(AN: Sorry for reposting, I'm having some trouble with FFn D:)

Rating: Uh, M for swearing, 'cause I'm sure I swear in there somewhere. Other than that, it's tame.

Warnings: Future slash, swearing, a dash of angst.

Disclaimer: If I owned Fox, well, I'd get to watch Glee on TV, rather than having to stream. Pft.

Notes: Not much to say for this one, actually. Acafellas didn't have a huge amount to work with, so this is pretty short, but enjoy nonetheless! The next chapter, Preggers, will be longer, and should be up soon! :D

Enjoy~!

Acafellas

'Have you ever kissed anybody?' Mercedes asks innocently as we stand by the lockers. I feel my blood freeze. Kurt is applying hairspray beside me and I'm not sure which one of us she's talking to.

'Yes,' you reply, and suddenly my blood isn't frozen, it's boiling and if I had a little less self-control I'd be holding you against the lockers demanding to know who had kissed you so I could beat the crap out of him… 'If by someone you mean the tender crook of my elbow.'

Oh, right. So maybe I overreacted for a second there. Anger issues, remember?

You turn around, closing your locker door, and making me look like a bit of a creeper, watching in my peripheral vision while not so subtly rearranging the books in my locker for the third time. 'No, I haven't.' You sigh. 'But I want to.'

I try very, very, very hard not to notice that your eyes flick towards me for a split second.

Then I try even harder not to read anything into it.

I fail on both accounts.

~ Briiiing! ~

'Dave!' Oh, Rachel. What would my life be without my completely naïve buddy? I've grown attached to her over these past few weeks, I'll admit. I mean, she can be a truly terrible person at times, but on other days, she's as sweet as a button.

Today isn't one of those days.

'So, Dave, I have a plan to break up Finn and Quinn, so that we can pick up the tragically heartbroken pieces!' She announces with the certainty of John Stamos and the air of that blond chick in Mean Girls that I can't remember the name of.

'Rachel.' I say, my voice level. 'You're awful.'

'No, Dave, I'm single. There's a difference.'

'Single or desperate?' I'm actually teasing (mostly) and she knows it, but she punches me lightly on the arm anyway.

I think if I were gay, (not to sound repetitive, but I'm not,) Rachel would be my 'fag-hag' or whatever the term is. I mean, we hang out and it's not even awkward now that she thinks I like Quinn. I like her, even though she's kind of crazy, I think it's refreshing to be around a girl who isn't bleach-blond and wearing a cheerios outfit. Plus, she knows Broadway like her own reflection, and I don't have to pretend not to like it around her, so I'm learning a lot.

'So, what is your amazing plan, then?' I say, partly out of curiosity. Obviously, I don't want to steal Quinn from Finn, and have no intention of breaking up a perfectly happy couple, but I get the feeling that no matter what I do, Rachel will carry out her master plan.

'Well, you and I are going to pretend to date, to drive him mad with jealousy – very El Tango de Roxanne – and then he'll have no choice but to break up with Quinn and fight you for me!'

I don't know what the Tango Rosanne is but I'm pretty sure I don't want to perform it with Rachel, so I raise my eyebrows at her dubiously.

'Uh, no offense, Rach, but that plan really blows.' She huffs and crosses her arms, and I get the feeling she already knew. I look at her, and suddenly realize that she looks almost mournful at the moment. Perhaps she likes Finn more than she lets on.

'Rachel?' I say, quietly. 'Does…uh, I don't want to sound mean or anything, but does Finn actually even know that you…um, exist?'

Her face pretty much says it all.

~ Briiiing! ~

Today is not going well. Not only do we have to raise eight thousand dollars to get some midget to teach us how to dance, (what was wrong with Mr. Schue's routines anyway? They were easy to remember!) we've ended up doing a freaking carwash, with the cheerios in skimpy outfits! I've had to stand here asserting my masculinity by pretending to ogle skinny blond chicks for the last half an hour, while trying to ignore the fact that you're wearing this white coat thing that's practically making you glow under the beaming sun.

And why the hell are the cheerios here anyway? All I know is that last week, after our…er, how did Mr. Schue describe it? Oh, yeah, our 'completely inappropriate and actually embarrassing' performance of Push It, the Cheerios suddenly turned up. Mine and Kurt's little amendment wasn't mentioned, but Rachel did give me a very odd look at the time. Then again, she still thinks I'm madly in love with Quinn.

I sigh, dipping the sponge I'm holding into a bucket of suds. Rachel is standing next to me, chatting away about some Broadway musical that I would be vaguely interested in (not that I'm trying to match your tastes or anything,) if it weren't for the scene unfolding around me.

Because it's around about now that all hell breaks loose.

'You busted my window! How could you do that? You busted my window!' You wail, flailing slightly and rapidly looking back and forth from your car window to the diva that just threw a brick through it.

'Well, you busted my heart.' And with a huff, Mercedes storms off.

I run over to you, still coated in bubbles. You're staring at your window now, your face downcast.

'What happened?'

'She busted my window!'

'I can see that, Kurt!' I roll my eyes. 'Why the hell did she do it?'

'I…I think she thought we were dating.' Your eyes dart about in panic, and I feel my chest ache a little. And oh, dear. Poor Mercedes. 'I…think I hurt her.'

The pain in your voice breaks my heart, and I know there's something you're not telling me, but I push it to the back of my mind. I say, 'I'm going to talk to Mercedes, okay?' and after you nod sadly, I follow her, feeling your eyes burning into my back.

The first thing I notice when I find her in the empty choir room is that Mercedes is crying. I sit down next to her, suddenly wishing I had your expertise when it comes to women.

'Are you alright?' I ask, and immediately regret it. She just glares at me through her tears and groans loudly.

'How could I be so stupid?' She says between sobs. I glance her way, and after a few awkward moments, I decide to wrap an arm around her shoulders. She leans into it, but at the same time, looks up at me with a raised eyebrow.

'You're not stupid.' I say, softly. 'And believe me, I know stupid: I'm on the hockey team and the football team.' She chuckles lightly.

'I was pretty dumb. And to think, before Quinn said he wasn't, I was sure he was gay.'

I pause, not understanding what she just said. 'Uh, Mercedes? I'm not trying to be…um, stereotypical, or anything. But…I'm pretty sure Kurt is gay.'

'I thought so too! Even when Quinn and the others…' she trails off, shaking her head, 'Get this, he's in love with Rachel.'

I'll admit, that one takes me by surprise.

Okay, brain. Time to start up again. The words you just heard were 'he's in love with Rachel.'

You're in love with Rachel. Rachel. (And just when I was starting to like her!) Is it possible that I've been deluding myself, and you're not gay, just one of those really camp guys? And you're, good god, you're in love with Rachel. Rachel fucking Berry.

I try and disguise the high pitch of my voice and how strained I sound, 'You…you should speak with him. I know you're upset, but I don't think he meant to hurt you. If he's in…in love with Rachel –' it hurts to even say it out loud, '-then we should support him.'

She's now staring at me with a mixed expression I can't figure out. I see confusion in there, but also something else. Something like understanding, like she's had a sudden epiphany.

'I'll apologize tomorrow.' She says with a very slight smile. We stand up and I wonder if I should hug her. Would it be giving the wrong signals? Would she think I'm interested in her? Maybe, but according to my mom, I'm the best hugger she knows, and Mercedes really looks like she needs a hug.

I don't look at her, but pull her into a tight hug which lasts just long enough for her to let out a deep breath. 'Thanks…Dave.'

And then she's strutting into the corridor like nothing happened and I can't help but admire her sassiness. I think it's something you'll admire too. At least I hope so, because you and Mercedes make an adorable couple. Of BFFs, I mean.

So, yeah. Tomorrow rolls around and I've done my good deed for the week. I've helped out both you, Mercedes and the Glee Club. Soon I might become a genuinely good person. Maybe.

Or maybe not, I think, as I follow Mercedes from her locker, stealthy and ninja-ish, with the full intention of spying on you. What? I can't always be good; it's too much effort.

When I get there, sneakily concealed around a corner, I realize I've missed the beginning of the conversation, but she's definitely apologized as she promised and hey, I seem to have come in at a key point.

'I lied to you.' You're saying, and already your eyes are full of tears. 'I don't like Rachel.'

A glance over your shoulder, a pause to let someone walk out of earshot. Then, you say them; the two words that make everything in the world seem just that little bit harder.

'I'm gay.'

I already knew it, despite all of the lies and denial. I already knew what you were. But somehow, hearing it out loud, hearing you say it makes everything different. Makes it real. Makes it like it's a big deal, something that has to be announced because, hey, you've different and if you don't let people know, they might not realize. And if they don't realize, they treat you just like everyone else, and gosh, we can't have that, now, can we?

People claim to be above discrimination, but that's all bullshit as far as I'm concerned. I've seen it, the way people change when they learn something new about you. They're careful, cautious, and afraid to make mistakes and cause offense. Afraid. As if you're some sort of monster that will hunt them down in the night if they offend you. Well, perhaps not in your case, since I don't think you could ever be a monster. People would be more likely to put a bow on you and call you a pet. Wait, off topic, Dave!

'Why didn't you just tell me?' Mercedes asks and a bitter laugh rises in my throat. She can't understand how it is, to have something about you so different, so...wrong in the eyes of the world that you have to announce it. Or hide it, for that matter.

'Because…I've never told anyone.'

And then Mercedes is rattling off an adorable speech about how you shouldn't be ashamed of who you are and a tear is streaking down your face because you want to be able to do what she says, you want to be proud of who you are but you can't, you just can't.

'I'm just not that confident, I guess.'

And with that, you walk away, leaving Mercedes to watch your retreating back, tears in her eyes. And in mine. Because, no matter how different our circumstances are, Kurt, I've realized one thing: we're the same. We can't admit it, but we're different from other people. I don't understand what I am…I don't want to. But there's something not right, I know that. No, that's not the word. It's not wrong, even if people see it that way, it's just not…normal. And that's the thing; we're both so afraid to be abnormal, even you, and you pride yourself in being different.

It's not cowardice, but it is fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of hatred. And, for me, worse than all of that, fear of fear. To have people look at me and see someone different, to have to look away, to be afraid to catch my eye…I can't go through that. And I don't think you can either, because deep down, all you want is to be loved.

It seems we're both just not that confident, in the end.

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