"Sebastian!" Karofsky called jovially, and the shooter lifted a hand from his gun and waved a little hesitantly. He'd noticed the swimmer walking up to him while he was practising, but had chosen not to be the one to initiate conversation. While he wanted to believe him when he'd apologised to Kurt, because otherwise he'd be a hypocrite, he just didn't like the man overall. He was a bit... slimy, and kind of reminded him of how he used to act, himself.

Seb squinted. Did he have a black eye? He wondered where he'd got that from.

"What's up, Seb?" Karofsky asked once he reached him, clapping him on the shoulder and grinning.

"Oh, not much. I'm just practising." He answered, having to look away from Karofsky's intense gaze. He patted his gun fondly.

"Nice." The swimmer frowned at the weapon. "It's beautiful. I've always wanted to know how those guns work..." The statement was blatantly leading, and Seb knew it, but he failed to care. He knew that his face lit up almost embarrassingly like a child's as he gripped his gun and lifted it up. He just really freaking loved guns.

"Well I guess I'll just have to show you!"

"Wow! Thanks, Seb." Karofsky smiled, and Seb pointed to the shiny metal.

"Okay, so this is where you put your shells. Shells are filled with ball bearings, which scatter when you shoot." He looked to Karofsky to see if he understood, and the Olympian nodded, still staring fixedly at the gun with a serious expression. "When you pull the trigger, the pin hits the back of the shell," He picked up one of his shells and turned it so the bottom showed. "At this part," he tapped the middle of the metal disc at the back. "Which is sort of like a button. It compresses the gunpowder and causes a chemical reaction, which blows the shell out."

"Oh. I always thought that there was a spark?" Seb smirked.

"Yeah, a lot of people do, but that's not how it works."

"Right." The swimmer looked thoughtful.

"You can get things called slugs, too," Seb continued. "Which are like just big, heavy bullets. The police and army use them to blast locks off things and stuff." Karofsky looked up at him and placed his hand over his pocket, where what looked like a box made the fabric bulge.

"What've you got there?" He asked as he pushed the shell he was holding into his gun and flipped the barrel up so it clicked into place. Karofsky looked down as if he hadn't realised he'd moved his hand, and laughed.

"Oh, just, um... nothing important, just... um, v-vitamins. To, ah, make sure I'm in good health to compete." He said it so it was almost like a question, and Seb stared at him for a few seconds before deciding to let it go. If he was taking steroids, that was his risk to take. It had nothing to do with Seb. He shrugged.

"Whatever." There was an awkward silence where both of them knew that Karofsky was lying.

"Uh, well..." Karofsky cleared his throat. "Thanks for showing me your gun, Seb. It's really awesome. I'll see you later." Karofsky patted Seb on the shoulder and lumbered away.

"Yeah, okay. Thanks." Seb watched after the swimmer thoughtfully. Yeah, he was strange, but that didn't mean he was actually a bad person.

*

"I can't believe this," A tall, dark haired man dressed in a very expensive, tailored suit, rubbed his eyes in exasperation and shook his head.

"Dad, it"s not my fault!" Blaine said, standing up. Gregory Anderson turned away, pinching between his eyes tiredly. "Anyway, I'll still fight. I can still do it." He moved to stand in front of his father and searched his face for even a flicker of pride, appreciation, or hell, even a bit of recognition that Blaine was willing to go into a fight with an injury. But Gregory just closed his eyes and refused to look at him.

"Blaine, this is your career. You can't just throw it away by getting into a petty little scrap like a fool."

"Dad. You're not listening to me! I didn't do anything! He caught me by surprise, I couldn't have stopped it." Blaine was so frustrated. His father never took any notice of what he was saying.

"You should have blocked the hit. You're an Olympic boxer, for God's sake." The businessman shook his head again and slipped a Blackberry out of his pocket and started typing.

"I thought you didn't condone that fight." Blaine said incredulously, desperately wanting his father to just look at him while they were talking for once. The older man sighed.

"Of course I don't. You've just proved everything that I already knew. You're a disappointment and you're irresponsible." Blaine just stared at him in shock as he kept typing.

"Dad, I-"

"I need to go, Blaine. You can still compete tomorrow if you want, but there's no chance that you're going to win gold now, with that rib. Not that you had one in the first place. You never work hard enough." Gregory just glanced up once then turned away, still typing, still ignoring his son.

Blaine stood still, watching his father walk away then sat down again on the bench, dipping his head and raising his hands to catch it.

"Blaine?" He didn't look up at Kurt's voice, just tensed his shoulders and squeezed his eyes closed. He didn't want to talk to anyone; not even kurt. Especially not Kurt. He didn't want him to see him like this; so upset because of something so stupid.

"Blaine, come on, talk to me." Kurt placed his hand on his back, and he shuddered at the contact. That was when his walls broke. He just couldn't keep it all in anymore. His shoulders shook as he sobbed, and when he heard Kurt sit on the bench next to him and put his arm around him, he leant into his warm, toned chest and let his anguish loose.

Kurt just let him cry; rubbing small circles into his side and saying nothing. Waiting for him.

"I'm not good enough." Blaine hiccuped, surprising himself. He never spoke about his father. "I'll never be good enough."

"You're good enough for me," Kurt whispered. "You're more than just ‘good', though. You're brilliant. Okay? You're fantastic, and you can't let him make you think otherwise."

And that was the moment, as Blaine nodded, that he realised. He loved Kurt. He was in love.

*

"Calm down, Hummel." Santana snapped at him as they sat in their seats for the boxing final. Kurt sighed and stopped fidgeting with his bag.

"I'm just... worried. I know he can win this, but... what if he doesn't? With his rib?" Santana's expression softened and she took his hand.

"You really like him, don't you?" She asked, smiling faintly. He opened his mouth to deny it, but she raised her perfectly plucked eyebrow at him and he looked down at their hands instead.

"I... y-yeah. I think I do."

*

"Hey, Nick," Seb called to his friend, frantically throwing things around the room, searching. "Have you seen my gun?"

A dark-haired boy came around the corner and frowned.

"Your gun? Seb, that's meant to be locked up." The shooter looked up with a deathly glare.

"It was. I was wondering if anyone took it out."

"Why would they? Maybe you forgot to put it back." Seb flung open a locker.

"I wouldn't forget about my gun, Nick."

*

"...and young Blaine Anderson, favoured for gold this year at only 18, is simply dominating this fight. French boxer Martin Le Noir is no match for Anderson, but this is no surprise. Anderson has positively powered through the qualification fights and has shown no signs of slowing down or tiring. He really is something. I've never seen a boxer like him. Okay and now the break is over - Le Noir just throwing himself into the fight now, trying to get in as many body shots as he can to weaken Anderson, but Anderson is very good at blocking the blows. And now he launches his own attack on Le Noir! Oh, he has got some force behind his fists. Le Noir just seems dazed every time he lets Anderson land a blow. And they've locked together! If he wants to do well in this fight, Le Noir really needs to break it. Oh! It looks like- yes, that was a rib shot, and Anderson looks like he's in pain. He has been defending his right ribs very fiercely this match, but I can't recall if he was injured in any of his previous fights... but now he's recovered! He just looks angry now, but even rage doesn't seem to bring his skill down at all. He's just as quick and deft as usual. Wow, and that was one powerful right hook! Le Noir is swaying on his feet and looks barely conscious! AND THERE'S THE BELL! Oh, heaven, this was a truly historical fight. Le Noir has lost and he knows it. Blaine Anderson, of America, takes the gold! I can't believe I've just witnessed something so amazing. Anderson really is something to behold. One of the most talented boxers in the world. He's incredible. Just wow. And- oh, who's that? That's... Kurt Hummel! American gold medallist in gymnastics! And, yes, they're hugging. That's wonderful. Could it be that Anderson has not only won a gold medal, but also a heart? It seems as if this could be the case because they look like they are going in for a kiss- OH MY GOD! WHAT- WHAT HAPPENED? ANDERSON IS ON THE FLOOR- THERE'S BLOOD. MY GOD, HE'S BEEN SHOT AND... THAT'S DAVID KAROFSKY! HE HAS A GUN AND HE'S JUST... MEDICS! GET THE MEDICS! WHERE ON EARTH IS THE SECURITY? TURN THE- SHUT THE CAMERA OFF! WE CAN'T SHOW THIS, TURN IT OFF! OH MY GOD-"