"I win."

Somehow, those words managed to penetrate Carson's drug-hazed brain like nothing else had all evening, which was odd, because up until that moment, he hadn't exactly realized that he'd been playing a game with Kurt. Sure, he'd done a striptease (and a damn good one, he was willing to bet, even if he wasn't nearly sober enough to give it his best go). But he was high, and he was still harboring so many conflicting feelings about Kurt that he didn't want to deal with, and there was some random guy Carson had never seen before talking to Kurt over in the corner of the living room, wearing that damn look that people always got around Kurt, like he was some kind of siren from the sea or something, luring them with his irresistible wiles. People only looked at Carson like that when they had exhausted all other options and had to resort to paying for company.

Which of these reasons factored into his decision to start stripping, he couldn't say. All he knew was that he'd done it, and all eyes had fixed themselves back on him, including Mystery Guy's over in the corner, and as an added bonus, he knew damn well it was riling Kurt up with jealousy. All was right with the world. That was, until Kurt had walked over and changed the music and started doing…. stuff in the middle of the room with that guy. Shaking his hips and grinding and a lot of other shit that simultaneously made Carson jealous, pissed, and more than a little turned on. Not that he was going to let any of that show, because the last thing he fucking needed was for Kurt to think he'd won.

And then, just as he'd been thinking that, Kurt had sauntered up to him, still moving his hips like sex on gorgeous, shapely legs, had put his hand on Carson's chest and whispered in his ear, his breath hot and suggestive on Carson's skin.

"I win."

God fucking dammit.

Wait. No. NO, you don't fucking win. You don't get to move yourself into MY apartment and take over MY party and act like you're all…. like… superior and shit. No. Fuck that. Ugh, I can't even think straight. I need a drink.

He made his way over to the bar he had carefully set up earlier in the evening, almost tripping over several kissing couples on his way, and grabbed the nearest bottle, not even bothering to pour it into a cup. He drank directly from it, barely even tasting the bitter liquid as it made its way down his throat because he was too busy watching Kurt talking to the guy he'd just danced with, all the while casting glances in Carson's direction, as if to make damn sure he was watching.

Yeah, I'm watching, Kurt. I'm watching, alright. And if you think I'm going to do something about it, you have another thing coming to you. Talk to whoever you want, why the hell would I give a shit? It's none of my business.

"Who's that?" asked Sebastian, walking over to him with a drink in his hand, his eyes planted firmly on Kurt and the nameless party guest. "Did you invite him?"

"I've never seen him before in my life," replied Carson dryly as he chugged from his bottle. "Must be a guest of a guest, I don't know."

"Kurt seems to be getting to know him pretty damn well," Sebastian muttered next to him.

"So what?" asked Carson with a shrug. "Does that matter? It certainly doesn't matter to me. Why should it?"

"What the hell is going on with you two?" Sebastian demanded, slightly slurring his words together in his drunk state. "All of a sudden Kurt is just…. what? Living here?"

"He is not living here," Carson said firmly, shaking his head as he vehemently denied Sebastian's words.

"It sure as hell seems like he is," Sebastian said. "Since his shit is all over the place in the other room. Not to mention the bathroom has enough expensive, imported hair and face products to open a boutique, and I'm pretty sure they aren't all yours."

"That would be because Kurt's a stubborn little shit who has wormed his way in here and refuses to leave because he's acting like a toddler," retorted Carson. Kurt's eyes caught his just then from across the room, and Carson could feel his determined resolve start to weaken, like it always fucking did when those goddamn blue eyes from hell pierced through the very center of his soul.

No. Not tonight, Kurt. Not tonight, not ever. I have the upper hand here, and you aren't going to break me. Not gonna fucking happen.

He poured the rest of the contents of the bottle down his throat, shoving the empty container at Sebastian as he finished and started scanning the room. He needed a guy. Any guy. He wasn't going to be very picky right now. Hell, he wasn't even going to demand money, it was just principle. He spotted a tall brunette over by the bar and walked over, putting his performance face front and center as he felt Kurt's eyes following him to watch what he was doing.

"Hey," he said to the guy, leaning against the wall so as to put his body on display in the best way possible, glad that he had yet to put his clothes back on.

"Hey," the guy replied, looking over at him with a smile.

"Having fun?" Carson asked.

"A blast," said the guy, raising his cup in the air to illustrate his point. "That was some dance you did earlier," he added, his eyes raking over Carson's body with an unmistakable, hungry look as he spoke. Carson was experienced enough by now to recognize the difference between an "I wish I had that body" look and an "I want on that body" look. He got both frequently now that he'd been working out regularly, but the look the guy was giving him was definitely the latter.

Perfect. He'll do.

"Thanks," Carson said appreciatively, returning the smile with a coy one of his own. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kurt staring daggers in their direction, which only fueled him more in his quest. He moved closer to the guy, locking his eyes on him and crowding him only enough to make him swallow nervously as a red flush started to spread over his cheeks.

"Wanna have a bit more fun together?" he asked in a seductive, low voice. "That dance is the least of what I could do with you in a more private room, if you get my drift."

The red flush on the guy's face grew redder as he looked back at him with wide eyes. "I, um… I don't have a lot of money…"

Carson waved his hand dismissively. "That's ok. This would be completely on me." He moved closer so that his bare chest was practically touching the guy's clothed one as he leaned up to whisper in his ear. "Let's go to the bedroom, hmm?" He glanced briefly over at Kurt, who he could see was practically seething as he tried to carry on a conversation with the mystery guy, who looked more than a little bewildered and confused. Yeah, have fun dealing with him, dude. I have shit of my own to do.

The guy in front of him hadn't answered his question, but Carson took his stunned silence and widened eyes as an agreement, yanking him by the shirt in the direction of his bedroom. He dragged him inside and shut the door before pushing him onto the bed and preparing his psyche for a charity performance.

I think you'll find that *I* won now, Kurt.

"So then, I auditioned for a theater school and I didn't get accepted, so…"

Kurt could hear Elliott talking to him, but he wasn't actually listening to a word the man was saying. He couldn't concentrate on anything but the sight of Carson circling that guy over by the bar like some kind of vulture on the prowl, moving closer to him and saying something that Kurt couldn't hear but knew he wouldn't have approved of, judging by the deer-in-the-headlights look the guy gave him back in return. And the worst part, the absolutely worst part, was that Carson kept giving him sidelong glances the entire time, as though this were all a show for Kurt's benefit that he wanted him to see.

He had half a mind to march over and yank the two of them apart when Carson started dragging the guy in the direction of the bedroom, but he didn't, of course. He just watched them disappear down the hallway, knowing full well what was going to happen once that bedroom door closed, and knowing that he was powerless to stop it. Elliott's voice next to him was sounding more and more like the adults in a Peanuts cartoon as the only thing that Kurt could concentrate on was the nagging voice in his brain, reminding him exactly what Carson was doing in the next room.

"Kurt?"

Elliott's voice finally managed to break through his brain fog and Kurt looked at him, blinking in confusion.

"Huh?" he asked lamely as he tore his eyes away from the direction of the bedroom hallway.

"I was just asking if you wanted me to get you another drink," Elliott said, his head tilted slightly to the side as he looked at Kurt with concern. "Are you ok? You seem a little…. distracted…"

Kurt shook his head and collected himself, turning to face the other guy as he tried valiantly to bring himself back to earth. "No, I…. I'm fine. I guess the booze is just finally getting to me. Do you want another drink? Let me get us more drinks," he said in a rush, without waiting for Elliott to answer him. He suddenly needed to get away. Not that Elliott was a horrible conversationalist or anything. In fact, Kurt had decided that he quite liked him, from the little time they'd spent together. It was just that all he had on the brain at the moment was Carson and what a stranger's hands may or may not be doing to him right then, and he knew he didn't have nearly enough alcohol in his system to deal with that.

He practically flew over to the bar, grabbing the nearest bottle without glancing at the label and pouring his cup full of the liquid inside, half of which he chugged down in one gulp, making a face and ignoring the burning feeling as it passed down his throat.

"Thirsty?" said a voice from behind him, and Kurt turned around to see Sebastian leaning against the wall, one hand in his jeans pocket and the other clutching a party cup. "You shouldn't drink so much in one go. I've seen the way you handle your liquor."

"Yes, well, when I'm in the market for a keeper to babysit me during parties, I'll give you a call, but tonight isn't that night," replied Kurt, taking another large sip just to spite the other boy.

"What's going on with you and him?" Sebastian asked, and Kurt looked at him over the rim of his cup, trying to act casual.

"Me and Elliott over there?" he replied, nodding his head in Elliott's direction. "Nothing much. Just talking. He's a uni student, you know."

"I'm well aware of your penchant for older men, but I was talking about Carson and you knew it," muttered Sebastian.

"I believe that falls under the category of None of Your Business," said Kurt shortly, taking another sip for emphasis.

"Are you living here now?" asked Sebastian, in the careful tone of voice he always used when he was trying to carefully guard what he was really asking.

"We aren't fucking, if that's what you're getting at," Kurt snapped at him. "And I guess I'm not technically living here, but as long as Carson isn't throwing me out, I don't plan to leave, so… ugh, why the fuck am I even telling you any of this?" he groaned, pushing past Sebastian and several heavily drunk, dancing teens on his way toward the bedroom hallway. He rushed past Carson's closed bedroom door, not wanting to even accidentally hear so much as a moan from the other side, and yanked his own bedroom door open. As much as it could be called a bedroom, anyway, considering that it only contained an air mattress and bags of his stuff, thus far.

Apparently, he discovered as he entered the room, it was enough of a bedroom for the hormonal couple making out on top of his mattress.

"Ugh, get out," he muttered, drunkenly stumbling over to them and giving the male of the couple a weak kick with his foot. Both teens ignored him, obviously too wrapped up in each other to pay any mind to the third person who had just walked in on them.

"Fucking great," said Kurt bitterly, stumbling back into the hallway and into the living room. He quietly made his way to the window in the furthest corner and opened it up, not knowing or even caring if Sebastian or Elliott had spotted him and wondered what the fuck he was doing. He clumsily pushed himself out the window and landed with a plop on the top of the fire escape, shutting the window behind him and leaving only a tiny bit open so he could get back in later. This was what he needed. Blissful silence.

Well, except for the traffic noise below and the muffled voices from the party going on inside. But still. It was quiet enough for him to think, and that was what was important. He chose a corner and settled himself down, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face in them to fight the sudden urge he had to throw up everything he'd drank that evening.

Tonight was just a bad night. This was just…. Carson trying to show off or something. That guy he's with… he meant for that to hurt me, but that's ok. I deserved that. Things will look better in the morning.

Please look better in the morning?

He wasn't sure if it was the honking of a car horn beneath him, the chirping bird in his ear, or the sun in his eyes, but he suddenly felt himself startling awake several hours later, his face rocketing up out of his lap to blink in confusion at his surroundings. Actually, it was apparently much more than several hours, judging by how bright the sun was that was currently making his horrible hangover headache a thousand times worse. It had to be at least noon.

Ugh, kill me, he groaned to himself, wincing in pain as he slowly stood up and dusted the dirt from the fire escape off of his pants. He would definitely need to do laundry at some point. But first he needed coffee. A lot of it.

He inched his way back to the window and opened it back up, crawling through the opening with all the grace of a newborn, drunk, baby deer and almost tripping over a sleeping body in the process. The flat was littered with them, along with empty cups, bottles, clothes, and candy wrappers. And we're gonna have a shit ton of mess to clean up. Perfect. He stumbled into the kitchen with half closed eyes, rooting around blindly for the coffee supplies, and somehow managed to start a pot brewing before he hunted around for the headache tablets. He briefly wondered where Carson was, and then decided that he didn't want to think about that, because wherever his twin was, his random hookup from the night before was probably not too far behind. Instead, he just poured his coffee into a mug and gingerly took a seat at the table, across from a passed-out guy with a dick clumsily drawn on his face with a Sharpie.

Almost as if he could sense Kurt thinking about him, Carson shuffled into the kitchen just then, clad in nothing but boxer briefs, his face groggy with sleep and his hair sticking up in seventeen different directions. He looked adorable, but Kurt steadfastly ignored that, concentrating intently on his coffee and refusing to look at his brother for more than a second or two.

"That coffee?" Carson asked without preamble, wandering over to the pot and breathing in deeply. "Ah, fuck, it is. Thank god, I'm hung right the fuck over. Where's the pills?"

Kurt held the bottle out to him without a word, and tried his best not to ogle the nearly naked body in front of him as Carson stumbled over to grab it. "You look like hell," Carson observed as he shook out two pills and swallowed them dry. "Did you sleep on a rock or something?"

"The fire escape, actually," Kurt replied between sips of coffee.

"Well, what did you do a stupid thing like that for?" asked Carson as he poured his own coffee into a mug. "You have a room, you know. The guest room. For guests." He tipped the sleeping guy across from Kurt out of his chair and sat down in it, shoving the body out of the way with his foot as he settled himself.

"I needed to be alone, I guess," Kurt muttered. "The party became a bit much for me."

"Lightweight."

"Where's your fuck buddy?" Kurt asked sharply, suddenly irritated at how nonchalant his twin was being, as if nothing at all had happened the night before. "Does he have a name, or did you even get that far before you started shoving dicks in each other's mouths?"

"Don't be stupid, of course he has a name," Carson replied, taking a calm sip of coffee as his bloodshot, blue eyes locked on Kurt's. "It's um… er…. you know what? I was a bit too drunk to remember it, but I can almost guarantee that he has one. Anyway, to answer your question, he's still sleeping."

"Lucky him," muttered Kurt into his coffee, his eyes drawn like magnets to his twin's bare chest across from him. It suddenly occurred to him that Carson probably hadn't showered yet, which meant that everything from the night before was still clinging to his skin, up to and including the scent of Mr. Random. He suddenly felt ill, and it had nothing to do with his hangover.

"Ah, speak of the devil," said Carson as Mr. Random himself found his way into the kitchen, completely bare-assed naked and yawning in the most unattractive way possible. Ugh, seriously, he fucked THAT?

"Do you have any food?" the guy asked before even finishing his gaping yawn. The smell of fermenting alcohol on his breath filled the air of the room and caused Kurt to make a face as he willed himself not to throw up. "I'm starved."

"Cereal in the cupboard," Carson replied. "I wore him out," he added proudly, giving Kurt a smug, self-satisfied look as he casually sipped from his mug. Kurt came dangerously close to wanting to punch him, but he was much too hung over for that, so he kept his cool.

"I'm sure," he replied. "With a cock that tiny, it must have taken three times the normal amount of effort and exertion to get results from him."

Carson gave him an amused look as the guy frowned down at his dick and then looked back at Kurt. "Hey, it's not tiny," he protested. "It's… average."

"It was big enough to get the job done, trust me," Carson insisted, his devious eyes practically daring Kurt to go further. Kurt glared back at him, but he was far too tired and in too much pain, both physical and emotional, to come up with a good reply on the spot. He settled for downing the rest of his coffee and standing up, kicking his chair aside as he stormed out of the kitchen and through the living room, toward his makeshift bedroom. He yanked the door open and practically growled in frustration when he saw that the couple from the night before were still on his bed, thankfully fully clothed, but definitely passed-out.

"Oh my god, get the fuck out of my room!" he whined, grabbing the guy by the arm and dragging him out of the room with as much effort as he could muster, leaving him in a heap out in the hallway before repeating the process with the girl. He slammed his door shut and flopped down on the mattress, burying his face in his pillow before he could give much thought to how it needed to be washed now. He didn't really give a shit at the moment anyway. All he wanted to do was sleep so that he could forget this entire, miserable party experience.

Carson's being an asshole, he thought, curling up in a ball and feeling sorry for himself. I know he's mad at me, but does he have to throw that…. that THING he does all up in my face like that?

He knew he was being a complete and utter brat, but he didn't care. He was getting so frustrated, because he had honestly not expected to have to wait this long for Carson to at least let him apologize. He didn't know what else he would have to do to get his twin to listen, but he was exhausted just thinking about it. Especially if it was going to involve ugly naked guys in the kitchen every weekend.

Damn it, Carson, can't we stop this and talk like adults?

Several hours later, after he'd slept off most of his hangover, taken a shower, and changed into fresh pajamas, he felt better, but only slightly. He was almost afraid to go back out into the main part of the flat, for fear that the naked random would still be around. Or worse, back in Carson's bedroom, the door of which was closed tight. He debated for a while before tiptoeing down the hall, pausing by Carson's door and pressing his ear to it to listen for any sign of activity in there.

Thankfully, he heard nothing but silence behind the door, but he did hear movement and rustling coming from the living room. He made his way out there and was greeted by the sight of Carson, also dressed in pajamas and holding a giant garbage bag as he picked up discarded cups and other assorted bits of trash and stuffed them into it. Aside from looking like some kind of bizarre war zone, the flat was otherwise empty, every last guest having left. His twin looked up as he entered the room, looking at him as briefly as possible before resuming his cleaning without uttering one word. Kurt pulled another garbage bag out of the box on top of the television and set to work helping him, the two of them working silently alongside each other for a time.

"Looks like that's most of it," he said at last, once the living room floor was relatively trash free.

"Yep," said Carson in a monotone. "By the way, this must be yours," he added, handing Kurt a crumpled bit of paper. "I found it on top of the stereo."

Kurt took the paper and smoothed it out, squinting at the neat handwriting that said "To Kurt" on the top and then "Elliott" beneath, followed by a phone number. He glanced uncomfortably at Carson, unsure what he should do with the paper and feeling like his twin was going to judge him no matter what he did with it. "It's Elliott's number," he mumbled, stating the obvious as Carson leaned down to pick up a wayward cup.

"I can see that," Carson replied without looking at him. "You always were the popular one. Which one's he? The one you were dry humping to Shakira?"

"We were not dry humping," Kurt protested indignantly. "We were dancing. And at least we were fully clothed, unlike others who gave a peep show and practically gave some guy a lap dance in front of everyone."

Carson looked up at him sharply, and Kurt could tell he was dangerously close to pushing the last of his brother's buttons, but his level of caring was pretty much at negative zero. "So was all that grinding supposed to be payback?" Carson asked, punctuating his words with a rueful laugh.

"Maybe, since that striptease was obviously meant to annoy me," retorted Kurt.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself, honey. I have more important things to do than screw with you, believe me," said Carson disdainfully. "My dance was just fun. For myself. Which I have the absolute right to do, since it's my apartment and my life and my body, none of which you have any claim over."

"I never said I had claim over you," snapped Kurt.

"Really? Because you're actually acting an awful lot like a creepy, possessive stalker for someone who doesn't think I owe them something," muttered Carson. "What with you squatting in my flat and all."

"I'm only waiting for you to give me a chance!" Kurt exclaimed in frustration, dropping his garbage bag in a huff as he glared at his brother. "If you would just talk to me…"

"About what?" Carson demanded. "What do we possibly have to talk about that we haven't already discussed? This is your one and only chance. You have three seconds to start fucking talking, if it's that goddamn important."

Kurt just looked at him for a moment, taken aback by his words. He'd waited so long for Carson to give him the opportunity to speak, and now that he'd been given it, he had absolutely no idea what he wanted to say.

"Well? I'm waiting," said Carson impatiently.

Kurt took a deep breath and tried to collect himself before he ended up crying. He couldn't cry right now, he had to remain strong and determined.

"I just…. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am," he began, his voice shaking despite his best efforts. "For… for everything. And I know you're mad at me, and I know that I didn't exactly handle things well when I found out about… you know. But I was just so mad, and… ugh, I guess what I'm trying to say is just that I'm so very sorry, and, well… do you think you could forgive me? Or at least try?"

Ugh, that was so not as eloquent as I pictured my apology would be. He bit his lip as he finished talking, watching Carson carefully for any kind of reaction at all, but his twin's face remained stoic and unmoved. It was hard to read one way or the other, and several seconds of awkward silence passed before Carson finally responded.

"No."

Kurt felt his stomach drop to his feet and his heart start to ache as Carson's one-word response sunk in. "No?" he repeated, afraid to have it confirmed but knowing it was inevitable.

"No," Carson repeated before he turned his attention back to picking up the last of the garbage on the floor. Kurt just stood there holding his own trash bag, feeling numb as he realized that this had been his grand chance to start to patch things up, and he'd blown it. He struggled not to cry, but he felt tears threatening to well up anyway.

"You know," Carson suddenly said out of nowhere, distracting Kurt from his impending tears, "There was once a time when I would have jumped at the chance to forgive you this easily."

Kurt blinked at him, wondering where this was going and not liking the sound of it one bit. "Carson, I-"

"No," Carson snapped. "You don't get to talk right now. Like I said, there was a time I would have forgiven you anything at all. Because you were the best part of my world, and the one good thing I had left in it. Or so I thought. And I thought you…. ahem. Never mind. I at least thought that you were the one person in my life who could see that I never asked for any of this, and wouldn't treat me like shit. But I was wrong. You didn't think any better of me than anyone else did. And the worst part? Coming from Dad, or anyone else, I could take it, because I know I don't matter to them and so their opinion doesn't matter to me. But you? Coming from you, it's so much worse. You don't fucking know pain until you've trusted someone with your heart and they break it into a million pieces. Look around you, Kurt. You caused this. You caused all of this. And all it took was one drunk blowjob at a party. Congratulations."

Kurt sucked in a breath as Carson unloaded this speech onto him, feeling as though he'd been dealt a blow to the stomach. "Carson, I…. I don't…. I didn't mean…" he stammered helplessly as Carson shook his head.

"I'm not finished," he retorted. "You asked me if I can forgive you. And the answer is no, I can't. You're selfish, and you only care about yourself. You only want to apologize when it's convenient for you, you bitch and moan that you want me back, and then you expect me to just fall at your feet while you're technically dating someone and flirting with another. I don't think so. So, you wanted us to talk? We've talked. Now leave me alone," Carson finished, throwing his garbage bag down forcefully onto the floor and storming off to his room. Kurt heard a door slamming shut and shut his eyes as he sank down onto the sofa, Carson's words flurrying around in his head relentlessly. He had no idea how to deal with the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness that had suddenly come over him, and it scared him.

How was he ever going to fix this? Where was he even supposed to start now? And, most importantly, why had he allowed it to ever get to this point?

Carson wasn't sure what he'd been expecting after his speech to Kurt. Really he hadn't even been thinking that far ahead. He'd just been so incensed that Kurt had even had the balls to ask for forgiveness, after all the bullshit he'd pulled, that he'd just sort of exploded words all over him. And he could tell from Kurt's reaction that his twin had never even considered the possibility that maybe he'd been the one to make Carson suffer the most, emotionally.

It must be so very nice to be Kurt and be under the misguided delusion that you're never at fault for anything ever. But then, I guess that's what happens when you grow up as the one who's given everything, including all the love.

And yet, despite how angry he was, he still couldn't quite bring himself to toss Kurt out of the flat. Which was really the oddest fucking thing, because now that he'd given Kurt the talk his twin had been bugging the shit out of him for, he guessed that he technically had fulfilled his bit of the bargain and could get rid of him any time he wanted. Certainly Kurt deserved to be thrown out, didn't he? After everything Carson had been through, the last thing he needed was Kurt acting like a heavy anchor tying him to his miserable childhood when he was trying to move on.

It had taken him a bit, but what he'd finally realized was that, if he threw Kurt out, it would be like letting his twin win, in a way. Kurt wanted to be thrown out so that he could play the victim card and whine about how mean Carson was to reject him when all he wanted to do was apologize and make things right, and whatever other nonsense he could spin to make people feel sorry for him.

Well, fuck that. Carson would be damned if he was going to give Kurt anything he wanted right now, even if it meant he would be inconvenienced for a time. Because he could let Kurt stay, yes, but that sure as hell didn't mean that he had to make him feel welcome or make his life pleasant in any way. If Kurt had a brain in his head at all, eventually he would get the hint that he should get the fuck out. Which, admittedly, was taking a hell of a long time. It was like Kurt was deliberately testing him.

Whatever, I've survived much longer and challenging standoffs than this. Plus, at least he cooks. And if I get the bonus of watching him come out of the shower every once in a while, well…. I mean, I should be getting something out of this, after all.

Shut up.

He didn't say a word when Kurt continued staying at the flat day after day. He didn't say anything when it turned into a week and Kurt was still there, and even worse, so was more of his stuff. Carson had come home from an afternoon of sessions one evening to find that Kurt had cleared out half the shelves in the bathroom for his various face and hair shit, not to mention that the shower now had a caddy attached to the wall, into which Kurt had stuck about seventeen thousand different shampoos and conditioners. Carson already had a headache, and that was before he'd passed by Kurt's room and discovered that his twin's bed frame and mattress (his real one, not the air one) had mysteriously appeared inside at some point unknown.

"Kurt, what the fuck is that?" he'd demanded as he stalked into the kitchen, where Kurt was perched delicately on a chair with a copy of Vogue in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

"What's what?" Kurt asked innocently.

"In the guest room," Carson said through gritted teeth.

"Oh. That's my bed, Carson," replied Kurt calmly. "I had a few friends help me lug it from the house. I figured as long as I'm living in that room, I should at least have my own bed, wouldn't you agree?"

"You are not living in that room," Carson retorted. "You're an extended guest, and you're lucky to be that."

Kurt put his magazine down and looked at Carson over the rim of his teacup, his blue eyes daring Carson to do something as they locked on him.

"Then throw me out," Kurt said. "If I'm nothing but a guest, you should kick me out."

Carson just glared at him, wanting so much to do just what Kurt had suggested, but unwilling to be the first one to back down. "Just make sure your bullshit doesn't take over the whole bathroom," he grumbled as he opened the fridge, desperate for a drink.

The bathroom issue was actually the one thing that drove Carson more nuts than anything else related to Kurt's invasion of his flat. Namely, it was the fact that, no matter what time he got up in the morning, it was almost a guarantee that his twin would be in the bathroom, either fixing his hair or applying one of the nine hundred thousand creams he possessed for his face, and he wasn't at all gracious about clearing some space so that Carson could get ready, too. They had shared a bathroom at home, too, but the difference there was that it hadn't been the only bathroom. Plus, now Carson was pretty sure he was doing this shit on purpose just to fuck with him.

"Seriously, is there ever a time of the morning where you aren't in here?" he muttered grumpily one morning as he shuffled sleepily into the bathroom, where, wonder of fucking wonders, Kurt was already applying gobs of greasy looking product to his hair while various tubes and pots lay scattered about the sink. His twin was also in his underwear and his skin was still slightly glistening from his morning shower, although Carson was doing his utmost best to ignore that part.

"It takes a lot of work to look as flawless as I do," Kurt retorted as he ran his fingers through his hair to form the swoosh style he was famous for. "Besides, all you have to do is ask me to move. Jesus."

"I do ask, and all you do is bitch," Carson replied, standing behind Kurt and reaching over him for the cabinet, his chest pressed to Kurt's back as he rooted around for his razor. "And, I might add that I shouldn't have to ask for bathroom space in my own fucking flat." He found his razor but took his time taking it out of the cabinet, because as pissed as he was, Kurt's soft skin felt really good on his bare chest. And apparently other parts of his body were finding it interesting, as well.

Ugh, fuck. I blame early morning horniess, ok?

"Well, I'm sorry, Carson, but you know my morning routine is extremely consuming," said Kurt with a shrug as Carson quickly pulled away from him and fumbled with the razor.

"Oh, how could I forget the trials and tribulations Prince Kurt goes through every morning to look like he just ate the pages of a magazine?" Carson replied mockingly. "Seriously, just make sure you put all this shit away this time when you're done. I swear to god the next time I come in here and your stuff is all over the sink, I'm throwing it all away."

"Ok, ok, fuck's sake," grumbled Kurt as he begrudgingly moved all his stuff aside to give Carson room. They worked alongside each other in silence, with Carson doing his best to ignore the tantalizing sight of all that bare Kurt flesh that was close enough to touch if he wanted.

Not that I want. Fuck that. I can touch scores of other skin, I don't need Kurt's.

His thoughts were interrupted by Kurt capping the last of his products and taking one last glance at himself in the mirror, fingers stroking his hair to make sure it was in place. Satisfied, he turned and exited the bathroom, leaving every last one of his products still scattered everywhere. Carson wanted to kill him.

"Yeah, don't put all your shit away or anything!" he bellowed after his retreating twin, who either didn't hear him or was choosing to ignore him. Carson sighed, finishing his routine as quickly as possible so that he had a prayer of making it to school on time.

I swear, this is the last fucking time he's leaving all this mess and not cleaning it up, he thought bitterly as he got dressed back in his room. He had half a mind to make good on his threat to throw everything away when Kurt wasn't paying attention, but he suddenly had a much better (not to mention more evil) idea. Of course, he would need to pay a visit to the art classroom at school first.

He rushed home that afternoon in order to execute his plan before Kurt returned from glee rehearsal. He supposed he could have done it at night when his twin was sleeping, but he didn't want to risk getting caught and stopped. He fumbled through his bag until he found the vial of silver glitter he'd stolen from the art supplies that day, and headed for the bathroom, where Kurt's mess was all still there, just where he'd left it.

Ok, let's see, Carson mused as he considered the array of tubes and pots before him. Ok, this one is for the face, I think. Yes. Ok. He unscrewed the cap of the face cream and then opened the glitter vial, dumping almost the entire thing into the cream and stirring it around with his finger. To the unsuspecting eye, the cream still looked relatively normal. He was pretty sure Kurt didn't look at it first before he applied it, which was exactly what he was counting on.

He wasn't disappointed, either. The horrified shriek coming from the bathroom the next morning was a more effective wake-up call than any alarm clock.

"CARSON!" Kurt yelled, stomping angrily down the hall and practically kicking the door of Carson's bedroom down.

"Morning, Kurt," Carson said cheerfully as he sat up in bed and yawned in an exaggerated manner. "Sleep well?"

"Carson, what the fuck did you do?" shrieked Kurt.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean."

"MY FACE CREAM, CARSON!" Kurt screamed. "What did you do to it?"

"Oh, that," said Carson casually. "I enhanced it a little, is all."

"ENHANCED IT?" Kurt's face was almost purple with unadulterated rage. "I'm fucking sparkling, Carson! Look at me! I look like the lamest Twilight cosplayer ever!"

"Hey, you love Twilight," Carson pointed out, amused now that he'd put his glasses on and could see that his twin's face was sparkling like a diamond mine.

"Do you have any idea how long it'll take to get this shit off of me?" Kurt demanded. "Not to mention how much money it will cost to replace the cream? This stuff doesn't come cheap, you know."

"Well, that does sound like a problem," said Carson sympathetically. "For you, that is."

"You mean for you," retorted Kurt, steam practically pouring out of his ears. "You're gonna replace it, right?"

"I am? That's news," said Carson as he yawned and got out of bed.

"Carson, you ruined it!"

"Well, maybe if you put your shit away when you were done with it like I asked, it wouldn't be left vulnerable to damages," Carson pointed out. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get ready for school."

"Carson Phillips, I swear to god you will pay for this!" Kurt whined, stomping his foot and crossing his arms over his chest angrily as Carson breezed past him and into the bathroom. He amused himself during his shower wondering how Kurt was planning to make him pay. His twin wasn't the most imaginative when it came to revenge schemes. He never had been. Carson fully expected to find salt in the sugar bowl later or something

As it turned out, however, he shouldn't have been so quick to underestimate Kurt. He found this out in a horrifying way when he arrived at school and pulled out his phone to text a client, which he hadn't had time to do that morning in the midst of the Kurt drama.

Instead of unlocking, however, his phone demanded a passcode and a fingerprint. A passcode that Carson couldn't give it, because he didn't use a passcode on his phone. And… fucking fingerprints? He didn't even know his phone was capable of recognizing fingerprints.

Oh god fucking damn it, Kurt, you little piece of shit.

He checked his watch, figuring that Kurt would probably be at his locker by now, and nearly flew down the halls, determined to confront Kurt as soon as was humanly possible. His twin was just where he knew he would be, checking his reflection in his locker mirror as he pulled a book out and stuck it under his arm.

"KURT!" Carson exclaimed angrily, stomping over and slamming his brother's locker shut with a loud bang.

"Can I help you, Carson?" Kurt asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yeah, you can either unlock my phone right the fuck now, or I can put a pillow over your face while you sleep tonight. Your choice," Carson growled, thrusting his useless phone in Kurt's face.

"Oh, that. Well, I did say I would make you pay," Kurt replied with a shrug. "As you can see, I'm still covered in glitter thanks to you having the maturity of a five year old. You wanna know how many people have told me to "shine like a diamond" so far this morning? Four. Four people, Carson."

"Kurt, unlock my goddamn phone before I murder you," Carson replied furiously. "And if you want to talk immaturity, you should be eating all your meals out of one of Max's bottles."

"Well, if you murder me, you'll never unlock your phone," said Kurt casually. "So I guess we're at a stalemate, here."

"Kurt, I swear to god, I will cut your finger off if I have to, but this phone is getting unlocked in the next two minutes."

"A dead finger won't work with the fingerprint scanner."

"KURT."

"Ok, ok, give me the money to replace my face cream and you can have your stupid phone back," said Kurt, sticking his hand out in expectation.

"I hate you so fucking much," Carson mumbled, digging in his pocket and pressing some bills into Kurt's hand. "Happy, dear?"

"Yes, that'll do," replied Kurt, grabbing Carson's phone and tapping away at it for a minute. "There you are. Good as new."

"Don't touch my shit again," Carson barked as he took his phone back and glared at Kurt menacingly.

"Don't touch my shit again," Kurt retorted.

"Fine."

"Fine."

I swear to god, one of these days I am going to murder this little bitch, Carson thought to himself exasperatedly as he stalked his way down the hall toward his first class. Give me the strength not to throttle him before we graduate from this school.

"I don't understand why you don't just ask him to leave," said Sebastian the next afternoon as he and Carson walked out of the school and toward the parking lot after the last bell of the day had rung. Carson had been venting to him about Kurt's shenanigans, hoping for maybe a tiny bit of sympathy, since Sebastian knew what Kurt could be like. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten that Sebastian was still obviously carrying a torch for the little demon, so Carson quickly realized he'd been barking up the wrong tree, there. "If him being there bothers you that much, just tell him to go. Isn't that better than making each other miserable?"

"No, you don't understand, that's what he wants," grumbled Carson. "He wants to have a reason to act like the poor victim. Fuck if I'm going to give him one. He'll leave on his own, eventually. I fucking hope."

"You know I'm the last one to be the sentimental type, but I really wish you'd both just make up," Sebastian sighed. "Seriously, watching the two of you is fucking exhausting. And kind of arousing, in a way, but still."

"Yeah, no," said Carson. "Any time you want to take him off my hands, you let me know."

"He's not speaking to me," Sebastian pointed out.

"Consider yourself lucky. Got time and money for a quickie?" asked Carson, changing the subject quickly so he could talk about literally anything else but Kurt. "I'm watching Max later, but we'd have the flat to ourselves for a couple of hours beforehand, if you want."

"Is that your solution to every problem you don't like? Throw sex at it so it will go away?" asked Sebastian with narrowed eyes.

"Yes."

Sebastian sighed heavily. "Yeah, I guess we could have some fun."

"Great," chirped Carson, yanking his car door open. "Meet you at my place, then."

Traffic was relatively light, so both boys made it back to Carson's building in record time, with Carson leading the way inside toward his floor.

"Wait till you see the new toy I got," he was saying as he stuck his key in the lock and turned it. "It's got a-"

He didn't finish his sentence, because as soon as he entered the apartment, he could see Kurt walking from the direction of the kitchen, holding a muffin in one hand and looking over in surprise.

"You're home early," he said through a mouthful of muffin.

"Yeah, I could say the same to you," muttered Carson. "What are you doing here? And don't say you live here, because I will kick you."

Kurt rolled his eyes, but didn't reply, because he caught a glimpse of Sebastian behind Carson just then. All three boys just stood around, looking at each other awkwardly for a few moments before Carson decided that enough had been enough.

"Yes, well, Sebastian and I have business to attend to in my bedroom, so I'll have to ask you to give us our privacy," he said determinedly, taking Sebastian by the hand and leading him past Kurt and toward the bedroom.

"Wait, are we seriously gonna… while he's home?" asked Sebastian, sounding uncertain as Carson pulled him into the room and closed the door behind them.

"Yes, is that a problem?" asked Carson.

"Well… I just…. it seems kind of mean," Sebastian protested, glancing over at the closed door as Carson worked on unbuttoning his shirt.

"Mean to who? He knows this is my flat, and he knows what I do for a living," Carson pointed out. "He's welcome to get the fuck out if he's uncomfortable with what's going on in here."

"But-"

Carson rolled his eyes and surged their lips together in a kiss, hoping that would shut Sebastian up long enough for them to get this thing started. Thankfully, Sebastian relaxed into the kiss and allowed Carson to finish taking his shirt off, even though he still looked uncertain.

"Now, about that toy," Carson started to say. A knock on the door interrupted him, and he sighed as he opened it to Kurt, who had a smile on his face that clearly said "I know what I'm interrupting and I'm doing it on purpose."

"What do you want?" Carson asked.

"Do you wanna have dinner later?" asked Kurt brightly. "We could order pizza, or-"

"You really have to ask me this now?"

"I just wanted to know, is all."

"I'm watching the baby later, Kurt."

"Well, don't kids eat pizza?" asked Kurt. "I thought that was the entire point behind the existence of those restaurants with the ball pits."

"He's a baby, Kurt, he doesn't even have any teeth."

"So, no pizza?"

"Goodbye, Kurt," Carson said, shutting the door in Kurt's face and rolling his eyes. "Ok, where were we?" he said to Sebastian, smiling as he reached for his sex toy drawer. He'd barely grazed his fingers over the handle before there was another knock on the door, and Carson just barely managed not to grind his teeth to nubs as he answered it again.

"What now?"

"How about after the kid goes home? You wanna have dinner then?" asked Kurt hopefully.

"Jesus, Kurt," Carson muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "If I say yes, will you go away? No, you know what? Don't answer that," he added, closing the door again and leaning against it for a minute with his eyes closed. "He's testing me," he said to Sebastian, who looked even more uncomfortable now than he had when they'd entered.

"Carson, I don't know about-"

*Knock knock*

"Oh, for fuck's sake," groaned Carson, yanking the door open for a third time and glaring at his devious twin. "WHAT?"

"There's a spider in the living room," said Kurt.

"Right, that's it," Carson declared. He yanked the door open all the way, caught Kurt around the waist, and hoisted him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes as his brother shrieked in protest.

"Carson, what the fuck? Put me down!" he demanded, kicking his legs and smacking Carson on the back.

"I will, as soon as I've carried you the fuck out of my flat," Carson replied, struggling to get very far as Kurt's arms and legs flailed everywhere. "You're cockblocking me, and that's where I draw the line."

"Put me down now!" Kurt ordered him, and Carson nearly dropped him as he felt delicate fingers trying to tickle his side.

"Kurt… K-kurt… haha… sto… fucking stop it!" Carson managed to gasp out in between peals of laughter from the stimulation. He rushed through the apartment as fast as possible before Kurt could get any more bright ideas, and pushed the door open. He tried placing Kurt down on the floor in the middle of the hallway, but now that they'd reached their destination, Kurt was no longer struggling for freedom. He was doing quite the opposite, in fact, as he clung to Carson's neck and refused to let go.

"Let go, Kurt."

"No!"

"Kurt, seriously, if I have to put you in a woodchipper to get you to leave me alone, I swear I will, now let go!" Carson demanded, finally managing to shrug his brother free from his body. He rushed back into the flat and slammed the door before Kurt could follow, leaning up against it and taking a huge breath as Sebastian came wandering out of the bedroom to see what the fuck was going on.

"Did you just…"

"Yes," replied Carson. "I tossed him out. Literally."

There was an awkward silence for a moment, and then Carson cringed as he heard the apartment buzzer going off with an irritating diiiiing dooooong.

"I'm ignoring it," he declared, crossing his arms defiantly.

Diiiiing doooooong

"He can't ring the buzzer forever."

Diiiiiiiiiing doooooooooooooong

"Yeah, I don't think he's gonna give up," said Sebastian as he buttoned his shirt back up and Carson groaned, turning around and pulling the door back open to reveal his storm cloud of a brother, who pushed past him and re-entered the flat, plopping himself defiantly into the nearest kitchen chair.

"Yeah, Carson, I actually should go," said Sebastian awkwardly as he finished fixing his clothes. "I'll see you in school tomorrow. Um… good luck?" he offered as parting words as he patted Carson on the shoulder and rushed out the door like he couldn't wait to leave.

Carson sighed deeply as he watched him go. A demon. I have a demon living in my flat, and his name is Kurt Phillips.

"Ugh, doesn't that thing have an off switch?" Kurt complained as Carson sat on the sofa with a very fussy, crying Max, who had apparently decided that there was nothing that could soothe him that night, not even Carson telling him a story or playing the "Fetch the keys" game. He'd only been there for an hour, but it already felt like longer, and Carson had a headache just thinking about the three more that lay ahead before April would be back to pick him up.

"If the crying bothers you so damn much, why don't you leave the flat?" Carson snapped at him as viciously as he could without scaring the baby.

"Nice try," muttered Kurt.

"Seriously, Kurt, don't you think you've caused me enough grief today?" said Carson with exasperation as he gently bounced Max in his arm. "Honestly, it's like I have to deal with two whining babies. At least Max has the excuse of only being three months old."

"Yeah, well, at least I'm the cuter brother," mumbled Kurt. "That thing looks like it's going to grow up to be one of the Children of the Corn."

"Don't be such a jealous bitch," said Carson with a roll of his eyes. "He's cute. At least he doesn't look a thing like Dad."

"Well, he certainly bitches like him," said Kurt. "Does he ever do anything besides cry? How do you stand it?"

"He isn't usually like this," replied Carson. "He's just fussy tonight. Hmm? Isn't that right, buddy? You're just a big old fussbudget tonight, aren't you?" he said in what he hoped was a soothing, sing-song voice to the baby.

"Well, did you feed him?" asked Kurt, making a face in the direction of the baby as if Max were moldy cheese. "Or, like… check his diaper for…. whatever?"

"No, Kurt, I just let him cry without trying any of those things," muttered Carson sarcastically. "You truly are a child whisperer, and everyone would be so lost without you and your genius to give them such groundbreaking ideas as "Feed it and change it."

"Well, I don't see you coming up with any bright ideas, Einstein," retorted Kurt as Max cried louder and flailed his arms around. "All I see is you holding him like a dumbass while he cries loud enough to be heard in London. I don't know, doesn't it have toys?"

"He doesn't want his toys, I tried that already," snapped Carson, quickly reaching the end of his rope as he gently lifted Max up to hold him to his shoulder. "And you aren't helping, so just shut the fuck up. Oh, not you, honey," he said quickly as Max screamed in his ear. "Not you, I was talking to your cranky brother Kurt, who doesn't know shit about shit."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," sighed Kurt, getting up from his seat and crossing over to Carson. "Here, give him to me."

"Are you insane?" asked Carson, eyeing Kurt's outstretched hands suspiciously, as if they were covered with poisonous spiders. "How can I trust you not to throw him out the window or something?"

"Oh, come on, Carson, do I look like a monster to you?" asked Kurt, rolling his eyes. "Seriously, just give him here. I wanna try something."

Carson sighed, reluctantly handing the baby over to Kurt. Who knew? Maybe Kurt could calm him down. It was worth a try, anyway.

"Make sure you support his head," he reminded Kurt, who gave him a disdainful look in return as he carefully shifted the baby in his arms.

"Carson, I wasn't born yesterday. I think I can figure out how to hold a baby without your expertise, thank you," he muttered. He looked down at Max, who was just as unimpressed with the new person holding him as he had been with Carson. If anything, he was crying harder than ever.

"Yes, yes, I know, I know, you're unhappy," mumbled Kurt as he gingerly settled himself down on the sofa beside Carson, gently rocking the baby back and forth. "Now, let's see. Let Kurt get a read on you, hmm?" He tilted his head to the side and considered Max, whose face was so scrunched up it almost looked like some kind of weird alien head from a horror film. "I don't know, you look like a Disney fan, but I'm feeling more Broadway, so how about we try a little Annie first, ok?"

Max just screamed in response, so Kurt shrugged, cleared his throat, and launched right into a song, elevating his voice only just loud enough to be heard over the crying, while still keeping it lilting and soothing.

The sun will come out tomorrow

Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow there'll be sun

Just thinking about tomorrow

Clears away the cobwebs and the sorrow 'til there's none

Amazingly, Max's screams gradually grew less and less piercing as Kurt worked his way through the song, winding down to hiccup-laced whimpers by the time he reached the last repetition of the chorus. As soon as Kurt had finished, the whimpers grew louder, so Kurt started in on some song Carson was pretty sure came from Phantom of the Opera, if he remembered Kurt's favorite musicals correctly. As if by some kind of miracle magic, Max was actually fast asleep by the end of that one, clearly exhausted by all the crying as he passed out limply in Kurt's arms.

"That's how it's done," Kurt remarked in a whisper, giving Carson a triumphant look as he rocked the baby gently.

"Wow," Carson whispered back, not realizing until that very second that he and Kurt were kind of, sort of, sharing a moment, there. Which irritated him, because he was so not in the mood to be sharing anything even remotely sweet with Kurt, not after his twin's behavior lately.

But even so… he couldn't help but feel something deep in his stomach as he watched Kurt slowly get up and place Max down in his stroller to sleep, albeit regarding him like he was some sort of tiny, human-sized Rubix Cube. Babies had never exactly been Kurt's strong suit.

I'm probably just hungry, that's all that feeling is, Carson assured himself as he got up to use the bathroom.

That's got to be all it is.