As always, a huge thanks to my very sweet reviewers christierrr, DoRaM and someWhereinRoma! I appreciate all your kind words, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story thus far.

This chapter is dedicated to traceit, who very kindly read ahead in the story to help me with some concerns I had. If you enjoy this and the next four chapters, it's due to her!

15

The play-by-play of what happened next is not particularly interesting or exciting. Will left almost immediately after our conversation, reminding me with a heart-stopping grin that it was a school night, kissing me softly. I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding him against me when he would have pulled away, feeling his mouth move gently over mine, smile over mine, drawing out our goodbye kiss in case I happened to come to my senses before Friday and this was it, a fond farewell with a capital G and K, the last one, the only one. He laughed and brushed his lips against mine one more time, briefly, and told me he'd see me on Friday at 7.

I then spent the next 24 hours at least vacillating back and forth, back and forth in a way that was already tedious to me and I must imagine has become even more so to you. I will, I won't, I can, I can't, I shall, I shan't… An endless loop, probably the endless loop that should have preoccupied me before I recklessly chose to attend his glee rehearsal. But I had been so confident in myself then, so certain I had the willpower to look at him and say "That's very nice and I'd quite like some but I'm on a diet, you see." Or the equivalent. I knew better this time, I really did, and that should have made everything easier but it didn't.

At midnight, which is only 9 p.m. California time so it was fine, I called my assistant and told her to change my flight to Sunday. Then I called myself an idiot, repeatedly, fluently, using every curse word I'd picked up in approximately 10 years as a touring musician (I believe we're right below sailors in that department, but only barely).

Everything else, I'd known what I was doing, had choices, made them, and maybe hadn't made the best ones but they'd been decisions. This… Felt different. It felt like when he smiled at me and I was compelled to mirror the expression. It felt like making music, like needing to do it, can't-eat-can't-sleep-can't-think until it's done, and there was no other way for me, and I hated it. Because I knew it would accomplish nothing, feeling this way would accomplish nothing, seeing him again would accomplish nothing. There were so many obstacles, too many, more than I could count.

But it was done. And I didn't sleep at all Thursday night, instead lying awake in the bed we'd shared in the guestroom (not for sentimental reasons, I swear, it was just the only room in the house that I could stand), cradling my guitar and stroking sounds from it, sounds that communicated what I was feeling far better than I've ever been able to do with words. If Will had heard it, maybe he'd have understood what he was doing to me, maybe he'd have found a way to set me free of it. I couldn't tell him he was killing me because I didn't realize that's what was happening, but he might have discerned it in what I played, might have known, and by the way my genre is rock, more or less, not emo so I'm not sure where all this was coming from but it's all true.

I wanted to call Emma, but I couldn't face her cheery optimism, her assurances that everything would be fine. They would undoubtedly be fine for her, and I was glad, but whatever I was dealing with was something beyond her comprehension and mine too.

Friday. I was late, almost two hours, just to prove to myself that I could make a choice about something. It didn't feel worth it when I saw the expression on Will's face and realized he'd been worried about me. He separated himself from the group, which had taken over the four lanes on the far side of the alley, came to me, grasped both my hands.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, and he was so genuinely concerned that it killed me just a little more.

"Of course," I answered, hoping my smile didn't look as forced as it felt.

"I thought you wouldn't come," he admitted, looking at me with a kind of squint, as though I was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.

"I thought I wouldn't, either," I admitted in return. "Shouldn't."

He smiled and I think it was genuine, unlike mine. "No. I'm glad you're here."

I wasn't. I wasn't glad about any of it.

"Do you want me to go with you to pick up your bowling shoes?" he asked after a moment. He'd clearly been waiting for me to say something but the truth was too rude and I couldn't tell him what he wanted to hear, that I was glad to be there, or at least I couldn't tell him that and make him believe it; I felt like an 18th century French aristocrat approaching the guillotine, and really apprehensive seems like too mild a word for it, and god this was going to be messy.

Anyway. I told him to get back to the kids, reminding him of the myriad kinds of trouble they could get into without him, and he grinned and told me I was so right. Then I stood in line to exchange my red leather peeptoe flats for a pair of hideous bowling shoes so that I could go join them. Just as I was handing them over, hoping they'd be safe in the cubby behind the counter, I heard a musical voice at my side.

"Oh, the Alexander McQueen zipper flat? Those are available to the general public, I believe. Slumming, Norah? They're less conspicuous than the Bourge boots, I'll give you that," Kurt said, a little smirk on his sweet choirboy face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I answered, dismissively, though I could hardly hear my own words over the blood rushing in my ears and the pounding of my heart. "I mean, you're right about the shoes, but I got them on sale. And my name is Honor."

"Oh, I know." Kurt's voice was very bright and very smug as he said this. "Honor Charity Castlereagh, right?" At my look of shock, he rolled his eyes. "Look, your real name isn't a state secret, okay? I found it in an unauthorized biography in the library. And your disguise is kind of pathetic. Glasses and a hat? Who are you, Clark Kent?"

And then I didn't have to worry about the volume of the beating of my heart because it stopped. I looked at him, the smug expression so incongruous with his innocent features, and grabbed his arm, pulling him off to the side by the closed snack bar.

"Why are you doing this?" I demanded. "Did you tip off some tabloid? Are you hoping I'll pay you to keep this quiet?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Oh please. This isn't about you, alright? What is going on with you and Mr. Schue, and does he know who you are?"

I couldn't believe I was being interrogated by a 15 year-old, and very seriously, too. "Will- that is, Mr. Schuester and I are just friends. Obviously I'm a music fan, I wanted to see his glee club perform. It's nothing."

This time he didn't say Oh, please, but the lift of his eyebrows said it well enough. "You're wearing one of his shirts, and I find it difficult to believe you were trading clothing platonically."

Well, fuck. "Honestly, Kurt, this isn't any of your business," I answered, trying for a voice of authority.

It didn't work. "You're wrong," Kurt said fiercely. "Mr. Schue has been through a lot recently. His wife is a whack-job, he doesn't need another woman messing with his head."

I shook my head. "It isn't like that. We met, and I… And he… I just… God, I can't believe I'm saying any of this."

"You're not actually saying anything," he pointed out.

Sighing, I shook my head. "I know. He doesn't know who I am. But nothing is going on, nothing serious, I swear. We hardly know each other."

Kurt looked at me shrewdly. "But you want to know him, don't you?"

I glared at him. "You are far too observant for your own good, and it will get you into a lot of trouble someday. Anyway, it doesn't matter what I want; I'm returning to Los Angeles Sunday. I just wanted to see him one last time before I go, and if you ever tell anyone I said any of this I will unleash a team of lawyers who will dog your every step for the rest of your existence, okay?"

"I won't say anything," he told me. "But if you hurt him, you'll regret it. Mr. Schue is the best teacher I've ever had, any of us have ever had, and I don't want to see him unhappy."

"Well, I don't want to make him unhappy." I snapped, though I wasn't so angry now that I could breathe again. In a strange way, I was touched by his concern for Will, for which I could hardly blame the boy. Something about Will just inspired loyalty, the innate goodness in him demanding it even of those of us who were not quite so pure.

"Good." Kurt paused, then took something out of his purse (maybe it was actually a messenger bag, but not so much on him). He held it out to me, and I realized it was a copy of my first album. "With all that unpleasantness out of the way, will you sign this for me? Despite my previous threats, I'm actually one of your biggest fans."

Forcing a smile, I used the Sharpie he gave me. Kurt: Speak of this and you're a dead man. XOXO, Norah. After a moment's thought, I put a little smiley face after "dead man", just in case he did decide to go to the tabloids. Death threats are not the kind of things that should be made in public, on tape or in writing, and the smiley face made the note look like a joke even though I think I might have been serious.

"Now, shall we join the others?" I prodded after returning the CD to him. "I'm not wearing these bowling shoes for their stylish good looks."

He looked at his feet in disgust, looked at me, fixed his hair and said "You're telling me."

I wasn't feeling especially amused; I felt frightened and upset and the gaiety of the bowling alley just made every emotion worse, made everything seem darker in comparison. But I laughed with Kurt anyway. Just as we approached the group, Will happened to look up and caught sight of us coming. Well, he caught sight of me coming anyway, I'm not sure if Kurt really registered, and even though he was already smiling, his expression both brightened and softened somehow in a way that started an echoing brightness, a warmth, inside me. It felt good, so I allowed myself to enjoy it for a brief second before tamping down on it ruthlessly.

"That is what worries me," Kurt murmured, giving me a severe look before rejoining his bowling partner.

Well, it worried me too.

TBC