Disclaimer: Good Lord, not mine. I despise Saturday Night Fever. I don't know what they were thinking. *shakes head* Finn... singing BeeGees. Right back to season 1 with his vocals.

This is my adaption of the episode s02e09: A Very Glee Christmas. I think I made this so much more depressing than it needed to be, but since Brittany isn't with Artie, I had to make this believable.

"What're you doing for Christmas?"

Kurt stopped stabbing his jacket with a tiny knife and looked at me. "What do you mean?"

I shrugged, leaning further into him. "You going to someplace with no snow or…?"

"I'll be staying in Lima," he said, starting to sew again. "Sorry." He turned the jacket over and almost knocked me with it.

"That's okay." I liked watching him work. It was interesting, and he got this really intense look on his face that was one of the few times I could really say he looked sexy, instead of just cute or gorgeous. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

"I love Christmas," I said.

The corners of his mouth flattened out, like he didn't like something. "I like Christmas, too."

We were laying in his bed, and I was right beside him. It had to have been a little awkward to sew, but he was really good, and I think he liked to hold me. It made things a little more real, at least to me it did.

He finished sewing the new jacket together and folded it, dropping his little supplies on the tiny table next to his bed, before putting his lips on the little hollow dip on my throat, and kissing his way up to my lips. I guessed he was finished his work.

We didn't hear the thunder steps and then Finn forgot to knock, like always. "Did you—?"

"Son of a bitch!" Kurt pulled away from me so fast and so hard that he landed on the floor. "Sorry, what was it?" He stood up carefully, holding his knee.

But Finn had completely forgotten what he had wanted to say. "Um…" He stood there, filling the whole doorframe, and looked from me to Kurt for a while. "Did you—I was going to ask if you had bought those weird green leafy things in the fridge, but I guess the answer was yes."

Kurt climbed back on the bed and put an arm around me. "I do the shopping in this house," he said, but his voice was a little too high. When I leaned my head against him, he felt a lot warmer than he was supposed to.

Finn scuffed his feet self-consciously. "Yeah, that's why I guessed. I just wondered if Burt picked up the… wrong… thing. Hey, Brittany, why are you wearing—never mind."

He stopped because he realised he was just going to ask if I was wearing anything under the zip-up sweater I had stolen from Kurt's clothes shed. I wasn't. My clothes were in the dryer because I had fallen in a snow heap. I was just glad Finn wasn't asking if I was wearing pants under the covers. 'Cause I wasn't.

Kurt didn't mind, and his pants didn't fit me right.

Finn left quickly, closing the door behind him.

Kurt stood up and put all his newly sewed clothes in the closet and clicked up his computer. "So, any new ideas for fancy duets?" It was our new favourite thing to do, think of awesome songs for the other to sing for Mr. Schue to try and convince him to get us to do the opening duet for Regionals.

"I'm still waiting for Last Friday Night."

He laughed.

"And why aren't you saying, 'So, now, where were we?' in that sexy voice?" I asked, leaning forward.

He made a face and pointed at the door. "Finn." Kurt sat up a lot straighter. "Wait—sexy?"

"Lock the door," I suggested.

"There's no lock."

"Put a chair up against the doorknob like in horror movies."

"Tried it. Doesn't work."

"Tell Finn to go away."

"I—" He thought for a minute. "He killed the mood."

I rolled my eyes and stretched out under the covers. The mood was never killed. Kurt's eyes darkened and got that guy-shine that guys get when they see someone that turns them on.

"Come on," I said softly. I rolled over onto my front and sat up, pulling the blanket with me like a cape. I let it slide down the curve of my back.

"Nice try, Britts." But he didn't sound totally uninterested.

I fell back onto the bed. Typically when I had a boyfriend, I would've been sending them awesome pictures like this a long time ago. This was kind of my way of repaying Kurt for what he missed when I thought it would scare him.

I started to unzip the hoodie and tried to look him in the eye, but he was looking a little too far south for that.

Then, unluckily (it had to be that black cat Charity kept playing with), the washing machine stopped whirring and the sudden quiet made Kurt jump up and say, "Your clothes are finished." He ran out before I could pull him back to me.

I groaned and fell back on his bed, feeling his silky smooth sheets with my legs for a few more minutes before he made me put clothes on again.

*.*

You know that feeling when you walk into a room and they just stop the conversation?

Yeah. That was me the next day. Previously, I was given odd looks. Sometimes if someone didn't recognise me they would stare at my clothes and wonder what guy would ever—oh, it's just Kurt. But that was one or two people, a bit of pointing, a bit of giggling, no harm done.

Now, stares followed me constantly. A smirk or nasty comment from the more uncouth individuals, but the ones who felt for me would only shake their heads and frown. They thought I was cowardly (or reasonable, depending on your view of Karofsky and homophobic bullying) and had tiptoed back into the closet.

So, I wasted as little time as possible in between classes, abandoned my comfortable seats in the corner for ones up front where I couldn't see the heads turn, people leaning together to whisper then look back at me, gossip spreading like a virus. Now, I could feel the eyeballs boring holes in my skull.

I wondered how on earth this got out so fast and my brain started devising scenarios to keep my anger in and my sanity intact. Finn and Puck and Sam in the locker room, talking… chopping their heads off with a guillotine … Mike and Tina asking each other if dear Kurt was feeling okay… running them off a long, jagged cliff… Santana venomously, purposefully spreading rumours that weren't rumours… stabbing her with a nice, pointy knife. Make that many knives. Dipped in acid. And then rubbing salt in the wounds as she slowly bled to death.

I had passed murderous and cruel around first period and by the time our lunchtime practise came around, I was seriously considering breaking into the Chem. labs and the Home Ec room to execute my vision and Santana.

I marched into Glee with my head held high. I was fairly early, but the second to arrive and my icy resolve melted as Mercedes (in all her gold, sparkly, tasteful-Christmas glory) gave me a tinsel-topped hug. Now was the time of the year when she added sparse gold strands to her weave, which only accentuated her rich skin tone and the yellow gold dangle earrings from last year's Christmas—given my moi, of course.

"Sorry to hear," she said, returning to her bag and seat.

I waved off the concern and pointed to her familiar science textbook. "Test?"

"Assignment," she grumbled.

"Gimme."

Mercedes made an act of being reluctant to cheat off me, but she even gave me her good gel pen when I requested it.

"So, where did you pull that boy outfit from yesterday?" teased Mercedes when I was halfway finished. "I thought you only made girl clothes in that tailoring place you call a basement."

I laughed. "Bits and bobs of boy clothes are everywhere in my closet. Flannel or checked shirts are the only things that go with my solid sweaters, and jeans—"

"Puh-lease. If we're going through all your closet, we're gonna be here a while. Hey, Brittany!"

I looked up and saw Brittany run in here. "Hey, Kurt." She pulled a chair closer to me, trying to read the science work. "That looks like the furball Lord Tubbington coughed up yesterday plus a lump of green Jell-O." She pointed to the cell diagram.

Mercedes started laughing.

Brittany shrugged sheepishly. "It does." She turned my head and kissed me hello. "How was everyone to you?"

I lifted a shoulder, not wanting to talk about it but also not willing to give a direct answer. "Not bad. What about you, love?"

"No one really cared." Britts squealed a tiny squeak and threw her arms around me. "I'm so happy we can be us! Ooo!"

" 'Ooo!'" I imitated her high voice which, sadly, was easy for me to do.

Still holding my arm, she swatted me. "Ku-urt!" She pulled my name into two syllables with that long, annoying voice. Brittany set her face hard. "I wanted you to help me set up my Christmas stocking, but if you don't want to…"

I sighed dramatically and stood up, waving to Mercedes and handing her back her almost finished homework. Brittany led me by the hand to her locker, before pulling us both to the ground, only a little bit physically. She unzipped her backpack and I helped her to put up a chain of ice blue star lights that were powered by a hunk of a battery, a silver and red garland, plenty of stickers and little pin-up Christmas-themed critters, and a tiny red stocking in the very back.

I leaned back against the wall of lockers, while Brittany surveyed our teamwork. "Last year, I left my stocking in there over Christmas vacation and an entire family of mice started living in it. Their gift to each other was rabies."

I stopped myself from laughing. "Cool. Only thing I'm asking my Dad for: the entire collection of The Carole Burnett Show. And to stop watching reruns of Ice Road Truckers when So You Think You Can Dance? is on. I mean, Finn likes So You Think, too."

"So I think what? Oh, I see." Brittany nodded. "Yeah. When all the girls' skirts fly up and they spin around, holding real tight." I tried to protest, saying that's not why I watched the show, but she cut me off. "Of course not. You have me," she said happily, lying on her legs mermaid-style. "So, what're you asking Santa for?"

I stared at her for a good long while, but that benign smile stayed put. "I'm sorry?" You cannot be serious…

"Kurt," she said seriously, her voice lowering and that smile falling. "Those roads to the North Pole are treacherous. You need to write your letter to Santa real fast and mail to today—and remember, even the smallest envelope is heavy for an elf." She started smiling again. "Come on. We should decorate your locker, too. Put up a stocking. If not, where will all the Christmas magic go? To someone else, that's who."

I was still sitting at her locker, eyes wide, as she ran down the hall to mine. I could see Britt's face when she opened it and put a hand to her mouth and grinned when she saw my Team Unicorn/Courage monument.

"No way," I whispered to her tiny, raggedy stocking. She was not… she could not…

Something needed to be done…

"… I know we've already got our own magic, as Unicorn Mates, but Christmas magic is much stronger because it only comes once a year and only one person can give it. Unicorns are rare, but there's more than one and…"

*.*

I was almost skipping when I went back to Glee with Kurt. I was a little worried for his Christmas wishes and dreams, but Kurt had a way of making his dreams come true, so I wasn't that worried. He was still so surprised to hear that the North Pole was dangerous. With the ice caps melting, the roads were thinner and wetter. And wetter meant slipperier, and that's not good for reindeer hooves.

The band was just staring one of my favouritest Christmas songs—Island of Misfit Toys—so I started to swing with Kurt, doing that fancy dance he got me to teach Mr. Burt for the wedding. A waltz, that was it. All I knew was that every time we spun, he started to get a little happier, until he twirled me around—and around—and around—and back to him.

We sang and helped wrap presents with shiny, patterned paper and thick, gold, lacy ribbons. We decorated the scrawny tree, dangling gold fluffy stuff and popcorn strings that were actually strung, and coloured balls that made little reflections of colour on the ceiling, until the words were gone and the music had ended. I really didn't wish it had stopped.

I noticed a few of the Glee Club were staring at us, but most of them were fine, smiling a little when we were dancing, but just decorating. It looked like the Club were cool with us. It might have just been Christmastime.

Mr. Schuester came in with a tiny, but very pretty, gold tree that was dark green, unlike our skinny pale thing. I kinda liked it, though, even if, according to Puck, Santana and Finn, most of it was stolen. I remember Santana asking me the other day if I could help her move some stuff out. This must've been it. That was a fun day, with lots of sneezy dust and Santana even bought us winter ice creams.

Mr. Schue went on another one of his "I know you suck, but don't say you suck and don't sit around without doing something to make you not suck" rants, and I asked Kurt how we got to this bit.

"Glee Club is like this withered husk of a Christmas tree—broken, sick, beaten and mocked—but it's still magical," said Kurt.

"That's deep," I said, very impressed.

"This year, Glee Club is going to lend a hand to the McKinny Bento Homeless Children Youth Program right here in Lima," said Mr. Schuester, setting his Christmas-tree-in-a-pot on the piano top.

"How're we going to do that?" asked Rachel. She was one of the people staring earlier, I saw. I think she was intimidated by us.

"The only way we know how. By singing about it. We're going to go classroom to classroom, carolling, to raise money for—"

"Did he say carolling?" asked Kurt flatly.

"Yep."

"As of now, I have the flu and have broken my leg." He folded his arms together and made a disgusted face.

Quinn agreed with him. "We're going to be killed."

But Finn didn't agree. He thought Christmas miracles would protect us; I thought so, too, but I didn't think Santa could get all our letters that quickly. There's always a certain amount of Christmas magic in the air in December, but not enough to protect all of us.

A little bit of practise swaying and bobbing to few songs all of us knew how to sing, and we were off to our first class. At least we got to cut class. And we were given warm wool scarves and red and white roll knitted sweaters, like Nana made them.

No one really liked us. No one was smiling, and I was just happy I was standing in the back, protected by Finn's big, basketball-playing body. Kurt was closer to the front, though, so he wasn't so protected.

"You suck!"

Mercedes stopped for a second, but kept on singing, glad for her solo.

"I'd really rather be learning."

We pushed through, still humming and swaying and—

"If you're going to go back into the closet, you might as well do a better job of it!"

Silence. No one said a word. I wished I could've touched Kurt, but even though all I could see was the back of his head, I knew he was pale and looked even taller and slimmer than he was.

*.*

It was just some punk-ass fucker who had never learnt to keep his mouth shut. Stupidly expensive highlights, chiselled face, sharp eyes, red letterman jacket—he looked intelligent and popular. One out of two isn't bad.

I was standing beside Mercedes and I felt myself shake from something deep inside. It felt like I was going to explode. I was so furious—so deathly angry—that the urge to wrap my fingers around his thick neck was overwhelming, my vision was swamped with red.

And before the band could continue—they were obviously waiting for me to react—I took a few steps forward. For a few very serious seconds, I considered calling out this senior, this linebacker, this thug, and tell him how wrong he was. How he was jealous he didn't have Britts, how he was—

And I ran from the class to the nearest washroom, where tears of anger started to fall into the ink. I hadn't cried in anger in a while.

I thought I might actually have reached an understanding, but that was ridiculous. Being called a coward hurt so much more than a fag or a homo, because I was scared it was true. Sometimes I wondered if my initial attraction to Brittany was the possibility of a future: marriage, a child that was half me and half my love's, a real family, with no hassle, nothing. Peace. Love. Happiness.

I leaned against the door and wiped my face clean with the back of my hand, resolving to clean it thoroughly later. Right now, my mental state was the issue. I needed to calm down before a panic attack was eminent.

"Oh, shut up!"

I nearly tore my phone from my pants pocket; it had been vibrating insistently forever and was driving me mental.

Underneath the time and over my background pic (which I had changed to the alley scene out of Lady and the Tramp), were the words:

4: new text messages
1: missed call
66: Facebook reminders

I scrolled aimlessly through the text messages, trying to ignore the dryness in my mouth at the amount of Facebook notices.

Brittany: u ok?

Finn: how r u?

Mercedes: just a stoopid jock means zip

Mercedes: we're in choir room come when ur ready

Easy enough. I tapped out a quick reply, saying that I was fine, but I needed a few minutes to myself. Almost instantly Mercedes responded.

Mercedes: ok but u have until 1PM until i come O-Oing for you

I grimaced, but checked the missed call. Finn, but he hadn't left a message. He was probably checking if I had done a runner and ditched school completely; checking out for his (technically older) brother. I appreciated it, definitely.

I stared at the tiny blue app. The lowercase white f was hardly threatening, actually very nice clean-cut. But the tiny red bubble next to it, with that double-digit number—that threw my heart into my mouth. It took all my remaining strength to click the Facebook app.

It took me quite the long time to comprehend the first notification.

Brittany S. Pierce is now in a relationship with Kurt Hummel – 14 hours ago
- Sam Evans and 76 other people 'like' this

Once I understood it, the remainder of the notifications and wall posts made a cruel kind of sense. A large cold ball of dread settled in my stomach and grew with each word.

Sam Evans wishing you luck on the dancing soprano children! +6 'likes'

George Falkhart how big is this fag's denial? +9 'likes'

Adam Hansons next time, open the fly first, homo!1 +12 'likes'

Freddie Poplar XD +29 'likes'

Danny Johnson just pick a team, wouldya +6 'likes'

Santana Lopez that's right, britts, scream it to the world! +23 'likes'

Brittany S. Pierce I LOVE KURT HUMMEL! (and chocolate :D) +3 'likes'

A large photo of a heart shaped marshmallow in a steaming cup of hot chocolate accompanied the quote "Love is liked swallowing hot chocolate before it has cooled off. It takes you by surprise at first, but keeps you warm for a long time."

"Oh sweet Lord, no," I whispered, scanning the snarky, mean messages and the well-meant teasing from my fellow Gleeks that only fuelled the fire. Nothing positive. I knew it was Facebook and not to be taken completely seriously, but it made my hands tremble with shame, and then I saw Brittany's profile.

It wasn't the cute picture of her with a curly hairdo and Lord Tubbington that shocked me. Nor was it the recent status update (Brittany S. Pierce is going caroleing! spread Santa cheer every1!). Not even the amount of photos and Christmas-themed virtual goodies that littered her page. It was the amount of friends she had, friends who had gotten this message. 1531. Fifteen hundred and thirty-one. There were barely five hundred kids at McKinley!

I felt a little faint, to be honest, looking at that number. Literally, the whole school knew. And all because of Facebook. I felt like throwing up.

I got up unsteadily, gripping the cold, slippery tiles for support. My nails scraped and slipped along harmlessly. I thought I was doing this on my terms.

I went to the choir room in a haze of confusion and dull anger. Everyone was subdued, mumbling about the failure of classroom carolling, or decorating a new tree that Mr. Schue had almost certainly pulled from storage. Brittany brightened up and rose to meet me.

It's not her fault. She meant no harm. Don't—

"What the hell is this?" I asked, holding up the screen with Facebook, which was already beeping more notifications as news of the carolling spread like wildfire.

She stopped in her tracks, staring at it. "Your phone."

"You updated your relationship status," I said, deadly serious.

She got it, then. "You're my boyfriend, we came out. I thought we were okay."

"I just meant Glee Club," I said hopelessly. "Britts, not the whole school."

"Facebook isn't real," she said happily. "It's just another little world. It's not real, Kurt. All the little virtual worlds are connected, but—"

"They still know, Brittany," I said, begging her to understand.

Brittany tilted her head like a bird. "What? Oh, yeah, people know. But Facebook lives are different—"

"That's not how they see this," I said, my voice inching higher with frustration.

Brittany paused, searching for something to make me feel better. "Okay, but now, it's all out. No more secrets. And all the Glee kids don't have to worry about they Facebook and tweet—"

"Twitter," I repeated dully. "You tweeted us, too?"

Brittany looked down before nodding like a scolded child. "All the little worlds are connected," she murmured. "Facebook. Twitter. Tumblr. I'm really sorry."

I let go of her hand and hugged her, perfectly aware that everyone was watching us. "I'm sorry," I said softly. "I just wish you had asked me first, that's all. I understand it would've leaked, it's just—something to get used to."

Brittany returned my hug slowly.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked quietly. "That stupidhead—"

"Something to get used to. Just another kind of bullying," I said smoothly. I kissed her perfectly curled hair before letting her go. I looked over her at Sam. "And thank you for the goodwill you wish us on the 'dancing soprano children'. I'm looking forward to your trouty-mouthed blond Barbie kids with Quinn."

Any tension that had gathered broke at my words, and smiles bubbled around us.

"You didn't miss much," said Finn. "Just yelling and some teacher threw a shoe at us. We're gearing up for round two tomorrow, Kurt. Be ready."

"Pretty soon, no one will bully us," said Brittany cheerfully as she unravelled a popcorn string Tina handed her. "Santa can do anything, and this year I asked for us to stop getting picked on."

Everyone exchanged looks of confusion and smirks, as though this were a cute joke Brittany was playing on us.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Team meeting," I said quietly. The Club came within hearing distance, leaving Brittany to figure out how the popcorn strings went around the other ornaments. "Britt still believes in Santa Claus," I said quickly.

"You cannot be serious," said Mercedes blandly.

I nodded solemnly.

"Just fifteen minutes ago, Brittany believed the Facebook world wasn't real," said Sam sceptically. "This is a bad pattern."

"She's going to find out sooner or later," added Quinn.

"Someone needs to break the news," said Tina bluntly.

"Don't look at me," said Puck, holding his hands up. "I mean, I'm cruel and all but that's just hardcore."

Brittany hummed as she examined lime green felt stockings, pulling her carolling sweater closer.

"That's my point," I said weakly. "I would rather no one inform her about the true nature of the North Pole—"

"Meaning there's nothing there," said Mercedes. "Right?"

"—but to reinforce the belief. I know the tale is past its prime, but why shouldn't we try to maintain the magic in her world, the magic only children get to experience?" I crossed my arms, then tore off the maroon, Wal-Mart carolling outfit. I don't have anything against Wal-Mart itself, this just looked like it came from Wal-Mart. "I would like to give her the biggest shot of Christmas magic, then hope that her need will be pacified or at least subdued."

"How?" asked Mike, looking back at Brittany, who was still humming that Christmas tune, setting up stockings.

"I've got it all figured out," I said calmly. "Just meet me and Britts after school at the Lima Mall."

I caught her eye and she smiled beautifully. I waved half-heartedly, barely able to return it myself.

*.*

My smile was the smile of a person who's plan was falling perfectly into place. Sadly, I lost that smile when I saw the only other person at the mall.

Finn.

I hadn't talked in private with him, save for short, awkward encounters in the house we shared, since I had come out with Britts. Our relationship probably couldn't have been helped by my having a go at Rachel. I tugged my coat tighter around myself and pulled my courage together.

"Hello," I said in a voice I hoped wasn't too cold. I sat down beside him.

"Hey," said Finn. He was sitting in the food court with a fountain drink from New York Fries, which was behind him. The smells of fried food and various Asian take-out places, and there were people (mostly teenagers) running about with shopping bags and pockets of gossip.

"Puck and Mike drove me over. They're over there," said Finn after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. He pointed to the nearby HMV. "Prob'ly shop-lifting CDs. I didn't want to get caught with them."

I nodded. "Nice."

Finn gave me a look. I was rarely a guy of few words, let alone one-word responses. He turned back to people-watching without a second thought.

"What's the big Christmas plan?"

"You'll see."

"How was your day?"

"Fine. You?"

"Good. Nice winter we're having, huh?"

The weather. I just had to come out with it. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," I said honestly. "But I would like to know if it's just that I didn't tell you, or if it's part of me telling Rachel off, or if it's—or if it's actually my being bi that's freaking you out."

Finn, who had previously been leaning on his arm in a semi-coma state, pulled his head up so fast, his neck kinked. He groaned, trying to massage the kink out. "Look, you are who you are, and even though we all thought we knew who that was, if you're sure and you're happy then I'm happy for you. Rachel knows she can be mean and selfish and all that, so you didn't really need to call her out on it, but I'm not really mad at you."

"Did you want to call a family meeting?" I asked tentatively. "Introduce Britt to Dad and Carole as my girlfriend?"

Finn shrugged, but I could tell he wished I had. "You could've."

I thought for a moment. "How does this sound to you? I'll cook a special dinner tonight, invite Brittany over, and we can all celebrate my newfound happiness."

"You do look better," Finn admitted. "Not like that!" he added in a hurry. "Just—"

"Finn." I raised an eyebrow. "I'm over you. Completely. If you must know, I do have a crush on a guy, but the object of my male interest doesn't go to this school." I felt my ears turn pink.

"Oh." Finn smiled that crooked smile that used to make me melt. "Cool. But I meant you looked more stressed out, but we could tell you were a lot happier."

"Thank you. Have our relationship returned to an equilibrium?" I asked nervously. I mean, this was the guy I was living with.

Finn looked at me very seriously, the crooked smile falling but the light in his eyes staying. "If you can promise me I will never walk in on you and Brittany making out ever again, then yeah, we're cool."

I laughed, and soon Finn joined in. "Promise," I said. And I told him about my custom doorhanger, the one I had made when I had pretended to be straight. "Look for that on my bedroom door and we won't have problems."

Finn slapped me on the back. "Great."

That was Finn fixed.

*.*

Santana and Quinn and me arrived a lot later than everyone else, so we were the last ones to come. The Unholy Trinity. Santana liked to call us that. Everyone was around three or four tables in the food court in little brown iron chairs that scraped the floor, but you couldn't hear it with everyone talking.

"We're here, Porcelain," said Santana, sashaying like Charity up to Kurt and the boys. I waved a little from behind her.

"I thought we could all talk to Santa," said Kurt happily.

I went past Santana and hugged Kurt excitedly. It felt like my heart was going to blow: typically, kids our age forgot about Christmas magic, but of course Kurt wasn't one of those people. Everyone else wasn't that excited, but I knew that as soon as they saw Santa's magic face, they would all understand.

Santana nudged Kurt. "Good luck," she said, touching my hair. "I had to do this last year."

Kurt's smile got a little hard, but he led the whole Glee Club to the massive Santa Cave. It was a corner of the mall, with a huge gold chair and glittery presents, and that fluffy magicked snow that wasn't cold and you could pick up. There were even grandparent elves overseeing the conversations to the important man. It wasn't really Santa, I knew that. It was an elf magicked to look like Santa who would report to him nearer to Christmas, so that there could be one strategically every few miles, so every little boy and girl could tell Santa their wishes. Piano music pinged out of the Christmas tree. There were probably fairies in there; their accents always sounded like piano notes.

We waited with all the little kids, who were still young enough to believe in magic, and I started to swing Kurt's hand back and forth. "You're the best boyfriend ever," I whispered so the others couldn't hear me. "I really love you."

"Love you, too," he said automatically.

We got closer to the front, and I saw a really sad-looking elf and I felt my heart try to reach out through my chest to her. "Can I be honest, I don't understand the difference between an elf and a slave?" I said, so that even Kurt couldn't hear me.

Then it was Mercedes's turn. "Go Mercedes!" I cheered, as she sat on Santa's knee and told him what she wanted most while this magic time lasted. I was bouncing with happiness as one by one, all the Glee Clubbers got to tell the representative their wishes.

Then, it was my turn. Kurt put his hand on the little curve of my back and pushed me forward.

"Next," said the welcome elf. She was old and really, really sad-looking.

"Just remember you have rights," I said. I hoped I had started a revolution, so that the North Pole could stop using forced labour.

"Ho, ho, ho," said the elf-Santa in a deep voice. This one's magic was wearing off: his skin was darker than Mercedes. He was clearly an Oompa Loompa at the North Pole. I sat in his lap, hoping to look nice and lady-like, just like Nana always told me to do. "What's your name?"

"Brittany," I said anxiously. "I know you're really busy, so I only want one thing for Christmas." I leaned back so our heads were close together, and pointed right at Kurt. "You see that boy with those awesome clothes? He's my boyfriend." Kurt smiled and lifted a hand to wave. "And he's really, really bullied at school—like badly." I tried to get the elf-Santa to understand. "So, for Christmas, I want him to be popular and for everyone to see how unicorn he really is. You can do that, right, Santa?" I added, tongue-in-cheek, like Kurt would say.

He looked at Kurt thoughtfully, making a real show of it. "Of course. I'm on it."

"Thank you very much," I said, hugging him before jumping off his lap and giving Kurt a sweet kiss. "Your turn."

*.*

We were screwed. Completely fucked. I had crossed my legs when I sat on Santa's knee and made some random wish—I think it was to be able to do a duet with Lady Gaga. This was insane. It was just not going to happen. Not the duet, that was an inevitability one day. Being popular was out of the realm of possibility.

But there was a small part of my brain that planned out what I could do to make this wish come true.

Dress "straight". Make a show of Britt and me. Join the football team again. Sing rock or guy songs using my lower register, which would also train my speaking voice to deepen over time.

If I worked hard for the next few weeks, I could be Queen Bee by Christmas break.

I couldn't.

But I could.

I shouldn't.

But I should.

First, I had to try and convince Brittany that I didn't mind the bullying, that being me was better than being popular. If that didn't work, I could attempt plan B, which consisted of burning my accessory scarfs with hair spray as accelerant.

"Uh—Kurt? Your timer is beeping at you," said Finn. It didn't sound like this was the first time he was telling me this.

I set down the segmented box of coloured orbs and went to the kitchen, where Brittany was attempting to figure out how to reset the timer without starting the microwave up. I took over and pressed RESET; the incessant beeping stopped.

Brittany adjusted her white chef's hat, which was something Dad had bought years ago for me. She had set up a chair in front of the oven to watch the tomatoes and cut of rump slowly roast. I took the pair of oven mitts from her and took out the dish, before sautéing the onions and garlic mechanically.

"We should do this at my house," said Brittany in a voice quiet enough that she was almost sure I wouldn't hear her, but loud enough that I just might.

"All right," I said casually. "We can do this with your parents." My heart was beating a mile a minute. Great, another thing to worry about.

Brittany got up from her chair and hugged me from behind, kissing my temple. I tried to smile, but all I could think was How am I ever going to deal with you?

"Don't mess around, around hot appliances!" said Finn in an obnoxious voice.

Brittany let go of me and opened the fridge behind me. The garlic and onions browned as she unloaded half the fridge onto the kitchen table.

"Don't," I warned without turning to face her.

A small whine, but Brittany left the glasses of chocolate pudding in the fridge untouched. Now, all I had to do was fend off Finn.

"Don't you dare," I said again.

This time she stomped her foot, but she didn't touch the cookie dough I had left to set.

"Something smells good," said Carole, peaking around the corner. She stood behind me, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"Hello, Miss Carole," said Brittany happily.

"It's the beginnings of roasted tomato soup, rump roast with gravy, butter peas and mashed potatoes, and espresso-chocolate pudding and shortbread," I rattled off. I turned the tomatoes and sautéed bits into the food processor, cranking up the power until it ran smooth.

Carole, who was still adjusting to life in the now-cramped house, looked at me a little funnily, as though unsure if I was serious or not.

Believe me, I was.

I think what she was most off-put by, if anything, was the fact I was making it all from scratch by memory. There wasn't a single cookbook or printed out recipe in sight.

But she took it in stride and told me that it looked wonderful and that I had a great little assistant. I think Britt was getting a little tired of being referred to as "little", but she kept smiling.

"Dinner will be served in another half hour," I announced.

I could see Finn perk up, then speed up his tree-decorating. This was a dinner that I knew you could smell from miles away, and I think he was as curious as anyone about my cooking abilities on a meal that was relatively normal.

My gut started to twist once I realised how soon Carole would find out. I didn't know her all too well and while I knew she loved the gay, effeminate Kurt, the one that had taken her shopping and gave her cooking tips on a daily basis, I didn't know how she would adjust to the Kurt who had a girlfriend.

And having her accept me was an even greater concern than Finn accepting me. Finn was just a teenage boy, prone to mood swings and the occasional burst of petty cowardice. Carole was my Dad's wife.

I went through the motions of completing and plating dinner, using the clean white china and gleaming silverware, but all moisture leached itself from my mouth and more than once did I have to wipe a plate clean because the hand holding the gravy boat shook too much.

Tonight would solidify my relationship with Brittany even more than anything else I had done. Tell the Glee Club, change my status on Facebook (I had broken down and done it), tell my dad, Blaine, Mr. Schuester—now, this was something different.

This was a Friday Dinner.

I swatted Brittany's hands again, as she tried to dip her finger into the potatoes she had just spent fifteen minutes pummelling. Plates on the table, soft Christmas music from the fireplace channel (currently playing McCartney's Wonderful Christmastime), steam rising casually from the dishes remaining in the kitchen, I wondered if I should shout. Dad had this telepathic sense to know when dinner was finished.

And then…

"FINN! MISS CAROLE! MISTER BURT! DINNER!"

… Brittany broke my eardrums.

"There," she said pointedly. "Now, can I taste—"

"No," I said firmly, pulling out her chair.

She looked up at me and whispered, "What's this little white lump that looks like whipped cream but isn't?"

"Crème fraiche," I told her for the fifth time that night.

"Alright, alright, no need to holler," said Carole as she came down the stairs.

Finn dropped under the Christmas tree, muttering to himself, and army-crawled to the wall behind it. Normally, this was a view I could not ignore. Now, I was tempted to call his name again to make him jump and make the tree shake and jangle with the twenty pounds of garland and metal balls. After a few seconds of fumbling, the tree came to life and I watched Brittany's pupils dilate like an addict's, the cheap lights glittering in her eyes.

"You do kinda make a cute couple," said Finn when he caught me staring at her.

Brittany was now investigating the part of the meal she found least interesting: the soup. She dipped her finger in it and explored the tomato-ness of it.

I smiled knowingly, then turned to Finn. "Do you think I should do this with song, like when you told Quinn's parents—?"

Finn blushed deeply. "If you never mention the failure of Having My Baby, then you sing whatever the hell you want." I hoped the thinly veiled threat wasn't actually going to be put into action.

"Forget it," I muttered, as Dad and Carole took their seats at the head and foot of the glossy table.

Soup passed without incident. Chatter about sport and the day's news filtered in and out, as well as the occasional compliment to the chef and assistant. Brittany corrected Finn: she was the sous chef. It was then that Carole started to take a bigger interest in Brittany, who had before been quietly listening, asking her about Glee and her dancing at Sectionals, her friends and how school was. Motherly topics.

The most interesting thing that happened during the main was Finn nearly toppling the gravy boat to the floor and Brittany attempting to clean the flakes of black pepper from her beans, mistaking them for dirt.

I was dishing out the biscuits, attempting to get them to lean against each other and balance while I carried them the six feet to the table. It was proving difficult, even with the pudding acting as a solidifying cement. The cookies crumbled or bent at odd angles—it was a mess.

As I was adjusting to these newly sprouting grey hairs, Brittany was regaling the household with a tale of how I had sung I Am What I Am for the Club, obviously leaving out the occasion's closing song, and the entire auditorium was silent—which you didn't understand without hearing what the closing song was.

However, Dad and Finn knew it. So it was funny.

Carole was just confused.

"—and, since I was watching the guys instead of Kurt, I could see all their jaws slowly drop at the same time, like it was planned. And there was just this wide-open hole there for flies to fly in!" said Brittany earnestly.

Finn snorted as he remembered, bowing his head in either shame or laughter. Simultaneously, I felt proud we had reached the stage where the memory was funny rather than awkward and embarrassing, but I also felt my ears burn with a mix of humiliation and laughing-at-yourself pity.

Carole asked tentatively if the Club hadn't known about my "sexuality", using the word that no one under thirty (except maybe I) used. It was the worst question she could have asked and I interceded quickly.

"Dessert is served," I said with a flourish, abandoning my effort of cookie-leaning.

"Wow, Kurt, that looks delicious," said Carole, still looking at Brittany, who was chewing the straw sticking out of her drink thoughtfully.

Finn and Dad were looking at me, slightly alarmed; Finn more than Dad, though.

"Chocolatey," added Brittany approvingly. "Well, the Club didn't know, technically."

"Some of us had figured out," said Finn, grabbing a biscuit and sticking it in his mouth, as though it could shut up Brittany. I wished it could've. Carole had to know, but it was the telling that gave me temporary heart attacks.

I sat beside Brittany again and prayed it would be over with quickly. Ripping off a Band Aid. She turned her head slightly and shifted her posture; I knew she was kicking Finn, playing footsie to tease him.

"You didn't, even with me coming over," she said tauntingly.

Dad looked at his new wife carefully. "Pardon?" asked Carole.

I was starting to wish I had sung that song. But I Honestly Love You really didn't fit in with the circumstances.

I looked at Dad, silently swearing. We had discussed this and agreed to do it with the big Weekly Talk, when he took a brandy and I fixed coffee, and went to the living room to talk about our week. This was the time in the Hummel house where announcements were made.

But, of course, we had neglected to mention it to Britts.

"Oh, he was telling everyone that I was his girlfriend."

And it was out.

Carole's reaction was what I had associated with "typical": eyes popping a little too much, body frozen (spoon half-way to her mouth), and the gears in her head desperately turning, attempting to find a way that this made sense.

"Mom?" asked Finn gently. "You okay?"

Carole nodded, her ginger bob shaking with her. She had apparently found an explanation that made sense and I could already tell what it was. Brittany was a little dim and girlfriend meant best friend who was a girl.

Brittany understood her mistake as soon as it had been made. She looked at me pleadingly and I whispered niceties to her, putting my hand on her leg until her panicked look started to dissipate.

Carole then noticed how I was with Brittany, my physical closeness, how my chair was much closer than needed, my hand leaving the table, my lips to her ear, and my familiar expression of softness (also known as "googly eyes").

And she thought that just maybe girlfriend meant girlfriend.

Carole made no other comment and with every passing blessing of silence, I felt myself relax. Conversation gradually picked back up with Finn asking the (very) stupid question if the pudding was from a package or box. I could barely dignify that question with an answer.

When the Weekly Talk came around, the table's occupants moved ten feet over and basked in the glow of artificial Christmas lights and the fireplace channel. This night, I had made coffee for Carole and myself and hot chocolate for Finn and Brittany. Finn didn't enjoy coffee—the freak.

Finn and Carole had already had several Talks, so Carole started to go on about the issues in the Giant Tiger she worked at. Nothing as large as laying people off, just payment "problems". This house, even with my fashion habits, Dad's BMW M3 and my Escalade, had well enough money to stay on top of things. We know Carole wanted to do her bit, but even if we were to move again, her working wasn't absolutely necessary unless we had our eye on a million-dollar showhome.

Brittany, as she had for most of the night, sat calmly beside me, her lips fastened on her drink and her eyes wide as she stared at the Christmas tree. The night marched on and soon enough, hot chocolate finished and her insides warmed to contentment, Brittany laid her head on my shoulder. I changed my position and wrapped an arm around her. Finn made a face between aw and ugh.

When Finn and Dad started to discuss sport, I knew Carole was going to take more interest in Brittany, as her son's fascination passed her by. She sat on my other side and asked the fatal question. "Is she really your girlfriend?"

I nodded. "My sexuality has been a recent revelation." I waited a moment and when I started to hear the scores of the previous night's game, I continued. "Are you all right with that?"

Carole seemed almost shocked I would think she wasn't. "What? What would be wrong with that?"

"People haven't been completely welcoming to this notion," I said, trying not to sound too grim. Not for the first time, I was thankful Dad and Carole didn't have Facebook.

Carole's expression changed to a mask of helpless pity, something people often wore when talking to me about my orientation. Except now, it was all off. A guy bullied because he had a girlfriend? Please.

"You're happy," she said.

It didn't sound like a question but I said yes anyways.

*.*

I knew Kurt had a girlfriend—I was one of the first people he entrusted with it—and while he wasn't having problems with himself anymore, the remainder of the school wasn't enjoying its gay mascot "switching teams". So, it was stupid of me to keep flirting with him. I think it was flirting, at least. I tried to convey my interest, make it known that I was an open option, nevermind Jeremiah.

Kurt was happy with a girl. He had a stable, loving relationship going on, and he was the type of guy that coveted that.

I wasn't trying to "make him" gay or anything. If he liked girls and guys, so be it, but that didn't knock me out of the ballpark.

Brittany was absolutely lovely, but I wasn't going to stop being friends (or being flirts) with Kurt because of his girlfriend. Non-single guys can flirt with single guys, can't they? Flirting isn't cheating. And besides, he flirted back.

So that was why, on a day McKinley had inservice, I asked Kurt to drive up to Dalton and why he was standing in the empty common room wearing a VISITOR tag on his tailored midnight coat. Snow dusted his wavy, refusing-to-move brown hair and was stuck all the way up to his knees.

"Hey, I have a small request to make," I asked, trying not to sound too enthusiastic as I dropped my study material.

Kurt smiled and rubbed his hands together to warm them. "I figured that one out."

"I need you to sing with me," I admitted.

Kurt brightened up and sat opposite me, his slim boots squeaking all the way. "Oh?"

"Rehearse," I corrected smoothly. "I've got a gig singing Baby, It's Cold Outside in the King's Island Christmas Spectacular."

Kurt took off his coat and crossed his legs. "Ah. A personal favourite." He nodded, looking around the well decorated, private school space. "Too bad they'd never let us sing it together," he added, his voice a little deeper, a little faster and he gave me that look that sped up my heart.

I didn't think I was imagining things, because when I raised an eyebrow questioningly, he hurriedly added, "I mean, as two male artists."

"Mmm, hmm. So you're going to help me out here?"

"It wasn't too far out of my way," he said in his high, soft voice. It betrayed his nerves.

"Very well, then," I said, turning back to my CD player.

What happened then was one of our finer sessions. When we had hung out or jokingly sung together, I could always feel that spark between us, before the veil of reality—the reality where we lived on opposite ends of town and he had a girlfriend—returned and the moment was gone. This time, for a whole three minutes, I had felt that flirty, playful connection the whole time. The thing that made me think that just maybe, Kurt felt a little something, too.

Obviously, Kurt sang the girl's part and while we had made a brilliant vocal match-up, I think if Wes or David came to look for me, even they wouldn't deny the chemistry. I had trouble staying in key, remembering lyrics to the Christmastime mall classic and maintaining the charm, mostly because Kurt was distracting me, especially when he went down—

His voice! His voice went down. It dipped to the lower notes that you didn't expect from him and that little flair made me loose my breath.

We ended up on the burnished button-leather couch, sitting much closer than casual friends, blushing and avoiding each other's eye. I was the one who had to get up. If not, I didn't think Kurt ever would.

"One thing's for sure, you are much better than that girl's going to be," I said confidentially, as the mixed CD flipped onward to other Christmas mall blasters.

Colour rose high in Kurt's cheeks and I could see his train of thought crash and burn.

I think that was when I knew our relationship had switched from flirting friends to something stronger. This was more than I had anticipated. This was more like pursuing, rather than feeding my pipedream and making my heart flutter with the guy I was crushing on. Even my feelings had developed more from a "teenage girl and boyband" crush (admiring from afar, flirting and doing what I can while I can, with a vaguely desperate air) to a place where we were equals in the relationship game.

And I hated that I couldn't summon any guilt for what I was doing.

*.*

"So, are you coming over tonight? Mom and Daddy said you could come right after school," I said to Kurt.

The lunchroom wasn't feeling very friendly to Kurt, so we had been hanging out around back under the overhang of the roof. It was pretty cold, but we had winter clothes and no one said anything mean to us out there. I had switched my Cheerio skirt to pants a few weeks ago; it was just way too cold, and the steel seats burned my legs like fire. But the shining icicles from above were worth the cold; dangling from high up, they were tasty and salty when you licked them.

Kurt thought about, turning his coffee in his hands fast. "I think I should."

"That means yes?"

Kurt nodded and I kissed him right on the mouth. "Oh, and don't worry about Ronnie. She's my little sister and she's really mean, she doesn't like any of my boyfriends."

Kurt laughed. "How old is she?"

"Seven."

He shook his head like he just couldn't believe me. "Wonderful." He must've seen how I was looking at him. "I don't like little kids."

I put my lips right up next to his ear and whispered, "I don't either." I just remembered something. "Oh!" He jumped; I guess I was still too close to his ear. "My mom says you can't cook tonight."

I swore he looked disappointed.

*.*

Kids and cats—this was going to be one hell of a night.

And I didn't know whether to be grateful or terrified when Brittany said that I couldn't go home and change first, before going to have dinner with her family. However, I did know to be terrified when she took my car keys and drove my Escalade. I was plastered to my seat the entire ride.

"I wish you could see it at night," said Brittany woefully, as she turned onto her street.

"Holy sh—"

"Are you going to sing Holy Night? I love that song," said Brittany eagerly.

Even without the unusual colouring of the powder blue house, I would know which one belonged to Brittany. Even in the daylight, miles upon miles of Christmas lights were visible—strung on the evergreen in the front yard, the bushes, several lines around the eavesdrops, the chimney poking out the side, and winding around the railings. There were also Christmas critters (I think they were meant to be elves) in the bushes and a few stone elf ornaments that had been painted haphazardly by someone with questionable artistic skills. A massive duo of reindeer were beside the tree, hooked in a loving embrace.

Brittany slowed down from the lead-foot pace and edged into the drive cautiously, peering through the mirrors, around the windows. "Am I going to hit any elves?" she said anxiously. "You know, they come alive when no one's looking."

"You're fine," I said, my mouth drying. The elves were starting to freak me out, even without Brittany's pronouncement.

She pulled me up to the front door and stopped in front of the door. I knew what she was thinking: this was where we had had our first kiss. Her blond pigtails bounced happily before opening the door and yelling, "Mom!"

A very pretty dark-haired woman appeared around the corner of the kitchen. "This must be Kurt." I shook her hand, taking in her mom jeans and nice sweater—not quite brand name cashmere, but something very nice. "Call me Cathrine."

"Cat," said Brittany pointedly.

"Pleasure," I said. Brittany wasn't letting go of my hand and I began to fear for its circulation.

"I was just going to get your sister to the Girl Guides' parent meeting," said Cathrine, reaching in the closet for her coat. "I'll be back in about an hour and a half, and Daddy'll be home in another few hours. You kids be good."

Another few minutes and a car parked on the road drove off with Cathrine inside.

"So that was Mom," said Brittany efficiently, dropping her Cheerio jacket on the floor and kicking her shoes at the wall. "Dad's still at the store. He's an artist; makes stuff from other stuff."

"Like pottery," I asked, eyeing the multi-coloured pots and vases that decorated most of the rooms. I was reluctant to act as casual as Brittany. But she undid my coat herself, throwing it on a chair, and kneelt down to untie my tight boots. I have to admit, my heart jumped into my throat when she got on her knees.

Brittany nodded and started to talk about all the things her father had made with clay and "that wet stuff", which included some of the elves out front and the pair of reindeer.

She was still talking about her father's job when she led me to her now-familiar bedroom and pushed me into the bed.

*.*

So far, everything was fine. Stupid Ronnie was still at school or her stupid club, so she couldn't barge in and stop us, and Mom and Daddy weren't home.

Kurt and I had reached what he called "a natural stopping point", and were just about to go back into the living room and wait for him to meet and get annoyed by Ronnie. But there was still another Woody Woodpecker cartoon between that and now, so Kurt and I were still laying in my bed—with each other.

"Looking forward to dinner?" I played with the little silver buttons on his shirt.

He shrugged above me. "I am. Nervous but I'm definitely looking forward to this dinner."

I smiled and moved my hand to his silvery belt. "Did I help with that nervousness?"

His breathing got all shallow and thin under me. "Yeah," he said highly. "You did."

And then the worst thing that could have happened, happened. Daddy came home much earlier than normal. The front door jingled when he came in and Daddy's heavy footsteps echoed through the house. "Sweetie? Britt-Britt?"

Kurt had gone totally quiet, and I jumped up to greet Daddy at the door before he could find Kurt. I knew Kurt wouldn't be happy if he met my Daddy with his hair all messed and not presentable.

Daddy grinned when he saw me and swept me into a big hug and kiss, his bristly guy-scruff scratching my cheek. He smelled like chemical paint and dry, flaky clay, and I could see some of the dust still in his beard from the new stuff that had come out of the Portable Hell.

He asked me how my day was and I told him it all went well and that I had brought a special friend home to meet him.

"I saw the car," he said. Just then, Kurt (looking much more presentable) came back from my bedroom, smiling and professional. I think Daddy was surprised because Kurt wasn't nearly as manly-looking as his car. He was plenty man for me, but he was wearing his typical school gear (lime green button shirt, a black bowtie, and a pair of snow-white skinny jeans). I didn't want him to go home and pull some Kurt out of his closet that didn't exist.

"I was just saying that your car is a great piece of machinery," said Daddy, reaching out a hand to shake. "I'm Jake Pierce."

"Kurt Hummel, your daughter's boyfriend." I could see the bottoms of his ears redden when he said that. "Thanks, I used to help my dad work on cars. He owns Hummel Auto."

"I see that place. Just off Richardson and Plymouth?" asked Daddy, leading Kurt into the living room.

And then the most shocking thing happened. Cars, the thing Kurt was so embarrassed to know all about, was what he talked to Daddy about all night. Even when Ronnie came home and was all loud and obnoxious, Kurt and Daddy were in the Bear's Den (because it had a whole bear family on the coffee table), talking about some Italian thing—I think they were fast cars that could fly to the moon.

Ronnie burst in, her sash in her hand, and took one look at Kurt and said, "Who the hell are you?" worse than Santana ever could.

"That's not very nice, Veronica," said Daddy, frowning that frown that was to be obeyed. Plus, he used her long name.

Ronnie glared at Kurt, then looked at me and said a quick sorry. When she left, I knew she was going to torture Charity and Lord Tubbington with snacks they didn't want to eat and cuddling that would squish them.

So, I did the only thing a cat-loving older sister could do.

I yelled after her, "DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH MY CATS, VERONICA M. PIERCE!"

*.*

I let out a little squeal when Brittany screamed at her sister, but it seemed to be a regular occurrence, because when Cathrine came in, rosy-cheeked and smiling, she barely looked apologetic.

"Well, Kurt, I think you pass the biggest test," said Jake. When I stared at him, he continued. "You managed to stay together longer than a week."

I laughed weakly, remembering the parade of boyfriends that rotated through the Cheerios. Jake whacked me on the shoulder, not unlike many men I had known, and said that he was going to change out of his shop gear.

I went into the kitchen and saw Cathrine rummaging around in her cupboards, with what appeared to be the ingredients for a rack of lamb with some kind of spiced rub sitting on the counters. I didn't know how many opportunities like this I would have, so I took this first available one.

"Brittany still believes in Santa Claus," I said firmly.

Cathrine banged her head when she came up, but just looked at me sadly. "I'm sorry," she said heavily. "However, if you can handle Brittany's eccentricities on a daily basis, this should be simple."

"She's seventeen and has got Christmas decorations that cost more than the average car," I said flatly, pointing to the ginormous light-up tree with memorabilia and about ninety pounds of glamorous ornaments in the living room. The front and back spoke for themselves. The miniature forest of evergreens looked like something out of Oz. And every indoor surface had some kind of Christmas reference that was an iffy cross between tacky and sweet.

"You might have realised that Brittany isn't exactly normal," said Cathrine, getting huffy. "She isn't just slow, she has a mild form of autism we were scared would develop into something stronger." A felt ice trickle down my spine. "But it hasn't and she has the strength to make herself believe something that isn't real, to make her world special and meaningful."

I once had a friend when I was little who was autistic, and his parents always talked about him like this. Like he was part of a different world that he made his own with his beliefs that he could only barely give voice to.

It threw me off-guard to have someone talk about Britts like this.

"She asked for something at a Santa's grotto that can't come true," I said. When her mother gave me the look, I grudgingly finished. "She wants me to stop being bullied for my sexuality—bisexuality. To be popular. And that cannot happen. It's an impossibility."

Cathrine didn't say anything for a long time. So long that I thought she had forgotten about me, but at last she said, "All right. I understand if she must know—the day will come soon, anyways—but I'd like you to avoid telling her if it's possible. To keep the world magical."

It was almost the same thing I had said in Glee Club.

After that, I was stunned at how normal dinner was. The feline beasts sat on a corner of the table, eyeing the platter of meat hungrily, being slowly stroked by Brittany; the family style supper was self-serve and delicious aside for some slightly overcooked carrots. I was actually frightened for my jeans during the cheesecake. Her parents seemed to like me well enough and Jake liked to talk cars with me, although he was slightly put out that I didn't watch sports. Hell, I barely knew enough to nod along and pretend I knew. Ronnie was throwing me the evil eye, but I think that was more to do with the fact that I was Brittany's boyfriend than actually disliking me. Sibling enemies—better than sibling allies. My cousins were proof of that.

After coffee/hot cocoa, I was being waved on my way by an enthusiastic Brittany, a falsely smiling Ronnie, a fond Jake and it appeared Cathrine was trying to warn me. I would do my damndest to make sure Brittany didn't know the Santa truth, but I didn't know how long I could hold out.

When I got home, my fingers were drawn to the stove. I twiddled the dials and filled a saucepan with milk and various natural sweeteners and spices. My head spinning with stress, I changed into pyjamas and poured the now warm and spiced milk into mugs and I headed upstairs.

I was initially headed for Dad—my default go-to for problems at school—but Finn knew Brittany better and would have more input. Besides, I wasn't sure if I was ready to go to Dad with girl issues. It was fairly late, but both their lights were still on, shining under the closed doors. The only time I had made this balancing trip was for a lady chat, a gossip of friends and enemies, a bonding experience that although Finn protested, I knew he enjoyed.

I couldn't believe I was going to Finn for help, no matter how much sense it made.

I pushed open the door. "Finn, do you have any clue what I could do about Brittany's wish for Santa?" I asked hesitantly.

As soon as I spoke, he jumped like I had electrocuted him with a live wire and hastily stuffed his reading material under his covers. Scarred. For. Life.

"Are you hearing yourself, dude?" His voice was out of breath and a little deeper than normal. His bedside lamp highlighted the pallor of his face.

"Knock, knock," I said, tapping the doorframe with the mugs, trying to force myself from blushing.

"I think you should help her grow up," said Finn seriously. Then, he played with the edges of his blankets, his feet bouncing with anticipation of my leaving. "You know, this isn't the best time."

I was fully aware of what he was doing before I had opened his door, and I wasn't going to be able to go to sleep next door if I knew he would continue. My only hope to be able to face Finn in the morning was to stay long enough that simple time would dissipate his… urges.

So, against my better judgement, I crossed the room and sat on the end of his bed, the ends of my blue rope catching on his bedframe. Finn accepted the milk and sat up, pulling a pillow into his lap and leaning over it.

I pretended to ignore the implication.

I needed serious help.

"I talked to Brittany's parents…" And I told him everything Cathrine had said, leaving out the part of autism; Finn was hardly school gossip, but he didn't need to know that.

"What the hell am I supposed to do about my popularity? Finn!"

Finn was staring into space absently. He jumped back to reality and gave me a pitying look. "I don't know, dude." Honestly, I shouldn't have expected anything more. "I—Look, I don't think you should change who you are and stuff, but it would be easier if you just tried to blend in," Finn muttered quickly.

I knew I was meant to be angry, but I couldn't summon the strength. It would be an easier life to live, but I'd be fabricating every minute of it because I couldn't stand to be myself. No matter how much Brittany wanted it, I couldn't force myself into that.

Finn just misunderstood me.

He had a point, I just couldn't do it. I think I was scared of what might change inside me if I went through with Plan Popular.

Finn didn't have anything more to say on the subject, so I changed topic quickly and offered my advice with his own girl problems and, soon enough, Finn's goldfish memory took over and the atmosphere returned to normal.

I left, faking my smile as I took his empty glass back downstairs, when he thanked me in what he would call a "mind blown" voice. But then his tone changed.

"Kurt. I'm—I'm really sorry I don't know what to do. If I were you, I'd give being popular a shot, but I'm not you so I can't tell all the little things that might change your decision—"

"Finn, it's okay. Goodnight."

"'Night."

Why on earth did he have to say that?

*.*

Once more on Monday, I found myself at the heart of school gossip and now it seemed the hivemind of the student body had made their decision about what to do about me. My Facebook page trashed and spammed with mocking, scornful comments, my gleaming car slushied with parking lot slush and marked-up with Sharpie, and my face already smacked twice today with the burning ice, I returned from lunch with a dizzying, distinct sense of not belonging.

At least during lunch I had my girlfriend.

I turned heads when I walked down the hall with Brittany, going to the choir room. I was so flamboyant with our false relationship the year before, and everyone was so secure that I was the School Gay, that this was the juiciest gossip of the season.

I just wished the school was bigger, so it was possible to "blend in". I had dressed down in a tailored jacket and jeans tucked into my boots, but I think I was someone who couldn't be ignored. And now with Britts, avoiding bullies was becoming increasingly difficult.

I made it to the choir room without incident and stared at the mess of green twigs and shredded red cotton. Mike was sweeping up bits and pieces of glass, and Sam wore gloves while wrapping up the long chain of broken Christmas lights. It took a few minutes to make the connection between the stump of a log and the massive Christmas tree.

Everyone sat around, looking miserable. The girls contemplated something, while holding silvery scissors close to their scalps, and Finn and the boys were staring mournfully at their wrists.

"What's going on?"

I was waved over by Mercedes, who thankfully didn't have scissors. My question was soon answered when Mr. Schue came in. The girls were chopping their hair and the boys selling their watches to pay for gifts for the homeless children. I slinked lower in my seat. With all the drama in my life, I had nearly forgotten about the staff's Secret Santa dilemma and Finn's overwhelming need to give back.

I wasn't all that into Christmas, mostly because I wasn't a big fan of Christ, but even the commercial holiday was only good for experimenting in the kitchen with pumpkin pie and having an excuse for shopping. Christmas spirit wasn't high on my list of priorities.

And with Mr. Schuester's speech on magic, he started organising us into a Dr. Seuss choir, setting up a carolling number for us to sing to the staff—who were less likely to throw stuff at us.

Brittany looked at me in a certain way that made my heart jump into my throat. I knew she was thinking about her Christmas wish.

"Fahoo, forus, dahoo, dorus... Welcome Christmas…"

*.*

We were supposed to play Singstar—which I really liked—but when Kurt got me downstairs, he just set me down and sat beside me, all seriously.

His voice was a little rough and cracked, but instead of it being awesome and sexy, it just made me hurt because he looked so sad. "Brittany, I don't want your Christmas wish to come true."

I tried to think before I spoke, because that's what Nana tells me to do, and I did it now. There was no reason I could think of why he didn't want to be popular. "Why? People could finally see you the way I do." I couldn't find the right words and things got a bit jumbled in my head.

"Because for them to like me, they'd have to get over my—my dolphin-ness." He waved at his awesome clothes. "And then, they'd have to accept you and that's only gonna happen in time. And that's never going to happen, so I'd have to change. I'd have to act so that they'd like me, and I don't want to do that. That's not me."

I started to get frustrated with Kurt and forgot completely about Singstar. "Why not? I see how sad you get, like, when you think you're worthless, like you're less than you really are. And that's because of those stupidheads, and those idiots just need to see you for you and all that will stop."

Kurt looked even sadder than ever, but he nodded and smiled a little, a little, tiny wet spot on the corner of his eye getting bigger and bigger until it dripped and he wiped it away. He held my hand with both of his. "Oh, Brittany. You are so, so right, you have no idea. It's just that that's not going to happen. People are stupid and people are prejudiced and ignorant and mean. And not even Santa can change that."

I sat back and didn't look at him—I couldn't. My throat started to get tight and my head, right behind my eyes, it started to burn and I blinked again and again.

"Everyone knows that," he said quietly. He sniffed some tears back into his head. "We've had those lectures on bullying and shit, but I never wanted you to realise that it was true." Kurt pulled me into a hug and kissed my hair.

"It's not fair that you get slushied and I get party invitations." My voice got high and squeaky. "It's just not fair!"

Kurt sounded watery, like he was fighting back tears. "Believe me. I know."

I've decided that I'm going to continue this as long as humanly possible (ie. until Kurt graduates). But the updates will be sporadic, because I was just given my final project in English and I'm reading 4 books for the class right now. So... Yeah, I'll write when I can, but don't expect a weekly update until the summer-then you might get two a week. :D