Title: Mourir pour la danse

Author: L3af Con3yb3ar

Rating: M

Warnings: AU, OOC, Explicit Sexual Content, Dub-Con, Crude Language, Cross-dressing, Eating Disorders, Graphic Violence, Character Deaths

Characters: Kurt Hummel, Noah Puckerman, Blaine Anderson, Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson, Jesse St. James, Mike Chang, and others

Disclaimer: I do not own Black Swan, Glee, Swan Lake, or anything affiliated.

Part Two

Kurt stood in front of the bathroom mirror, now clothed in sweats, his hair still wet. A thought struck him. He entered his bedroom and zipped open his bag, pulling out the small tube of lipstick he'd taken from Rachel's dressing room the day before. He closed his eyes before putting it back. Don't be an idiot. Then he thought about Jesse. Puck more than likely chose him because the guy practically oozed sex-appeal.

He had always thought he wasn't attractive. His skin was too pale, he was smaller than most, with an awkward smile. The only time he felt beautiful was when he danced. Imagine what it did to his self-esteem when people criticized him for it.

Perhaps the makeup could help him. What exactly did he have to lose?

He took the tube out of the bag again before going back into the bathroom and shutting the door.

Finn stood at the stove, wearing an old t-shirt with his high-school's mascot and jeans. The bacon in the pan sizzled and he flipped them over. Kurt entered and took a seat at the table. "Are you feeling better this morning?" Finn turned at the sound of the chair scraping the hardwood floor, and then did a double-take. He noticed the heavy make-up applied to his brother's face. "What is that?"

Kurt looked down, "Make-up," he figured it was too much, as he wasn't a regular wearer.

"I know what it is," an annoyed Finn continued, "Why are you wearing it?"

Kurt shrugged, "I just wanted to."

"Uh-huh." Finn stared at him, suspiciously. Kurt fidgeted.

So, he knew he was lying. His brother wasn't stupid. He might have been a little slow—because who in their right mind would pray to a sandwich or believe that hot-tub water makes sperm swim faster? But, honestly, Finn wasn't a complete idiot.

"I like it, Finn."

"Okay."

He hates it, Kurt thought. "Is that all you have to cook? Bacon?" Finn said nothing, sprinkling salt on the fried food. Kurt sighed and rose from the table, maybe he'd pick up a light breakfast on the way to the theatre. "Go food-shopping later, I want asparagus for dinner."

Finn sighed, "I'll be busy. I have an interview later."

"Oh," Kurt padded into the hallway toward his bedroom, "I'm going to go get ready."

Kurt approached the door, hesitant to knock below Puck's name-plate on the chipped paint. He took a step back before smoothing out his clothing and brushing some hair behind his ear.

You can do this.

He stepped up to the door and raised a hand to knock. Some muffled shouting from the other side kept him from doing it. He pressed an ear to the door.

"…for fuck's sake!"

Kurt quickly backed away, afraid to interrupt. He wrung his hands a bit before leaning against the other wall. He decided that he didn't want to add any more drama to Puck and Rachel's…whatever was going on between them…by barging in on one of their arguments.

"No, get away the hell away from me—don't you fucking touch me!" The door swung open to reveal a furious Rachel while Puck stood a ways behind her, back turned to them. She flinched when her eyes landed on Kurt's form. "What are you doing here?" she folded her arms, blocking the doorway.

"Hi, Rachel," the brunet said, timidly. Why, all of a sudden, was she turning on him now? And why was he afraid to stand up to her?

"I said: what are you doing here?" she repeated, her voice rising a little.

"I-," Kurt stuttered, "I only wanted to talk to him about something." At least he was being honest.

Rachel stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. "Talk to him about what?" Puck approached her from behind, finally noticing the person she was speaking to.

A petrified Kurt gulped and opened his mouth, carefully choosing his words, before Puck spoke up for him. "Ah, my little white swan," he smirked, "Come in." Rachel turned to him, her eyes bulging and her mouth wide open. She looked back at Kurt, puzzled. Before she could shout at Puck, however, he was already at his desk inside, back turned to them. Kurt bravely stepped forward and tried to squeeze past her.

"Excuse me." Rachel didn't move as she stared at him, betrayed. Kurt glanced back at her. "I'll see you later, okay?"

She said nothing as Puck shut the door on her.

Kurt flinched a bit, staring up at the slightly-buff ballet director. He looked around the small, dark but cozy area. There was a desk, a small couch, and posters from various productions lining the walls. He still felt very small and awkward in the middle of it as Puck sat down and lit a cigarette. Kurt exhaled when Puck finally looked at him. "If now's not a good time…"

"Now's a perfect time," Puck said, "Go ahead."

Courageously, Kurt took another deep breath and continued speaking, his hands behind his back. "I just wanted to tell you…" he paused with his voice shaking a little, "That I practiced the coda last night." There. "And I did it. I finished."

No response.

"I thought you should know."

Puck took a drag of his cigarette, "So?" Kurt's heart dropped, "Every dancer in this company could do the coda with a little practice."

"Yes, but—

"Technique is just technique," Puck interrupted. He blew a puff of smoke and Kurt struggled not to cough. "It's safe. You don't take any risks and it makes your dancing…" He turned to a poster on the wall of Rachel and took another drag, "Frigid."

That stung. "Okay."

"Honestly, Kurt, I don't care about your technique. You should know that by now."

"But yesterday you—

Puck watched him and Kurt felt even smaller under his gaze. "So?"

"So, uhm…" Kurt paused. This was stupid. "I'm really sorry for bothering you. I just thought-

"Yes, well, I've already chosen Jesse."

Shit. "Oh."

Puck shrugged, finally putting his cigarette out in the ash-tray on his desk. His eyes continued to bore into Kurt's, who's immediately snapped toward the door.

As he moved from his spot, "Well, thank you," his hand reached out to open the door but he stopped and turned back to the older man. "I'm really sorry about Rachel."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean," Kurt stopped and quickly tried to recover, "I mean I'm sorry you two are having troubles."

"Is that so?"

"Yes! She's my best friend—my only friend, really—and I know she can be a bit stuck up," he continued to ramble as Puck watched him, steadily, amused to see where this was going, "And I know it's really none of my business but don't hold it against her…"

Puck said nothing.

Kurt continued, "She's just ready for things to get more serious between the two of you," he laughed a little, unsure if this was helping or hurting Rachel's cause, "I mean, she's not getting any younger. She is about to turn thirty-three—

"You're right," Puck interjected, raising an eyebrow, "It's none of your business."

"Of course," Kurt nodded, "I'm sorry." He turned to leave again, opening the door. A hand shot out to slam it back and grab Kurt's upper-arm, startling the younger man.

"Wha—

"You've been here for four years, bringing me little gifts, and you've hardly ever said a word."

Kurt looked down at the hand gripping his arm, gently trying to pull himself away, "I know."

"I thought you were a nice, sweet little boy—now I see the other side."

"What?"

"What are you doing here?" Puck asked, his grip tightening, "Why did you come in today?"

Kurt used both hands to gently try to push him away. "You know why."

"I know why," Puck said, grabbing his other arm, "I want to hear you say it."

Kurt stared into hazel eyes and took a deep breath, "I want to be Odette."

"You must have thought it was possible. Otherwise, why bother getting yourself all dolled up?" Puck said, amused at the makeup on Kurt's face, which the dancer had long-forgotten about. He brought the smaller man closer, "You're just going after the part?"

"Yes."

With a sigh, Puck released him and returned to his desk, sitting on top of it. "The truth is, when I look at you, all I see is the white swan," he moved some papers on his desk, "Yes, you're beautiful…fearful…fragile… But Odile? It's a hard fucking job to dance both."

"I can dance the black swan too."

Puck scoffed, "Really?"

Kurt stared at him, bracing himself for the criticism.

"In four years, every time you dance, I've seen you obsess, trying to get each and every move perfect," he paused, "But in those four years, I've never seen you lose yourself."

"I know."

"All of that discipline for what?"

Kurt tried to swallow the lump in his throat. If he didn't get out of here now, he'd surely lose himself in front of Puck. He wiped his eyes, catching a tear before it could fall and his voice hitched, "I just want to be perfect."

Annoyed at how softly he was speaking, "You what?"

"I want… to be perfect!" Kurt repeated, with more conviction in his tone.

Puck stood up and grinned, "Perfection isn't just about control," he said approaching Kurt, "It's also about letting go, surprising yourself so that you can surprise the audience. And let me tell you something: very few people have it in them." Kurt squeaked when Puck pushed him back against the door, rough hands gripping onto him. The older man loomed over him with a somewhat predatory look in his eyes, a shark ready to feast on a baby penguin.

"What are you doing?"

"Are you…afraid of me?"

"Noah, I'm sorry if I overstepped my—

"Are you afraid of me?"

"I shouldn't have said—

"What are you so scared of?"

"Nothing, I just—

Puck grabbed the back of his hair and Kurt hissed, his entire body stiffening as fear flashed in his eyes. Puck kissed his forehead, "This?" Kurt shook his head, his hands balling into fists, "Or this?" Puck attacked his mouth. His eyes widened when he felt Puck's tongue slip past his lips and flick against his tongue, the stubble on his face scraping against his skin almost painfully.

He eventually closed his eyes and melted into the kiss, his free hand raised slightly, unsure…eventually resting it on Puck's shoulder. He sensually gripped his director's shirt, moaning with need into the kiss.

Puck moved his hand from Kurt's arm and rested it on his back, his other hand moving to stroke Kurt's locks. Suddenly, the other man's eyes snapped open and Puck jolted backwards, his hand flying up to his mouth. "Ow!"

Kurt watched him, immediately regretting it.

"You bit me!"

"Oh, god," Kurt backed away.

"I can't believe you bit me!" Puck shouted, his finger tips pressing against the tip of his tongue where he began to bleed.

"I'm sorry!" Stunned, Kurt turned away and bolted out the door, shutting it quickly behind him.

Puck glared at that door with amusement. This wasn't over. "That fucking hurt—

Kurt sat with his back to the mirror in the large rehearsal space, his heart still racing from what had just happened. What was that? Puck fights with Rachel, insults his dancing, and then kisses him? Shortly after running away from Puck's office, Kurt ran to the nearest bathroom stall and locked himself inside, completely ashamed. Sure, he was there to simply ask for the role but did Puck think that was the way he would go about doing it? By spreading himself out on his desk like some whore and letting the brawny director take him? And then he remembered all of the clown-makeup on his face. He should have taken Finn's reaction as a warning. It was stupid.

Yes, he was desperate enough to beg for the part…but he wouldn't go as low as sleeping with the director for it. Up until an hour ago, he had never even been kissed. He'd never been on a date or asked out by a guy, much less slept with one. In Kurt's opinion, that wasn't how it worked. He wasn't Jesse, who would often brag about the hot guy he had coaxed back to his apartment the night before. He locked eyes with the other brunet, receiving a glower. Kurt looked away and fixed the leg warmers around his ankles. He wanted his first time to be with the man he loved and who loved him back. Then again, who's to say Kurt didn't want it, if the slight bulge in his sweats was anything to go by? It felt nice to be wanted by someone for once.

However, it was foolish of him to get caught up in the moment like that.

Kurt took another breath and tried not to cry again, instead focusing on lacing the satin ribbons of his pointe slippers. He began working on his stretching and warm-ups, trying not to think about Puck or the role, which he knew he'd lost.

Jesse.

He looked over at the golden boy again, seated amongst his friends, knowing the good news that was in store for him. Honestly, why did Jesse St. James get everything he could possibly want, despite his nasty attitude? He was handsome, an incredible dancer, popular, a new bed partner every night…

"What?" Jesse seethed, looking up from stretching his legs, he whispered to his friends, "God, why is he always staring at me?" Kurt flinched and looked away, trying not to draw any more attention to himself.

"I think he's obsessed with you," one of Jesse's friends piped up.

"He wants you to let him suck your dick, Jesse," the group laughed and Jesse sneered, as if repulsed by the thought of being intimate with someone like him, as if he was capable of such a thing. Intimacy.

A sudden wave of energy swept through the room as some of the dancers ran out into the hallway. "It's up!" Kurt finally noticed a pair of feet running up to him when he felt a tap on his shoulder, "Hey, the cast-list has been posted!"

Shortly, all of the dancers began leaving the room, crowding around a bulletin-board. Before Jesse could follow them, Kurt caught up and tapped him, "Hey, Jesse."

"What do you want?"

"I…" Kurt frowned, so much for doing him a favor, "I just wanted to say...congratulations. You deserved it."

Jesse stared at him for a moment, perplexed, until it finally dawned on him: He must have heard something. He smugly smiled and ran outside, leaving Kurt by himself in the room. He'd look at the cast list later. No point in rushing through a crowd to find out he'd be playing a page, again. He decided he was no longer in the mood to stay there either and moved to the corner of the space to pack up all of his belongings.

As he exited the rehearsal room, he sadly glanced at the crowd in the middle of the hallway, the gossiping dancers struggling over each other to see the list. Kurt quickly sprinted to the other side, shoving the bathroom door open and shutting it after him.

He placed his bag on the counter and turned the faucet, running his hands through the freezing water until it turned scolding hot. He splashed a bit on his face and dabbed it dry with a paper towel. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. Don't cry. He shook his head, sniffling quietly before shutting the faucet and picking up his bag. He dabbed at his eyes with the paper towel and held his head high, going back out into the hallway.

A few of the other dancers snuck glances at him when he emerged, some of them whispering. Kurt started walking the other way, unaware that Jesse had followed him, "Hey!"

Kurt turned around, surprised at his outburst. Why wasn't he rejoicing with his friends?

"Why would you say that?" His face was flushed with anger and embarrassment. Why was he getting mad? "Why the hell would you say that to me?"

"What are you talking about, Jesse?"

"Is this your idea of some sick joke, you fucking bitch?" Kurt said nothing, just staring at him.

"I thought you'd be happy!"

Jesse opened his mouth in fury, "Fuck you!" he stormed away, his face screwing up and shoulders hunched over as if he would burst into tears. Kurt watched him leave, uncertain at what just happened. A group of dancers stared at Kurt, making him feel self-conscious. First a few, then more and more of them smiled at him.

It's now or never.

Taking a deep breath, he tentatively walked up to the group, shocked as the other men and women parted like the Red Sea, allowing him to get to the bulletin board. He scanned the list, starting from the very bottom until he reached the top. He lifted a hand to his mouth, and gasped:

Odette, "The Swan Prince" / Odile, "The Black Swan"

Kurt Hummel

"Oh my god…"

"Congrats, Kurt!" He heard, "Congratulations, Kurt!" he turned around was a met with a sea of dancers, staring and beaming at him with polite smiles, envy hidden behind them. He was too stunned to reply to anyone as they kindly touched his shoulder. He couldn't even smile as he looked back at the cast-list and then the other dancers while his mouth formed a large 'O.' A few of them continued to hug him and grasp his shoulders, offering words of appraisal and approval. Others even applauded. He caught Blaine's eye as he was leaning against the wall, who gave him a closed-mouth smile and a thumbs-up sign but Kurt, too shocked to react to that, walked away from the crowd with his bag over his shoulder.

He re-entered the bathroom and slipped into a stall, closing the door after him. He let his bag fall to the floor before sobs overtook him. A hand placed over his mouth, he tried to stifle the noise. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the stall. He was consumed with so much happiness that he could barely breathe.

"I did it, daddy…" he sighed softly, "I'm going to be a star." He ran his hands through his hair and sniffled, rolled up a piece of toilet paper, and then wiped his eyes. He lifted the strap of his bag over his shoulder and opened the stall.

The sight in front of him stopped Kurt in his place. On the mirror, the words 'Filthy, fucking WHORE' were sprawled out in deep red—it looked like lipstick. Kurt rushed forward and grabbed at a bunch of paper towels to wipe out the startling, offensive words.

Kurt smiled at his name-plate tagged to the door, underneath 'Mike Chang' and above 'Dave Karofsky' and 'Matt Rutherford'. He didn't mind sharing one bit; just as long as they were a bit nicer than the soloists he spent nearly four years with. Puck grinned at him and turned the knob.

The dressing room door opened, and a large hand flipped on the light switch. "You can change in here from now on," Puck entered first, and then allowed Kurt to follow him inside.

He marveled at the site of the room. There were new mirrors, with blue satin curtains lining the walls, painted a light cream color. A sofa was on one side of the room and a large, luxurious wardrobe closet, stood next to it. He noticed that the room was a bit larger than the one for the soloists. "You're sharing with Dave, Mike, and Matt now, so be considerate."

"Oh my God," Kurt gasped, rushing up to the vanity table to set his bag down and touch the large bouquet of flowers.

Puck laughed, "Please, just 'Noah'."

"They're beautiful…" Kurt sniffed them, biting his lip, "I don't know what to say."

Puck shut the door and approached Kurt, placing his hands on either side of his hips, "You don't sound happy."

"N-no!" Kurt turned in his arms and shook his head, "They're lovely. I'm thrilled! But…"

"But?"

"You said—

"I know," Puck said, "But that doesn't matter. I came to my senses when you bit me."

Horrified, Kurt backed up until he hit the table, "Noah, I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking, I didn't—

Puck cut off his rambling by gently caressing his face. "Shhh…" he whispered as his thumb stroked Kurt's cheek, "Stop being sorry, baby…please. It showed me there was some passion in there." He kissed his forehead when Kurt nodded. "I'm taking a chance on you, my little prince."

Unsure of how to react, "I-I know…" Kurt stared into Puck's hazel eyes.

"I look at you…and I see Odette," he sighed, "And Odile…I see potential."

"I promise I won't let you down. Thank you for choosing me."

Puck kissed him again, this time, a quick peck on the lips, "Don't thank me," he whispered, "Congratulations." He pressed his lips to the young dancer's lips again, sucking on the bottom lip and pulling him closer. Rachel took this moment to stride in, purposefully interrupting them just as Kurt pulled away from Puck and crossed to the other side of the room.

"What the hell is going on in here?"

Puck glared at her, "Rachel, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, nothing. I just thought I'd pay your new precious 'little prince' a visit and personally congratulate him," she snapped in a condescending tone, glaring daggers at Kurt, who stood with his head facing the wall and his hand at his lips.

"You leave him alone, okay?" Puck said, defending him, "Don't do this now."

Rachel's face stiffened, "Oh, go to hell," she spat, storming off and slamming the door. Kurt flinched.

"Good girl! Fantastic!" Puck bellowed, sarcastically, "Well done!" He reached for Kurt's hand, "Don't you listen to her—

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, opening the door to follow her, "Excuse me."

"Kurt!"

Kurt didn't listen. All he cared about right at this moment was confronting his best friend and letting her know what was up. Was this about the role? Was it about Puck? He wasn't trying to steal either from her! She was his only friend and he didn't want to lose that. Maybe if she just listened to him, she'd understand.

He reached the end of the hallway, turning both directions before turning another corner. "Rachel!" He sprinted after her, slowing down to open the exit door she had just pushed back to slow him down. "Rachel, please!" He ran after her through the door and caught up to her in the stairwell.

She was already half a flight up before she turned around to stare angrily at him.

"Rachel, please don't be mad at me."

She turned and proceeded back up the stairs. "How could you do this to me?"

He followed her, running up two steps at a time, "I'm not doing anything!"

"Was this your plan? Fucking me over like this?"

"Rachel, no!" he panted, "I only wanted to be Odette!"

"I thought you messed up the audition," she turned around again in a huff, her face turning tomato-red, "Hmm? Is that how it works? Suddenly you're there this morning at his office for a 'private meeting,' and now you're replacing me?"

Kurt looked away, about to burst into tears at any moment, "I swear, it wasn't like that."

"Oh, yes, it is," Rachel accused, moving down the steps to tower over Kurt, "Admit it."

"Rachel, I understand that you're angry, I do," he tried to reason.

"Don't you condescend to me!"

"—but you're acting crazy! I would never intentionally try to hurt you!"

"You're lying," she said, "You're fucking him, aren't you?"

"Not all of us have to!" he immediately regretted the words when they left his lips.

Rachel opened her mouth and balled up her fist as if she was ready to strike him. "What the fuck did you just say?" she asked, venom dripping from every word, "What did you say to me you conceited, lying, backstabbing prick?"

"Nothing, I didn't say anything—I didn't mean it!"

"I don't believe you!" she screamed, her eyes bulging out of her head, "You're a two-faced loser, Kurt Hummel. Yesterday you're my friend, and today, you're what? Huh?"

"When have you ever treated me like a friend, Rachel?" Kurt shouted, gaining a backbone for probably the first time in his life, "Why can't you be happy for me?"

"Happy?"

"Yes!" Kurt stood his ground, ignoring the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes, "For once in my life, people are going to know who I am! Applaud for me! You of all people should understand how that feels."

"So, forget about me then, huh? Fuck Rachel Berry, right?" she let out a bitter, sarcastic chuckle, "Who cares what happens to me so long as you, a mediocre fucking wannabe dancer, get, what, two weeks in the spotlight? And anyway, what made you so special? If anyone could have replaced me, it should've been Jesse!."

Kurt reached out to take her hand, "Rachel, don't do this—

Rachel snatched her hand and away and began running up the stairs, ignoring Kurt's protests.

"You're being selfish!"

"FUCK YOU!"

Kurt heard the sound of a door opening and slamming before he backed up against the wall and slid down, resting his face in his hands. "Damn it…" he sighed, his breathing speeding up. He wrapped his arms around his knees and closed his eyes. "...What am I going to do?"

Kurt sat in the middle of the cart, staring down at the ground…brooding. He mulled over the encounter with Rachel, silently and unconsciously moving his lips, wishing and thinking about the things he should have said…what he shouldn't have said. L'esprit de l'escalier, the French called it. He brushed some hair out of his face and inspected his nails.

After the debacle, Kurt went back to his dressing room, completely distraught, when he met the new dancer playing Prince Siegfried—an Asian man, Mike Chang. Very warm, handsome, but not someone he saw himself dating. As if the muscular man would ever think of him as more than a potential friend. But he sat with Kurt and listened to him, unable to give advice as a few minutes later he was called into a rehearsal.

What about him, exactly, pushed people away?

Across from him, an elderly man, dressed in a suit and tie, stared at him, smiling. Kurt politely smiled back and looked elsewhere. A few minutes later, he looked back at the old man, who was now licking his lips, eying the petite dancer up and down. "Anyone ever tell you you look like a girl?" Kurt pressed his lips together and shook his head, looking at his hands folded in his lap. Don't let him bother you. He's just an old pervert. "Come home with me, beautiful," Kurt raised his head again, "I can show you a good time."

How dare he? Kurt gagged and held his breath. The nerve of this creep.

Now immensely repulsed, he grimaced and closed his eyes, opening them again to find the man rubbing his crotch, making a disgusting clicking noise with his tongue at the back of his throat. Kurt stared at him in horror, looking up at the line-route map as the train slowed to a complete stop.

"Next stop, 42nd Street/Bryant Park…"

He gasped. He was on the wrong train!

Ignoring the sick man's shouting, he bolted from his seat and squeezed past the sliding doors. "Faggot!" The doors closed on his scarf but he was able to pull it free before the train could pull off and strangle him. He waited a moment as the cart began trailing out of the station, watching the old pervert give him the middle finger through the window. Even strangers love picking on me.

He fixed the scarf, carefully wrapping it around his neck and stuffing it into the collar of his blue coat to protect himself from the chill. Rubbing his hands together, he made his way to a set of stairs, leading down into a grungy tunnel.

The thought of being the only one down here at this hour of the night absolutely petrified him. He had heard stories of people getting mugged, or worse, when their attacker felt they were most vulnerable. He quickened his pace through the tunnel, crossing toward the opposite platform. He could hear a creepy cartoonish music from up ahead echoing off of the tiled walls. He slowed down as he passed a subway musician, a keyboardist, accompanied by electric dolls, swaying and jerking and dancing to the eerie music. They didn't seem to stop as long as the music played on. Each doll had a frozen, chilling smile on its face, their painted eyes watching Kurt with a sinister expression. He began to speed up, horror-struck of being down there any longer.

His pace turned into a full-out sprint as the lights in the tunnel began shutting off, one-by-one, and the music grew louder and louder. He regretted looking back as he slammed into a tiled wall, the icy-cold porcelain stunning him for a bit. Then he realized he ran past the stairs leading up to the platform.

Now in total darkness, the music stopped playing completely. Kurt clutched his bag, shrieking a bit when a light at the other end of the tunnel switched back on. Another figure, wearing a dark-colored coat stood up ahead. Kurt cautiously took a few steps forward but froze as the sound of the other figure's shoes against the floor reverberated off of the walls. He could hear the sound of a train upstairs.

Kurt began walking at a brisk pace, eyes fixated on the figure walking toward him. The two eventually bumped shoulders, and Kurt was thrown off balance. He looked up long enough to notice that the other person…looked exactly like him!

The man quickly turned his head and stalked off into the darkness, his head held high.

Maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me.

The sound of the train stopping at the platform made Kurt jog up the steps, desperately crying out for someone to hold the doors open for him.

Kurt entered the apartment lobby, unwrapping the scarf from his neck. The doorman looked up from his newspaper and greeted him kindly, but Kurt was in no mood to acknowledge him, still angry about his fight with Rachel and still terrified at what had transpired down in that subway tunnel.

Once at his door, a few flights up, Kurt jumbled with the keys in the lock, quietly slipping inside once he unlocked it. He placed his keys into the basket and unbuttoned his coat. "Finn?"

His brother stood in the kitchen, a smile on his face. "You're late."

"The trains were running late, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he said, "I got something for you!"

Kurt raised his eyebrows, now curious, "Really?"

"Yeah!" Finn was beaming, "A gift to tell you 'congrats." You sounded like you had a tough day on the phone…and I wanted to let you know how proud I am of you." Kurt rested a hand on his heart, touched at the gesture. Finn brought a large white box from the counter and placed it on the table. He stepped aside to allow Kurt to open it. Inside was a large rectangular cake, slathered in pink frosting and pink decorative, edible flowers. A small center piece, a ballerina, stood in the middle of it. The words, 'Congrats, little bro' were written on top with a white frosting. "It's a vanilla cake with strawberry filling," Finn continued, taking a large knife from the dishwasher, "Our favorite!"

Kurt bit his lip. The last time they had this cake was at their parents' funeral. Not only that, it was literally dripping with so much sugar. He simply couldn't eat this. He'd be sick-even the sticky, sweet smell made him a little nauseous. "Finn…" his brother ignored him as he started cutting a large piece of the cake. He shook his head, "Finn, not too big,"

"What's the big deal?" Finn asked, ignoring Kurt.

"That's way, way too much!"

Finn continued to disregard him, "Come on, it's a celebration—just this once—

"Finn, please, my stomach is still in knots!"

He stopped and turned to Kurt, his eyes narrowing. "Fine," he threw the knife on to the table and slammed the box shut, "Fine!" he said, picking it up and moving toward the trash can. "Then I'll throw it out, it's garbage!"

Kurt's heart sped up and he felt terrible. "Oh, no," Rushing over to stop him, "No, wait!"

"I try to do something nice for you, like always, and this is the thanks I get?"

"I'm sorry!"

"Acting like a spoiled brat—you could at least try and be a little bit more grateful for all of the things I do for you, y'know."

Kurt nodded, "You're absolutely right," he said, trying to avoid another fight for the day, "I'm sorry…"

Finn visibly calmed down and nodded, looking the enormous cake over. "It's all that I'm asking."

"It looks so yummy…" Kurt said in a small voice, glancing up at his brother then back at the cake. "Thank you." He wrapped his arms around Finn's neck in gratitude, despite his stomach already groaning in displeasure. Finn placed the cake back on the counter and took a large scoop of frosting out with his finger. He held it out to Kurt, who forced a polite smile and sucked on the sugary icing. Finn laughed and reached for the knife, proceeding to cut a slice for the both of them…a larger slice for Kurt.

The dancer spent the rest of the night lurching into his toilet bowl.

A/N: There. Don't be too angry at me. But I have this thing where I kind of like making the characters I'm working with suffer for a while...yeah, anywho... Next chapter, we'll see Kurt having a bit more interaction with Blaine, while his relationship with Puck progresses. I'd like to thank those of you who've added me to your alert list and those who've written a review for the first chapter. I mean it, guys, your comments and suggestions help me TREMENDOUSLY.

Review, review, review! Thanks for reading! See you soon.