Kurt blew his nose into a tissue for the fifteenth time, rubbing at it, nose already a bright shade of red from having been crying for the better part of the past hour. He sniffed, smiling sadly up at Rachel, “Thank you,” he said quietly, voice coming out rather nasally.

Rachel pressed her lips together and reached over to rub his back a little. “It’ll be okay,” she told him again, her voice filled with pity. He knew he was a mess right now, and would have been more embarrassed about it if he weren’t so distraught.

“I just wasn’t expecting—he wasn’t like that,” he kept muttering under his breath, as Rachel patted his shoulder. “I don’t understand why he’s acting like this.”

Mercedes looked up from where she’d been texting somebody to give him a once over. After the fiasco at the parking lot, Rachel had invited him to the sleepover they were having at her house later on, and he’d agreed, mostly out of self-pity and under the promise of watching Evita. He was slumped on a pink armchair next to a window, a growing pile of tissues on the table next to him and Rachel to his side, handing more to him as he needed them.

“Don’t worry,” she finally told him, as if making her resolve. “You’ll get over him. Blaine Anderson isn’t somebody you want to pine after. Trust me. I know him.”

Kurt nodded a little, even though he wanted to shake his head, whine, and protest that she didn’t know him. That he knew Blaine and it was the boy he’d fallen in love with over the summer. Not this fake, horrible thing that had greeted him tonight. “Thank you, Rachel,” he offered again with a soft smile.

Quinn came through the door at that moment, clad in only a black slip, her pink hair clashing horribly with the rest of the room, not that he was going to point that out either, and smirked at him. He wanted to slap her. She’d known. “You’re better off,” Quinn called over her shoulder at him. “He’s not worth anybody’s time.”

Brittany, who had been trying on different wigs in front of a mirror, and was currently wearing a pair of mouse ears, turned around in her chair to stare at Quinn. “Wait, but I thought he was your boyfriend before.”

The glare she received could have set a forest on fire, and Kurt cocked an eyebrow, narrowing his eyes slightly as he turned his gaze back on Quinn. Mercedes had stopped texting but wasn’t looking up, as if waiting to listen to Quinn’s response.

“I thought we’d agreed not to talk about that, Brittany,” she replied, false sweetness trailing in her voice.

Rachel looked torn and muttered something under her breath before disappearing into the bathroom. Kurt, however, took a deep breath. “But Blaine’s gay,” he pointed out quietly, looking at Quinn curiously.

She snapped her face to look at him. “Yes, he realized that last year.”

“Quinn wanted to have sex with him but he couldn’t get it up,” Brittany supplied helpfully, nodding at Kurt. “They were together for almost a year before that.”

“Brittany!” Quinn exclaimed, her face flushed and obviously embarrassed. “Private information? Don’t just go around sharing those kinds of things! Jesus!”

Kurt sniffed back a little through a small chuckle, shaking his head and trying to ignore the painful jolt he felt at the thought of Blaine doing anything like that with someone else. “Quinn, it’s okay,” he said softly, smiling tentatively at her, even as she fell back against the large bed in the middle and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, sticking one in her mouth. “These things happen. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

She didn’t even look up at him. “Shut up, Hummel, before I change my mind on whether I want you hanging out with us or not,” she grumbled, sighing and stretching her hand out to him, sitting up against the headboard, “Cigarette?”

He opened and closed his mouth, shaking his head. “N-no, thank you. I don’t smoke.”

Quinn looked at him like she was trying to figure out if he was human. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she laughed quietly. “Smoking is the reason people stand school. Come on, just have one.”

“I really don’t think—“

“Are you really such a prude, Kurt?”

Stopping mid-sentence, Kurt eyed the packet of cigarettes almost as if it was teasing him and pressed his lips together before he reached out and took one, letting Quinn light it for him before nearing it to his lips, ignoring the way his stomach flipped nervously. “Just take a drag,” Quinn told him from off to his left, and taking a deep breath, Kurt placed it between his lips and inhaled.

Smoke filled his mouth and throat and suddenly he couldn’t breathe and his eyes teared up as he choked, coughing and all but spitting the cigarette onto his hand, holding it away from his face as he kept coughing.

“Whoops,” Quinn mumbled, “Forgot to mention you have to draw back so that doesn’t happen.”

Rachel emerged from the bathroom at that moment, and bit her lip as she watched Kurt cough on cigarette smoke. “Are you okay?” she asked, somewhat nervously.

Kurt swallowed, fighting back the annoyance at Quinn and everything and took a deep breath, still feeling an acrid, rough taste in his throat that he tried to swallow back as well as he nodded and stood up. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m—I’m not feeling too well, to be honest. Can I use your bathroom?”

Rachel nodded again and stepped aside, allowing Kurt to fall into it, closing the door behind him and sighing deeply. The mirror over the sink seemed to taunt him; he didn’t belong here. Dressed in his Marc Jacobs dark blue silk pajamas, hair neatly combed over his forehead, pale, and eyes red from having been crying and choking. He dropped his gaze from the mirror.

In the bedroom, Quinn had wrapped one of Kurt’s scarves around her neck and was kneeling on the bed in front of the other three girls. “Look at me,” she taunted, voice forcibly high pitched and pushing her fingertip against the tip of her nose upwards. “I’m Kurt and I don’t smoke and I don’t drink and I’m a widdle-dee little virgin who can’t handle a real man.”

Mercedes snickered off to a side and Rachel pressed her lips together. “Quinn…” she sighed. The other girl jumped off the bed and pouted at her. “What?” she taunted, “Defending his honor? He’s doing a very good job of that himself, honey.”

She smirked to herself and dabbed some lipstick onto her mouth, voice still forcibly high. “And look at that! I just have to put some lipstick on and I’m already a girl,” she laughed, batting her eyelashes at Rachel. “No wonder Blaine Anderson got over me so fast.”

Brittany laughed at that, and Rachel hung to a side, as if unsure whether she should be laughing or not. “I’m from New York!” Quinn cried out, flipping the scarf over her shoulder. “That’s not how we do things in the big city!”

Kurt cracked open the bathroom door. Having heard his name, he’d pressed his ear to the door and listened in. His throat felt uncomfortably tight and embarrassment burned fierce, blood pounding in his ears as he peered out to see Quinn prancing around Brittany wearing one of his scarves. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out.

“Quinn,” Rachel warned, and the pink-haired girl stopped, turning around to look up at Kurt, and set her jaw straight. “What?” she asked him, voice going back to normal.

Swallowing, Kurt carefully picked up his iPod and headphones from a bedside table and walked over to Quinn, heart beating in his chest. “That’s not how I wear scarves,” he said quietly, reaching up and arranging it properly around her neck before he stepped aside—“Excuse me”—and left the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

-------

The leering started as soon as Kurt turned around.

Blaine was still staring off after his figure when Puck jumped on him from behind, patting his back roughly. “Dude,” he emphasized, nodding after Kurt. “The fuck, man? Was that him? Why didn’t you invite him over? You could have had another summer night in the back of your car.”

They all laughed, except for Finn, who was looking back and forth from Kurt leaving and Blaine’s guilty expression. “Kurt!?” he asked him, moving around him to shove at Blaine’s shoulder a little. “Are you kidding me?”

That snapped Blaine out of it, at least for the moment, and he glared up at Finn. “What, Hudson? Not good enough for you?” he snapped, shouldering his leather jacket and turning around to walk back to his car, suddenly pissed off.

“No.” Finn was right on his tail, “He’s the son of the guy my mom’s been dating all summer. I can’t believe you didn’t tell us his name. I knew he was here the whole time.”

Blaine stopped and turned to stare at him, clenching his jaw, his stomach lifting a little that Finn wasn’t berating him for it or anything. Then he caught a glimpse of Puck’s eyes over Finn’s shoulder and he shrugged. “Don’t care,” he muttered. “I said we were through.”

And with that, he unlocked his car, stepped into the driver’s seat, and closed the door behind him, sighing out.

The flash of pain, disappointment, betrayal on Kurt’s eyes danced behind his eyelids, and he wanted to beat himself up. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t know what had come over him. He had a reputation to maintain. Had to be cool in front of his friends. He hated the word. He hated the implications, and the fact that it made him phony.

But it was true.

And now Kurt probably never wanted to talk to him again.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath, slamming the heel of his hand against the steering wheel and starting the car. Blaine backed out off the grass and was about to drive off when Puck jumped over to rap at the passenger side window. Feeling irrational anger towards his friend, Blaine considered driving off, but rolled it down instead, raising his eyebrows at him.

Puck frowned. “You okay, man? Listen, if I was out of line…” he trailed off, as if unsure what to say, and ran his hand through his Mohawk.

“It’s cool,” Blaine said quickly, shrugging it off, “Like I said, I don’t care.”

“Right,” Puck nodded, and tapped his palms against the edge of Blaine’s door. “Well, hey, man. We’re heading to Fabray’s right now. The Skanks are having a sleepover there and…” he smirked at him and wiggled his eyebrows. “You know what that means.”

Blaine resisted the urge to roll his eyes and smirked back, “Lingerie and boobs. Sounds fascinating to me, Puckerman.”

“Come on, Anderson That Kurt dude’s gonna be there.” Behind Puck, the rest of the girls were leaving as well; Rachel had followed Kurt out immediately, so Finn was hanging awkwardly next to Mike, attempting to chat up Brittany Pierce, and Artie was wheeling himself over.

He hated the fact that he already knew his answer as soon as Puck’s words were out of his mouth. He forced a sigh to come out of his mouth anyway. “Get on your bike, jackass, I’ll back you.”

Puck grinned at him and tapped the hood of his car as he jumped over and slid across it towards his motorbike, yelling at the rest of the guys to come on before he roared the engine to life and sped out of the parking lot, Blaine at his heels.

They took a detour to a gas station so they’d give the girls time to get there and settle down, and hopped off their respective vehicles to buy some cigarettes. Mike slung an arm around Blaine’s shoulders as they got their purchases. “You gotta share, dude. I thought your loverboy had gone back to New York?”

Blaine shrugged him off. “Did it look like I managed to gather that information back then, Chang?” he muttered, his mouth wrapped around a cigarette, tilting his face over to Puck so he could light it for him. He took a drag and dangled it from the tips of his fingers.

“His dad opened up a business,” Finn spoke up from beside them, leaning against the shop store and grabbing a cigarette for himself, all of them blatantly ignoring the ‘no smoking’ signs everywhere, “Car shop. My mom still thinks he stayed because of her, though.”

“What?” Artie asked, shrugging his leather jacket off and slinging it around the back of his wheelchair. “They married, or what? I thought your mom was single.”

Puck snorted. “Bet you knew all about that, didn’t you, Abrams?” he snickered, and even Blaine had to smirk behind his cloud of smoke. Artie rolled himself into Puck’s knee. “Fuck, ow.”

Finn looked disturbed, and glanced at his watch. “Ready to go?” he looked around them, a slightly hopeful expression on his face.

“Why, you can’t keep it in your pants any longer?” Blaine muttered, inhaling some more smoke and blowing it out through his lips to the side. “Not like Berry’s gonna let it get anywhere near her,” he added, causing Puck to snicker.

“Shut up,” Finn muttered. “She’s not a prude.”

“Is that why she’s a virgin, then?” Mike piped up, backing off the sidewalk with a grin, so Finn wouldn’t whack him on the face.

“She’s not,” Finn returned, a touch bitterly, mostly embarrassed, as his face burned bright red. “St. James nailed her last year.”

Puck raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. After a while of silence, in which each of them minded their own business, he pushed off the wall and tossed the butt of his cigarette on the ground, stepping on it and making his way over to his motorcycle. “Let’s go,” he announced.