Chapter Eight

Finn groaned, the shards of light breaking through the gap in the curtains and hitting him like a punch to the gut. Blinking, he focused on his surroundings, the bland beige walls and the floral carpet. Kurt's arm was slung across his waist, his fingertips thumbing lazy, idle circles around his hipbone. Kurt's leg between his. He felt like a present, wrapped up in the most delicious paper, and he really, really didn't want to move.

"Hey," Kurt said, his morning breath ticklish against the back of his neck, and Finn couldn't help but bite back a groan as he curled his toes up into the sheets.

"Mornin'," he replied. Babe? Baby? Sweetie? No. He had a gut feeling Kurt would never be receptive to any of those sorts of epithets. "How you doing, Kurt?"

Lowering his left hand, he placed it over Kurt's, stilling it, because Kurt really needed to stop moving his fingers there if he actually wanted Finn to get out of bed any time soon. The gesture seemed completely innocent, comforting, even, but Finn couldn't help but whimper into his pillow at the teasing warmth it spread across his body. God, he wanted to wake up like this every morning. In fact, a few more mornings of this and the world might make a morning person out of him after all.

"Ugh," Kurt said. "Pink elephants are on parade in my head."

"Hangover? Yeah, dude. Those suck."

Kurt's voice was scratchy, and Finn felt a little guilty for not forcing some aspirin or some Gatorade or some... something down his throat the previous night. Then again, who was he kidding? He would only have left Kurt alone if he'd insisted, and Kurt certainly hadn't insisted on anything but his presence.

"Mmm," Kurt replied. "And I do remember everything, before you ask, except for the, er, divesting of clothes. Did you...?"

Finn chuckled to himself then turned around, pressing a light kiss against Kurt's forehead. "That was totally your idea. You said you," he felt a blush begin to creep up his neck, "wanted to be close. Um, close close."

Sitting up, Kurt coughed lightly, Finn frowning at the horror etched on his paler than usual face.

"Oh my. We didn't. We didn't, did we?" Kurt's knees were drawn up against his chest, and he shook his head frantically.

"No!" Finn said, clutching his arm firmly. "How, uh, what did you remember?"

Kurt's head turned to meet Finn's. "Well. The last thing was throwing these on the floor," he gestured to the sad crumple of clothes spread on the busy, gaudy carpet. "And yes, I knew the creases would be dreadful, because these shorts are linen, Finn. Linen! I just suppose I couldn't quite bring myself to care at the time." He buried his head in his hands. "Please tell me this room has a trouser press?"

"Probably not." Finn ruffled his hair, smiling as Kurt's nose scrunched with disdain at the gesture. Trust his prime concern to be the state of his clothing. Some things never changed. "Um, what do you remember? Before...?" He trailed off, eyes following Kurt as he stood up and leaned over to rummage for his discarded ensemble.

Standing up, Finn felt the cold breeze from the slightly open window hit his naked chest, and crossed his arms over his torso defensively.

"Were you hoping I was going to forget, Finn?"

"Forget what?"

There was barely enough time to blink before Kurt stood up again, his clothes still bundled in his arms, and placed his hand on Finn's shoulder. His kiss was brief, and chaste, but his eyes said everything.

"That," he said, playfully, and Finn sighed with relief and returned his smile.

Yeah. That. Finn didn't think he'd be able to forget that for the rest of his life.

"Hey," he said, walking behind Kurt and pressing his nose up against the crisp curls of hair at the back of his neck. It should have been gross, but Kurt smelled a little like rain, warm, and damp, and so unlike the products and sprays he usually masked himself with. Finn just wanted to let that smell soak through him. Smiling again, he tilted his head forward and flicked his tongue slowly against the dip behind Kurt's ear, and Kurt's breath hitched, catching in his throat.

"You need to stop that, or we're not going to make check-out."

Finn ignored him, pressing a kiss against his jaw. "Maybe we could stay here for another night?"

Kurt sighed, taking a step forward to break contact. "I would love to, but... we can't live in a bubble, Finn. What happened here, with us, with..." Finn frowned as Kurt dropped his clothes on the bed then clutched his hair in his hands, shaking his head with frustration. "I don't know. But it's not going to be the same when we get back to Lima, and the sooner we realize that, the easier it will be. For both of us."

"Kurt. Look at me. You can't ask me to, to walk in a parade and hold your hand in the hallways just yet, and I don't know if I ever can when we're at school, but I just..." He lowered his voice. "I just want you, Kurt. I want to hold you, and do what we did last night, only, like, all the time, and I want more than that, I want... uh. Other things."

"Other things?"

"Um, yeah," Finn looked at the carpet, following the hideous pattern with his eyes. "Like, uh. Sex stuff. You want that too, don't you? Oh God, what if this is some mistake, and, and..."

"Does Dolly Parton sleep on her back, Finn?"

He was never going to understand Kurt. "I dunno, what does that have to do with anything?"

"It was a rhetorical question. I want to, of course I do, but you have to admit that, yes, I have seen the signs, Finn, but the reality has been, well. Unexpected, to say the least. And until Blaine and I have talked, nothing else can happen."

Finn pouted, in spite of himself. "Not even one little, little kiss?"

"You had one kiss."

"C'mon, man. We did way more than that last night."

Looking up, he realized Kurt was staring at the carpet, now. When was he going to get another chance to have Kurt alone like this? He swept his fingers across Kurt's jaw, and Kurt rolled his eyes, muttering something about him being a romantic yet hormone-driven idiot under his breath, but merely sighed into Finn's mouth as they kissed, slowly. It was tough, but Finn had to hold back, kissing him as gently and slowly as he could, adding a light flick of his tongue against Kurt's lip before biting it, unable to hold back a grin as Kurt shuddered lightly then placed his hands firmly against Finn's cheeks, rubbing small circles against the hair just behind the tips of his ears.

Finn opened his eyes. He felt guilty, but he needed to see this. Kurt's were closed, long eyelashes fluttering beautifully against his cheeks.

"Stands to reason you'd be infuriatingly proficient at this," Kurt said, as they broke apart, trying to appear as though he was completely unaffected, but again, his eyes gave away what he was really feeling.

"Yeah, I made us, like, four hundred dollars at the kissing booth last year," Finn replied, puffing his chest with pride, yet immediately regretted it; why did his mouth always overtake his brain? Thankfully, Kurt just smiled at him as he leaned in for another kiss, lazy and slow and utterly delicious.

Then, however, Kurt waggled his finger in Finn's face. "Semantics, Finn. I said one."

Finn lowered his eyes. "No tongue, Kurt. That's only half a kiss in my opinion."

"Your opinion is somewhat ruinous," Kurt said, through gritted teeth. "You need to shower, Finn."

"Why?" Raising his arm in the air, Finn gave himself a tentative sniff. "I don't smell too bad, right?"

Slapping his face to his forehead, Kurt all but pushed him towards the bathroom.

"Join me?"

"You are pushing your luck, mister," he said, shaking his head.

In his heart, Finn knew that it was the right idea. If he had to admit it to himself, and he supposed he did, he was more than a little scared of going too far, too fast, when he wasn't even sure exactly what he might do with a naked Kurt, but damn Kurt's moral compass all the same, because Finn could all but imagine the drops of warm water cascading off his soft, pale back, Kurt gripping the cool tiles with his hands, flashing Finn a glimpse of bright blue eyes from over his shoulder, and...

"Suit yourself," he said, feeling somewhat bold and bending down to remove his underwear, yet he realized he still wasn't confident enough to turn around and show himself fully to Kurt. "I'll be thinking about you."

Blushing once he was out of Kurt's sight, he bent over the tub, trying to figure out how to work the taps. How shameless was he? They'd barely even made out, and Finn was already worked up. Tentatively, he pressed the heel of his palm against himself, hissing at the familiarity of his own touch. Yeah, he was really worked up, painfully so, and had been every since he'd woken up with Kurt, all hooded eyes and bedroom voice, squirming against his ass. Could he do this? Get himself off while thinking of Kurt? Yeah. How could he not? He doubted even a cold shower would cool him down any, and walking over to Kurt, his erection tenting one of those tiny, threadbare hotel towels wasn't something he'd feel comfortable doing. Stepping into the shower, he hissed at the feel of warm water on his skin.

Kurt's voice filtered through the door, making him wince. "I know what you're doing in there, Finn Hudson!"

"Showering?" His voice reverberated around him like a guilty echo. "That's what you do in the shower, right?"

Kurt must have known what he was doing, even if he was standing in front of the mirror attempting to tame his wayward hair or something. Kurt had probably done this while thinking about him, perhaps not that recently, but… Finn soaped up his hands and reached for the washcloth, biting back a moan, his cock filling further at that thought. God, Kurt should have just come in with him; he didn't have to do anything. Yeah, right. Like Finn would have just stood there and washed while Kurt's naked form was in front of him like some priceless Greek statue.

And, that didn't help, because now he couldn't help but think of Kurt's naked form. Pushing away his guilt, he gripped himself firmly with his soapy hands, not quite enough friction as he would like, and closed his eyes. Images of Kurt appeared in front of him; on his knees, lips stretched around him, his hands firmly gripping Kurt's hair, and he idly thought that he hoped the pounding spray of the shower would at least mask the noises he was making somewhat as he raised the washcloth to his mouth, biting it as he came with a gasp.

Finn took a deep breath, willing his feet to stop shaking, and rinsed his hair before turning off the shower. He stepped onto the bath mat, swiping a line through the steamy fog on the mirror. He tried to look at himself, but wasn't too surprised to find he couldn't quite look himself in the eye.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walked back into the bedroom and whistled idly. Kurt looked up, meeting his flushed cheeks and sated grin, but didn't say a word. What was it he'd thought yesterday about acting like a clichéd romance novel? Yeah. That didn't seem to have abated much. He could all but imagine his face in soft focus, flanking the front of some cheesy gay version of a Harlequin Romance novel.

000

Dayton's streets were quiet for a Sunday morning, and though he walked with Kurt in silence, there wasn't anything awkward about it. Looking left, then right, and behind him for good measure, Finn exhaled, his foggy breath hanging in front of him, as he slung his arm across Kurt's back, rubbing small circles just below the base of his ribs.

It hadn't taken much to get Kurt's spark back, two cups of cheap, muddy diner coffee. The drive had been normal, singing along to power ballads alternated with Top 40 hits and exchanging comments about glee club and this really cool place outside Columbus which specialized in grilled cheese sandwiches, and things were so… normal. Finn could almost have sworn what happened was some sort of a dream.

That was, until about ten miles outside of Lima, when Kurt squeezed his hand tightly and didn't let go until they pulled into the driveway. Kurt didn't let go even as Finn fumbled for his keys, and Finn realized he didn't want him to let go, afraid the moment they walked through the door, their connection would be broken. He extracted his hand with a sigh, missing the contact immediately.

"So," Kurt said. "I have a lot of homework to do tonight, and then… Blaine."

"Yeah," Finn patted him on the shoulder. "You can, uh, invite him over here if you like; I promised Puck and Mike I'd hang with them."

Kurt walked into the kitchen; Finn supposed he was going to brew some coffee, or, well, perhaps he just needed some space to think things over?

"No," he called out to Finn. "Thank you, but we're meeting at the Lima Bean. It's so much kinder to him to do this on neutral territory."

"Wasn't that where you had your first date?"

Kurt's tone was cold, and it wasn't one he'd heard since the beginning of their conversation in the motel room the previous night. "Can you think of anywhere else we might go?"

"Yeah, you have a point," Finn said, as he walked into the kitchen, fetched a bottle of water and frowned as Kurt didn't turn around to look at him. "Well. Good luck. You know where to find me."

Heading upstairs, he walked across to his window, staring at the gray streets below him. At least he had Puck and Mike to take his mind off things. It was mostly just wasting zombies and watching 80s horror movies, but it was a distraction all the same, and hanging out past eleven on a Sunday night was way past curfew, and he was going to make the most of it.

It was past midnight by the time he arrived home, and he walked upstairs, pausing outside Kurt's room. The lights were off, and Finn reached up hesitantly to knock on Kurt's door before thinking better of it. Kurt needed rest right now. Not him. He walked back downstairs and rummaged in the cupboards for a snack, trying to occupy his hands with something, because he knew if he gave himself one moment's pause, he'd open Kurt's door and slide right back into his bed.

Tomorrow was school. No more bubble. He slumped on the couch and stared at the ceiling, because what had happened with Kurt had been wonderful, but he didn't want to think about the implications until he was absolutely sure it was something. He wasn't going to risk everything over a drunken make-out, and God, then there was the issue of his parents - no, his Mom and Burt, because there was no way he could refer to his stepfather in those terms considering what he'd done with his son - and Finn would have to tell them before they walked in on... anything, because he knew he was as subtle as a brick, and as clumsy as that three-legged cat that stalked around the neighborhood, and this was him: it would happen.

Groping for the remote control, he flicked the TV on to some mindless infomercial, realizing he was still wearing Saturday's clothes which was more than a little disgusting, even by his somewhat lax standards.

000

The next morning, he showered and dressed. And, yes, he'd thought about exactly the same thing in the shower as he had the previous morning, and it was more than a little difficult to meet Kurt's eyes across the breakfast table. Quite honestly, if the neckline of Kurt's dressing gown dipped much lower, he wasn't quite sure how he'd resist the temptation to drag him across the kitchen and have him right there and then, Nine and a Half Weeks style.

"Finn, honey?" his Mom said, cheerily squeezing maple syrup on her pancakes, the fumes wafting in front of his nose with a tempting sugary blast. "Did you and Kurt get up to anything fun this weekend?"

"Um," he scratched his head, feeling his cheeks color a similar shade to the glass of V8 juice next to Kurt's bowl. "We, we, uh..."

"Finn and I visited Dayton," Kurt said. "Unfortunately, we had some transportation problems so we had to rent a motel room and stay the night. Finn was kind enough to put it on his credit card. Last night, I studied and met Blaine for coffee, and Finn went to waste zombies with Mike and Puck."

Carole merely smiled at Kurt and patted his hand. "And the beers in the fridge haven't even been touched! Finn, your brother really is a responsible influence on you. Perhaps it's time to extend your curfew?"

Wow. How did Kurt do that? Moreover, how did he not lie about the situation and yet make it sound so mundane and bereft of the, well… finer details, Finn supposed.

"Where's Burt?" Finn asked.

"Aw, you miss him?" Carole ruffled his hair. "We have date night tonight, so he's setting up work super early today. I hope I won't tire him out too much!"

"Mom!" Finn said, aghast, and sprayed a mouthful of his breakfast back on to his plate. Looking across at Kurt, he noticed Kurt's fingers were in his ears and he was muttering something about boundaries, and pamphlets.

"Well," Carole said, her eyes twinkling. "It's nice to see you two boys can agree on something at last."

Finn all but choked on his pop tart. Today was already shaping up as perilously long, and it wasn't even eight o'clock.

000

He entered school, Kurt walking in ahead of him as they'd agreed. Finn was determined to hold his head up and meet the stares and whispers head on. The first thing his eyes encountered was the cheery red and white banner, proclaiming: State semi runners up: we nearly did it! That was nice of them, Finn thought, with a smile and a nod, trying to remember his locker combination.

"Rachel's stats. 24-28-33, remember?" Puck poked him sharply in the side. "And hey, your locker's totally clean, dude. Don't you think that's weird for post-game suckage?"

Finn shrugged, opening his locker. How could they ever expect people to remember all those numbers? "Thanks, man. And yeah, but maybe they're cutting us some slack 'cause we won Championships last year? I mean, nobody's said anything, and a couple of the guys are even calling me shark week, which sounds pretty cool. Maybe they're growing up at last?"

Puck poked him again. "Bro, your stupid playbook stunt lost you major league respect. I mean, I don't blame you for it, even tried to get the guys to listen, but..."

"The Shark," Finn said, sweeping his fingers in front of Puck's face and clicking them wildly. "You think they'll call me that in college? I always wanted one of those cool nicknames, like Big Ben, or Lightning Feet or something."

"Dude, how dumb are you? Shark week's, like, what they call a woman when she's having her time. Like, Quinn bitch face squared."

"Oh," he felt his face match the color of his jacket. "Ew. But, still. Nobody's really spoken to me yet. Not even Rachel, and she's usually the first to offer me, uh, comfort. Don't you think that's a bit... strange?"

"Nah. Probably just afraid you'll give 'em all Gatorade showers."

"Heh," Finn replied, raising his first towards Puck's as the bell rang for first period. "Later, bro."

"Later." Puck returned his gesture and snapped his teeth, smoothing his mohawk down with his fingers before sauntering off to, well, wherever he sauntered off to. Finn was one of his best friends, and still wasn't quite sure what Puck did with his days. Nor, he reflected, did he particularly want to know.

000

He knew the silence wouldn't last. Knew it. Fourth period had just ended, and Finn didn't even give Kurt enough time to gather his books from his locker before grabbing his arm and marching him into a nearby utility closet, thankful the halls were relatively quiet.

"Hey!" said Kurt, his voice as shrill as a dog whistle. "This shirt's silk! What the hell are you playing at, Finn!"

Finn didn't even think before he slammed his fist into the dry wall. "You told them! You, you told them!"

"What? No, Finn You know I wouldn't do that to you. Look, I didn't even out Karofsky." Looking away, Kurt rummaged in his bag, passing him a napkin. "Also, your demeanor is a lot more threatening when you don't have a Boris Yeltsin-esque smear of raspberry jelly on your forehead."

"Donut accident." Finn raised a finger to his temple, meeting sticky flesh, then examined his finger carefully before licking it clean with a squeaky pop. "And, yeah. Why did you tell them about my... well, plans."

Kurt shook his head. "I... I don't understand."

"Well, yeah," Finn said, cradling his grazed hand in his other palm. "Nobody's been on at me, at us for this. Believe me, we would both know if that were the case, it's just... sorry. I got a little on edge. My college plans got out. I had a meeting with Ms. P and I guess Santana must have listened in somehow."

"Hey." Kurt drew him in for a hug. "I wouldn't be surprised if Sue bugged her office, and also? I am proud that you decided to put yourself first and pursue something that makes you happy. How many other people at this school could honestly say that?"

Snorting, inelegantly, he buried his face into Kurt's shoulder. "Funny you should say that, though, because all I heard in study hall were these really awful jokes about getting physical. And they keep singing that really awful Olivia Newton John song to me, and the shark jokes, and even Brittany's making these jokes about dolphins except I can't be mad at her because she doesn't even realize she's doing it."

"Well," Kurt said, clearly trying to hide the amusement in his voice. "That's original. They clearly have a bright future at the Lima Stop 'n Save ahead of them."

"You do have a point." Finn smiled as Kurt's hands wove through his hair; it hadn't even been a day since it had been just the two of them, but he missed it more than he'd care to admit. "Hey, while we're in here, do you wanna make out? High School tradition, and all the rest."

"Is that all you think about, Finn Hudson?"

He knew his face was etched with that guilty, sheepish look he was teased about so much, and nodded. "Well, yeah, Kurt," he said, loving the way his voice sounded as the consonants of Kurt's name dripped from his tongue.

"Well. We do have tonight to look forward to..."

Finn paused, placing his hands in his pockets. Seemed like all it took to get him hard and aching nowadays was a saucy raise of Kurt's eyebrow.

Though, before he could form a reply, Kurt was pressing him against the wall, his tongue licking patterns across his jaw in that delicious way he'd done at the club. Kurt kissed him, and there wasn't anything soft or slow about it, fingers tangling in his hair, massaging his scalp, Kurt's lips slightly chapped, but just so addictive and so right. Finn laughed lightly as his nose bumped against Kurt's and they broke apart with a smile.

"Hm," he said, "um, you can do that again if you like?"

"Really, Finn?" Kurt said, meekly, in contrast to the tip of his pinkie finger which began tracing the inseam of his pants.

"That's... kind of too much, Kurt. If you don't stop, I'm gonna..." He lowered his voice, even though he knew that if anyone had heard anything, it would have been the thump of his fist hitting the wall earlier. "I'm not gonna be able to control myself."

Briefly, he wondered if Kurt even knew about his problem. Finn didn't exactly have to offer a prayer and sacrifice his favorite NFL card to the ghost of that unfortunate mailman these days, but his prowess if one could call it that definitely fell into the realms of quantity rather than quality; Rachel had said as such. He didn't make a habit of coming in his pants these days, but if Kurt kept doing that with his finger…

"Oh?" Kurt said, with a raise of his eyebrow. "We can't be having that now, can we, Finn?"

Finn threw his hands up to his head in dismay. "You're just gonna leave me... hanging?"

"Yes. Well. For now," Kurt winked, smoothed his shirt down with one hand, and shot him a devious smile. "The parentals are going to the car show over in Lexington tonight, remember?"

"Can you not call them our parents? It's all incesty and wrong. And, yeah. I was gonna go with them."

"Noted. And parents or not, why would we intrude on their date night?" Kurt's smirk was dangerous, as he traced his finger just that little bit higher. "It's a two hour drive; they're not going to be back until gone midnight, Finn. I think we should have a date night of our own."

Finn opened and closed his mouth, unable to articulate, well, anything.

"Ta ta for now," Kurt said, and shot him a grin over his shoulder before exiting the closet. Finn suspected with all the hair and clothing changes Kurt made on a daily basis, nobody paid the slightest bit of attention to him as he walked out with his nose tipped up in the air like he was following the trail of some delicious-smelling scent. Finn, on the other hand. Well. He needed a moment to compose himself before he exited. Shifting his hands in his pockets he used his knee to nudge the door open a slither, peered left, peered right, and took a deep breath.

The coast was clear, and he couldn't see any hockey players, or jocks, or even a Skank or two about to get on his case. Huh. Not that any of those girls cared a jot about football, but any excuse to humiliate someone in the higher echelons of High School didn't pass them by.

Hm. He'd actually managed the clichéd making out in a closet thing. Well. Sort of. It was a little bit naughty, and more than a little hot, and he'd seen Kurt and Blaine holding hands before, chaste, kissing each other on the cheek, and always assumed that Kurt would be a little more... shy? Well. Saturday night had proved him wrong, and this was just further confirmation that one didn't have to get Kurt Hummel drunk to unleash his... other side.

Wait. Kurt hadn't even mentioned Blaine. Cool.

Walking out of the closet, and he was well aware of how odd that sounded in his head, he placed his hand over his mouth to hide his grin, suspecting it was so bright that anyone looking at it directly would need sunglasses.

000

Algebra was his final class that day, and he drummed his fingers on his desk, awaiting his test results. Mrs. Garlow met his eyes briefly as she walked between the rows of desks. Raising an eyebrow, she frowned as she reached Finn's desk, placing his paper in front of him. Face down. Well, at least she had some decorum and wasn't going to highlight his ineptitude for math in front of the whole class. Sighing, he flicked the corner, and his suspicions were confirmed as the large, red mark met his eyes like a particularly stubborn stain.

59. Not even a D minus, this time.

As everyone else giggled and made their way out of the classroom, discussing how awful their Bs were, Finn strode over to his teacher's desk. Mrs. G had suffered his company for a year now, and knew his incapability far too well.

"Um, can I retake? If I don't pull a C in this class, it's... it's not gonna look good on my transcript."

His teacher merely sighed at him. "Look, Finn. This is your third time here, including summer school, and I don't think you're going to pass. Perhaps college just isn't for you?"

"But the other guys on the team, they... look. I'll study extra hard. I'll double my tutoring. You don't get it, I have to do this!"

She merely shook her head and sat down. "None of the other guys on the team are failing, Finn." She paused, eyeing his twitching hands with suspicion. "And don't take it out on the chair. Coach Beiste isn't like the other coaches we've had at McKinley, and gave me strict orders not to give any leniency to any of her players. Quite rightly, too. There's more to life than being a Buckeye, you know."

"No!" He shook his head. "No. I'm not getting anyone's sympathy. I don't want college football; I'd never be smart enough for OSU. I wanna go to Kent State, and there's this scholarship I'm trying to shoot for, but unless I bring my GPA up, it's pretty much hopeless."

"Okay," she said, and Finn realized she was chewing her pen, like she actually cared or something. "Wait. Mr. Schuester's told me what you do in that glee club of yours, and you're a hard worker when you put your mind to it. I don't want to offend you, but have you ever been tested for dyscalculia, Finn?"

He looked down at his crotch suspiciously. "Dys what? No. No, I've always been... uh safe. And isn't it kind of inappropriate for my math teacher to be asking me that? No offense."

"No, Finn," she replied, Finn grateful for the kindness in her eyes because she had to have found that funny, but it wasn't reflected on her face. "It's a math disability. A little like dyslexia, only with numbers, not words."

"I don't have a disability. I'm just. Well, dumb." He shrugged, and held his test out in front of him with a nod. "Case in point."

"You most certainly aren't stupid, but you should make an appointment to see Ms. Pillsbury."

"What if I do have this... thing. Isn't that gonna... make any college want me even less?"

She smiled at him. "Far from it, Finn; it's a legitimate problem, and some colleges are incredibly accommodating and waive your math requirement, especially those offering two-year programs. I'm sorry nobody suggested this sooner, but hey, maybe it's not too late to get you on the Great White Way with that sweet little girlfriend and brother of yours, right?"

"You can actually be bad at math? Like, in your genes, bad? Cool." He smiled, feeling relief wash over him, still wondering what the Great White Way was and not wanting to correct her assumptions. It seemed like all the teachers knew his... business. Didn't they have anything better to talk about? In Lima, he supposed not, and that was just one more reason why he had to get away from the place. "So I can ditch the tutor?"

"Wait until the test results come back before you crack open the champagne, Finn," she said with a shake of her head.

"Awesome! Have a great Christmas, Mrs. G!" He rummaged in his bag, placing an apple on her desk and left the room with a smile and a wave, all but bouncing on his feet. Apples were awesome, and it seemed like the right thing to do. He'd appreciate that, if he were a teacher. Teachers and authority figures always seemed to like him, too. Hey, coaching or something might suit him, maybe that was a thought if he really couldn't do physical therapy without math? It would beat sitting behind a desk all day.

Hm. He'd appreciate an apple right now, or maybe a grilled cheese, Kurt could maybe -

Finn froze. The first thing he registered was the cold, clammy feeling of sticky red liquid hitting his face from all sides, the spray forceful enough to knock him off his feet. Pasta sauce. He'd been sprayed with freaking pasta sauce, and as he tried to rub the peppery liquid away from his stinging eyes, he realized he would never complain about slushies again.

"Enjoy your trip to Italy? Hope your fairy bread of a brother has the tide stick ready!"

Azimio? Williams? Gacy? Through his bleary eyes, he couldn't quite tell, but whoever had done this would be dead.

"Three bean soup's on the menu for tomorrow," a female voice, bright and airy but edged with malice, called out. It almost sounded like Quinn, and through his squint, Finn saw a cottony flick of blonde hair and an umbrella-like skirt hitting just below the knee. "Not your usual Triple Whopper, but perhaps it's time to start dieting and stop living, Hudson."

Quinn wouldn't. Would she? Oh, God. Maybe the onslaught of food was making him hallucinate.

Standing up, he heard laughter echo around him as he fell back down on his ass. Coughing, he sprayed sauce from his mouth, probably looking like some crude parody of a beached whale. He groaned again, hearing the whirr and click of phone cameras around him. So much for the kiss that missed being his most embarrassing moment of High School; he had the feeling this would be the first of many such attacks, and that he was going to spend the rest of his Senior year being used as a human lunch tray and potentially getting his fifteen minutes of fame as one of those Internet jokes.

Trust him to be so stupid he couldn't even put two and two together. Oh, no, wait. He literally couldn't put two and two together. He was a loser, he wasn't going to get into college, he was falling for his own brother and he'd caught a ride with Kurt that morning and Kurt had probably left without him, too. What was that word they said in chemistry? The one Kurt had taught him for his SATs? Entropy. The more things came together, the more they fell apart. Sometimes, he was grateful his vocabulary had widened due to Kurt's influence, although really, he could sum up his Senior year in a single sentence: nothing was coming together at all, except for the fact he was slowly becoming McKinley High's favorite punchline. Sighing, he stood up, trying not to slip over his tomatoey feet, and plodded down the hallway to find Kurt, the slop and squelch and shame of his messy red footprints trailing behind him.