Kurt woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, curled in a ball up against Carson with his head on his chest and Carson's arms wrapped tightly around him, wondering at first why he felt so uncomfortable and stiff, until he realized that he had been passed out on Santana's living room floor. His fellow glee club members and cast mates were scattered around him, none of them awake yet. He yawned and tried to stretch out a little, only then registering the solid weight against his back. Blaine was pressed up against him and had been using his ass for a pillow. Kurt was literally caught in the middle between the two boys

Carson's not going to like that, thought Kurt sleepily, gently shaking his lower body until Blaine slid off of him, his head landing on the floor with a soft thunk. Blaine wrinkled his nose and snuffled in his sleep, but didn't wake up. Kurt glanced up at Carson and smiled as the memories from the previous night began to creep back into his brain, bit by bit. He remembered Santana daring him to give Blaine a lap dance, which was just awkward and uncomfortable as hell for Kurt, especially when he knew Carson was watching.

He recalled Brittany daring Carson to kiss him, and he had secretly been thankful that Blaine wasn't in the room when she did, because he wasn't sure if he would have felt comfortable kissing Carson this time with him there to see. And he had wanted Carson to kiss him. The anticipation was so strong it had overwhelmed him, actually, but that was nothing compared to the absolute army of butterflies that had suddenly taken up residence in his stomach when Carson's lips finally touched his. That was the spark, the thing that he still wasn't feeling whenever he kissed Blaine, even though he desperately wanted to, and he definitely still had feelings for him. But with Carson, though...wow. Kurt hadn't been able to stop himself from deepening the kiss. Or from taking it over, practically climbing on Carson and hungrily devouring his lips.

And then Blaine had come back and pulled Kurt away, and Kurt had instantly felt like the world's most horrible person. What had he been thinking, kissing Carson like that? Not only was that unfair to Blaine, it was unfair to Carson. Kurt often felt like he was being unfair to Carson, actually, especially since Blaine had decided to transfer. He was beginning to wonder if it had really been worth it to have his boyfriend at the same school if it meant a constant air of tension when the three of them were together.

He wondered sometimes how much different life would be for him now if he had gone through with his plan to confess his feelings to Carson last year, and if he had been correct in thinking that Carson felt the same way. Sure, they would have had to be extremely discreet, and that would have come with its own set of tensions, but it would have been better than constantly feeling torn between two people he cared deeply for.

And then he remembered how much bullying and shaming they both would experience if word got out about him and Carson being in a relationship, not to mention the possible legal ramifications for their family, and he knew he couldn't put Carson through that. He was glad that he was sparing his twin from that kind of hell.

But that didn't mean that it didn't hurt. Or that Kurt didn't feel forever stuck between a rock and a hard place, wanting so badly to keep both his boyfriend and his brother happy while having a little happiness for himself, and feeling like he was failing at both.

I hate feelings, he thought, burrowing in closer to Carson and breathing in his comforting scent. Feelings are confusing and stupid, and I wish I didn't have them.

By the end of September, Carson had resigned himself to a disappointing and frustrating senior year, mentally chastising himself for ever thinking that he could have even a halfway decent one. His classes were full of morons. Algebra 2 sucked. His journalism students were still useless lumps. So were the idiots on the student council. Still nobody had joined the Writers' Club. Glee was...well...glee. And he was still being subjected to Douchy, Snow White's missing, bowtie loving eighth dwarf, on a daily basis. Not to mention that he still had yet to hear anything back from Northwestern. He'd even put his rage at Ms. Pillsbury over the West Side Story audition incident aside long enough to ask her to look into it, but so far she had no news for him either.

And he wasn't sure how he felt about the fact that the most disappointing thing in his life wasn't actually any of those things, but that the hickey Kurt had left on his neck at Santana's party had pretty much faded away to nothing.

He did have Kurt's campaign to focus on now that he was in charge of managing it, so that was a bright spot in his school days, at least. His first order of business had been to try to convince Kurt to ditch the garish pink campaign posters that Brittany had designed which featured Kurt's giant head sporting a unicorn horn, but Kurt had insisted on keeping them.

"I decided I liked them," he'd explained when Carson asked why he didn't use the sexy poster he'd found in their room which featured Kurt looking like James Bond and giving the camera a smoldering look. "Like I told Brittany, I should embrace my unicorn-ness."

So Carson had let him keep the posters (but he'd also rolled up the sexy James Bond poster for safekeeping and put it on his side of the closet. He figured he could take it with him to college next year, which was not creepy, ok?) He busied himself with passing out "Vote For Kurt" buttons in the halls whenever he had the opportunity (and also wrangling Nicholas and Scott into helping, since he was already blackmailing them anyway, so he thought he may as well get some free labor out of them while he was at it). He had no doubt that Kurt could easily win this election. Brittany was an idiot that nobody would ever seriously vote for, no matter how many short leather skirts she wore during pep rallies, and, well...who the fuck was going to vote for Rachel? Nobody liked Rachel. Not even Finn was sure he was going to vote for her, which amused Carson greatly.

He also was trying to help Kurt sell ad space in the West Side Story programs, which was necessary since their funding had been cut thanks to Coach Sylvester. Not because he particularly cared about the play, but because it was so important to Kurt.

"You're too nice for your own good," he'd said to Kurt when his twin came home one afternoon from talking to their dad about buying ad space. "You're barely even in this play and you're working your ass off to save it. I really admire you."

"Well, I'd hate to see it not go on," Kurt had replied, flopping down on the couch beside Carson, resting his head on his shoulder and watching as Carson worked on an article on his laptop. "Rachel needs it for NYADA, and it's Blaine's first big role in a play. They'd both be really disappointed if the musical was cancelled."

Carson wrapped an arm around him and kissed his hair. "Like I said. Too nice for your own good."

With the help of their father, who convinced the owners of every funeral parlor in Lima to donate the rest of the money, the play was saved and was scheduled to go on as planned. Which Carson was grateful for if for no other reason than that he hated asking people to buy those damn ads.

"Ok, everyone, I have some very exciting news," said Mr. Schue one afternoon after writing his requisite phrase of the day on the whiteboard. "Due to the collective spirit of this club, particularly the hard ad sales work of Kurt and Carson, and the generosity of the entire Hummel/Hudson household, it is my pleasure to announce that we have raised the money to do West Side Story this year!"

Everyone looked over at the twins and broke out into a round of applause. Kurt blushed and squeezed Carson's hand, and Carson even managed to half-smile at the club.

"It was mostly Kurt's work," he said, giving Kurt a pat on the shoulder. He saw Santana raise an eyebrow and smirk at him from where she sat on the floor across the room.

"Good job, everyone," said Mr. Schue. "Blaine," he continued, pointing his pen at him, "You actually had something you'd like to say, right?"

Of course he does, thought Carson, rolling his eyes. The attention has been off of him for more than five seconds, and we just can't have that, can we?

"Yes, I did," said Blaine, who, for once wasn't sitting anywhere near Kurt and Carson. It was a refreshing change.

"Come on up," said Mr. Schue. Blaine eagerly got up from his seat and stood to face the club. Carson looked him up and down and somehow managed to refrain from making a Gilligan's Island joke about his outfit out loud, even though it was very difficult.

"I just wanted to acknowledge that we've all had a really rough week, what with Mercedes leaving," said Blaine. "So I prepared a little something to show what Mr. Schue just said. That the magic is still here."

"I hate to argue with you, Gilligan," said Carson (Ok, maybe he wasn't strong enough after all to not make jokes about Blaine's clothes), "but all Mr. Schue just said was that Kurt and I, and our dad, saved your stupid play from certain death. There was nothing said about magic."

"Anyway," said Blaine, narrowing his eyes at Carson before addressing the rest of the club, "This is to remind us of what glee is all about, which is just fun." He gave a cocky little wink to the band, who started playing some annoying pop piece of crap, and Blaine started singing what Carson eventually recognized as Katy Perry's "Last Friday Night." Everyone except Finn and Kurt (and Carson, obviously) got up and started dancing like idiots, and Carson was amused to see that Kurt seemed perfectly content to just sit in his seat rather than take part in his boyfriend's showboating. That's my boy, he thought happily. It did really irritate him to see Blaine looking at Kurt while he sang about threesomes, though. Ugh, just die already.

Kurt chose that moment to get up and start dancing with Blaine, much to Carson's disappointment. He was so distracted watching them that he almost didn't notice that Santana had stalked over to the choir room chairs during the song until he felt her plop down right next to him in Kurt's vacant seat.

"I agree with you," she said without preamble, an angry scowl on her face. "Boy's a showoff."

"That he is," agreed Carson, crossing his arms and glaring at Blaine, who was holding Kurt by the hands and twirling him around. "I curse the day he ever came to this school."

"I know," she said, reaching out one hand and giving him an extremely brief, awkward pat on the shoulder. "Just say the word and I will organize another drunken party for you any time." Carson felt himself blushing. Damn it, Santana. Kurt looked over at them then and frowned as the song mercifully came to an end.

"You guys," said Rachel excitedly, sitting back down in her seat, "That song is amazing! I think we should do it for Sectionals!"

"Are you high?" asked Carson as Santana scoffed next to him.

"So, no concerns about showcasing any other voices this year at the competition?" Santana asked irritably, getting up from her seat and walking toward Mr. Schue and Blaine. Kurt took the seat she had left and grabbed onto Carson's arm, clinging to it so tightly that Carson almost lost blood circulation. Not that he minded. Not in the least.

"Oh, come on, Santana, you were featured last year at Sectionals," said Mr. Schue.

"Yeah, I know. And we won," said Santana. "Oh, no, you know what? I get it. Since Mercedes is gone this year, it's going to be the Blaine and Rachel show. Yay!" she said mockingly as Blaine rolled his eyes.

What's the matter, hobbit? Can't take the heat? thought Carson, still enjoying Kurt's tight grip on his arm.

"You all know it's true," continued Santana. "Noted. Good to know," she said, giving Blaine a sarcastic pat on the arm before storming out of the choir room.

"Thank you, Santana," muttered Mr. Schue.

"I think that was beautiful," said Carson. "Absolutely spot-on. Team Santana!" Blaine glared at him. Kurt's grip got tighter.

Suck it, hobbit. She was right and you know it.

Kurt lay on his stomach across Blaine's bed, watching with his thumbs in his mouth as his boyfriend danced around to some weird song he'd never heard of across the room. Blaine had removed his school cardigan and bowtie and was dancing in just his pants and a plain white T-shirt, and Kurt, even distracted as he was at the moment with his thoughts, was definitely enjoying the view. Not as much as he usually enjoyed the view of Carson in T-shirts, but still. It was nice.

"God, Roxy music makes me want to build a time machine just so I can go back to the '70s and give Bryan Ferry a high five," Blaine was saying, but Kurt wasn't really listening. He was thinking back to earlier that afternoon, when he and Blaine had gone to the Dairy Queen together for ice cream to celebrate the fact that the opening of West Side Story was now only days away and they had mostly survived the long rehearsal process. The college-aged guy behind the counter, whose nametag identified him as Daniel, wouldn't stop staring at Blaine as they placed their orders. That much Kurt was used to. People of both genders stared at Blaine all the time when they were out, so that wasn't new. What was new was the flirting.

"Here you go, cutie," Daniel had said with a wink as he handed Blaine his ice cream. "You come here often?"

"Oh...well...no," answered Blaine, his face flushing. Kurt reached for his own ice cream, since Daniel obviously wasn't planning on handing it over.

"Right, right. I'd remember a face like that," said Daniel. Blaine had just laughed, his face getting redder.

"Thanks. You're, um...you're cute too," he'd said, seemingly forgetting that Kurt was standing right there.

"Thanks, hon. You enjoy that ice cream, now."

"He will," Kurt had interjected then, grabbing Blaine by the arm and leading him over to a table. The incident had bothered him for the rest of the afternoon. He'd never had to deal with anyone blatantly flirting with Blaine like that before since they started dating, and he was kind of upset that Blaine had seemed to enjoy it. Or, at the very least, it hadn't bothered Blaine enough for him to at least acknowledge that Kurt was his boyfriend and was standing right there. He could only imagine what Carson would have said if he'd been there.

"Do you think I'm boring?" Kurt blurted out from the bed.

"Are you crazy?" Blaine asked with a laugh, not even pausing in his dancing. "You're the single most interesting kid in all of Ohio!"

Oh. Well. That's...I mean, just in Ohio, or...?

"I mean, like...sexually," Kurt clarified, sitting up. It had been on his mind since they'd left the ice cream shop, and he hadn't actually meant to bring it up to Blaine, but here it was spilling out of his mouth, so he might as well continue. "We are playing it very safe by not granting our hands visas to travel south of the equator." Except for when you're drunk, obviously, since you did try to feel me up at Santana's party, but...I mean, other than that, you only really seem interested in leaving really angry, obvious hickeys on my neck and it's kind of starting to make me feel like maybe you DO think I'm boring. Carson shows more sexual interest in me than you do sometimes...Well, he couldn't say all of THAT.

"I thought that's what we wanted," said Blaine.

"It is," agreed Kurt. "I'm just wondering, have you ever had the urge just to rip off each other's clothes and get dirty?"

"Uh, yeah, but that's why they invented masturbation," said Blaine matter of factly. Kurt felt his whole body heating up at the realization that Blaine had just admitted to masturbating to thoughts of him. He was torn between being extremely turned on and extremely glad that Carson wasn't present for this conversation, because he had the feeling Blaine wouldn't have anything to masturbate with anymore if Carson had heard that.

Ok, maybe he doesn't think I'm THAT boring.

"It's so hot in this room," he said, pulling at his clothes. "Could we...could we open up a window?"

"Hey, I'm serious," said Blaine, crossing over to climb onto the bed beside Kurt. "We're young, we're in high school. Yeah, we have urges, but whatever we do, I want to make sure that you're comfortable, so I can be comfortable."

Kurt thought about this. Blaine did have a point. Kurt wasn't quite sure he would be comfortable yet exploring the whole sex thing with him. He wasn't sure he would ever be fully comfortable at all until he could stop his thoughts from traveling straight to Carson every time he seriously thought about having sex. In a way, he supposed, Blaine was unwittingly protecting him from himself. There's those damn confusing feelings again.

"And besides," Blaine continued, "tearing off all your clothes is sort of a tall order."

"Because of the layers?" asked Kurt, more than familiar with Blaine's feelings on his layers. He'd caught Blaine rolling his eyes and scoffing at his outfits on more than one occasion when he figured Blaine thought he wasn't looking.

"Because of the layers," agreed Blaine, leaning in for a kiss. "They're adorable, but you're so lucky you found me. I don't think anyone else would ever put up with them."

Carson walked down the hallway, feeling like a determined man on a mission. It had been an eventful afternoon, to be sure. It had started out as all his afternoons usually did, with his journalism team sitting there like useless plants while he tried to get anything even remotely resembling effort out of them. He'd been seriously considering drowning them when he'd been called into Ms. Pillsbury's office after class, where she informed him that she had heard back from Northwestern. He'd almost had a heart attack right then, because she'd sounded so solemn when she'd said it, and he was worried for a minute that he hadn't gotten in. He'd been miserably envisioning his certain future writing for the Lima pennysaver when she had informed him that she didn't know whether he'd been accepted or denied. However, if he wanted to have any prayer of being admitted, he'd have to submit something other than his work from the Muckraker.

"Like what?" he'd asked eagerly.

"Like a novel, or a book of poems..." Ms. Pillsbury answered.

"But I'm not a novelist and I'm not a poet," Carson protested in a panic, not letting her finish. "I'm a journalist!"

"Yes, Carson, I know," said Ms. Pillsbury. "You could also submit a literary magazine."

Carson stopped panicking and looked at her curiously. "A literary magazine?"

Ms. Pillsbury nodded. "Since it's not nearly as common as a high school newspaper, it would impress Northwestern a lot more," she said, giving him a small smile. "And, you know, it would show that you can inspire other people to write while writing yourself."

"So, in other words, I would have to actually get people to agree to write for this magazine?" asked Carson.

"Yep," said Ms. Pillsbury. "And you'd need Figgins to approve you."

Fuuuuuuuck.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Carson had marched directly into Figgins' office right then and there to ask for permission to start the magazine. Surprisingly, he'd gotten it pretty easily, probably because Figgins didn't think Carson could come up with the funding for it. Carson himself wasn't even sure how he would do that, but that was just details. He'd find the money somehow. The important thing was that he'd been granted permission to hold an assembly the following day to announce the magazine and see if anyone was interested in writing for it.

And now he was all set to go home and start practicing his assembly speech so that he wouldn't make a complete idiot of himself. He just needed to get his books first. Fucking homework.

He was just stuffing his dreaded Algebra 2 book in his bag when a soft pair of hands settled over his eyes.

"Guess who!" said his favorite voice in the world. Carson smiled.

"What are you doing here, Kurtsie?" he asked happily, closing his bag and turning around to face Kurt. "Don't you usually go get coffee with the hobbit after school?"

"Blaine's going to Dalton this afternoon to invite the Warblers to West Side Story, so I have nowhere to be," answered Kurt, shifting his feet. "I thought we could hang out, just the two of us, like...you know, like we used to do. Unless you're busy..."

"Oh, Kurtsie, no," said Carson quickly, placing his arm around Kurt and squeezing him close. "I'm never too busy to spend time with you, baby."

Kurt smiled. "Good," he said.

They left Carson's car at school and took the SUV home, Carson filling Kurt in on the literary magazine on the way.

"How are you planning to get people to write for that?" asked Kurt.

"Your guess is as good as mine," replied Carson. "I'm holding that assembly, but I really don't know how I'm going to be able to convince anyone to submit anything. I can barely get my journalism team to pretend to give a shit about the Muckraker. Not to mention the money."

Kurt gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'll write something for it," he said, reaching over to pat Carson's hand. "And maybe I can ask Blaine to-"

"Ugh, no, don't ask Beetlejuice," said Carson quickly. "The last thing I want is to owe him a fucking thing."

Kurt smiled. "If you say so."

"I say so."

"As for the money, I can probably help you out there," said Kurt. "How much do you need?"

"Kurt, I can't-" Carson began.

"Carson. How much?" Kurt repeated.

Carson sighed. "$300."

Kurt nodded. "Ok. I have slightly more than that in my savings account, so you can borrow it."

Carson gaped at him, speechless. "Kurt, I..."

Kurt reached for his hand again and rubbed his thumb across Carson's knuckles. "Carsey, Northwestern is your dream, and if this literary magazine is going to help you get there, then I want to help you. So let me help you. Ok?"

"It's a lot of money, Kurt."

Kurt shrugged. "So what? I love you more than anything else in this world, Carson. I know that...that I might not show it much sometimes, but I do. And I would never forgive myself if I didn't do everything in my power to help you achieve your dreams. Because I know without a doubt that you wouldn't even hesitate to do the same for me."

Carson smiled at him, trying not to cry as Kurt pulled into the driveway of their house and stopped the engine. "I love you, Kurtsie."

Kurt turned and pulled him into a tight hug. "I love you, too."

Kurt tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, trying to be optimistic. He was on his way to the Lima Bean to meet Blaine, having just come from Carson's special assembly. His twin's reception had been less than warm, since nobody had seemed overly enthusiastic to be there. Then again, Carson hadn't exactly been tactful when addressing the school, either.

"Hello, future farmers and inmates," he'd said chipperly into the microphone when he got up on the gym's stage. "I'm Carson Hummel from the McKinley High Muckraker, and I'm here with some very exciting news! This year, for the first time ever, McKinley High will release its first literary magazine!" He emphasized his words with a round of applause. Kurt clapped, and so did the girl with the video camera who was the only other member of Carson's writing club, but nobody else did, although Santana looked like she wanted to.

"Now," continued Carson, "I know most of you can't read, let alone write, but for all the secret writers out there, please submit any original work into the box outside the journalism classroom and it will be published. Poems...essays...short stories...hit lists. Anything."

Deafening silence greeted this announcement. Kurt looked around awkwardly and then caught Carson's eye, giving him an encouraging thumbs up.

"Thank you," said Carson into the mic. "God bless."

Kurt had tried to reassure him afterwards that he'd done fine. "They'll be lining up to fill that box with submissions all day tomorrow," he said. "I have faith."

Carson smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "I know you do, Kurtsie. I just wish I did."

Blaine had not attended the assembly, skipping out of school early to go run some mysterious errand. Come to think of it, he had been acting kind of strange all day. He'd asked Kurt that morning if he ever felt like being adventurous while he was still young (where had that come from?) and had been compulsively checking his phone constantly every time Kurt saw him for the rest of the day. Kurt hoped their usual after school coffee date would calm him down a bit. He had forgotten to text Blaine to let him know he was coming, but he figured Blaine would be waiting there anyway.

Kurt pushed open the doors of the Lima Bean and looked around for his boyfriend, finally spotting him at a table halfway across the shop. And he wasn't alone. There was a strange guy in a Dalton uniform sitting across from him whom Kurt had never seen before. An uneasy feeling settled in Kurt's stomach.

"I just never want to mess my thing up with him in any way," Blaine was saying as Kurt approached the table. "He's really great."

"Who's really great?" Kurt asked, pasting a huge smile on his face as he came up behind Blaine.

"You!" answered Blaine with a nervous chuckle. "We were just talking about you. Sebastian, this is Kurt. My boyfriend. Who I was just-"

"Got it," said the mystery guy- Sebastian- sitting across from Blaine. He had a smirky grin on his face that Kurt instantly decided he disliked.

Kurt stuck his hand out to Sebastian. "Pleasure," he said as politely as he could, even though he knew it came out sounding bitchy. "And how do we know Sebastian?" he asked, turning to Blaine.

"We met at Dalton," Sebastian answered for him. "Was dying to meet Blaine," he continued, flashing his grin across the table at Blaine, who hung his head and blushed. "Those Warblers just won't shut up about him. Didn't think he could live up to the hype, but as it turns out..."

Oh my god, is this bitch for real? thought Kurt. He didn't know how to feel right now. Blaine had obviously planned on meeting this guy. That was why he had skipped out early and not gone with Kurt to the assembly. The guy who, by the way, was sitting there shamelessly flirting with Blaine right in front of Kurt. And Blaine was clearly enjoying it.

"Yes, he's even more impressive in the flesh," said Kurt, sitting down beside Blaine and possessively taking hold of his arm in the way he usually only did to Carson after he saw him interacting with Santana.

"Hey, what are you guys doing tomorrow night?" asked Sebastian.

Nothing that involves YOU, thought Kurt.

"Well," he answered, "we're rehearsing for the school musical, and then at bedtime we do a rigorous skin sloughing regimen over the phone together." That was true, although they didn't do it every night. Kurt mostly did it only when Carson was otherwise occupied and wasn't around to witness it.

Sebastian gave them a weird look. "And as sexy as that sounds, what do you say we shake things up? I get you guys a couple of fake IDs and we head over to Scandals in West Lima."

"Scandals?" said Blaine. "That...that's the gay bar."

A gay bar? I can't do that, Carson would have a heart attack.

"The last time I was there, I met the man of my dreams on the dance floor," said Sebastian.

"That's so sweet," answered Kurt sarcastically. "And are you two still together?"

"Sadly, no. We broke up about twenty minutes after we met," replied Sebastian suggestively. "Come on, guys. Live a little."

"We would love to, Sebastian," said Blaine. "Thank you for the offer, that's very nice of you, but...that...that just isn't our kind of thing," he said, looking over at Kurt. Kurt could tell he didn't really mean what he said. The look on Blaine's face made it obvious that he did want to check out Scandals, and that Kurt was holding him back. He thought back to the other day at the ice cream store, and then their conversation in Blaine's room.

He DOES think I'm boring, thought Kurt. If we don't go to that stupid bar, he might leave me for this douche.

"Let's do it," he said before he could stop himself. He knew it was probably a bad idea and that if Carson found out he would never hear the end of it, but at the moment he couldn't really see beyond the threat of losing his first boyfriend to a more experienced, obviously more exciting prospect, and he really didn't want that to happen.

"What?" asked Blaine with an excited grin.

"Yeah," said Kurt. "We have a whole bunch of firsts to start crossing off our list. We're in," he said, directing that last part at Sebastian.

God, PLEASE don't let Carson find out about this. Please.

He came home that night, exhausted and irritated, to find Carson curled up on the bed with his laptop, his glasses perched charmingly on his nose as he ran his finger over the touchpad.

"Hey," said Kurt, dropping his bag on the bedroom couch and flopping down beside him on the bed. Carson reached one hand out to rub gently at Kurt's back.

"Hey," he said. "Rough day?"

Kurt nodded. "You could say that."

"Is Willow giving you trouble? Because just say the word and I will wrap his bowtie around his neck until he chokes."

Kurt giggled in spite of himself. "No, Carson, that won't be necessary."

"But you laughed!" protested Carson.

"Well, you're funny," replied Kurt cheekily.

Carson smiled. "Ok. But speaking of Bartholomew, I found all this stuff about self-defense on the internet, and I think you should read it."

Kurt looked at him, confused. "Why?"

Carson looked at him over the rim of his glasses. "Because of what I saw at Santana's party. Blythe is a pushy son of a bitch who doesn't know how to take no for an answer, and you should be prepared if it happens again."

Kurt shook his head. "Carson, I love you, but you're nuts. Does Blaine really look like a violent person to you?"

Carson nodded. "All I know, Kurt, is that I saw him trying to grope you in that dining room, and not listening when you said no. He was being an asshole and not respecting your boundaries. And truth be told, if I'd not been drunk off my ass, I would have killed him right then and there."

"But self-defense? Really?"

"Yes, Kurt. Come on. Think about it. Even if Baldwin doesn't try for another unwanted grope-fest, you're going to be in New York next year by yourself, and it can't hurt for you to know a few basics of how to defend yourself. And I'll sleep better at night, so please? Just check your email when you get a chance and read it?" asked Carson, sticking out his bottom lip in an imitation of Kurt's pout.

Kurt smiled at him. "Again, that only works when I do it," he said, reaching out to ruffle Carson's hair. "Ok, ok. I'll read it. Just not right now. I'm exhausted and I haven't even showered yet or done my face." Not to mention I have to plan what the hell I'm supposed to wear to a gay bar tomorrow.

"Thank you," said Carson, kissing him on the cheek. "Now run along and make yourself beautiful. I'll wait for you right here."

Kurt snorted. "Smartass."

Carson grinned. "But I'm your smartass, and you love me, right?"

Kurt sighed. "Right."

He wondered what Carson would say if he knew Kurt was planning to lie about his age the next night in order to get into a bar that he was only going to because he felt insecure about his relationship with Blaine due to the fact that Blaine was obviously making coffee dates with other guys behind Kurt's back.

He decided he was better off not knowing the answer to that.

Carson went through the next day unable to concentrate much on his classes. He was much too busy thinking about the submission box he had left outside the journalism classroom, just waiting for people to fill it with writing. Any kind of writing. Carson wasn't going to be picky. He just desperately needed stuff to fill the literary magazine with, and fast. He had a deadline to meet if he was going to be considered early for Northwestern. He already had Kurt's submission stuck safely into his 3-ring binder, an essay titled "What Fashion Means To Me, by Kurt Hummel." It was neatly handwritten on two pieces of Kurt's peach scented stationary, and there was a slight lip print in the corner of the first page that smelled an awful lot like Kurt's lip balm. He had obviously literally sealed it with a kiss. Carson's heart had almost burst with love right there in the hallway when Kurt had given it to him the day before, right before the assembly. After he typed it up, he planned to hold on to the two handwritten pages for as long as that lip print remained. And even after.

Now, if only he could get about a dozen or so more submissions, he'd be golden.

Obviously, he still had yet to learn his lesson about getting his hopes up, because when he carried the (heavy and obviously full) submission box into the journalism classroom so that he and Malerie could look through the submissions, they discovered that it was not filled with writing at all. It was filled with garbage.

"Typical," Carson groaned, straddling the chair next to Malerie's and burying his face in his arms. "I can't even run a school newspaper. I don't know why I thought I could start a literary magazine." He lifted his head up and absentmindedly rooted through the trash in the box. His eye caught a familiar looking cup, which he fished out. It was a Lima Bean cup, and what was more, Carson immediately knew exactly who had put it in there, because "Blaine-Medium drip" was written hastily on the side of the cup with a Sharpie.

That fucking asshole, he thought, glaring down at the cup. I'm showing this to Kurt, I swear to fuck. He felt Malerie's hand patting his leg, obviously trying to be comforting, but he really wasn't in the mood for comfort right now.

"Personal space, Malerie," he mumbled, moving his leg out of her reach.

"Ok. Don't be too hard on yourself," said Malerie. "If you can get Nicholas Forbes and Scott Thomas to join the Muckraker, you can do anything."

"I'm blackmailing them," he informed her, discouraged. "I caught them playing Lewis and Clark in the boys' bathroom. Don't ask."

"Oh," said Malerie as Carson's words slowly sunk in. "There seems to be a lot of that going around. I caught Coach Walker and Claire Mathews bonking each other in the boys' locker room."

Carson sat up in his chair, looking at her incredulously.

"I just go in there to think sometimes," said Malerie in explanation.

"I thought she was dating Justin Walker," Carson said.

"That must be awkward," said Malerie.

"Santana would have a field day with this information," Carson mused. "I'll have to remember that next time I need a favor from her. If I ever do."

"Too bad they aren't writers," said Malerie. "If they were in the literary magazine, everyone would want to be in it. It would sell out for sure."

Carson looked at her, trying to figure out if she was just making a statement or if she was trying to hint at something.

"Just makes you think, though," she continued. "Everyone has something to hide. Even Claire Mathews." She looked down at Carson's hand and pointed to the coffee cup that he was still holding. "Maybe even that guy you don't like. I forgot his name."

"Bevis," said Carson, gazing down at the cup thoughtfully, a seed of an idea starting to form. Maybe Malerie was right. There had to be something that Blaine wouldn't want people finding out about, especially Kurt. Maybe Carson could find out what that was and use it to make Blaine his bitch, as it were. He could get the hobbit to write for the magazine, and he wouldn't owe him a fucking thing in return. He liked this idea. He liked it a lot.

Scandals, Kurt decided, as he helped a very drunk Blaine toward the bar's exit, had not been one of his better decisions. In fact, it had been almost a complete disaster every step of the way. First of all, he'd had a hell of a time sneaking his plans past Carson when he was getting dressed for the evening. Carson had come into the bedroom eating from a bag of Doritos just as Kurt was putting the finishing touches on his outfit.

"You're dressing up," Carson said through a mouthful of chips.

"Yeah," said Kurt, trying to sound nonchalant. "Blaine and I are...going out."

"Where?"

"I don't know, just out."

"It's a school night," said Carson.

"So what?" asked Kurt, sounding a little more irritated and snappy than he'd actually intended. "God, Carson, you're not my dad, ok?" He instantly regretted it when he saw the surprised and slightly hurt look on Carson's face.

"Fine," said Carson, flopping down on the bed and reaching for his glasses on the nightstand. "Whatever. Excuse me for worrying. Have fun." He opened his laptop and focused on the screen.

Kurt sighed. "Carson," he said in a gentler tone, sitting beside Carson on the bed. "Carsey, hey...look at me. I'm sorry," he said, wrapping his arms around Carson's neck, hugging him. "I didn't mean to snap, I just...it's been a long day."

Carson brought his arms around Kurt's waist, hugging him back. "It's ok, Kurtsie. I just worry every time you go out with Bennigan. You know how I am."

"I know," said Kurt. "You worry entirely too much." Except maybe this time you kind of have a point in worrying, since I AM about to go to a bar.

"I'll try to be back early," he said, kissing Carson on the cheek. "Don't feel like you have to wait up for me."

"You know I usually do," replied Carson, squeezing Kurt's hand before Kurt got up from the bed and checked his hair one final time in the mirror. "Come home in one piece, or I'll kick Bugsy's ass."

Kurt smiled. "I will, Carson. Calm down."

The bar itself turned out to be seedy as hell, and Kurt was more than a little out of his element there, especially since he wasn't even drinking and he spent half the night sitting at the bar watching Blaine dance with Sebastian. After a brief talk with Karofsky, of all people, who was the absolute last person Kurt had ever expected to see there, he'd finally had enough and marched out onto the dance floor, wedging himself between his boyfriend and Sebastian so that the other boy had no room for doubt that Kurt Hummel didn't share.

Now he was just trying to get Blaine out to the car in one piece so he could take him home and then go home himself. It was way later than he'd anticipated when they finally left the bar, and he was sure Carson was probably starting to worry.

"It's the best night of my life," said Blaine happily as Kurt helped him across the parking lot. "I wanna live here. I wanna live here, and I just wanna make art and help people."

Kurt laughed. "You could certainly help people make fires with your breath," he said.

"Hey, come on, I only had one beer," Blaine protested. Kurt seriously doubted this. Blaine was about as drunk as he'd been at Santana's party, and he'd had way more than one drink then. At least this time there hadn't been any illicit groping, though.

"Sure you did," said Kurt as they reached the car. He opened the door to the backseat.

"Hey, kiss me," Blaine said, grabbing Kurt and trying to bring their faces close. Damn it, Blaine, not this again.

"Oh, no no no," protested Kurt, pushing him away. "Come on, you're riding in the back."

"Kiss me, come on!" Blaine whined, pressing himself closer and resting his lips anywhere he could reach, despite Kurt's objections.

"Come on. Lay down," Kurt said, trying to at least get Blaine into the car. Maybe he'd quit being so handsy once he wasn't standing. "Less likely to throw up that way." To his relief, Blaine obeyed, letting Kurt lightly push him into place. Now if he could just get Blaine home without incident, he could-

"Whoa..whoa...wait!" he exclaimed as Blaine grabbed his hands and pulled him on top of him in the backseat. Kurt's sense of balance was thrown completely off-kilter as Blaine's hands started roaming over him. He felt Blaine's lips on his face and had a very uneasy feeling about where this was going.

"Oh..alright...Blaine..." Kurt babbled, trying to free himself from Blaine's grip but only managing to lift himself a little. "Alright...hands...cold hands!" he squeaked.

"Kurt, let's just do it," Blaine murmured, grabbing Kurt's hands tightly so he couldn't get out of the car. "I want you. I want you so bad," he said, his hands on Kurt's neck.

"No, Blaine..no..." Kurt protested as Blaine pulled him back down. "No...Stop it!" he pleaded, squirming in a panic as Blaine's hands gripped him on his upper arms, so hard it hurt a little.

God, Carson, I am so sorry I snapped at you tonight. Please, I'm begging you, just...can you appear by some twin magic or something and come help me? Please?

Carson didn't appear, of course. Blaine's hands continued roaming everywhere Kurt didn't want them right now.

"I know you wanted to do it in a field of lilacs with Sting playing in the background and all that, but who cares where we are? It's all about us, right?" Blaine babbled, still trying to prevent Kurt from leaving.

No. No, no, no, I don't want this, no. He felt a sick panic in his gut that he hadn't felt since the day Karofsky had kissed him in the locker room, and he didn't want to be feeling it, because this was Blaine. It was Blaine, and Blaine was his boyfriend, and sweet and harmless and this wasn't supposed to be happening. Kurt summoned every ounce of strength he had and finally managed to free himself from Blaine's tight grip.

"Right, it's about us. Which is why I don't want to do it on a night that you spent half the night dancing with another guy!" Kurt yelled as he mercifully stepped foot on solid ground and looked angrily at Blaine. "And that you're sober enough to remember it the next day!"

"Why are you yelling at me?" Blaine asked in a low, dangerous voice.

"Because I have never felt less like being intimate with someone, and either you can't tell or you just don't care!" retorted Kurt, every unpleasant emotion he'd felt in that car pouring out of him as Blaine sat in the car glaring at him.

"Right, right," said Blaine mockingly, his eyes narrowing further at Kurt. "Maybe if I was him, hmm? You'd be on your back in a minute for him, I bet," he murmured.

Kurt's heart thudded in his chest as he tried to process what Blaine had said. "What?"

Blaine shook his head. "Nothing." He got out of the car and started stumbling across the parking lot.

"Where are you going?" exclaimed Kurt.

"I'm sorry if I'm trying to be spontaneous and fun!" snapped Blaine. "I think I'm just gonna walk home."

"Blaine!" Kurt protested. Blaine ignored him and walked away.

God, thought Kurt, trying not to cry. How did this go so wrong? All I wanted was to show Blaine I could be fun. He got into the car and just sat there with his hands on the steering wheel for what felt like hours as he contemplated everything that had just happened and tried unsuccessfully not to cry. What had just happened? Why had Blaine chosen now, of all moments, to want to take their physical relationship to the next level? Kurt thought back to the email full of self defense reading Carson had sent him the other day and quickly tried to forget it. This wasn't assault, Kurt, don't be stupid. Blaine was just really drunk and, as the Great Rachel Berry House Party Incident of 2011 had proven, Blaine couldn't really handle his alcohol all that well. Kurt should have understood that.

But still. Carson had been much drunker than Blaine at all those parties, and Kurt knew for a fact that he had asked him to stop or slow down on several occasions whenever they'd ended up making out or whatever. And Carson had. Every single time. So why couldn't Blaine...he knew Kurt wasn't ready yet, and he'd seemed fine with that...but...

Kurt, just STOP thinking about it and go home before Carson dies of worry, ok?

He drove home in tears and parked down the street for a full fifteen minutes until he had stopped crying and he decided his face was sufficiently non-puffy. He couldn't let Carson know what had happened. Not only would Carson flip his shit, he would probably definitely beat Blaine the next time he saw him. For everyone's sake, Kurt couldn't say anything.

Especially not what Blaine had said right before he got out of the car.

Carson sat on the couch with his laptop open, not concentrating at all on the screen. He was worried. Kurt had been gone for hours, and not only did Carson have no idea where the hell he was, but Kurt wasn't answering his phone either. Carson was the only one home to worry about him. Their father and Carole were out of town on some campaign thing now that Burt was running against Coach Sylvester for office. Finn was over at Rachel's house. There was nobody except Carson to wonder where Kurt was or whether he was ok.

He'd tried not to worry at first. Really, he had. He'd settled himself in the living room with his computer and started his research on Blaine. After all, he had a newfound mission. Namely, he wanted to learn all of the little douchebag's secrets so that he could use them against him for as long as it amused him. Granted, so far he had yet to find anything, but still. Diligence was almost always rewarded.

He told himself, when it got to be a little late, that Kurt was fine. That he was worrying too much, like Kurt was constantly telling him. That Kurt and the hobbit had gone to the movies, or to Breadstix, and that he would be home soon. But then an hour passed. And then another hour.

And then Carson had felt something he'd hoped never to feel again. It was a sudden panicky feeling, deep in his stomach, like he was trapped somewhere and couldn't escape. He remembered perfectly the last time it had happened. He'd been in the journalism classroom with Malerie, and it had turned out to be the day, the very moment, actually, that Karofsky assaulted Kurt in the locker room.

Fuck, he thought frantically, reaching for his phone. I swear to god, if that hair gel loving asshole has so much as laid one troll finger on Kurt tonight, he will have so much fucking hell to pay.

He shot off a panicked "Where ARE you?" text to Kurt before he realized calling would be faster. He pressed Kurt's number and held the phone to his ear.

It just rang until Kurt's voicemail message kicked in.

"Kurt, where are you? Pick up the phone, please!" he said as the voicemail beeped. "Baby, I don't even know where you went and I'm really worried, so just...please."

He never did get an answer. He sat motionless on the couch for awhile, counting the minutes passing by and hoping for Kurt to walk through the door any second.

Kurt, please. You know I worry, please don't do this to me.

Eventually he pulled his laptop back open, desperately checking Kurt and Blaine's Facebook pages for any indication as to where they had gone, but no. Nothing. He was debating calling the police when the front door swung open and Kurt walked in, giving him a nervous smile as he shut the door behind him.

"Kurt!" exclaimed Carson, jumping up from the couch and almost sending his laptop careening to the floor in the process. He'd crossed the room in half a second, scooping Kurt up into a tight, relieved hug. "Kurt, it's been hours and I didn't know where you and Beyonce had gone, and I was so worried, and why didn't you answer your phone?"

Kurt hugged him back, so tightly that Carson could feel his nails digging into his back. "I'm sorry, Carsey," he said, his voice muffled against Carson's shoulder. "I forgot to charge my phone. I'm fine."

The desperate way he was clinging to Carson, and the fact that Carson detected a very subtle shudder in Kurt's voice as he spoke told him that his twin was lying. He gently pulled away from the hug and cupped Kurt's face in his hands, searching his eyes for the truth. He couldn't be sure, but it looked like maybe Kurt had been crying. He was definitely upset. Carson remembered the mysterious panic he'd felt earlier and his heart started to pound.

"Kurt, you're lying," said Carson, getting right to the point. "You're upset, I can tell. What happened?"

"Nothing, Carson," said Kurt with a sigh. "Nothing happened. I'm just exhausted. I just want to shower and go to bed."

"Kurt," said Carson, taking his hand and gently leading him over to the couch, where he sat him down and then took a seat beside him. "Don't lie to me. What happened?"

"Really, Carson, it was nothing," said Kurt. "Blaine and I just...we had a fight, and he walked home, and I...I guess I'm just worried, ok? I'm fine."

"A fight about what?" asked Carson. "What did he do? Did he do something to you? Did he?"

Kurt swallowed. "N-no, Carson. No. I...he just..." Carson felt Kurt's hands shaking in his own and lightly rubbed his thumb over them.

"Kurt, you're shaking," said Carson. "Please talk to me."

Kurt looked him in the eyes for a long time before he took a deep breath and mumbled "WewenttoScandals."

"What?" asked Carson. He hadn't understood what Kurt said at all.

"We went to Scandals," Kurt repeated.

"What the fuck is Scandals?" asked Carson, thoroughly confused but not liking the sound of it.

Kurt looked uncomfortably down at his shoes. "It's, um...it's a gay bar. In West Lima."

Carson couldn't believe his ears. "You went where?" His precious baby brother had been at a fucking bar all night? With the hobbit? Oh hell no. "Kurt, what the hell? You went to a bar? Do you have any idea how many horrible things could have happened to you at a fucking bar? You're not even old enough to go to a bar, how did you get in?"

"That...that doesn't matter, ok? The point is we went, and Blaine just drank a little too much and got a little handsy when we left, and then we had a fight, and he walked home, but it really wasn't that big a deal, so you don't have to go all protective big brother, ok?" said Kurt in a rush. "Really. I'm fine. I just need to sleep."

"I'm gonna need you to go back to handsy," said Carson, a rush of anger overpowering him at the thought of Blaine pawing at Kurt outside a fucking seedy-ass bar. "Because I need to know just how much damage I need to inflict on the hobbit's hands so that he never becomes handsy ever again."

Kurt closed his eyes. "Carson, please. I'm begging you, just let it go. It's really not anything to get upset over. Please?"

Carson could tell by his voice that there was more to the story than Kurt was telling, but he didn't want to force him to talk if he didn't want to. It was enough that Carson didn't like the way Kurt looked right now, like he'd had an extremely rough night. And it was enough that Carson had felt his psychic twin telepathy telling him that something was wrong. That was all the proof he needed that Blaine had been an asshole tonight, and Carson would definitely be having words with him tomorrow, come hell or high water.

Carson woke up several hours later that night, somehow knowing even before he discovered the empty side of the bed next to him that Kurt was sleepwalking. He'd almost been expecting it. No matter what Kurt wanted him to believe, something had gone down outside that bar. And as had always been the case, whenever Kurt was overwhelmingly stressed, the sleepwalking nightmares came as sure as anything.

A quick glance around the bedroom told Carson that Kurt wasn't in there. He got out of bed and padded down the hallway in his bare feet, peeking his head into every room along the way for any sign of his twin.

"Kurt?" he whispered into the dark. "Kurtsie, where are you, honey?"

"Stop!" a voice called out from behind him. "Stop!"

Carson followed Kurt's voice to Finn's empty room, where he found Kurt half laying and half kneeling on the floor, flailing his arms around as though struggling against an invisible force. "Stop, no!" he whined. "Let go..."

"Kurt," Carson whispered, crossing over to him and stroking gently at his back, trying not to think of the possible implications of what he was witnessing right now. "Kurtsie, get up. Come on." He grabbed Kurt as tenderly as he could around the waist and tried to get him to stand back up, but Kurt was stubborn and refused to budge.

"No, I don't want to," Kurt said. Carson sighed.

"Hey, I heard crying," came Finn's voice from downstairs. He must have been watching late night infomercials or something equally as stupid. "Carson? Is Kurt ok?"

Carson hurried to the doorway and peeked his head out. "He's fine," he hissed. "He's just having a nightmare. I'm putting him back to bed."

Finn shrugged and went back to the TV. Carson rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Kurt, who was whimpering on the floor still. He crossed over to him and gently grabbed him around the waist again, slowly turning him until he could scoop him up in his arms. He made sure he had a good handle on Kurt's weight and then stood up carefully, carrying him out of the room and back down the hall toward their bedroom.

"Mmmph," mumbled Kurt, sagging against Carson as Carson laid him gently down on their bed. "Carsump." Carson assumed that was meant to be his name.

"Yeah, Kurtsie," he whispered softly, getting into bed beside him and pulling him into their usual sleeping position. "It's me. You're ok now, so you can go to sleep, ok?"

"K," agreed Kurt, burrowing closer to Carson and letting out a small snuffle. Carson smiled at the adorableness and lightly stroked at Kurt's arm. He almost didn't notice the bruise at first because of the darkness of the room, but a closer look at Kurt's upper arm and the lifting up of his T-shirt sleeve revealed what Carson had been afraid he'd seen. There was a bruise there, as plain as day. Almost like he'd been roughly grabbed by someone's careless hand.

Like, say, outside a fucking gay bar all the way across town.

That, combined with Kurt's nightmare, made Carson desperately wish for teleportation powers so that he could beam himself right to the hobbit and beat the fuck out of him right then and there.

I hope you made it home alright, Benny, thought Carson angrily as he held Kurt tightly to him. Because I have unfinished business with your hobbit ass.

He didn't waste any time, either. He got to school early and waited right across where he knew Blaine's locker was, since he'd passed by him and Kurt hanging out in front of it often enough. As luck would have it, there was a boys' bathroom directly across from the wall of lockers that would just be perfect for a little one on one chat with Asshole McGelmet, and Carson was waiting just inside the door, peeking around every once in a while to see if Blaine had arrived. He was going to make goddamn sure that Blaine knew exactly who he was fucking dealing with here. You did not fuck with Kurt and expect to get away with it.

As soon as he saw Blaine enter the thankfully still empty hallway, Carson seized his chance. He marched out of the bathroom and grabbed the back of Blaine's sweater, dragging him into the boys' bathroom and shoving him roughly up against the wall, one hand on each of Blaine's shoulders to pin him there.

"What the fuck?" Blaine exclaimed angrily, trying to push past Carson, but barely even managing to sway him a little. "Get the hell off of me!"

"No," said Carson dangerously. Now that he had Blaine right where he wanted him, the feeling of power was really overwhelming. He could do anything right now. He could punch him right in the face if he wanted to, but he wouldn't. He wasn't here for that. He would need to exercise a little self-control, if only because it would upset Kurt for Blaine to turn up with a black eye.

"What the hell do you want?" asked Blaine, giving Carson a spiteful look. "Don't you usually spend your mornings hanging posters for your little club that nobody cares about but you?"

"You're going to stand there and you're going to fucking listen to what I have to say, dwarf, because I've had just about enough of your bullshit. What the fuck were those bruises on Kurt, huh?" Carson spat, ignoring the insult. "Who the fuck do you think you are? I don't know the details of what went on between you two last night outside a bar, but I know I don't fucking like the way Kurt looked when he got home. And I really don't like the fact that he had a bruise on his arm that could only have come from you."

"Saw that while you were sharing inappropriately close bedroom quarters, did you?" asked Blaine. "Like I've told you before, you're creepy and controlling, and Kurt is lucky to have me. And furthermore, I'm not scared of you, and it's none of your damn business what went on last night, so get. Off. Of Me." He tried again, unsuccessfully, to push past Carson.

Carson leaned in close, locking eyes with him and somehow managing to hold himself back from kicking him in the balls. "You are so fucking lucky that Kurt cares whether you live or die, because right now, that's the only thing keeping me from introducing you to the world of pain you deserve," he said in a low voice. "But make no mistake, if I EVER catch wind of you being violent toward my brother again, even so much as accidentally bumping into him without fucking saying "excuse me," I will not be controlling myself any longer. Are we clear?"

Blaine leaned his face closer to Carson's and narrowed his eyes. "Jealous?" he asked with a smirk, and Carson could swear he felt his blood boiling with anger. He removed his hands from Blaine's shoulders and grabbed him by the bowtie, wondering what it would feel like to twist it and strangle him to death, but deciding jail wasn't worth the risk.

"I fucking mean it," he said fiercely. "Now get the hell out of my sight," he added, letting Blaine go and pointing toward the door. Blaine adjusted his tie and flashed Carson a sarcastic smile before hurrying out of the bathroom. Carson let out a breath and leaned up against the wall, hating Blaine more than ever, which was saying a lot.

Kurt will come to his senses. He will. Any day now he will recognize that Blaine doesn't deserve him, and he will dump him.

God, please.

"I want to go to your house."

That was what Kurt had said to Blaine following their first performance of West Side Story. He had caught Blaine alone on the stage, practicing a dance move he felt he hadn't gotten right during the performance, and he'd smiled to himself. He'd done a lot of thinking over the past two nights, and he'd decided that maybe he'd been wrong to make Blaine wait so long to take their relationship to the next level. If he didn't give in soon, he'd probably end up losing Blaine.

So they had gone back to Blaine's house.

And even as it was happening, Kurt wondered if he'd made the right decision after all. Because all he could think about the whole time was Carson. How he wished it was Carson helping him remove his clothing. Carson unwrapping the condom. Carson screaming Kurt's name into a pillow as he came. And he knew, deep down, that no, he hadn't made the right decision. He hadn't been ready. But it was too late now.

And then, after roughly five minutes of cuddling afterwards, Blaine had strongly suggested that Kurt go home.

"I'm kind of tired," he'd said. "And my parents will probably be home soon."

So Kurt had gone home, feeling emptier than he'd ever felt in his life. He'd snuck into the house and prayed to all the gods he had no belief in that Carson had fallen asleep already. Thankfully, he had. He was out cold on their bed, looking like an absolute angel. He still had his glasses on and a pen in his hand, his notebook laying open beside him. Kurt smiled, trying to push away the crippling feeling of guilt that overwhelmed him. He showered quickly and got into bed, skipping his facial routine and not even caring. He didn't burrow himself into Carson's arms like usual. He didn't feel like he deserved to.

And then he started to cry. He buried his face into his pillow and let go, until he heard Carson stirring awake beside him.

"Hey, you're home," Carson said sleepily. "How was Artie's after party?"

"Great," Kurt croaked, refusing to turn his head. He didn't need Carson seeing his tear streaked face.

"C'mere," murmured Carson, pulling him into his arms and placing a kiss to his temple. "Wanna hold you."

Kurt reached for Carson's hand and squeezed it as though his life depended on it. "I don't deserve you," he whispered.

"Hmm, what?" Carson asked.

"Nothing," replied Kurt. "Just...please hold me."

Carson held him tighter and kissed his shoulder. "Of course. Goodnight, Kurtsie. I love you."

"I love you too." And I still maintain that feelings are stupid and I would give anything to have been born without them.