It's an hour of texts followed by a phone call that happens later at night than is strictly acceptable, but then Stiles knows everything. He knows everything from the first dumpster toss up to the bright pink spray painted slurs and crudely drawn penises that had appeared on the driveway that afternoon (apparently without a single person in the neighbourhood noticing, though how that is possible escapes them both). He knows who the worst bullies are and which guys will just stand by and jeer but will never actually throw a slushie. He knows way too much, but the one thing he still doesn't know is how to fix it.
When Kurt finishes telling him, voice turning quiet and exhausted as he yawns into the phone, Stiles is really only left with one question. "Why me?"
"What?" Kurt asks on another yawn.
"Why did you feel comfortable telling me all of this? Why not someone from glee, or even Finn or your dad? I mean, I'm glad you did. But I guess I just want to know why."
There's a long silence on the other end, and Stiles just listens to Kurt's even breaths while he waits. "You're the only one who really listens," Kurt says eventually. "I love everyone in glee, but as a whole we're a pretty self-centered bunch. When they want to know something, they poke and prod until you tell them, but they don't ever really listen. You do. And you just … you understand things that no one else really does, like what it's like to worry about the only parent you have left." Stiles can picture Kurt on the other end of the phone, watching his hand pick at invisible lint on his jeans, and a blush climbing his cheeks. It's a completely adorable mental image, and Stiles wishes he could actually seeKurt right now. "You understand me in a way no one else does."
It kind of hurts how much Stiles cares about this boy; a physical ache that he can't shake and isn't entirely sure he wants to. He swallows down words that he is nowhere near ready to say and tries to find something to replace them with.
"Sorry, that was—I shouldn't have—" Kurt says after a couple of seconds of silence while Stiles is still thinking his words through. He still sounds sleepy, but Kurt is clearly suddenly more aware: realizing what he just said and, apparently, worried that it had somehow been unwelcome.
"Kurt," Stiles says, stopping the boy before he can start worrying too much. "I feel the same way." There's an audible intake of breath on Kurt's end, and then a quiet "okay" and the shuffling sounds of Kurt settling himself more comfortably on his bed. Stiles smiles, the side of his face pressed deep into his pillow, and his whole body warm with contentment.
Kurt yawns again, a high kittenish sound that makes Stiles chuckle and then leaves him grinning so widely it might just split his face if he doesn't stop soon. He probably wouldn't even mind if his face got mangled if Kurt being completely adorable was the cause. "You should sleep."
Kurt makes a noise of agreement, and it's clear he's mostly asleep already. "Stay on the phone?" It's a request Stiles knows that Kurt would never make if he weren't half asleep and worn out from emotion and the lateness of the hour.
"Of course," he says, picturing the sleepy smile on Kurt's face. "Goodnight, Kurt."
"Night. 'n thanks."
"Anytime," Stiles tells him.
Kurt drifts off within minutes, and Stiles can just barely hear his breath turning deep and slow. It takes Stiles longer, his brain unwilling to stop spinning with all of the information he has learned in the last few hours.
When he eventually does fall asleep, it's with his phone still pressed to his ear and thoughts of the boy on the other end drifting into happy dreams.
They're both exhausted the next day, smiling tiredly at each other when they meet at Kurt's locker. There are dark circles under Kurt's eyes, pronounced against his pale skin, that Stiles wants to thumb away even though he knows it wouldn't work even if he were to try.
He does stand closer than usual, leaning against the locker right next to Kurt's and ducking his head close while they speak in quiet voices scratchy from lack of sleep. It's strangely intimate for all that they are in a high school hallway filled with chattering teenagers, and Stiles doesn't want to leave. For once, Kurt doesn't even try to make him leave on time. They both end up late for class.
The rest of the week is uneventful, passing in a blur of classes preparing them for end of term projects and papers that will no doubt get written last minute even though they've been given weeks to do them.
On Friday, Kurt is jittery but doesn't give any other indication that anything is wrong or that he wants to talk about whatever it is. Stiles would worry about the fact that Kurt seems nervous, but when Kurt smiles it's still something real and wholly unlike the fake smile he still sometimes wears as a mask, so Stiles lets it go in favour of pleasant conversation about not much of anything at all.
Stiles doesn't find out what it had Kurt nervous until late Sunday morning. His dad came home late from work again the night before and was back out early even though he doesn't usually even work on Sunday at all. Stiles is alone in the house, still wearing pajamas and blearily watching TV when there's a loud knock on the door.
He pushes himself up and starts shuffling over, stretching and tripping over the edge of the rug in the living room only to end up stumbling and smacking lightly into the wall. He leans there for a moment, forehead resting against the wall, before pushing off and continuing towards the door, one wrist throbbing gently from the collision.
When he pulls the door open he is nearly bowled over by a very energetic Kurt who practically flings himself into the house.
"I did it!"
Stiles blinks at him, feeling rather distinctly like he's missed something. "Did what?"
"I told my dad!" Kurt says, voice excited and a little louder than usual.
"Wait, you told your dad—"
"Everything!" Kurt exclaims. "I told my dad everything." Stiles finally feels like he's waking up, and now that he's looking at Kurt properly he can see how much lighter he looks. The way Kurt is nearly bouncing, face bright and open and looking somehow so much younger than he ever has, like having told his dad has taken away some of the burden that forced him to grow up too young.
"That's amazing, Kurt!" Stiles says.
"And your dad! We told him too, and he thinks there might actually be something they can do." And then, suddenly, Stiles has an armful of Kurt. It doesn't last long, just the briefest excited squeeze of a hug with Kurt exclaiming another "thank you!" in his ear before he's stepping away.
Stiles heads over to the couch, gesturing for Kurt to follow, and plunks down unceremoniously. Kurt settles beside him, legs stretched out in front of him. Stiles can't help but let his eyes trail up the long line of them before dragging his gaze back to Kurt's face only to find that Kurt is doing the same thing to him, a blush painted high on his cheeks. Stiles doesn't get it for a moment, but then he glances down and is suddenly rather painfully aware that he's sitting next to Kurt still dressed only in the t-shirt and boxers he slept in.
"Oh, um. I should go get dressed. Just give me two minutes?" He doesn't even wait for an answer from Kurt, just jumps up and takes off to his room, scrambling around for something relatively clean and matching to wear.
Kurt doesn't stay long after that, just long enough to fill Stiles in on how his conversation with Burt went and what the Sheriff thinks they might be able to do. It isn't much, admittedly. They don't have much in the way of proof beyond Kurt's word and the occasional witness like Stiles. It's enough for a couple minor property damage charges that probably won't take, and probably enough to get the worst bullies expelled and the others put under careful watch.
It won't solve all of the problems. Not by far. But at the very least it means that there's a support system in place – a slowly growing network of people watching out for them in their little town and building some sort of awareness. It isn't much, but it's a damn sight better than nothing, and if it keeps making Kurt smile like he is, Stiles is pretty sure it could count for everything.
It isn't surprising to Stiles when Kurt settles next to him at lunch on Monday, but it is surprising how close he sits, and it's clear from Scott's face that he agrees. Allison hides a smile behind her sandwich, but her eyes still give her reaction away. It only gets more surprising when Kurt talks as much to Scott and Allison – and even Isaac, when he joins them part way through lunch – as he does to Stiles.
Both of their dads had been in that morning talking to Principal Figgins, and at least one boy has been suspended until further notice. Stiles still wishes that there were more he could do, but Kurt seems happy enough with how things have turned out: still more vibrant and less weighed down by worry than Stiles has ever seen him.
"—right, Stiles?" Stiles hears, just as a hand settles on his wrist, drawing his attention back from his own thoughts. It's Kurt's hand, and it lingers innocently on his long enough for Stiles to get lost in the feel of it even though he knows he's meant to be answering a question.
Scott snickers, finally breaking Stiles's trance, and he looks over to find Scott, Allison and Isaac all looking amused, and Kurt still looking like he's waiting for an answer. "Sorry, what?"
Kurt rolls his eyes but smiles fondly, fingers skating across the back of Stiles's wrist and nearly causing Stiles to get lost to daydreams yet again.
By the end of the week things have mostly settled down. The suspension had turned into expulsion and detention for some of the others, plus there are new anti-bullying policies under review even though no one is sure how effective they'll really be. For the time being, at least, the threat of locker shoves and dumpster tosses is greatly diminished and Kurt's burden is lessened by having shared it. All in all, it feels like cause for celebration.
Celebration happens in the form of another movie night, at Kurt's request, and so Saturday night finds the pair of them curled up on the couch, a tub of ice cream propped between them the only thing keeping them from sitting hip to hip. They watch Fight Club and then Cabaret and it's possibly among the strangest combinations of movies they might have chosen, but it's also just so perfectly them.
By halfway through Cabaret Kurt is beginning to drift off as he so often does during movie nights. Usually he curls into the corner of the couch, tucked in on himself as he dozes but tonight is different. As they had at lunch every day that week, they sat close together on the couch, legs knocking and arms brushing every time one of them moved. Now, Kurt is slumped against Stiles, head resting on his shoulder and body pressed warm and close as his eyes drop shut. Stiles wraps an arm around Kurt's waist and welcomes the comforting weight of the boy against his side, and if – when Kurt starts snoring lightly – Stiles turns and buries in face against the top of Kurt's head, well, no one needs to know how much more it makes him want.
At the end of the movie, Stiles reluctantly wakes Kurt up, shaking him gently until he rouses. "It's late, Kurt."
"Don' wanna move," Kurt says into Stiles's shoulder. And really, Stiles agrees wholeheartedly. He almost says as much, but he chuckles instead and slowly extricates himself from Kurt's sleepy clutches, forcing the boy to wake up enough not to fall over. "Mean," Kurt tells him.
"Sorry."
Kurt sighs melodramatically, but it quickly turns into a smile. "S'ok. I should head home." Kurt stretches, and Stiles tries not to stare too intently at the way his shirt rides up (all it reveals is undershirt, but that's still layers closer to skin than Stiles usually sees and he can't help but imagine the feel of the fabric against his fingers, warmed by Kurt's body heat and thin enough to hardly be a barrier. His fingers tingle at the thought).
"Thanks for tonight," Kurt says when they're standing near the door.
"We needed to celebrate. Besides, I always like hanging out with you." A soft smiles creeps across Kurt's face and Stiles grins in answer. "I really am glad that you told your dad and that everything is getting better. I know that it was hard for you."
Kurt toes lightly at the floor. "It wouldn't have happened without you,"
"It has nothing to do with me; it was all you. It might have taken a little longer, but it would have happened." Kurt nods, looking at Stiles appraisingly, looking like he's truly considering what Stiles said.
"Maybe you're right," he says eventually. "I should go."
"Ok," Stiles says, "goodnight, Kurt."
There's another beat of silence, and Kurt's eyes flicker across Stiles's face, assessing briefly before turning decisive in a flash. Kurt steps forward and before Stiles can even process it soft lips are pressed against his own, and Kurt's palm is hot against his neck, fingertips just barely catching in the hair at the nape of his neck.
Stiles's hands grapple at Kurt's waist and try to tug him closer. He can feel Kurt's smile against his lips in the moment before the kiss ends.
"Goodnight, Stiles," Kurt whispers in a breath, stepping back and then disappearing into the night, leaving Stiles, stunned and grinning, still staring out the open door.
