The next day at school was brutal, considering that Kurt could hardly feel his arms, aside from the stabbing soreness that would come whenever he lifted them for too long. Everything hurt, but not as intensely as his biceps, triceps, and wrists—he was sure that he was going to get carpal tunnels as he quickly washed his thong right after he woke up, feeling the ache light his muscles and bones on fire. The painkillers he took that morning before going to school that morning were bound to wear off quickly. Kurt had explained to Rachel that he'd busted his arms at practice the day before-he didn't want to have to explain anything more than that, specifically Blaine, because she was bound to ask him. Thankfully, she offered to lend him a hand (no pun intended) and carry his things for him to all of the classes they shared. He'd only have to carry them to two classes and after school, which he was dreading. His arms could hardly handle writing, let alone lifting it for a minute. He was sure that if he had to do even a cartwheel at Cheerios practice, his arms would fall out of their sockets.

Rachel was not, however, that openly generous, as Kurt knew.

"So, I'm doing you this really nice favor, literally bending my back for you-couldn't you take classes with a lighter load," she grimaced as she hitched his sinking bag up a little higher while the walked to lunch, "anyway, I think I'm doing you a favor by telling you that there's a new club I can-I mean we can be the stars of."

"Go on," Kurt said, wincing as she took his weak arm in hers. He rolled his eyes at Rachel's blatant self-centered mannerisms—she had always been that way, yearning to be the star of the show. Secretly, though, he envied her for this ambition. He'd never been the center of anything, really.

"Earlier today, I was going to my Spanish class when I passed by the bulletin board for extracurricular activities. Now, you know that I've joined nearly every club imaginable, but I couldn't help but notice a new flyer. Guess what it was?"

"I can't guess, Rachel," he said, wishing that she'd end the dramatics as they entered the cafeteria.

"It was an audition list. For a glee club!"A glee club-like singing?

More than anything in the world, Kurt loved performing. He may be shy in real life, but the stage did something to him where he felt invincible. He could take on a whole other persona, change from being a fifteen-year-old, scrawny homosexual to a superstar. His absolute favorite thing to do was sing. It was partially why he'd joined the Cheerios: they performed in front of thousands.

"That sounds great, but I don't think I can do it. I'm committed to the Cheerios; I think Coach will have my head and other parts of my body if I took up another extracurricular activity." She pouted at him. He wasn't even sure why she was telling him about this: usually Rachel Berry wanted the spotlight for herself.

"Well, the least you can do is audition. I'm sure that whoever is in charge of the club will take everyone's other activities into consideration when scheduling meetings...although there weren't any names on it yet. I'm sure that loads of people are going to try out!" They found themselves in the freshmen-inhabited section of the cafeteria, where the underclass men herded around the table like cattle. Rachel and Kurt sat down in what could be considered the most secluded area. Kurt waited as Rachel dug through his bag for his lunch, which she eventually found and handed to him, and then searched for her fruit salad in her bag.

"Why don't you just buy one from the cafeteria?" Kurt asked as she pulled the container out. "It's pretty cheap, and they give you more than that."

"I don't want the lunch ladies touching it after they handled slaughtered chickens, cows, pigs-"

"Rachel, I'm pretty sure that 85% of that food isn't real."

"Whatever. You're just trying to avoid the other topic you knew would come up, and which I'd like to discuss now: Blair." Of course Rachel wanted to talk about that. Ever since Kurt came out, all she really wanted to talk to him about was boys—and herself, but that was normal.

"It's Blaine," Kurt corrected her a little too quickly, and grimaced at his mistake.

"So you do like him!" Rachel shrieked, causing a few heads to turn. Kurt gave them sympathetic glances and then faced Rachel with narrowed eyes.

"Shut up, Rachel! There is no way in hell I'd like a guy like him. He's an absolute dickhead."

"Kurt, language!" Rachel covered her ears in protest.As if she'd never heard the word before, Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Sorry, it's the best word to describe him with." He looked around the cafeteria, hoping that no one else could hear him. It seemed that Blaine wasn't in their lunch period, which was the most important thing. "Seriously, he's a jerk. That kid thinks he's better than everyone: he stands next to Coach with his nose in the air, berating those who are under him. He really needs a reality check, and an attitude adjustment. No one likes him, not just because they're jealous that he's cheer captain. Apparently everyone's skipping out on the practice he's holding on Tuesday, since Coach is going to be out for an interview or something-I think I'm going to join them."

Rachel finished her mouthful of grapes, cantaloupe, and strawberries. "Although I don't usually commend this sort of thing, and this is probably never going to happen again...I agree. That's the day that Glee auditions are being held, so it works out perfectly. I just think you should tell your coach that you're trying out."

"Oh, I don't know," Kurt said nervously. Even the thought of talking to Coach Sylvester scared the bejesus out of him. It didn't help that he already had a bit of social anxiety.

"It'll take, like, two minutes, it's not a big deal. It can't be that bad." Kurt shrugged his shoulders, wishing that she'd change the subject. "I have to say, I'm disappointed that you think of Blaine that way." Not exactly the subject he wanted to discuss...

"You just want a love life to talk about," Kurt replied with a snarky tone.

Rachel's eyes glazed over; she had a dreamy expression on her face. "One day, Finn will like me. One day."

Oh, yeah. Finn.Kurt didn't comment: he continued to nibble at his sandwich, which he could only eat in short increments or else his arms would give out. It wasn't that he didn't like Finn anymore, because he seemed to be a lot nicer than that douchebag Anderson (although he had heard that Finn was not the brightest), he just kind of lost some of his physical appeal. He was a little too tall for his liking. Anyway, Rachel liked him as well, so it was kind of weird to like him.

"Oh well." Rachel dragged them both away from their thoughts. "So, you wanna go shopping later? I need a dress for homecoming!"

Kurt shifted uncomfortably in his chair, feeling the reason why he needed to go. "Actually, I was thinking about that. I need to, um, get some more...you know."

"I don't know," Rachel said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.

"Shut up," Kurt grumbled. "If I didn't have to, I wouldn't. Change of subject: what do you think of that English essay we've already been assigned?"

Kurt let out a sigh of relief as the last bell of the day rang. There was an announcement that Cheerios practice was cancelled, so he did not have to worry about the possibility of his arms falling off, but there was a meeting after school in N-13, so he'd decided that he would tell Coach about Glee club there. He wasn't sure what the meeting was about, exactly; all he cared about was the fact that his tortured arms would not have to endure pain much longer. He had until seven to rest them, and then the entire weekend, which he was very excited for. Just one week of high school had drained him—he had no idea how he'd survive the next four years.

Luck was on his side that day: his math classroom, as well as N-13, were in close proximity to his locker. He gritted his teeth, hauled his heavy bag over his shoulder, and speed-walked out of the classroom straight to his locker. There was a couple who was obscenely involved with each other next to him: he ignored them as best as he could and continued to unlock his locker. He couldn't help but glance at the two and did a double-take.

A boy in a familiar Cheerios uniform was aggressively kissing a girl in a Cheerios uniform. There was only one other boy on the Cheerios, and that was—

"Hey, Hummel, do you mind? I know you don't get any action, but can you not stare?" Blaine broke away from the girl, who turned out to be a blonde girl he recognized but couldn't name. Kurt's jaw fell to the ground.Am I seeing things?Regardless, he was irritated by this statement.

"Well, it's kind of hard when you're k-kissing right in front of my locker, so can you get a room?" He cursed himself for stuttering, but was quite proud of his response.

"Sure—it's a little distracting having Porcelain over here, so let's go, Brittany." He put his hand on her shoulder and guided them away without giving Kurt a second glance. Kurt didn't look back either; Blaine didn't deserve it.

He opened his backpack and began placing the books he didn't need inside his locker as a million thoughts buzzed in his mind.I thought Blaine was gayseemed to be the most popular one, followed byMaybe he's biandMaybe he's not completely out yetandI wonder what it'd be like if he kissed me like that. Still, it was not any of his business, and he did not care to involve himself in it. Perhaps a little bit, since he didn't want to witness them sucking face by his locker every day if this was to continue. It was gross. It was unnecessary. He shouldn't have to be subjected tothat.

He wasn't even jealous of Brittany for kissing Blaine. There was no denying that he was attractive—on the outside. Whoever wanted to stick their tongue down that disgusting, crude, insult-filled mouth must be absolutely crazy.

After he put everything he needed to away, Kurt stood up and stared at the little magnetic mirror he had placed inside a few days earlier. His face looked okay, thanks to the moisturizing regimen he had started at the end of eighth grade. His hair was still in place, thankfully: he adjusted the part a little bit, wishing that one day he could change it. Kurt hated his hairstyle: it made his childish face look even younger. It made him look like a seventh grader, not a freshman. His eyes traveled down to his lips, which were a little chapped from biting and licking them so often at Cheerios practice—he tended to do that while carrying out difficult physical activities.

As he stared at his reflection, he thought about how much he had changed within just a few days of high school. He didn't look any different, but he felt like he'd had a complete makeover.I'm already on the road to corruption: first day was okay, but the second day, I have dirty thoughts about a jerk, I wear a thong...third day, I start cursing, and tell off someone for making out in front of my locker—the same guy I had a provocative dream about. What the hell even is this? Is this what high school really is?

Kurt shook his head and closed his locker, watching his figure disappear in the darkness of the door. He picked up his backpack and stepped towards the classroom, which turned out to be a Spanish class, based on the multiple Spanish and Mexican flags that were hanging on the door. Inside, he saw a handful of Cheerios scattered across the room, laughing and talking in their little cliques. Brittany was sitting next to Blaine towards the back of the room, who was scowling. Santana was behind him, staring at Brittany.

He entered the room, nodding at Coach and the man he didn't recognize standing next to her, who looked at him as he headed towards the empty seat next to Santana, since she was waving him over. He took it, setting his things down next to him. Santana had her phone out in front of her and was furiously typing.

"So, I'm talking to my friend Puckerman here, and I have a bet with him. Do you think that you're as big as him, Kurt?" Santana smiled slyly at him as she passed her phone to him. He took it hesitantly, not knowing who Puckerman was or what she meant by "big as him". After glancing at the picture on the screen for a millisecond, he knew exactly what she meant, and practically threw the phone back at her.

"Santana! I—I don't want to—what-"

"Aw, look, he's all flustered. How adorable." Santana grabbed it, staring at the sext with a smile on her face. "I would show Anderson over here, since he'd definitely appreciate something like this, but apparently he's switched teams and taken my lady friend over here, who I am not talking to." Santana sighed, closing her phone. "Oh well. Their loss."

Kurt's face was still pink from embarrassment, he could just tell. He stared in front of him, trying to send Santana the message that what she did was completely inappropriate and that he wouldn't stand for it. Then he realized that he was staring at the back of Blaine's head, the same thing he'd seen in his dream last night, and his face positively burned.

The fact of the matter was, Kurt could not ignore what he had dreamed about, despite how hard he tried to. He would just be staring at his work in front of him, walking down the halls, staring up at the notes on the board, and boom, there was Blaine in the shower again. He was ashamed of how often he thought about it, yet he couldn't do anything about it. It seemed that the harder he tried not to think about it, the more he thought about it. He found it to be repulsive.

"All right, girls, boys, settle down," Coach Sylvester said, and everyone immediately took their seats. She was pacing around the front of the room like a lion stalking their prey. "You haven't gotten off of practice just because I was feeling generous. I will let my dear, dear friend, Mr. William Schuester, explain." Coach moved away, gesturing for the man who was standing off to the side to take center stage.

"Hello, everyone. Or, if you have me as a teacher,hola," Mr. Schuester waved to the class full of Cheerios, who responded with tepid "heys", "his", and "whatevers." "I don't know if any of you have been notified yet, but I recently got permission from Principal Figgins to revive William McKinley High School's old Glee club!" He paused, an obvious attempt for applause, which he did not receive. "Okay...well, since we are just getting it on its feet, I was hoping to attract some Cheerios to the show choir. You all have a fantastic influence on McKinley, and I think you would all be a great addition to the club, as long as you can sing." He laughed. "Your coach agrees with me, and said that you can miss one practice a week for this commitment." Kurt looked at Coach, who was glowering at the floor. It didn't seem like she was too keen on the idea, which made Kurt very suspicious of how this agreement was made. "So, if you are interested in auditioning, there's a sign-up sheet on the extracurricular activity board. We already have some names, so I encourage you to join them! Any questions?"

"Nope. No questions," Coach immediately replied, stepping in front of Mr. Schuester. "You heard the man. Everyone is dismissed. Remember that we have practice tomorrow morning at 7:30, and if you're late you have a meeting with me and my favorite little instrument of torture. Blaine, Quinn, Santana, Brittany, and Lady, get your butts over here. I need a quick word." Confused, Kurt grabbed his things and stood up. The others looked equally puzzled: Blaine was frowning, Santana was talking to herself, and across the room Quinn was staring at Coach, her head cocked to the side (Brittany, as usual, seemed indifferent, considering that she was almost always confused).

Eventually, they all gathered outside of the classroom, with the Cheerios circles around their Coach. Kurt was standing next to Blaine: he tried his damndest to stay as far away from him as possible without being to conspicuous.

"So, I'm sure that none of you want to join that stupid show choir...well, maybe not Porcelain, but he barely counts. It's the dumbest thing Figgins has ever done since he hired that boy-band-member-wannabe. He's sucking the money that should be going to our program, where it belongs. However, I have handpicked all of you to join the Glee club. Why? I want you to do what you do best: destroy them from the inside out. I want you to get in that club like squirming maggots preying on fresh road kill on a hot summer day. Soon enough, it will be decimated, and we'll get the money we deserve. I don't like that little smirk Schuester has been wearing these past few days; I need to wipe it off as soon as possible.

"I'm giving you a month to destroy it. Santana, I want you to demean anyone you can—basically, just be you, but sayeverythingthat you want to say. Tear them apart. Quinn, you know what you're doing. Keep being the itch-with-a-b that you are. Brittany...you'll screw the club up regardless. Blaine, as captain, you'll oversee that everyone's doing their job, and come up with methods of destruction. Oh, and Lady Hummel, I couldn't send all of my hotties over. That would make it too suspicious. I've got to put a wild card in there, right?" Kurt did not respond. He felt like he was going to explode from the overload of information, and anger at Coach for being so awful to him.

"We'll meet tomorrow after practice to discuss it more. I've got a date with my elliptical now; goodbye. And don't think that you're off the hook for this!" Coach Sue reiterated. "I need you all to work twice as hard at practice. Some of you may be subject to removal if I see you start to regress, or, even worse, if you become attached to Williams's little gay parade." Coach Sue then turned on her heel and left the five of them, who all seemed shocked at what had just occurred.

The five of them headed towards the bulletin board, the Unholy Trinity walking together in front of Kurt and Blaine. Kurt flanked towards the outside of Brittany, trying to get as far away from Blaine as possible.I don't want to be associated with this bipolar ass-hat, he thought. Blaine seemed to be on the same page: his hands were in his pockets, that perpetual scowl still plastered on his face. They continued down the hallway until they found the board, and stopped in front of it.

"'Balls McFag', how original," Santana scoffed as she read the list. "What's up with that star next to Berry's name? Are we in third grade? Hey, isn't she your Jewish friend or something, Porcelain?" She turned to Kurt, who mumbled a "yes." He didn't know how to respond; all he knew was he hated himself for letting them talk about Rachel in such a way.

"Mercedes Jones, that fat-ass sassy black girl...figures...Artie Abrams, oh God, how is he going to do the dancing...Tina Cohen-Chang, who the hell is that; Puckerman and his friends wouldn't be that creative in making up a name...wait, holy shit, is that Finn's name?!" Quinn, who Kurt knew was Finn's girlfriend (and hated her for it), exclaimed furiously. "He didn't talk to me about this! We're going to lose our positions as homecoming king and queen and potentially prom king and queen!"

Before they could say anything else, Blaine pushed the girls aside and grabbed the pen hanging next to the flyer. He scrawled "Blaine Anderson" in neat penmanship under "Balls McFag", and walked away just as he finished writing.

"What's up his butt," Quinn commented as they watched his retreating figure.

"Obviously not a dick," Santana spat, turning to Brittany. Fire raged in her eyes as she stared at the blonde. "How did you make him switch teams?"

"Wait, he's still on the Cheerios, right?" Brittany asked.

"Let me put it plainly: why were you and Gay Blaine swapping spit?!"

"'Swapping spit?' Is it like trading cards or something? That sounds kind of gross."

"Brittany, why were you kissing Blaine in front of my locker?" Kurt asked, surprising himself and evidently the other girls, since they jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Lady Hummel! I forgot that your scrawny, glittery ass was still here," Santana said. "Well, Brittany, you heard the he-she: speak."

Brittany smiled. "Oh, he said that he'd give me a coupon for Breadstix if I kissed him after school today," she said happily, "and I was planning to use it with you, Santana. Wait, does that mean I'm a prosecute?"

"No, honey, you're not a prostitute," Quinn emphasized Brittany's mistake. "That's interesting, though, very interesting. I wonder why he'd want to kiss Brittany...nothing against you," she added quickly. "I think I'm going to ask him about it."

"Hummel, you need to give Blaine a little taste of those virgin lips to get him away from my girl, you got that?" Kurt started at the sound of his name. He nodded insincerely, afraid to tell Santana the truth that there was no way in hell he'd ever kiss Blaine.

"Might as well get this over with," Quinn groaned as she finally reached up to grab the hanging pen and signed her name. The other girls followed suit, and then left, not saying another word to Kurt. He watched them saunter down the hall, feeling rather lonely. It wasn't that he wanted to be friends with them, no-they were all bitches (maybe not Brittany...). He just wished that, aside from Rachel and a number of other people he could count on his hands, people would like him. Some of the Cheerios were okay, but they all had the same goal: pleasing Coach. And maybe to get football players in their pants.

He picked up the pen and began to write his name on the short list, despising the reason why he was doing so. He didn't know how much of the school's budget the Cheerios got, but he could tell it was a lot. Regardless, it was wrong that Coach had sent the five of them in like German spies trying to commit genocide. He admired Mr. Schuester for starting the Glee club again, although it was obvious that only "losers" would join. It may have been cool back in his day, but now it was seen as "gay", which still had a negative connotation. Even if he fit the club's requirements from society's view, Kurt figured that he'd still enjoy himself while singing and performing.Might as well enjoy it as much as I can, he thought sadly as he walked away, taking out his phone to call his dad for a pick-up. He felt awful for being one of the reasons for the club's impending annihilation.

Maybe Coach will see how successful we might be with Rachel and me and change her mind, Kurt wondered as he fantasized about being on stage, soloing on "Defying Gravity" or some other song he loved dearly and knew he could perform well, considering how many times he sang them in the shower.

Feeling like his arms were going to fall off, he strode out of the building and sat down on an empty bench, speculating on what might happen when mixing the Cheerios with the Glee club.

"You ready, Kurt?" Kurt stuffed his wallet in the front pocket of his jeans and rushed up the stairs to find Burt waiting by the door. "Rachel's been waiting in the living room, so let's go." Kurt apologized for taking so long in changing out of his Cheerios uniform; his arms had somewhat improved after he sat in bed for hours with heating pads wrapped around them. It was as if he was in heaven. It also gave him a lot of time to think about what had happened at the meeting.

Why he'd been one of the people chosen to destroy the Glee club, he had no idea. Based on the other people selected, he was a random choice. Coach probably thought he wouldn't even make the audition. She, as well as the others, was in for a great surprise when he would knock them out of the park with "Mr. Cellophane."

Maybe he'd even beat Rachel.

"Are you feeling better, Kurt?" Rachel asked as he emerged from his door. Burt gave him a strange look: he didn't tell his father anything about what had transpired the day before and what the consequence was. Burt didn't even know why Kurt had to go to the mall, but he didn't seem to care.

"Are you all ready to head out?" He asked as Kurt signaled to Rachel that he'd tell her more later. They nodded, and exited the house.

"Could I drive, Dad?" Kurt asked-he'd recently gotten his permit.

Burt shook his head. "I don't want to have a heart attack, Kurt," he laughed, and opened the car door. Kurt, a little disappointed that he couldn't test his new ability, got into the passenger seat, and Rachel slid into the back.

Throughout the drive to the mall, Rachel and Kurt mostly discussed the Glee club and their ambitions: Kurt explained how it worked, based on what Mr. Schuester said at the meeting, and Rachel tittered about how many solos she'd potentially get. Kurt didn't tell her about the true reason why he could join; he just said that the meeting was for any Cheerios interested, and that he and a few others were the only ones.

He did not mention Blaine—neither did Rachel.

"So let me get this straight," Burt said as he turned onto the exit for the mall, "you're a cheerleader now, and you want to join the show choir?"

Kurt was sure that he heard disappointment in his father's voice. "Is that a problem?" He asked, a little attitude seeping through.

"No, no, it's just that I won't be able to see you that much," Burt replied defensively, "and I won't have your help in the shop. Are you sure that you'll be able to do all of your homework?"

"Yes, Dad," Kurt answered, exasperated. "Now, can you let us out, please?" They were nearing the entrance.

"All right, all right. I'll be back at 9. See you later, kiddo. And keep an eye on him, Rachel," Burt laughed, and Rachel saluted him.

"So, where do you want to go first?" Kurt asked as they walked through the doors, entering the establishment. He could tell that nearly everyone from McKinley was there, since there was already a large mass of football players and their girlfriends off to the side by the food court.

"We, homecoming isn't for another few weeks, so I think your purpose is a little more pressing..." Rachel grinned, and Kurt smacked her arm.

"Quit it," he grumbled, but realized that she was right. "Fine, fine, take me to wherever you think they'll have them. Do they—do they have ones that are more, erm, masculine?" Kurt thought about what he was wearing: it was simple, just a red triangle of cloth and a polyester string in the back, nothing more, nothing less. He just wished it was a little...bigger.

Rachel let out a peal of laughter. "Oh, Kurt," she gasped, doubling over. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's just that...oh,gawd!"

"You are so immature!" Kurt's voice raised a few octaves higher than its usual soprano. They stopped in front of Victoria's Secret, and his eyes bulged out of their sockets. "No, no, no;here?! This is...this is Victoria's Secret, not Victor's! I can't do this!"

"You—you can..." she still hadn't escaped her fit of giggles, "you can tell t-them that you're getting something for your—for your girlfriend!" She laughed again, collapsing against Kurt. He actually liked the idea. It seemed completely normal that a guy would get his girlfriend undergarments, right? I am so bad at this, he groaned as he dragged a snorting Rachel into the store, hitting her so she would compose herself. He was surrounded by multiple mannequins clad only in bejeweled brassieres and lacy panties. Kurt knew this was heaven for many guys, when really he felt like he was going to throw up.

"Can I help you, sir?" A worker flocked to him, a vehement grin on her face. Rachel straightened up as Kurt tried to form an answer.

"Yes, he needs some thongs for his girlfriend," she lied smoothly. Kurt simply nodded, grateful that Rachel was such a talented actor.

"Do you want more...intimate ones?" She asked professionally, and Kurt blanched.

"No, no, just...normal ones," he answered quickly, and the woman seemed to be stunned by his response.

"Okaayyy, just follow me," she replied with uncertainty, and led them to another room.

She motioned towards an island filled with a rainbow of undergarments, told her to flag her down if they needed anything else, and left to greet some new customers. Kurt held up a lacy iota, filled with disgust.

"How do you even wear this? You must feel so bare," he said, putting it down. Rachel's face colored.

"Well, I mean, guys go commando all the time soo..."

"Ew, Rachel, stop! Anyway, what size are you?" He held up another one, which was covered in a flowery print. He could actually feel his masculinity slipping through his fingers.

"I'm a medium, why?" she seemed a bit uncomfortable with divulging the information, but Kurt soon explained why it was necessary.

"Well, we're kind of the same size, except I need something...I won't go into the details, but I'm going to get a large," he thrust his hand into the pile of simpler thongs and pulled out a lime green one. He scrunched his nose at the neon color, and opted for the navy one off to the side. Upon further inspection, he found another red one similar to the one he was wearing, and figured that a kelly green one would be okay. He wasn't very happy with the price, but Rachel swore that it was really high quality, and definitely worth it.

"Are you sure that you have enough?" Rachel asked as they approached the cashier. He placed the garments on the table, getting out his wallet.

"Yeah, I'll just do laundry more often, I guess," he said, and waited as the woman behind the counter checked out the materials.

Eventually the two of them emerged from the store; Kurt forced Rachel to carry the bag since he was too embarrassed to do so. They browsed a few stores for a while, searching for a homecoming dress for Rachel, which turned out to be quite easy since many stores were having sales.

They left the premises a few hours later; Rachel's dress was stowed in the back of Burt's car while Kurt kept his bag on the floor between his legs. Burt hadn't noticed. He and Rachel chatted as Kurt stared out of the window, his eyelids drooping. Before he knew it, they were back at the Hummel household. Kurt grabbed his bag with his purchases and exited the car, following Burt silently into the house.

"Kurt, what's that?" Burt queried as he took off his shoes. His father crossed the room to pick up the pink bag next to Kurt.

"No!" Kurt swiped it out of his hands, his face burning. "No, that's just—I'm hiding Rachel's birthday gift in here,"Hopefully he'll believe that.

Thankfully, Burt didn't ask any further. He shrugged his shoulders, told Kurt that he needed help in the shop the next day, and plopped down on the couch to watch a football game he recorded. Kurt sighed with relief, glad that he wouldn't have to explain anything he didn't want to to his father. And having thongs was the absolutelastthing he wanted to talk about.

Kurt took his things and retreated to his room, eager to try on his new clothing to make sure that it fit okay. He threw the clothes on his bed, deciding to try on the green, since the other two were the same style. Stripping off his jeans and t-shirt, Kurt stood in the mirror and examined himself, just as he had earlier that day but now with his entire nearly-bare figure. He was very surprised with how it had developed after some time with the Cheerios: muscle was beginning to become somewhat palpable throughout his body. He observed himself from multiple angles, blushing slightly at the sight of his bare ass due to the lack of coverage from his thong, which reminded him of why he decided to strip. He took off the thong and swiftly replaced it with the new one from Victoria's Secret: it was much softer, and fit him a little better than the red one. It was still very constraining, and still very awkward.

He continued to stand in front of his mirror, but closed his eyes, trying to envision another man next to him, his nude features blurred. Kurt was standing there in his underwear, the faceless man approaching him, getting down on his knees as he-

No. It was just...no. Kurt couldn't see the appeal of such primitive actions. Just the brushing of fingertips seemed so much more intimate. He loved the idea of someone wooing him, romancing him with flowers and songs and so much more straight out of a Nicholas Sparks novel. Even a light, instant kiss was satisfactory. In all honesty, however, he could not see any of this happening. It seemed as if he'd go to Mars before someone would take a romantic interest in him, especially since most of the guys in Lima were straight as stripper poles.

Kurt let out a lengthy sigh, dressing himself in a bath robe as he gathered his things for a shower. His arms were starting to lose their vitality again, and he was completely exhausted from the first week of school-it wasn't even a full week. He had a very eventful year laid out in front of him as well, since he was a mercenary that would soon act upon his employer's wishes come Tuesday. He wondered if this was what it felt like to be "the bad guy."

Afraid that Burt would come down and see his new garments, Kurt stuffed them back into the bag and hid it under his bed, swearing to himself that he'd wash them the next day when he had free time. He had no idea of how much longer he'd have to keep all of these secrets, unsure of whether Burt would find out or if he'd eventually crack.

Still, his father had to know that something was up. He'd already noticed that Kurt had changed. Kurt knew that he was well on his way down the road of corruption: wearing raunchy undergarments, having sex dreams, cursing, and he was sure that the list would soon grow.

Man, high school was rough.