content warning: the usual homophobia/homophobic and strong language, weed, alcohol consumption, and here's a new one: heavy drug use

Chapter 5: Petty Thieves

Sam apologizes to all of our crew on our day off in Cleveland. The rest of Canadian Experience's crew hangs out behind him in the busy hotel lobby, feigning ignorance of our existence. Nick focuses on the message that was waiting for him when we arrived, eyes going over the short note over and over again, probably from his parents again, telling him not to forget their anniversary this year. I'm glad that I don't have anyone breathing down my neck.

Sam is solemn as he addresses us. "I speak for all of us, Thad included, when I say I'm sorry about what happened in St. Louis. He lost control, though I am sure that's no excuse. We've still got three shows with you guys, we want to enjoy them in good spirits, and though no one knows what happened in Indianapolis last night, I am sure Thad has learned his lesson. So I hope there'll be none of that anymore," Sam concludes and sends a significant look to us all.

It could have been anyone of us, except Seb who would never avenge a gay roadie. Even Puck might have taken the bottle in his hand because he loves fucking around with people.

"So we're sorry. I hope you can accept our apology. Especially you, Kurt."

Kurt nods solemnly, but shoots me a look that clearly says he's not buying Sam's bullshit. I send him a look that says Kurt better not, and Kurt smiles, all appreciative and warm like I'm the only one there who gets him. Well, I don't, but we outsiders stick together.

After Sam has left, we hang out in the hotel lounge with the whole crew and a few girls, and it has given us some sort of solidarity to have agreed on one asshole. We bash Thad and make jokes about bassits' IQs, much to the annoyance of Puck, who seems agitated. No wonder, with this insane fucking tour. Kurt's bruises are at the point where they won't get any worse and will slowly start fading.

We're not upset because Thad called Kurt a cocksucker. We're upset because one of our guys got into a fight.

Despite Sam's efforts to make peace, we don't invite Canadian Experience out with us. A van is waiting outside the hotel to take us all to a party someone is throwing for us. It's not at a club but at someone's country mansion a twenty minute ride away. The only reason I am choosing it over brooding in my hotel room is because Kurt insisted that I go with him. He made it clear that he would only go if I went too, and well, the kid needs to see the world a little, doesn't he?

Mason has covered Kurt's bruises with some make up, and I cannot believe that Mason is not the gay one, especially when he takes half an hour figuring out what to wear, causing us to be late.

Nick decides to come along the last minute too. It's our night off, and we don't get many of these on tour. He rubs his hands together and says it's a night unlike any other.

The mansion is enormous. We park the van out front, and they are expecting us. People – boys, girls, hippies, rockers, music lovers, drunk, high, young, beautiful, clothed, barely dressed and everything in between – come rushing towards us, grabbing us by the arms and tugging us along, saying, "Welcome!" and "Oh my god!" and "Seb, can I touch your hair?" Someone just screams. Kurt turns to me with an astonished look in his eyes, and I shrug like it's no big thing. We are the star attraction at this party.

The house is full of people. Three steps into the foyer, and I have a drink in my hand and someone offers me coke. Nick's hand lands on my shoulder. "Blaine you know how coke messes you up."

"Yeah," I admit grudgingly, and the guy asks, "You sure?"

I nod and hope Kurt's not the dancing kind, because I'm not. Nah, we just need a few beers and –

"I'll have some!" Kurt volunteers, beaming at the guy with the coke.

"Far out, man," the guy responds with an easy smile, and the two take off, and I stare after Kurt in astonishment.

I let him go. Kurt's a kid; he deserves to have some fun. Okay, so we're probably the same age, but he's still a kid when it comes to rock and our lifestyle. Coke might suit him.

Ryder has two girls draping over him, and he looks amazed. Everyone is walking in different directions now, and Ryder looks around, alarmed, calling out, "Guys! Guys, remember we need to leave by –"

I don't hear the rest of his sentence as Nick and I head to the doors that lead outside to the swimming pool. Naked girls are splashing in the water, and even Nick has a hard time looking away from them. He smiles like he's a part of some big joke where he knows the punch line and no one else does. Some local musicians are there, and I end up getting drunk with Will Schuester of New Directions. I keep waiting for Kurt to come back. It doesn't take half an hour to get coked up. And he wouldn't ditch me, would he? He asked me to come, to keep him company. Where the hell is he?

"The matching outfits create a sense of unity," Will explains, trying to justify his band's commercialism and sixties' attitude. There's a big difference between a group and a band. He's a has-been, anyway. I am above him musically and intellectually. I'm the fucking main songwriter of The Warblers. When was the last time this guy saw a girl faint in the front row, screaming his name? Never? For me it was yesterday.

"Excuse me," I say and leave him where he is. Nick calls after me, but he'll manage. Girls are all over him, and maybe tonight he will finally move the fuck on. Victoria wasn't even that pretty.

Kurt finds me before I find him. I know these types of parties, but I still figured me and him would grab a few beers, find a quiet corner, sit around and talk, reminisce our victory with the bottle. He'd laugh at my stupid jokes, tell me how he thinks I'm alright. It feels like the biggest compliment I've gotten all year. And he'd be there not because of the hype or my fame, but because he wants to be, even if he knows I'm all talk and nothing else. Even if he's seen my hands shaking before going on stage. He wouldn't mind.

He barely sees me, though, bumping into me and then just walking on. "Kurt, hey," I stop him, snatching his wrist, and he turns his head to look at me. I can feel his pulse beneath my fingertips, a rapid speed that echoes through his hot skin.

He wipes his face and tries to focus. "Blaine! Shit, dude." He's tripping on something big time. "It's like that, you know, like that."

"Uh huh," I agree and let go of him.

"Fucking great party! I'll see you on the flip side!" he beams and hurries away.

All the people present want to hang out with me. The one guy I want to hang out with doesn't.

The van we came in looks like a black bug on the driveway of the house. The mansion. Something in between. I look at it from the tall windows of the third floor, and a naked girl runs across the lawn and onto the gravel of the driveway. She laughs and swirls around with a champagne bottle in her hand, long hair blowing in the wind and her revealed breasts bouncing, and a naked man chases after her. I look closer, and I am pretty sure the guy is Puck. I try not to snort. They run around the van, looking like even smaller insects circling a big one.

I turn back around to face the dark library. I pour a drink and sit on the windowsill, enjoying the relative quiet. I can still hear the party, though, from a few floors below. I know I should be there. I know that we're the attraction. We're in the swimming pool, we're in the pool room, we're everywhere, they are everywhere, and this is one of those nights you will think back to and say, "God! Remember that one insane night when we...?"

But I am in the library with the quiet, the drink, and my best friend.

"Give me a hit," Nick says, sitting on the windowsill next to me.

"Billy, Don't Be A Hero."

"Not that kind of hit," he says, but we laugh anyway. He lays my notebook open in his lap and starts reading, squinting to read the text in the moonlight. "Is that... olreem?"

I lean over. "Dream."

"Your handwriting is fucking horrible," he grins happily, but keeps reading, extending an absent hand towards me.

"I don't have any left," I admit.

"My stash is gone too. God, can't believe we're this famous and still don't have any grass."

"Just check the lyrics, alright? I want your opinion while you're in such a good mood."

"I'm in a good mood most of the time!" he argues.

"No, you're really not."

He just chuckles, and I pour him a drink in the fancy crystal glass we found in the next room over. I wanted Nick to party like he never has before, but when he got rid of the girls and asked me if I wanted to disappear, I couldn't have said yes sooner. Pathetic, really, but he's not moping around like me. He keeps grinning like he is having the best of times.

It's comforting. Nick still enjoys my company. I was starting to think he didn't.

Nick hums and nods, makes a few 'eh' sounds, and I stare out of the window at our bug van. The house is full of people, but their cars are not out front. I don't really know where anything is, the place is too big for me to figure out when I'm drunk. Maybe their cars are in the back. Or maybe they live here. Maybe this house is a magical place where everyone stays beautiful, everyone is young, the supplies of substances are endless, and the party never, ever ends. Maybe this is that place. Well, it's a hell of a heaven.

Nick says, "This is pretty good. Like... about an innocent criminal or maybe a slave. Or both. The narrator has got a strong voice. Do you have any melodies in your head for this?"

"I'll write music around it. Or we will. Maybe."

"Puck will only demand a bass solo," Nick laughs and takes a sip of his drink. "And Seb will try to steal the show as always."

"What about a drum solo?"

"I thought it went without saying," he grins. "This bit, though. The fire to survive and defy that flickers in the bluest of eyes. It's too vague and detailed. Whose blue eyes? There is no talk of a specific someone until that bit. It just throws it off a bit, takes the song from purely abstract ideas of freedom and rights to a song about some chick."

"I'll work on it," I promise, and he passes the notebook back to me. I tap the cover nervously. Blue eyes, gray eyes. "This party is good for us. We need a break from each other."

Nick nods for emphasis, doesn't even try claiming we should just hang out more because somewhere deep down this band is still full of love. Guess even the most positive of us get tired, and it's no wonder since the tension on the bus is getting more and more unbearable, now even following us on stage. Puck's dressing room crackers and Seb's own mic were always temporary solutions. Ryder will fix it. It's his job, but I'm not sure if I want him to do it. The band is beginning to feel more and more like an adopted child that I never learned to consider as my own.

"It's a beautiful night. The world's amazing, don't you think?" Nick muses happily.

"I don't know what you're on, but I want some."

"Seriously," he insists. "You know I love you, right?"

"Yeah. I love you too." He smiles at me, giving my shoulder a squeeze. I stare. "This is awkward."

He rolls his eyes.

Laughter flows through the double doors of the library, which open suddenly, and a man and a girl stumble in. The girl throws her arms around the man's neck, and I call out, "Hey, if you're not gonna ask us to join, find someplace else." The couple starts giggling and calls out apologies as they leave, the doors remaining open. The noise of the party reaches us louder than before, the lights of the corridor creeping into the library and casting long shadows on us, mocking me for wanting to remain in the dark.

"You can go if you want," I tell Nick. "I won't mind."

"Nah. I'm happy right here. I think I've kind of moved beyond these parties, you know? You gotta grow up some time. Turn a new page, take responsibility. I'm not for these kinds of parties."

He used to be. I used to be too, when the circles were smaller. I don't know anyone anymore.

"I could really do with a joint," I suddenly conclude. "Kurt owes me one. I'll go get one, bring it back." If I can find him. If he's not too coked out. "He could come hang out with us. He could. Would you mind?" I ask, and Nick shakes his head. I've noticed they get along, Kurt and Nick. That's good. Not that Nick could get Kurt the way I could if I wanted to. I don't think Kurt would tell Nick the things he's told me. I look around the library and tilt my head, feel the sudden swoosh of alcohol in my system. "I like this library. We could be the Three Musketeers if Kurt came too. Look, I'll go get him. If you don't mind."

I leave on my quest to find him somewhere in this huge mansion, the enormous grounds, and it's a bit like trying to find a needle in the haystack. Kurt invited me. It's plain rude if he doesn't plan on hanging out with me, for fuck's sake. The corridor is decorated with paintings and statues of Roman or Greek gods. I never did know the difference between Venus and Minerva. Or Aphrodite. Whoever.

I go down flights of stairs and am finally in a spacious living room on the ground floor. All the couches are occupied, angry guitar riffs pumping through half a dozen speakers, mixing with the chattering of a hundred, two hundred people. It's gotten wilder since our arrival. Girls are dancing shirtless, sweat rolling between their breasts, down their stomachs, around their belly buttons. White lines disappear from coffee tables, and alcohol travels from bottles to veins. I don't see anyone from our crew in the foyer, so I walk in further, feeling like I am observing everyone from behind a glass. I spot one familiar face in the next room.

"Matt! Hey, you seen Kurt?"

Matt is on the couch with a pink-haired girl, telling her a story as she laughs and says, "No way! No way!"

Matt says, "He was with Mason!"

"Blaine!" the pink-haired one says. "Blaine, join us!"

"I'm looking for one of our guys."

"Oh, he'll be fine. Come on, honey, sit down with us! Or if you want to go someplace more private..."

I take a second look at her and break into a drunken smile. "Kitty! Hey, your hair!"

"Is pink!" she enthuses. I know her, but I am not sure if I've fucked her. Maybe. Probably. Surely, I'd remember. Or would I? She's one of the groupies everyone knows. She's famous in her own way.

Kitty's got Quinn's habit of excessive makeup, but she is a beautiful girl with big eyes circled with eyeliner, a narrow nose and slightly puffy cheeks, and her hair is like a lion's mane with stripes of pink and blonde. Her clothes barely cover her, and she has positioned herself like a worm and I am the fish. We're all fish when she walks into the room. Someone said that all she knows she learned from the girl who inspired Keith to write Ruby Tuesday. Matt tightens his hold over her shoulders like he could actually hold onto her, and Kitty smiles at me, big and happy and pink. Matt's girlfriend had every right to be worried about the free-spirited groupies. "Matt said that maybe me and a few other girls would have room on the bus?"

"Oh, can't promise that. Maybe. I don't know. Possibly. For how long?"

"Would like to get to Detroit. I've promised David we'd join his crew there."

"Yeah, right! Man. Fuck, I forgot he's touring over here now. How is the English bastard?"

"Fabulous," she purrs. I tell her to talk to Ryder and that she has my blessing. We'll be in Detroit in just a few days, and Seb will be thrilled to have a few of the girls with us. He might even get off my back when he can orchestrate orgies in hotel rooms. "Blaine, stay," Kitty pouts.

Matt has been trying to hit on her for an hour, maybe. I'm not heartless enough to let him have done it for nothing. It's more than what Puck or Seb would do. I refuse, and Matt points me to where he last saw Mason. I circle around the room, decline pussy, alcohol, a threesome, a variety of drugs and endless invitations to sit down and hang out with people I don't know, but they all know me.

Everywhere, the windows are wide open, but it's not enough to get rid of the sweat and smoke, and after one round, I decide to check out the next room. The smell of sweat mixes with sex long before my eyes adjusts to the dark. It's like an ants' nest with the way people move over each other, tangling up together. A girl gets off, her moans ringing out the loudest. Everyone is naked. All the surfaces are taken – the couches, the table, and they are kissing, touching, licking and trying a bit of everything. I am most definitely overdressed for this orgy. I walk in, the naked skin blurring in my eyes. It's slow and sensual, fast and hard only with the men and women who are riding for the climax. The back corner is in a red glow from a shirt that has been thrown over a lamp. I see Seb there with three girls around his armchair. The redhead is sucking his cock. He is completely shitfaced. I rub my eyes, push off someone's hands going to my fly. The room is unreal, but this isn't the first one of these I've seen during my astounding career.

"Seb," I say loudly, and Seb pulls back from exchanging a slow kiss with one of his girls. He is still getting a blowjob, and he presses the girl's head down with the palm of his hand, shifting his hips slightly.

"Swallow it, baby," he murmurs before his head drops to the left, eyelids drooping. "Hmm?"

I try not to look at him. I do not want to see Seb getting head, even if I've walked in on him fucking a handful of times in my life and vice versa, even if that one time we fucked those girls at the same time in the dressing room on our first tour. That was fine, we were still friends, we laughed it off later and called the girls sluts. It was hot seeing that chick get fucked while I was screwing her friend.

But this is the new world, me a drunken mess and him a coked out king of guitar solos, and I can feel my insides twist like snakes just being here now to see what he's turned into it. What we turn these girls into.

I don't remember why I came here. It was something important. Something pink. "Kitty's here! Yeah, man, she's here. And she and her girls want to come along with us to Detroit."

"Sweeeeet," he groans. He might not have understood me. I'm pretty sure Seb and I haven't even talked to each other in two days.

"You seen Mason around? Or Kurt?"

He shakes his head. "Find a few girls, Anderson. Find a few for Duval too. Maybe you wouldn't be so damn uptight if you did."

I glare at him. "Thanks for the advice."

When I leave the room, my dick is hard, pressing against my thigh demandingly. I get myself a drink and hear that some guys are playing music on the second floor. It seems like a decent bet, so I make my way over, people swarming over me even more now, and maybe my hard-on is pretty well outlined through the fabric, but I don't care. I find Mason and, to my surprise, Ryder, who is fucked out of his mind. A party like this seems to be enough for him to stop playing our boss and start drinking, fucking and taking drugs until he throws up behind a couch somewhere. Ryder has a guitar, and girls are singing along, all out of tune. It's one of our songs. My words. My feelings. They take them, mould them, misunderstand them. It's a room full of petty thieves.

"Where's Kurt?" I ask Mason, and he points to the balcony.

"Yes, I am a Leo! How did you know?" Ryder laughs to one of the girls.

It's nearly three in the morning and it has started raining outside. The air is just on the border of warm and chilly, but it's refreshing. The balcony is big, and I don't see Kurt as I walk to the railing, lean against it and stare at the full swimming pool below, at the people. I turn back and focus my eyes on the balcony's dark corner where Kurt is with some guy.

I close my eyes. Focus. Must focus. I reopen them.

They are kissing heatedly. Kurt's hands are in this guy's hair. I hear the wet smacks of their tongues and lips clashing together. The guy is shorter than him, around my height but muscular with a thick neck and large hands. Kurt is cornered, trapped. Kurt is pushing his crotch forwards. The guy murmurs something in a low, hormone-filled voice, and Kurt replies a breathy, "Yeah." He sounds turned on. I nearly shiver. The man moves to suck on Kurt's neck, cupping his crotch, and I watch as Kurt's eyes flutter shut and he moves to the pressure of the man's hand in small, rocking movements.

I look away, rub my eyes, wish I was drunker. I swirl around. Kurt's not seen me. I'm still hard.

I haven't been invited to watch this show. I need to leave. I am not interested in watching Kurt –

He groans, and my chest constricts. I quickly walk back inside to the out of tune singing and laughter, accepting the joint a girl is quick to offer me. A joint's a joint. It doesn't matter. Kurt's out there, having found some guy that beats talking to me a million times over.

I go to the first bathroom I find. I lock the door, light the joint with shaking hands, lean against the wall and let it hang between my lips. I inhale. It's strong. I take in too much too fast, and I end up coughing. I take another hit and close my eyes. My mind swirls. My hands shoot down, unzip my jeans, and I pull my hard cock out. The joint shakes against my lips as my groans push their way from my throat, my fist a blurred movement of up, down, up, down up down up down updown, slight twist there, and my fingers squeeze my burning flesh. I come instantly. I shudder from the force, my hips bucking into my hand, cock twitching.

"Aw, fuck. Fuck," I sigh in the euphoria that follows my release. The joint falls from my lips. I try to wipe my hand on a towel, but end up on my knees instead, puking into the toilet.

Women were not allowed on ships because of superstition, but this is not at all true for tour buses. Women are very welcome here, or at least girls like Kitty, Bree and Penny. They've already chosen their targets. Groupies often do. I gave them all the brush off because I'm not lonely. I don't need one of them to run in circles around me, calling me baby and giving me blowjobs and making me feel like I'm the most special thing on this side of the universe. Penny, who claims to be French Canadian but I am pretty sure I can hear a Texan accent under there, has chosen Puck. Kitty, much to Matt's disappointment, has chosen Seb. Bree is slowly realizing that Nick isn't warming up to her, which will probably leave her banging one of the roadies for the next two days.

The crew is still packing up the bus after our Cleveland show. We left them to it and took the girls, who spent the show cheering for us by the stage, and came back to start a party. Their cheerful and excited female voices feel like a wave of fresh air, and though I sit on one of the two lounge armchairs and say nothing, I have a small smile on my face. Their soothing presence is doing wonders for my hangover. Ryder walks over to me and kneels down, giving me a confidential look.

"Bree's groovy," he says quietly as the rest of our party keep on talking and laughing.

"She is," I agree, casting a look at the skinny girl with long, brown curls. Ryder gives me a cocky smile. "And?" I ask in confusion.

"Just saying, man, you're our star and you deserve the best. I didn't get you your own bed for nothing, right?" he winks, and I stare at my beer bottle. "Bree, girl, come over here! Keep Blaine company!"

Bree instantly skips over, clearly overjoyed that she might win the big grand prize after all. Ryder winks again and leaves us to it, like all he needs to have a happy singer-guitarist is to make sure I orgasm twice a day. "Hi," Bree says and smiles sweetly. "You want another beer?"

"Yeah, sure." I give in. This is how they do it: they start with the little things, beer, food, making sure you're comfortable. Then they are asking you to trust them with bigger things, to look after your wardrobe, hotel keys, make you think that you can no longer function without their help. Bree brings me a beer and keeps standing by my chair, chatting away happily. Another beer, and I let her sit on my lap, my arm wrapped around her waist. She weighs next to nothing. She looks at me like I'm beautiful.

Seb and Kitty come to me, tangled up together. "Blaine, man," Seb slurs, "mind if we use your room for ten minutes?"

"Ten?!" Kitty protests.

"It doesn't take long when you know what you're doing," Seb winks at her.

"Go for it," I mutter lifelessly.

Kitty and Seb disappear just as the roadies finally get on the bus. Ryder fusses around, making sure everyone and everything is ready. "Who's driving?"

"I am," Kurt says, lifting his hand. His voice instantly attracts my attention. I avoided him today. Not sure why. It's not like he knows I saw him on the balcony last night, and secondly, it's not like it even matters if I avoid him because since when have we been attached from the hip? Never. I barely know the guy. But he looks my way with Bree draping over me, and he frowns, and I suddenly wish I hadn't let her sit on my lap after all. But it's nothing to the way I am sure he got laid last night. With that guy, whoever he was. Muscular. Handsome. The type Kurt is apparently into.

I wrap my arm around Bree tighter.

"You met the girls?" Ryder asks the roadies. Us and the girls spent the day fucking about one of the hotel rooms, feeling like big stars. The only roadie that dropped by was Matt. Ryder starts pointing. "That's Penny, that's Bree, and Kitty is in the back with Seb. Girls, meet Kurt, Mason, Beiste and you know Matt already." The girls wave and bat their eyelashes.

"Did you say Kitty? The Kitty?" Mason asks, clearly impressed. Even groupies have a hierarchy. She won't tour with just anyone, and when she was on the road with us for a week on our last tour, we all knew it meant we were heading for the stars.

"Kitty?" Kurt asks in confusion, and Mason instantly offers to tell him every band he knows she's toured with. The list is long.

Seb and Kitty take an hour in the back room, in my bed. I don't want to go back there and so I tell Seb to feel free to crash there until the sheets get washed. Seb is delighted and smiles at me for the first time on this tour. I'm reminded of the summer in the early days of the band when Seb and I lived together to save money. We had fun back then, going out together, having a good and reckless time, perfectly unknown, aspiring musicians, going back to our tiny place and taking turns of who gets to use the bedroom. This is a messed up version of the same game, but with different rules. It's not friendship anymore, but rivalry. It used to be something sincerer, and I think Seb and I both remember that for a split-second. I loved the man like a brother.

Seb looks away from me like he's been burned by fire, and I focus on Bree, who squirms in my lap, leans to my ear and whispers, "I can do bunks. I'm really flexible."

I tilt my head to the side and peer at her. "How about the dirty toilet of the next venue? Or better yet, you wanna fuck on stage?"

She blinks. She laughs. I wasn't kidding.

We stay up into the night with Puck and Penny now going to the back room. Kitty and Seb go to the toilet for five minutes. No one really pays attention where they go fuck and what they do, and Bree looks at me with a silent question in her eyes, which I ignore. I enjoy sex just as much as the next guy, but it's never been some sort of primitive animal instinct with me. I can go without sex for a month. Yup. A whole month before I feel like I really need to get laid. Seb can go without it for sixteen hours.

It's a little past four in the morning when I feel the bus slow down and come to a stop after Nick goes up to say he needs to piss and Seb and Kitty are occupying the toilet. Beiste and I get out of the bus that now stands on the side of the road. Bree looks like she doesn't know if she should follow me. In the end, she doesn't.

Beiste sighs and rolls his shoulders, and I can hear joints crackling. Kurt is not too far away, smoking a cigarette. "You okay to drive?" Beiste calls out.

"Yeah, man, we'll be in Detroit in an hour."

I can see Nick's outline not too far away, taking a leak. A bus stops behind ours, Canadian Experience clearly following our example. Their bus is from the late 60's, a joke compared to ours. It hisses to a stop, and a few guys come out to stretch their legs. It's dark, and I can't tell where we are. Somewhere in between cities, in the middle of nowhere.

Kurt walks over to me, offering his half-burnt cigarette. I know Beiste is standing right next to us, like it matters somehow that he can see me talking to one of the other roadies. I don't feel comfortable as I decline the smoke with a shake of my head.

"Should you be driving? You got kind of messed up last night," I tell him as casually as I can.

"Not that messed up," he protests. He doesn't even sound sorry. I went to that fucking party only to please him, and he doesn't seem to acknowledge that at all. Fucking fag. Only runs after drugs and cock. What did I expect, anyway? That I had made a friend in him? Yeah, hardly.

Sam's voice says, "Blaine, can I talk to you?"

I turn around and see Sam's silhouette in the moonlight. Not the guy I want to talk to right now, but I follow him to the side of the road anyway, hear the gravel beneath our feet. He stops when we're out of earshot.

Sam sighs restlessly in the dark. I'm glad I can't see his face.

"Should we talk? The whole thing with Thad and Kurt, it's just left a bad vibe, you know? Call me crazy, but it kind of feels like you're avoiding me."

"Are we fucking married?" I ask him pointedly. "We wrote a few mediocre songs I'm already wishing I hadn't written. Jesus, Evans, try to put the thing into perspective."

"Mediocre?" He sounds disbelieving. "We both love the stuff we wrote."

"You thought wrong," I shoot at him. Nick was right about Sam. Nick was right like he always is. "I was just trying to get some time away from the band. You were, like, going for a long walk or free therapy. Whatever. So tell me why would I want to work with you after the stunt you pulled on me?"

"Sorry?"

The clouds shift from in front of the moon, and Sam looks so confused that I have to resist the urge to beat some sense into him.

"I told you about Kurt, and then you blabbed it to Thad after you said you wouldn't, and look what happened! Do you think I need the extra stress of my crew getting attacked? I mean, if I can't trust you with that, then how could I with my music? Get a fucking reality check." He looks astonished. I am done. I have nothing more to say to the guy.

I walk past him, and he says, "I didn't tell anyone! I swear I didn't tell Thad!"

"Sure you didn't. Go fuck yourself, Evans," I mutter with a middle finger raised over my shoulder. The idiot fucking lies about it too. If he had manned up, then I might have considered it. Sam Evans is a damn talented guy, and if he is even half as ruthless as he has proven himself to be, then he will succeed wonderfully in the music world, and his success will burn far too bright for me to be anywhere near it. The Warblers, the four of us plus Ryder, are not particularly ruthless. We're just lucky, after which we have become arrogant. And there is a crucial difference between that and innate ruthlessness. Guys like Evans need to stay far away from me.

Beiste and Kurt have gotten back on the bus, and I take the four steps up. Kurt is behind the wheel and is tuning the radio. I hear the girls laughing in the lounge. "Night," I mutter to Kurt, not looking forward to my night of refuge in Seb's bunk. Fuck, I hate bunks. The sheets better smell like baby angels, and Bree better not think she is welcome to join me.

"Hey, wait," Kurt hurries out, and I cross my arms and lift a disinterested eyebrow at him. "Uh, I kinda overheard you and Sam talking just now. Just wanna say that... I appreciate it. The thing you did. Loyalty. I know there's not much around here, so tack."

"Tack? Not enough for a proper thank you?" I ask, voice full of sarcasm.

Kurt stands up, smiling like he doesn't care I'm being a bitch to him. By now, I've noticed he does that. He places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. "Tack." He winks, and I roll my eyes. I didn't do it for him. I didn't do it for loyalty. At most, I did it because I'm pissed off at myself, at him, Sam, Seb, Ryder, whoever. And it was easy to take it all out on Sam because he embodied my aimless frustration.

"Whatever," I mutter. Kurt smiles, and something flutters inside me, and it feels like we're okay again, if we ever were not-okay, or if there ever was a state in which we were okay.

I go back to the lounge, reclaiming my seat with a lighter heart. Bree has moved on to sit on the couch next to Beiste, who seems rather chuffed to have an is-she-even-twenty groupie admiring his biceps. "Everybody on board?" Kurt asks, taking the headcount. He lists names under his breath as Kitty comes from the bunks with a huge smile on her face.

"I found Ryder's stash!" she giggles excitedly and shows the small bag of grass, and Seb claps to praise her snatching abilities. Ryder is going to be pissed when he wakes up.

Then, suddenly, Kurt sees Kitty, and Kitty sees him, and both freeze. Kitty goes as white as a ghost, her mouth hanging open with disbelief all over her face. Brendon stares across the room and manages to say, "Ka –"

"Kitty!" the pink-haired girl rushes out, recovering quickly and putting a huge smile on her face. Her eyes, though, are void of all merriment. "I don't think we have met?"

"Oh. Right. Kitty," Kurt mutters, as if to memorize it. "Right. One of the, uh... one of the girls." Kurt appears to be in shock. "The girls with the... the girls that... with bands. With all those bands. You are. You're one of those."

I look between the two in confusion.

"Even Kurt's smitten," Puck laughs, nudging Seb's side.

Kitty instantly catches the name, her rigid form loosening slightly. "Kurt. The roadie, right? It never occurred to me that – that you'd... Not that I've. It's not like it's a common name. I mean. Hey, you want some pot?" Kitty dangles the bag again, the movement too eager to cover up her attempt to change the subject.

"I gotta drive, so..."

Kitty mouths a silent 'okay' and busies herself with the hem of her shirt. Kurt turns his attention elsewhere. "You guys might want to stay awake for an hour. We'll be at the Detroit hotel soon enough."

"You okay?" I ask Kurt.

"Uh huh," he hurries out, flashing me a fake smile and exiting the lounge.

No one really seems to have paid attention to the exchange. Kitty takes her place by Seb, but she looks shaken up. The bus takes off again, and I decide to stay awake until we're at the hotel. Kitty keeps glancing to the front of the bus.

Nick has gone to bed so I go sit by Puck, who is the best next thing. "Did it seem to you like Kurt and Kitty knew each other?"

"No?" he asks like I'm an idiot. "Please. Like some gay kid from San Fran would know the groupie goddess. Here, take a hit. It's even sweeter because it's Ryder's." Puck grins at me, and I end up smoking with him.

I can hear Kurt singing along to the radio. He's all alone, driving across America. "I feel sorry for the kid," I tell Puck, not really sure when I decided that Kurt must be lonely despite having friends and lovers. Maybe I decided that when he was curled up and leaning against the café door, voice trembling and my cigarette shaking between his bloodied fingers.

"I feel sorry for anyone who sucks another guy's cock," Puck deadpans, and I chuckle. This is exactly why I love the man.

"We should be nicer to him," I conclude nonetheless, and Puck makes a sound that isn't a yes or a no, but definitely leans more to the no. It's 'what do you care?', and the answer is that I don't know. But Nick told me to fix him, and Nick is usually right about everything, so I'll try. I'll give it a shot.

Kitty keeps shooting worried looks to the front of the bus. She and Kurt might have fooled the others, but not me.