“More than almost anything. How did you know?”

“I’ve seen you in the auditorium a couple of times. I was trying to practise for Glee and you were in there. I didn’t want to stop you.”

“You’ve watched me perform?”

Finn rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I know it was kind of creepy.”

“No,” Rachel laughed. “No, it’s flattering, thank you.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and shifted a little closer to him on the couch. At that moment, Kurt entered the room and pushed on each of their shoulders, forcing them apart.

“No touching,” he called as he went through to the kitchen.

Finn let out a huff, but the edges of his lips were tilted up. “I’m sorry about Kurt. He’s just trying to do the right thing.”

“I know,” Rachel said, looking down at her lap. “I’m lucky that I have him to do that for me.”

“Everyone’s lucky to have Kurt,” Blaine said, walking through the door. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to tug it back into an acceptable shape. Finn raised his eyebrows at him and Blaine blushed. He gave Finn a tiny scowl and placed himself between the two of them, wiggling into the gap. Rachel huffed and shifted up to the edge of the couch, resting her elbow on the arm. Finn purposefully jostled Blaine as he shifted away.

Kurt came back, carrying a bag of potato chips, which he tossed at Finn. He paused, lips quirking up at the sight of the three of them cramped together on one piece of furniture, Blaine looking extremely pleased with himself, hair still a mess. “So, Finn,” he said, settling himself in one of the armchairs, “you’ve been watching Rachel sing?”

“It sounds so weird when you say it like that.”

“If it quacks like a duck.”

“Blaine,” Kurt warned, trying not to laugh. Rachel rolled her eyes and asked Blaine about the Warblers. Kurt watched them talk, looking ridiculous all pressed together, Blaine turning his head from side to side as if he were watching tennis to keep up with the conversation. Kurt wondered, inexplicably, where the man had sat – was it where he was sitting? Where Blaine was? He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Now was not the time to start feeling, not when everything was going as close to perfect as it could be.

“The headline for today: Congressman Wyatt died last night in what is being described as a freak accident. No exact details of the event have been released, although rumours say that a chicken was involved. Our condolences go out to his family.

Aside from curiosity, Congressman Wyatt’s death will inevitably lead to a special congressional election over the next few weeks. Already, people are talking about who will be putting themselves into the running…”

Kurt reached out to grab the remote, but Burt took it back from him, shaking his head just slightly. Kurt rolled his eyes and left his dad to it, not wanting to hear any more about Congress than he really had to; it still left a sour taste in his mouth. He pulled milk from the fridge, warming some for himself and Finn and dropping the latter mug off on his way to his room. Finn was engrossed in a video game, homework abandoned beside him with what looked suspiciously like a sombrero in one of the answer spaces, so Kurt just set it on his desk and quickly retreated.

He curled up under his covers, thumbing through Vogue and sipping at his milk occasionally. He found himself drifting more than once, letting out heavy sighs into the silence of his room. He turned on a quiet playlist and tried to concentrate on the glossy pages.

The week had been odd. Everything had been slightly tainted with what he wasn’t feeling, added to the fact that Blaine had been forced to stay late for Warblers practice more than once, meaning he left school too late to come and see Kurt. A few days without Blaine and he felt like his skin was itching, too big and too small as he sat on the couch, watching Finn and Rachel bond without bonding and feeling like a little child, left in the corner with no-one to play with. He wasn’t depressed, he was still sleeping, and his dad hadn’t noticed that anything was wrong with him. He wasn’t bad, but he felt very close to being so. Therefore, he tried to forget, because by pushing it away, maybe he could convince himself that it wasn’t there.

When his phone rang he almost fell out of bed in his enthusiasm to get to it. “Blaine.”

“Hi, Kurt.” Blaine’s voice was soft in his own bedroom as he tried not to disturb anyone else in the house. “God, I miss you.”

Kurt sighed, setting his empty mug on his bedside table and flopping back into the pillows. “The feeling is mutual, believe me. How’s the warbling going?”

“Great.” Blaine’s bed creaked. “It’s been intense, but everything’s really coming together now. I wish you could see it.”

“So do I.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for? You shouldn’t be sorry for practising.”

“No, for everything. That you can’t come to the competition, mainly. But everything.”

“Why are you sorry for things that are out of your control? You know I don’t blame you for it. I’m sad that I can’t see you perform, especially when you have a solo—”

“Two.”

Kurt laughed. “Yes, two solos. But you can give me a private performance once you’re sure Finn won’t overhear you and sell you out to the New Directions. Don’t worry about me so much.”

“Can’t help it. It comes from loving you too much.”

“Well, maybe you can show how much on Friday, hmm?”

There was the sound of shifting covers down the line. “Actually, about Friday.”

“They’re making you stay late on a Friday? That’s slave labour!”

“I – no. No, one of the guys is having a party Friday night. It’s like a bonding evening and a way to stress out Wes all rolled into one.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll cancel in a heartbeat if you want to see me.”

“No.” Kurt closed his eyes, holding his sigh in. “I wouldn’t make you do that. I shouldn’t. We’ve been here before: I’m not the only person in your life.”

“But you’re the most important one.”

Kurt couldn’t help a smile at that. “Have fun at the party, Blaine. Just make sure to tell me everything. Well, everything you remember.”

Blaine laughed then, and Kurt let the sound settle him in his bones. “I’m not going to get drunk, Kurt. I have some control.”

“I somehow doubt you know your limits.”

“What are you doing Friday night?” Kurt asked over breakfast.

Finn blinked up from his plate, pushing his hair off his forehead and frowning. He looked like he’d left half of himself in his bed, still dead to the world under the covers. “Puck’s taking me to some party. He said something about prep school boys and… girls in knee socks.”

Kurt paused with his coffee cup pressed to his lips. “What kind of prep school boys?”

Finn groaned. “I don’t know. I don’t think Puck’s actually invited, he just gatecrashes these things.”

Kurt nodded slowly, taking another sip of coffee. “Sounds thrilling.”

Finn dropped his head into his hand and continued to eat.

**

“What are you doing this weekend?”

“My parents are taking me on a Bible retreat. I know you don’t like it, but I’m actually really looking forward to it. Might meet a nice boy, don’t you think?”

**

“My dads are helping to further my emotional education by taking me to an evening of all the great Broadway love songs, complete with a Barbra Streisand lookalike. Obviously, it will be hard for me to resist taking to the stage and showing them all how it’s really done, but I will have to hold myself back. I think too many people would want to come on stage and give me a kiss on the cheek for the emotional enlightenment I have given them with the power of my voice…”

**

“Dad—”

“Kurt! Do you think Breadstix is fancy enough for me to take Carole to? I want to treat her to a date this Friday.”

“I’ve never been to Breadstix, Dad.”

“Right. I’ll ask Finn, but you can’t go wrong with Italian food, right?”

**

Kurt sat himself in front of his sewing machine with a determined expression, his fabrics box beside him. He stared at it for a few minutes before picking up one of the lengths of material and laying it across his lap. After another minute or two, he put it back in the box. He took out another one, considered it, then discarded it also. Frustrated, he lifted the box onto his desk, rifling through it in an attempt to find any form of inspiration. When his fingers scraped the bottom he let out a choked noise and shoved the box off the desk. Bright colours spilled across the floor, satin slipping over cotton to spread rainbow across the wood. He let it lie there until he couldn’t any more, and he gathered it all up in his arms. He folded everything and put it back in its rightful place, trying to make the slight shake of his fingers disappear with the practised movements.

Being lonely isn’t a weakness. He’d said it to Rachel, he could say it to himself. But what right had he to be lonely? He had people who loved him. Just because they were all going to busy at the same time and Kurt was going to be alone for one evening, didn’t mean he could decide he was lonely. That would be pathetic.

“I’m pathetic,” he whispered, hands stilled on the sides of the box.

You’re not pathetic, he heard Blaine’s voice say. You’re so strong, Kurt.

“Not strong enough to stop myself feeling lonely.” He forced himself to put the box away and stop, because he had reached the stage of talking to himself, and now he wasn’t just pathetic and lonely, he was also mad, and why would anyone want someone like that?

**

There was a knock on his door a while later. “Kurt?” Carole’s voice called from the other side.

“Come in.”

She did so, and surveyed the room from the doorway. He sighed and dragged his eyes from the ceiling to look at her. Her lips were set into a line, eyes taking in how he was sprawled across the bed with numerous failed distractions piled around him. She shut the door behind her and perched on the end of his bed. He didn’t sit up.

“Did you hear about Congressman Wyatt?”

“I saw the news report.”

“Something about a chicken,” Carole said, grinning and squeezing his leg in an attempt to tease a laugh out of him. He gave her a half-hearted smile. “Kurt, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“What’s all of this, then?” She picked up a piece of embroidery from beside his leg, and gestured with it to a line of paper girls holding hands that lay crushed by his elbow.

“I’m allowed to experiment.”

“This doesn’t look like experimenting.”

Kurt just shrugged and closed his eyes.

“Blaine’s been practising a lot this week.”

“I know.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“Every day. We’re fine Carole, please. Everything’s fine.”

“Kurt, you know I’m only looking out for you.”

“Why does everyone think I need to be coddled?” His voice was loud, almost a shout, and he quietened it immediately, pushing himself up to lean on his elbows. “I’m not a baby, Carole. I can fend for myself in the big bad world. Everyone just insists on worrying about me all the time when there’s really no need for it.”

She stroked his leg, not flinching back from his anger. “We just love you, Kurt. Worrying about you comes with that.”

“I’m not a child.”

“I know.” She gripped his leg harder. “I know, Kurt. You’re strong, and you’re brave, and you’ve been through so many things. But I still get to care about you, and I will. Don’t push us away, sweetheart.”

He flopped back onto the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. After a minute without a reply, he felt Carole get to her feet. She stroked his ankle once more and then there was the sound of her footsteps heading towards the door.

Kurt wiped the tears from his eyes a few minutes later, the warmth of her hand still a ghost on his skin.

“What are you doing with Finn?” Quinn barked, stopping by Rachel’s locker. She crossed her arms over her chest, ponytail swishing.

She’d never approached Rachel before. People never did. Rachel was surprised she even knew who she was. Quinn, Captain Q, Queen Fabray did not descend from on high to speak to unworthy mortals. She sat in her gilded throne, and threw stones. Rachel avoided crowds, so she couldn’t remember a time when she had passed Quinn Fabray in the hallway. They hadn’t taken any classes together and Rachel ate lunch under the bleachers, hiding from The Skanks behind one of the empty barrels left there after a football game, so it wasn’t like they’d had any form of contact. All the same, Rachel knew who she was. She may not have been the first, but Quinn whispered the words ‘freak’ and ‘skin disease’ along with everybody else, and people had believed her. For that, at least, Rachel had to thank her.

She turned her head over her shoulder for a second, not making eye contact, just to show that she had heard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me, Berry. Your dirty-skinned freak magic won’t work on me.” Her foot stamped on the floor and Rachel span towards her before she could grab her shoulder to do it for her. Quinn stepped closer, chin jutting forwards, and Rachel tried to melt back into the lockers. She could feel Quinn’s breath on her cheeks, and that was far too close. “I don’t know what you’re doing, hobbit, but it stops now. Do not. Touch him.”

Rachel almost laughed in her face. Oh, if only she could.

She kept silent, knowing it was best to let Quinn have her victory so she wouldn’t be hungry for more. Talking back would lead to shoving – or so Rachel had heard, although maybe she needed to have had a boob job to warrant that. The last person Rachel needed shoving her was Quinn.

Quinn stared her down for a few prolonged, dramatic seconds, seemingly trying to force her message across (as if it wasn’t clear enough). Then she whipped around, shoes squeaking on the hall floors, and stalked off. Her ponytail had slapped Rachel in the face and she had never been more grateful for dead cells in her life.

It feels good.

Kurt knew he couldn’t listen to his internal Rachel voice. That would lead to bad places, he was sure. But she had made it seem so attractive. Kurt was sick of being careful with his emotions. Months of heartbreak over Blaine had left him exhausted. Then there was the Rachel drama, the Quinn fiasco, and now his tendency towards pathetic loneliness… Kurt just wanted a break. He wanted a distraction.

He walked down a street that shouldn’t be as unfamiliar to him as it was, being in such a small town. There seemed to be a school on it which he assumed was McKinley. He couldn’t be sure.

A boy with huge shoulders, meaty hands and a Letterman jacket stomped out of the school gates. Kurt wondered why he wasn’t driving home. Suddenly, he found himself telling himself not to care. This didn’t feel like it had been set up by fate, designed so he would run into this boy, in this place, at this point in both their lives. Kurt didn’t consider that fate didn’t work that way; it didn’t decide to act on certain occasions. It was omnipresent in his life, guiding every brush of a fingertip, if he believed in it at all. He didn’t think about that. He could only see that he didn’t know this boy and he never would. It was perfect.

He sped up, wanting to reach the footballer – he recognised the Titans jacket – before he crossed the road. The larger boy glanced up at him, but his eyes didn’t linger. As Kurt drew closer, he wondered how he’d go about this. Could he just brush a fingertip against the boy’s skin? Would he notice? Kurt supposed that would have to be the way, regardless of the risks. He passed the boy and stretched out a hand, uncurling one finger.

When his fingertip was a hair’s breadth away from the other boy’s skin, too late to pull it back, Kurt panicked. What if he fell in love? What about Blaine? He could imagine Blaine’s face if he knew what Kurt was about to do. Kurt felt a sharp swoop of fear in his gut, but it was too late. His fingertips just touched the back of the footballer’s hand. It wasn’t even really a touch. The other boy didn’t notice it and kept on walking, crossing the road. But in those few following seconds that touch was everything to Kurt. He felt it in his bones as he shivered, letting the love travel into every cell.

He opened his eyes. He let out a heavy breath. Friendship. Just friendship.

Relief swept through him. He and Blaine were safe. It was just friendship. Kurt was about to turn his head to watch the boy walk away, but the Rachel in his head stopped him. He couldn’t look back. He had to walk away, let his heart break, and just feel it. That emotion had to course through him, give him something new in his life.

Kurt liked to think he was strong, but as he walked away from the boy, tears spilling out of his eyes and onto his cheeks, he knew that he was not.