♥ ♥ ♥

Rachel and I walk into Glee practice the next Monday—it’s taking place in the auditorium instead of the choir room until Sectionals next week, since we’re hosting. We take our seats and chat with Blaine and Sam, as per usual—well, not entirely as usual, since Blaine won’t look at me; he’s been weird ever since our kiss at Quinn’s party, although I’m not sure how much he remembers. He doesn’t look at me when we’re sitting down, he doesn’t look at me during Mr. Schue’s pre-rehearsal lecture, and he doesn’t look at me when he gets up with Quinn, Tina, Rachel, and Brittany to sing a song “about recent events.”

In other words: Kurt Hummel, my egotistical brain insists as Blaine assembles the four girls in an arc behind him and cues the band.

Then, he looks at me. My egotistical brain isn’t wrong.

There I was again tonight

Forcing laughter, faking smiles

Same old tired, lonely place

Walls of insincerity

Shifting eyes and vacancy vanished when I saw your face

All I can say is it was enchanting to meet you

He’s beautiful as he sings this love song better than Taylor Swift ever could have. He’s beautiful as he leans his head back in my car, telling me what a douchebag his brother is. He’s just...beautiful.

Your eyes whispered "have we met?"

Across the room, your silhouette starts to make its way to me

The playful conversation starts

Counter all your quick remarks like passing notes in secrecy

And it was enchanting to meet you

All I can say is I was enchanted to meet you

He looks into my soul with his honey eyes, and it isn’t time. It hasn’t been long enough; only a few months. I’m so young; too young. I haven’t lived my life.

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go

I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

I was enchanted to meet you

But I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I am in love with Blaine Anderson.

♥ ♥ ♥

The week of Sectionals dawns earlier than any of us expect, and the next few days are crammed with intense rehearsals. From what Blaine, Cooper, and the she-devils have told me, we’re up against some pretty fierce competition: the Dalton Academy Warblers. There’s another group, but apparently, they have a stupid name and are less fierce than we are.

We’ve decided on a set list, sticking with this year’s theme: emotion. It’s the vaguest theme ever, but the New Directions have managed to assemble a jazzy, toe-tapping breakup song, featuring new recruit Finn Hudson on the drums; a showstopping Lady Gaga power ballad with Rachel and Santana on lead; and a frankly ridiculous mashup—I know what that means now!—of “I Want It That Way” and “Larger Than Life” by the Backstreet Boys. That one features Blaine, Cooper, and myself sharing lead duties; it’ll get the crowd on their feet if we can pull it off, but the tension is palpable as we rehearse it. I feel like I’m just going through the motions as I dance my way downstage center in sync with the Anderbrothers, singing high harmony on the late-90s-hit-machine lyrics.

Tell me why; ain’t nothing but a heartache

Tell me why; ain’t nothing but a mistake

Tell me why I never want to hear you say

I want it that way

All you people, can’t you see, can’t you see

How your love’s affecting our reality

Every time we’re down, you can make it right

That makes you larger than—

“OW!”

I turn ninety degrees to my left to find out the source of that anguished cry. I take in the sight of Cooper staggering backwards and glaring at Blaine, who looks like he’s trying so, so hard not to grin.

“What the fuck, Blaine?” Cooper curses. “Why’d you push me?”

“I didn’t mean to, honest,” Blaine swears, still fighting that smile. “Scout’s honor.”

“Fuck you, asshole; you were never a scout,” Cooper spits, walking offstage without another word.

Blaine flashes Mr. Schue a guilty face. “Mr. Schue, I honestly didn’t mean to push him.”

Mr. Schue sighs, running a hand through his too-curly hair. “Blaine, I honestly don’t believe you. The two of you have been like this all week, and whatever sibling issues you and Cooper are having right now, I need you to put them aside until Sectionals is over and we’ve won. You two are acting like you’re five, and you’re both usually so mature—not to mention the two of you usually get along. Get him back in here now, Blaine, so we can keep rehearsing. This is incredibly unprofessional behavior. You’re both better than this.” Mr. Schue turns to me. “I apologize on the Anderson brothers’ behalf, Kurt. You deserve a functional rehearsal before your first show choir competition.”

I shrug. “Don’t worry about it.” I neglect to mention the part where it’s my fault, and a supportive shoulder squeeze from Santana—I can see the dark red nail polish in my peripheral vision—tells me I’ve made a good call.

Blaine brings Cooper back in after about ten minutes, by which time we only have about twenty minutes left to rehearse.

“Everyone, text your parents: rehearsal’s running long today. Get rides home. I honestly don’t believe this. Sibling rivalry is no reason to waste precious rehearsal time.” Mr. Schuester sighs, covering his face with his hand. “And after that, we’ll take it from the top.”

♥ ♥ ♥

Three days later, every member of New Directions sits, impeccably dressed and silent as the grave, backstage—save for our captain, Rachel Berry, who is in the midst of a pre-performance conniption.

“Mr. Schue, they were so good!” she wails, referencing the Warblers, who really were amazing. As we listened to them, I was blown away by the fact that an a cappella show choir could work out that well.

“Rachel, calm down,” Mr. Schue tries. “It’ll all be okay. We’ll be better. We’ve got two fantastic new members, remember them? Kurt and Finn? They are so talented, and you are all so talented, and we have nothing to worry about.”

Rachel brightens up when Mr. Schue mentions Finn—she thinks she’s being sneaky, the way she eyes him during rehearsal and in the classes the three of us have together, but I can tell she’s smitten.

She heaves a sigh, slouching—a very un-Rachel thing to do—in resignation. “I know. Come on, guys. Mr. Schue is right. Let’s go out there and kick some butt!”

“Ass!” Puck shouts, enthusiastically and for no discernible reason.

We file onstage in the dark; our first number, “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go,” involves a drum set on the stage for my brother, and I nearly trip over it, trust-falling into the arms of one Cooper Anderson.

“I’ve got you, sweets,” he murmurs in my ear, making my skin crawl. Where’s Blaine?

I mosey on up to the front, taking my place with the guy of my dreams. Found him. The music starts, and everyone in back of us starts snapping in time to Finn’s drum hits. After the backing “jitterbug” vocal line is introduced by the other New Directions, Blaine and I take one step out. The lights go up: spotlight on us. Blaine begins to sing.

You put the boom-boom into my heart

You send my soul sky-high when your loving starts

He raises a flirty eyebrow at me, eliciting a few chuckles from the audience. I can feel the heat of Cooper’s anger boring a hole through my skull and into Blaine’s.

Jitterbug into my brain

Goes a-bang-bang-bang til my feet do the same

It’s my turn now, and I do an unscripted hip shimmy in Blaine’s direction.

If something’s bugging you, if something ain’t right

My best friend told me what you did last night

Left me sleeping in my bed

I was dreaming, but I should have been with you instead

I put special emphasis on those last seven words in an attempt to get through to Blaine that I long to be spending time with him, not Cooper; that I’m only going on these dates with him for the sake of the plan.

I think he already knows, if the way he smiles at me as the chorus begins is anything to go by. He keeps smiling at me that way for the rest of the song, and I thank whatever deity is up there that Cooper Anderson is not in my field of vision.

Wake me up before you go-go

‘Cause I’m not planning on going solo, he sings, and I swear to the Blaine Anderson in my head that he won’t ever have to.

I take over from there. Wake me up before you go-go;

Take me dancing tonight

I wanna hit that high.

I hit the high C with ease, Finn pounds the kick, and the song ends. The crowd goes wild; I can even see my father’s bald head, and Carole next to him.

They’re whooping and hollering like this is American Idol, and I love them for it.

The lights go down and we take our positions for “Speechless,” our next tune, for which everyone is sitting in specific places on the built-in stairs onstage—everyone except Santana and Rachel, who have stools set up for them, front and center.

Luckily, the arrangement Mr. Schue has laid out for us puts me next to Blaine, and we’re close enough to talk quietly without the mics picking anything up.

“Hey,” he says in a barely audible whisper.

“Hey, you,” I reply at the same volume. “You did great.”

“You were unbelievable,” he gushes. “The audience loved you.”

“They loved us,” I correct him. “Why wouldn’t they? We’re great together.”

I pray that he picks up on the double meaning.

If the way he tries to outshine his older brother all through our Backstreet Boys mashup—and the way he succeeds in his mission—is any indication, Blaine is starting to get it.

♥ ♥ ♥

Weeks later, on a remarkably boring Saturday, I’m awoken from my impromptu afternoon nap by my buzzing phone.

“Ugh, fuck you, stop texting me,” I mutter, grabbing my phone and checking the display. Whoever has rudely awakened me is about to get a piece of my mind.

Blainers: Kurt

Blainers: Tell me you’re not busy.

Well, never mind. He’s too sweet and wonderful for that.

Kurt Hummel: I’m not. I was just napping. Blaine, what’s going on?

Blainers: I hate to intrude, Kurt, I really really do

Blainers: But can we...

Blainers: I need out of this house for a while.

Kurt Hummel: I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, okay, honey?

It warms my heart to type the five-letter endearment, and I scold myself for the flutter I feel in my chest when he replies with an endearment of his own. No guy should make you this giddy, Hummel. You’re acting like a damn teenage girl.

Blainers: Thank you so so so so so so so much, sweetheart. I’ll be ready :)

♥ ♥ ♥

Blaine is waiting on his front porch when I pull up to his house; I don’t even bother parking. He hops in the passenger side, greets me with a happy hello and a big smile, and buckles in. I don’t know where we’re headed; I just start driving. When we’re stopped at the stoplight at the end of his street, I take in his whole appearance.

He’s dressed down in loose-fitting jeans and an oversized sweatshirt advertising McKinley’s lacrosse team. There’s no gel in his hair, and he is, as always, heartbreakingly gorgeous.

I flip on my blinker and make a left turn. I figure I’ll just get on I-75; it’s not like we know where we’re going, anyway.

The whole drive consists of mindless chatter between Blaine and me, and we finally stop when we spy a huge, sunlit, grassy meadow. Despite the crushing solemnity inside the Navigator, it’s a gorgeous fall-almost-winter day: sunny, but crisp, and not so cold that Blaine will freeze in just a sweatshirt.

“We could lie down and talk,” I suggest, wary of Blaine’s emotional state and how he’ll react to my wanting to ‘talk.’

Blaine turns and just stares at me, and he's got this awed little smile on his face that seems to say he doesn’t know how I came into his life, but he’s glad I did. At least, that’s what I’m getting from his expression right now.

“Kurt Hummel,” he breathes, choked up with emotion. “I would love that.”

So I put the car in park, take my keys and my phone, and march out into the meadow with Blaine. He smiles and giggles the whole way, hugging my arm and nuzzling his head against my shoulder as we walk. He plops down onto the grass in a sunny spot, giving me no warning before he drags me down.

“Ow!” I shriek, making him giggle. He tugs me onto my side so that we’re lying down facing each other. We stare at each other for a good minute or so before I decide that I need to know. I need to know why he’s so upset, because I need to make him feel better.

“Blaine, what happened?” I ask quietly.

He sighs, rolling back and forth on the grass until he’s right up next to me.

“Kurt, my whole house is against me now.” He lets out a weak, melancholic chuckle, and I can feel his breath on my face. “It used to be just my parents—just my dad, really, with my mom playing halfhearted devil’s advocate—but now that Cooper’s smitten with you, and mad at me for being so close to you, he won’t stand up for me...or sing with me while we wash dishes...or—Kurt, he won’t even look at me. He has barely said a word to me since the day I shoved him in glee club.” Blaine sighs, carding a hand through his curly, gel-free hair. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t deserve it. I’ve been a total asshole to him regarding our respective relationships to you. I’m just—I’m not going to make apologies for my closeness with you. I feel safer with you than I ever have with anyone else, and I’m not giving that feeling up just because Cooper wants to make you his boyfriend.” Blaine looks at me, turning on his side in the grass. “He does, you know.” Blaine frowns. “Have you ever had a boyfriend? You probably have, I – that was a silly question—”

“No,” I reply simply. “Never had a boyfriend,” I confess, “and I don’t want Cooper to be my first one.”

Blaine laughs—genuinely laughs for the first time today—and snuggles up to me. “Glad to hear it,” he murmurs against my chambray shirt, which really shouldn’t be touching the wet grass—but Blaine is happy, and that means my shirt doesn’t fucking matter. “He’s not right for you.”

I let my lips part into a smile. “I agree, but what makes you say that?” Our faces are so close that I wouldn’t even have to move to kiss him. I seriously consider it for a few seconds, but decide against it when I remember that he’s not mine to kiss—despite how good it felt to do exactly that at Quinn’s house a while back.

“You are everything good in this world,” Blaine explains, “and he is a serial cheater who doesn’t play well with others.”

I remain quiet. I know it’s true, what Blaine’s just said, but I feel so unbelievably guilty. Blaine never used to directly insult Cooper. He always seemed to respect his brother, despite not agreeing with his...practices.

Now, he and Cooper are not speaking, and the only difference is me. I’m the problem. I’m dating the serial cheater who doesn’t play well with others, but I’m madly in love with this beautiful, curly-haired, smiley boy who’s got his ear pressed to my chest, listening to my heartbeat in the middle of a deserted meadow off Interstate 75...and I think he might want me, too.

My life is in shambles, but today isn’t about me. Today is about Blaine, whose home life is in shambles, too. Worse shambles. Double, triple, quadruple shambles. A million little shambles inside every shamble. He’s become the light of my life in only a few short months. He means so very much to me, and I need to make it better.

“Blaine, I need you to remember what I said,” I say, breaking the minutes-long silence.

“Mmm?” Blaine hums in confusion, sliding up so we’re face-to-face again.

“Which thing you said? I remember a lot of things you’ve said.”

“The one where I told you you can call me, text me, however you can reach me any time of the day, and I will be there for you. I don’t care if it’s four o’clock in the damn morning; if you call me just because you’re sad, I will do my best to make you happy.”

“You do make me happy, Kurty,” Blaine breathes. “You make me happier than I’ve been...ever, and I don’t even care that that makes Cooper angry.”

I smile. “What a badass,” I coo, taking his hand and hoisting him up. “C’mon, Blainers. Let’s drive around a while; I’m getting chilly.”

Wordlessly, Blaine hoists his sweatshirt up over his head; I notice the lettering on the back that spells out B. ANDERSON. Blaine hands me the sweatshirt.

“Please don’t say ‘oh, no, I couldn’t’ or anything adorably gentlemanly, okay, Kurty?” he requests, grinning at me.

Rolling my eyes, I take off my chambray shirt and put on his (much thicker) sweatshirt, pulling it over my head and luxuriating in the softness of the fabric. It’s so warm; I can barely feel the wind chill. It smells just like Blaine, and I never want to take it off.

“It’s from lacrosse last year,” he explains as we walk back to my car. “Cooper and I were on the team together, so his says ‘C. Anderson.’ He was so obnoxious. He would always point out how he was better than me. I mean, he was; I have terrible hand-eye coordination, Kurty, and it’s actually hilarious. But still, it’s mean to make fun of your own sibling for being worse than you at something.” Blaine rolls his eyes. “Cooper never really cared about not being mean, but we didn't fight all that often until...recently.”

“It’s fucking fluffy,” I comment in an attempt to change the subject, making Blaine laugh. “Blainers, I’m going to put a moratorium on talking about Cooper, okay?”

Blaine knits his eyebrows. “Why?”

“It’s making you upset, and I don’t want to be his boyfriend,” I explain as I unlock the car and we buckle in. “It doesn’t do any good to talk about him when we could be talking about good things.”

Blaine smiles. “Good things like what?”

“Like how fucking fluffy this sweatshirt is.”

“I want you to keep it, Kurty,” Blaine tells me.

“Blaine, I couldn’t—”

“Kurt Hummel, you will take my fluffy sweatshirt, and you will enjoy it!”

We crack up in unison, which only makes us laugh harder. On the hourlong drive back to Lima, we craft inside jokes and tell each other about our childhoods. We gossip about the other members of glee club—except for Cooper, because moratorium—and feel horrible about it. We grow closer, and with every passing minute, I fall deeper and deeper in love with him.

♥ ♥ ♥

Just for the record, Blaine’s sweatshirt is great for sleeping in. I’ve worn it to bed every night from that day up until today’s Glee rehearsal.

We’re back in the choir room, and I sit up the back with Rachel, Santana, and Brittany. Down on the floor, Mr. Schue announces that Blaine, Sam, and Finn will be singing a song.

“Yeah, I actually looked this song up the other day,” Blaine tells us, “and what the song actually means is quite different from what the song means to me. This song is about the lead singer of the Fray’s spiritual connection with a woman in Rwanda. When I first heard it, however, I saw it as being about the way you feel when you’re with a person who means everything to you, when you're impossibly close to that person, so close you can feel everything your person is feeling. ‘I’m feeling your heartbeat.’ You know?” Blaine waits for our nods and “mm-hmms” of agreement. “So, here’s ‘Heartbeat’ by The Fray. I changed some of the words around; hope no one minds too much.”

Blaine nods to Brad, the piano guy, who grimaces in Blaine’s general direction and begins to play the opening chords. It appears to be just Blaine, Finn, Sam, and the piano. Blaine begins to sing, and my heart melts inside my chest.

We’re in a huge SUV on the highway

Sun is beating down, and we’re on the run

Think I can feel the breath in your body

We gotta keep on running till we see the sun

Sam takes over from there.

Oh, you’ve got a fire, and it’s burning in the rain

Thought that it went out, but it’s burning just the same

And you don’t look back, not for anything

‘Cause you love someone, you love ‘em all the same

If you love someone, you love ‘em all the same

Blaine’s clear tenor rings out from the start of the chorus, and he’s perfect. Everything about him is absolutely and simply perfectly perfect and I want him. I want him all to myself.

Oh, I’m feeling your heartbeat

Oh, you’re coming around, coming around, coming around

If you can love somebody, love ‘em all the same

You gotta love somebody, love ‘em all the same

Oh, I’m feeling your heartbeat

Blaine looks straight into my eyes.

I’m trying to put it all back together

I’ve got a story, and I’m trying to tell it right.

I’ve got the kerosene and the desire

I’m trying to start a flame in the heart of the night.

By the time Finn’s raspy, rich voice sings the bridge, I know why Blaine chose this song; I don’t know why I didn’t realize it from the changed first verse. We were in a huge SUV on the highway. We were on the run, although that lyric was in the song to begin with. He listened to my heartbeat through my chest, and I wasn’t sure why at the time.

I know the memories rushing into your mind

I’d let you kiss my scars tonight

Another changed lyric. I want to kiss his scars, and I think this is his way of telling me he needs me to.

I’m laying here

‘Cause you’ve got to try, you’ve got to let me in

Let me in

Oh, I’m feeling your heartbeat

Oh, you’re coming around, coming around, coming around

If you can love somebody, you gotta, you gotta love somebody

And oh, I’m feeling your heartbeat

Oh, your heartbeat

As Sam and Finn’s backup vocals on the last chorus fade out, I look at Blaine’s ashen face and know that he’s suffering even worse than I am; not only is his love life a mess that mirrors mine, but his brother is still freezing him out, and it’s my fault. I'm not making his life better; I'm just making everything worse, and I have to make it right. Only I can make it right again. Maybe I’m exaggerating my own importance; maybe I’m not. All I know is that if getting things back to normal with Cooper puts a smile on Blaine’s face, I will be happy.

♥ ♥ ♥

I leave Glee rehearsal with a sense of purpose: I have to make things right between the Anderbrothers. I have to put my romantic feelings for Blaine aside and be the bigger person.

So, when I get home, I text Rachel with what could be the second-worst idea I’ve ever had. It's for the good of the cause, I tell myself.

Kurt Hummel: Rach, can you do me a favor?

Rachel Berry: Sure thing! What’s the favor?

Kurt Hummel: I need you to tell Cooper to ask me out.

Rachel Berry: Why can’t you do it?

Kurt Hummel: I just...feel like he’ll feel better if he’s the one asking.

I bite my lip as I await Rachel’s response, hoping that my character analysis of Cooper is at least somewhat accurate. I can’t tell her the real reason I want him to do it: so that word won’t get around to Blaine that I’d been the one who’d asked Cooper out.

Rachel Berry: Right you are! I just told him.

Success. Sure enough, my phone chimes not thirty seconds later.

Cooper Anderson: Kurt, hey, you wanna go to a movie with me tomorrow night?

Kurt Hummel: Sure, when should I meet you?

Cooper Anderson: I can pick you up around seven, if you’d like :)

Kurt Hummel: Sounds great. See you then. :)

♥ ♥ ♥

“I’ve heard so many great things about this one,” Cooper tells me the next night, gesticulating with his popcorn bucket as we grab seats in the middle of the theater where the new Brad Pitt movie is about to start. “He’s such a great actor; too bad he had to grow that beard and get all unhot.”

“Yeah, why did he do that?” I ask, genuinely curious; I’ve always wanted to know, but never so badly that I would actually go and look up the information.
Cooper shrugs. “No idea,” he mumbles around a mouthful of popcorn. “Want some popcorn?”

I shake my head. “I’m good.”

We sit in silence throughout the previews, save for Cooper’s interjections of “I wanna see that!” after every single one. We sit in silence for most of the movie, but around the middle, he starts feeding me popcorn. I contemplate refusing, but it doesn’t seem conducive to the cause. I need Cooper to feel like he’s winning against Blaine in the battle for my affections; never mind the fact that he completely isn’t.

Cooper wraps his arm around my shoulder shortly after, and I don’t react. I decided before he picked me up that no matter what he did, I wouldn’t initiate any contact. My reasoning went like this: If I let him think I’m just reveling in his touch, he’ll pay no mind to the fact that I’m not initiating anything.

It makes sense in my head, okay?

When Brad Pitt and his lady love finally consummate their relationship onscreen, Cooper turns to me and whispers “so romantic.”

When the two kiss at the end of the movie, Cooper kisses me for the second time in history.

The first might not count, seeing as we were drunk out of our minds, but this one does—and I don’t like it. His tongue slips into my mouth, and I know I should be happy that a boy is kissing me of his own free will, with no alcohol in his system. I know I should want this...but I don’t.

I just want Blaine. I want Blaine to be the one I’m kissing in a darkened movie theater, and all I can think of is the way he’ll feel when he finds out about this.

♥ ♥ ♥

When Cooper drops me off, he kisses my cheek, obviously trying for 'gentlemanly' in case my parents are home.

“I had fun tonight, Kurt,” he tells me, a sweet smile on his lips. “I’m glad we did this.”

“I had f-fun, too, Cooper,” I stammer. “See you at school.” I shut the passenger door, wave at Cooper again as he drives away, and run up to my house, slamming the door behind me and running into Finn’s room. I need to talk to someone, and luckily, he’s there.

“Hey, Kurt!” Finn greets me, walking over to hug me. “How was your date?”

I groan. “He kissed me.”

Finn laughs, socking me in the arm. “You are the only teenager in history who has ever been upset that their date kissed them. From what I’ve heard, especially if their date is Cooper Anderson.”

I don’t even bother correcting his grammatical infraction; it’s not worth it. “But I don’t like him, Finn!” I protest.

Finn drags me onto his bed, which is surprisingly clean by Finn Hudson standards. We snuggle up against the pillows, resting our heads on the headboard. We do this a lot, Finn and me; I love that after all my years of being an only child, I have a stepbrother who means the world to me. I can trust Finn with anything.

“Who do you like?” Finn finally asks after a good five minutes of silence.

I sniffle; I’m not sure why. I’m not crying, I don’t feel like I’m going to cry, and my main beef with life right now hasn’t intensified enough for me to feel justified in crying about it. Blaine is still mine; just not in the way that I want him to be.

“I like Blaine,” I mumble just loudly enough for Finn to hear. I don't say I love him; I don't need to complicate things any further by admitting it out loud and making it real. “Not Cooper. I’ve liked Blaine since the day I met him, but—I mean, there’s this plan—you don’t want to know.”

Finn flips his wrist, as if to say I don’t need to know right now. “Just tell me how to make you smile again, Kurt.” He ruffles my hair.

“Messing up my hair’s not gonna do it for you, and you know it,” I quip, chuckling and burying my face in Finn’s shoulder. “Thanks for being here for me, Finn.”

Finn hugs me tighter. “I’ll always be here for you. I love you, bro.”

“Love you, too,” I murmur, succumbing to the sleep my body so desperately needs in hopes that I'll forget about all of this.

♥ ♥ ♥

Weeks later, my dad, Carole, Finn, and I stand in a boarding line for American Airlines Flight Who-Knows-What nonstop to JFK. I whip out my iPhone and text Mercedes; the last chance I’ll get to do so before I’m forced to shut my electronics down.

Kurt Hummel: Almost home :)

Mercedes Jones: Can’t wait to see you, baby!!

Kurt Hummel: Me either. Boarding now. See you soon!

I settle into my seat on the plane, turning my head slightly to smile at Finn.

“Happy to be going home?” he asks me, a knowing smile on his lips.

“You know it,” I reply. “I need two weeks away from all this drama like you wouldn’t even believe. You?”

“Hell, yeah. So, hey. Can I ask you something?”

I raise my eyebrow at my brother. “Sure, Finn.”

He furrows his brow, as if he’s not sure whether to speak. “Are you and that Cooper guy dating? I know you went out, we talked about that, but—”

“No,” I answer immediately.

“Really? ‘Cause it kinda really looks like you are, Kurty, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“God, Finn, we’re not, ” I snap, immediately feeling awful. “I’m sorry. I know you’re only asking because you care. But he can’t hurt me, because I don’t like him. I told you that I don’t like him. Well, I mean, he’s an okay guy—you know what I mean. Focus more on not looking like a dick in front of Rachel, why don’t you?” I tease, punching him lightly in the well-muscled arm. He winces, grinning at me.

“Okay,” he cedes, “if you promise to work on not looking like one in front of the Anderson you actually like.” I notice he doesn’t dispute my assertion that he likes Rachel.

Finn winks at me, and I can’t stop myself from punching him again. “Shut up, Finn.”

♥ ♥ ♥

My family and I knock on the door of the Joneses’ Lower East Side brownstone around 7:30. We’re spending Christmas and the days before and after it with them, as our families are close as can be.

Mrs. Jones opens the door, and Finn and I exchange a face-shattering grin at the smell of cooking food coming from inside. “Burt! Carole! Finn! Kurt! It’s so great to see you!” she exclaims, wrapping the four of us up in a giant group hug. “Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

“Can I help with anything?” my dad asks, ever the gentleman.

“Oh, no, Burt, we couldn’t let you,” Mr. Jones pipes up, coming to the door to offer his own hugs for each of us.

“Very well,” my dad answers, a genuine smile on his face. “Why don’t we all sit down and catch up?”

“Sounds great,” Mr. Jones replies. “Kurt, Mercedes is sleeping upstairs, but she said to tell you you could go up and wake her when you got here. She’s so excited to see you.”

“And I’m excited to see her!” I exclaim, rushing upstairs. I could find Mercedes’ room blindfolded. When I get there, I’m happy to find that she hasn’t redecorated—everything is exactly how it was before I left. It's comforting. I shake her awake.

“Mercedes Jones!” I stage-whisper, waking her up effectively on the first try.

“Kurt!” she shouts, despite her groggy state. “I’m so happy to see you!” My best friend wraps me up in a rib-crushing hug. “You have to show me Blaine.” I love that that’s the first thing she thinks of; it’s so Mercedes.

Blaine doesn’t have a Facebook account—“too much drama last year,” he says, “so I deleted it”—so I have to scroll through my phone’s camera roll to find the myriad pictures I’ve taken of him. Mercedes oohs and ahhs at all the appropriate moments.

“Kurt, he’s cute,” she gushes. “He’s like a model.”

“Ugh, I know, ‘Cedes,” I groan. “It’s so frustrating. His brother kissed me when we went to the movies—remember, I Skyped you before I left for that—and all I could think was ‘why aren’t you Blaine?’” I can feel myself getting emotional, little by little.

“Oh, baby, c’mere,” Mercedes coos, pulling me close to her on her futon. “You like this boy,” she states.

“Mercedes, it’s more than that,” I protest, getting just the tiniest bit choked up. “I used to like him, but it’s like he’s part of me now. We spend so much time together, I know him so well, and yet, I was coerced into dating his brother. I’m tearing them apart. I only agreed to go on that date with Cooper so that he’d start talking to Blaine again, since he’d feel like he won, but—‘Cedes, he’s not winning. No one is winning, least of all me. I’m an idiot, a naïve little boy, in love with the sweetest, most wonderful person I’ve ever known—but oh, hey, look! I can’t have him, because my three friends are using me like a puppet on a string to get some sick revenge they don’t even want anymore.” I start to cry in earnest; big, ugly, heaving cries that send me sobbing into Mercedes’ arms.

“Oh, honey,” my best friend murmurs, stroking my back in an attempt to soothe me. “Just give it time.”

“I c-can’t,” I sob. “There is no time. Regionals happens, like, three weeks after I get back, and that’s going to be a huge clusterfuck unless I fix things immediately. We’re going to be in hotel rooms. Something’s bound to happen with me and the Anderbrothers in such close quarters.”

“Honey, from what you’ve told me, you are not the only one who’s in love with someone.”

I look up at Mercedes. “W-what do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m looking at a picture on your phone right now of a boy with the sweetest face and curliest hair I’ve ever seen, looking into the camera and smiling like the love of his life is taking the photo. Baby, when you go back to Ohio, I want you to do something romantic for him. I want you to show him—don’t tell him, show him—that you’re his, and not his brother’s. I know you have to keep up this weird-ass charade or whatever, but if everything you’ve told me about Blaine is true, then he is worth any risk. Go out there and get that sweet little hunk of adorable, because it has been too damn long for you.” Mercedes grins at me. “You deserve to be happy, Kurt, and you deserve a guy who’s going to treat you right and love you like you should be loved.”

I can’t help it; I kiss her on the cheek, the smack of my lips reverberating into the hallway. “I love you, ‘Cedes,” I tell her, hugging her tight.

“I love you, Kurt,” she echoes. “Keep in mind, boy, I want to meet this Blaine Anderson someday.”

“I promise you’ll meet him much sooner than the wedding,” I giggle, giddy with new purpose. Somehow, I’m going to show Blaine everything he means to me.

Mercedes Jones: sage advice-giver. Who knew?

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