Rating: M again...I, well, Dave swears a lot.

Warnings: Blah blah, slash, blah...

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

Notes: Longest-ass chapter ever. At least, for me. You can probably see why it took so long. Plus, I'm pretty much dead of exhaustion now! Haha!

In other news, I got a tumblr account! It's under the name 'Camunki', and any tips on what I'm supposed to post or how to work the site are greatly appreciated...since I don't understand it at all. XD

And lastly, I just want to thank everyone for their responses to this fic; I've never had such enthusiastic feedback before *tears up* Especially to the anonymous few who I can't answer personally, thank you so much! You guys make me want to drop out of education and write ALL the time. (Which would be awesome...but not so good in the long-run.)

Anyways! I hope you enjoy this one, and take joy in the fact that I watched Single Ladies seven times in a row while writing it. :D

Preggers

Step, 1, 2, 3, 4…wait, no. 1, 2, 3…or was it just 2? But then it would be the same as 4, right?

So here's the scene: I'm counting steps in my head, trying to move my feet to the music right, but, shit, I'm slightly behind! I end up doing a strange sort of hop, trying to catch up with myself. You burst into laughter.

After the Push It incident, (or as I like to call it – the 'slightly gay moment that doesn't in any way make me gay, but may still unintentionally crop up every so often in the shower') I find myself dancing with you at every chance I get, and maybe it's my imagination, but I swear you do the same.

Ever since the Dakota Stanley incident, where the vertically challenged ass-hat said I had the coordination of a dead rhino, I've been trying to improve because, well, he did have a point. When I ask you for advice, you beam and suggest arriving at Glee Club half an hour early to practice. You laugh and clap as I trip over my feet, but steadily progress. I'm moving much more smoothly than before, but still crashing into other people every so often. (Alright, I'm lying, it happens a lot. But that might be slightly to do with the fact that I don't want you to think I'm good enough to stop tutoring.)

'You know,' you say to me, as we collapse after a particularly difficult routine. 'You could be a really good dancer. With practice, of course.'

'Thanks. I am learning from the best, though.'

You chortle, 'True, true.' Then your eyes light up. 'Hey! Brit and Tina were going to come to my house and learn the Single Ladies routine this afternoon. You know, Beyoncé?' I raise an eyebrow. 'Just…if you want, you could come and learn it too. It might help you out. Plus, the girls will be wearing skin-tight leotards, if that's a bonus?'

'Will you be wearing one?' It slips out of my mouth before I can even stop it. Your face flickers, and I feel like smashing my head against something. Could I be any more obvious?

'Oh, no, I'll be wearing a unitard, don't worry.' You're quickly turning red, and I realized you must have misunderstood what I meant there. 'But you don't have to wear one!' You reassure me quickly, totally misreading the way my mouth twists with restrained arousal.

I smile awkwardly. You smile awkwardly. You tell me to meet you at the end of the day, and I can't help but grin goofily to myself as soon as your face is turned away.

But only because I'm making new friends. That's totally the reason.

Totally.

~ Briiiing! ~

'Slap the butt, David! Slap the – oh, come on, David!

At this particular moment, I wish I was dead. To be honest, I think I might soon have that wish granted because, fuck, Kurt, you're killing me.

I didn't actually know what a unitard was, but I didn't think it would be…that. That clingy, tight…clingy material that just…clings to you like something clingy. See what you're doing to me? Oh, god, and that neckline, what were you thinking? Now I know you have freckles on your chest and that collarbone, oh, that collarbone. I need to bite it, to lick it and fuckedy fuck fuck fuck how in the name of all things unholy am I supposed to dance when you're dressed like that?

'It's not that hard, I know you can do it!'

Oh, but it is hard. It's fucking hard all right and thank fuck I'm not wearing a unitard or you'd probably have me arrested. What is wrong with me? You're a guy, you're a guy, you're a guy and I shouldn't be thinking like this!

'I'm not even in the film, does it matter than much if I don't know it exactly?' I say, slightly hysterically and you respond with a roll of the eyes

'Jeez, David! You've come this far and you're giving up?' I suppress a noise at the use of the word come and shake my head.

'It's too hard.' Pun totally unintended, and okay, so that may have been a little whiny, but we've been working on this for two hours and Brittany and Tina have been in hysterics for most of it at my abysmal attempt at Beyoncé.

'Fine.' You sigh, and wave over to Brit, who has been staring at your wall for about ten minutes now, at some strange silver decorations stuck on it.

'We can film the video now, to give David a break.' You say, and I shrug, and settle myself on your white sofa. (When I say settle, I mean 'sit tentatively because this whole room is so freaking white or, well, white-ish grey, and I feel like my very presence may mess it up'.)

And then, just as I manage to almost relax, the music starts.

Sure, I've been watching this routine for two hours. Sure, I've seen you demonstrate the moves to me. Sure, I've seen you dance before, with much raunchier music than this (hello again, Push It!) but nothing, nothing compares to this.

It's not even a particularly sexy dance, but your hands are on your hips and you're jerking them from side to side and oh dear god what I wouldn't give to be pressed against you right now…stop, brain, stop! But how am I supposed to stop when you're…oh god oh god oh god you're slapping your butt I want to do it I want to slap it why do you have such a nice ass? And why oh why oh why can't I stop staring at it?

It's at some point during this stream of semi-consciousness that I realize that little-Dave is very swiftly becoming even more, how shall I say it? Not so little. I cross my legs and try to look innocent, even though you're far too absorbed in your dance routine to see me. Too absorbed, in fact, to notice your dad walking into the room, and we all jump as the music stops suddenly.

And, wow, I think I've found the most effective boner-killer ever.

'Dad!' Your voice is breathy from the dancing, but even that can't revive me since I'm terrified, and he's not even my Dad. 'You're home early.'

'Deadliest Catch is on.' I wonder if your Dad has a shotgun. I hope he doesn't.

I know it's wrong to judge people from first impressions, but something about your Dad scares the crap out of me. Maybe it's the way he's standing, or the way he's dressed. Or maybe it's just the expression on his face. I can see it now: a homophobic father ashamed of his gay son. Oh, god, what if when we leave, he's going to beat you for this or something? It's clear from his expression that he's angry with you. He's wearing pretty much the opposite outfit to anything you own, a check shirt and baseball cap, and he looks like a regular Dad. But then, you're not exactly a regular son. I don't know anything about him, but what if he hurts you for being who you are? I mean, does he even know?

'What are you wearing?' He asks you, and the tension is so thick you'd need a chainsaw to cut through it.

'It's a unitard. Guys wear them to, uh, work out nowadays.' You answer too quickly, defensively. Not to mention you talk about guys as if we're a different species from you or something. 'They wick sweat from the body.' I jolt, startled, as he pulls on the unitard's material and lets it snap back into place with a nod.

'F-f-football!' Tina stutters, sounding even more nervous than usual. You glance at her.

'Yeah, all the guys in football wear them.' With a tilt of the shoulders, you declare 'They're jock-chic.' And suddenly, I really wish you were right. At least then I could have some tentative grasp of fashion.

'Totally!' Brit chirps, and for some reason, I have a sinking feeling in my stomach, as if I know that something is about to go very, very wrong. 'Kurt's in the football team now.' There you go. 'He's the kicker, that's the smallest guy on the field, right?'

Never mind the fact that you look like a deer in headlights, you seem to have lost the ability to talk, so I suddenly stand up, which makes your Dad look over at me with a glare. He's probably wondering why I waited until now to say anything.

'Yeah, he joined this week.' I find myself saying. 'Coach thought he'd give him a shot.' Later, I would explain to Brittany that, while the kicker may be the smallest guy on the field, our kicker, Marcus Langenthal, is still about a foot taller than you. For now, however, I'm going to put my limited brainpower to use and try and get you out of his horrendously awkward situation. Let's just hope Mr. Hummel doesn't want tickets to your "game".

'Y-yeah!' You speak up, finally, and I'm pretty damn sure your dad must know you're lying because you're fiddling with your tie and your eyes are darting around. I'm no expert in reading body language, but even I can figure that out. 'Brit and Tina were just helping me with some conditioning work.'

'And him?' Your dad nods his head at me, and I feel like it's that moment when a teacher asks you a question after you've slept through the whole lesson.

'I'm…uh, just here to properly explain the rules and everything?' I try not to sound questioning, but I can't help it. 'Kurt…Kurt doesn't really know how the game works, so I thought I'd help him with…with technique and…and stuff.'

'Mmmn." He looks back at you, and there's something there, something in his eyes that makes me think he knows more than he lets on. It's scary and I seriously wander about your relationship. 'You know, I played back in JC, before I busted up my knee popping wheelies on my dirt bike.'

'Awesome.' I say, and then glance at you. 'Like father, like son.' Then I feel like burying my face in the ground because seriously, what did I just say? Oh my god I'm such an idiot.

'So one of you two his girlfriend?' He says, and I realize he's completely ignored what I just said, which I think is a good thing. However, the spotlight's on you again and you look just as terrified as before, before a comical ass-slap as you grab Tina and grin awkwardly.

'But we're not ready to be exclusive just yet.' You say, and he makes a noise that sounds a bit like derision, but I don't know. Maybe he was joking? He can't possibly think you're straight, right? No offence, but you're kind of obvious.

And then your dad's disappearing up the stairs, and you turn to me, face now devoid of any color at all, and – in a voice which is both desperate, and yet somehow still commanding in the way only you can really pull off – you utter one word:

'Help!'

~ Ba-bam, baaaam-bam! ~

For the millionth time this morning, I curse myself for being such a pussy.

After all, if I was a real man, then I wouldn't have agreed to help you, right? But nooo, I had to go all nice guy and now they're going to kill me.

'Guys, I need a favour.'

And by 'they', I mean the whole football team, who have just turned to look at me. I suddenly feel like I'm in one of those nightmares where you realize you're not wearing clothes.

'It's Kurt. He wants to join the football team.'

For a moment, it's silent. Then the room explodes into laughter. Finn's shaking his head, grinning, and Puck slaps me on the back.

'Good one, man!' He laughs, and I glare at him.

'I'm serious, guys. I mean, I know I don't need your permission for him to try out, but if you could not kick his ass when he gets here-'

'And why shouldn't we?' Azimio cuts me off. 'There's no way that skinny mofo is joining this team.' Funnily enough, this is the most he's said to me in weeks. I haven't even bothered trying to talk to him, since I'm sure he'd probably just make gay jokes.

'And why is Hummel even interested in the football team anyway?' Puck asks. 'The homo should just stick to his showtunes.' Then again, Puck's always been better at the gay jokes, anyway.

'Maybe,' I growl, clenching my fists. 'Sometimes people like to expand their interests. And maybe some of you guys need to do the same! Seriously, I think some of you could benefit from a few showtunes.'

And they're laughing again. So perhaps that wasn't the best idea, but Mr. Schue did drop a hint about me asking some of the team to join us, so…why not? They're going to kick my ass now anyway. This could be a two birds, one stone kind of thing. Or, more likely, two dead Gleeks and one brick.

'Look, guys, we need recruits. We only have six people.'

'Yeah,' Puckerman interjects, 'because Glee club sucks!'

I have an overwhelming desire to answer with 'your mom sucks!' but something tells me that won't help the situation.

'It doesn't suck, guys! You don't even know what we do in there!'

'Don't you just sing big gay showtunes and suck each other's dicks?'

'Oh, screw you, Puckerman!' I use all my self-control to hold back a punch. 'It's not that bad, okay? We're not just a bunch of losers dancing around singing showtunes!'

'What, Karofsky?' Puck jeers at me, 'You trying to tell us that Glee club is cool?'

I laugh. 'Glee club is most definitely not cool.' I say, and everyone stares at me. 'I mean, what the hell is everyone's obsession with being cool anyway? I'm not gonna stand here and try to convince you Glee is going to improve your reputation or make you popular, 'cause everyone knows we get slushied every day and people think we're losers. But what I can tell you is that it's fun! We have a great time every practice and it's awesome to be able to let go and know that no one cares. I can guarantee that if you like singing, you'll have a great time.' I clear my throat. 'That's it. All I'm asking is you give it a try. You don't have to sign up, just come along this Thursday and have a go.'

I sit down and grab my bag, glancing around at my teammates. They've stopped laughing, which I guess is a good thing, and they haven't beaten me up, which is also good, not to mention surprising.

And then I see him. Number 5 – Hudson – is looking almost contemplative, which is a mean feat for him. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed and his eyes keep darting back and forth as if he can't make up his mind where to look. He looks kind of adorable, I think, and then shake my head. No, brain, no. Then I think, no, he's nowhere near as adorable as you. Wait, no. Bad brain.

I'm beginning to come to terms with the fact that I find Hudson attractive. I'm not attracted to him, per se, I just find him attractive. As in, the guy's hot (and well hung, as my libido has noticed over the year) but if I were gay – which I'm not – he wouldn't be my type.

I'd be much more interested in someone smaller and skinnier. Someone with long, lithe limbs and big, innocent eyes.

Someone maybe not entirely unlike you.

Not that it matters, because the chance that I'm gay is, like, minute. Practically non-existent. At least, very little.

Okay, maybe more than very little. I look up and realize everyone's left. Again.

Well, everyone except Hudson, who's standing in front of me, looking confused. I stare up at him and raise an eyebrow. 'What's up, Hudson?' I say with a smile, and he smiles back, a crooked grin that, yes, does rather light up his otherwise blank face. Not that I'm looking.

'I was just wondering…Rachel Berry's in glee club, right?' I nod, and he continues, 'Not that, you know, I'm interested in her…just…I saw her in that assembly thing…' He trails off and I can't help but grin as I realize how I probably can kill two birds with one stone here. Pairing up Rachel and Finn would not only get her out of my hair, but hopefully get Finn's crotch out of my head. This multi-tasking thing isn't so hard after all.

'You know, Rachel loves guys that sing.' I say, casually, shrugging my shoulders and raising my eyebrows innocently. 'She gets totally hot for me when I do a solo. But she's just not my type, you know? I like…' And suddenly I forget what I'm saying 'Uh…taller girls.'

He flashes me a look that I recognize as something negative, before I realize I just insulted the girl he may be digging.

'What, you like girls taller than you?' It's kind of mocking, but playful. I laugh and shrug.

'Not taller than me!' I say, trying not to be defensive. 'Just, taller. And, don't get me wrong, brunettes are totally my thing but I just love a girl with short hair.'

He's laughing now, and I can literally sense a dude-ship forming. 'You got odd tastes, man.'

'Maybe,' I reply, and then realize what I'd been getting at all along, 'So how about Thursday? You game?'

He grins that crooked grin again, 'Sure.' He sounds a little hesitant, but he's still smiling, so I'm hopeful.

Okay, so they haven't agreed not to kill you, so I guess I'll have to enlist The Fury to protect you, but at least I got a yes on the new recruit front.

A cautious yes, but a yes all the same.

~ Ba-bam, baaaam-bam! ~

'Um, okay, yeah. Higher leg, wait, not that high! Jeez, is that even normal? Don't aim it, don't aim it!'

'Then where do I kick it?'

'Just kick it! You know, forwards.'

How exactly did it come to this? Here I am, fully kitted out in my football outfit, teaching some skinny choirboy how to kick.

Oh, and did I mention what you're wearing? It's a far call from a unitard, but somehow even more dangerous as far as my hormones go. Yup, there you stand in one of the spare football outfits looking vaguely like a twink from a bad gay porn movie. Not that I watch gay porn, really.

'I don't get it, how am I supposed to move if I'm not relaxed?' You interrupt my thoughts, huffing and blowing out your cheeks.

'I don't know! Get relaxed!' I say, despairingly, 'Do you want me to relax you?' I pause, and then clear my throat. 'That came out wrong.'

You let out a strange noise and smirk at me. 'I need to dance.' You say, and a laugh escapes me before I can help it. You cannot be serious.

'You want to dance? In front of the football team? No offense, Kurt, but they might just kill you.'

You huff, pulling out your iPod and plugging into the jack. 'My body is like a rum chocolate soufflé. If I don't warm it up right, it doesn't rise.'

About a million innuendoes come to mind, (Oh, haha, 'come.' Stop giggling, perv.) and I desperately try to ignore them all as my brain shuts down entirely. 'I'll remember that.' I say, then let out a splutter, realizing how that must sound. 'Oh, god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean–'

'It's fine.' You cut me off, not looking me in the eyes. I notice your cheeks are reddening, and I'm pretty sure mine are too. 'I'm going to warm up, okay?'

Well, I'm certainly warm enough, and judging by your pink complexion, you are too, but I just shrug and move out of your way as you start that fucking routine again.

All the single ladies, alllll the single ladies!

I swear to Beyoncé, this routine gets raunchier ever time you perform it. And now, with you looking all adorable like that…

Oh, Kurt, you're going to be the death of me.

About half an hour, lots of Beyoncé and some more freakishly high kicks later, we're beat. Well, I'm beat, and you weren't kidding about the warming up – it's like someone put speed in your nonfat mocha, you're that energetic. But you've obviously clocked on that I'm dying slowly here, and suggest we get lunch at the cafeteria.

Ah, the cafeteria, the land of tots and food fights. I grab a tray and throw whatever food I can reach on while you roll your eyes with a slight smile and pick up a salad. When we sit down, we choose an empty table because, let's face it, I can't see any other glee kids here and who else would want to sit with us?

So here we are, alone. Me wolfing down food and you picking at a salad. Awkward silence.

'So what do you think about Quinn?' You ask, absentmindedly waving a skewered piece of lettuce on your fork.

For a second there, I wonder if you've been talking to Rachel, and my face quickly turns white, but then you roll your eyes at me as if to say 'have you been living under a rock?' and you continue.

'You haven't heard? Apparently Puck said it really loudly in the corridor. I mean, it could just be a rumor, but they're saying Quinn's in the pudding club.' You whisper, and I briefly wonder what's in that salad.

'What the heck are you on about, Kurt?' I ask, taking a big gulp of coke.

'Quinn! She's got one in the oven.' I think I'm supposed to know what that means…but why the fuck are you talking about food and Quinn together?

'She's what?'

'You know!' You sigh angrily, 'Renting out the guest room? Suing Trojan?'

Okay, now I know there's something in that salad.

'Seriously, Kurt, what the fuck?' I say, a little too loudly, but no one's listening to us anyway.

'She's…' and here you lower your voice, 'preggers.'

'Are you for real?' I ask, but even as I say it, the conversation I overheard earlier suddenly makes sense.

Now, I don't make a habit of eavesdropping, I just happened to be in the wrong place or whatever, but earlier in the locker room I heard Puck asking Finn if they ever did it. 'Course, I thought it was a bit weird, but Puck's a nosy bastard when it comes to sex, but anyway. Finn said no, which was also weird now that I think about it because if they didn't have sex…

Then Finn's not the father. Right.

The really funny part is that about a month ago, a certain Mohawk-bearing teenager accidently let slip that he had nailed Quinn Fabray during some locker-room banter.

What a coincidence.

~ Briiiing! ~

This has officially become the strangest week of my life.

So it starts with the practice. 'Put your helmet on.' I say, as we stand a bit away from the group of football players.

'It'll mess up my hair.' I laugh, but you're dead serious, of course you are, you and your organic hair products and millions of cans of hairspray.

'Believe me, it'll do a lot less damage than if your head hits the ground. Plus, mud.' And that seems to be the magic word because you're fiddling with the helmet and trying to put it on, but failing miserably.

'Stupid straps.' I hear you mutter. I roll my eyes and lean over to do up the helmet.

'There.' I say, quietly, and I go to pull back but I'm stuck. In your helmet. I curse inwardly, because it's altogether way too apparent how close we are and I can almost taste your breath even through the two helmets. You're breathing almost as hard as I am. I think my heart may be close to exploding, I can see your eyes fixed on my face which is suddenly a lot hotter. Now I've stopped breathing altogether, but I don't think that's why I'm feeling so dizzy all of a sudden.

Untangled, I stand back and try to ignore what just happened. 'Heh. Red's your color.' I stutter out, and I think you smile at me nervously, before I clear my throat and drag you towards Coach Tanaka and the team.

I was pretty damn convinced that they were going to kill you, and that I would have to sweep down and save you, but there's apparently no need. Not to say that would have been cool (though totally gay) but I think not getting my ass kicked is a kinder alternative.

The reason behind said lack of ass-kicking is because, now here's the kicker (get it? Kicker? 'Cause, you know, you're the…oh, never mind.) : You're good.

Like, really good. Good enough that we're all staring like gormless idiots and you're smiling to yourself because you know you've done well.

Suddenly, the team seems to accept you. Azimio actually hasn't commented once, heck, he actually smiled at you when we first turned up, but I'm pretty sure it was a 'I'm going to break your legs' kind of smile. But now, he's grinning at you with the rest of the team and talking about how all that dancing must have built up some pretty good muscles.

He looks at me, and says something about me having an eye for hidden talent. I ignore him.

And then shit gets weird. Weirder, even.

In fact, I don't know what's the strangest thing about this week; the fact that the whole football teams learns Single Ladies or the fact that it actually helps us win the game.

That brings us to the crux of my wacky week: the game. Who'd have thought that a bunch of football players would start (what was that phrase you used? Oh, yeah) 'busting a move on the field'? Not me, that's for sure, and I was even there as we practiced! I mean, I just didn't think the team would actually do it! And it didn't even take that much convincing, just a word or two about how much we suck and that seriously, we have no pride left anyway because we suck that bad. But somewhere in there, I say 'I've had it with being a Lima Loser,' and something about the way Puckerman reacts makes me think either I'm just great at pep-talks or there's more to this than I realize.

And then before I know it, he's yelling at some random player and turning to me and saying 'why not?' and it's like he's another guy or something. Hudson's got this dopey grin plastered on his face and Azimio yells 'hell yeah!' even though I know he's just following Finn and Puck.

We dance.

You kick.

We win.

And it's fucking awesome.

I can't even explain my feelings at the moment when you ran forward to kick. I felt sick, happy, sad, shit-scared and like jumping with ecstasy all at the same time. And I have the emotional range of a freaking teaspoon or whatever that Hermione Granger chick said, so that's pretty impressive.

But nothing compares to the feelings I get when we win, you win the game for us. I look at you, your face stretched into an adorable grin, jumping up and down, and hold out my arms. You practically leap into them, and it's all I can do not to grab your legs and swing you around. Instead I just pull you close and let you dig your fingers into my shoulders, settling your head into my chest. I wonder if you can feel how fast my heart is beating, or whether you'll think it's just adrenaline from the game.

You mumble something into my chest and I can't hear you, but suddenly you're looking up at me, our bodies still pressed together, and whoa, okay, you're close. For a moment, I wonder if I should…no, no, why would I even think of it? But even as I tell myself not to, I'm leaning down, leaning closer…

Fuck, no! I jolt backwards and your eyes widen, staring at me like I've lost my mind. But you don't have time to dwell on it, because as soon as I let you go, you're being scooped up by the rest of the team and carried away, the sound of cheers blasting around us.

Azimio grabs me and tries to pull me into a bro-hug, but I shove him away and follow after you. As they set you down, you look at me, and for a second your expression dampens. 'Can I talk to you?'

'Meet me in the locker room after the team's cleared out.' You nod, and for a second, I think you're blushing, but I'm sure it's just the exercise.

Even though I kind of wish it was me that caused it.

~ Briiiing! ~

'Hey.' Okay, awkward opening line over. I try and smile at you, but it comes across as more of a grimace since I'm so nervous. We're alone, and all I can think of is that 80s song by Tiffany, which is now stuck in my head.

You look terrified, as if I'm going to beat you to death with my sports bag. You're also avoiding my eyes, looking pretty much everywhere but me.

'Um, Mercedes said she went to talk to you, after I…uh, last week. You know?' I nod, dumbly, wondering where this is going. 'And she told you what I said about being in love with Rachel.' Another nod. I seem to have lost the ability to form words. 'Well, I thought you should know, it's not true. I actually despise Rachel, most of the time. But that's mostly because she's too much like me when it comes to being a drama queen.' Your lips curl slightly into a smile, then drop.

'What I mean to say is…um. We're friends now, right? And…you should know something about me. Something I don't…I haven't told anyone.' Oh, god, your eyes are tearing up. You probably think I'm going to hate you. Am I going to hate you? Fuck, like I could ever hate you. 'I…understand if you don't want to be friends any more…'

'Kurt, what are you trying to say?' I ask, as if I don't already know. I have to let you say it. And to my face, I have to hear you say it to me. So, you say it:

'I'm gay.'

And then something happens. It's like a subconscious reaction, my mouth starts moving and I do something, nearly say something that I'm not even sure I understand, but hold it back, instead coughing politely.

'Cool.' I choke out. Seriously, that's the best I can come up with and you're looking at me like I'm a mad man. 'I mean, not cool, I mean, I'm cool with that. You've gotta be what you've gotta be, right? Not saying I agree with it or nothing…'cause it's a little weird and all.' What the fuck am I even saying? 'But if I had a problem with you being gay, I would have avoided you the moment I realized.' I let a small smile grace my lips, 'Which, by the way, was about ten seconds after meeting you.'

'Really.' Your eyes are wide.

'Really. Kurt, I don't know if you're aware of it, but you're pretty, uh…camp. And, I mean – fuck, I didn't mean, don't start crying!' I flail as I notice the tears start to run down your face.

'I- I'm not crying.' You sniffle, wiping away the tears and trying to keep a straight face. It's not working.

'Dude, I can see you crying. Seriously, stop! What did I say? Fuck, fuck!' Without any clue of what I'm doing, I grab you by the shoulders and stare at you square in the face. But, wait, you're smiling?

'You didn't do anything! That...that's the point! I thought…I thought you'd hit me or tell me never to speak to you again but you didn't.' You're actually smiling, crying and smiling at the same time. 'Thank you. Thank you for helping me with the team and for not being…for not hating me. You're really cool.'

Oh.

'So those are happy tears?'

'I'm not crying.'

'So those are happy…non-tears?'

You nod. I understand how hard this must be for you because I'm probably shattering your pride, but I pull you into a tight hug and let you not-cry into my shoulder for a couple of minutes.

'Feeling better?'

You sniff and nod, and just like that you're back to HBIC Kurt. You wipe away the tears and, though your face is blotchy and red, you're wearing your normal 'I'm-Kurt-Hummel-and-the-world-can't-touch-me' expression. You start to walk away, and I watch you, trying to pretend I'm not staring at your ass. Shit no; serious talk is serious, Dave! Stop being inappropriate!

'And Kurt?' I call after you, and you glance back at me. 'You should tell your dad. He deserves to know.' You nod again, and start to leave, before stopping.

'Dave…' You stop, and I raise an eyebrow. 'Before. When I said…that I'm gay. You were going to say something, and you stopped. What…wait, never mind.' You shake your head as you probably realize that it's not your place to ask.

I let you go and don't answer the unspoken question because…well, because I've just realized the answer. And it terrifies me to my very core.

Because when you said 'I'm gay,' I very nearly replied with 'me too.'

And I'm starting to wonder if maybe it's not entirely untrue.

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