Chapter Six

It was gone eleven when Finn stormed through the front door like a hurricane, tossing his bag on the floor and grunting as he let his heavy limbs sink into the couch. The lounge was dusky, imbued with a heavy, beige darkness which matched his mood. Sighing, he met the glimmer of Kurt's questioning eyes.

"We lost," he muttered.

Kurt looked up from his magazine, eyes soft and gray with sympathy. "I'm sorry, Finn. I know how important this game was to you. What... what happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Well. It wasn't much of a game," he said, angrily. "I... um. Remember when I lost my playbook a few weeks back? I, uh. Well. Guess they found it."

Biting back a bitter laugh, Kurt stood up. "Oh, Finn," was all he could say. "Whatever will we do with you?"

Finn slapped his hand to his forehead. "I screwed up, Kurt. Again. I tried to... play it by ear, think of things, but... the team wouldn't listen, said I wasn't a leader, said I was..." He tried to return Kurt's gentle smile. "I kinda got mad at them, kicked the cooler, wound up soaking the water boy, and..."

He didn't even finish his sentence before Kurt was at his side, lightly thumbing the streak of mud on his cheekbone. "Ssh," he said. "It'll be okay, Finn. It'll be okay. I mean, the Titans have done far worse without subterfuge playing into things, after all."

Finn snorted. "Thanks, dude. I suppose they have, huh? But still, they're all gonna blame me."

"Unfortunately," Kurt said, sweeping him into a hug.

"I am so glad Mom wasn't there," he said, leaning into the comfort of Kurt's touch. "I... I totally lost it."

God, he was going to make the most of the weekend, because he could all but taste the slushy rainbow the Monday morning quarterbacks would assault him with. The icy blast of that, combined with the coldness of the words he knew would be written on his locker: 'cheap shot', 'touchdont', 'fumbler'. Actually, he was giving McKinley High's neanderthals far too much credit. It was far more likely to be 'butt pirate' or 'sausage jockey'. Or 'Hard-On'. One could always rely on the hockey jerks' formidable wordplay.

He remembered his Middle School nickname: the shark. He'd assumed it would follow him through to High School, but, well. That optimistic precognition of his High School life, like many others, had never happened.

Patting Kurt on the shoulder, Finn stood up. "I'm... I'm gonna shower. I didn't after the game, just wanted to hightail it home and head to bed, but..." He gestured towards his feet. "I feel so, so gross and cold with the ice, and the Gatorade and stuff."

Kurt shook his head. "I can imagine. Would you like some company?"

"In the shower, dude? Really?" He blushed. "I don't think that's... I mean, our shower's kinda small, and..."

"No, you dork! You can barely fit yourself in there!" Kurt was laughing, and Finn couldn't help but feel slightly more optimistic when he heard Kurt laugh like that. "After the shower! After!"

"Aw, shucks," he waggled his eyebrows at Kurt. "You don't wanna help get me all clean?"

Okay, that was possibly too far, but really, if he wanted to paint a picture in Kurt's mind of him showering off the grease and dirt? Well. Kurt didn't have to take the bait, did he?

Kurt's cheeks were slightly flushed, as he extended a hand to check Finn's forehead for... something. Finn wasn't entirely sure what. "What has possessed your brain? Zombies? Did those hooligans give you concussion, or...?"

"No!" Finn said, squirming away from the warmth of Kurt's palm. "It was just a joke, man. And, yeah. Thanks for the offer, but it's best if I just take a bit of time to think things over on my own tonight, yeah?"

"I... yeah," Kurt said, nodding. "Me too. Blaine's been a little… distant, and he's not replying to my texts, and I need to think some things through as well. Goodnight, Finn!"

Finn thought back to what had happened in the choir room on Thursday, and realized that Blaine had only stormed off after Kurt had challenged his opinion. His opinion on Finn's... vocal skills. Really, it was a little self-centered to admit it, but it was almost as though they had been fighting over him. Huh. Not that he would bring that up to Kurt, or Blaine, in a million years.

"Night," he replied, waving weakly, his heart not quite in it, and turned off the lights before following Kurt upstairs.

Walking into his room, he sat in his chair, and smoothed his fingers over the familiar, welcoming, cool plastic of his X-Box controller. Yeah, his shower could wait; he was going to release the tension old school, Orcs Must Die! style. It genuinely didn't make life that much better, but at least killing inanimate lives distracted him from the mess of his own.

000

"Where have you been all day?" Finn asked Kurt the following evening, although judging by the overflow of colorful bags in Kurt's hands, the answer was obvious.

"Outlet Mall with Tina and Mercedes," he replied.

Mercedes? That wasn't a name Finn had heard in their house for a while. "You guys patched things up?"

"Not really," Kurt replied. "I still disagree with her reticence to swallow her pride and come back to the better glee club, but Tina and I noticed she'd only been hanging out with Shane lately, and thought we'd bestow some of our fabulous company on her to save her from being one of those girls."

"Oh! So. Why didn't you invite me, dude?"

Kurt merely rolled his eyes and walked past him into the kitchen, returning with a soda for himself, and a pack of pringles which he tossed to Finn.

"So, Finn. Where do you think we should go tonight, then?"

"Asgard?" Finn replied through a mouthful of chips.

"What?"

"Asgard? Like in Thor? I, oh. Never mind. I was trying to be funny. No, I thought we were doing the gay bar tonight?"

"Oh, yes." Kurt scratched his head, a fair deal of trepidation creeping through his voice. "That."

"C'mon!" Finn said, worried that he seemed far more excited about the prospect of an evening in a gay bar than his gay brother did. "Let's order some take out and work out our plan. Team Furt, remember?"

Kurt handed him a take out menu with no further comment.

000

A heated discussion had ensued over their pizza. (Hawaiian for himself, cheeseless for Kurt, and Finn had no idea how you could even call that pizza, but, whatever.)

Which gay bar. And, where? Kurt knew of one in Lima, but it was far too close to Mr. Ryerson's cat-walking route for comfort, and Finn didn't know what a pink dagger was, but Kurt assured him it wasn't something he would find in any Marvel comic, and he certainly didn't want to be poked by it. It was also perilously close to both Mr. Schue's condo and the hospital where Santana volunteered as a candystriper, so, no.

Finn, proud of his research skills, had located a bar in Dayton. Even if that particular search meant he would have to get Kurt to show him how to delete his browser history again, because what if his Mom found that, and the rest of his... history? Well. In any case, it was hardly a logical choice, but then again, there was nothing in the sentence 'I'm going to a gay bar with Kurt' which struck him as logical, so Finn had decided to let whimsy guide their adventure, instead.

Soon, he found himself full of nerves, sat with his head in his hands in the front seat of Kurt's car. Sighing, he opened and closed the glove compartment repeatedly, for want of something, anything to do with his hands.

"I see you ignored my instructions of 'dress to impress'," Kurt said, wryly. Having Kurt behind the wheel was fortuitous, because Finn realized he had spent so much of the journey tugging at his hair and biting his fingernails to the quick that he couldn't have concentrated on the road if his life depended on it.

Finn glanced at Kurt, whose eyes were, thankfully, on the road. "Hey!" He said, fiddling with the dial. "I'm trying!"

"Not hard enough," Kurt muttered.

Kurt was, true to form, trying more than hard enough for the pair of them. He was wearing dark blue, pleated shorts that came just below his knee. A light blue shirt, which clung to him like a second skin, white suspenders, and a gold brooch of some sort of bird thing completed the look.

Looking down at his... ensemble, Finn was more than a little embarrassed. He hadn't completely understood Kurt's instructions. Usually, dressing to impress entailed a suit of some description, but he never felt particularly comfortable in those and didn't want to lose a deposit on tux rental due to said tux picking up smoke and booze fumes. There was his father's old suit, but he didn't feel he would do the memory of Christopher Hudson any justice by wearing that on this occasion, so settled on a pair of dress slacks and a Doors t-shirt. He felt it gave off just the right, I'm-straight-but-don't-mind-me-you-guys kinda vibe. And, he had to admit, nodding to himself, a slight rock and roll edge.

"We make an odd couple, don't we?" Finn mused, as Kurt batted his fingertips away from the dial with a feral hiss. "So. Am I allowed to dance with you, or..."

"Absolutely not!" Kurt said. "Just... don't dance. Or drink. You should just sit."

"Kurt, I don't wanna just sit! And I don't wanna stay sober. That sounds like no fun at all!"

"Yes, well." He shot Finn a glare. "I don't want concerned patrons asking me if you have epilepsy, either." Kurt paused. "And wipe that pout from your face. Be suave. Sophisticated. You're supposed to be twenty three, remember?"

Concern flooded Finn's face. "Shit, that's what your fake ID says? Kurt, no-one's ever gonna believe you're twenty three. Heck, I have a hard time believing you're eighteen next year!"

Sniffing at him, Kurt fumbled for his fake ID in his pocket and thrust it under Finn's nose.

"Javier Escuella," he explained. "Very continental Europe, no?"

"Hardly," Finn shook his head. "He's a character in Red Dead Redemption. Why did Puck make you all, all cool and mysterious, anyway? Why did I have to be 'John Marston'. I sound, so, well. Dull."

Kurt smirked. "He did want to call us 'Maverick Mitchell' and 'Charlie Blackwood', but..."

"Top Gun. That would have been way cooler," Finn said, with a sigh.

"Oh, is Charlie the wingman in that?"

Finn blushed. "Uh, no."

"I heard from Blaine earlier," Kurt said. "He's still keen to tutor you in US History, you know."

"There's only a week of school left. Can we... can we not talk about that right now?"

"Okay," Kurt said, pulling into the parking lot. "What would you like to talk about, then, Finn?"

"This, actually," Finn said, as the car came to a stop. "It... are you sure this is actually a gay bar?"

"Don't ask me, Mr. Bossypants!" Kurt responded, slamming the car door behind him with force. "You were the one who found it on Google."

Blinking several times, Finn let his eyes adjust to their surroundings. The bar was utterly nondescript from the outside, and there were a few guys who were probably in their early forties, wearing flannel shirts and dockers, smoking outside. 'abylon', the faded letters stated, missing the B. Finn scratched his head; that was what the place had been called, right? Perhaps it had changed ownership or something?

"Let's just check it out," Finn said, linking his arm with Kurt's, though he frowned and noticed Kurt already seemed to be checking Google on his phone for somewhere else. "First impressions can be wrong sometimes, yeah?"

"Okay," Kurt said, with a heavy sigh. "Let's go in."

They carefully sidestepped the messy, gray puddles in the parking lot, Finn swiftly lifting Kurt up to avoid one particularly large pool of water before it could ruin his boots, and trying his hardest to meet the bouncer's eye. To his surprise, the bouncer waved them both through without so much as a word. Finn knew he was 6'3" in bare feet with a smattering of stubble, and could easily pass for college-aged, but Kurt... well. He might have passed for eighteen if you squinted a little, but twenty one? Finn supposed that the bouncer was sympathetic to Kurt's plight. Or, then again, perhaps this bar wasn't picky and needed all the customers it could get.

Inside wasn't much better. They were playing Billy Ray Cyrus, and his feet were sticking to the floor, and, oh God, he quickly met the eyes of a guy who looked around the same age as Burt and stank of stale sweat and Lucky Strikes. Kurt giggled as, in spite of himself, Finn emitted a surprisingly high-pitched yelp.

"You work in construction?"

"He's with me," Kurt snapped, not even registering the man's face.

"Lighten up, toots. I was only kidding," he said, and then shook his head. "This bar... well, she don't see many of you young'uns these days."

"I'm not surprised," Kurt said derisively, scanning the bar, nose wrinkled with criticism and disdain. "This place needs a hip replacement. As do all of its customers, so it seems."

The guy merely chuckled, and gestured at Finn. "You and your boyfriend's first time at one of these bars then, I take it?"

Finn blushed. "No, we're... brothers, actually. Well, stepbrothers, we're not bloo-" Kurt stamped on his toe. "Ouch!"

"His idea, then, huh?"

Finn nodded, as Kurt walked over to the bar. "Kurt's not really done this before. I thought he could do with a bit of... support."

Extending his hand, he smiled warmly at Finn. "I'm Bob. And, well, this place is a bit like a comfy old pair of shoes, really. Everyone knows each other, but... you two should check out the bars in Columbus one weekend," he paused. "This... doesn't seem like his scene."

Laughing, Finn patted him on the arm. "It's... dude. It's so not it's almost funny."

"Tell you what," Bob said. "I'm off to shoot some pool with the guys, but there's a club about five minutes walk from here. It's not gay, but it is gay-friendly, caters for the college crowd." He gestured at Kurt, who appeared to be embroiled in an argument with the bartender over the lack of a wine list. "My kids are always raving about the place."

His kids? Finn immediately thought about what Burt would say if he found out what he and Kurt were doing without his permission, but pushed down his guilt. Now was not the time. Never was the time.

"Thanks for the tip, man. It was nice to meet you," he said, shaking Bob's hand.

"You too," he said, giving Finn a firm pat on the shoulder. "You have a good night, son, and make sure your brother does too, 'kay?"

As Finn was left alone, a half-smile gracing his face, Kurt returned with a shot glass of... something black and deadly-looking, and arched his eyebrow in interest. "And what was going on there, Finn Hudson?"

"Bob was telling me there's a club across the street which might be more your thing."

"Oh? Bob?" Kurt snorted, then downed his drink with a grimace. "Sambuca," he said, shuddering slightly, "I needed something, alright, and they don't even have cocktails here. Cocktails! How can they not have cocktails, Finn?"

"Yeah," Finn replied. "I didn't think a gay bar could be so, so..."

"Filled with more toweling than Sheets n' Things?"

"No. Normal," Finn replied. "Scarily so. If it weren't for those guys cuddling in the corner over there, I'd have no idea."

Although he could sense Kurt was disappointed, Finn couldn't help but smile. Kurt had always made it seem as though there was this whole world out there that he couldn't ever hope to understand, full of unicorns and rainbows and who knew what, but this was just... a bunch of guys. A bunch of guys who had sex with each other, sure, but they were just shooting pool, and watching the game, and debating over the jukebox like the guys at all the other bars he'd been to.

"Let's go," Kurt said, shaking his head. "It's only been five minutes and I've had more than enough."

000

Kurt smiled, tapping his foot to the beat of the music. "Ah, Rihanna. Now, this? This is more like it."

"Really, Kurt?" Finn hissed, and gestured to two mildly-attractive girls who didn't look as though they were coming up for air any time soon, the crowd around them utterly oblivious to their shenanigans. "Um, are you sure this isn't a gay bar?"

Rolling his eyes, Kurt sauntered up to the bar and snapped his fingers, and Finn couldn't help but laugh at Kurt's attempt to look like he wasn't seventeen and more used to drinking pomegranate juice while watching Project Runway re-runs. "Do you have any cocktails? Any, any drinks specials?"

The bartender didn't look too much older than Kurt, and certainly didn't look old enough to have been working there. "Oh, I have a drink for you, special." He paused, and winked a brilliant green eye in Kurt's direction. "One Mudslide, coming up. First one's on the house."

"Isn't he gonna ask me what I want?" Finn pouted, and thrust a twenty in Kurt's hand as Kurt received his Mudslide and twirled the straw before taking an appreciative sip.

"I'll have a beer," Finn said. "Oh, and a shot of Jack, too."

"He your boyfriend?" The bartender said, poking a thin, manicured fingertip in Finn's vague direction, and was that a swallow tattoo Finn could see on his forearm? Emo douche. But Kurt didn't seem to think so. Kurt was fluttering his eyelashes and licking his straw absurdly. Well. There was no accounting for taste.

"No," Kurt said, shaking his head. "Definitely not."

Finn grumbled to himself and stared down at the coppery liquid in his tumbler, hoping it would hold the answer to all of his current problems. It didn't. He resorted to playing Tap Tap on his phone, roving his eyes across the bar occasionally, reluctant to leave Kurt's side.

A sharp fingernail prodded his bicep and he flinched as a light, feminine voice sung in his ear. "Hey, gorgeous! My drink's empty."

"Yeah?" Finn said, and without even turning around, he was immediately reminded of Quinn and all of the pain that came with. She sounded blonde and insistent, and used to getting what she wanted, that much was certain, and Finn hadn't got anything he'd wanted lately, so why should it be different for anyone else? "Maybe you should buy yourself another one, then?"

As he heard the clop of high heels clack further in the distance, Finn swore he could hear her mutter something about the gorgeous ones being gay under her breath, but he ignored it. He didn't think he would ever understand chicks, and anyway, he had to keep his eye on Kurt, lest that awful, fauxhawked bartender with his dark hair and bright eyes put something in his drink, or, or do... something.

He grabbed Kurt's arm, dragging him away from his seat. "Time to go home, man."

"Hey!" Kurt snapped. "What is your problem? We've not even been here an hour!"

"Yeah," Finn retorted, "and it didn't even take you that long to flirt with the first person giving you, a, a friendly ear."

"Isn't that what you wanted, though, Finn? You wanted me to see there were other options?"

Finn frowned, swirling his beer in his hand. "There's a whole bar of other options," he said, anger boiling in the pit of his stomach as he took in the bemused look on Kurt's face. "He's what, twenty four?"

"Pft. At least I got his phone number," Kurt said, smugly.

"What? Dude, you're not actually going to..."

Kurt took a sip of his drink. "Of course I'm not! I was going to delete it once I was out of his line of sight, and I refused to give him mine. And who are you, my Dad? I bet Blaine's doing exactly the same in... wherever the hell he is right now." He paused, leaning his head on Finn's shoulder. "I'm not... I'm not feeling too great, Finn."

"Of course you're not! You've had way too much to drink, which, which is why we need to get you home."

"No, I'm not even tipsy." Kurt shook his head. "I've only had three drinks, and a Mudslide's three quarters empty chocolate milk calories anyway."

"So why aren't you feeling too great, then? Is it because, geez, I dunno, Kurt, you're leading another guy on when Blaine's visiting his..."

"Blaine and I are on a break, okay!" He shouted, drink swaying in his hand. "He's not visiting his relatives; he just doesn't want to, to do this right now. Yes, I have no idea why, yes, it hurts, and no, I don't want to talk about it."

"I'm... I'm so sorry, Kurt."

"Really, now, Finn? Isn't that what you wanted?"

"No," he said, firmly. "I know I've had, well, issues with Blaine, major issues, but having you be unhappy is, like, the last thing I'd ever want, Kurt."

Kurt extended his arm to Finn's with a soft sigh. "Cheer me up?"

Finn patted his shoulder. "C'mon. There's another bar over by the coat check, and I'm sure I could score some free drinks for us." He paused, realizing Kurt's reddening eyes and button nose were far more likely to achieve that dubious honor. "Oh, let's go and be really mean about their outfits. You like doing that, right?"

"Yes," Kurt said, smiling gently. "I do. I'm so glad you're here with me, Finn. I... I really didn't want to be alone this evening."

"Me neither," Finn replied, clinking their near-empty glasses together with a wide grin.

000

Six drinks down the line, and Finn found himself dancing with Kurt. He wasn't sure how it had happened, one moment, Kurt was leaning into his ear mocking a guy with a bow tie, and then starting to sniff about Blaine, and Finn couldn't have that, didn't want Kurt to be reminded of that, so they'd fumbled together, hitting the crowded dance floor, some song he didn't recognise, the singer going on about guiding someone home before their curfew, and into their bed, and. Well. Wasn't that apt?

Kurt was swaying and swirling to the beat, letting Finn dip him occasionally, a single drop of sweat dripping from the tip of his pert, perfect nose, the fire in his eyes Finn loved so much present, and this was nothing like the dance at the wedding. That had been happy smiles, and joyful outstretched arms, and this was something else. Something that made Finn feel more than a little bit like one of those poles in one of those clubs, and it was affecting him more than he cared to admit as Kurt spun and twirled around him, grinning brightly, kicking his leg in the air occasionally.

"Enjoying yourself, Cowboy?" Kurt's voice was flirty, happy, carefree, as he spun around, clutching Finn's waist with sweaty, warm hands, giggling in his ear.

Finn yelped as Kurt's thigh slid between his, forcing them closer still. "Um," he coughed, desperately wishing for a cool drink, or perhaps a shower, or even that infernal cooler full of Gatorade he'd kicked over on the football field the previous evening. "I... I guess so?"

Kurt tiptoed up, his leg moving higher, brushing against him, voice dripping like melted chocolate against the lobe of Finn's ear. "I'm so, so glad I'm here with you, Finn. I'm enjoying myself, too."

Moving back slightly, Kurt rested his hands across the small of Finn's back, massaging his skin which heated further at his touch. Finn exhaled, realizing if Kurt were any closer, he would be able to feel exactly how much Finn was enjoying himself, and there was no way in hell he could let that happen. He braced his palms against Kurt's chest, trying to keep enough distance between them.

"Why are you glad to be here with me, huh?" Finn murmured into the top of Kurt's soft, shiny hair. He couldn't help but smile as he felt it tickle the tip of his nose.

"Because I can do this," Kurt replied, tiptoeing up slightly to brush his lips against Finn's cheek. "And? Guess what! Nobody cares! Isn't it great, Finn?"

Finn tilted his chin up, looked at the gaudy lights on the walls, looked at the drunk co-eds propping themselves up against the bar, looked anywhere but those bright, brilliant eyes. This wasn't right, it wasn't... oh, god, Kurt was nibbling his earlobe. What the hell was he doing? What was he playing at?

"You can do it, too," Kurt said. "If you want to."

"I..."

"And this," Kurt added, pressing a kiss against the line of his jaw.

"Kurt!" Finn's trembling hands tried their best to push him away. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm just enjoying myself, Finn," he purred.

Kurt's lips weren't soft, weren't... Finn could feel the rasp of them against the stubble of his cheek, trailing slowly, carelessly, to the corners of his mouth, and Finn couldn't help it. He couldn't help sneaking his tongue out against Kurt's lips, wondering, no, needing, to know what Kurt tasted like. Before he knew it, he was biting Kurt's lower lip, clenching one hand in Kurt's hair, the other grabbing a handful of Kurt's shirt, and he felt himself melt, the music, and the light, and the noise of the club fading around him, and his...

His brother. His closest friend. His, his Kurt. Shit. What had he done? He broke away, breathing in harsh, messy pants, meeting Kurt's eyes which were wide open in shock. Why did it feel good? It should have felt reprehensible, and, and awful, and what the hell would anyone say if they ever found out? What the hell would Kurt say when he found out, because Finn suspected there was no way he would ever remember this the following morning.

Kurt, at that moment, was silent, his head tipped against Finn's shoulder.

"We... we need to get you home, Kurt. Now."

"Uh-huh", Kurt said, voice buzzing around Finn's ears, and he was fiddling with the hem of his shirt which Finn had, oh crap, when had he managed to un-tuck that, anyway? "You're..."

"Kurt," he said. "Kurt. I am so, sorry. I got caught up in the moment, I pushed it too far, I, I..."

Meeting Kurt's eyes, Finn gulped. There didn't seem to be any regret there. Could he kiss him again? When else would he get the chance? Kurt hadn't said no, or told him to stop, or anything of the sort. No. He couldn't even think about kissing him again. Kurt was drunk. Yes, Finn ached, uncomfortably so, wishing like hell he'd worn tighter pants because his arousal was all but pointing out in front of him like some obscene, neon street sign, but he couldn't act like, like some stupid boy without impulse control, even if that was what people expected of him these days.

He knew how much the kiss with Karofsky the previous year had affected Kurt, too. This was not the time. It had to be special for him, dinner, candles, holdings hands, not frantic making-out in some dingy bar, and it was at that terrifying point that Finn realized just how much he cared about Kurt. Liked him. Loved him, even.

Was he in love with him?

No. This had to stop. This had to stop, right now.

"Okay," Finn said, taking a deep breath, willing his feet to move, looping an arm behind Kurt's back. "Let's... let's go."

"I..." Kurt was still speechless, touching his index finger to his lip in shock.

"We've had far too much to even, even think about getting behind the car... behind the wheel, I mean!"

Kurt exhaled, his voice soft and low, and unmeasured. "There's a motel up the road I saw when we were driving here. Dad... our emergency credit card, said to, to use it. We can tell him and Carole the car broke down."

"In Dayton?"

"Yes. I'll say I was visiting Blaine."

The reminder hit Finn like a bullet in the stomach and he felt his gut lurch, rolling, heavy, liked he'd swallowed a handful of gravel. "Oh, God, Blaine, I... I made you cheat on Blaine. Shit!"

"Oh, God." Kurt echoed. "Blaine. I... Blaine! I didn't even think about Blaine. I think I'm gonna be sick."

Finn suddenly wished for his blood to be magically transformed into thick, strong black coffee, as he rubbed Kurt's back in warm circles, as his brother, no, his friend, sobbed, brokenly, breaking his heart with each sniff.

"I'm so lost, Finn! I - I don't know what came over me, what the hell was I doing?"

"Ssh, Kurt. You did nothing wrong. It was my fault. Mine. It, it was... just a kiss. It's gonna be okay; it's gonna be fine." He took a deep breath. "Blaine's gonna be fine. You'll see."

Though, Finn didn't even believe the words as they came from his own, traitorous mouth. It seemed like they served to reassure him more than Kurt, because Kurt was lost? Well. Kurt wasn't the only one. And right now, he didn't give a damn about whether Blaine was fine; there was only one concern in his mind, and that concern was how he could make things right for the trembling, sobbing form in his arms.

Finn rummaged in his pockets for some spare change, hastily thrust a handful of coins in the vague direction of the coat check guy, then collected his jacket, wrapping it around Kurt's shaking shoulders before they walked across the road to the motel in awkward, clumsy silence.