We might be laughing a bit too loud, but that never hurt no one.

"Hey, Santana?"

"Yeah Brit?"

"Do you have one of those hair colour things? You know, they're like straighteners, but they colour hair instead of making it flat..."

"Yeah, why?"

"Can you help me with something tomorrow?"

-:-

It didn't make much sense to Santana – kneeling in front of Kurt's grave stone, colouring locks Brittany's hair pink, of all colours.

"Brit?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are we doing this? Here of all places?"

"Over his dead body."

Santana moved her hands away from Brit's hair, feeling her face blanch and heart sink to her stomach.

"What?" she muttered, hands shaking and her lips barely moving.

"Kurt said that I can dye my hair pink over his dead body... and I know they threw him into the air, but this is kind of the same right?" Brittany said not turning away from the grave stone, keeping her back to Santana.

Santana felt all the pain and sadness she'd repressed over the past few months punch her in the gut. She put the hair colourer down and looped her arms under Brittany's, hugging her from behind. Resting her head on Brit's shoulder, she let tears fall and the occasional sob out. They sat like that for what felt like an eternity of Santana's painful expression and Brittany rubbing circles across her opposite's hands, leaning her head back to rest lightly against Santana's, whilst letting her own silent tears fall.

"How do you do it?" Santana mumbled, tightening her grip slightly.

"Do what?"

"Deal with it so... so well." Brittany kept silent, gripping Santana's hand and bringing it to her mouth, kissing it gently.

"I just don't think he'd want us to be so upset. He never liked forcing his problems on others."

"This is a little different from bullying, Brit."

"Yeah, I know. But, it's still the same Kurt right?"

"... Right."

Santana couldn't help but feel envious; Brittany was able to see the world in such a simple way, but could still see it for what it really was and tried to make to lighter.

Santana composed herself, wiping her nose and stray tears away with her sleeve, and returned to colouring Brittany's hair. Brit needed this, Santana needed this... Kurt needed this. Hell, Glee Club needed this. Someone to follow, Mr Schue wasn't really doing his bit.

"There, done."

"Thank you."

-:-

He wanted to sit there with them, listen to what they were saying. Learn why Santana was crying. But he couldn't, it felt to wrong to move from where he was, out of earshot. He couldn't see what Santana was doing to Brittany's hair; he couldn't even see Brittany's face.

He thought it was odd how the unspeakable weight lifting from him was as heartbreaking as dying had been.

Slowly, they began to pack up – Santana putting whatever she had in her bag and Brittany picking up hers. They made their way to Kurt's direction, pinkies linked, arms brushing and heads resting on each others. The corners of Kurt's mouth tugged upwards, sadly. He found it depressing, yet oddly elating, that the two girls had come together in such a way because of his death.

The girls stayed silent as they continued to walk, simply savouring the moment they were having for all it was worth; as was Kurt, who couldn't help but feel privileged to be witnessing the rare emotional moment between the girls. Anything about it being hot was lost on him, but anyone could appreciate the feeling and devotion that was there.

"Oh, I wanted to give you something" Brittany exclaimed, when they reached the car park and were standing two feet from Kurt. She reached into her bag and pulled out a book, covered in magazine clippings and photos.

"What's this?" Santana asked, breaking pinkies and taking hold of the book.

Kurt had expected a light, some form of firework show, not such an anti-climax of sheer nothing.

"It's Kurt's journal, he left at my house the last time he slept over and I kept forgetting to give it back and he never asked for it back anyway, so I guess he didn't really miss it."

"Yeah, but why are you giving it to me?" Santana sounded so small Kurt would've given his arm just to hug her. Brittany shrugged,

"I don't know, but I don't need it anymore," she smiled and Kurt saw it. It was the fireworks, the light, only it was subtle and calm, with a ripple effect then an all out bang.

He hadn't noticed that the world had gotten duller, grey in its overtones. But he could see Brittany, shining.

She'd let go, and the oddity of it all left Kurt. He got it. It's meant to be heartbreaking, there was no weight pushing down on anything. It was pressing the pieces of his heart together, holding it stable. He couldn't be happier.

"I love you Brit," Kurt said with a watery smile, taking in the light and warmth radiating off her as everything her felt for her, left.

-:-

'I think I get it."

"Get what, Nilla?"

'The whole letting go thing. To pass over you can't feel anything for them, and when they let go, you essentially give them the love you feel for them so they can still feel something for you... or of you."

"...It makes sense... do you think, I'll become miserable?"

"No, just heartless, no pun intended. You won't feel anything for anything that ain't dead."

"Ah, Puppy, talking to me again?"

"Yes. I didn't really stop, you just didn't call."

"You said not to!"

"Well it's nice to know you listen ... what's going on here then?" Puppy asked, nodding her head ahead of them.

Mike stood on stage, a hand on his hip as the other rubbed at his forehead, frustrated.

"He's trying to figure out a dance, we were going to do it together before I died. He's been working on it for a couple of weeks now, he can't figure out how to turn it from a two person dance to a one person dance. We moved around each other a lot, and he'd look like an idiot trying to do the same steps by himself."

They watched him for an hour, listening to the music starting and stopping at its climax and the frustrated yell that came with the repeated abuse of the pause button. Nilla would bark in disapproval when Mike stopped, just as he got a decent rhythm. Puppy flicked her tail with Mike's swift movements and twitched her ears to the beat, shaking her head slightly at every stop. Kurt stared blankly, internally calculating.

"You should help him" Puppy suggested quietly.

"How?"

"Do you remember when you were living, those random chills that ran through your body for no reason?" Kurt nodded, "A ghost's touch, Kurt. Random inspiration? A ghost's lead. Help him."

Kurt didn't really have any idea what he was meant to do, no good ideas jumped into his head as he jumped down from the tops of seat to seat from the top of auditorium. He just had to wing it.

Just as Kurt landed on the stage, Mike sent his foot through his stomach.

"Mike," Kurt cooed, "Calm down." He brushed his finger tips across Mike's shoulders. Mike flinched, the peeved look left his eyes and his shoulders sagged.

"Why can't I get this?" he hissed, turning towards the i-pod dock. Kurt reached out and grabbed his wrist, only to have his fingers fall through and touch his own palms.

"Let me do it with you, come on. Try again."

Kurt knew Mike wasn't psychic, nor a puppet and he definitely wasn't a zombie; but, he couldn't help but think, maybe Mike could hear him, just that little bit. Maybe Mike determination on his and Kurt's dance, their dance, had brought him closer to Kurt.

Mike sighed and restarted the music, Guy Sebastian's 'Like It Like That'. It hadn't even started as a serious number, just a random song they listened to while waiting for the rest of the Glee Club to arrive and worked on it when they nothing better to do. An accident... a homoerotic accident, but an accident none the less.

Mike had no issue with Kurt and Kurt had no issue with Mike. They just saw each other as equals, unless dancing, which Mike exceeded Kurt by quite a bit. Mike hadn't an issue with suggestive dances with anyone, a dance was a dance and he was just happy he was able to do it outside of his bedroom.

Mike's eyes meet Kurt's, as they stepped in synch with each other. Swaying the hips, flicking their wrists, standing close enough for Mike to visibly shiver. Points where Kurt was meant to touch Mike, whether it'd be a sweep over the shoulders with his hands of a high five, he'd always go a little too far and through Mike. Mike never seemed to notice in the heat of the moment, already cold from the little distance between him and Kurt.

When Kurt went to touch Mike's chest he fell right through, and landed on his stomach. When he got up, he realized Mike was still dancing for the little bit of the song left. Kurt couldn't help but smile, he really did look like an idiot dancing by himself.

"Why do you think he can dance so well without seeing me?" Kurt yelled, not taking his eyes away from Mike.

"He's a dancer; do you think if he has an amazing idea he can dance it the second he thinks it? No, he has to envision it. That's all he's doing." Kurt nodded slowly. The song stopped and Mike fell on his back laughing, his head landing between Kurt's feet.

"Feel better?"

That had somehow tipped Mike over the edge as he stood up and restarted the music. Kurt quickly jumped off the stage, landing in a seat a few rows back from the stage.

It was perfect. Every move just made sense; Kurt had never seen Mike prouder. But he felt nothing, no pride, no joy, not even sadness of hurt that he was cut out of their dance. But Mike was still dull, not as dull though. Kurt could still feel something for Mike, just not the dance.

"Amazing Mike," Kurt said, void of emotion, "Simply amazing."