Chapter 12

(FINN'S POV)

Kurt is unusually happy. Or maybe it's more like he's antsy? I don't know. Whatever it is, he keeps bouncing back on forth on the balls of his feet and his mouth keeps twitching as though he's trying to hold back a smile. It's making me feel a little unsettled.

We're standing next to each other in the living room as we wait for Rachel and Blaine to finish getting ready. I feel kind of anxious and there's this elephant in the room that I can't ignore any longer.

"Kurt?"

"Yeah?" Kurt's smile falters at my tone of voice.

"You look kinda gay, dude." I finish bluntly, not sure how else to put it. He's wearing a vest and his pants aren't nearly as baggy as they normally are. Plus he's wearing these white boots that are shiny and distracting. I feel like I should let him know before he leaves the house like this. Just give him a heads up.

"Excuse me?" His smile is definitely gone now. Shit, I didn't mean to make him feel bad.

"I just want tonight to be stress-free, and well, your hair and your shoes..."

"What about them?" Kurt repeats slower, more irritated.

"They make me kind of... nervous... People might think you're--"

"I highly doubt my shoes will have any impact on your evening, Finn. Anyways, tonight is about Rachel, not me." Kurt says in a clipped tone. Why is he getting all mad at me?

"I'm just trying to help you. You don't want people getting the wrong idea--"

Blaine opens his door and moves to stand next to us. He looks at Kurt in surprise, a smile forming on his lips. "Nice shoes." He says admiringly, meeting Kurt's eyes.

Wow, really?

"See?" Kurt turns to me, as though he's somehow proven a point.

"Well that doesn't count, Blaine is gay."

"Wait, what?" Blaine asks, suddenly confused about the conversation.

Kurt sighs.

"Come on, Kurt, I just want tonight--"

"--to go perfectly. Yeah, I know." Kurt says, resigned, as he plops down heavily on the couch and begins to unlace his boots. I have this hollow feeling in my gut at seeing the dejected look on his face.

Shit. I shouldn't have said anything.

"Kurt, what are you doing? You look great." Blaine chimes in, still dumbfounded about the situation.

Kurt's fingers fumble almost unnoticeably on the laces at his comment, but he continues regardless.

"Finn thinks I look too gay." Kurt's mutters, his eyes remaining on the task at hand.

"I take a little offense to that." Blaine says, his brows furrowing as he looks at me. He just doesn't get it.

"Well, I-I mean, it's fine for you to wear stuff like that. But, like, Kurt and me, we're guys, and--"

"I'm a guy, Finn." Blaine says matter-of-factly.

My eyes widen slightly. When did this turn into an argument with the both of them?

"Well, yeah, but it's different--"

"Stick your foot farther down your throat, Finn, I dare you." Kurt says quietly, surprising me with his sarcasm.

Why is everybody attacking me all of a sudden?

I sigh heavily. "Okay, fine, put your shoes back on. Wear whatever you want, Jesus. I'm just jumpy. I feel like I'm gonna throw up." I say, wringing my hands together.

There's a short pause.

"...No, you're right." Kurt says quietly, pulling out a box from underneath the couch and switching out the pair of boots for some old, black shoes. The air is stale and awkward now as he ties the laces and it's all my fault.

"You have the ring?" Kurt, standing up and moving toward me again, but the light in his eyes I thought I had seen earlier is gone.

I nod, deciding not to talk. I'm not doing so well tonight.

"Finn, it's okay." Kurt says, giving me a small, but sincere smile as he slaps a hand on my back. "Just breathe, man. You know she's gonna say yes. No need to be so freaked out."

I close my eyes for a moment; glad the tension has passed for the most part. "Yeah, I know."

Soon enough, Rachel steps out of her room, looking beautiful in a dark pink dress and the heels Blaine got her for her birthday this morning.

How did I get so lucky?

I smile as we all walk out the door. Suddenly the little box in my pocket doesn't feel heavy and nerve-wracking, but warm and comforting.

(KURT'S POV)

I don't know how I thought I could get away with it. I just saw the corner of the Doc Martins box sticking out from underneath the couch and I just-- I couldn't help it. It was stupid.

Even Finn, who's so nervous that he can't even see straight, had noticed. And it was something so trivial. A pair of boots.

But it wasn't that simple, was it?

It was the vest and the tucked-in shirt and the hair I spent way too much time grooming and the pants that are hugging my legs just a tad too closely to go unnoticed. All small, individual things that don't matter, but together raise suspicion. The shoes just tipped the scale. The shoes gave him something to fixate on.

God, this is so stupid... I think again. I need to be more careful.

Eventually we make it to the front of the line outside the theatre, and we all head in. The earlier awkwardness seems to have been forgotten, everyone chatting excitedly, but I don't say much. Or anything at all, really. I feel really lost in my own head right now, but I smile when necessary for Finn's sake.

He looks so happy, his hand shoved into his pocket where I know he's turning the little velvet box in his hand over and over. He probably has the object memorized by now.

Rachel and Blaine are clutching each other for dear life, beside themselves with happiness and the dreams from their college days as best friends, as we look for our seats.

And there it is. The Gershwin Theatre.

The stage I've been dreaming about practically since birth. A small, warm feeling floods my chest and spreads throughout my entire body as I recall the countless hours I used to spend in middle school dreaming of waltzing in and wowing all the casting directors of the universe with my fresh voice. They'd have to give me all the parts. There simply wouldn't be enough of me to go around.

I sigh as I realize where my life is actually heading.

We all take our seats, Blaine sitting on the end, then Rachel, then Finn, then me. Rachel leans over to me.

"You know, during freshman year, Blaine and I snuck in here." She says.

"You didn't get caught?" I ask, surprised.

Blaine smiles. "We did. But the janitor gave us fifteen minutes before kicking us out." He tells me, for it seems as though Finn has already heard this story.

"What did you guys do in here?" My uncontrollable envy causes me to press further.

"I sung Being Good. And Blaine danced to something..."

"Just some of my own choreography..." Blaine says sheepishly.

"That'll be for real one day." Rachel says firmly. "We'll be up on that stage. This'll be our audience." She gestures toward the surrounding people, nodding to herself. Blaine just smiles softly at her, and Finn grabs her hand.

Hearing them talk about that memory has pulled me out of the spiral of regret I'd been about to fall into.

It amazes me that Rachel still hasn't given up. She must have heard so many rejections from casting directors over the years, and yet she hasn't lost faith in what is clearly her dream. I can feel my chest swell as I gaze at the show of support that Finn and Blaine are giving her.

I can't help but wonder... Would Finn feel the same way if he found out that my dream is not too different from hers?

Before I can dwell too long on the idea, the lights dim and the overture begins.

And it's... all too familiar.

Reverently I watch the musical that inadvertently altered my life.

It's the funniest thing. How even after all this time, I can recall the lyrics to "Popular" as though I had just sung it this morning. I can feel my eyes tear up as I catch myself singing along in my head, and I'm unbelievably grateful for the darkness of the theater obscuring the redness of my face.

Because I remember a time before I started hiding who I was. A time before Dad met Carole, and Finn became my stepbrother. A time before I started noticing boys the way I do now. A time when I was my dad's entire world and he was mine because we were all we had and all we ever needed. A time when Dad was working 12-hour shifts just to get Hummel's Tires and Lube off the ground and I had the house to myself until quarter after nine every night.

I remember a night in particular where, clad only in my pajamas, I'd blasted "Popular" from my stereo as I moved about my room and jumped on my bed as I sang along. I had sung to my make-believe Elphaba about how to be popular, as though I had even an inkling of what that was like. But I knew that one day I would know. One day being popular and having friends would be as easy as breathing.

Only I'm not 11 anymore. I'm 26 and I'm no better off than I was before.

I think for a moment.

But... But I guess that's not true anymore, is it? I have a brother now. And Blaine told me just this morning that Rachel is my friend.

So that makes... a grand total three friends in 15 years... Or at least, people I still talk to. I mean I've had "friends" over the years but nobody I've kept close, or let myself care about. That'd just makes one more person I'd have to lie to.

Or is it four friends? Does Mercedes count? Everything is still so new with her...

I decide that she does.

... I should hang out with her again soon...

Alright. Good. Having four friends is better than having zero and still living in Lima so I suppose I'm doing quite well for myself.

This thought comforts me as I continue to watch the show.

All it had taken was hearing the opening notes to "Defying Gravity" to set me off. To crack the walls of the dam in my head and let everything flow through.

Once again I was transported back to that day twelve years ago. I could still hear everything around me, but my dad's furious face clouded my vision. And then, all at once, I wasn't hearing music at all. My dad's angry words were echoing in my head, and then words from other days, careless insults, degrading insinuations, they were all bouncing around in my brain. I found myself gripping the armrest of my chair so hard my fingers began to ache as I tried to keep up with the cacophony of noise.

Even after the curtains closed and the lights brightened, I remained staring at the stage, lost in my own head.

So that's where I am. Frozen in my seat during the intermission. Finn, Rachel, and Blaine all got up to go to the bathroom a couple minutes ago.

(BLAINE'S POV)

I come back to my seat to find Kurt in the exact same position he was in when I'd left.

I sit down and look over to see light reflecting in Kurt's watery eyes. I smile gleefully, realizing that the performance had driven him to tears, as well.

"You're crying too?" I laugh as I dab at the residual moisture on my lashes. God, that performance was breathtaking...

Kurt startles and his head whips toward me. He blinks a few times before coming back to himself, turning his had away again instantly.

"Uh, n-no." He says dismissively.

I smile wider at his weak attempt to cover it up. I lean as far as I can across the two seats between us.

"Yeah, you are." I contradict. "Admit it, you enjoyed that. And you should have, 'cause it was amazing."

"Yeah, you caught me." He says with a faint smile, but his words are shaky and his head still isn't facing me.

I bite my lip. Worried that I'll cut my feet on the eggshells I appear to be inexplicably walking on around him, I lean back toward my own seat and remain silent until Finn returns, followed by Rachel a minute or two later.

The mood instantly shifts as Rachel begins to gush about the first Act ("... amazing! But not as good as when I sang it glee club, right, Finn?") and soon I find myself fully engrossed in the cheerful chatter until the curtains open up for the second Act.

After the show, Rachel and Finn start walking in the direction of the restaurant, while I hail Kurt and myself a cab. Finn had seemed almost eager to get a move on, and the whole thing was so cute. I smile to myself as I think about how when those two come home tonight, they'll be fiancés. That's so crazy. And wonderful.

And yet, as we silently clamber into a taxi, I can't help but wonder when it'll be my turn. I mean, don't get me wrong, I could not be happier for my best friend, but... I mean I don't even have a boyfriend. I know I don't need one necessarily to be happy, but that doesn't mean I don't want one.

I love the idea of all that domestic stuff. I want a life partner and I want a place of our own and I want a kid or two and maybe even a dog.

But I haven't had a boyfriend since college. And with influences like Wes, who's already married, and Rachel, who met the love of her life in high school (and who will be getting married somewhat soon!) I have no idea if I'm doing well for myself or not...

It's not like it's exactly easy to meet people as a teacher. Nearly all of my colleagues are in their forties, and besides them, those who are available are very ambiguous when it comes to their orientation. And it's not like I can ask if they're gay. What if I'm wrong and they get offended? Or what if things get really uncomfortable and I have to spend the rest of my teaching career working alongside them? Or what if I'm right but they don't want their students or colleagues to know? Then we're right back to awkward.

And my summer dance workshops at NYADA are also a no-go. That's pretty much always filled with high school students practicing for when they apply in the fall, or older people who are taking a chance on my class because "you know, I've always wanted to learn how to _____" as I've heard so many times before.

So nope. Can't meet people in the workplace.

And I really only ever go Scandals to visit Jeff and Nick (I suppose I should just assume they're a packaged deal at this point). The crowd that usually hangs there tends to not be what I'm looking for. Plus, bar hookups kind of freak me out.

I guess I just--

(KURT'S POV)

Just look at me. My mom would be so ashamed.

Finn was right. I need to get out of these faggy clothes before I vomit.

I feel like an idiot with my form-fitting pants and neatly combed hair. I run my fingers through my brown locks a few times, purposely messing them up.

I don't even bother trying to have a conversation with Blaine, who's been staring out the window for the last 10 minutes. Clearly he's not in the mood to talk either.

Which is just fine with me... I think as I trace the faint outline of my Swiss Army knife through the material of my pocket.

(BLAINE'S POV)

-- need to get out more.

Maybe I'll actually go to one of Wes and Edelmira's dinner parties they're always inviting me to... I ponder as Kurt and I pay the cab driver and exit the vehicle, before making our way upstairs to the apartment.

I look over to see Kurt unbuttoning his vest before I've even opened the door all the way, a look of cool detachment on his face.

Oh, right. Kurt was upset about something. Shit.

I walk into my room and shrug off my jacket. I change into a Henley shirt and sweats before walking back out and into the kitchen. I pour a glass of orange juice, and drink half of it before making my way to the living room.

Kurt emerges from the bathroom in similarly casual attire and sits on the couch, reclining backward until his head is resting on one of the cushions.

I put my glass on the coffee table and gingerly sit in one of the armchairs, unsure if Kurt's position implies that this is still a shared space, or currently doubling as his room.

"You alright? You seem kinda out of it." I say.

"I'm fine." He says. However, when I don't move, he sighs. "That musical just brought back some memories."

"Bad ones?" I assume. No shit, Blaine.

Kurt nods.

"I thought you'd never seen it before." I state, slightly confused.

"I haven't."

"But then--"

"A song. It was a song." He says impatiently. I can tell my presence is no longer wanted, if it even was in the first place, but I stay put, hoping he'll continue. And for some miraculous reason, he does. "I had a bad fight with my dad the last time I listened to it." He says quietly.

I have trouble picturing whatever situation he must have been in in his memory.

"Well, that's in the past, though." I try, wondering how much time I'll get before he stops being honest.

"Not really. I'm kind of still living it." He sighs again, pressing the heels of his hands lightly against his eyes. He looks tired.

"You said you two don't really get along, right?" I ask, even though in our last conversation about his dad he had made it pretty clear.

"I believe I said he hates me."

"I'm sure he doesn't hate you--"

"Oh I assure you, he does."

"How could he like Finn and not you?"

"Look, I'm not just some copy of Finn, as much I try to be." Kurt spits out testily.

"I didn't say that-- wait, what?"

"I'm not a copy of Finn." He repeats.

"No, the other part. Why would you want to be like Finn? You're your own person."

"Unfortunately." He says dryly.

"No. Not 'unfortunately.' What makes you say that?" I ask, suddenly a bit angry that he this is how he thinks.

"'Cause Finn is something that I'll never be and I know it and my dad knows it-"

"And what's that?"

"None of your damn business!" Kurt yells all of a sudden, sitting upright. The silence that follows is deafening.

My eyes widen at his outburst. And then I realize.

It really isn't my business at all.

"Okay." I murmur as I stand up to go to my room, my face feeling impossibly hot. I'm embarrassed for some bizarre reason, and I don't want to be here anymore.

I almost make it to my door before I hear, "Wait! Shit. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I ask too many questions." I grip the metal doorknob.

"Yeah, you do. But come back. Rachel and Finn will be home in an hour or two. I'm sure you want to be awake when she gets here. Let's watch something stupid on TV, or something."

My mouth twitches against my better judgment.

"Fine, but I'm picking what we're watching." I say.

"Fine."