content warning: homophobia/homophobic slurs, alcohol consumption, drugs/mentions of drugs/doing drugs, mildly explicit sexual content (straight sex, straight anal sex)

author's note: This is purely from Blaine's perspective so we don't really know for a fact if Kurt actually does sleep with random guys but in my head, Kurt's demisexual. For the purpose of this story, let's just say that Kurt enjoys kissing and making out but he has to really be into a guy to have sex with him. So he's not a virgin but he also doesn't sleep around. Idk why but I felt like I had to add that. Also if you need help picturing the characters: imagine S4 Seb and Kurt, Warbler Blaine, S6 Beiste, S1 Puck, Quinn, and Will, S3 Nick, and the rest of the characters from their respective seasons (S1 Matt, S6 Mason)

Chapter 8: An Absurd Notion

So maybe I am attracted to him. His soft lips and beautiful eyes, his slender body, the round ass... But acknowledging that doesn't mean that I'm not a straight man. I admire beauty. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Though, if I asked Nick, he would say that it's one thing to admire beauty from afar and another to want to touch it and feel it in your hands.

I'm not going to consult Nick on this. No, that is a definite, definite no. I'm never going to tell anyone about anything. Not their business what I do.

I keep watching the light of the street lamps sweep across the lounge table as our bus treads more and more miles in the quiet summer night. An orangey glow goes across the table, and then the shadow is back, then the light, the shadow. I watch the way the lights play on the opened notebook, the pen, my knuckles and the empty vodka flask.

The page remains empty. I haven't written anything since Ottawa.

And, besides, the more I think about it, the more I realize that I'm not attracted to him. It's an absurd notion that I would be, and the fact that he kissed me doesn't prove anything. I'm famous. I'm not exactly ugly. He's gay, and he's lonely. I'm one of the few people around here who bother socializing with him. So he misread the situation, and I went along with it. Could happen to anyone, I'm sure.

I'm so not attracted to him.

The door separating the bunk area from the lounge opens. My eyes, which have adjusted to the dark, instantly spot a sleepy looking Kurt, who doesn't look my way as he simply enters the toilet, pajama bottoms hanging low on his skinny hips. The lock clicks to its place. The bus hums silently around me.

My pulse has picked up.

I muffle a frustrated groan and bring the flask to my lips. One drop drips into my mouth. I stare at the flask disappointedly. "Et tu, Brute?"

The toilet is flushed, the swoosh sound coming through the paper thin walls. I slide the flask back into my pocket, trying to hide evidence.

Maybe I'm a bit drunk, but I certainly am not attracted to the roadie. I should sneak to my nest before he comes out, or maybe I should go to the front to chat with Mason, but I've been trying to figure out if Mason knows. Kurt might have told him, them being friends and all. Mason's not said anything. Mason's not the kind of guy who could hide a thing like that; he'd tell half the world and send letters to the rest.

The lounge is dark, the lights switched off. I'm in the shadows, so I stay where I am, knowing I'm pretty invisible in my corner. Good plan.

The bathroom door reopens. The light inside casts a narrow beam across the lounge. Straight on me.

Well, shit.

Kurt stops. "Oh. Hi. Didn't see you there." He closes the door. I hum.

Apart from the "Morning," "Where's the dressing room?", "Where am I?", "Can you pass me the capo/guitar cable/weed/setlist?" comments, we've not talked, and we've not been in private without others around. I don't know much about the guy, but I know he's not stupid, so my avoiding-all-eye-contact technique was pretty easy to read. It still should be.

He asks, "What are you doing?"

I shrug, lifting my shoulders more than necessary. "Sitting in the dark bus lounge in the middle of the night."

Silence. I didn't look, it's not like I looked, but I still saw the flat plane of his stomach, the V of his hips, his bare chest. "Want some company?" he asks.

I tense up. Is that gay code for something?

I take my pen and tap it onto the still empty page, letting my eyes focus on it. "I'm good, thanks."

He scoffs. "Whatever."

I look up in time to watch him turn away, surprised by the scorn because I haven't done anything, have I? The flash of the streetlights hits his turned away form, and I can see two identical indents on his lower back, just above where his pajama bottoms end. Back dimples, surrounded by smooth skin, crowned by the cut of his spine, moving up to pale, strong shoulders and back down again, shoulder blades, spine, dimples. Skin. Muscle. Bone. Within my reach.

The bunk area door closes. My breathing is shallow.

So maybe I am attracted to him.

I have no idea why I bitched about our five New York shows. In fact, I should really congratulate Ryder for being such an amazing manager and tell the guys not to throw litter around the bus to piss Ryder off. The way he acts around the vehicle is comical to say the least, petting the walls, talking to it, asking if we all want to get together and give it a good, loving wash before soundcheck. Which, for the record, we do not want. Getting out of the claustrophobic bus and staying in a hotel for practically a week? No chance of bumping into a half-dressed Kurt? Ryder's a goddamn genius.

We're all staying on the same floor in the hotel, the crew guys sharing rooms, but the four of us move into a suite with four bedrooms. It's a bit too close to Sebastian Smythe than I'd like to be, but I can always just stay in my room. I have interviews all day, and Ryder is so awesome for arranging those too. No crew needed in interviews.

As I open the door to our suite, I note from the corner of my eye that Mason and Kurt are staying in the room next door. Kurt will be just on the other side of the wall, but at least it's further away than two steps from my bed, behind the door, upper bunk immediately on the left.

The day flies by as the four of us are stuck in interviews where they all ask the same goddamn questions. But I suck it up and enjoy the Kurtless environment where I don't need to try and process having sexual desires towards a fucking guy. Seb and Nick do most of the talking. Puck is clearly suffering as he snaps a few replies, and I can relate to his frustration. It's too much work to make an effort in every interview.

We don't have a show tonight. Instead, our five sold out New York gigs start tomorrow, but it shouldn't be too bad. We don't need to drive to a new place every night, we don't need to pack up and unpack again. This almost feels like a vacation. Nick counts the days until we're done with the East Coast and have a month's break before the tour's second leg: seventeen days. If I can avoid Kurt for seventeen days, I can be free of him for a month, go home, clear my head, get this thing out of my system where my thoughts inevitably gravitate towards his lips.

When we finally return to our suite, we try and work on tomorrow's setlist, but instead, we just start drinking. We're heading out to a club. We've been invited. It's refreshing that we no longer have to try and get invites. Rewind five years back before we got signed, Seb and I going around and promoting us, trying to get gigs in shitty LA clubs. Now: New York City, four star hotel, top floor suite, complimentary beer.

But Nick, who is the biggest supporter of unity among us, says we should go get the roadies too, have fun together. And so fifteen minutes later, Mason, Matt, Kurt and Beiste come back with Nick, and Matt asks if anyone wants to do some LSD with him. Seb and Mason do. Kurt keeps talking to Nick, not even acknowledging me. The suite's living room isn't that big, so Kurt could at least acknowledge me.

A sharp knock sounds on the door, and Puck groans. "That's gonna be the hotel telling us to shut up."

"Or maybe fans. You know those few kids that have been following us since Montreal?" Seb points out.

Puck nods as he heads over. "I'll get it."

I keep talking to Beiste, but then I hear her voice. The hair at the back of my neck sticks up at the sound. Beiste is already looking towards the door, and I follow his gaze. There she is with her arms around Puck, and Puck is happily hugging her back. And she is all fair skin with short, short hot pants, her stomach bare, a tiny t-shirt that covers her chest, enough make up on for ten girls, four inch platform shoes, and she lets go of Puck and looks at the rest of us, beaming.

I stare at her like she has stepped out of some alternative reality and suddenly made her way into this hotel room scene full of swear words, sweat, dirty clothes, exhausted musicians and stressed out roadies. She beams at me. "Missed me?"

I manage to say, "Quinn."

She laughs. "Did you forget I was coming?"

Yes.

"Of course not!" I say as I go greet her, kissing her on the lips and wrapping my arm around her shoulders. With the shoes she's wearing, she is practically my height. She waves at the others, and there she goes. A natural star and center of attention.

"He's been a good boy, hasn't he?" she asks, and the guys nod and assure I've been nothing but innocent and loyal and talking about her constantly. My eyes meet Kurt's, and I'm not sure if I've ever felt quite as uncomfortable.

Quinn grabs a beer bottle and blends in. She can blend into any crowd.

I forgot she was coming, but she brings with her dry land, something for me to hold onto, and I let my hand rest on her shoulders, her long, silky hair sweeping my fingertips, and I drink up, finding it easier to smile as she jokes with Matt and Seb. Long and silky. Blonde. Not short and brown.

"K, you've never met Quinn, have you?" Matt says, and then Kurt is there. He offers his hand cordially.

"Kurt?" Quinn clarifies and shakes hands with the roadie. "Blaine's told me so much about you!"

Quinn's called me once during this tour. I merely mentioned the guy, so what the hell? Okay, maybe I did talk about Kurt for ten minutes, but I was just trying to fill up the silence. He's the only new crew member, the only one Quinn hasn't met. Seb is quirking an amused eyebrow at me, a slight tease in it, and oh come on. I'm the straightest guy in this room, so ha ha, could we please not even go there?

Quinn nudges my side. "You didn't tell me he's gorgeous!"

Kurt looks at her, completely unimpressed. "What is it about women on this tour not having gaydars?" he asks Matt and simply walks away. The drugs are kicking in with Matt since he doesn't seem to notice Kurt's departure and instead asks Seb if the furniture is moving or if it's just him.

No one is ever rude to Quinn. Well, maybe Nick is a bit cold towards her, but everyone else is like melted butter. Guys, at least. A lot of chicks seem to think of her as a threat, though, and Kurt technically is one of the chicks.

Maybe he's jealous. Maybe he's completely in love with me. Well, I wouldn't be surprised. He did kiss me, after all. But as flattering as that is, he needs to know that I won't make a habit of pity make out sessions. Not that it was full on making out, of course, it just got a bit out of hand. It's in the past. I've fucked girls with less retrospect than this. And what was it that Kurt said to me about that annoying Tracy chick? That it was a big deal if I made it a big deal. Good advice, actually.

So we kissed. So I do find him attractive, for some completely fucked up reason. But it's not a big deal, and it doesn't mean anything, either.

Quinn is still staring after Kurt with a slightly affronted expression. "Never mind him, baby," I tell her.

"Kurt's on his period," Seb supplies with a chuckle. "So we going to this club or what?"

We leave before Ryder can follow us and bother everyone by saying when we should go, what we should drink, who we should fuck, who we shouldn't fuck. Ryder can ruin any party. It's a magical skill, really.

I'm not sure if it's meant to be a gag, but the club is actually a disco. It's still a blur of alcohol and drugs, people dancing and laughing. A group of Seb's acquaintances are already there, and we mix into a huge group wanting to have a good time. Quinn disappears at some point, and I can't find her, and I can't find Puck either, or Seb, or Nick, and I don't recognize anyone around me for at least an hour, but I end up talking to some guy at the bar and doing tequila shots with him. I then find Nick talking to some chick who is explaining about her one-year-old son, and Nick, to my horror, seems genuinely interested as he asks if the son can talk or walk yet, and she explains eagerly, asking us if we've got kids, which we don't, thank you, so I swerve in to save him from his boring fate.

Seb's been getting shitfaced with some red-haired girl, and then Beiste is telling me he thinks I've had a bit too much. Goddamn Ryder's minion, he should just relax. Quinn and Puck return at the same time, and Quinn and I go dancing as we kiss sloppily. She laughs against my mouth, and I'm glad she's here.

"So he is gay," she says, and I follow her gaze to the corner table hidden from most of the club, but visible from where we are. And there Kurt is with some guy. Again. Lips locked. "I thought maybe he was trying to make himself seem interesting."

"He uses foreign versions of 'Thank you' for that," I tell her. The guy he's with isn't even that good-looking. This isn't a homo bar. He should be careful someone doesn't beat him and lover boy unconscious. They'd deserve it too.

"Hey, eyes on me!" Quinn demands. I wasn't staring. Kurt sure goes around.

If we can see them, they can see us. I kiss Quinn again.

Club, people, bodies. 'Staff Only' door, back hallway. She laughs. We share a joint. I want to get off. We skip goodbyes on the way out. The street is dark, but New York is hot as hell during summer. Taxi. Her hair, soft, soft. Indian taxi driver. I'm on the top of the world. Back at the hotel, can't find my keys. A few fans in the lobby, waiting for the band. One says, "I'm Chandler! I'm your biggest fan!" The doorman intervenes and throws them out. I tip him. Quinn laughs and swirls like she can hear music no one else can. The suite and into my room, finally. Bed. Pull my shirt off. Kiss her stomach, go down on her. My hard-on aching for release. I suck on her clit, try to focus on it. I practically rub myself against the mattress. Fucking hell, Kurt.

Quinn sighs. "You did miss me."

I'm brought back to the reality of the situation, and that's what I need her for.

I missed knowing who I am.

Her pussy is slightly swollen. She says not to go too fast when I push in. She doesn't say it, but I know she's sore. Who's fucked her and when, I don't know, but she could at least try to cover it up a bit more. She could make an effort to focus on the person she is with, not the person she secretly wishes it was.

The way I do.

The bell rings above the door, and I self-consciously hang my head and keep my sunglasses on as I step into the record store. If I get recognized some place, it would definitely be here. They're even playing our new record, for god's sake, though I smile at that.

I walk straight to the counter, and the curly-haired man behind it asks, "What can I do for you?" as he keeps his eyes on the paperwork in front of him.

"I had a look around, but I can't find any of the best disco music."

He scoffs. "You so have the wrong pla –" He looks up and breaks into a grin. "Blaine! You goddamn dog!"

I grin. "Hey, man."

Will rounds the counter and comes to give me a big hug, quickly ushering me into the backroom. "Take over, would you?" he calls to the kid that is putting new records on display. The girl nods distractedly, singing along to my song. For once, I don't mind.

The backroom is separated from the main shop only by a purple beaded curtain, but it's enough shelter for me to take my sunglasses off. Will's gotten two beers from the fridge and he motions me to sit down in the clutter of the backroom. I sit by the table after lifting a pile of Court and Spark LPs off the chair. The backroom is full of unopened deliveries, broken records, ads for gigs that have been already. There's a notice board above the table with instructions like, 'Wash your hands, you filthy pig', 'NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO PLAY SONNY AND CHER IN THIS SHOP' and a more official 'Will's Record Store's Shift List'.

"How you been? How's the tour going? I was wondering when you'd show your ugly face around here," Will beams. I know him from when he used to live in LA, moving to New York two years back when his band fell through. Not all of us can be famous. He started up his own record shop, made a nice fortune selling signed copies of our second album, and he's already casually putting a dozen copies of Boneless on the table. I take the marker from the clutter and start signing without him having to ask.

"This tour's killing me, and I'm hungover," I recap.

"Yeah, you look like shit."

"Thanks," I note sourly. Will reminds me of a puppy with his childlike enthusiasm. He has big, blue eyes and high cheekbones, curly hair that he keeps short, and a well-formed, muscular body. He's older than me, in his mid-thirties, and maybe it's the combination of age and his personality – sensible and calm – that has always made me feel like he knows things about life I could never hope to grasp. "So you're coming to the show tonight?"

"Yeah, man. Backstage and all, it'll be sweet. I was gonna come to the hotel like we agreed, but I'm happy to see you. Boneless has been selling well, I ran out of copies two times last week."

I finish signing the copies, and Will smiles appreciatively. "So what's up?" he asks. Yeah, I didn't come here for nothing, and he knows it.

"Everything," I chuckle and finally reach for my beer. "The band's barely holding together. Seb and I, we just... His ego is too big for me to be in the same room with. And something's up with Nick, too, but I don't know what. The only one I still have faith in is Puck. Well, as much faith as I can have in the guy, you know? I know he'd sell me out, that he'd put his own needs before the band's, so that doesn't necessarily get me far, but it's something. And Quinn, you remember her, right?"

"She makes an impression."

"She's here now. And it's like... I don't miss her when she's gone. And that's good, I never expected myself to miss her, you know? But now it's like I wish I missed her. I wish she'd mean more to me than she does, that there'd at least be this one solid thing in my life, and it's fucking crazy trying to find it in her. Just goes to show how desperate I'm getting. That scares me, man. It really does."

Will blinks at me from across the table. "And you've been keeping that inside for how long? Since Montreal?"

"Try since '73," I laugh before finally coming to the big issue at hand. I just need to tell someone neutral, someone who won't judge. "Have you ever slept with a guy?"

Will's eyebrows lift to his hairline in surprise. "No. Can't say I have." I try not to feel disappointed. I was hoping he might have. He kinda looks it. "Though I know people who have. Friends, you know."

So I'm not the only freak he's come across. Thank god. Well, here goes. To get it off my chest, to get feedback. Maybe he will knock some sense into me.

"I've been thinking about it lately. I never have either, I mean I'm not... like that. But there's this guy." This is where it gets difficult. Will nods for me to go on, but I don't know how. It's bothering me how, as I fucked Quinn, I wondered if Kurt was behind the wall listening, or if he never made it back to the hotel last night. Like maybe I want the disastrous kissing in Ottawa to mean something to him, that he can't just brush it off. But I've been brushing it off. I'm not gay, just curious. He fascinates me, where he's from, what he's done... I'd want to know more, and the more he doesn't tell me, the worse it is. I keep having this insane desire to be able to say that I know that man better than anyone.

"Some fan?" he asks, and I nod, though I know it's a lie. Can't say it's one of the roadies since Will will probably meet them all tonight.

"Let's name him, um..."

"Brian," Will suggests, pointing at the cover of a copy of Here Come the Warm Jets. Damn good album. "Blaine and Brian. Cute."

I try not to roll my eyes. "Okay, Brian. And I think that I'm attracted to him. He's attracted to me, I know that." Not that Kurt's ever said it, but he is. The way his fingers dug into my hip when we kissed... He was as into it as I was. "It's me that's stopping it going anywhere. I mean, I think if I... made a move, it might progress... But it confuses the hell out of me. I've never looked at a guy that way before. I'm not a fag, you know? I mean, you know."

"Yeah, I totally know," he assures me. He's seen me with girls. Anyone who knows me has, so this whole thing is ridiculous. Will hums and takes a long sip of his beer. He needs to talk some sense into me. Someone has to, and Puck, I don't trust enough, and Nick and I have grown apart too much this year. He doesn't talk about Vicky, and I won't talk about my sexual identity crisis. Will says, "Go for it."

I choke on my beer. "Excuse me?"

"Why not? You're clearly trying to suppress these urges, and it's just driving you up the wall. Fuck the guy, get it out of your system. I mean, honestly, who isn't trying what these days? Doing one guy won't make you a fag, man. It's not like you actually have feelings for the guy, is it?"

"Of course not."

"So there you go! Just make sure he doesn't tell anyone. I wouldn't brag about it either, you know? You don't want that reputation. But if you're discrete, then there is no reason for you not to do it."

"Maybe," I grant. I feel relieved and repulsed at the same time.

I finally have permission.

Do it and get it out of my system. Okay, it sounds fine in theory, but what about in practice? I oversimplified it with Will, because what if after I've fucked Kurt, I'll just want to do it again? What if this irrational want is so bad that it can last multiple reruns? What then? And why is the thought of me sticking my cock up Kurt's ass not grossing me out? Lack of a father figure, of course, that's why I'm this messed up. I keep picturing the way Kurt's entire body jerks when I push in...

But I decide to test out Will's theory, anyway. In a roundabout way. It takes three days before I gather up the nerve to do it during which Kurt continues his ignoring-my-existence thing as well as ignoring Quinn. Well, he certainly doesn't forgive and forget... Moody little bitch. It's like he wanted me to declare my undying love for him after one kiss. Sorry to disappoint the disillusioned fucker.

Quinn spends her days shopping and meeting up with her NYC friends while I do my band duties. She comes to the show every night, though, and the after-party, and she always ends up in my bed sometime around dawn when we've both had enough to drink. And my patience to get here, gather the courage, is soothing in itself: if I was desperate to fuck Kurt and get it done, I could conveniently have squeezed it between lunch and soundcheck by now.

"Hey, Quinn?" I say in between kisses, my fingers restlessly flexing on her inner thigh. We're still mostly dressed.

"Yeah, baby?"

At least I'll go down swinging...

"Can I, uh... Would you mind if I... go to the... other. Orifice?"

She freezes and breaks the kiss. She blinks beneath me. "You wanna fuck my ass?"

Pause.

"That's what I was going for, yeah."

I bite on my lower lip. We stare at each other. "You got anything to help us along?" she asks.

"No. But I could get something?"

Quinn considers this. "Well, I'd need to go get ready first, so if I go do that, you go buy some lotion or whatever, and meet me back here in twenty?"

Well, that was easy. Will was right. Everyone's trying everything these days – no restrictions, no judging.

The sex is not quite what I expect. It's different. Quinn tells me to go slow, so I do, grabbing her hips as she stays on her hands and knees on the bed. She says it stings and laughs. The pressure around my cock is new. Pussies can be tight, and when chicks come, yeah, definitely tight. But this feels tighter without her even being close yet, provided she can come from this. And it's hotter, somehow, and the slide is easier, I can go deep without having to worry I'll hit bottom and have her bitch that I'm making her barren. Tighter, warmer, deeper. My mouth hangs open as I try not to be too overwhelmed. Quinn is rubbing her clit with one hand, telling me to go faster now. God yes, finally.

My eyes roll to the back of my head as my eyelids flutter shut, and I let my hips snap forward, pushing into her, enjoying it far more than I thought I would. I figured it'd be weird, uncomfortable, would somehow feel like an abomination. I didn't realize it'd feel like heaven. And Quinn, well, she doesn't even know what to do here, she's staying still. Someone who knows, though, someone who knows how to move their body to this, take the thrusts, respond to it, how would that feel, how would Kurt feel –

"I'm gonna come," I inform her with a rushed grunt though she's not done. A flash of light takes over my mind as the orgasm washes over me, the best one I've had in a long, long time, and I ride it out, thrusting into her ass.

She comes a bit after from her nimble fingers working on herself. She says, "Huh," like that was interesting, but then, "Ow, fuck," when I pull out.

"Huh," I agree, getting out of bed and pulling on a hotel robe, mumbling about getting a glass of water, anything, to not let her see that I'm goddamn weak at the knees from that. Can't let her know I enjoyed it too much, god knows what kind of a wrong impression that'd give. I bump into Puck in the living room despite it being around five in the morning, and he glares at me, and I mumble a sorry because I know we were not being quiet. But if the "oh god, oh god!"s are anything to go by, Seb and his visitor for the night are not being quiet either. On tour, you know so much more about your friends' sex lives than you'd want to.

Puck follows me with his disapproving gaze, and I hope that he somehow magically doesn't know what we did, what I talked Quinn into, what I enjoyed far too much.

But even if he heard or suspects what we did, it's not a big deal. My own idea worked: I got to experience the sexual act without getting involved with the roadie. And I enjoyed it, now I know, now my desire towards Kurt has vanished. There is nothing he could offer that I can't already get.

Quinn is already asleep when I get back. I could fall in love with her, I think. If I tried hard enough.

I spend all of the following day playing around with scenarios where Quinn and I find it in ourselves to settle down, get married, have kids, move to the country. It's funny what a bit of anal sex can do to a relationship. She winces whenever she sits down, and we both start laughing hysterically when Ryder asks her if she is feeling alright.

Maybe it's time for us all to grow up, and I could start with my relationship with her.

"It's gonna be massive," Seb says eagerly about the party we're heading to after tonight's show. We are in the dressing room, and I'm copying the night's setlist for the rest of the guys out of boredom.

Matt and Mason are jamming with two of my guitars. I gave permission. Will is there too, asking Nick what he thinks of this whole Watergate scandal, and I have absolutely no idea what they're referring to. Then my head snaps to the door, the cocktail party effect kicking in as my brain tunes out the rest when Kurt speaks. "Shit."

Kurt is staring at his stained shirt, and Puck is dangling his beer bottle loosely. "Oops. Sorry," Puck sneers. I can see that Kurt is suppressing a glare because we both know what kind of drama Puck could start from that. Puck's made sure Kurt knows he is his slave on this tour.

"No biggie," Kurt mutters and begins pulling his beer-drenched shirt off. I instantly focus on something else.

The room is filled with pre-show nervousness. It's not quite as bad as on the first night here. Ryder was right about them loving us in New York. He keeps saying how we should've played Madison Square Garden, and that's what? Twenty thousand people? There is no way I could possibly do that.

It's worrying how no one seems to understand that I have already been pushed to my limits.

Before we go on, Nick comes over to tell me how we'll be fine, how it's just another show, how amazing I am on stage. And I believe him, and we go on, the crowd chanting and chanting. Quinn remains by the side of the stage, waving at us happily. Only Puck waves back.

"Good evening, New York!" Seb screams into his microphone. "Again," he adds with a grin, and we kick off. I usually don't look at the crowds much, but I recognize the group of people in the front row, right ahead of me. They've been there the three previous nights too.

For some reason, every show seems to take longer than the previous one. Our ninety minutes feel like four hours, a six-minute song stretching to thirty in my mind. Seb basks in it, launching into a guitar solo, fingers swiping the frets as his hair flips around his head to the quick movements. I've started stepping backwards whenever I don't need to sing, but it's no use because the lights follow me, anyway.

We get off stage, wait for them to yell us back, go do the encore. The penultimate song, and Puck says, "We'd like to dedicate this song to a wonderful young woman who's with us here tonight, so this is for you, Quinn."

I stare at my bassist in astonishment, but Nick's already shouting "One, two, three!" so I launch into the song which has nothing to do with Quinn or girls or even love for that matter. Puck's never been this considerate, and I realize that I am probably the worst boyfriend around when my bandmates need to step in and do the boyfriend-y things for me.

Once we're off the stage, I ask, "What was that about?"

Puck shrugs. "Just being polite."

Quinn hurries over, beaming at us. "That was so sweet, thank you!"

I'm still frowning at Puck, but I make the best of the situation. "Anything for my girl," I say with faux modesty, and Quinn beams twice as much. Puck vanishes from sight.

The party takes place in the home of a multimillionaire producer, who hasn't produced any of our stuff but is digging the new album. Ryder tries to convince me to use the party as a business meeting, but I'm a bit too drunk for that, so I kindly tell him to fuck off. The guy's place takes up the entire floor of the building, and it takes me five minutes to find a bathroom.

I'm taking a piss when someone walks in, the voices and music pouring in through the opened door. I look over my shoulder and spot Kurt, who's stopped abruptly. "Sorry."

He backs away, but I say, "I'm almost done, no problem. Not like you haven't seen a dick before, right?"

His eyes thin dangerously as he closes the door. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I finish up, give my dick a tiny shake and zip myself up again. "I think I've seen you with three different guys this week, that's what. Pretty soon you'll have done every occasional homosexual we know in this city." Our first proper conversation since the kiss, and this is the topic I choose.

"Just because you see me with some guy doesn't mean I fuck them," he snaps. "And secondly, it is not any of your business what I do."

"Oh, it is. The band's reputation could be at stake."

"With Seb's asshole superstar act and your pathetic woe-is-me show, I don't think you guys need help from me."

I take a moment to register his words before realizing that the idiot just insulted me. "Hey!" I object.

"And you're drunk like always, so what the hell is new?" He pushes past me and flushes the toilet. "Wash your hands, for god's sake." He proceeds to take a leak, and I mutter under my breath as I place my hands under the faucet.

I glare at him. "I get it now. This whole attitude you've been giving me. You're just jealous."

Kurt laughs loudly. "Of what?"

I wipe my hands to my jeans and lean against the counter. "Of Quinn. You're a bitch to her, you know."

"Oh yeah, the girl and the friend, but not the girlfriend, and yet you've been trying to be the super couple this week. Don't think I've not noticed that," Kurt states and flushes the toilet. I watch him tuck himself away, trying not to make any sort of conclusions about the size of his flaccid cock, how big it'd be erected. "I know when a straight boy's freaked out. You've got all the symptoms."

"Don't make this about me when it's not!" I scoff. Kurt not-so-gently nudges me aside with his hip as he moves to wash his own hands. "I've got a loving, mature relationship, and it's pissing you the hell off. Look, man, it was just a onetime kiss in another fucking country, and this is the reality. But I'm flattered, so thanks. Or merci, really."

"No," Kurt corrects me, now taking steps back. He's beautiful when he's angry. Quinn never is. "I'm pissed off because you can't take responsibility for your actions. That you think you can go around avoiding me. The rest, though? It's just pity. You think Quinn is the love of your life, but you can't even see what's right in front of your fucking eyes."

"A nagging faggot?"

Kurt laughs disbelievingly. "I just might punch you right now. It'd be worth losing this job over it." I partly hope he'll punch me, that way he won't be around anymore, everywhere I go. Quinn and I have something real, but I was never sure of it until this week. I should thank Kurt, really. "I wasn't going to say anything because it's not my place. It's obvious, but you all are too busy examining your own hands to even notice. And you're messed up as it is, so maybe I don't want to see you get even worse."

I'm having difficulty deciphering his words. One whisky too many. "What the hell are you on about?"

Kurt has a weird mix of pity and anger in his eyes. "Just saying that maybe you should go check out the master bedroom." He exits the bathroom, and a girl walks in, demanding that I let her pee in peace. I stumble out, not knowing what the hell Kurt tried to tell me. I ask a guy if he knows where the master bedroom is, and I end up stumbling down a quieter corridor, the walls covered in pictures of the producer with famous musicians. We want to get on that wall.

I find the right door, not at all sure what I am expected to find on the other side. I turn the knob and push the door open, partly expecting to see Kurt there, waiting for me to take him, thinking in his small brain that he can seduce me. But Kurt isn't there.

Someone else is.

The bed is straight across from me, the large windows letting the lights of the city in, illuminating the couple fucking on the bed. The girl is riding the guy, her moans loud.

Quinn and Puck are far too into it to acknowledge my presence.

I stare at the way Quinn is moving wantonly on Puck's cock, the way he pulls her down for a kiss, with familiarity that says this is not the first time, that they waited all day for this, for me to get drunk enough for them to slip away. Again.

My girlfriend and my bassist.

I don't know how long I stand there, too shocked to say anything. Or to think.

I take hold of the doorknob and pull the door closed, then remain staring at its wooden surface, but still vividly seeing the porno taking place on the other side.

I close my eyes and count to ten before I walk away.