Hello, my darlings! Well, I'm finally finished with my Big Bang fic, so I have time to work on this again! It's just great to get back to it at last, and thank you guys for waiting :D

Rating: M for swearing.

Warnings: None, really, other than swearing and teeth-rotting fluff.

Disclaimer: If I owned Glee, this fic would be canon and therefore wouldn't exist.

Notes: As always, thank you all for your reviews and favorites and support! You guys are just amazing for sticking by me even though I take so long to ustpdate!

Enjoy!

Mattress/Sectionals

It's clear we need to talk, but neither of us will admit it. I'm not sure which of us is more stubborn, but we're not budging.

I very nearly apologize. I get pretty damn close, but when I approach you, I see you on your phone (not a scratch on it, thank god, or I'd feel even worse) with that bloody look on your face again, obviously texting that gel-headed git. Instead of saying sorry, I knock you with my shoulder as I pass, ignoring your glare.

Things don't improve. Every time I see you around or in Glee practice, I'm flooded with panic and end up doing something stupid. You walk in my direction at one point, and I freeze, spin round and stride off the other way. It's almost pathetic. No, no, it's definitely pathetic. Why am I so scared of facing you?

Oh, right, yeah. The whole being in the closet thing.

At this point, I'm torn. Half of me is terrified to go near you because I know I'll do something or say something that will make it impossible for me to deny who I am any longer. But then there's another part, a more powerful part, which just wants to wrap you in my arms, jump in a pool of rainbow glitter and let it all out.

Funnily enough, the first part is currently winning in the logical solutions department.

Of course, to add further insult to injury, Glee club is once again making its sole mission in life to humiliate me. Thanks to Coach Sylvester, Figgins has decided that Glee don't get a picture in this year's Thunderclap, which as far as I'm concerned is the best idea Figgins has ever had. Only, Schue is arguing against it, which once again brings me back to humiliation highway.

I just don't get why we can't be anonymous. Why we have to stand out all the time and be so proud to be different and all that shit? What if I'm not proud to be different? What if I want to live my life as a member of the herd and not get the shit beaten out of me? Fuck, I want to be normal, why doesn't anyone get that?

And it's all very well for Rachel to be all proud of being a freak, but she's not the one who's going to get sharpied by her own friends. This, of course, being an inevitability, as Azimio so kindly informs me during today's practice.

'The system's put in place to keep order around here.' he says, and something about it sounds almost mournful. Because I know he doesn't really want to do this, but he has to, the same way I have to laugh at sex jokes and buy Playboy magazines every so often.

'Yeah, I know.'

'And if I don't join in on the guys messing up that photo, they'll kick my ass too.'

I let out a soft snort, 'Dude, you might as well do it, everyone else will.' It's true; Azimio standing up to everyone won't achieve anything. Heck, it will probably make things worse; at least with Azimio in a position of semi-popularity, I can avoid greater threats, like swirlies and patriotic wedgies.

'Oh, I intend to.' He reassures me, 'But man, I have a very serious question for you.'

I immediately panic. Is he going to ask me about my sexuality? I know he knows to an extent, I mean, he's hinted at it enough, but we don't talk about it. It's a taboo subject and neither of us has brought it up. That's kind of how I'd like to keep it. But we're in kind of a private spot, the kind of place you'd go to talk without being overheard.

Azimio takes a deep breath, and stares at me very hard in the eye. 'Do you want buck teeth on your Glee Club photo, or do you want a Hitler mustache on your Glee Club photo? 'Cause I'll do both, it doesn't matter to me.' For a moment, I don't know what to say, then a laugh bursts out of me and after a few seconds we're both laughing hysterically and I couldn't even tell you why, the situation is just so ridiculous.

'The Hitler mustache.' I eventually say, between laughs. 'If I'm going to have the piss taken out of me, I might as well look like one of the most evil men in history while it happens. Besides, I can't rock the buck tooth look.' Azimio grins at me sympathetically. No matter what he says, I know he feels really bad about this. I can read him pretty easily by now and I can tell he's conflicted. But at least if I make him think I don't care, he can do it and not feel too guilty about it.

Plus, it might soften him up a little for what I'm going to ask next.

'Look, dude, I was wondering…' I swallow hard, 'Okay, I'm free game. Do whatever you want to me on that photo. But could you try and get the guys to take it easy on Kurt? I mean, if we actually get a picture. It's just…he's had a pretty tough time recently and…it would just mean a lot if the word fag wasn't written across his face in sharpie, you know?'

'It won't be easy. But…I guess I could convince them to leave it at the tits and skirt.'

I roll my eyes and pull a face simultaneously, 'Wow, tasteful.'

Azimio shrugs in response, 'You gotta admit, he does look kind of like a girl.'

'Dude! Don't talk about him like that!' Before I think about it, I've shoved him in the shoulder and he's shoved me right back, but with this weird mocking smile on his face.

'Whoa, no need to get so defensive.' He teases, and I feel my face burn almost immediately.

'I'm not getting defensive!' For some reason, that sends Azimio into another fit of laughter, but he sobers up pretty fast and starts to look uncomfortable. I know what he's about to say before he even says it.

'So are you and him…well, you know. Uh…a thing?' He asks, very quietly, meshing his fingers together in a strange attempt to act out the word couple. The familiar rush of panic surges through me again.

'No! We're not anything! We're just friends! Not even friends right now, he's actually not talking to me. Well, I'm not talking to him either. We're mutually not talking to each other.'

There's a raised eyebrow and a look of disbelief. 'Dude, I told you, I don't have a problem with it. You can talk to me, we're bros, remember?' I shake my head softly as he says it. I know that he means it but…I don't know that he really means it. God, I'm not even making sense any more. Azimio apparently senses my internal struggle, and narrows his eyes in confusion. 'So you're not talking? Last week you were attached at the freaking hip! What happened?'

I'm really not sure if I want to tell Azimio. I mean, I do trust him and he's the closest friend I have but still…I just know he won't understand. How could he? When it comes down to it, he's always going to be Azimio, right?

'Dude, I said you can tell me. Did you fuck up?'

I take a deep breath and prepare to lie my ass off. I think of every possible reason that would ensure my heterosexuality. But even as I open my mouth to speak, I find myself saying something else. 'I kissed him.'

That throws Azimio a little. His shoulders stiffen slightly, but I can tell he's actually trying to be cool about it. Then, after a few seconds to recover, he says, 'So…for sure, you are…'

'I don't know.' I run a hand through my hair and try not to sound pathetic. He sends me a look of sympathy and what looks like attempted understanding.

'Well? How was it? Did he, you know…like it?' He seems a little uncomfortable at the mental image, but he's doing a good job of hiding it.

'I think so. I mean, he…well, he kissed me back, but then I freaked out and ran off and now…tell me again why I'm telling you all this?' I slump onto a bench and put my head in my hands. Azimio stares for a moment, and then settles beside me.

'Because I'm your best friend and your fag hag Berry is a gossip so you don't trust her?' He suggests, but it's not as sarcastic now; his tone is softer and more sympathetic. It's not an attitude he uses a lot.

'Right. Wait, how did you know about Rachel?'

'Dude, you're my best friend. I keep pretty close tabs on you.' Another knowing smile. Seriously, I worry about Azimio sometimes. I wonder if he's really a lot smarter than he lets on. Maybe he's secretly a robot. Yeah, that would be cool.

'I'm not sure if that's endearing or creepy.' I answer eventually. He laughs at me. Perhaps not a robot, then.

'Whatever, man! So what did you do?' He leans forward slightly, like he's raring himself for some juicy gossip. Apparently my love life, or lack thereof, is as amusing as this week's episode of NCIS.

'Uh, well, he brought a friend,' I try not to sound too bitter as I say that word, 'to speak to me about being… uh, you know.'

'And that didn't go well?'

'I may have attacked him a little bit.' I admit. I scratch the back of my head as Azimio regards me, not judgmentally. He's the last person to criticize someone for thinking with their fists.

'Right. So you and Fancy aren't talking now?'

'Pretty much.' We fall silent, and then I let out a frustrated groan, burying my head in my hands.

'You want my advice?' Azimio suddenly says, after a few minutes of quiet.

I sigh, shrug, and wave an absent hand in the air, 'Sure. Why not? Things can't possibly get much worse.'

'Okay. Well, honestly? Most of the guys on the team already think you're gay. Not seriously, but if it wasn't for me, and the fact that you're stronger than most of them put together, you'd be getting dumpster tossings every morning.'

'Your point being?' I push, staring at Azimio with my eyebrows furrowed. He isn't saying…he couldn't be…

'Why not just…you know…' he coughs quietly and lowers his voice, 'come out?'

Okay. I wasn't expecting that. Azimio is telling me to come out? Azimio wants me to come out?

'What the hell, dude? I can't do that!'

'Why not? You get the shit ripped out of you anyway, it might as well be for a proper reason! I'm not saying the guys will be cool about it, but you still have friends in the Glee club, right?'

'Oh yeah? And what about you? You're telling me that you'll stand by me when the rest of the team shuns me for being a fag?'

He pauses to think, and I know I've got him. Azimio may be my best friend, and it's all good saying that I should go around waving rainbow flags in theory, but when it comes down to it, he has his own reputation to think about. I mean, he may care about me, but that's not going to stop him drawing on my face in permanent marker. 'I don't… I don't know, dude. I'm sorry. You're the closest thing to a brother I've ever had, you know? I just…'

I stare at him and there's so much pain in those dark brown eyes that I feel a pang of guilt. Azimio is genuinely trying to help me. He cares about me like I'm his brother. And it's not fair that standing by me would fuck up his life, even though he's got nothing to be ashamed of. It's not fair that he'd be subject to just as much hate as I would be, hate by association.

I can't lose Azimio. Sure, he's a crazy prick with an obsession with bad detective shows and a temper problem, but he's my best friend in spite of and because of all those things. I just can't lose that.

That's the first time today I run away from someone I care about.

~ Briiiing! ~

Rachel approaches me later that day. It turns out that Mr. Schue was able to get us a photo, but only a small one, which means only two of us can be in it. And she wants me to be in it with her. Because that sounds like something I'd want to do. Right up there with drawing a giant fucking target on my back in permanent marker, or walking through school dressed entirely in rainbow colored clothing.

'David, you need to be in the photo! You're our leader!' Ugh, damn this girl. When I signed up for the fag hag scheme, no one told me I'd actually have to contribute. I thought I just had to brush her hair and help her pick outfits every so often whilst taking part in meaningless boy talk and gossip.

'Can't you ask Finn? I thought you guys were dating now that you got him back in the club.' I plead with her. My rep is in freefall, if what Azimio was saying is true. Why add fuel to the flames?

'We are. Well, I think we are.' God knows what's going on with their relationship. After I filled my part of the bargain, I've stepped away from both of them and I never intend on getting involved again. 'Anyway, Finn doesn't want to be in the photo, he told me to ask you.'

I let out a frustrated groan. I am not a substitute boyfriend. That's not the point of this friendship! 'I don't want to be in the photo, Rachel. I don't want my face drawn on by my own friends!'

'David, don't you see? This is a golden opportunity to show them that you don't care about them making fun of you! It's time to start embracing your true self, and this will ease the transition.'

'Embrace my…what is that supposed to mean?'

Rachel seems to ignore me completely, waving her hands, 'I'm just saying that I think this will make it easier to come out.' Oh, for god's sake, not her too.

'Who the hell said anything about coming out? I'm…I'm not…'

'I know, David, you don't have to pretend with me.' She tries to sound reassuring but it doesn't work; instead she just sounds a little patronizing.

'Will you just can it? I don't want to be in the photo! I don't want to have the shit ripped out of me and I'm not coming out…I'm sorry, Rachel. But you're going to have to find someone else.'

This is the second time. This time, I just leave her behind, sniffing slightly in an attempt to make me feel guilty. Well, screw her; it's time for Glee anyway. I deliberately sit as far away from her as possible.

I'm a terrible mood by the time Glee actually starts, even though you sit next to me and try and make contact by asking me if I'm okay. I ignore you, because I'm stupid like that.

And then Mr. Schue has to walk on in and make everything so much worse.

'I have a new assignment for you this week.' The room inwardly groans collectively. 'Look, you guys, I was really quite shocked at how ashamed you guys are of being in Glee club!' He says, sounding the way he always does when he starts on his rants. 'You guys seem to want to hide away in the background, because you're afraid people will hate you.'

'People do hate us, Mr. Schue.' I cut in, sounding as depressed as I feel. 'Everyone hates us. My own friends are going to draw a Hitler mustache on me.'

'That's not the point! I want you to be proud to be in Glee club. So this week, we're not hiding. This week, we're going to do a number right out in the open, in the cafeteria tomorrow lunchtime.'

Oh, no. He has to be kidding. We can't perform in the cafeteria. The cafeteria, where the whole school has lunch. Where everyone will see us and judge us, all the while in arm's reach of deadly weapons in the form of cafeteria food.

'No freaking way.' I say, before I can stop myself. I'm echoed by a few other members in the team, including Mercedes' "Oh, hell to the no!" with her usual sassy deliverance. Mr. Schue, of course, zeroes in on me.

'David?' He calls my name oh-so-condescendingly, as if he's talking to a small child. Well, fuck him too. I'm not an idiot. I know how things work around here and singing in front of the whole school on their own turf, in an environment where they're not forced to watch us? It's the worst idea ever.

'We can't do that! People will throw food at us! We'll be a laughing stock!' I glance around to see a couple of nods in agreement.

Mr. Schue doesn't take the hint, 'We've performed in front of people before.' he argues.

'On a stage.' Santana interrupts. 'Going all Glee in the cafeteria is something else.'

'Yeah, Mr. Schue.' Artie joins in the conversation too, 'Being anonymous has kept us safe so far, why would we want to go all public?'

'Because I'm sick of you guys thinking you're losers! I'm tired of you being ashamed of being in this Club. All of you are so talented, you don't need to hide.'

'Being talented isn't going to stop the football team from turning us into slushie snowmen!' I shout, a little too loudly, and suddenly I'm on my feet.

Mr. Schue just gives me that weird patronizingly sympathetic look, and continues his little feel-good Lady Gaga-esque message for today, 'Dave, you can't hold back from doing something you're good at because you're scared of what people will think.' Oh, if only he knew how accurate that statement is. 'You should be proud of who you are, no matter what response you get.'

That's it. I've had enough. Fuck Mr. Schue and fuck Glee club. Nobody gives a shit if my life is screwed up as long as I'm "proud"? Well, fuck that. I don't want to be proud, I was to be fucking normal, is that too much to ask?

'Screw this!' I shout, stepping back, 'I'm sick of all of you telling me to express myself and embrace my true feelings and all that shit! I never even wanted to be in this freaking club to start with!'

You're staring up at me with wide, maybe even scared eyes, and I can see your hand reaching up to me. I want to take it, I want to so much, but I can't. I just can't.

I storm past Mr. Schue on the way out.

~ Briiiing! ~

'You quit?' Azimio gazes at me like I just told him I'd grown an extra head. 'Just like that?' It's the next day, lunchtime, and I look like hell because I barely slept last night. Glee being after school on Thursdays, I drove home immediately, switched off my phone, locked myself in my room and played Call Of Duty until I was too exhausted to keep my eyes open. Even then, I lay awake in my bed, panicking, worrying, and above all, torturing myself with possibilities.

What if I did come out?

'Yeah, I did. Shouldn't you be happy? Now we can go on being bros without people calling you a fag.' God, I hate that word. I hate it and what it means and what it means to me.

'Hey! Dude, I was the one who told you it would be okay to…' he trails off uncomfortably, and shakes his head, 'Look, let's just forget about it and get lunch.'

'Can't.' I mutter, and at his confused glance, 'Glee club is doing a big performance in there today.'

'You're really pathetic, you know that?' He groans, grabbing my arm and dragging me in. There's no one from Glee there at the moment, which probably only means there'll be a big entrance at some point.

I'm right. Just after I get food and sit down, the music starts and the Glee club filters in to the overly bouncy music of Cockney Rebel's Make Me Smile. It's even more upbeat than the original and I can't help but wonder how that's even possible. I remember briefly that smile was the theme of the week, probably connected with the whole photo thing.

Of course, the performance is amazing, as usual, but the cafeteria hardly appreciates it. I half expect a full-on food fight to start, but it's really quite anti-climatic. There's a little scattered applause, but most people just ignore the singing group.

It's funny how the more Glee club tries to stand out, the more they get overlooked. But when one member does something just a little bit outside the norm, everyone goes insane. I guess people expect us as a group to be freaks, but can't quite accept that each individual is equally freakish.

I'd like to say I'm resolved and strong; leaving Glee Club behind and never looking back, but that would be a lie. I sneak into the next practice and watch, and yeah, I'm already regretting leaving. Just seeing you dancing around makes me want to crawl back to Glee club and grovel and beg that they take me back. I wish I could be proud of who I am, to prance around being a freak and be happy about it. I really wish I didn't have to quit Glee just to feel normal.

But when being around you makes me feel like this, what other choice do I have?

I can't look at you without my insides just turning to mush. Every time I hear you speak, fear sparks through me, as if I think you're just going to say at any minute, "hey, Dave kissed me." You have such an effect on me that my best friend figured out I'm not straight. Because of you. Oh, jeez, now I sound like some cheesy teenage girl singer.

I don't know what I want anymore. I want you and I want to be with you, but I don't want things to change, I don't want everything to go to shit around me. I've never envied Finn and Puck so much, hell, all the guys who can date whatever girls they want with no need to worry about being ostracized. Why can't it be the same for me, just because I happen to be…to like you, rather than Rachel or Quinn?

Why can't I like Rachel or Quinn? It would make things so much easier.

'Hey.' I jolt upright in shock as I suddenly feel you slip into the seat next to me. I didn't even notice the group clearing the stage. 'What, you think I didn't see you? No offense, Dave, but never become a spy.'

I don't smile like I usually would. Instead, I draw my arms across my chest defensively.

'Okay, I'm going to cut a deal with you here. We're going to have to talk about that kiss someday, David, and probably soon, before you explode.'

I let out a grunt like a wounded Neanderthal, but say nothing, so you continue.

'But I don't want to screw up our chances at Sectionals by pushing you into a mental breakdown. Clearly, you have issues you need to work through, but I'm willing to wait to talk about this until after next week.'

I snap my head around to look at you. You're staring at me intensely. 'Seriously?' I ask, slightly dubious. I can't believe that you'd just set everything aside for the sake of your friends and a show choir competition, even though you must be dying to know exactly what was going through my head.

'Yes.' You say, firmly. 'So, you're going to come back to Glee club, join in our quest for fame in a mattress commercial, and we're going to forget that you kissed me and act…' you scrunch your nose up distastefully, 'normal for the next week.'

'That sounds like a good deal to me.'

'However, after Sectionals, we are going to talk about this. Whatever this is. We're going to talk it through like responsible adults and you are going to have to come to terms with your issues before you lose it and end up really hurting someone. Deal?'

I pause, staring up at you and thinking about how much I want to kiss you right now.

God, you're right, I have to come to terms with this. I can't live in this limbo forever, not when I spend most of my day thinking about you. Not when I want to be with you. Not when there's even the slightest possibility that I could be with you.

'Deal.' I echo, and as you turn to leave, I grab your hand. 'Kurt, I'm…I'm just so freaking sorry.' I say, my voice cracking slightly. 'I didn't mean to hurt you.'

'I know.' Your eyes are teary too, and you squeeze my hand. 'I know.'

And then, before I can even think about what to reply with, you lean in and place a feathery light kiss on my lips. 'Until next week.' You whisper, patting my shoulders. 'I'll wait for you.'

And with that, you flounce away, as I try to stop myself from crying.

Next week. Next week, I have to deal with this. Next week, I have to look myself in the mirror and say Dave, you like dudes. Next week, I have to say the g-word out loud and know that I'm talking about myself.

But not now. For now, I can experience my last week in utter denial. For now, I have to watch you from a distance, wishing I could be with you. For now, I can fit in and walk down the corridor without getting fag hissed at me. For now, I can feel like I'm normal and know it's a complete and utter lie.

For now, we have a competition to win.

~ Ba-bam, baaaam-bam! ~

Okay, to cut a very long story short, let's just say that the mattress commercial idea? Not a good one.

Thanks to whoever's idea it was (my bet's on Rachel,) we've now lost Mr. Schue. Miss Pillsbury turned up at the last minute, so we have someone to take us there, and it's not like we don't have everything rehearsed impeccably, but it's still unnerving.

Our set list consists of Don't Stop Believing, Proud Mary and And I Am Telling You, sang by Mercedes after a furious argument between her and Rachel. I stood at the back and tried to stay out of it.

There's a tension between us that wasn't there before, but it's okay, because we both know it'll be resolved soon. I keep reaching to touch you before realizing that just because you know I have feelings for you, doesn't mean you reciprocate, or even that you're okay with them.

Of course, Mr. Schue's absence also causes a pressure that's hard to ignore. You won't sit next to me on the bus, instead opting to sit by Mercedes. I end up next to Puck, Matt and Mike at the back of the bus, which isn't so bad because we talk about football for most of the journey and I don't have to try hard to make conversation. The bus is pretty quiet for the most part, since we're all nervous as hell. Not quite the exciting trip we were all prepared for. Not that it's a long excursion anyway, maybe an hour or two.

When we get there, the butterflies in all of our stomachs turn to little birds. We take our places for the first performance: The Warblers.

Of course, they're pretty awesome, starting with Hey Soul Sister. Blaine sings the lead, unsurprisingly, and whilst they sound good, they're not remarkable. Some blond guy with emo hair has a solo, and he's okay too, but nothing on Mercedes. Still, the audience loves them, which leaves us glancing at each other worriedly.

And then disaster strikes.

Jane Addams comes on, and as their music starts, I feel a damning sense of déjà vu. The song they're performing is the same one Mercedes had a few days earlier – And I Am Telling You.

Mercedes looks like she's about to annihilate someone with her bare hands, but Rachel leans over her and tells her it's a really popular song, assuming it's a coincidence. I'm not so sure; in fact, there's a growing sense of dread in my gut.

As Jane Addams roll on in wheelchairs, I know I'm right. The beginning of Proud Mary fills the stadium, and rage floods my veins. Not only are they stealing our songs, they're spitting on all the hard work we'd done in those wheelchairs, all the effort we'd made to let Artie know how much we appreciated him. Those bitches.

I don't stick around to find out if they're performing Don't Stop Believing, but apparently they don't. Rachel and I fume together in the green room before Miss Pillsbury rushes in, looking as panicked as I feel, and the rest of the Glee club flusters in after her.

'They're doing our songs! Jane Addams are doing our songs!' Miss Pillsbury is squeaking into a phone, assumingly to Mr. Schue. 'No, we still have Don't Stop Believing, but we've lost And I Am Telling You and Proud Mary!'

'Okay, okay. They're going to have to find new songs.' Mr. Schue says through the loudspeaker of her mobile. We all turn to stare at each other with identical expressions of utter terror. Preparation isn't exactly our forte, and it's not like we have backup songs picked out.

'Perhaps I can improvise some of my def poetry jams.' Arties suggests, and Tina beside him gives him an incredulous look.

I sigh, and crack my knuckles, giving my best leader face. 'Look, guys, we've done plenty of songs this year – let's just perform the best ones we did and Mike, Brittany and Matt can refresh us on the dance moves.'

'We should go with Somebody to Love,' Quinn proposes, 'It's a real crowd pleaser.'

'Yes!' Rachel agrees, probably partly because that was one of her songs in the first place. 'And the ballad? Mercedes, do you have anything else in your repertoire?'

'Yeah, but it's nothing as good as what you're going to sing.'

Rachel shakes her head, 'No, we agreed.'

'We agreed that I would sing And I Am Telling You.' Mercedes says, sounding almost close to tears, 'And that 'aint happening. Look, the truth is, you're the best singer that we've got.

'As much as it hurts to admit it – and it does – she's right.' You cut in, sounding very reluctant, 'Rachel's our star. If anyone's going to go belt it on the fly, it should be her.'

'Who said anyone has to belt it on the fly?' I interrupt. 'Look, Rachel, you're amazing, but Jane Addams did And I Am Telling You, and blondie's performance was pretty standard, even if the Warblers are amazing or whatever. We're doing Somebody to Love and Don't Stop Believing, some of the most popular songs ever released. We need something different.'

Oddly, Rachel doesn't look too offended, 'What do you suggest?' She asks, but the glitter in her eye tells me that she already knows.

'What about Defying Gravity? We rehearsed it and everything. I think it would be the perfect thing to shake up our performance.' You glance at me in surprise, your face flushing. I take that as a good thing.

There's silence for a moment, while everyone ponders it, and then Rachel says, 'Okay.' She beams at you, and you smile nervously back. Everyone else, after a moment to get over the shock of Rachel not being selfish, nods and agrees, and Mercedes snaps you into a hug.

'Well, if I'm going to give up my solo, I want my boy to have it!' She laughs, and then you do a secret handshake thing I can't even begin to understand and there are smiles all around.

I'm the best leader ever.

~ Ba-bam, baaaam-bam! ~

We spend the next hour running around trying to arrange songs. For Defying Gravity, Mike drags you into a corner and shouts instructions at you, ('None of the sashaying, Kurt!') Meanwhile, we throw together something for Somebody to Love, and then go over Don't Stop Believing briefly just in case we've forgotten.

We have just over fifteen minutes left until we go on. You're going to start us off with Defying Gravity, and we're going to walk in at the end for the dramatic crescendo. Looking around the room, we've all settled into a serene state of absolute panic. Rachel catches my eye, pacing back and forth and singing softly to herself.

'Hey, Rach.' I say, quietly, and she pads over with a faint, nervous smile, 'Thank you. For, you know, giving up the solo.'

'I may be selfish sometimes, but I'm actually a real romantic, you know.' She replies with a smile, and a slight dreamy look in her eyes. I know that look – it's the one you get when you're watching cheesy musicals with random songs and cheesy endings. So maybe you and Rachel are more similar than you'd care to admit. Either that or watching all these musical makes you mushy inside. Hah. That's probably it. I think I'll call it the Broadway Effect.

Rachel breaks up my internal monologue by waving a hand in front of my face. 'Just don't screw it up again, okay?' And not for the first time, I think I've underestimated her. The girl can be selflessly kind when she really wants to be.

Of course, it's also probably because she's finally accepted that I'm right: that you performing would give us a higher chance of winning, which of course means there's something in it for her. But still, gotta give the girl a bit of credit, handing over her solo must have hurt.

She walks over to where Matt, Mike, Santana and Brittany are working out the details for their more complex choreography, whilst I sit down and look through the sheet music for Don't Stop Believing just in case I've forgotten anything. It's stupid; we've rehearsed this song a thousand times, but I'm still nervous. I've never performed in front of an audience this big before.

Then again, neither have you, and at least I was prepared for this. You must be scared shitless. Is I look around to find you, I see you slip through the door into the backstage area, and, putting down my sheet music, I follow you.

There's a faint murmuring from the audience area, where a couple of people must be sat ready for the performance, but most people are still enjoying the break. You're staring at the curtain with a look of sheer and utter panic, and when you see me, you bolt to a small side room full of props. I jog after you, and find you sat on a stool, white as a sheet.

'I don't think I can do this. Not in front of all these people.' You say quietly, hands shaking. I stare at you in confusion. Of course you're nervous, but you're Kurt Hummel; you love performing.

'I didn't even want to win the diva-off in the first place!' You draw in a deep breath, and let out a noise somewhere between a whine and a groan. 'A girl's song! In front of all these people, what was I thinking?' For a moment, I don't understand what you're talking about, and then I remember what you said before about not wanting to sing a female song because of the negative attention. Okay, sure, so singing Elphaba's (ha! I'm learning) grand solo might be a big statement, even for you, but it's not like you're not used to making big statements.

'Kurt, you pretty much walk around with a sign stating your sexuality on you every day in school, what's the difference?' I mean that both figuratively and literally. I mean, your clothes are a statement in themselves, but having a fag sign stuck on your back every other week makes a pretty big statement too.

'There's a big difference between stating something and shouting it, Dave.' You say, tersely, and then stand and make for the door. I stare at your back as you pull open the door, trying to find the words to say, the words to express how I feel.

And all of a sudden, just like that, I'm ready. I know it's been a painfully slow progress, but that's the moment I know, because you're walking away from me and all I can think about is how much it would hurt to lose you. More than Glee Club, more than Azimio, and more than my reputation. I know that I want to be strong for you, to face the school with you, and I know that if you'll have me, it will be fucking worth it.

Okay, so it's a little early and Sectionals isn't technically over yet, but now's the time, I can feel it. Because for once, I actually want to say it, I'm not scared. I'm ready to get on my knees and beg you to be mine. It's time to whisper in your ear that I want to kiss you and hug you and do all the things that wouldn't be appropriate between just friends. It's time to confess what you've probably already figured out.

But what do I say? How could I possibly express the way I feel without sounding like an idiot? I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. You're getting further away, and even though I know you'll have to come back to go on stage a few minutes from now, I can sense the moment slipping away and suddenly, without thinking it through, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

'I'm gay!'

Wow. Really deep, Dave, congratulations. What kind of guy wouldn't be bowled over by those poetic words?

Still… the moment I say it, I know for sure that it's true. It's not quite a shout but it's loud enough. And you know the weird thing? It wasn't actually that hard to say. The world didn't come crashing down around my shoulders. I didn't magically gain a lisp or Gok Wan's fashion sense. I didn't suddenly transform into a stereotype; I'm still just me.

'I'm gay.' I say again, feeling heat creep up my neck. You turn around, very, very slowly walking back to me, back into the prop room. The door slams shut behind you, and as you stand in front of me again, your expression is one of pure curiosity.

'I like guys. I like kissing guys. I liked kissing you.' I go on, my face blushing redder and redder as I go. Your mouth twitches into a smile. 'I like you.'

'I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that – what did you say you were?' You ask, mischievously, your eyes narrowed slightly in delight.

'I'm gay. You know, queer, homosexual, fruity…please tell me to shut up.' Both of us are trying hard to contain laughter, I can tell.

'Say it again.' Your smile has taken over your whole face now, a wide grin with squinting eyes to match.

'I'm ga-ay!' I say, this time in a sing-song voice. And that's it; you explode into giggles and I immediately follow. It's ridiculous. It's always been ridiculous, hiding away, denying myself because of…because of what? Because of a word?

'There you go. I've just said it in front of you. I know you're only one person, but you're a thousand times braver than me – don't deny it. So get your gorgeous, perky ass out there and tell them all that you're a flaming homo.' I even add a little lisp in there, with a hint of mocking. Maybe it's the adrenaline, but I can't seem to stop talking, or grinning, for that matter. I feel like…not exactly like a weight has been lifted, but more like someone was standing on my shoulders for years and I finally told them to go fuck themselves.

'Perky and gorgeous? Wow, Dave, you really are gay.' You tease, and fucking hell, it feels good to joke about it. It should be too early but somehow it's not; perhaps because we've both known for so long, so long it's been lingering on the tip of our tongues but suddenly it's out.

I'm out.

'What can I say? I'm the gayest gay that ever gayed.' We laugh again, and I realize how much easier it is to say the word now. (Also, it's kind of losing all meaning, as words do when you say them too much.)

'I don't think so. I'm so much gayer than you. No one can gay like I gay.' You say, puffing out your chest proudly. I play along, clapping a hand to my mouth in mock horror.

'Oh, really? I'm not gay enough for you? Do I have to prove my gay-dom to you now?' I raise an eyebrow playfully, and you collapse into giggles again before drawing yourself back together and putting on that haughty expression, laced with amusement.

'Well,' you say, feigning disinterest, 'that depends on what you're offering up as proo- oh!'

I'm pretty sure it's the adrenaline that does it. My lips catch yours quickly, but the kiss is slow, sensual, nothing like the last one. I feel your body relaxing against mine, one hand reaching to my shirt, keeping me in place, the other curling in my hair. I let my arms circle your waist, drawing you closer, pushing our chests together.

I don't know how long it lasts, how long your lips move on mine, how long I run my tongue along your teeth, breathing your scent, tasting your flavor. But as we pull apart, I hear you groan softly and feel your arms fling around my neck, holding me.

'Okay, I believe you.' You say breathily, 'You're the king of all gays.' You're still so close to me, and part of me still wants to pull away and hide in a corner but I quickly tell myself that this is okay. I can do this. I'm allowed to do this.

'In which case, you're my queen.' I quip back almost instantly, and you chuckle at the horrible cliché. Leaning my head against yours, I can taste your breath and see your eyes close up, blown from the adrenaline and whatever other hormones we've ignited.

'In your dreams.' You reply, teasingly, but you haven't let go. It feels amazing and so oddly comfortable to just hold you the way I've been itching to hold you for the last few months. And now I can. Because of one word. Why was I so scared of that damn word?

And then the bell rings to call you to stage and we both jump slightly, but you don't pull back. 'Kurt, you have to go on in three minutes.' I warn you.

'We could make out for three minutes.' You reply, and then your face goes bright red as if you didn't really mean to say it. It's pretty forward, even for you. And yeah, it does sound tempting, but I force myself to separate from you. If nothing else, the expression on your face – a deep, desperate longing – proves that you want me as much as I want you.

'Tell you what, if we win, we can make out for thirty minutes.' I suggest, still partly expecting you to reject me, but you smile suggestively, an odd contradiction to your wide eyes and innocently flushed cheeks.

'I like that deal even better than our last one.' You admit, as if you're telling me a very dirty secret.

'Oh yeah, the after sectionals rule. I guess I broke it.'

'I'm not complaining.' You assure me, leaning in to lay a very gentle kiss on my lips. 'I've wanted to do that for so long.' You voice is so full of longing that I have to let go of you before we end up having a make out session on the prop room floor.

'Now get out there and gay it up.' I say, trying to go for the Kurt Hummel voice. It's not a great impression but you giggle anyway, and before I know it, your hands brush against my face and you're close again.

'Say gay again.' You demand, your eyes adorably squinty and your nose scrunched. God, it's hard to resist kissing you again.

'Gay! Now gay, I mean, go!' I shake my head and you laugh airily, before flouncing out of the room.

I stand there for a few minutes, utterly dazed. I haven't even processed what just happened, but I can feel my heart beating like one of Finn's drums when he's had too much sugar.

I just came out. I came out to you and I kissed you and you didn't push me away and you like me the way I like you. You want to be with me the same way I want to be with you. I feel like I could conquer the world right about now. I feel like I could just jump for joy.

Instead, I leave the prom room, stand in the wings with the rest of Glee Club and watch you as you start to sing Defying Gravity in front of a thousand people.

I'd like to think that my kiss is part of the reason you perform so amazingly. The crowd loves it, too, even if there were a few whispers at first. And yeah, so we can't hoist you up in true Wicked style, but as we all walk in at the end for the harmonies, singing no one mourns the wicked, we sound pretty badass.

Of course, you hit the note, the high F sharp or whatever you told me it was, absolutely spot on.

I let Finn take the male lead for Somebody to Love, but first I front us in Don't Stop Believing, a slightly altered version with Mercedes belting out in the end and everyone getting a little solo time, to shake things up a little. You perform your line with a grin on your face, and I duet with Santana, who smiles at me far too knowingly.

Quinn is, of course, right that Somebody to Love is a crowd pleaser. Practically the whole audience is on their feet by the end, cheering and clapping. The only time I've ever felt happier than this is about ten minutes ago, when we kissed.

We stumble off the stage victorious, grinning and laughing together; the team united again despite the tension between certain members. You press your side against mine and I relish in the small touch and the knowing smiles. If they notice, nobody bats an eyelid when your hand slips into mine.

We're far too exhausted to go out or anything that evening, so with a tentative, private peck on the lips in your car, we part, prepared to wait until tomorrow to see each other again. It seems like an age away. I spend most of the night trying not to phone you, because, c'mon, I can't look too desperate.

Somehow, I end up doing it anyway.

'Dave, it's 2am.' You sound far too alert for me to have woken you up. 'Is everything okay?'

'Yeah, yeah, don't worry. I just…' I trail off because, really, why did I call? Just to hear your voice? Now that sounds pathetic.

'Me too. I can't sleep, I'm too jittery.' You admit, and I feel myself smiling sappily down the phone, suddenly glad you can't see how way too happy I am.

'I can't wait to see you tomorrow.'

'You too. Oh my god, Dave, we are so lame.' We both break into laughter at that, and suddenly I feel much calmer.

I sigh contently, much more sleepy now, 'Yeah, we are. I guess I should let you sleep?'

'You should. Goodnight, Dave.' Your voice is all soft and sweet and it's better than any lullaby by a long shot.

'Night.' I whisper back, and the line goes dead. It doesn't take that long to fall asleep after that.

~ Briiiing! ~

The next day is fucking torture. I see you in the hall and you smile at me, a smile full of hidden meanings and secrets. All I want to is kiss those lips and to hug you close to me and ugh, how long is it until Glee practice?

Rachel is having us perform a special number for Mr. Schue – why we need a whole new one is beyond me but right now I'd be willing to give my left ball to Rachel for all she's inadvertently done for me.

I don't know the song we sing very well, apparently it's Kelly Clarkson? So I let Finn take the lead and in fits of giggles, we perform Single Ladies in the background with Tina and Brittany. It's awesome, and Mr. Schue dissolves into laughter. At the end of practice, we're all so buzzed that Schue lets us out early in fear that we'll explode from too much energy. As he waves goodbye, I pick up my bag and make to leave, but see you still sat in your chair with a self-satisfied smirk. I let the door bang shut.

'Well, we won.' You have a hint of mischief in your eyes. I play along, feigning ignorance as I sit down next to you.

'Yes, we did. And?'

'And I think you owe me something.' I never expected you to be bold like this, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised, it seems like you've actually been waiting as long as I have for this to happen.

'Oh, yeah, I promised you thirty minutes of kissing, didn't I? Well…' I lean in and kiss you because, fuck, I can, and you respond immediately, pressing hard against me, sighing into the kiss. I could stay this way forever, only…

'There's one minute.' I say, pulling back with a grin. You puff out your cheeks angrily and poke me in the chest.

'That was barely thirty seconds and you know it!' You insist, and then your face relaxes into a smile. 'But I suppose I'll forgive you, as long as you make up for it in the future.'

'I suppose I should probably ask you out then.' I sigh, feigning annoyance as you flick your hair.

'I suppose you should.' You say haughtily, but there's humor in your voice.

'So, go out with me, then?' You break into laughter as soon as I say it. You raise your eyebrows in an attempt to look unimpressed, and shake your head.

'No way.' You say, deadpanned. I clutch at my heart, but I can't keep the smile from my face.

'What?' I say, trying to sound pained, 'I knew it, you only like me for my body!'

'Mostly the lips, I'll admit. But I also like your…' you pause, smiling, '…eyes.'

'Woe is me, I admit I'm gay and you still won't be my boyfriend.' Both of us stop abruptly at that. Everything seems so serious all of a sudden, but not in a bad way.

'Boyfriend.' You repeat, and we stare at each other. 'I've never had a boyfriend.'

'Neither have I. Do you want one?'

You sigh forlornly, 'I do, so very much! But where am I supposed to find one?'

I laugh, then, since I can't seem to stop kissing you now, peck you softly on the lips, 'Stop…' and then the nose, 'teasing…' then the cheek, 'me.' Then, finally, the forehead.

'But it's so much fun!' Your face is bright red, but you haven't stopped smiling. 'I suppose I'll consider making you my boyfriend.'

I groan, leaning back on the chair. 'What do you want me to do, serenade you?'

Your face seems to brighten with evil delight. I can practically hear you cackling in your head, 'Ooh, you're going to wish you hadn't said that.'

'Seriously?' I roll my eyes and you smile smugly. 'Fine.'

I drop to one knee and your eyes go wide. Who's the smug one now? 'I was kidding, you don't have to-'

'It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside…' I sing, and it's around about now that I realize that, despite originally planning to sing this song for my ballad, I never actually learnt the words. Time to improvise. 'I'm one of those gays who can easily hi-iiide!' You giggle at that, 'Something about money…uh, oh yeah, I don't have much money, but Kurt, if I did…I'd buy you a wardrobe where your clothes could live.'

'Those lyrics aren't even nearly right.' You say, but your eyes are sparkling with joy and your face has gone bright red. Your fingers dance around your knees as you tap them to the silent beat.

'If I was in AV Club… or then again, no. Or a gymnast that did backflips with the Cheerio-oohs!' I thought that one was pretty good. 'Oh, I know it's not much but it'll just have to do – I took this great song and I rewrote for you.'

Thankfully, I actually almost know the chorus, so I belt it out proudly, watching as your hands move to clasp at each other over your heart. You sway slightly, in time even though there's no music playing. You're welling up, and the sight of your happiness is almost enough to make me forget the lyrics all over again.

'I sat in the locker room and I smelt dirty socks, well, you know that sometimes I can get pretty cross! But you've been so kind while I've stumbled along – it's time to admit that you really…ahem.' I clear my throat because I'm not about to say turn me on. You put your hand over your mouth, giggling silently.

'So excuse me for getting, well, a little confused. You see, I can't tell if they're green or they're blue…anyway, the thing is, what I really mean: yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen.'

Okay, so I don't have music, I'm probably out of tune and my lyrics suck ass, but you're nearly in tears (happy tears, I'm assuming) and grinning that fucking adorable smile where I can actually see your teeth, the smile that you never show if you can help it because you're self-conscious.

'That…was actually pretty good. Did you make it up on the spot?' You wipe away a tear and try to stop smiling, but fail. Your eyes are so squinty and teared up, I can barely see them, but I'm sure they've gone that really light green color.

I pull a face, trying to look confused, 'You mean, those weren't the real lyrics?' I say, sitting back down in the chair next to you. You stare at me for a moment, and then, with a hint of hesitation, lean on my shoulder. I tilt my head so it rests over yours and we just stay there like that for a few minutes. It feels warm and safe, being in contact with you, even if it's only a little.

'You know, you're kind of awesome, Dave. When you're not being a jerk, anyway.'

I wince at that, but you have a point. 'I'm sorry I've been such an ass.' I apologize softly, enjoying the weight of you against me. 'I just… this was really hard for me. Which is so stupid, because why should it be hard just to… be? It should be the easiest thing in the world.' I ramble on, probably talking nonsense, but you sigh gently beside me.

'Being true to yourself is always easier than lying.' You say, but I disagree. I mean, someone as perfect as you, with your beautiful voice and your badass diva attitude, it must be easy to be yourself. To be Kurt Hummel can't take that much effort, right?

'For you, yeah. But you're so… you're amazing.' I try not to sound too adoring, but I'm sure I fail, 'I'm just Dave Karofsky.'

'I like Dave Karofsky.' You say, moving your head so we face each other again. You're still smiling. 'This has been the best week ever.' And your eyes glance at the giant trophy, shiny and golden, representing our triumph at Sectionals.

I kiss you softly on the lips in front of that trophy and know that today; I got something much, much better.

Pride, honesty, self-respect, sincerity.

Oh, and you.

~ Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo... ~