nasty. Unless your last name was Winchester and you starred on a CW show.

Not that Finn watched that show.

There was a guy named Sam on that show. Suddenly, Finn didn't like that Sam either.

Sam was a stupid name, and it didn't go well with Kurt. What would people call them? Skurt? That was just pathetic. The only thing worse would be if they became known as Kum. Ew.

Kinn was so much cooler. Even Furt was acceptable, if marginal.

Hevans, his brain hissed at him.

No! That was too cute, too sweet.

Ugh! He could just imagine all the Cheerios referring to Sam and Kurt as Hevans and squealing about how cute they were and how they had enough lips between them to satisfy a small country.

He wondered if Sam's lips were real. He was sure they couldn't possibly be as soft as Kurt's. Not that he had ever kissed Kurt, but he had shaken Kurt's hand, and it had been amazingly soft, so it stood to reason his lips would be even softer. Big, beautiful, soft lips.

He wondered if Kurt had given head to his summer lover. The thought sickened him only slightly less than Kurt's cherry being popped. That is, if Kurt had been the catcher. What if Kurt had been the pitcher? Finn couldn't even imagine that possibility. Still, he didn't know for sure. He didn't think he'd ever be comfortable enough to catch anything other than a football. The whole idea scared him, but didn't necessarily sicken him.

That was some pretty dangerous thinking.

And now Kurt knew all about gay sex. Like, he had first-hand experience.

Kurt was experienced.

Kurt had…given himself away.

Finn knew he had to get out of there before Kurt saw him. He also knew he was going to have to put on the acting performance of his life. It would be the greatest role he ever played, pretending not to know what Kurt had done, pretending to be uncaring and untroubled. Kurt would take one look at him and know something was wrong, so Finn would have to avoid the other boy.

But lunch was next period. How could he calmly sit and enjoy his peanut butter and pickle sandwich while sitting across from Kurt? And Kurt was sure to bring Sam along, not to mention that Puck would probably be there, as well, hanging all over Kurt.

Finn couldn't risk it, he knew. He'd have to skip or sit at another table. But that meant explaining to Rachel why didn't want to sit with Glee. If he lied to her, she'd see right through him.

What was he going to do now?

Leave, idiot! his brain howled. The song is almost over.

Panicked, Finn went to pull the door closed, but the knob slipped right out of his sweaty hand. He quickly wiped it on the front of his jeans and then tried again. Mercifully, it worked.

"That I'd die for your love. That I still love you."

Finn raced the bathroom to vomit.


End Notes:

The song Kurt performed in this chapter was "Better Not Tell Her," by Carly Simon, and is available on her CD Have You Seen Me Lately?