"There we go. That ought to do it."

Carson turned his head, trying his best to see his back as the guy behind him put the finishing touches on the tattoo. He hoped it would look, if not exactly like the design he'd picked out, at least in the ballpark. He actually hadn't been planning a tattoo until approximately the day before, when he'd gotten stoned off his ass after a particularly hard day of work and had started absentmindedly doodling a pair of wings in the corner of his notebook. He was supposed to be studying over his notes on King Lear for a test he had coming up the following week, but after several clients in a row, all he really wanted to do was relax and not think about anything in particular. When he'd finally taken a look at the end result of his doodling, he had drawn a perfect, fluffy set of wings with a quote from the play written in neat cursive underneath.

"As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods. They kill us for their sport."

It had spoken to him. He knew better than anybody how cruel life could be to people who had been born under an unlucky star. And he'd always been kind of curious about what it would be like to have a tattoo. The guys in gay porn always had tattoos.

Fuck it, I'm an adult who can make his own decisions.

He hadn't thought much more about it after that, but sure enough, he'd found himself heading straight for the tattoo parlor after school the next day, armed with his doodle and his fake ID.

"Here," the tattoo artist said, cutting into Carson's thoughts to hand him a small hand mirror. Carson accepted it and glanced into the larger mirror in front of him, angling the smaller one so that he had an unobstructed view of his left shoulder blade. The tattoo looked almost exactly like his doodle, right down to the placement of the quote, although the font was a little loopier than his own handwriting had been. He could live with that. In fact, he almost liked it better.

"Thoughts?" asked the artist, catching Carson's eye in the mirror.

"Great job," replied Carson, nodding at him with approval. "Thanks."

"Any time, kid. Enjoy it."

"I will," Carson murmured, giving the tattoo one last glance in the mirror before the guy started applying the protective bandage over it. He felt his phone buzzing in his pocket and pulled it out, rolling his eyes at Sebastian's name at the top of the text as he paid the front desk for his tattoo.

Where are you? I'm not paying you to be late. -Sebastian

You haven't paid me at all yet, asshole. I'll be there when I'm there.- Carson

Hurry uuuuuuuup, I'm horny as fuck. -S

Did you seriously just whine in a text message? - C

Yes. You wore very tight jeans today and it's mean to make me wait. -S

Well, you're just going to have to wait a bit longer. I'll be there in a few hours. -C

Are you kidding me? That's not fair, I'm horny noooow. -S

Carson didn't dignify that with a reply. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket and took his sweet time heading over to Sebastian's neighborhood, partly because he wanted to be able to remove the bandage from his tattoo before he got there, but mostly for the pure thrill of being a dick. Sebastian often acted far too entitled for his own good, and Carson got a weird sort of satisfaction from knocking him down a peg or two every once in a while. Even if he was paying for Carson's time, and even if the sex was, generally, the best work-related sex that he'd ever gotten. Boy had bedroom skills. Not that he needed to know that.

Since he was in the vicinity, he briefly popped into the pharmacy to say hello to April and pick up some stuff he needed, secretly hoping, in spite of himself, that this would be one of those days where she took the baby in to work with her. She hadn't, and Carson was puzzled by his own disappointment. It wasn't like he really wanted to see the kid all that much, was it? Right?

He made his visit with her quick, heading over to Grandma's afterwards to wait out the rest of the time until he could take the bandage off and head for Sebastian's. He pulled his shirt down a bit and admired the tattoo one more time in his new car's rearview mirror, smiling to himself. Looks damn good. This was a good decision.

Sebastian must have been waiting at the window for him, because almost as soon as Carson had finally arrived and ascended the front steps of the house, the door was flying open and the other boy was pulling him inside, pressing him up against the wall in the foyer and attacking the side of his neck with hungry lips.

"Hold on there, Flash," Carson protested, pushing against Sebastian's chest and keeping him at arm's length as he gave him a withering look. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Tearing off your clothes first?" offered Sebastian.

Carson narrowed his eyes. "More like tearing out your wallet first."

"Ugh, can't it wait?" groaned Sebastian, trying to wiggle closer to him. "You know I'm not going to stiff you."

"Nobody is stiffing anyone in any context if money doesn't change hands in the next few minutes," replied Carson. "You know the rules."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, turning away from him and dragging him by the hand through the house and up the stairs to his bedroom.

"Stay there," he commanded, steering Carson to the corner of the room and patting him in place, as if he were a piece of furniture.

"Where the fuck am I going to go?" asked Carson, shaking his head as Sebastian rooted through his night table and came up with his wallet. He retrieved a stack of notes from inside it, which he pressed eagerly into Carson's hand before beginning to tug at the bottom of his T-shirt.

"Ok, ok, you've been paid, can we have fun now?"

"In a minute," said Carson, carefully counting the money and placing it carefully into his pocket. "Jesus, didn't your mother ever teach you patien-" His words were cut off by lips on his mouth and a hand in his hair as Sebastian's other hand made its way underneath his shirt to grope whatever he could reach, the touch of his fingers making Carson's skin break out in goosebumps despite his rapidly increasing temperature. The sudden rush of blood to his dick probably had something to do with that.

"I should punish you, you know," murmured Sebastian, pulling his lips away from Carson's and yanking on his T-shirt. He pulled it up and over his head, leaving Carson exposed as his eyes roamed hungrily over the bare skin in front of him.

"Punish me?" Carson scoffed, even as the words caused more blood to travel south to his very interested dick, which distracted him from the slight pain he'd felt at the site of his new tattoo when his shirt had been yanked off. "What are you going to do, tell my mommy I was tardy for your depraved sex session?"

"Actually," Sebastian said, pressing their bodies back together, "I was thinking more along the lines of spanking that perfectly round ass." He punctuated that sentence by reaching behind Carson and giving him a light but firm swat on his denim-clad ass, and Carson shivered in spite of himself as he blinked at him.

"You want to spank me?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm," Sebastian replied, taking Carson's hands and pinning them to his sides as he put his lips back on his neck and began to suck.

"First, Nutella sex, and now you want to introduce spanking? The fuck's wrong with you?"

"Naughty boys who misbehave and make me wait," Sebastian breathed into his skin.

"Is that supposed to sound sexy?" Carson snorted. "Because it… oh," he trailed off as Sebastian's hand snaked to the front of his pants and started rubbing his hardening erection through the fabric.

"It sure as hell feels like you think it's sexy," Sebastian preened with a pompous grin.

Carson gave him the best glare he could manage, considering that he had a hand on his crotch that felt better than he would have liked. "You had spanking planned all along and were going to try to weasel your way into it whether you had a reason or not, didn't you?"

"Maybe," said Sebastian.

Carson sighed. "Fine. Whatever. The safe word is "N-netflix... oh.."

"Well damn, if I didn't know any better, I'd say I've already managed to get you going," Sebastian said proudly, squeezing at Carson's dick through his pants. "Admit it, you're thinking about me putting you over my knee and spanking that gorgeous ass until it's red."

"Jesus," Carson breathed out in a pant.

"Well, I don't really think Jesus would approve of what we're about to do, but if you want him to watch, then…."

"Oh, shut the fuck up," groaned Carson. "You're so lame."

"I think you'll be humming a different tune in a minute," Sebastian replied, taking his hands off of him and plopping himself down on the bed.. "Take off those pants and get over my lap. Now."

Carson went into performance mode almost instantaneously, scrambling to follow instructions as he unzipped his jeans, his eyes fixed on Sebastian's dark, lust filled ones as he did so.

"Leave the underwear," Sebastian ordered before Carson could pull those down as well. "Those are for me to take care of. Get over here."

Carson obeyed, crossing over to the bed and smirking down at the obvious bulge in Sebastian's own pants, which was practically straining to be released from its fabric prison.

"I think someone wants to be let out to play," he quipped, nodding down at it.

"He'll have his moment," Sebastian replied, placing his hands roughly around Carson's waist. "Get over my lap, or I'll do it for you."

"Sweet talker," said Carson as he carefully laid himself over Sebastian's knees and gripped his fingers into the bedspread. He heard a snort from above him and winced when he felt a finger tapping at his newly inked skin.

"You got a tattoo?" Sebastian asked, the amusement evident in his voice.

"Ow, yes, don't touch it, you dick," Carson grumbled, wiggling his back around until Sebastian stopped tapping it. "It's new, I just took the bandage off before I got here."

"Is this why you were late?" asked Sebastian, one hand rubbing rough circles on Carson's underwear-clad ass, with the occasional tight squeeze of one cheek.

"Maybe."

"Hmm. Made me wait and marked his pretty skin with a tattoo," Sebastian murmured as he continued touching Carson's ass. "Such a naughty boy."

"Yeah, right, like you don't think it's…. it's hot…" Carson stammered out as he felt his briefs being pulled down, exposing the naked flesh of his ass to the boy above him. He felt Sebastian's hard dick straining against him as warm hands squeezed and pulled at him, and obviously Sebastian could feel his erection on his leg, since it was no longer covered by anything.

"Whatever you do, never mark up this ass," Sebastian said thoughtfully, pulling his cheeks apart slightly to rub teasingly at Carson's hole. "It's perfect the way it is, all pale and tight and just…. fuck." He squeezed at it once more, and Carson looked over his shoulder impatiently.

"You know it isn't going to spank itself, right?"

"Look at you, so eager for it," Sebastian said in a low, gruff voice, his hands slowing to a torturously slow pace as Carson's dick throbbed with interest. "How many should I start with? Hmm? How many swats on this pretty ass?"

"I don't know, this was your idea," Carson started to reply, but the end of the sentence turned into an undignified squeak as Sebastian quickly lifted one hand and brought it down, hard, onto his bare ass.

Carson gasped and and rutted down onto Sebastian's lap as the other boy brought his hand down again, barely giving him a second in between to collect himself as he repeatedly struck down on the increasingly sensitive skin.

"Fuck," Carson moaned, sighing with relief as Sebastian paused in spanking him for a moment to rub tenderly at the abused flesh. Electricity coursed through him and straight to his dick, and he panted with pain and pleasure as he tried to gather his thoughts.

"You're doing well, for the first round," Sebastian said approvingly. "Pretty soon we'll be graduating you to hairbrushes."

"Hey, don't push your luck," Carson warned, and he gasped as Sebastian's hand came back down on his ass again, harder than before. He let out a ragged moan and keened, writhing around desperately as the other boy kept striking him. Never before in his life would he have suspected he had a spanking kink, but then again, he was discovering a lot of weird things about himself ever since he'd started engaging in regular sessions with Sebastian.

He felt one last slap against the dead center of his ass, which made him shriek, and then he felt thumbs spreading his cheeks apart.

"I wanna fuck you," Sebastian said, his voice deep and rough. "Do you want me to fuck you now?"

"Yes," Carson gasped, trying to slide off of Sebastian's lap, but a sudden, hard swat on his bare ass stopped him from doing so. "Sebastian, what the fuck?" he yelped. "You said you wanted to fuck me, not continue to hit me."

"I did, and I will, but I'm also the one who gets to decide when you leave my lap. I didn't hear you ask or say please," replied Sebastian smoothly as he reached around Carson and opened his night stand drawer.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," mumbled Carson.

"I assure you, I am not," said Sebastian gleefully.

Carson sighed. "Fine. May I leave your lap?"

"Call me sir."

"Fuck you!"

Sebastian replied by bringing his hand back down on Carson's ass, causing him to shriek.

"Ok, ok. May I leave your lap, sir? Jesus. Happy now?"

"Eh," Sebastian said noncomittally as he let Carson up. "Hands and knees on the bed. Now."

Carson scurried to obey, propping himself up on his elbows and knees as he waited for the other boy to continue. He heard the sound of Sebastian shedding the rest of his clothes and then the sound of the lube bottle being uncapped.

"Look at that pretty ass," Sebastian murmured as he circled lubricated fingers around Carson's hole. "Someone won the ass lottery. But then, Kurt isn't here, so your ass will do."

"Fuck youuuuu," groaned Carson, the last syllable dragging out into a gasp as Sebastian pressed a finger inside of him and worked it around. He quickly worked his way up to three fingers as Carson writhed, doing his best to stay on all fours even as the fingers inside of him found his magic spot and made him howl with pleasure. The fact that his ass was spanked raw and stinging somehow added to the delightfulness of it, even though he had no fucking idea why the hell that would be.

"Good boy," said Sebastian approvingly as he pulled his fingers out and Carson groaned at the loss. He didn't have much time to miss it, though, because it only took a few seconds for the blunt head of Sebastian's condom-wrapped dick to breach his entrance. He shoved himself in, a little too rough, but nothing that Carson couldn't handle, and Carson screamed out as he felt hips make contact with his sore ass, slamming against them.

"Ugh, why are you not moving?" Carson complained as Sebastian held still inside of him, the only movement he provided being a torturously slow rotation of his hips. "Fuck me!"

"You didn't say please," crowed Sebastian.

"Goddammit. PLEASE."

"That's better," said Sebastian as he pulled out and slammed back in, beginning to fuck him hard. Carson writhed on his elbows, wiggling and bucking back into Sebastian's thrusts as the other boy pounded into him again and again, his hips smacking against his ass every time and making Carson moan with pain and pleasure.

"That hurt?" asked Sebastian.

"Hurts so fucking good… oh!" Carson screeched as Sebastian delivered a particularly hard thrust. He felt Sebastian lean down, and then all of a sudden there were hands on his waist. Sebastian started snapping his hips forward against him, as if he were trying to spank Carson with them. The angle he was at meant that he was hitting Carson's prostate perfectly with every thrust, and Carson screamed himself hoarse until all he could do was gasp quietly while he got fucked.

"I shouldn't let you come, since you're such a bad boy," Sebastian said gruffly into his ear as he thrust into him. "But you took your punishment so well, I think you can have a little treat." He reached one hand in front of Carson, grabbing hold of his erection and stroking until Carson let out an almost noiseless shriek and came hard, clenching around the dick inside of him. He heard Sebastian moan and felt him quiver inside him as he reached his own climax. Carson lost the ability to stay up, collapsing onto his stomach as Sebastian's weight sagged on top of him.

"Such a good boy," he said after a moment, pulling out slowly and giving one raw cheek a small smack.

"Unngh," Carson groaned into a pillow, thoroughly exhausted.

"I'll take that as a "Oh god, Sebastian, let's do that again soon," Sebastian quipped as he removed the condom and tossed it away. "Shall we rest up beforehand?"

"Any excuse to stay in these heavenly sheets," replied Carson as he regained his ability to think. "They're half the reason I sleep with you."

"The sheets aren't paying to fuck you," said Sebastian as he crawled next to Carson and settled himself comfortably. He started trailing his fingers up and down Carson's body, drawing small circles into the skin and pausing as he reached a spot near the small of his back.

"What's this?" he asked curiously, and Carson craned his neck around to see where his fingers were.

"It's nothing," he said quickly.

"Doesn't look like nothing," said Sebastian. "It looks like a scar."

"It's probably from you," said Carson dismissively, wishing the other boy would drop the subject. He knew perfectly well what the scar looked like, and he remembered the day his father had given it to him as clear as day, when he'd discovered five year old Carson playing in his office and coloring on some important papers.

"Uh, to my knowledge, I've never whipped you," replied Sebastian. "And this looks old. Very old."

"Wow, all of a sudden I'm starving," said Carson quickly, in a tone that he hoped Sebastian would take as a hint to shut the fuck up. He got out of bed and pulled his underwear and a T-shirt on before heading out of the room, calling over his shoulder as he was retreating, "And no, I'm not cooking for you, so if you want food you get your own."

He made his way down the stairs slowly, wincing in discomfort with every step, and headed into the Smythe kitchen, intent on raiding the fridge for everything that even remotely looked edible. He sure as hell wasn't expecting to see anyone sitting at the table when he entered, but there was Mr. Smythe, his face buried in a newspaper, the pages of which he was turning calmly, even though he had to have heard everything that was going on upstairs not five minutes before.

"Oh," Carson said in surprise when he saw the unexpected occupant of the room. "I, uh…"

Mr. Smythe cleared his throat. "You're Carson," he said, his face never leaving his paper.

"Uh…. yeah," said Carson. "I was just… um… we didn't know you were home…"

"Look, um… kid, I'm perfectly aware of what my son does in his spare time," the man interrupted him in a reassuring voice. He put his paper down and locked eyes with Carson, giving him a genuine, if obviously uncomfortable, smile. "I'm not blind, I have been noticing how much more money he's spending lately. Just be grateful his mother isn't home. She's not as easy going about it, even without knowing about the payment angle."

Carson just stared for a minute, wondering how the hell he was supposed to reply to that. He never got to decide, because footsteps came bounding down the stairs and Sebastian burst into the kitchen in a frenzy, his eyes roaming from Carson to his father and back again. The fact that he was only wearing underwear made it that much more hilarious, in Carson's opinion.

"Dad!" Sebastian exclaimed. "I didn't… you… have you been home long?"

"Long enough," replied Mr. Smythe. "Honestly, Sebastian, put on some clothes. This is where we eat."

Sebastian blushed, his face turning the color of a ripe tomato, and Carson decided to make a game out of seeing how much redder he could make it.

"Sebastian, you never told me your father was so handsome," he piped up, using his best performance voice, and Sebastian's face practically started popping blood vessels as he glared at him and Mr. Smythe himself quickly glanced back down at his paper.

"Carson, don't you have a phone call you're expecting?" Sebastian asked pointedly.

"Nope," Carson replied gleefully. "Seriously, I see now where you get those delightful cheekbones."

"Carson, I swear to god.."

"So, does impressive girth run in the family, or…"

"Oh my fucking god, eeeeeeew," Sebastian protested, grabbing Carson by the shoulders and steering him out of the kitchen.

"Hey, I never got my food," protested Carson indignantly.

"We'll order pizza."

"I want extra pepperoni," said Carson. "And I want you to serve it to me in the screening room, because I'm gonna be in there for the next few hours catching up on Dexter on Netflix."

"I hate you."

"While fantasizing about your dad's-"

"SHUT UUUUP."

Carson grinned wickedly. Fucking with people was fun. And a nice distraction from the garbage heap some might call life.

Carson sat in his seat in the school auditorium, staring anxiously at the thick, red curtain that surrounded the stage as he waited for West Side Story's opening performance to begin. Around him, people were trickling into the theater one at a time, meeting up with friends and settling themselves into seats. He paid them no mind. He just wanted the play to begin already. He wasn't sure why, exactly. Sure, he usually enjoyed watching Kurt perform, but somehow, he was even more eager this time.

Maybe it was because, whenever Kurt looked at him lately, it was generally with at least a little bit of anger. Certainly not with the loving look he used to give him. And even though Carson understood why, it still hurt. And, well…. seeing Kurt on stage performing would be an opportunity to see a genuinely happy Kurt again, at least for a few hours.

"Is this seat taken?" said a voice, and Carson looked up to see Nicholas Forbes staring down at him with a look of inquiry on his face. Carson couldn't stand that guy. He thought he was hot shit just because his father was rich. Clearly, he'd never seen Sebastian's screening room.

It's too bad he's the most closeted gay who ever occupied the closet, or else I bet he'd pay top dollar.

"Well, my invisible ghost friend would probably object," replied Carson without skipping a beat.

"I… what?" asked Nicholas, confused.

Carson sighed. "Nothing. No, it's not taken."

"Great," the other boy replied. "So, you're here for your brother, huh?" he asked as he settled into the seat.

"I guess."

"I'm here because I support, the, erm… the arts," Nicholas said as he fumbled with his program. "I mean, my dad donated a lot of the money that was used to build this auditorium, so…. and also because I think it's important for those of us on the student council to support each other in our extracurriculars. Scott is a Jett, you know. I mean, according to the program."

"Yes, and I'm sure the celebratory blowjobs in your car later will be fantastic," replied Carson.

"Excuse me?"

"Honey, you're about as subtle as a flashing neon sign."

Nicholas was silent after that, for which Carson was truly grateful. At long last, the lights dimmed, the curtain opened, and the play began. And, just as Carson had suspected, Kurt's performance was flawless. His twin always lost himself in performances, but this one was just breathtakingly perfect.

I always said one of the best feelings in the world is seeing Kurt light up the stage, he thought, letting a tear roll down his cheek as he watched Kurt slay the hell out of "One Hand, One Heart" with Rachel. He didn't even notice the hours passing, but when the cast had taken their bows and the curtain had closed, Carson had to just sit for a moment, absorbing what he'd just seen.

He dared anyone to ever tell him that Kurt didn't have stage presence. Anyone.

He hung back as most of the crowd started to disperse and some of them headed backstage to give their regards to the actors. He wondered if he should go back there and tell Kurt that he was great. He wondered if Kurt could stop being pissed at him long enough to take the compliment, and maybe say a few words to him that weren't laced with irritation and spitefulness. Even a smile would light up Carson's world, honestly.

He almost didn't do it, but at the last moment he decided that he only would live once, and marched straight for the stage door. He looked around through the crowd until he spotted Kurt, sitting at a vanity table and carefully removing his stage makeup with cold cream.

"Um… hi, Kurt," he said cautiously as he approached the table. Kurt caught his eye in the mirror, and Carson had an unpleasant flashback to the last time they'd had a conversation by way of a mirror.

"Hi," Kurt replied in a monotone, and Carson breathed a sigh of relief. At least he didn't sound pissed.

"I, um…" Carson began, wondering how best to phrase what he wanted to say. He didn't realize that congratulating a wonderful performance would be so difficult, but apparently you learned something new every day. He opened his mouth to try to form words, but he was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a nervous looking boy, who was staring at Carson as though he were some kind of oddity.

"Hey, you're Carson, right?" the boy asked, and Carson groaned inwardly. Fuck's sake, now is NOT the time.

"Yes," he grumbled in response.

"Awesome. Hey, are you, um… are you free tonight?" the other boy asked in a loud whisper, and Carson wished he hadn't decided to glance at Kurt's mirror just then, because his twin's eyes were drilling holes in the glass with the sheer power of the look of hellfire he was fixing Carson with.

"I… I'm off tonight," Carson replied lamely as Kurt finished removing his makeup and slammed his cosmetics case shut with a loud clang.

"Hello, lovely," came a voice from behind them, and Kurt's face suddenly broke into a wide smile as he stood up and greeted Adam with a huge hug.

"Baaaby," he squealed as he accepted the large bouquet of flowers the older man held out to him. "Oh, they're gorgeous! Thank you! Did you like the show?"

"Loved it," Adam replied happily. "You were amazing."

"Well, obviously," said Kurt with a giggle.

"Celebration dinner?" asked Adam.

"I'd love to," Kurt said pointedly in Carson's direction as he looped his arm through Adam's and hurried away, leaving Carson alone with his gawking potential client and his crushed spirit.

"Are you free now?" the guy asked.

"No," Carson grumbled, not bothering to stick around to talk to Sebastian. He could always critique his performance the next time they had a weekend session. He was in no mood at the moment.

He drove home in silence, pulling into the driveway and sitting out there for a few moments before trudging out of the car and into the house. The house was dark inside, the only light coming from the television as it illuminated his mother's sleeping face on the couch.

Good to know she doesn't give a shit about Kurt's play, he thought angrily as he walked past her and up the stairs. He flopped down onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling, cursing the bad timing of the guy backstage and wishing he'd been faster to start telling Kurt he loved the performance. Oh, well. He supposed that Kurt would know how he felt when he read the review in the paper on Monday.

He didn't notice much time passing, but it must have, because he was suddenly startled by the sound of footsteps hurrying up the stairs, accompanied by giggles and the unmistakable sound of two people kissing sloppily.

"Your mother's asleep downstairs," Adam's voice protested, and Kurt giggled in reply.

"And my brother's in his roooom," he slurred, his drunkenness evident. "They'll… mmm… they'll hear us…. ungh, don't stop the neck thing…"

"Doesn't bother you, does it?" asked Adam.

"Nooope," said Kurt airily. "Besides, m'brother won't care…. he spends half his life on his knees anyway, sucking any cock that'll sit still for five seconds. Whole school knows it."

Carson closed his eyes as the footsteps disappeared into Kurt's room and the door shut behind them. He wasn't sure if he was pissed or just very, very sad. Probably both, if he had to guess.

Fuck you, Kurt.

He got up off the bed and crossed over to his desk, rooting around for his notebook and his MP3 player. He turned it on full blast and shoved the earbuds in his ears as he opened the notebook and started his rough draft of a review for the play.

Let's see how Kurt likes being thought less of.

"But Kurt Phillips, in the lead role of Tony, is, unfortunately, miscast. Though there is no denying that he certainly has the pipes for the demanding songs required of the role, I personally found his overall performance to be shallow and unrealistic."

Kurt seethed, anger rising within him with every passing second as he read over the review of West Side Story in the school paper on Monday morning, his knuckles turning white with how hard he was gripping it. He was only vaguely aware of Rachel beside him, giving him a worried look as she held her own copy of the paper.

"I… I'm sure he just didn't understand the play," she offered, flinching as Kurt crumpled his paper in his fist and threw it angrily down the hall with an undignified grunt.

"He fucking understood it fine, he's just being an asshole. How could he do this to me?" he whined, leaning against the wall of lockers behind him and letting his head hit them with a thump. He was fucking pissed. He didn't know that he would say that this was the most angry he'd ever been at Carson, especially since that particular emotion had pretty much become synonymous with his twin as of late, but it was certainly in the top ten list of most shitty things Carson had ever done. Kurt needed a good review for his performance to show to potential performing arts schools. Didn't Carson understand that? Or care? Even if they were having problems with each other lately, didn't Carson at least understand that a bad review for the one performance Kurt had under his belt all year could damage any opportunity he had of being offered a spot in a good school?

Of course not, all he cares about is himself. Bet he wouldn't be so fucking callous if it was HIS precious future as a journalist that was being compromised. I bet he'd care THEN.

He yanked Rachel's paper out of her hands and stalked down the hallway, heading straight for the journalism classroom to give Carson a piece of his mind. Or twelve pieces. He pushed the door open violently, causing Malerie Baggs to shriek and jump in her seat. It took Kurt a moment to register that she (and the puzzling pile of kitten photos that sat on the desk in front of her) was the only occupant of the classroom.

"You scared me, Clone Carson," she said by way of a greeting.

"Where is he?" Kurt demanded.

"He went home," she replied. "He said that the lack of enthusiasm shown by the newspaper team was giving him hives, and that he needed to go home before he cut a bitch, so he sent everyone away. I stayed, though. I have to find something to do with all these," she said, waving her hand at the pile of paper kittens in front of her. Kurt didn't reply, he just shut the door, leaving her alone with her kittens. He was going to have words with Carson whether his twin liked it or not.

It seemed like it took him forever to reach the house, and by the time he finally did, his blood was positively boiling. Honestly, he felt like he could kill Carson and not feel an ounce of regret over it, a feeling that only intensified when he entered the house and saw Carson sitting calmly at the kitchen table, tapping away at his laptop as though he weren't a giant dick.

"You wanna tell me what the fuck this is?" he demanded, slapping the paper down on the table in front of Carson, who peered at it with disinterest.

"It would appear to be the school paper. Maybe you should get glasses," Carson suggested. "I mean, I wear them, and we're twins, so…"

"Fuck you and your fucking glasses," Kurt spat, glaring at his twin with all the anger he felt inside of him. "The review, jackass. What the fuck was that?"

"Oh, that," said Carson, continuing to type away without making eye contact. "Yeah. I wasn't feeling your performance."

"Wasn't feeling it?" What the fuck do you even know about musical theater?" screeched Kurt, his chest bursting with rage. "Like you would know a good performance if it bit you on the ass."

"I think you'll find that I raved about Sebastian's performance," countered Carson. "I just told the truth about yours."

"OH MY GOD, CARSON, do you even realize what you've done? What am I going to show the admissions people at the schools I apply to? How will they know how I did in the role?" Kurt demanded.

"Well, I guess they'll read my review," said Carson in a helpful tone.

"Oh, the review where you're a giant cock who's being an asshole to me for no reason?" muttered Kurt.

"No, the one where I say your performance is crap and I didn't sugarcoat the truth."

That did it. Kurt lost control of himself and his hands as he reached them out and pushed at Carson, hard. His twin gasped, the chair he was in rocking backwards with the force of Kurt's violent outburst.

"What the fuck, Kurt?" he exclaimed as he leapt up from the chair and glared at him. "What are you trying to do, kill me?"

"Maybe!" screamed Kurt. "And I'd enjoy it!"

"Don't be mad at me just because you didn't like what you read."

"Goddammit, Carson, I needed a good review and anyone with common sense would know that! Some of us need to get into schools on merit because we can't just buy our way in with the money we made blowing strangers in dirty public bathrooms."

The sudden force of hands pushing against his chest knocked any more words right out of him, and he stumbled against the kitchen counter as Carson stood there glaring at him menacingly, his hands balled up into fists.

"Don't fucking push me," Kurt exclaimed, closing the distance between them and pushing him back. "I'm the wronged party here."

"I'll push you if I want, because you're a dick," Carson replied, pushing him again. They kept at it, the pushing becoming increasingly violent, and Kurt didn't quite know how it escalated, but suddenly he found himself on the floor, wrestling with Carson as each twin batted at each other, trying to gain the upper hand over the other. Bodies crashed into chairs with loud thumps. Kurt swung a fist and landed a punch on Carson's arm, and Carson responded by growling angrily and rolling them over with surprising strength. Kurt found himself pinned underneath him, looking up into his twin's irate, blue eyes.

"Hit me," Kurt goaded him. "You know you want to. I fucking dare you. HIT ME."

Carson glared, raising a hand like he was going to willingly take Kurt up on that offer. Kurt never broke eye contact, steeling himself for the slap he was expecting to happen, but something suddenly changed. Carson's face lost some of its anger and he released his grip on Kurt just enough for Kurt to forcefully push his twin off of him. Carson stood up and stumbled, looking down at Kurt with a bemused expression.

"No," he said quietly. He gathered his laptop and walked out of the kitchen, his footsteps sounding up the stairs as Kurt was left alone on the floor with his thoughts.

"The hell is going on in there?" came their mother's voice from the living room. "I'm trying to nap!"

Kurt let out a breath as he sat up, rubbing his sore chest and glaring off into space.

Goddammit, Carson.

Ok, let's see. Two bedroom, one bath….. one bedroom, two bath….. this one is furnished but it's ugly as fuck…. I hate the neighborhood that this one's in…. that one's too small…

Carson sighed, slumping down in his seat and rubbing his eyes as the flat listings on his laptop screen blurred together into one giant blob. Ever since his and Kurt's fight, the idea of moving out had grown more and more appealing by the day. He just couldn't deal with being in such close quarters with Kurt anymore, not if his twin was going to just continue treating him like shit on the bottom of his shoe for the foreseeable future. He could live with his own parents doing that, but not Kurt. No matter how thick he tried to make his skin, it was never enough and it hurt entirely too much. It was enough to make him not the least bit sorry that he'd written a terrible review of West Side Story. If Kurt was going to be a dick, he could be a dick right back.

Really, everyone would be much better off if he just moved out on his own. He had money, he could afford it now. It wasn't like anyone would miss him. Hell, his mother probably wouldn't even notice that he was gone until she needed someone to go to the store for more vodka.

In short, he wanted to find something, anything, so that he could finally move out of the godforsaken hell hole he had grown up in. He'd thought that he wouldn't be very picky when he started looking, but, as it turned out, that assumption had been wrong. Very, very wrong. He'd started on the bottom end of his budget, but everything seemed just so…. tacky, maybe? Ugly? Definitely not what Carson was looking for, anyway. He'd be bringing guys back to this place from time to time, after all. He didn't want it to look trashy. He did have some pride.

Hmm… this one's a bit expensive, but holy shit, look at the windows! And it's not in an area where drug deals go down on a daily basis, that's encouraging. Maybe I could get a dog.

He carefully entered the contact information into his phone and made a mental note to call the rental agent soon if he absolutely couldn't find anything else.

"Carson!" his mother's voice bellowed from downstairs, and Carson sighed, throwing his pen back on top of the notebook and sticking his head out of his bedroom door.

"What?" he called.

"Where's your brother?" she called back, and Carson rolled his eyes. How the hell should I know where he is? He's probably off somewhere polishing Addison's knob. Not that I care, mind you.

"I don't know, Mom, it's not my job to keep track of him!" he yelled down.

"Well, can you text him and ask him when he's coming home? Actually, tell him to go pick up my prescription on his way, would you?" Sheryl called back.

"Fuck's sake, Mom, why can't you do it?"

"That would require leaving the house, Carson, and I only do that in emergencies."

"I meant the texting! Why can't you do that?" Carson called, exasperated.

"My phone's in the other room! Just do it!"

"But Moooooom!"

"Do it, or it'll be your job to go pick up my stuff!" Sheryl replied.

Oh for fucking fuck's fucking sake, Carson mumbled mentally as he stalked over to his desk and picked up his phone. The last thing he felt like doing was initiating a conversation with Kurt at the moment, but he also really didn't want to be stuck picking up his mother's prescription, either. He had an appointment with a client in an hour, and he wouldn't have the time, which meant that Sheryl would end up getting drunk off her ass and screaming at him when he returned home. Fuck that. Kurt could deal with her.

Where are you? he dashed off in a text and sent to Kurt's phone. There were several moments of silence while he waited for Kurt to reply, since he could see his twin had seen the message. When no reply came, he sighed deeply and dashed off another, more urgent text.

Mom wants to know when you're coming home.

I'll be home when I'm home, Kurt finally replied, and Carson rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to give his phone the finger.

She wants you to pick up her shit from the pharmacy. -C

Why can't you do it? -K

She wants you to do it. Besides, I'm busy. -C

I'll bet you are. -K

The fuck is that supposed to mean?- C

Nothing. I'm downtown, I'll pick the stuff up and take the number 6 bus home. Tell her I'll be there in an hour. -K

Fine. -C

Fine. -K

Carson stuffed his phone in his pocket and snuck a peek at his reflection in the mirror, making sure he looked client presentable. He opened one more button of his shirt, patted his pocket to make sure he had condoms and lube, and headed down the stairs, peeking his head into the living room on his way.

"Kurt'll be home in an hour with your stuff," he said to his mother, who lay stretched out on the couch, watching Beaches for what was probably the hundredth time in the past month alone. It had gotten to the point where Carson sometimes found himself humming that damn song about the invention of the bra under his breath, and he had never actually even seen the film.

"Ok. Are you going out?" asked Sheryl, taking a curious look at him, like she knew exactly where he was going and what he planned to do when he got there. Which, he reasoned, she probably did.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Be…. be safe, ok?" she said cautiously, and Carson nodded.

"I will, Mom."

"Ok. Good night."

"Night."

He left the house, heading in the direction of downtown where he had agreed to meet his client, and praying that Kurt wouldn't still be around when he got there. He parked his car outside a bar and approached the young man waiting outside, whom he recognized from the picture that had been sent to his email address earlier.

"Hey, handsome," Carson greeted him, switching his voice into work mode and giving the guy a wide smile. "You look ready to party."

The guy smiled back as an ambulance siren screeched past them. He extended his hand to Carson, who took it and allowed him to shake it for several seconds. "Hi. I'm… I'm…. well, see, I don't know if I should give you my name, but…"

"Shhh, it's fine," Carson assured him. "I don't need to know your name, sweetheart, just whether you have money, your condom size, and where your car is parked. In that order."

The guy grinned, relieved, and tentatively touched Carson's shoulder, leading him away from the bar. "It's parked a few blocks over. Traffic's a bitch tonight."

"I didn't have any problem," Carson replied, following the guy down the sidewalk as they turned down several side streets in a row. "So, before we get down to business, I'm sure you know that I'll need to get the mon- oh, wow," he interrupted himself as they rounded a corner and were confronted with utter chaos in the form of a crowd of people standing in tight-knit groups, gawking at the street in front of them. Police cars were everywhere, several ambulances were parked nearby, and all of them were surrounding a bus that was turned over on its side.

"Bloody hell," Carson's companion whistled. "I hope everyone's ok."

Carson wasn't listening. He was too busy zeroing in on the front of the bus, which he had a perfect view of from his spot on the sidewalk. A big, flashing number 6 was still lit up at the top, and Carson felt every drop of his blood turn to ice as his text conversation with Kurt from earlier raced through his mind.

"I'll pick the stuff up and take the number 6 bus home."

He felt sick. He didn't even have the ability to slump to the ground like he wanted to. He stood, rooted to the spot, watching as paramedics checked over the people who were emerging from the accident, some seemingly ok and others… well… not so much.

Oh god. Oh god….. OH GOD. Kurt…. no. Please. Please, not Kurt.

Visions of his twin took over his brain as he fought hard not to scream his anguish out into the night. He saw Kurt in his mind, trapped on that bus, alone, cold, and scared, bleeding, possibly very badly injured, or…. or even worse. Hot tears sprang to his eyes and he heard someone scream, unaware that it was him until people turned to stare at him, some sympathetic, others merely curious.

"KUUUURT!" he shrieked, trying to elbow his way through the crowd to get closer to the accident scene. "KURT!"

"Sir, please stay back," a police officer ordered him, refusing to let him get any closer, and Carson started crying hysterically, his insides turning into jelly as his panic grew. He felt hands on him as his client tentatively touched his shoulders, trying to pull him away from the crowd.

"NO!" he shouted, violently shrugging him away. "I have to… KURT!" he wailed, tears streaming down his face as he anxiously watched the paramedics remove people from the bus. He waited and waited, hoping for even a glimpse of his brother, but he didn't see him. He wondered if that meant that Kurt couldn't leave the bus, and he felt a stabbing pain in his chest at the thought.

Oh god… I'm sorry… I'M SORRY…. I'm sorry I wrote a bad review, I'm sorry, just… I'll never lie again, just please give me Kurt back.

I don't want to be left alone.

"Mate, come on," his client said, gently tapping his shoulder as Carson stood there, unable to do anything but cry. "They're asking us to clear out."

"No," Carson declared.

"Dude, we don't have a choice." Carson could see a couple of police officers gesturing for the crowd to disperse as they set up mini stations for paramedics to start looking people over. "Besides, we have a… an appointment."

"But Kurt," Carson babbled desperately, straining his neck to see as the other guy led him away. "I…. Kurt…"

"I don't know who Kurt is, or whatever, but are you sure he was on that bus?" asked the guy as they rounded the corner. Carson didn't know what was happening to him. He wanted to kick and scream, tell the guy to go jerk off and go back to the accident scene until he saw Kurt, but he absolutely couldn't make himself resist. It was like he was on some kind of weird autopilot.

Kurt…. oh god, did he have ID on him? A real one, I mean…. he had his phone, would they call Mom? Dad? If they called Dad, who would call me? April?

He was so lost in thought that he almost paid no attention to the couple that they were approaching on the street. That was, until he heard a high, familiar laugh and looked up, his eyes resting on Adam holding a large shopping bag. And beside him, laughing airily and leaning in to kiss him on the cheek, was…

"KURT!" Carson screamed, his lungs almost burning from the sheer force of his voice as he bolted down the street, closing the distance between himself and his twin in less than two seconds. He collided with him, wrapping him in both arms and burying his face in his neck as he struggled to stop sobbing.

"Kurt, oh god," he murmured, wishing there was a way to get closer to him than just a hug. In that moment, even attaching himself to Kurt by the skin wouldn't have been enough. He wanted to never let him go, ever, especially when he thought about what could have happened. He didn't know why Kurt wasn't on the bus and he didn't care. All he knew was that he'd never felt this much relief in his entire life. It was so much it almost made him sick.

"Carson, what the fuck," Kurt complained, trying to wiggle himself free from Carson's grasp. "Are you drunk? Let go of me."

Carson tried, but he couldn't seem to make himself do it. He felt hands, Kurt's hands, beating at his sides, and when he relaxed his grip on him, Kurt pushed him away, his palms hard and painful against Carson's chest as he glared at him.

"Jesus, Carson, this shirt is new," he scolded him angrily. "Oh, I see you have a friend with you. How nice," he added, his voice dripping with disdain as his eyes fell on Carson's client, who was looking on at the scene in front of him, obviously confused.

"Whoa…. twins," he murmured in amazement. "That's hot."

"Yes, well. I'm not up for sale. Sorry," said Kurt sarcastically as Carson stood there, hurt and still feeling as though his lungs were collapsing.

"I… but… Kurt," he stammered, trying to hug him again, but Kurt retreated from the touch as if he were on fire.

He doesn't…. he doesn't even realize what could have…. he hates me… If it were me on that bus, he probably wouldn't even care….

Nobody would care. Not a soul.

He didn't know what came over him next. All he knew was that he had to get away as soon as possible. Away from Kurt, away from Adam's prying gaze, away from… whoever the fuck that guy was he was supposed to be fucking right now…. away from them all. He had to, or he would burst. He felt his feet pounding the pavement as he ran as fast as he could, his vision obscured by the sheer volume of tears he was shedding as he moved. He tripped over his own feet several times, but he didn't let it slow him down. He ran until he physically couldn't anymore, and then he slumped down against the side of a building, his head in his hands as he desperately tried to calm down enough to think for a second.

"You ok, honey?" a male voice asked, and Carson wanted to scream.

"I'm fine, fuck off," he growled, and the guy moved on, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Thoughts he really, really wished he could turn off. He needed a drink. Badly.

He wandered aimlessly, hitting the first bar he saw and downing drink after drink, desperately hoping he could numb himself until he didn't feel like a human anymore. His brain grew increasingly more foggy as he slowly filled himself with the sweet relief of alcohol, and he wondered why he cared so much about Kurt. Who really gave a shit what Kurt thought, anyway? Kurt might have loved him, once, but he sure as hell didn't anymore. Why did he preoccupy himself so fucking much with freakin' Kurt? Fuck Kurt.

Eventually he found himself back at the tattoo parlor after he left the bar, with zero recollection of what he told the guy. All he knew was that he emerged shortly thereafter with a sore hip bone and a desperate need to go anywhere other than home.

He reached into his pocket for his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he saw the one he was looking for through his blurry vision. He dialed, suppressing the sudden urge to giggle as the other end of the line was picked up.

"To what do I owe this privileged phone call?" asked Sebastian, the curiosity evident in his voice.

"Heeeeey Bastian," Carson crooned into the phone, dancing around on the sidewalk. "Guess… oof….guess who's…. who's… fuck, I dunno the word…. guess who's been drinking stuff?"

"Well gee, I don't know, Carson, that's such a hard question," Sebastian replied dryly.

"Don't be a… don't be such a… don't be smart and shit," Carson admonished him. "I'm drunk… DRUNK, that's the word… hehe, drunk… yeah, anyway, I'm drunk and I wanna do stuff, come pick me up."

"You wanna do… wait, are you asking me for a drunk fuck?" asked Sebastian.

"No, your hot dad."

"Oh my god, shut up."

"Yes, I wanna fuck. That a problem?"

"That depends, do I have to pay?"

"Yes," Carson replied with a giggle. "Come on, you know you wanna fuck me."

"Well, I do enjoy that," Sebastian mused.

"Mmm, I know. Wanna… wanna duck your sick."

"I'm gonna pretend that made any sense at all, and meet you in twenty minutes," said Sebastian on the other end of the line. "Where are you?"

Carson did his best to answer the question, and shortly thereafter, Sebastian was pulling up beside him on the street, sticking his head out the open window and looking at him with a combination of intrigue and horror.

"Jesus, what the fuck happened to you tonight?" he asked as Carson clumsily poured himself into the car. "Did you drink your weight in alcohol, or what?"

"Shhhh…. shut up," Carson replied, reaching over to unbuckle Sebastian's jeans as the other boy steered the car back toward the main road.

"Oh, fuck," Sebastian groaned as Carson pulled him out of his pants and started licking at him. "I… mmm… I thought you needed money first."

"Shut uuuup," Carson whined again, rubbing the dick in his hands as it slowly began to harden. "When we get back to the house."

"I… fuck… fine," Sebastian replied as Carson unrolled a condom (which took a while, since he could barely coordinate his fingers correctly) and took him between his lips.

The rest of the night was a blur of writhing bodies, squeals, groans, and orgasms, and by the time Carson woke up the next morning, naked and tangled up in Sebastian's expensive sheets, his head pounding, he decided that the previous night was just a bad nightmare and that he would do his best to forget it had ever happened.

"It's a good thing it's Saturday," murmured Sebastian as he got out of bed and pulled on his discarded boxers. "You wore me the fuck out."

"You're welcome."

"Go help yourself to breakfast if you want," Sebastian said. "I'm gonna take a shower."

"Mmm. 'K," Carson replied, snuggling down into the sheets as he watched Sebastian leave the room. He reached for his phone, scrolling through his notes until he found what he was looking for and entered the number into his keypad.

"Hello?" he said into the phone as soon as someone had picked up, trying to ignore his horrible headache. "Yes, I'm calling about the flat…. Yes, I'd like a viewing, please."

The Carson who gave any fucks was officially gone, and a change of living arrangements was going to be the first official change.

"We need to have words."

Kurt peeked around his open locker door and found himself looking directly into Sebastian's face, rolling his eyes as he turned his attention back to switching his books out for his next class.

"I don't have anything to say to you, Sebastian. Especially now that the play is over. Why don't you run along?" he replied icily.

"How about you stop being such a cold bitch for five seconds and try to have a conversation like a mature adult instead of a spoiled child?" retorted Sebastian, slamming Kurt's locker shut and glaring at him. Kurt had barely enough time to get his fingers safely out of harm's way as the sound echoed throughout the hallway, causing people to stop in their tracks for a moment and stare.

"I hardly think you're the one who should be casting the spoiled child stone, Sebastian, unless you've recently stopped allowing Daddy to fund everything from your car to your hooker habit," said Kurt angrily. He was in absolutely no mood for this bullshit right now. Not after the last few days he'd had.

"Goddammit all to hell, Kurt, listen to me," Sebastian practically growled, ignoring Kurt's words.

"Would you please lower your voice?" Kurt hissed angrily as more people stopped to stare at them in the hallway.

"No, I won't. This bullshit with Carson has to stop," retorted Sebastian.

"I could say the same thing to you," replied Kurt, growing ever more pissed and embarrassed by the second.

"Look, you have been a complete shit ever since you found out about Carson, and I know. I get it. You're pissed. But eventually you're going to have to take your head out of your ass and actually talk to him."

"And why would I need to do that?" asked Kurt, crossing his arms and staring angrily into Sebastian's flashing green eyes. "We barely have a relationship anymore."

"Fucking hell, Kurt, that's the entire problem!" exclaimed Sebastian. "You aren't speaking to him, he acts out to get your attention, and the whole fucking cycle never ends. You're miserable without him."

"I am not," protested Kurt.

"Yes, you are. And I have news for you, so is Carson. Even I know that he makes terrible decisions even when he's in a normal state of mind, and as his twin, you should know that better than anyone."

"And, aside from the fact that you make it a habit to enable his bad decisions, what business is it of yours?" asked Kurt.

Sebastian sighed and leaned against a row of lockers wearily. "He has a fucking K tattooed on his hip, Kurt. What do you think that stands for? Kittens?"

"He does?" asked Kurt, swallowing back a lump that was forming in his throat that he didn't want to give Sebastian the satisfaction of seeing.

"At this point, I spend more time with him than you do," replied Sebastian. "I see him when he's just come off a day of clients and is visibly exhausted, but tries to pretend everything is fine. I see what little light there is left in his eyes go out when your name comes up. I see him caring less and less that he's ruining his life before it's even started, and I've done what I can to try to help him, but it's not enough anymore."

"Yes, such a help you were, handing him money and fucking him on a regular basis," spat Kurt. "Such a fucking help."

"Would you rather he spend the time he was with me placing himself in danger with guys who may or may not have good intentions?" retorted Sebastian.

"I don't need you butting into my business, Sebastian," said Kurt quietly, desperately wishing for this conversation to be over so he could go be by himself.

"I'm only telling you this because I care about you," the other boy said. "And I care about Carson. He's a rotten asshole 95% of the time, but damn it, I care about him. You know he's difficult to communicate with sometimes. He has this hard, outer shell that he protects himself with, and he hates for anyone to penetrate that shell. And you pretending that he doesn't exist? That's going to make the shell harder and harder until, pretty soon, no one will be able to get through to him. I just…. I don't want you blaming yourself if something happens to him and you could have helped and didn't."

Kurt just stared at him for a minute, wanting to say so many things, chief among them things like "Go away" and "Fuck off" and "What do you mean, if something happens to him?"

Instead, he just said, "Are you finished?" in the iciest tone he could muster, and Sebastian threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Don't you ever tell me I didn't try," he said, before turning away and walking swiftly down the hallway until he'd disappeared around a corner. Kurt re-opened his locker and stared blankly inside at his books, wishing that the floor could just open up and swallow him whole. Because he knew, deep down, that Sebastian was right. The bastard was fucking right.

He was crying.

He hadn't been able to get that thought to leave his head for days. At the time, in that moment he had pushed Carson away from him on the street two weeks prior, he had just been so fucking angry, seeing his twin with that random guy who either had just done or was about to do god only knew what to him, and Kurt had just completely snapped. He had hated him, had hated both of them, had wanted to get away from them as quickly as possible so he didn't have to stare directly into the evidence of what his brother did for a living, and he physically could not handle Carson touching him in that moment.

So, he had pushed him away, quickly and mercilessly, and only when he'd caught a glimpse of Carson's tear stained face as his twin bolted away did he begin to feel guilty.

He was crying.

And when he and Adam had passed by the scene of the bus accident on the way home, the pieces had clicked into place all at once, like the world's most horrible jigsaw puzzle. He recalled sending that text to Carson, recalled telling him he'd take the bus home and to leave him alone, and he knew. Carson had thought he was on that bus. And Kurt knew exactly what that must have felt like, because he knew damn well how he would have felt if the roles were reversed. As angry as he was at Carson for everything from the incessant lies to the spiteful play review, he would be distraught if he thought his twin was hurt or dead, even for a moment. Inconsolable, even.

Oh god, I'm an asshole.

He didn't quite know what to do after that. He'd wanted so badly to get Carson alone and say something, anything, to him. Anything to get a real conversation going. As angry as he was and would be for a very long time, he couldn't really deny that he missed his twin. Actually missed him, so badly that it hurt his chest sometimes when he really thought about it.

And to make things worse, the cherry on the sundae and the reason why he'd been particularly bristly at Sebastian's butting in today was the fact that, when he'd finally worked up the courage to go into Carson's room the night before and ask if they could talk, he'd made one of the worst discoveries of his life. Carson's room was almost completely empty. His shelves were bare, his blankets and pillows were gone, his closet had been almost totally cleared out. All that remained were blank walls, a bare bed, and abandoned furniture.

His twin was gone. He'd moved out, and Kurt had waited too long. He'd spent a significant portion of the night perched on the floor beside the empty bed, his arms wrapped around his knees as he let out months worth of frustration and anger in a flood of tears.

I thought he was just out a lot. How long has he even been gone?

It made his chest ache to think about the fact that Carson had left without so much as a goodbye, and that neither he nor his mother had even noticed.

I'm so sorry, Carson. I love you. I really do.

Kurt drummed his fingers nervously against the steering wheel as he sat outside the flat building downtown, in the car he'd borrowed from Adam for the day. He'd told him he needed to run an errand after school and Adam had handed over the keys, no questions asked. He did feel a little guilty about lying to him, but then, he supposed that it wasn't technically a lie. He really did have to run an errand. If "breaking into your brother's flat so that when he comes home you're both forced to speak to each other whether you like it or not" counted as an errand.

It had taken several days of borderline stalking Carson wherever he went after school hours (as discreetly as possible so as not to be seen, of course), but he'd finally managed to find the apartment building that Carson was apparently living in now that he'd moved out of the house.

And he'd certainly paid dearly for this information in the form of seeing many, many things he didn't like in the past few days. He didn't think his stomach would ever stop hurting after watching Carson get into a car with a shady looking guy in a horrible part of town a couple of days ago. Fifteen minutes of car shaking and various grunts and groans later, Carson had emerged from the car, his clothes rumpled and his face wearing the carefully blank, emotionless mask that Kurt was all too familiar with. He'd watched as his brother leaned against the side of a nearby building, the mask slipping for just a moment into one of the saddest expressions Kurt had ever seen as Carson smoothed his clothes back into a presentable state.

Then the mask was back almost as quickly as it had gone, and Carson had headed back here, to the very building Kurt currently sat outside of. He knew for sure now that Carson lived there, because he'd seen Sebastian meet him there a couple of times, not to mention that April woman had come in and out one day, holding a carrier that Kurt assumed contained his newest sibling. That was a whole other kettle of fish for another time, though. The important thing at the moment was that he'd found where Carson was staying.

He patted his pocket to make sure the key he'd gotten from the building manager the previous day was still there. He still couldn't believe he'd actually had the balls to go into the office and say "I lost my key," but he had.

"Number 527, right?" the guy had asked conversationally, giving Kurt a smile.

"That… that's right," Kurt replied, altering his voice a little so that he sounded more like Carson. Not that he probably needed to. This guy probably had no idea that Carson even had a twin.

Two minutes later, he had a key in hand and an apartment number. Being a twin definitely had its advantages. Now if only he could convince himself to actually step foot inside.

It took him twenty more minutes of silently deliberating, but finally he worked up enough courage to step out of the car, closing the door behind him and striding cautiously toward the front door. He gave himself a mental shake and tried to look like he belonged as he walked through the lobby and toward the elevator, which opened almost as soon as he'd pressed the button. He had to hand it to Carson, the building was actually really nice and well-maintained, even if it did show some signs of age here and there, like the faded buttons on the inside of the lift. And even if it did have less than impressive security protocols, he reminded himself as he patted the pocket containing the key.

He stepped off onto the fifth floor and looked around for a moment, finding the correct hallway and heading down it nervously. He wondered what he would do if Carson was home, and then he told himself to stop being so fucking stupid. He knew perfectly well that his brother wasn't home, because he'd seen him leave the building not even an hour ago, on his way to do god only knew what.

He's probably going to visit Side Dish and that kid, he tried to convince himself, refusing to even entertain the thought of the even worse alternative, even though he'd followed Carson around enough times over the past few days to know that the alternative was the far more likely possibility.

He reached Carson's door, taking a deep breath and hesitating only for a moment before he slid the key into the lock and opened the door, peeking his head inside as if he expected someone to yell at him to go away. Nobody did, of course. The flat was silent, the only sound coming from the chirping of a bird outside of a window.

He stepped all the way inside and closed the door behind him, leaning against it as he took everything in. It was a rather nice flat, much nicer than Kurt had been expecting. It was relatively big and airy, with several large windows letting a copious amount of daylight into what Kurt supposed was the living room, from what he could see from where he stood. He carefully took a few steps forward, and the rest of the living room came into view. It didn't have much in it at the moment. It had a couch that looked secondhand, a small coffee table that looked the same, and an old television set that Kurt recognized as having once belonged to their grandmother. In fact, he realized, all of that furniture had belonged to Grandma before she'd been moved to the assisted living home. It had been sitting in a storage locker ever since, until now.

He took in the sight of the living room for a minute before moving on to the small kitchen that sat just to the left. It, too, was pretty barren, consisting of a table with three chairs, a small refrigerator, and a stove that, being bright red, contrasted quite starkly with the rest of the white kitchen. He wandered around, turning a corner to find a bathroom, which he didn't pay any attention to because he was far more interested in the room next door to it.

It was clearly Carson's bedroom, judging by the polished, wooden bed that explained why everything else in the flat looked secondhand. That bed must have been expensive. Carson's regular blankets from home were thrown over it, but there were several new, fluffy pillows thrown on top, too. He never was one for decorating, Kurt thought, smiling a little in spite of himself.

His smile disappeared when he curiously opened one drawer of the matching dresser across from the bed, not even realizing he was doing it until he was confronted with an array of brightly colored…. things. It took him a moment to register that they were sex toys, every single one, and that they were not all the same size. Some of them were small, some were average, and some, to Kurt's curiosity and horror, were fucking huge. He was swallowing back a lump in his throat even before his eyes landed on the set of blue, fuzzy handcuffs. He quickly shut that drawer and opened another, hoping for underwear, socks, notebooks, anything to cleanse his mind from what he'd just seen.

What he got was condoms. Box after box of condoms, organized neatly by brand and, apparently, size. And lube of varying brands and flavorings. He slammed the drawer shut and leaned against the wall, taking several huge breaths to try and calm himself down.

Get a hold of yourself, Kurt. You know what he does for work, of course he has all that shit. Besides, you asked for this by breaking into his flat, didn't you?

Even so, he had to fight the urge that rose within him to find a hammer and smash the dresser to pieces.

He crossed the room and took a seat on the bed, hugging one of the pillows to his chest and wondering how he should greet Carson when he came back. The more he thought about it, the worse of an idea it seemed. What if Carson had just been with a man and looked like it? What if he had a man with him? What if he got angry and threw Kurt out without even listening to him? The memory of Carson's wounded face as he pushed him away on the street flashed through his mind, and his stomach sank.

What if it was too late to fix things now?

Oh god, I can't do this, he thought, his heart racing with panic as he abandoned the pillow and rushed back through the apartment, bolting through the door as though he were on fire. He didn't remember if he locked the door or not.