"Dad, I'm home!" Kurt called into the house as he shut the front door, not bothering to lock it.

After having put an end to that distinctly uncomfortable conversation with Tess, Kurt decided to skip out on their previous plans to see a movie and asked if his best friend would just drop him home instead, saying he needed to work on a few assignments for class (which was technically true, although not as imperative as he made it seem).

Sure, it was only Saturday and the assignments weren't due until Monday, but Kurt hated leaving homework for Sundays. He much preferred spending those days relaxing and lounging about before having to start his hectic week all over again. Though his assignments that weekend were pretty run-of-the-mill and he doubted it would take very long to complete them, he still liked having things done as soon as possible. He had an outline to do for American Gov, a quick translation for French, and a short exploratory essay for AP Lit, which was apparently supposed to help him work towards forming a thesis for his midterm paper. Man was he glad he actually did the summer reading, or else he'd be screwed.

After hearing a distant "Alright, kiddo!" yelled back at him from somewhere within the depths of the house, Kurt made his way up the stairs toward his bedroom.

He noticed his stepbrother's door on the other side of the bathroom from his own was open, the room empty. Finn had the midday shift at the tire shop on the weekends. As much as Kurt was embarrassed to know him some days, he knew Finn truly was a good guy and Kurt loved that he had made the effort to help his dad out. That was something he wasn't going to forget anytime soon.

Once he got to his room, Kurt closed his door most of the way and promptly sank down onto his desk chair, ready to get down to business.

If he was honest, doing homework stemmed as much from him wanting to be productive as it did from him just needing a distraction. He knew Tess meant well, but the deep-seated feelings she had stirred up hurt too much for him to want to consider.

Take a chance; go after Blaine.

Yeah right. Couldn't she understand how it was from Kurt's point of view? What it felt like for him? The deadweight of his uncertainty? It was like dangling a piece of fruit in front of a starving man only for him to find out that it might be poisonous. Seriously, why even take the risk of going after the fruit? No matter how juicy and delicious that piece of fruit might be, Kurt maintained that the best thing the man could do was wait for something sure, something safe to pass under his nose.

Kurt tried to push the afternoon talk from his mind as he grabbed his Government textbook and accompanying notebook, opening up the former to the assigned chapter. He slowly felt himself relax, his thoughts beginning to clear as he got into the humdrum of reading and outlining.

An hour and a half later, he was finished with his outline as well as his French translation and was staring at the blank word document he'd opened up on his laptop, trying to think of a good starting point for his English essay.

The book his class had been assigned was Absalom, Absalom! by William Faulkner. Not exactly the easiest book to expound, but it was an AP class, so Kurt wasn't exactly surprised.

He flipped through the novel on his desk briefly, skimming the notes he'd scribbled in it and reminding himself of the thoughts he'd had while reading the story. He found quite a few question marks etched into the margins. What exactly had he thought about the novel? Well, that it was extremely messed up, for the most part. But he couldn't very well write that.

After a few more minutes of pondering, however, he latched onto an idea and began to type.

"When I initially received the assignment to write an exploratory essay on Absalom, Absalom! I thought the whole idea was ridiculous. Why write an essay about the process of writing an essay? Are you kidding?"

Candor. Woot woot.

Yeah, that might raise his teacher's eyebrows, but Kurt didn't really care. He was nothing if not honest, and the teacher had said that this essay was supposed to be a "probing narrative of your thought process as you evaluate the novel and work on your midterm." The fact that the assignment was ridiculous just happened to be Kurt's first thought in that process.

But it was probably best if he wasn't too straightforward. He didn't really want a failing grade.

"My second thought, however, was a bit more productive. I got the idea in the back of my head to research and write about Faulkner's portrayal and representations of youth in the novel through the examples of Miss Rosa, Clytie and the Aunt—the absence of youth, the loss of it, the potential fossilization of it…"

Except that that wasn't exactly true. It had taken him longer than he'd like to admit to come up with that "second thought." But the things he'd really contemplated as he got into the reading seemed a little inappropriate for a high school paper.

Kurt paused, debating with himself on how he would continue the essay. He had an inkling of what he actually wanted to write about for his midterm, his true second thought (hint: not this youth bullshit), but he was unsure of what he'd be allowed to get away with. Was there a line he was supposed to toe in this class?

Screw it, he thought. If he got in trouble, then he got in trouble. It was the teacher's own fault for assigning a book with so many controversial topics. If she'd wanted safe and vanilla, she should have assigned The Phantom Tollbooth or something.

"However," Kurt typed. "I got sidetracked in my reading. In an attempt to understand what the heck was going on with the characters (honestly, what in the world?) I started doing some research, reading various papers written about the novel. And in my research I kept coming across essays on 'deviant' sexuality—namely, incest and homosexuality—and how Faulkner both forces this idea on his readers and then saves them from it, all the while keeping such sexuality woven within the characters as a vital part of the story."

Kurt felt his pulse speed up. This decision could go terribly wrong and blow up in his face, but he couldn't stop typing.

"When the idea of the possibility of homosexuality being a main topic in the story entered my mind, I began to see all the instances in which this could be manifest—specifically, in the apparent love shared between Henry Sutpen and Charles Bon, and also in the narrative (and perhaps sexual) intercourse between Quentin Compson and Shreve McCannon."

Was this too much? The English teacher was definitely more open-minded about this sort of thing than the other teachers at McKinley, but Kurt still felt a little hesitant about throwing gay sex in her face.

And now Kurt was thinking about gay sex. Gay sex that he wasn't having. Because Lima sucked. And not in a gay way. Unfortunately.

Distractedly, he typed on.

"But what is the purpose of this introduction of 'deviant' sexuality in the novel? Is it simply to go along with the other taboos that are present? Did Faulkner even mean to draw attention to such an idea, or was this wholly unintentional? I mean, if it was unintentional, then what was up with the erotically-charged dual storytelling of Quentin and Shreve?"

Wait, what was his point? He had a point, right?

"Am I reading too much into this? Maybe. Do I need to stop thinking so much and just get laid already? Probably. But lord knows that won't happen anytime soon… klsjdddddddfkal;sssfjjjj"

Kurt picked his face up off the keyboard and deleted the last couple sentences he had written. What was wrong with him? He really didn't need his personal problems spilling into his coursework. Homework was his getaway, as weird as that sounded, and it needed to stay separate from his personal life.

He sighed to himself as he saved the work he had done and closed the document. He'd finish it later. For now he needed to find a new distraction.

He opened up a browser and clicked his way over to Facebook. Maybe sticking his nose in other people's lives would distract him from his own. He scrolled through his newsfeed.

Look, this person got a new dog and named it Molly. How original. That person just had a birthday. Oh, happy birthday! This other person couldn't seem to stop reposting George Takei's photos. Understandable. This person over here recently got fitted for a bridesmaid's dress and posted a picture. Oh, honey, no; that is not flattering. And that person over there just became friends with Blaine Anderson—Do you know Blaine? You have 11 mutual friends, send him a friend request or message him!

Oh for crying out loud!

"Goddammit! What the fuck!" Kurt growled in frustration. Could he not escape this guy for one day? Just one measly little day? Was it not enough that he had to see his ass every weekday as Blaine walked past him to get to his locker a couple yards away from Kurt's? Did Kurt have to suffer his teasing existence on the weekends as well? He was already hot and bothered enough from thinking about gay sex because of that stupid essay—

—Not that Blaine made Kurt think about gay sex! He most definitely did not think of Blaine when he thought about sex, because that would be wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.

Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment before putting his hand down and looking back at the computer screen.

Blaine Anderson taunted him in periwinkle blue.

Before Kurt knew what he was doing, he clicked on Blaine's name and found himself staring at the most adorable cover photo he'd ever seen. Blaine was smiling so widely that Kurt could see most of his teeth, and he had his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a tall, stupidly gorgeous man with blue eyes and great hair (wow). Like Blaine, the man was sporting an unbelievably broad smile.

Kurt thought the two looked like they might possibly be related, but he couldn't be sure. There was something in the similarity of their faces that made him think that they were, but then again that could just be coincidence. Or wishful thinking.

Shut up, brain.

The two were wearing matching black and teal bowling shirts, an excited flush coloring their cheeks. Maybe they'd just won a match? Or maybe they weren't relatives like Kurt hoped and were actually on a date and being obnoxiously cute with the matching shirts and they both bowled terrible games but were happy anyway because they had each other at the end of the day.

Shut up, brain!

Kurt looked at the picture a little longer. The smiles were infectious, and he found that he couldn't help smiling himself.

They were brothers, surely.

Kurt clicked around, taking in what he was allowed to see of Blaine's profile. Education, location, basic info ("Interested In" notably absent, naturally), friends, networks, favorites, and some pictures in which he was tagged.

Well. That was much more than Kurt thought would be viewable. God knows Kurt doesn't allow anyone except his friends to see anything on his profile, and even then he's always cautious about what he posts. After all, what was the point in him working to become a prominent name in The Biz only to have his reputation squandered by a years-old Facebook post?

But from what Kurt could see, Blaine seemed keen on his image, too, despite not being as withholding. There was nothing inappropriate or too revealing lying about. Blaine liked Top 40 and American Songbook type music. He enjoyed rom-coms, musicals and novel-based movies. He read a lot of classics interspersed with kids' books. Kurt wasn't really surprised to find The Giver at the front of his books list.

Blaine's favorite quotes were a little more interesting, however. They probably said a whole lot about Blaine, if Kurt cared to suss them out. He read the first one out loud.

"I thought your coffee table was more clever than that."

What was that supposed to mean? Kurt had no idea without any context, but he kind of liked it. He hadn't expected sass out of Blaine. It was a welcome surprise.

He was just moving on to Blaine's photos when he heard the front door open and close. A pair of male voices resounded from the receiving room, conversing for a few minutes before a set of footsteps started up the stairs. Quickly, Kurt closed the browser and shut his laptop, grabbing a pen and pretending to write something on a post-it.

His dad rapped softly on his bedroom door. "Hey, buddy," he said.

Kurt looked over at him, expression somewhat surprised, like he'd been completely immersed in whatever he was doing and hadn't heard Burt coming up the stairs. His dad seemed to buy it. Maybe Kurt should consider acting instead of crew work. "Oh, hey, dad. What's up?"

"Sorry to bother you, kiddo, but I was just about to head out to meet Carole and Shuester to work on some ideas for the campaign, and there's a kid downstairs who's saying he was supposed to meet up with Finn for glee club stuff. Finn's late coming back, though. I think there was a problem with a customer down at the shop," Burt said, taking off his ball cap momentarily to scratch at his head. "He should be heading out of there in a few minutes, but I don't wanna leave this kid alone downstairs or send him home when Finn's only gonna take 30 minutes, tops. You think you can keep him company until your brother gets here? I know you were probably working on homework, but…"

Kurt waved a hand dismissively. "It's fine, dad, don't worry about it. I'm practically done, and I was about to take a break anyway." He got up out of his chair and moved to the door. His dad gave him a grateful smile and led them to the stairs.

"Thanks, Kurt," he said. "I dunno why Finn scheduled a meeting so close to his shift, but there ya go; there's really not much we can do about it now. That boy… It's like he just forgets to think."

They descended the stairs, Burt shaking his head, and rounded the corner to the living room.

Blaine was there, sitting on the end of the sofa, legs crossed and hands clasped in his lap, looking dapper and polite and perfect as always.