Kurt dreaded Mondays arrival. He would have to see Blaine and…what? Apologize? Grovel? Ask Blaine to transfer to another class? He didn't know what, but he knew—whatever it was going to be—it would be awkward.

Tina and Rachel tortured him about disappearing on Friday night. He lamely excused his behavior by saying he had a headache and had just gone home, but they smiled knowingly and winked at each other. “I saw that gorgeous creature you were dancing with, Kurt,” Tina whispered in Kurt's ear. “He looked like he could make a whole lot of you ache—not just your head.” Kurt looked at Tina with outrage, and she let it go. It helped that Santana had gone home with Brittany, because it provided better gossip fodder than Kurt's display of dirty dancing. At the same time, Kurt didn't think he'd ever be able to look at Brittany in class and not picture the back of Santana's head. It was truly disturbing.

Monday morning arrived far too quickly. Kurt armored himself by dressing as carefully as possible and arriving to class early. He busied himself by shuffling papers and aligning his lecture notes. As the students filed in, he eavesdropped on their conversations, head down, seemingly intent on his pages.

“Shit, Blaine,” this was Sam. “You were wrecked when I saw you Friday night.”

“Oh, God,” Blaine groaned. “Don't remind me about Friday night. I might still be hung over.”

“You were major league trashed, man.”

“I don't even remember half of it. We were at the house, and then I think I was at a bar. I dunno. It's all a blur.”

“You were at a bar.” Brittany confirmed. “You were at Velveeta. Wasn't he, Dr. P?”

Kurt looked up, startled. “I-I-I dunno. Maybe. There were a lot of people there.”

Kurt wasn't sure what to feel. Was he relieved that Blaine didn't remember? Was he disappointed? Was Blaine being honest about being that hammered, or was he covering? If he was covering, how did Kurt feel about that?

It was too much.

Then something occurred to Kurt. “Brittany, this is the second time in a couple of days that someone has called me Dr. P. What does that mean?”

Suddenly everyone had something very interesting to look at on the top of their desk.

“I'm serious,” Kurt repeated. “What does it mean?”

No one responded, but Kurt had figured out a while ago that if you were willing to ride out the silence, someone would eventually talk.

“Um, it means…” this was Blaine talking, and his face was taking on an alarming red hue and he half buried the side of his face with his hand in a way that Kurt found completely disarming. Dammit! “Well, your name is Hummel. Like a Hummel figure? And your skin is…perfect. Like a porcelain doll. So we call you Dr. P.—for porcelain.” He gave Kurt a beseeching look. “Please don't be mad.”

Kurt exhaled. “Well, I guess we had a lot worse nicknames for our professors.” Given the number of head nods, he surmised that they did, too. “Also, I am kind of proud of my skin. So, OK. Let's move on. Today we're going to talk about the social construction of the body and body image…”

There was a small knock on the door of the tiny windowless room that Kurt was allocated for three hours a week in order to meet with students. Wade's head appeared through the doorway. “Dr. Hummel?” he asked in a small voice.

Kurt really never got tired of being called doctor, even if he hadn't earned the degree yet. At the same time, he could see that Wade was uncomfortable, and he wanted to set him at ease. “You can call me Kurt, Wade.”

“Well, that's the thing, see,” Wade said, as he entered the room carefully and perched on the end of one of the hard chairs. For a big man, his movements were surprisingly delicate. “I was thinking about some of things you said in class today.”

Wade looked down at the floor and made awkward movements with his hands. “Say you're a man who likes men…”

Wade seemed to have trouble going on, so Kurt tried to help out, “I am a man who likes men. I'm gay, Wade. I told the class that on the first day.”

“But say you're not a man, but you like men.”

Kurt was beginning to see where this was going, and he wanted to encourage Wade, but he didn't want to put words in his mouth. “I assume you're not talking about women who like men, Wade, because society is basically okay with that. Are you asking me about men who like men, but those men don't necessarily feel like men?”

The eyes that met Kurt were bright with unshed tears. “I like men, but I don't think I'm gay,” Wade whispered.

Kurt scrambled to think of the most reassuring way that he could approach Wade. “I think what you might be saying, Wade—and correct me if I'm wrong—is that you like men, but you like them the way that women like them? Like maybe you feel more like a woman than a man? Or maybe something else altogether?  We havent talked about transgender issues much in class yet, but, you know, gender identity and sexual orientation are not the same thing. If you have a women's gender orientation--even if youre born a man--and you like men, that actually makes you straight, if you need a label.”

Wade gave Kurt a tremulous smile. “Really?” Wade seemed relieved. He went on, “I was wondering…” he looked down at his lap, “if maybe you would stop calling me Wade.”

“All right,” Kurt agreed as he mentally shuffled through all the possible female variants of Wade, and he came up dry. Wadette? Wadella?

“When I dress up, I'm Unique.”

“I'm sure you are,” said Kurt.

“No,” Wade laughed. “That's my name: Unique.”

“Oh, sorry.” Kurt covered his mouth with his hand.

“Anyhow, I thought maybe, just for your class, you could call me Unique.”

“Well, Wa…Unique, I feel really honored that you find my class a safe enough place to be yourself. Also,” he touched Unique's arm, “I'm really proud of you.”

Unique's smile this time was brighter than the sun. Monday was turning out to be a much better day than Kurt had anticipated.