MIKA, a Glee fiction

I do not own Glee or MIKA's lyrics. As always, leave a review!

Do I attract you, do I repulse you with my queasy smile? (Grace Kelly)

It's not supposed to be like this. I'm not supposed to be finding love at the end of a staircase. There's supposed to be a moment, one that's so in your face that you stop to think to yourself, "wow, I could possibly spend the rest of my life with this person." There's supposed to be a moment where you think that you're the one that they've let in. That nobody has had the opportunity that you have had to see what you see. There's that spark before you even learn their name. Oh, and a crab named Sebastian begging you to kiss the girl.

Except this isn't a Disney movie. All of the notions of true love are tossed out the window. I do get to learn their name. Kurt. And Kurt is definitely not female, because I don't feel that way towards girls. He is a boy, if not angel. It's not love, it's a crush. A stupid crush that has shut my brain down. All at once it starts up again, and I'm leading him down a hallway that is by no means a shortcut. My brain is off safe mode. I can function like a regular boy and run, albeit in slow motion, down a hallway with another boy's hand in mine. He can believe me, because he doesn't know better. He doesn't have to know better, because it's a moment. One that I'll probably never get back.

When I perform that day, it's not Blaine Warbler. It's Blaine Anderson, a teenage boy with a crush on another boy. I'm the boy handing over coffee, trying to help a lost soul find his way back on track.

I am the boy trying to smile as we exchange phone numbers, heart broken over the tears pooling in his eyes as he attempts to hide.

At three in the morning I roll over in bed. I reach for my phone and type seven letters. Courage. I hit send. Then I realize what time it is, and that he most likely thinks I'm a creeper for texting him in the middle of the night.

At five thirty my phone buzzes in my hand. It's a smiley face, and it leaves a smile on my face the rest of the day.

What's the matter, matter, blue eyes? (Blue Eyes)

I'm on the other end of the phone, but I can hear the tears dripping off his face. They're tiny drops, but it sounds like bombs dropping to the ground, exploding. He chokes out that Karofsky has kissed him. My grip on my pencil tightens, and I find myself driving it farther and farther into my math homework. The tip breaks off, leaving a stray scribble on the side of the page. I don't waste the time to erase it.

I'm waiting with him for a boy that could possibly punch my face in and break a bone or two. I don't suspect that he'd do it on school property. Then again, this is McKinley, and judging by what Kurt said, he could get away with it. This isn't Dalton, where everything is fine and dandy, and I don't have to risk the safety of my face and body for a friend. I see this bully for the first time and hope that I'm not shaking as much outside as I am inside. I wonder how many of my friends I would do this for. No names come to my head. It could be from the force of him pushing me away, pushing the thoughts out of my head.

Somehow I don't think so. I offer Kurt lunch. I don't care that I'm missing even more school. I've had perfect attendance this year, not counting getting out early for a dentist appointment. I think I can survive missing a few classes.

We leave in my car and I put the radio on. Katy Perry comes on and he gives me this look. I sing along to Teenage Dream, because apparently the fates have chosen to make it our song. When the radio dj begins to talk his eyes widen. He doesn't really think I have her CD in my car, does he? It's clearly in my bedroom, stuck on repeat as I try to not think about him. Which only makes me think about him more, and worry that he's okay.

I catch him singing along to the next song and try to keep my eyes on the road. But his voice is so indescribably magic, and a horn honks at me when I stop too long at the corner. He turns around and shakes his fist at them. Then he's back to singing. I feel accomplished when we pull into the parking space and let the song finish just to hear his voice some more.

When I turn in my math homework, that scribble is still there. The teacher frowns, and so do I. If only she knew.

If I pretend that nothing ever went wrong I can get to my sleep. (Happy Ending)

The ceiling is plain and boring, yet I'm staring at it as if Michelangelo himself has it. My homework is all finished and it's too early to fall asleep. I sit up to change the music coming out of my laptop next to me. Maybe if I change the song I can stop thinking about him. I turn repeat off and hit the next button. The song from the car, the incredibly distracting song that is, begins to play. I'd bang my head against the wall, but that'd require me getting off the bed. And if I get off the bed I'll be tempted to grab my phone from my pants on the floor and call him. As a friend. I'm slowly accepting the fact that he's not ready to love somebody. Not that I love him either. I like him very much though. Jeff has been teasing me about having a hot date all week.

Some days I wish he was right.

My phone rings. At first I don't recognize it as my own. My phone is usually on vibrate. I switched it so I'd know if he called, or any of my other friends. I take my time to get to the phone. I don't want to sound too eager to answer. I pick it up, and it's Wes. He asks what took me so long to answer, and tells me to watch the video he sent me on Facebook.

I log in. There in front of me is Kurt Hummel, shaking his hips in time with Single Ladies. I replay the video once, twice. I log out before I can allow myself to hit replay again. The phone is still in my hand. My thumb floats over the first digit in his number. It stays there until my ring tone goes off. This time I hurry to answer. Of course this time it is Kurt, and I sound like I've been sitting around, waiting for him to call.

That is what I've been doing after all.

He asks if I have plans for the weekend. I pretend to scan my calendar and tell him that I'm free. We make plans. He sounds as giddy as I do, so I don't bother to hide the grin in my voice when I tell him I'll see him Saturday.

It's still not a date.

Smile like you mean it, and let yourself let go. (Any Other World)

I cross my heart with the hand that isn't holding the boombox. Inside is an instrumental CD. There's only one track. Sure, it would have been fine to use the disc that had twelve holiday tracks on it. It's just not as smooth to barge in on him and then ask him to wait as I fumble around trying to find track nine. When we finish, it'd go on to track ten, which was about grandma getting ran over by a reindeer. It would completely ruin the mood. I promised myself I wouldn't be made a fool of. I've checked my shoes twice to make sure they're secure on my feet. I've adjusted my tie, after double checking that I hadn't missed any shirt buttons. As long as my voice doesn't crack, I should be good.

There's a boundary I've set up for myself. One that keeps me from falling in love with Kurt. He peers up at me with great curiosity, and I thank my lucky stars that I interrupted him studying Charlemagne instead of the newest Vogue magazine. He easily accepts my offer. We dance about the room, and I can't help myself. My boundary crumbles and I'm leaning into him on the edge of the couch. I'm curved around him playing the piano. My face is close enough to his that I must have on a look that says mistletoe. I offer him a seat, to which he insists I sit with him.

I tell him that he's amazing, because it's too hard to keep the truth from him. A man comes in, most likely a friend of his. I smile at him as I leave the room.

About ten minutes later, as I'm talking to David I remember I left my boombox in the room. We go back for it. He gets to the room first and presses the play button. The instrumental plays. Nobody sings. He follows my gaze to the couch, where nobody is sitting, and raises his eyebrows at me.

I raise mine back at him. He sniffs the air. It smells like Kurt.

I don't try to explain.

Live your life until love is found, or love's gonna get you down. (Lollipop)

Sitting on this bench I feel cold. Part of it is from the winter weather surrounding us. The other part is from the rejection. In retrospect I can see how dating Jeremiah wouldn't have worked out. But those bright blue eyes reeled me in. It's a weakness. One that was recently discovered. All I know is that Valentine's Day officially sucks, and it should be banned as a holiday. At least until I find a valentine.

Kurt sits with me on the ride home. We don't say anything, unlike the rest of the boys who are still on their adrenaline rush. I can hear Trent on speaker phone with Wes and David, who we carpooled with. I'm starting to wish that I had taken my own car. Then I could have stopped to get a carton of ice cream to drown my sorrows in. Being the middle of February, I would have bought a gallon of coffee instead. Which would only make me have to go to the bathroom every five minutes.

Kurt sits up, and his shoulder accidentally knocks mine. He apologizes, and then we're quiet again.

When we go for coffee he tells me what really is on his mind. I'm surprised. I want badly to make him happy. To ask him to be my valentine and act like Jeremiah didn't happen. Instead I tell him that I don't want to mess this up, and we promise to be Harry and Sally. Only I don't expect Kurt to fake an orgasm while we eat.

We perform Silly Love Songs. I'm back to my old self, happy and ready to sing. I glance to him. Fortunately the next words are "I love you" because my mind is still wandering to what happened, and I do love him. As a friend, possibly more.

We share a booth at dinner. He doesn't fake an orgasm, and I don't choke on my meatball. We may be Harry and Sally, but Blaine and Kurt are writing their own story.

Well you ain't gonna tease no other, gonna make you a lover. (Love Today)

When Kurt had said that the party was going to be a train wreck extravaganza, I thought he was being funny. Then it happened. I got drunk, made out with Rachel, slept in Kurt's bed and went on a date with Rachel. We had our first fight. It was hard, seeing him in practice and ignoring him. It seemed like everyone noticed even though nobody said anything. They all sang off their song sheets, but eyes wandered over the tops.

At the Lima Bean, that kiss made one thing very clear. I was definitely gay. I didn't want to make things hard on her. So I excuse myself to the bathroom, where I wash her lip gloss off my lips. I look at myself in the mirror and stall for a minute in case she is still out there. She isn't. Instead, Kurt stands in her place. I walk up behind him and poke his shoulder. He does a half turn.

"I heard you're gay again." He orders my coffee and pays for it. "Congratulations."

I force him to face me. "You were right. And I'm sorry that it took me this long. We're still best friends, right?"

We move to grab my coffee. The coffee that he ordered, that he obviously remembers is my favorite. The one that he spent his own money on. That means we have to be friends at a minimum, right?

"After how I treated you, you still want to be my best friend." It's not a question. I still nod my head like it was.

We sit at his old table. He dumps Rachel's abandoned coffee in the trash and slides me half a muffin. He raises his cup to mine.

"To best friends, and recycled muffins."

It's clear we don't understand it, but the last thing on my mind is to leave you. (Relax, Take it Easy)

It was odd how the sacrifice of one bird's life made the difference. It was as if a cloud had been ousted by the sun and it shone. Brightly, right on Kurt. I didn't understand why Pavarotti had to die. He was our friend, our mascot. He was the reason why tears were coming down his face.

Had Pavarotti not died, how much longer would it have been? During Blackbird, I felt it. It wasn't friendship. It wasn't a crush. It was love. Love that I knew Kurt reciprocated. Or I hoped he did. If he had changed his mind I didn't know what I would do. It was at that point that I chose to do something about what had been said. No more Pips.

I requested that the solo be transformed into a duet. I made it known that I wanted to do it with Kurt. I knew he wanted to leap up and celebrate, but he asked why we weren't having auditions. It was neither the time, nor place to tell him. I put it up to a vote. Wes smiled at me, but I was more concerned with smiling at Kurt.

I spent a good hour going through songs for us. I changed my mind twice. It couldn't be obvious that I liked him. Here his bird had just died, and I was ready to tell him how I really felt? No, his emotions were already out of whack. It's not my fault that he asked me why I wanted to do the duet with him. It is my fault however that I can't lie to him, and I spilled my heart out onto the table. The table that held Pavarotti's half decorated casket. I'm pretty sure it wasn't the right time or place either, but with his lips on mine, I found it pretty easy not to care.

I also found it pretty easy to forget about practicing for the next half hour until the tacky glue bottle fell to the floor and I remembered where exactly we were. I noticed the open door and wondered how many of my friends had walked past taking pictures with their camera phones when they were supposed to be practicing. Like how we were.

We did get around to practicing. It went by fast. Time tends to do that when you have someone you like by your side. Sectionals did the same. One moment I had my hands on Kurt's shoulders, and the next we're on stage, watching Sue throw a punch. And now, here I am with Kurt in front of the small grave of one beloved bird. I wrap my hand in his.

We walk towards the school. We pass Nick in the hallway. He seems torn between jumping for joy that we're together, and showing respect for the dead.

"I'm sorry Kurt." He reaches out, as if to hug him. Our hands are still connected. I can tell he doesn't want to break us apart, so he pats him on the shoulder. His footsteps echo down the hallway.

We are young. We are strong. We're not looking for where we belong. (We are Young)

He reeks like sweat. Badly I want to punch that smirk off his face, show him how Fight Club at Dalton has enabled me to defend myself. I want him to see that I love Kurt far harder than I could ever punch, but I can still pack a mean wallop. Santana comes to our aid.

We go back to Kurt's place after the benefit. He tells me that I'm crazy for trying to face Karofsky. He looks worried, and clings onto my waist. "You could have been hurt Blaine."

His voice cracks when he says it, and I can tell he's really hurting. I hold him tighter. I kiss the tip of his ear. "He shouldn't get away with that just because I might get hurt."

He opens his mouth to say something. He snaps it shut. "No, he shouldn't." He pulls his head away to look me in the eyes. We sit that way for a while, staring at each other.

Carole passes by the door. She tries to move on when she notices the way we're linked together. I insist that she comes in anyway. She asks us how the benefit went and we animatedly explain it all, leaving out the scene from the hallway. She can tell we're hiding something from her, but she doesn't push.

She asks if I'm staying the night, and I shake my head. I look to the clock and try and figure out how much longer I can stay before I have to head home.

"Are you sure? It's awfully dark, and I'm sure we could make room." I should have left ten minutes ago if I want to get home by curfew. I call my parents. Neither of them pick up their phone, chances are neither of them are home, so I leave a message. She sets up a bed on the couch for me.

I wake late the next morning to see Kurt watching me over a bowl of cereal. His cheeks are full of Cheerios and milk. He smiles, caught, and I try not to laugh at how much he looks like a chipmunk.

The first two weeks turn into ten, I hold my breath and wonder when it'll happen. (My Interpretation)

I know that Kurt has promised that there is some new anti-bullying policy at McKinley. It doesn't mean I can't worry. I keep wondering how long until someone hurts him. How long until the abuse starts, the slushies stain his face. I want to start his transfer with a bang, so I call in backup. I call Mercedes, because I know she can keep a secret. Together we concoct a plan with the Warblers to serenade Kurt.

My eyes are rimmed red by the end of the song. There's a somewhere only we know, and that's the world we go to wrapped in each other. I take the opportunity to go there in the middle of McKinley right there and then. The journey doesn't last long. He whispers to me that he'll never say goodbye to me, and I climb the stairs through blurry eyes.

Trent kidnaps me. He leads me to his car and orders for me to buckle up. I obey, because it is the law. All I have with me is my book bag. I take out my history book."Are we going far?"

"You'll have enough time to do your homework if that's what you're worried about." He backs out of the parking space and whips out of the parking lot. I don't pay attention to where we're going.

Suddenly, right in the middle of a very boring paragraph he stops the car. We're at Rachel's house. There's another vehicle in the driveway. It's Kurt's. Trent rings the doorbell for me and leaves me standing there. He begins to back out of the driveway.

"Uh Trent, you left my car at school!" I call out to him. Rachel answers the door.

"Don't worry. Two of your Warbler friends are taking care of it. I gave them very clear directions on how to get here. Now do come in." She pushes the door open further. I step inside.

Kurt comes into the room. "Who is it?" His eye's widen when he sees me, and he bounces over like a happy puppy.

"Our glee clubs thought we should give you two a romantic date. So I asked my dads to help prepare a fancy dinner for you. They are excellent cooks." A car horn sounds from the driveway.

We stick our head out the door to see Jeff getting out from behind the wheel of my car. He gets in the passenger side of Nick's truck. "You let Jeff drive my car?"

"Well, he carpools with Nick anyway. That way they don't have to make the trip back to Dalton to get his car." Rachel waves to them.

Kurt comes outside with me to get the keys out of the ignition. There doesn't seem to be any damage and I breath a sigh of relief.

This ordinary mind is broken. You did it and you don't even know. (Rain)

Memories flash back. I swallow, even though my mouth is empty. I slowly detail to him about the Sadie Hawkins dance. He understands, saying that we don't have to go to prom. I tell him I'm crazy about him, because I'm too scared to say I love him. We're in public, and our hands are together where everyone can see them. I don't need to push it. I just need to sit back and enjoy the sight of him squealing in delight.

Those people at my old school broke me. I didn't need strangers breaking me. Strangers that have already broken Kurt. Broken him time and time again into smaller and smaller pieces. But here's the thing. A person is like a sheet of paper. You can rip them all you want until the pieces are too small to destroy. Then you throw the paper in the air and watch it scatter to the ground. Now, what is confetti? Is it not shredded paper that is tossed about? Granted, it may be more attractive. It's too perfect though. Perfect is boring, unoriginal. There's only one Kurt Hummel. There's hundreds of bags of confetti.

He twirls around in his kilt. I'm frustrated. I want him to wear the kilt, because his legs were made to show off. I want him to wear it because it is him. He shouldn't have to hide, but I want him to. I don't want him to be hurt. I want him to smile, and to get that slow dance that he's dreamed about. I feel like I'm breaking his heart when I tell him no. Especially when Finn says yes.

I knock on his door. He's behind it, yanking the kilt off his body. He peeks his head out, obviously not letting me in.

"Can we talk? There may have been some details I left out of my story." I have the good sense to turn so I don't look like I'm trying to get a good look at his butt. I should be worried about his feeling, not if he wears boxers or briefs.

Must think clean thoughts.

"Can I put on some pants first?" He escapes behind the door. It lean against the wall. I can't see much through the crack of the door.

Personally I want him to wear the kilt. But I can't get distracted, so I let him change into his pants. When he's finally done he let's me in.

We sit on the bed and I tell him the full story. I don't notice the tear falling down my cheek until he reaches out and brushes it away.

I'm falling in love with you and I'm dreaming of the things we'd do. (I'm Falling)

The words tumble out of my mouth like they are nothing, but the incredible meaning behind them begs to differ. I imagine his thoughts like little taxis inside his head. I wave my hand to hail one and they all collide into the trunk of one another from the shock. He takes a moment to feel the impact and repeats the words back to me.

He loves me too. If we weren't in public right now I'd kiss him. We are though, and Mercedes and Sam are approaching our table. We play nice and indulge them in conversation. They leave to get their coffee. Kurt talks about my audition choices for a little while longer. He looks distracted, staring over my shoulder. I worry that it's something I said. I did plant a big one on him.

"Could they have been any more obvious?" Kurt sets his hand on top of mine. He lifts it up off the table and knits our fingers together. I sigh in relief and turn my head. He's right. They're headed for the exit with their hands locked together. Mercedes leans into him.

"Well, they could have walked up to us and stuck their tongues down each other's throats. Or perhaps worn matching tee shirts that expressed their undying love for each other?" His thumb stops massaging my hand.

"Blaine, we're a couple and we don't even do those things." He picks up his coffee and takes a sip. "If I have dreams about that tonight I'm blaming you."

I want to tease him about whose tongue would be going where (he never did specify if it was their tongues or ours) and decided against it. "You did wear that tee shirt about liking boys. It's no proclamation of undying love, but I felt touched by the sentiment."

"I could see if Miss Pillsbury would make you a shirt. Then we could match."

I'd rather have one that says Likes Kurt. Except if we had matching tee shirts that would mean his also said Likes Kurt. That would be egotistical.

"I'd love that."

More than just a toy in a patched blue suit. Hold me in your arms; I'm just a boy like you. (Toy Boy)

It wasn't a weekend, and here I was without my blazer. Red pants, black shirt and yellow sunglasses. Most importantly, a bow tie to replace the missing Dalton tie. Some things are hard to go without.

Socks are not one of those things. Kurt is.

At first he didn't notice or think twice as to why I was there. I loved his face when he figured it out. More so than usual. I wish I had a camera to take and make the moment last. His arms flung around me and I felt like we were back in that somewhere of ours. Then I proposed to him my audition song. We ended up back at those stairs. I danced around with the Cheerios, aiming the words at Kurt despite partnering up with Santana. I took a moment to dance with him, because he is my beau after all.

I'm now watching the piano burn in flames. I've been at McKinley for less than a day, and I've managed to have something combust into flames. It is not my fault. It's Quinn's with that nasty cigarette. What adult lets minors smoke on school grounds anyway? And I thought the teachers were absent at McKinley. One appears, not phased by the stub left. He doesn't question it, just extinguishes the flames. We all watch and the Cheerios scamper away with the evidence. There was a couple dozen witnesses, but none of them want to speak up. So of course none of the Cheerios get in trouble and Sue gets her way. Purple piano destroyed.

After Glee club practice we go for coffee. It's different, being there in my own clothes on a school day afternoon. The barista acknowledges the change. She tells me that I look good, and when she hands me my change her hand lingers for a moment longer than it should. I fix Kurt's collar, even though it's already perfect, and she takes the hint.

We wait for our order and I kiss his cheek. "McKinley is no Dalton. I wish somebody could beat Sue though, with the whole anti-glee club thing."

"I would kill to see that." Kurt thanks the barista for his coffee.

"Who would you kill? A fly?" I pull out his chair.

"Well, I do have enough morals to not kill a human." He takes the seat across from me and shakes his head. "I think she understands by now that she doesn't have a shot with you."

I sit in the chair I had intended for him. Across the rim is seven digits and a name.

"Are you sure about that?"

Who wants to love me, just to love me? (Stuck in the Middle)

Before I was cast as Tony, Kurt gave me flowers. They sat in my room for days, slowly wilting. I kept them until the petals fell off. By then I had taken a picture of them. I've looked at that picture a couple of times in the past week. It reminds me of how much he loves me. Not that I need a picture to remind me of that. But Artie was pressuring us and Kurt didn't want to take that jump. It was getting harder to avoid how badly I wanted him. Not to prove a point, or check something off a to do list. I wanted him to see how much I love him.

I get drunk with Sebastian. We don't do anything. I want to do something, with Kurt that is. Rather than follow my clouded thoughts and force him to do something he didn't want to do I went home.

I stared at that flower picture for hours.

In the auditorium I'm trying to nail down a dance move when he comes in. Then he tells me I'm perfect to him, and I stop myself from attempting the move for the tenth time. I compliment him on his role, and he blows the comment aside to talk about the Warblers. Specifically Sebastian, who has been flirting with me all week. I take his hand and press it against my heart.

He can feel my heartbeat. He can probably feel it racing as I tell him that Sebastian is nothing to me. I'm making a mental note not to get drunk again. Only bad things happen when I'm drunk. And now we're kissing, taking our sweet old time, because Artie's after party can wait. When he tells me he's proud of me my heart soars. I want him to be proud. I want him to be forever mine.

His tongue forms words that wrap around me. I realize their meaning and lift my crestfallen face.

We walk to the parking lot and my hands are shaking as I reach for my car keys.

I'm scared. I'm excited.

I'm going to make love.

Can't seem to leave you alone. I wanna be whatever else that touches you. (Touches You)

There was a point in my life where Kurt was just a friend. A friend that had no idea how be intentionally sexy. I knew it was in him, having that Single Ladies video from Wes still bookmarked on my laptop. I approached his father in his shop and convinced him to talk to his son about being safe. I told him one day there'd come a guy, and he should be prepared.

I didn't know that guy would be me.

We were in my room. He was perched upon my bed, watching me dance. He asked me if I ever had the urge to rip off his clothes and get dirty.

I wish that I could lie to him. Or at the very least, be able to bend the truth. No such luck. I basically proclaimed to him that I exercised self pleasure to avoid making him feel uncomfortable. Which of course, only made him feel uncomfortable hearing about it. Some secrets are best kept secrets. Well, better hearing it from me than my parents. That would be all kinds of awkward.

He's wearing so many layers, and I don't hesitate to tell him so. I kiss him, and that's as dirty as things got.

Until tonight.

We'd wake up tangled in the sheets on a bed that we called home. (Erase)

I wake up to the sound of wind. I open my eyes and see that it isn't wind. It's Kurt's soft breath in my ear. His eyes are closed. His arm is flopped over my body. I scoot closer and he smiles in his sleep. When I brush back a stray hair he opens his eyes.

"Have you been awake this entire time?" I ask him. He moves his head onto the pillow.

"Right, and me blowing in your ear was to wake you up and out of my arms. That was exactly my plan." He lifts the sheets and smiles sheepishly. "Your parents didn't happen to notice that heap of clothes we left at the end of the bed did they?"

He gets out from under the covers. He bends down to collect the pile and catches me staring when he turns around. "They said they wouldn't be home until after midnight. Chances that they saw a pile of clothes in the dark is slim to none. That's if they bothered to check if I was sleeping."

We get dressed and fix our hair before going downstairs to breakfast. My father is eating bacon behind a newspaper.

"Morning boys. I didn't know Kurt spent the night." She puts more bacon in the pan.

"His parents are gone campaigning. I didn't want him to be stuck home alone." I half lie. I've found that I can lie to my parents a lot easier than to Kurt. As long as I don't look at his face I should be good.

She sets a plate down for each of us. "I'm voting for your father, you know."

Kurt picks up a piece of bacon. He rips it in two. "Thank you Mrs. Anderson. For the vote, for the home." He takes a bite. "For the bacon."

They make small talk over the rest of breakfast. It's so perfect, the way he can handle my parents better than any of the friends I've brought home. He's perfect to me.

I try not to laugh when I turn on the kitchen radio and P!nk's song comes through the speakers.

When we sing the song to Santana I latch onto Kurt. I glance to his neck, where a stretch of fabric is covering the evidence of our study session last night.

We never did get around to studying any actual subjects.

No giving up when you're young and you want some. (We are Golden)

I'm standing at my locker when Kurt flings himself at me. He tells me about the ballot rigging. About how he had won, impossibly beating the others. He knows that Figgins is on his back about it and he is more worried about his NYADA application than if he actually won the election.

But then Rachel confesses that she did it, and she's the one getting in trouble instead of Kurt. At this point it seems that each of their chances of getting in is waning. As Kurt's boyfriend, I stay by his side and help him with his application. Then I nudge another application towards him to calm his nerves. It's for an in-state college. I'm not trying to be negative or selfish. Yes, it would be great if he stayed the year for me to graduate. But this is about Kurt and his dreams. I'd spend half a day driving to see him in New York if I had to. I'd Skype and text and write snail mail so the only mail he got wouldn't be bills. I'd stay up to three in the morning talking on the phone.

He fills his name in on the line. I stay by his side and we fill it out together. I lick the envelope for him so he doesn't have to taste it. He ends up tasting it anyway as he kisses me in the reference section. The librarian passes by, and we pull apart. I grab a book off the shelf and we pretend to study. When the coast is clear I put it back and we leave.

Both of the applications are stamped and get put in the mail. Now all there is to do is sit and wait.

Well, there is more. Like school, and food, and showering.

And love. There's always time for love.

No need to fantasize since I was in my braces. (Big Girl, You are Beautiful)

My eyes are leering, but it's okay because nobody watches the people in the background. Right? Please say that I'm the only one that watches background characters on TV. Otherwise everyone will know what I plan on doing after the show with Kurt. And that sounds like a lot more than best friend and holiday roommate.

I have to adjust my plans a bit when we go to the shelter. We end up dancing with small children. I see one, and her eyes are shining bright blue like Kurt's. It makes me wonder what our kids would look like. I wonder if she'll exude as much joy as this little girl when I give her a plush unicorn. When we leave I find out that Kurt was wondering the same thing. Except he sees our kid as a hazel eyed boy. We agree that we should have two kids, so we can have one of each. Brittany can have one and Santana can have the other. Seeing as how they are together and can't have kids of their own. Somehow I think having a kid would change Santana. And with four parents instead of two, diaper duty would be a whole lot easier.

I rest my head on Kurt's chest. The tree lights twinkle against the wall. He crawls to sit underneath the tree. He pulls out a red bow from behind and plops it on his head.

"Perhaps you should open you present early this year?"

I get on my hands and knees to join him. We squeeze to make room for the both of us, and branches stick through my hair. We sit there for a while, making out in the privacy of the tree. Finn walks by with a gift in his hands. We pause and hold our breath. He sets the gift under the tree and catches a glimpse of our faces in the dim light.

"Dude, your bow is crooked." Kurt pulls it off and sticks it to Finn.

I help Kurt up and we go to his bedroom.

And let me tell you. There, a whole lot more than his bow went crooked.