For not the first time, Wes found himself stuck with the task of waking up Kurt when his alarm failed to do so. Usually, he was in the habit of merely pushing him off the bed, already fully dressed and ready so he could immediately avoid the aftermath.

But this morning, an idea struck him.

Taking advantage of Kurt's heavy slumber, he grabbed one of the numerous Diet Cokes in his fridge, hesitating only for a moment. Leaning over his sleeping form, Wes put the soda directly next to his before twisting the cap off, ensuring that he'd have to hear it, even if only in his sleep.

He hadn't, though, fully considered the outcome of such a drastic move, thinking he would merely wake up as always.

He was wrong.

In an instant Kurt was awake, taking only a moment to kick off the blankets covering his body before tackling Wes, wrapping his hands around his neck.

He stumbled backwards, the momentum of Kurt's leap sending him crashing down onto his own bed, Kurt on top of him.

He(Kurt) kneeled on his chest, weight pinning him against the mattress as he stared Wes straight in the eyes, face inches from his.

Had it not been for his fingers, slowly closing around Wes' windpipe, he would have found himself distracted by their proximity, especially with his face(lips) oh-so-close.

As it was, he couldn't think about anything but escape right then, struggling against his hold.

"Let me make one thing clear," Kurt hissed, breath brushing along Wes' jaw, "you do not," he pressed closer, forehead coming to rest against his, "mess with my Diet Coke. I will find you, I will kill you-" his hands tightened even further, "I will eat your firstborn child. Understood?"

Wes let out a strangled gasp, the only thing he could manage at the time.

Kurt blinked, seeming to properly see him for the first time.

He instantly released Wes, mouth falling open(don't stare don't stare) as he blushed.

"Oh." He quickly moved back, face turning tomato red as he eased his body off Wes'.

They just stared at each other for a moment, eyes wide at what had just occurred. The silence was broken, finally, by Wes sitting up, massaging his neck. "Remind me," he stated, "to buy you a new alarm clock as soon as possible."

"Oh yeah!" Blaine burst into the room, tossing a pile of papers into the air dramatically as he sang.

From across the table they'd been stationed at, Wes glanced at Kurt, who was currently making a distasteful face. He caught Wes' eye and, as he'd been doing all morning, tinged red.

Awkward.

The moment was ruined by Blaine, tugging Kurt up from his seat. Tossing Wes a long-suffering smile, he went along with it, letting Blaine move in close as they made their way down the hallway. Some unknown emotion-jealousy-boiled in his gut, forcing him to look away from the two.

God, this was so freaking confusing, knowing that he liked Kurt, as he struggled with these feelings that came with it.

Ngh. This was pathetic, to put it bluntly, crushing after him like a little schoolgirl.

With an almost perfect timing, he was given the chance to beat his hands on the wooden tables they'd moved into the hall for convenient access, frustration throwing him into the rhythm a bit moreenthusiastically than necessary.

"At Regionals, you just heard our opening number," Blaine called to thunderous applause once the song had drawn to a close.

Wes weaved through the cluster of Warblers, making his way to Kurt's side, who stood off on the side.

"They're like sheep," Kurt said blankly, looking over at the circle that had formed around Blaine, "mindless sheep."

He let that sink in. "Someone's feeling contemplative today," he muttered, nudging him with his shoulder. A slight tilt of the lips told Wes that this was appreciated, and he felt himself relax.

"What's Blaine gone and done as of late to get you sulking?" He asked, raising one eyebrow.

Finally, Kurt turned, fully acknowledging him, crossing his arms over his chest, his trademark bitch face on."I don't sulk, Wesley, as you of all people should know. I think deeply, an idea that's unfamiliar to you, I'm sure."

He drew himself up, narrowing his eyes at Kurt."My thoughts, as I've stated multiple times, are of the most complex and analytical type. I simply refrain from voicing them in your presence for fear of making you mere mortals feel inadequate."

Kurt actually laughed at this. "When did you get to be so sassy, Wes? One would think you were PMS-ing, if they didn't know better."

He patted Wes' shoulder sympathetically. "It's alright, Wes, I know it's not your fault that you have multiple personality disorder, and we will work through this, I promise you." He pinched Wes' cheek playfully with one hand.

He swatted Kurt's hand away, scowling at him. He couldn't help but smile though, and began to snicker.

It suddenly occurred to him that the room had gone suspiciously quiet, and he looked away from Kurt for a second to see the whole of the Warblers staring at them. Ignoring the heat rising in his cheeks, he stepped away, coughing. David arched a brow at him, smirking slightly.

He glanced back up at Kurt to see him giving them a princess wave, smiling and tilting his head cheerfully. They seemed to get the hint, breaking off into groups and resuming their conversations, only occasionally peeking at the two.

"How scandalous," Kurt said, grinning at him, "Councilman Wes actually having fun. I do believe the world is ending."

Wes made a flicking motion in his direction, giving him a look. "Quiet, you."

"Why don't we just play it on kazoo?" David asked sarcastically, throwing his hands up. The room was erupting into chaos, and Wes had to resist the urge to bang his gavel.

So…tempting…

Kurt was busy filing away at his nails, pointedly disregarding the discussion taking place around him.

"This is a Kangaroo Court!" One of the older Warblers, Jacob, threw out. Really?

The scene was interrupted by one Adam Tharsen, walking in looking near tears.

"What's wrong?" Kurt asked, interest suddenly sparked.

"It's Pavarotti," the Freshman whimpered, wringing his hands, "Pavarotti is dead!"

Ah yes, Pavarotti. Kurt had only gotten a few weeks with the bird, unfortunately for him, as a new member had arrived only a month or so after him.

"That sucks, man," Nick stated sympathetically.

Adam, poor soul, buried his face in his hands, beginning to sniffle. Kurt was up in a flash, taking him by the arm.

"Let's go get you cleaned up," he said kindly. Adam followed him obediently, making tiny noises of sadness as he was led out.

And uncomfortable silence followed their leaving.

"…Seems kind of petty, now, doesn't it?" Jeff spoke up.

Time to take charge. "Warbler practice dismissed!" He barked, banging the gavel. The Warblers scattered, grumbling discontentedly.

David hung behind, looking worried(as always).

"What now? Pavarotti was our mascot, the very embodiment of the group. The fact that he died days before Regionals is going to cause a stir," he stated, tactful as ever.

Wes sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know. Buy a new bird, I suppose. It's happened before, I know that. All that canary bloodline hype is BS, and we both know it."

David stared at him. "Kurt really has rubbed off on you, hasn't he?" He said knowingly.

"Not the time, David. Not the time. We have a funeral to organize."

Adam did get a new canary, and was told, as gently as possible, that he could name it. He unhappily stared at the bird before christening it "Wolfgang".

Wes barley resisted the urge to point out that the name wasn't traditional, but hey; his bird had just died.

"Do either of you know where Kurt went off to?" He asked Jeff and Nick later in the day. He'd been gone for the last hour or so without a trace and Wes was beginning to get worried.

And no, he wasn't stalking Kurt; he was just acting like the concerned friend he was, worrying about him.

Yeah, no.

The two shrugged. "Last we heard-"

"He was in-"

"The empty science classroom," Nick finished off. Thanking them, Wes strode off, brow furrowed at the answer he'd received.

Kurt was there, sitting at a table, surrounded by hundreds of glue-on beads and sequins. A bottle of tacky glue rested at his elbow, as he pondered over some hidden puzzle, twisting a small wooden box over in his hands.

He looked up, seeming to have sensed Wes' presence. He slumped slightly in his seat upon seeing him, letting out a huff of resignation.

"What are you doing?" He asked, regarding the box quizzically.

Kurt gestured him over, exhaling deeply. "Adam asked if I would decorate Pavarotti's casket, knowing my flare for design." He motioned to the table in frustration. "I can't come up with a fitting pattern."

Wes paused. He was in unfamiliar territory, having no real sense of style whatsoever.

"Can I help?" Kurt gave him a look. He glared in response.

He gave in, surprisingly enough. "Fine." He handed him the bottle of glue. "I've only got one part figured out, and it's fairly simple, but so help me, Wesley, if you screw this up you'll be the one explaining to Adam why his canary's casket is hideously decorated."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine."

Kurt relented. "All right. Just do a simple border, all along the edge, single file, only one row. Use," he held out two beads in example," black and blue, alternating every other bead."

Wes stuck his tongue out. "Honestly, Kurt, I'm not mentally challenged. It's fairly simple."

"Please, Wesley, nothing is simple with you. Now glue. Or I won't hesitate to throw my glitter at you."

"…Do you have any idea-"

"How gay that was? Of course I do, Wes. Now start gluing."

"So bossy…Ow! Shit, Kurt, that hurt!"

"Good. It was supposed to."

Regionals: There was no ignoring it now, as they sat in the audience, waiting for the New Directions. Wes flexed his hands, worry flooding his systems.

There was a slight tug on his arm. Kurt flickered eyes from Wes' hands up to his face, perfect deadpan in place. He forced himself to stop, clutching instead at the armrests on either side of him.

The girl, Rachel, the one who'd made out with Blaine, walked out on stage, and began to sing after a few moments of deliberating, glancing off stage to someone in the wings before beginning.

A few lines over, Kurt shifted over, whispering excitedly, "Oh my God, they're doing original songs."

And, indeed, they were.

They were so screwed.

A small source of amusement came, though, at the start of the second song when Kurt dragged foam fingers out from underneath his seat(where the hell had those come from?) and tossed them back behind him into the audience, standing up with a slightly feral scream at a slight pause in the music, beaming.

He yanked Wes up by his elbow, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet with excitement.

The rest of the Warblers stood up too, starting a chain reaction in the rest of the auditorium until everyone was standing, yelling and cheering as the song drew to a close, red confetti flying everywhere.

"Oh God," Wes breathed, fingers tapping nervously on his thigh.

"Calm down, Wes, you don't even have a solo," Kurt scolded, adjusting his tie for the millionth time that night.

He couldn't even bring himself to respond, energy buzzing through him, a low buzz filling his ears as Blaine walked out, singing the opening lines to their opening number, Grenade by Bruno Mars.

"Wes. Snap out of it," Kurt demanded.

Wes panicked. "I can't! What if something-"

"Oh, for God's sake," Kurt mumbled, exasperated. From Wes' side, he grabbed his blazer, and yanked him over, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Silence. Wes stared at him with huge eyes, Jeff and Nick wolf-whistling from behind them.

"Showtime, Wesley," was all Kurt said, turning to face the audience as the curtains lifted.

Wes sang along with the rest of the Warblers, unable to focus on anything but what had just happened. He could feel his cheek burning, right where Kurt had kissed him.

He almost shuddered at the word.

And there was his inner schoolgirl again, accompanied by that hot flush rising up his neck.

By the time Raise Your Glass was finished, though, he had managed to regain proper thought process, thankfully. There was huge applause as they all stormed together in one huge hug, with much slapping on the back and compliments.

And there was Kurt, wrapping his arms around him, yelling over the noise, "We did it!"

He just grinned, gripping him tightly as cheering and congratulations surrounded them, drunk off happiness.

"So, this your boytoy, Hummel?" The Latino girl facing him asked, smirking.

Kurt snorted. "Please, Satan. Not all of us manage to be the harlot you are," he replied.

"I don't know about that, Hummel," she said, raking her eyes up and down Wes' body, "seems you two are pretty close, from the way you two were hugging after your performance."

They both blushed slightly at that. "That's what I thought," she said, satisfied.

"White boy!" And there was Mercedes, drawing Kurt up into a hug. "'Cedes!" Kurt laughed.

"Dude!"

"Finn!" He called, grinning like mad. Or at least until Finn swung him up into the air. "Put me down this instant, Finn Hudson!"

He did so, smiling down at him. "We missed you, dude," Kurt rolled his eyes affectionately at that.

"Hummel. Nice job out there." Kurt nodded at the hulking boy. "Any of those prep school boys give you trouble, call me and I'll come over and kick their asses for you."

"Please, Noah, as if Kurt needs somebody kick their asses for him." The girl, Tina, said, smiling at him.

"Thanks, Tina," Kurt said, looking like he was about to cry.

"Kurt! Wes!" Flint rushed over, tripping over his own feet, "They're announcing the winners!"

"And the winner of this year's Regionals Show Choir competition is…" the announcer cleared his throat, "McKinley High's New Directions!"

They'd lost. They'd lost.

In the moment it took for this to sink in, Kurt was already over to them, congratulating them. The rest of the Warblers quickly following his lead.

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night," Kurt sang, voice rising up into the morning air, "take these broken wings and learn to fly…"

A few days after Regionals and here they were, burying Pavarotti in the frozen ground. The casket had turned out fabulous, Kurt had grudgingly admitted, snapping at Wes to "stop grinning like a fool and help me dig the freaking grave already."

Afterward s they lingered, Blaine giving them a somewhat wistful look before leaving.

"Do you think it was symbolic?" Kurt asked. "Of our death at Regionals?"

He just shrugged, because, really, what could be said?

They hadn't talked about what had occurred behind the curtain, instead allowing each to dwell on it on their own, neither sure what it really meant for them.

With a frosty sigh, Kurt turned, linking his arm with Wes' as they made their way back. Back to Dalton, where they belonged.

I adore this chapter, I admit. So long…

Here you get some real Kures action, rather than just your usual cuddle action. Next, one school's out!chapter, and then…the summer! What will it contain for our two favorite Warblers? We shall see!

Thanks to all my fab reviewers, who I adore. You know who you are.

Reviews are love,

-Mel