A/N: here, finally! And with one more chapter and one miniature sequel to go. huzzah. 8D


Seven: Eventually

"I must say, I'm impressed, boys," the male director commends, approaching my boyfriend (how I love that word!) and I. He plants a hand on each of our shoulders, shaking us lightly. "You had some rough spots with your acting and singing in the middle there, and I don't know what that was all about, but you really came through. You pulled it off, and now we can wrap up the limited shows of this play with tomorrow night's final performance. I expect only the best from the both of you! You're the greatest. You both, plus Samantha and Eric; those two as Mimi and Roger feel realer than the film, huh?"

We laugh, agreeing, and watch as he walks away. The Bitch-I-Hate-So-Much stops by. "Finally your chemistry is back! You two were royally pissing me off for a while there. Good to see you got your acts together. But Kurt, you should do better with your choreography –"

Dave scowls, taking a step in front of me. "Like you're one to talk! You just bark orders at all of us and shove what we do right aside, only pointing out our flaws. Can you just shut up already? You're not even the main director! You're the assistant director! So don't pick on Kurt, all right?"

She looks floored, angered, but suddenly her expression melts into some even more cruel. "Oh, wait. I get it. You two are dating, aren't you? Ha! No wonder you're so protective of him, and why your chemistry works now but sucked for a while. You two must've had a little spat and now you've kissed and made up. How adorable," she says, sneering, and I want nothing more than to slap her. She turns abruptly on her spiky high heels and marches away.

I rest my hand on Dave's shoulder, taking a step closer to him. "Are you okay?" I question. His face is contorted and his hands are in fists, as if he's about to beat the crap out of her.

He takes in a slow, shaky breath. "…Yeah. I think so." He forces his face to go lax, then turns his gaze to link with mine. "Thanks, Kurt."

I wave it aside, rubbing his shoulder with my thumb. "Just don't let other people get to you. That's how we can work on any temperament or self-esteem issues you might have."

Dave offers a smile. "I guess so. I'm just glad I have you here to keep me in line."

I wink. "Hopefully not too straight of a line," I joke, poking fun at both how I like messed-up people – perfection is too boring; I like the drama – and at his pretend-heterosexuality of the past. He catches one or both of the jokes and laughs, pulling me into a one-armed hug.

"Stop being cute," he says, "It's too much."

I snuggle into his side. "I can't help it! I was born that way, you know."

And after we separate to gather our things to leave, Dave turns toward me and proposes, "Hey, tomorrow is Valentine's day, the last show, and I was thinking it'd be the opportune time to go out. You know, celebrate being in a play – it'll help build our resumes and auditions, now, to say that we were in this production of Rent – as well as celebrate the Day of Love. So what d'ya say?"

"I say yes, of course. Do you even need to ask at this point?" I retort, utterly gleeful. The smile on my mouth right now could split a building in two.

He chuckles mildly. "Okay. Just checking." He stretches as he shrugs on his coat. "I hate February, though. I wish this month was over with already."

I roll my eyes. "I know, right? It's the shortest and longest month ever."

Dave grins. "That reminds me of a stupid pun-type joke." He raises a finger. "What's the shortest and longest sentence?"

"I dunno, what?"

"'I do.'"

It takes me all but half a second until I get it. I laugh. "Very clever. 'I do' as in at a wedding. It's only two words long as a sentence of grammar, but it lasts forever as a life sentence." I shake my head. "Where'd you pick that up?"

He shrugs. "My dad. He jokingly leaned over to me at my cousin's wedding during my senior year of high school. I ruined the silence of the church when I snickered aloud."

I shake my head at him lovingly. "Oh, you." We march out the doors together and pace down the street, side-by-side. I make a couple hop-steps in front of him and start walking backwards so that I can face him while I speak. "Hey, where should we go tomorrow after the play, anyhow? It'll be really late, maybe ten or eleven. Hardly even V-Day any longer, and only bars will be open for the most part."

Dave grins. "So what if Valentine's will be technically over by then? It's the thought that counts. I have a present for you before the show anyway."

My face goes pale. "Oh, no," I groan, "I didn't get you anything!"

He stops, and I stop, and he reaches out to muss my hair. "You know I hate that sort of thing. Getting gifts and surprises annoy me. I did it because I wanted to, and actually, I was going to wait for your birthday, but that's just too far away. So think of it as just… a token of my love?"

I smile. "Okay." I spin to stand beside him, linking his elbow with mine. Normally he doesn't like public displays of affection – the PDA-ness is uncomfortable for him because he's still weird about being labeled a homosexual, I think – but lately he's been lenient enough for this. I think that kiss at the roller rink back in December helped change him a little. "So… where, again?"

He looks like he forgot I asked already. "Oh; I was just thinking my apartment around the fireplace, you know, with a little wine and cheese and crackers and chocolate. But if you want to go out –"

I shake my head, smiling broader. "Nah. I like that idea better than a restaurant or something. Besides, I'll be too tired to go anywhere else." I give him my pleading look. "But may I sleep over? Pretty please?"

He frowns at me, scolding lightly, "Kurt, we had this conversation before: no sex." As if I'm some horny teenager again. Pfft.

I stomp my foot while we walk. "No! I wasn't talking about that, I swear. I just like your apartment and spending more time with you, that's all."

He sighs, caving in. "All right, fine. You can spend the night."

I decide to push a little further, leaning into him a little. "May I sleep in your bed?"

He rolls his eyes at me. "You can have the couch; I want my own bed."

"…May I sleep with you in your bed?" I add lowly, playing up my more sultry tones.

I can feel him shudder. "Kurt…" he sighs, gritting his teeth. "You… you're just infuriating at times."

I grin. "I know~," I reply in a chipper voice. "So, can I? You're always so warm."

After what feels like forever, he gives in with a hang of his head. "Fine."

"Thanks, Dave," I say, leaning my head on his shoulder for a second. "You're the sweetest stick-in-the-mud I've ever had the pleasure to know."

"Yeah, yeah… whatever," Dave responds listlessly. But his eyes are smiling.

.o0o.

Nothing quite compares to the sense of pride and exceptional bliss that comes with being applauded when you comeback out onto the stage after a performance and make your final bows. As I grasp Dave's hand and duck down a few times, all I can hear are the roars and hoots and hollers of whistles and cheers and constantly clapping hands.

Backstage, all of us actors wait for the seats in the theatre to empty. We give hugs to one another, swap some phone numbers with friends we've made (I grab Samantha's number, because even though we rarely interacted as characters on stage, we became the best of friends backstage), and wish each other luck on future parts in other plays, and even the same one a second time if it makes a comeback again.

As people leave, Dave takes my hand. "Let's slip out the back early," he murmurs into my ear, leaning in for me to hear him over the idle chatter.

"Okay," I agree, following him through a hidden, roundabout path through the set and out a back door into an alleyway. He brings us around front to a store behind the Oriental, and we hail a cab. On the ride there, we don't say much. But once we get to his apartment, the first thing Dave does upon closing his door is press me up against it, one hand locking it and the other touching my jaw.

"I think this was your best performance yet," he smiles. He plants a kiss on my mouth that I try to lengthen, but he stops me. "Your singing was fantastic. I felt pale in comparison."

I loop my arms around his neck. "That's a lie. You were amazing, too," I whisper, and teasingly kiss him before muttering against his mouth, "So, when do I get my present?"

"Spoiled brat," he grins, leaning off of me and moving into the kitchenette, then down the hall. I step at a snail's pace around the corner, peering down the hall. Dave returns from his bedroom doorway, a bit messily wrapped package in his hands. It's nearly as wide as his torso.

I raise an eyebrow. "This is just a hunch, but even though you got paid by the Oriental after New Year's, did you by chance spend that money on this?"

"This… and the utilities for this apartment," he explains. "Believe it or not, mine costs more than yours because of the fireplace upkeep and location."

"That sucks," I remark idly, taking the proffered gift into my hands. It feels a little heavy. "What is this?" I frown at the conundrum in my hands. I shake it lightly, and Dave makes a face. I cease my movements only to drop down onto the couch, placing the box in my lap.

Dave turns around and busies himself with getting that mini inferno he promised me started in the fireplace. I carefully tear open the paper, all shiny red and silver, and pluck off the bow to pop onto my chest. I'm amused by all of the black Sharpie covering anything remotely related to a hint as to what the product is.

I'm reminded idly of those skates he bought for me. At least this time he isn't playing it off like they were given on accident. I haven't called him out on the skates just yet, despite the fact that we've skated together a handful of times since.

I rip open the tape on the box and shuffle through foam. I hate packing foam. It's ugly and non-recyclable and obnoxious.

When I finally get to the gift itself, I can't speak. I stare at it in my hands, wonder how Dave knew, wondering how he found it, wondering all sorts of little things that my mouth is too dazed to voice.

"…If you don't like it, you can tell me," Dave says gruffly, looking confused by my lack jaw and unblinking eyes. He comes to sit beside me on the couch, and I somehow manage to stop my mouth from hanging open. "But, uh, I can't take it back. It was kind of a one-time-purchase sort of deal."

A steady smile makes its way onto my face. I snap out of my surprise, blinking, and set the gift between us on the couch, leaning over to squeeze him tightly. "No, Dave. I would kill you if you tried to take this back. I love it. You don't even know how much! I mean… it's just… I've always wanted the full collection of black-and-white film-noir movies of the thirties, forties, and fifties, but I never knew where to look or if I could ever afford it! I was, like, obsessed with Bette Davis in particular when I was younger, and I still love her films. How did you know? I've never dropped hints that I like this sort of thing, and yet here they are, all of them, ranging from just about every classic I can think of to even a few I've never heard of, but am sure are awesome, and –"

Dave laughs, silencing me with a finger on my lips. "It was just a hunch," he smiles weakly. "To be honest, it just seemed like something you might enjoy, and… I happen to like old movies myself. I used to watch them religiously with my mother on rainy days before my middle school years before I thought grew out of them. I miss them, now, and they never air any more. So, I thought: I'll go on Amazon and find a new or used set and we could enjoy them together."

"Well," I grin brightly, "This is mega-sweet of you. Truly thoughtful." I lean over. "And you deserve a reward for it."

Dave raises an eyebrow. "What sort of reward?" he murmurs, also leaning over, chin pointed forward and eyes half-closed, ready for a kiss.

All too quickly, I pull back and stand up. I throw out my arms. "Dinner and dessert, of course! I'm going to make you a glorious feast and the best damn dessert dish of you life this weekend."

"What? You'll make me fat again!" He hangs his head before laughing. "You had me going there for a moment. I was thinking of… er, well, a sexual reward."

I snicker behind one hand. "Yes, I know I did." I bend over, looking down at him. "And while I'm talented at such things, admittedly not a virgin in that sense of the word, I also happen to be a fabulous cook, thanks to the Food Network and its chefs."

He grins. "I believe it, on all accounts. I also don't doubt that you'll deliver. But, uh, can I at least have a kiss?"

"There will be time for that later," I reply simply. I move into the kitchenette, looking for the bottle of previously-spoken-of wine.

We spend the remainder of the evening enjoying ourselves in front of the fireplace, curled up on the floor in each other's arms. I feel safe here, and I'm more than happy to see Dave so relaxed and comforted. It's something I've never really known on him, an expression and demeanor that, until recently, I could never picture. It's odd, contrasting the past to the present, and I shouldn't do it very often to being with, but as it happens, it helps me appreciate the present and accept how things are even more.

.o0o.

Three months pass.

It's May, just the start of, and the sun is warm and bright, the city growing hotter each day, and summer is right around the corner, even as a lingering spring breeze sweeps through Chicago on occasion to ruffle my clothes and remind me of the unpredictability of Illinois weather.

But it's quaint, and I like the feel of it. Dave and I decide to take a walk through one of the more nature-oriented parks outside the heart of the city where we live.

We're making decent money now, and recently, a man approached the two of us separately, saying that he was a fan of our work during Rent and wanted to know if he could cast us in an independent film of his, a music he wrote himself. We wholeheartedly agreed, because money is money, but also because the plot sounds intricate and entertaining; we would have to play high school students again (something that made us laugh), only we would be attending a school on a space shuttle, since, in his screenplay, Earth has long since been overpopulated and had to resort to living partially in the Earth's orbit. The idea is a little silly, but could make for one interesting little movie, so we agreed. He told us that the focus would be on others, but that he wanted a gay couple in it somewhere.

Dave looked uncomfortable about it, but I assured him that this might help him come full circle with the terms of his sexuality, and he decided to trust me on it, bless him. I never realized, but apparently I'm a huge impact on him. It's humbling.

"David," I address sternly, stopping our walk near a bench in the park. "You know, I think it's about time I reintroduced you to my family. They still only remember you as my tormentor, and that's just wrong, since you are clearly far from that now."

He shifts awkwardly on his feet, letting go of my hand. "I don't know, Kurt… they might flat-out reject me, or forbid you from seeing me anymore, and I just couldn't take that."

I frown and place my hand on my hip, leaning to one side. "Dave. How old am I again? – I don't need their permission to date someone! I can see whomever I please, and if I want to stop seeing someone that will be my decision, not any of theirs."

He laughs meekly. "I should have known better. You're extremely willful."

"Damn right I am," I return with a grin. I lace our fingers together once more and continue walking. "So, with our newfound wealth from recent gigs, I say the two of us should fly down to Lima, Ohio this month – maybe for a weekend, maybe for a week – and say hello to the folks. Yours, too."

"Um… no, not mine." He mutters, and there's pain in his voice that makes me halt in my tracks for a second time.

"…Why not yours?" I murmur softly, trying to peer into his eyes, but he's glancing away.

I can hear him start to cry as he informs me, "My father died of a heart attack – his cholesterol was too high, I 'ppose – back when I was in college. And my mother still refuses to speak to me ever since I came out to her following college. She said that she hated me for keeping secrets, and that having a son who went against the religion she tried so hard to follow and force on me for so many years was just too much after her husband dying. I call her all the time, but she never answers."

I don't even hesitate. I simply bring him into my arms and stroke his hair, my other hand rubbing soothing circles as he sobs onto my shoulder, only returning the embrace after a while, his hands fisting the fabric of my (quite fashionable) hoodie dangling over my lower sides. "Shh, it's okay. I'm sorry, Dave… I didn't know. You should have told me sooner."

He mumbles something, but I only catch the words, "didn't want," "spoil," and "happiness." I assume that he means that he didn't want to ruin the happiness we had over the past few months with his burdens. I shake my head against his shoulder.

"That's wrong, Dave. I love you. I want to share your burdens and help you through your pain. That's why I'm trying to do this, to make us go to Lima; we need to face everyone else and tell them what we have together, because in order for this to last as long as I want it to –" I don't want to admit to him just yet that I want him by my side always, since I fear it might feel too heavy on him only six months into our relationship "– we need to confront our family issues and let people know."

He nods dumbly into my shoulder, his breath hot on my shirt, and his hands encircling my waist. "I love you so much, Kurt. I don't know how I'd stand by myself with you there to hold me up, I'm such a mess."

I smile bittersweetly. I pull away enough to wipe his tears with my thumbs and stroke his face. "Well you're a hot mess, so I can deal with it." And I widen my smile when Dave starts humming the old song, 'Hot Mess' by Cobra Starship. I angle his face with my hands to touch our foreheads together, my eyes peering directly (albeit dizzyingly) into his. "So. It's settled, then? We're going to go to Lima, Ohio and completely stir up the dog shit by telling our other loved ones about us… including your mom?"

He leans away, sucking in air too sharply to not make him cough, and I remove my hands. Clearing the tickle in his throat, he mutters hoarsely, "Yeah, alright. It's settled. Just… save my mom for last before we leave, okay? You family has known about your sexuality for along time, and is perfectly adjusted to it. My mom's only known for a handful of years now and she isn't too keen on the concept. She's disgusted with the fact that my lips have touched another man's, among… other things," he relents, and I realize that both of us aren't half the virgins we thought one another to be. Only anally, I suppose. I shiver at the thought, but offer a nod to show that I understand.

I pat his arm, smiling invitingly. "Okay then. It's a promise: we'll go to Lima, we'll have dinner with my family, and the day before we leave for Chicago again we'll go see your mom and try to make her less homophobic."

He scowls, "She's only that way because she's strictly Catholic." His expression gives way to something less sour and merely a ghost of a more sorrowful emotion as he says next: "My dad would have understood. He wouldn't have minded my being gay as much. He was one of those Christians who accepted everybody, you know? He believed that God loves all His children despite their sins, and so on." Dave shakes his head regretfully. "I should have told him when I found out. I could have had him on my side, and maybe I could have changed sooner. And maybe he could have changed, too, so that he wouldn't have died." He bites his lip, and I don't have the heart not to embrace him again.

"Please don't tear yourself apart over it, Dave. Think only of fixing things now, okay? We can't undo the past," I murmur into his ear, "We can only make way for the future."

He laughs breathlessly into my hair, one hand coming up to hold the back of my head while the other finds refuge in my back pant pocket. "How'd you get so wise? You always used to be so shallow, obsessed with fashion and singing."

My subsequent laugh mirrors his. "Yeah, well. Having to grow up and make my own path in the adult world has made me wiser. I don't have time much for those things anymore; I have to support myself instead, doing what's affordable."

Dave pulls out of the hug, his eyes watching me. "True enough," he says, and I think his tears are over with now. He grins to assure me that everything will be fine. But hadn't that been my job seconds ago? I smile in return, mostly at the irony of who's-trying-to-comfort-whom.

We complete our stroll through the park with a stop at an ice cream stand. Chocolate-strawberry for him, vanilla-caramel for me. I casually lick my cone, nibbling here and there, and find Dave staring at me. "What?" I ask, bringing the cone away from my mouth. I touch my face. "Did I get some on me?"

He shakes his head, smirking deviously. "No. It's just… do you realize how sexual you look when you eat ice cream? Especially white ice cream?"

I crack up despite myself. "I'm just eating it how I always do! It tastes best when I savor it. You're just a pervert."

Dave leans over and steals a kiss, right there in public, and I'm strangely proud of him. He tastes good, like chocolate. "I may be a pervert, but at least I conceal it most of the time."

I raise an eyebrow around a languid lick of a drip going over my fingers. "And I don't?"

His eyes follow the movement, then he's looking at my eyes again. "Yeah. You really don't. You're a big tease."

I giggle and take a large (ahh, but too cold!) bite of my ice cream. Shivering at the sudden (but tasty) chill, I reply, "Well, I certainly don't mean to be so irresistible." And I can tell by this little conversation that Dave feels a lot better, and I'm extremely happy that he's cheered up. A sad Dave is cute, but a sad Dave makes me sad. Hence why I was so depressed back in December, when he wouldn't talk to me for a while and would just brood around everywhere.

He grins, and after ice cream, we return to my apartment to hop on my computer to make plans for our trip. We decide that next week fits best into our schedules, and that we want to stay for five days. The first thing I do is call up my father. And he seems overjoyed that I want to bring home my latest boyfriend for him to meet.

"I had a feeling that you were dating someone, but it's just like you, Kurt, to not talk about the guy much until you know that you want to keep him," my dad chuckles heartily into the phone. "So yes, of course we want to have you next week! Because you must stay here, both of you. I won't have my son at some hotel when he can have better meals and mattress at his parents' house."

I laugh, too. "Okay, Dad. I just didn't want to ask since I wasn't sure if you would want a stranger there… although he's not entirely a stranger; I knew him from high school."

"What? Really? That's amazing! It's incredible that we can stumble across people from our past at random times in our lives, isn't it?" he remarks fondly. "So… are you going to tell me his name? Maybe I know him."

I perceptibly wince. Dave quirks an eyebrow, glancing over my computer screen at me. He mouths, 'Is everything okay?' I bring up one hand and tilt it side to side, making the "so-so" or "wishy-washy" hand gesture. I turn back to my phone, saying into it as smoothly as I can, "I want it to be a surprise! You'll learn his name when he's there in person for you to shake his hand. It's just common curtsey."

He dad sounds indifferent. "Okay, sure. Whatever you say, son." With a smile in his voice, he adds, "Oh, and here's Carole. She wants to talk to you, too."

A second later: "Hi, baby!"

"Hi, Carole," I smile. I'm almost tempted to call her 'Mom' half the time, but it wouldn't be entirely right. It would have if I had known her since I was at least ten or younger. But whatever.

"Ooh, I just had a feeling that you'd met somebody. You were missing them so much when you came here over Christmas. So, how is he? Sweet and charming, I hope?" she gushes, as if we were best friends and not family. Which, I suppose, we always have been; friends, I mean. We're still family. Uhg, I'm mentally rambling. I'm a little thrown by how she doesn't mind talking about people I date.

"Yes, he is," I relay with a cheerful grin. "Not to mention he makes me laugh and comforts me when I need it and is utterly dashing."

I catch Dave blushing out of the corner of my eye. He isn't accustomed to flattery, but he enjoys it nonetheless.

"Aw, that's wonderful, honey! I'm so glad. I love it when you're happy. Just hearing you sound all bubbly and full of love reminds me what you did for Burt and I."

My smile melts into a warmer version of itself, something sentimental and adoring. "Thanks, Carole."

"Oh, don't mention it. Just be sure to bring him straight here first thing on Monday, okay? Don't be late~! – Oh, and Mercedes told us that the next time you visit, you have to go see her. And Artie misses you, too. Did you know the boy walks around town sometimes with his crutches? It's so heartwarming to see," she says, and soon she's making a kissing sound and telling me she loves me and saying goodbye.

"Wow! Artie can walk more often now? That's amazing! And sure, I'll see them. Might as well let them know about my current life. – Haha, g'bye, Carole. Yeah, love you, too. Yep. See you next week! Uh-huh. Bye-bye." And I hang up the phone.

"What'd they say?" Dave asks as I set my phone down on the table and plop beside him, glancing idly at the computer screen.

"Nothing much, just that we have to stay with them while we're there, and then visit a few of my old Glee Club pals. I don't mind. I'm a little disappointed in Blaine, though; after we dated for a couple years, I thought we were going to stay friends since that what we were initially." I shrug sadly and sigh. "Guess not."

Dave's brows come together, his mouth tightening. "Tch. Arrogant prick. Who wouldn't want to keep in touch with you?"

I chuckle minutely and rub his forearm. "Yeah, well. It doesn't matter. That was a fleeting relationship anyway, just like my time at that academy." I shake my head and return my gaze to the computer. "So, how are those plane tickets coming?"

He presses a key and sits back in his chair. "Just fine. They're finished. We just have to print them out. I decided on the eight o'clock flight out of O'Hare. It's the soonest one that gives us the whole day. After that is pretty late, like, after noon. And it doesn't take us to Lima directly, of course, since Lima isn't a major city. We'll have to take a cab once we land in Ohio."

"I figured as much," I shrug. "We're still splitting the costs, right?"

"Obviously," Dave replies. He shifts in his seat. "I just hope they're okay with me. Your dad pinned me against a wall once, remember? And… Hudson. I mean, Finn. He's never liked me. Well, we were sorta-friends in, like, elementary school, but that doesn't really count,. Almost everybody is okay with everyone else during those years."

I somewhat wince. "I know." I grasp his hand and give it a squeeze. "But I'll be there to defend you, and when we see your mother, vice-versa. Together, we're stronger. What's that phrase? 'A house divided cannot stand, but…' Um. Whatever; you get what I mean." I say with a dismissive turn of my wrist. I send my lover a reassuring smile. "…Okay?"

I watch as Dave hesitates, his eyes darting to and fro away from my face, his thumbs twiddling, before he gives me his own assuring smile. "Yeah. Okay," he finally says, an exaggerated sigh falling from his lips.

I hake my head. "You don't sound okay." I pause, standing up to lay my hands on his shoulders and gaze as deeply as I can into his searching, uncertain eyes. "Everything turns out in the end, no matter what. You know that. Hell, we're the prime example, are we not? I hated and feared you in high school. But look where we are now! And I'm sure that everyone else can come to terms with it as well. People's opinions of each other are easily persuaded despite popular belief, and really, no one is as harsh as they seem. Even Sue Sylvester," I add, trying to use an example he'd recognize. "She acted like a bitch, but she protected me a few times. Everyone has goodness and acceptance in them somewhere. It's just human."

My speech over with, I know that I've convinced him by the way he pushes forward and presses his mouth to mine, warm and beseeching.