FIC: Mike and the Mechanics (3/3)
Title: Mike and the Mechanics (3/3)
Characters/Pairing: Kurt/Mike, pretty much everyone else makes an appearance at some point
Rating: PG-13, but only for swearing
Word Count: ~8900
Summary: After bringing his car to Hummel's Tire and Lube, Mike Chang begins to see Kurt Hummel in a new light. Kurt is similarly affected.
Notes: Unexpectedly angsty!Mike + Drama!Kurt = prolonged payout. Sorry! Assume spoilers through “Journey;” many more shamefully self-indulgent comic references.
Thank you all again for the positive feedback. Sorry this chapter has taken so long- real life has very little respect for my muses and this story ran in several different directions before I could nail it down.
I'm very reluctant to say goodbye to these characters, so I'm going to start compiling ideas for side stories, drabbles, or sequels. Please feel free to include prompts for past, missing, or future scenes you would like to me to tell along with your comments. The only exception I'll put out there: smut is not really in my wheelhouse, so any such prompts are likely to result in fade to black.
Part 1
Part 2
The third time Mike brings his car to Hummel's Tire and Lube, he has his passenger side mirror in his left hand and a broad smile on his face. Sometimes pissing off David Karofsky yields unexpected advantages.
Mike had been happy enough for the opportunity to treat an exuberant Brittany and a reluctant Kurt to ice cream (non-fat sorbet for the latter). They lingered, huddled together on a just too small for three bench outside the Ben and Jerry's, much longer than strictly necessary, conversation animatedly bouncing between off the wall song and dance ideas for Glee (Mike), Finn's persistent inability to employ the sock on the door code (Kurt), and leprechauns (Brittany).
Just before she left them, Brittany kissed them both on the cheek and excitedly suggested that they “go on a date” every week. Mike and Kurt shared an awkward, embarrassed smile before heading home in opposite directions.
So, when Karofsky, flanked by three of the more physically intimidating members of the hockey team, threw the cracked mirror in front of him on his chem lab table with a less than clever “Better watch where you park, Chang,” Mike couldn't really muster much irritation. It had been well worth it.
Kurt's eyes dart to the door from where he's leaning over the engine block of an older model Civic as soon as the bell sounds, a wide smile forming when he sees who it is. It slips, however, when he registers what Mike is carrying.
“Oh my god, what happened? Are you alright?” Kurt asks, rushing forward with hands outstretched as if to check for bodily harm.
In yet another display of incongruous stealth, Mr. Hummel appears almost instantly at the sound of his son's distress. Mike makes a mental note to tell Matt that he would make an awesome Batman in their hypothetical comic AU.
Mike waves off their looks of concern. “I'm fine, Kurt. I wasn't even there when it happened.”
He's not particularly inclined to share with Kurt how it happened, mostly because he doesn't need word spreading through the Glee Club grapevine (i.e., Mercedes) to Finn, Puck, or, most importantly, Matt. None of them would be particularly inclined to let the offense go unpunished, while Mike wants to move on.
Kurt squints suspiciously and again demands, “What happened?”
“Found it next to the car after school. Irresponsible teenage drivers, what're you gonna do?” he tries with a shrug.
Their answering expressions indicate that Mike is still a terrible liar. Anger practically rolls off Kurt in waves.
“Why do I feel like I'm missing something here?” asks Mr. Hummel, looking worriedly between the two boys.
Kurt ignores Mike's pleading look and says, “Mike stopped a guy from harassing Brittany after school yesterday. An absolute Neanderthal who is fairly well known for holding a grudge.”
“I didn't actually do anything,” Mike points out with a dismissive head shake. “Brittany's the one who took him down. I just distracted him long enough to give her the opportunity.”
“But he knows he can't take it out on Brittany. Ms. Sylvester would skin him alive. So that leaves you,” Kurt counters.
“Let it go, Kurt,” Mike implores. “I'm sure the insurance will cover it as an accident, so it really doesn't matter how it happened.”
“Bullies shouldn't just get away with stuff like this,” Kurt argues fiercely.
“No, they shouldn't. But they do,” answers Mike quietly, but with a pointed look. Kurt deflates a little.
“We have to pick our battles,” he continues solemnly. “There are some I really wish I'd had the guts to fight and hopefully next time I will. But he's not going to bother Britt again and that's all that matters here.”
Kurt's dad gives him an assessing look, while Kurt glares petulantly. Mike feels like he could disappear under the combined weight of their eyes.
“Pull your car around and I'll get to work on the mirror,” Mr. Hummel eventually directs. “If you feel like helping Kurt sort out the mess he's made in the back again, we'll call it even.”
Mike would object, but the firm tone and hard stare seem to indicate that it's not a suggestion. After Kurt sighs heavily and stomps off toward the storeroom, Mike mumbles a quick, but earnest “Thanks, Mr. Hummel,” and heads back out the door.
***
Kurt is elbow deep in a box of miscellaneous bolts, screws, and washers when Mike enters the storeroom, slump-shouldered as if bracing himself for a beating. Kurt's still a little mad, but he's not going to waste quality time with Mike when it's on parentally sanctioned offer.
He's about to apologize when Mike beats him to the punch.
“I'm sorry, Kurt. I...” Mike trails off miserably.
“No, I'm sorry, Mike,” Kurt corrects. “It's not my place to question your decision.”
Mike smiles wanly. “It's not much of a decision. I don't particularly care if he dings my car a little bit, as long as he isn't hurting anyone. I'm much more concerned about Matt ending up in jail for killing him if he finds out about it.”
Kurt takes a half second to wonder if he's missed something important about Matt and Mike's relationship, but his brain is unwilling to entertain the idea that he's been in Glee Club with not one, but two other gay guys for almost a year without noticing.
Instead, he asks, “How would you feel if it was Matt in your situation?” He knows it's a low blow, but Mike's self-sacrificing is incredibly frustrating.
“I'd get myself killed going after Karofsky, so there wouldn't be any jail time to worry about,” Mike answers with a smug smirk. Kurt knows it should be irritating instead of adorable, but it isn't.
“Matt's so mellow,” he observes. “I don't think I can imagine him actually hurting anyone.”
“He really wouldn't, without provocation. I can probably count on two fingers the number of times I've seen him lose his temper. But he has a worrying tendency towards stubbornly protective.”
“I know the type,” Kurt smirks, glancing toward the door to the shop.
Mike grins. “I remember once when we were 11 or 12. We were shopping with his mom and she accidentally bumped her cart into some guy, who I think called her a bitch or something.” Mike pauses and shakes his head at the memory. “Let's just say that you wouldn't like Matt when he's angry.”
Mike's obviously amused himself with this comment, but Kurt's not in on the joke.
“I assume you're referencing something specific, but I have no idea what,” Kurt informs him.
“Um, the Hulk?” Mike supplies, and Kurt's surprised it's not immediately followed with a “Well, duh, you tremendous great idiot.”
“Big green guy with purple shorts and anger management issues?” Mike continues.
Kurt turns his nose up at the description. “Edward Norton was in that one, right?”
Mike grasps his chest dramatically. “I can't believe you don't know who the Hulk is. What about the Justice League? X-Men? Avengers?”
“These are comic book things, right?”
“Oh, man, do I have so much to teach you!” Mike replies. He's literally bouncing with excitement. “I can bring my Young Avengers to school tomorrow, if you want. It's fairly accessible without much knowledge of the Marvel Universe and the characters are pretty awesome.”
Kurt's not really (at all, in any way) interested, but Mike's enthusiasm is utterly charming, so he nods agreeably. Mike's resulting smile is so earnest and bright that he can't even bring himself mock him for being such a massive nerd.
He tucks away a few barbs for later, though.
Unpleasantness forgotten, they settle down decidedly closer to each other than last time and take up their organizational tasks. Kurt remembered to bring his Ipod dock, so this time their work is sporadically interrupted in favor of impromptu sing-alongs.
Kurt loses himself for a little while fantasizing about romantic duets just the right side of cheesy they could sing together in Glee Club next year. After overthrowing Rachel and Mr. Schue in a bloodless coup d'etat, of course.
Mike's voice pulls him from his reverie a little while later. “You know, your dad really is kind of amazing.”
Kurt can't help smiling, but he's a teenage boy, so he replies, “Amazingly embarrassing, sure.”
Mike chuckles. “That's all parents. It's in the job contract. But he really doesn't need to fix my mirror for free. I'll call the insurance company about it. Will you tell him that?”
“I'll say something, but I doubt he'll listen. Obstinate is hardwired into Hummel DNA.”
Now that the subject of parents has been broached, Kurt can't help hearing Santana's words over and over in his head and something heavy settles in the pit of his stomach. He decides to prod gently for more information.
“What about your parents? I don't think I got to meet them at either of our performances.”
Mike's lips thin and he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the wire spool he is currently re-wrapping.
“My parents don't actually know that I'm in Glee Club,” he admits eventually.
Kurt's not sure what he was expecting to find out, but that certainly wasn't it.
“I'm not ashamed or anything!” Mike insists, head shooting up. “I love Glee, but my parents just...wouldn't approve.”
Kurt can't hold in his answering rant.
“I'll never understand what the big deal is about you jocks joining Glee Club. We sing perfectly sanitized standards and mainstream contemporary songs without the slightest nod to the sub- and counter-cultural influences behind them. Our dances always involve perfectly paired boy-girl couples. It's disgustingly heteronormative when you think about it. Much more so than guys in spandex chasing balls and tackling each other, anyway.”
Mike laughs, but it's hollow and the resulting smile is rueful.
“As depressingly unenlightened as my parents opinions are about that particular subject, I really don't think that's their main problem with my dancing.”
“What is it then?” Kurt asks, probably too curiously.
Mike's hand flies to his hair in frustration and Kurt mentally kicks himself. “I don't mean to pry. Feel free tell me to shut up if you want.”
“No, it's fine. I don't mind you asking,” Mike replies with a small, shy smile. Kurt's not sure if he's imagining the emphasis placed on the “you,” but he hopes not.
“My dad says I look like a street thug when I dance,” Mike continues sadly. “Though, I strongly suspect the entirety of his exposure to gang culture comes from watching West Side Story."
“Well, mine most certainly does, but I think your dancing is beautiful,” Kurt retorts. And then blushes.
Mike's grin is brief, but brilliant. It takes him a while to continue.
“I think they don't like that I like it so much. That dancing makes me so happy.”
“Why wouldn't they want you to be happy?” Kurt asks, barely a whisper as if to take the sting out of the words.
Mike frowns anyway.
“I don't think they think about it that way.” Kurt wishes he sounded more confident. “I guess it's just not practical enough? It doesn't fit into the future they want me to have?”
“Sports aren't particularly practical, either,” Kurt points out. “Very few college athletes actually go professional. And, no offense, but you in particular are much more likely to get a scholarship for your dancing than your athletic skills.”
Mike smirks. “You think? Man, I was counting on scouts crawling all over our football games senior year.”
Kurt shoves him playfully and gives a mock glare. He thrills a little when Mike's body leans back a little closer than before.
“But, a dance scholarship would be just that: pursuing dance,” Mike continues, his voice darkening again. “I don't think they understand what that life would be like or why I'd want it. It doesn't fit into their life and they can't see too far beyond that, you know?”
Kurt isn't sure he does. He and his father barely speak the same language most of the time, but Kurt knows he would support anything his son ever wanted to do. Still, he tries to smile reassuringly for Mike's sake.
“Where did you learn how to dance?” Kurt asks, hoping this will be a more pleasant topic.
Mike's smile lightens. “I don't know if you'll believe it, but I was something of a hyperactive kid.”
“No!” gasps Kurt, with a smirk.
Mike clears his throat exaggeratedly. “As I was saying, my parents put me into all kinds of sports, hoping it would wear me out. It didn't. So I was left alone in my room with too much energy and cable television. I can't tell you how many hours Matt and I spent watching Michael Jackson videos trying to figure out how he could move the way he did.”
Kurt smiles at the image and resolves to work on prepping an MJ song with Mercedes.
“My mom helped me bedazzle a sequined glove when I was five,” Kurt offers with a grin.
“Please tell me your dad has a picture. I think I'll go ask him,” Mike replies, waggling his eyebrows and starting to rise.
“Oh no you don't!” yells Kurt, latching himself firmly to Mike's arm to keep him seated.
For an all too brief moment, Mike's body relaxes under his hands and Kurt feels an exhaled sigh across the top of his head. He pulls back to look Mike in the eye, but the other boy's gaze is firmly locked on the spot where Kurt's hands meet his own arm.
“So you taught yourself to dance? That's pretty impressive,” Kurt says, letting go slowly and leaning back into his own chair.
“Mostly, yeah,” Mike replies, his cheeks noticeably pink. “No classes or anything. I asked for them once, but my parents didn't go for it.”
Kurt can almost see Mike's mind drifting away again. He decides to lighten the mood before he loses him completely.
“So, Ren McCormack, does this mean that you officially count as zero degrees of Kevin Bacon?” he asks with a teasing grin.
Mike's startled laugh is most definitely one of Kurt's new favorite things.
“You're a funny guy,” remarks Mike with a soft, teasing grin. “When you aren't too busy scowling at people's wardrobe choices, that is.”
“Try not to sound too surprised,” Kurt returns dryly.
“Oh, you're full of surprises, Kurt Hummel,” he observes, plucking Kurt's dirty coveralls to illustrate his point.
Kurt scoffs. “My dad's a mechanic. Is it really that strange that I know my way around cars?”
“It's not the car knowledge so much as the dirty fingernails and unflattering sartorial necessities.”
Kurt concedes the point. “Good use of sartorial, by the way. You seem to have your own share of surprises underneath that perpetual smile, Mike Chang.”
Mike ducks his head, but he's definitely grinning, so Kurt counts it as a win.
“Anyway,” Mike continues, “my dad's an accountant and I don't know the first thing about it. Although people probably assume I do, so I guess we have opposite problems.”
“Stereotypes suck. Didn't we get that particular after-school special from Ms. Sylvester and Mr. Schue's co-directing fiasco?” Kurt quips.
Mike smirks, but it isn't a particularly amused one. “Honestly? I don't put much stock in cultural sensitivity lessons offered by people who un-ironically and on separate occasions referred to me 'Other Asian.'”
Kurt winces. “Yeah, that was pretty horrifying. I think if Finn had pulled 'Gay Kid' out of that hat, I'd have burned the fucker to the ground. Or at least let my dad get someone fired.”
Instead of the laugh he's expecting, Mike gives him a shaky smile before looking away and falling silent.
He's getting better at understanding the way Mike communicates without speaking and this silence is telling him that the other boy is trying to figure out how to say something. So, Kurt waits.
“If Finn had pulled 'Gay Kid' out of that hat...”
Mike trails off and falls silent long enough that it seems like he isn't going to finish. He looks pained and Kurt aches to grab his hand or pat his knee reassuringly, but something holds him back.
Mike takes a deep breath and clears his throat before trying again. “If Finn had pulled out 'Gay Kid,' we would have had to flip for him.”
Even though he'd started to expect (and really, really hope) to someday hear this from Mike, the words still knock Kurt's breath from him. When he recovers, he turns to Mike, who has shrunken in on himself during the silence, and stares at him until he finally raises his eyes.
Smiling as brightly as he can muster, Kurt says, “I guess we'll have to fight over which one of us gets to be 'Other Gay Kid.'”
Mike falls into his side laughing. Kurt can't help but join in as he feels the last of the suffocating tension drain away.
Until, that is, it returns full force at the sound of his father's voice behind them asking, “What's so funny?”
***
Mike nearly falls out of his chair at the question. He's not sure how they're meant to explain the hilarity of Kurt's joke, but he doesn't quite put it past Kurt to actually try.
Fortunately, Kurt seems equally flustered by his father's sudden appearance and manages to choke out a “You had to be there” while he gets himself under control.
Mr. Hummel looks like he wants to push for a better explanation, but he wisely reads the stubborn set of his son's jaw. He turns to Mike instead.
“Your mirror's finished. I also touched up over the words that were scratched into the trunk.”
Mike has no idea what he's talking about, so he forces a smile and says, “Thanks, Mr. Hummel. I must have missed those. How much do I owe you?”
“Don't worry about it, son,” he replies gently. The combination of that tone and the dark look in his eyes give Mike a fairly strong idea of what the words were.
It wouldn't be the first time someone used a homophobic slur in his direction. He's an athlete and it's practically part of the culture. And he's been in Glee Club for the better part of a year. But even though this time is probably no more rooted in genuine suspicions about his sexuality than all the others, it somehow feels like it.
Suddenly, sitting in this room, with Kurt knowing and his dad having seen those words, panic sets in. He's terrified of the understanding and acceptance that he knows he'll find in their faces. Afraid that it might inspire him to do something rash and brave, something that he's just not strong enough handle.
Mike is standing before he makes a conscious decision to do so. He can't quite look Kurt in the eye, but he also can't just walk away. He gives the smaller boy's shoulder a pat and says, “I better get home. I'll see you tomorrow, Kurt.”
To Mr. Hummel, he says, “Please let me know if you need any more help around here.”
He's out the door and in his car before either have time to answer.
***
After Mike's disappearing act, Kurt follows his dad back out into the garage.
“Do I even want to know what those assholes wrote?” he asks.
“Language,” his dad admonishes. “And no. You don't.”
Kurt's body sags and he falls onto a stool.
“So,” his dad starts awkwardly, “was all that stuff about Brittany true or is there something else going on?”
Kurt sighs. “No, that's what happened. I was there.”
“So he's not really...you know...”
Kurt laughs flatly. “Oh, but he is. That's actually what we were laughing about when you came back. Lucky me, those idiots have mostly likely just chased him screaming back into the closet.”
His dad can't quite suppress a wince.
“Sorry, Dad, I know you don't like to talk about this kind of thing...”
Burt cuts him off. “Kurt, I know I told you I wasn't ready to talk about, you know, guys and stuff. And there are conversations I'll probably never want to have. But I need you to believe that you can come to me about anything. We're a team, so don't think I want you to ignore a chance to be happy for my sake.”
Kurt gives his dad a watery, but honest, smile. “Thanks, Dad. I just... I don't know what to do here.”
“Unfortunately, kiddo, right now it's not really about you,” his dad points out.
“I know that,” Kurt snaps. “I didn't mean it like that. It's just... I like him, Dad.”
The last words sound defeated, even to his own ears.
“I can see that,” Burt replies. It's only a little bit gloating. “And as much as it pains me to admit, he seems pretty darn fond of you, too.”
Kurt smiles at the suggestion, but he can't maintain it.
“You're probably going to have to be patient here, though,” his dad continues. “He seems like a good kid. But it's probably going to be really tough for him. He's not used to standing out or being different. I'm not saying it was easier for you, but you're a lot stronger than most. And, with one notable exception, you've always known exactly who you are.”
“I'm sorry, Dad,” Kurt says dejectedly, “but I really can't talk about this right now. Is it okay if I just go home?”
“Sure, kid,” his dad replies, but he pulls Kurt into a one armed hug before letting him go. “I'll see you at home.”
Kurt nods before turning and heading out the door in silence.
Several hours later, Kurt is (sulking) on his bed staring blankly at the ceiling when he hears footsteps on the staircase. Finn and Rachel vacated the room about twenty minutes after Kurt came home when their efforts to find out what was wrong resulted only in glares, cutting insults, and hurled pillows.
“I see my father and/or Finn called in reinforcements,” Kurt comments sourly upon discovering the identity of the interloper.
“Don't give me lip, boy. Now, scoot,” Mercedes replies, pushing him over so she can lay down next to him.
Kurt stays stubbornly silent for a long time, but Mercedes waits him out.
“It's not straight boy drama anymore,” he says quietly.
“That's supposed to be a good thing, isn't it?” she observes.
Even Kurt's sigh sounds depressed. “Turns out, closeted gay boys are much more frustrating than the straight ones.”
“Oh, honey,” Mercedes says with a sigh, grabbing his hand in hers. “Tell me.”
“He came in to the shop again because Karofsky trashed his car.”
“What?” she exclaims.
“Long, mildly hilarious story that involves Brittany kneeing him in the groin.”
“Brittany kneed Mike in the groin?”
“Not Mike. Karofsky,” Kurt clarifies.
“Holy shit! Tell me you got video,” Mercedes pleads.
“Alas, I was a bit busy focusing on Mike's effort to come to her rescue to think of recording it for posterity.”
Mercedes snorts. “Of course you were.”
She can almost hear his eyeroll. “Anyway, Mike came in and we talked. Like, really talked.”
“I still have a hard time picturing Mike Chang using actual complete sentences,” she comments. “So, amidst this 'really talking,' he told you he's gay?”
“Yeah. It was really heartbreaking, Mercedes. I think he actually thought I would judge him for it.”
“But he told you anyway,” she points out. “And he's apparently been trying to mack on you in his own sad way, so why aren't we celebrating?”
“Because right afterward my dad came in to tell us that he found a few of Karofsky's favorite words etched into Mike's trunk.”
“Damn,” she reflects heavily. “How'd that go down?”
“He freaked and ran.”
“Understandable,” she says. “He didn't say anything at all?”
“Well, he said he'd see me tomorrow,” Kurt recalls.
“Well, that's good at least. He's probably not going to blow you off out of fear of gay by association.”
“Maybe,” Kurt concedes doubfully, “but you didn't see his face. I'll be lucky if he doesn't start tossing me in dumpsters just to reassert his masculinity.”
The look she gives him is cutting. “You know better than that.”
Kurt sighs. “I know. It's just...”
“It's just you being disappointed that Mike didn't drop to his knees and vow to take on all bullies in defense of your epic gay love,” she interrupts.
Kurt glares stonily and starts to pull away from her.
Mercedes holds up her hands. “I get it, Kurt. I do. It's not fair that it has to be so hard for you guys. But you shouldn't write him off before giving him a chance to surprise you. You're both better than that.”
“When exactly did you decide to turn Pollyanna on me?” Kurt questions, sagging back against Mercedes.
“I think it's a side effect of overexposure to Quinn's baby doll dresses and Rachel's sweater sets,” she replies with a smirk.
“I told you those things deserved a Surgeon General's warning,” he returns, a hint of a smile finally breaking.
“Weren't you the one warning me against getting my hopes up?” Kurt continues after a reflective silence.
“New world order, baby,” Mercedes declares. “Now we don't rest 'til we get you your man.”
Kurt groans, but his heart swells with love for his amazing girl and cautious optimism about what tomorrow may bring.
***
Mike will never know how, running on autopilot, he managed to call to tell his parents he wouldn't be home for dinner and drive across town to Matt's house without retaining a single memory of the experience.
Fortunately, Matt answers the door when he knocks and, reading the distress on Mike's face, grabs his arms and ushers him up to his bedroom.
“You look like death,” Matt observes. “What's up?”
“I came out to Kurt,” Mike replies, toneless voice barely a whisper.
“Finally!” Matt exclaims. “Man is that kid dense.”
Mike can't even muster a scowl. He'd always wondered what it felt like to be numb from shock.
“So, what happened?” Matt continues with a leer, before clarifying, “Bearing in mind that I don't want any of the sordid details.”
“His dad walked in,” Mike answers flatly.
Matt snorts. “How naked were you?”
Frustration finally begins to crack through Mike's fog. He scowls, but refuses to dignify the remark.
Matt narrows his eyes. “So you're telling me that you finally told him and he didn't mack on you?”
Mike nods.
“Worst. Gays. Ever,” Matt pronounces.
Mike closes his eyes and counts to ten. “The fact that we're both gay doesn't automatically guarantee that we're going to get together, you know. You don't date every straight girl you meet, do you?”
“Yeah, but I have numerical advantages that you don't, my friend. Especially here in Lima,” Matt retorts.
“So, you're saying that I should jump him because he's statistically unlikely to have a better offer? Who ever said romance is dead?”
“No, moron,” Matt answers with a sigh of the long suffering. “You should jump him because you're in love with him and he's been staring at your ass all week.”
Mike's sigh is equally put upon. “I'm not in love with... wait, WHAT?”
Matt grins infuriatingly, but doesn't elaborate.
“You do know how much I hate you, right?” Mike asks conversationally.
“Yup,” replies Matt. “And I'm surprisingly okay with it.”
“Asshole. But, even if you're right, unprecedented as it may be,” Mike effortlessly ducks the sneaker chucked at his head, “Kurt won't want to settle for a guy who's scared into paralysis at the thought of being outed.”
“You're familiar with my stance on that particular subject,” Matt reminds him. Mike shrugs dismissively.
“But even if you decide not to come out,” Matt continues, “don't you think Kurt should get to choose what he wants, what's worth it to him, instead of having you make the decision for him?”
Mike doesn't have an answer for that. He hates it when Matt is annoyingly rational. Matt takes advantage of Mike's silence to continue.
“You need to decide what it is that you want. And what that's worth to you. Then you can see about getting Hummel with the program.”
Mike glares half-heartedly, mutters a quick, “I gotta go,” and ignoring Matt's protests, heads home.
But try as he might, he can't shake the weight of Matt's words. They keep him up most of the night as he chases images and memories around in his head.
By the time his alarm rouses him from a too brief sleep the next morning, he finds himself surprisingly and uncomfortably resolved on a course of action.
His confidence falters at lunch the next day. Upon entering the cafeteria, he, unsurprisingly, finds Kurt deep in conversation with Quinn, Mercedes, Tina, and Artie on the far side of the room. Mercedes is the first to notice him, grinning broadly and waving him over. Kurt, eyes following Mercedes' attention, offers a weak, tentative smile so foreign that Mike's heart aches at the sight.
Mike can't quite muster the courage to cross the room, instead gesticulating to the table he usually shares with Matt, Brittany, and Becky. He's sure that his smile is no more assuring than Kurt's.
He's busy contemplating excuses for he and Matt, the consummate wingman, to drop by their table before the end of the period when he's startled by a familiar voice speaking alarmingly close to his ear.
“A little too obvious, don't you think, Chang?”
Santana gracefully slides into the bench next to him with seemingly little concern for his personal space.
“Huh?” is all Mike can summon in response.
Santana rolls her eyes, but quickly schools her face into something alarmingly like a seductive grin. She leans forward, body pressed firmly against his side, to whisper in his ear.
“Hummel,” she clarifies. “I can appreciate desperate times and all that, but I didn't think your tastes would run toward the cliché.”
The disconnect between her words and actions paralyzes Mike for a minute, until it occurs to him that she is being surprisingly discreet in her efforts to discuss his apparently obvious infatuation with another boy in their current surroundings.
Still, her dismissal of Kurt rankles and, as scary as she is, he can't help but correct her.
“Don't call him that,” Mike hisses. “You of all people should appreciate that Kurt isn't nearly as shallow as he'd like the world to believe. And I'd be damn lucky for him to give me a second look.”
Santana raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “There isn't a closet big enough to accommodate that boy's gay. Do you honestly think you can handle that?”
Hearing his fears spelled out so directly, Mike hesitates. But one look at Kurt, brow adorably furrowed as he listens to something Quinn is saying, and he only has one answer.
“He's worth it.”
Before he knows what's happening, Santana leans in and kisses him squarely on the mouth.
“That's all I needed to hear,” she whispers with a smirk as she draws back and leaves as quick as she came.
When his eyes drift back to Kurt's table, the other boy is watching Santana's retreat with a vicious scowl. It takes all his self-control not to fall over laughing when Matt arrives and asks why he's grinning like an idiot.
Awkward confrontations with his friends seem to be the order of the day when Mike's attention is drawn from his locker by someone directly behind him clearing their throat loudly.
“So you're, like, gay now or something?”
Mike feels the blood drain from his face and immediately snaps his eyes around the hallway to see if anyone is listening.
He not so gently drags Finn into an empty classroom and hisses, “Who told you that?”
He hadn't explicitly asked Kurt not to say anything, but he had been fairly confident that the other boy wouldn't tell anyone. Other than Mercedes, anyway.
“Burt,” Finn answers.
Mike's first thought is to wonder if Finn really has been talking to a homosexual puppet with decidedly accurate gaydar. Then he remembers he isn't talking to Brittany and seeks another explanation. It comes to him with sickening clarity.
“Wait, you mean Burt as in Kurt's dad Burt?”
“Yeah. He said you were going to show up at the house with flowers and candy for Kurt.”
“When did he say this?”
“At dinner last week.”
“Last week?” Mike shrieks.
“Uh-huh,” replies Finn. “My mom thinks it's cute,” he adds.
“Oh god,” Mike groans. He's afraid to ask, but he needs to know. “What did Kurt say?”
“He said you were just friends. And that I shouldn't tell Rachel because you'd end up in a dumpster.”
For as much as he had longed for Kurt to think of him even as a friend, the words feel surprisingly like a slap in the face.
“For what it's worth,” Finn continues, “I'm pretty sure he was lying. He had the same pinched look on his face as he did when I confronted him about his crush on me.”
Mike watches Finn's face darken at that, presumably from the uncomfortable memory. He burns with curiosity, remembering the few days of awkward tension during their Gaga/Kiss period, but he knows it's none of his business.
After a few moments, Finn looks Mike square in the eye and squeezes his shoulder firmly. In his best quarterback/male lead pep talk voice he says, “Go for it, dude. Just make sure to treat him better than I did. He deserves it.”
Mike can't do anything but nod.
***
The fourth time Mike brings his car by Hummel's Tires and Lube, Kurt is sitting at the cash register, thumbingly absently through a parts wholesale catalog. He can't bring himself to enter the storeroom and his dad is giving him a wide berth.
He's replaying “the kiss” over in his head for the thousandth time. His first reaction had been a pure spike of jealousy. Then, anger at Mike for engaging in such a blatant display of overcompensation.
When he shared this with Mercedes during study hall, she stared at him blankly. Then smacked the back of his head.
“If you hadn't been too busy glaring death rays at Santana, you would've noticed that no one in that room was more shocked by what she did than Mike,” she informs him.
Kurt really hadn't been watching Mike's face. He was too busy discovering how surprisingly accurate that saying about seeing red really is.
With this new information, he doesn't know what to make of the kiss. Or what it might mean for his chances with Mike.
So, he sits (sulking) close to the front door, trying not to get his hopes up.
When Mike does walk through the door, Kurt can hardly resist the urge to run to him.
He watches Mike scan the room until he catches sight of Kurt's dad, to whom he offers a shy smile and a wave before moving to stand right in front of Kurt.
“Would you believe that I need to pick up some snow chains for my tires?” Mike asks, a nervous grin twitching at the corners of his mouth.
Kurt's grin has no such hesitance and widens until his cheeks hurt. “It's June, Mike.”
“It never hurts to be prepared,” Mike counters, his confidence growing with his smile.
“There has to be a boy scout joke in there somewhere, but I'm drawing a blank,” Kurt returns.
Mike doesn't seem to have an answer for that, so they fall silent and grin at each other some more.
A pointed cough breaks the spell.
“As charmingly pathetic as this is to watch, maybe you boys should take it somewhere else,” Mr. Hummel suggests. “Somewhere without any beds, couches, or other unsupervised horizontal surfaces,” he amends.
“Dad!” Kurt screeches in horror. Mike's laughter almost makes it forgivable. Almost.
Mike almost loses his abnormally good balance when Kurt grabs hold of his arm and yanks him toward the door without another word.
They find themselves, appropriately enough, side by side in the front seat of Mike's car in the driveway of Kurt's house. Kurt knows his dad would kill him if he caught them idling with the air conditioning running, but neither one makes a move toward getting out of the car.
As endearing as Mike's shyness is (and really, Kurt could just eat him with a spoon sometimes), Kurt is distressingly aware that the onus is squarely on him to make a move. It's only fair since Mike had the courage to seek him out in the first place.
Unfortunately, whereas suggestive comments and pointed ballad selections had come fairly naturally when the object of his affection was the poster-child for unattainability, flirting with a boy who is both gay and demonstrably interested is proving unfairly difficult.
He casts about for an innocuous tease to lighten the moment and get the conversation started again.
“So, you do realize that you never answered my question the other day.”
“What question?” Mike asks, smile bright, but increasingly shy.
“About why you joined Glee Club,” Kurt clarifies.
Judging by the stricken look that passes across Mike's face, Kurt has landed in an entirely different hemisphere than innocuous. He immediately backpedals.
“Forget it. It's not important,” he begins, but Mike raises a hand to cut him off.
“If anyone deserves to hear it, it's you,” says Mike, his quiet voice not quite convincing.
“Only if you want to,” Kurt insists, hoping his sincerity is enough to mask his morbidly burning curiosity.
Mike stares at him for a while, steeling his courage, and Kurt can hardly breathe from the weight of it.
“One day during football practice, this cute guy showed up and asked to audition for the role of kicker.”
Kurt narrows his eyes, sure he's being made fun of, and starts to comment, but Mike shakes his head.
“He walked onto a field full of small-minded idiots who had done nothing but torment him, refusing to compromise anything about himself even on their turf and in the face of their undisguised anger and hatred. Watching him dance openly and unashamedly, I asked myself why I couldn't do this one thing that I know I do well and has always made me happy.”
Mike's gaze drops to his lap and Kurt can't help but give in to an urge that has haunted him from the first day Mike showed up at his father's shop. He reaches across the armrests to grab Mike's hand and give it a firm, supportive squeeze.
Mike squeezes back, but doesn't look up. He swallows hard and clears his throat before continuing.
“Coming home and hearing my parents...well, I'd rather not repeat what they had to say if you don't mind. But knowing those words were also meant for me- the coward who hides everything important and real about himself away behind his bedroom door- it made me want to do something, anything, to be even remotely worthy of comparison to that amazing boy.”
The words feel like a physical force as his body tries to process the warmth spreading through him at the compliment and the ache for Mike's obvious pain. He's also never been surer that Mike is worth every bit of real or imagined drama the two of them might have to face.
Gently, he cups Mike's chin and lifts his gaze.
“You sell yourself way too short,” he says insistently.
Mike starts to shake his head in protest, but Kurt's hand is firm and his eyes are fierce when he continues.
“You're really not as good at hiding as you think you are, you know. Ask Matt. Or Brittany. Even Santana likes you enough to try and scare off unworthy, if impeccably dressed, suitors.”
Mike's eyes widen at the last one, but Kurt doesn't give him a chance to question it before he continues.
“And my dad has yet to murder you, so that has to mean something.”
Mike laughs weakly, but he still looks uncertain.
“I'm just tired of being scared all the time,” Mike confesses. “Just once, I wish I had your courage.”
Kurt's look is incredulous. “You don't think I'm scared 90% of the time? What is that old saying my dad's so fond of? Courage isn't the absence of fear. It's being afraid and doing it anyway.”
He has barely registered Mike's movement before warm lips gently brush his own. He must make some sort of mortifying noise in surprise, because Mike tries to pull away almost immediately.
Kurt grabs hold of his t-shirt and whispers, “uh-uh,” before pulling Mike back in.
A little while later, they pull back for air. They're both flushed and a little breathless.
Mike is the first to break the silence.
“Do we need to talk about this?” he asks, though his tone suggests that such a conversation is as welcome as facetime with Ms. Sylvester.
“I think we figured out that last bit rather nicely, don't you?” Kurt asks with a wink.
Mike nods enthusiastically, but doesn't let it go. “I don't really know what I'm doing here.”
“My experience is pretty much limited to throwing myself pathetically at unequivocally straight boys, as you are most likely aware,” Kurt reminds sardonically.
“Hopeless, blinding crushes happen to the best of us,” Mike replies.
Kurt narrows his eyes. “Don't tell me you had a crush on Finn, too.”
Mike's look is decidedly sheepish when he mumbles, “Worse.”
It takes Kurt a few seconds, but when it clicks, he chokes on a gasp. “Please do NOT tell me you wasted your straight boy crush on Noah Puckerman!”
Mike laughs. “In my defense, it started before his dumpster tossing days and pretty much ended with them. Also, I have spent a lot more time in locker rooms with the lot of them than you have.”
“Your taste in men is as inconsistent as your taste in clothes,” Kurt pronounces.
“But you have to admit, when I get it right, I get it really right,” Mike counters.
Kurt feels the blush all over and has to look down to his lap. It's then that they both realize that Kurt is still holding Mike's hand.
Mike starts to pull away, but Kurt is not planning on letting that happen any time soon. Instead, he covers their joined hands with his other one and gives a squeeze.
This time he's the one to lean in.
“We'll work it out together,” he whispers before their lips meet once again.
Things are, in fact, working quite nicely. Up until a loud pounding on the front windshield causes Kurt to jump up against the roof and fall back onto the horn from his position straddling Mike's right leg and Mike to bang his head, knee, and elbow on the driver's side door.
“Re-leash the dragon, Chang. Game starts in 10,” says a smirking Puck.
Behind him are an also smirking Matt and a goofily grinning Finn. Finn gives them two thumbs up.
Kurt turns to Mike with a raised eyebrow. They collapse back into one another with peals of incontrollable laughter.
After several false starts, they finally manage to calm down. Mike smiles sweetly and says, “Game 1 of the NBA Finals. Interested?”
“That's baseball, right?” Kurt asks, his nose crinkled.
“Basketball,” Mike corrects.
“So, no stirrup pants?”
Mike grins broadly and confirms, “No stirrup pants.”
“I'd love to.”
And, walking hand in hand toward the house, he's pretty sure he means it.
“So, I'm definitely rooting for Boston,” Kurt declares less than two minutes into the first quarter. All four heads turn toward him, but he only has eyes for Mike's fond smile.
“Why's that?” Mike asks.
“Purple and yellow? No. Just...no.”
Mike laughs and gives his knee a quick squeeze.
“You two had better not start making out or anything,” Puck warns with a shudder. “It's bad enough having to deal with Finn's heavy panting when Rachel's around.”
“Hey!” squawks Finn indignantly.
“Tomes could be written about the irony of you telling someone not to make out, Puckerman,” Kurt comments blandly.
“I'm with Jughead,” comes a voice from the kitchen doorway behind them.
Kurt can't quite stifle his laugh when Mike jumps and slams himself into Matt on his other side.
“Dude,” says Matt, shoving Mike away. He tips an amused wink at Kurt.
“Hi, Dad. We're watching basketball!” Kurt informs enthusiastically.
“I can see that,” his dad replies, dubious. “Mind if I join you?”
“Please do,” says Mike, recovering impressively from his shock.
Kurt can't contain his happiness as he presses his shoulder comfortingly into Mike's and grins broadly at his dad.
***
By the end of the third quarter, Kurt is sound asleep, his body curled into Mike's side and his head on Mike's shoulder.
Mike had taken advantage of the half-time exodus to stretch his arms out along the back of the couch he had been sharing with Kurt and Matt. Ever the opportunist, Kurt returned from the kitchen, plopped his bowl of unsalted, butter-free popcorn in Mike's lap and proceeded to drape himself against Mike's right side.
Mike tensed as the others came back in, but the guys only hesitated briefly before settling back in for the start of the second half.
The presence of Kurt's dad, who has been shooting them narrow-eyed, assessing looks throughout the game, slightly dampens Mike's thrill at the press of warmth and frequent requests for clarification about the game whispered in his ear.
But only slightly.
When Matt, Puck, and Finn take advantage of the break to (once again) raid the kitchen, Mike's heart stutters to a halt when he finds himself alone for the first time with a serious faced Burt Hummel.
“You seem like a good kid,” Mr. Hummel offers after a long, awkward moment.
“Um...thank you, sir,” mumbles Mike, not quite able to hold his gaze.
“I want to like you. I trust Kurt's judgment. Just remember that if you hurt him, his wrath is only a fraction of what you'll have to deal with from me.”
Mike's arm tightens unconsciously around the smaller body next to him. This time, he looks Mr. Hummel square in the eye and firmly replies, “Yes, sir.”
With a nod, Mr. Hummel retreats in search of another beer. Mike lets out a long, deep breath, only to have his attention drawn by the rhythmic shuddering of the body next to him.
Tears of suppressed laugher are beginning to form in Kurt's blinking eyes. Mike scowls.
“How long have you been awake?” he demands.
“Since my dad yelled at Puck for calling that Kobe guy more of a drama queen than me,” Kurt replies with a grin, still trying to get his laughter under control.
“So you pretended to sleep for most of the quarter just so you could keep cuddling me?”
“Yup,” Kurt replies unabashed.
“I can work with that,” Mike grins, darting a glance to the entryway before pulling Kurt towards him for a quick kiss.
Quick fades into lingering, which is only broken up by Matt's loudly hissed “Incoming!”
Kurt falls limply back into his position against Mike's side, while Mike shares a contented glance with his best friend.
Matt, predictably, rolls his eyes and makes a whipping sound.
“Would you mind loaning me Mercedes sometime?” Mike whispers into Kurt's ear. “I'm in the market for a new best friend.”
He can feel Kurt snickering, but when he looks up, his face is stony. “I like you, Mike, but not that much.”
“Noted,” Mike replies with a grin.
“We've been making progress breaking in Quinn, though. I'll see what I can do.”
Mike's laugh draws a harsh shushing from both Puck and Mr. Hummel. This time, they're both shaking.
***
“What are you two whispering about?” asks Finn a little while later.
Kurt had, in fact, been offering scathing commentary on the fit of the uniforms and what they do and do not leave to the imagination.
Mike flushes deeply at the attention, but Kurt calmly answers, “We were debating Doc Rivers' decision to keep Big Baby in the game with four fouls.”
Now all five sets of eyes are focused on him.
“What?” Kurt protests. “I listen,” he adds petulantly.
Mike beams at him. Kurt silently thanks his ninth grade English teacher for instilling the tendency to absorb one particular factoid in any given situation in case he is called on to offer an opinion.
His dad is smirking, which means he's onto him, but remains silent. He does, however, look pointedly at where Mike's fingers are absentmindedly stroking Kurt's forearm.
Kurt quickly turns his attention back to the TV. He can't quite suppress a shiver the next time Mike's fingers pass over his inner elbow.
“You okay?” Mike asks.
“I'm good,” Kurt answers, hoping that the foul on the screen is keeping everyone else from witnessing the dopiness of his grin.
The guys start filing out about twenty minutes after the game finishes.
Kurt and Mike share a meaningful glance before Kurt says to Finn and his dad, “I'm going to see our guests out.”
Finn looks confused for a moment, like he's wondering whether he too should be doing this since they were, technically, his guests. But that disappears when his eyes fall on Mike. The smirk is much less endearing.
“Five minutes, Kurt,” his dad replies.
Kurt rolls his eyes and once again pulls Mike toward the exit.
Once they are outside alone, Puck and Matt's catcalls fading into the night, they lean facing one another against Mike's driver's side door.
“So...” Kurt offers lamely.
“So,” Mike agrees with a nod.
“Is there any way to avoid this getting awkward again?” Kurt asks hopefully.
Mike laughs. “Probably not. But at least now we know what we have to look forward to, once we get past it.”
“You're smart. I think I'll keep you,” Kurt declares, then tenses at his own boldness.
Mike's still smiling though. His left hand reaches forward to sweep Kurt's bangs from his eyes, the gesture so familiar a habit that it makes the touch feel that much more intimate.
When he catches his breath, Kurt leans forward to press a kiss to Mike's cheek.
Mike smiles down at him fondly and reluctantly says, “I should probably go.”
Kurt nods, but stalls his retreat by grabbing a hand and linking their fingers.
“Do you want to do something tomorrow night?” Kurt asks. “Without Brittany this time,” he adds with a smirk.
Mike tenses. “I do. Very much,” he admits. “I'm sorry, but...”
“There's nothing to be sorry for, Mike,” Kurt assures. “We'll figure it out.”
He's almost certain he believes it.
The flickering of the porch lights herald an abrupt and welcome end to that particular discussion.
“Now I'm the one who should go,” comments Kurt with a roll of the eyes.
Mike nods and leans forward for a quick last kiss. “I'll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Kurt agrees firmly. He stays on the porch until Mike's car turns out of sight before heading inside to call Mercedes.
***
Mike can't help smiling the entire ride home. His parents are already up in their bedroom for the night when he gets there, so he grabs a snack from the fridge and heads up to his.
The last thing he does before going to sleep is turn on his cell and answer his messages.
Matt 10:47pm: fucking finally
Mike 11:40pm: :DDDDD!!!!
Matt 11:47: dork
Puckzilla 11:01pm: wtf? srsly?
Mike 11:42pm: y
Puckzilla 12:02am: ok
Kurt H 11:11pm: plz no c&y or flowrs tmrw
Kurt H 11:12pm: just u :*
Mike 11:52pm: u asked me- want both flowrs & c&y
Mike 11:53pm: gnight kurt :*
Kurt H 11:55pm: sleep well mike
Mercedes 12:36am: plz dont force me 2 hurt u
Mike 7:11am: if u need 2, ill help
Mercedes 8:03am: go get ur boy :)
Mike 8:05am: im on it
Characters/Pairing: Kurt/Mike, pretty much everyone else makes an appearance at some point
Rating: PG-13, but only for swearing
Word Count: ~8900
Summary: After bringing his car to Hummel's Tire and Lube, Mike Chang begins to see Kurt Hummel in a new light. Kurt is similarly affected.
Notes: Unexpectedly angsty!Mike + Drama!Kurt = prolonged payout. Sorry! Assume spoilers through “Journey;” many more shamefully self-indulgent comic references.
Thank you all again for the positive feedback. Sorry this chapter has taken so long- real life has very little respect for my muses and this story ran in several different directions before I could nail it down.
I'm very reluctant to say goodbye to these characters, so I'm going to start compiling ideas for side stories, drabbles, or sequels. Please feel free to include prompts for past, missing, or future scenes you would like to me to tell along with your comments. The only exception I'll put out there: smut is not really in my wheelhouse, so any such prompts are likely to result in fade to black.
Part 1
Part 2
The third time Mike brings his car to Hummel's Tire and Lube, he has his passenger side mirror in his left hand and a broad smile on his face. Sometimes pissing off David Karofsky yields unexpected advantages.
Mike had been happy enough for the opportunity to treat an exuberant Brittany and a reluctant Kurt to ice cream (non-fat sorbet for the latter). They lingered, huddled together on a just too small for three bench outside the Ben and Jerry's, much longer than strictly necessary, conversation animatedly bouncing between off the wall song and dance ideas for Glee (Mike), Finn's persistent inability to employ the sock on the door code (Kurt), and leprechauns (Brittany).
Just before she left them, Brittany kissed them both on the cheek and excitedly suggested that they “go on a date” every week. Mike and Kurt shared an awkward, embarrassed smile before heading home in opposite directions.
So, when Karofsky, flanked by three of the more physically intimidating members of the hockey team, threw the cracked mirror in front of him on his chem lab table with a less than clever “Better watch where you park, Chang,” Mike couldn't really muster much irritation. It had been well worth it.
Kurt's eyes dart to the door from where he's leaning over the engine block of an older model Civic as soon as the bell sounds, a wide smile forming when he sees who it is. It slips, however, when he registers what Mike is carrying.
“Oh my god, what happened? Are you alright?” Kurt asks, rushing forward with hands outstretched as if to check for bodily harm.
In yet another display of incongruous stealth, Mr. Hummel appears almost instantly at the sound of his son's distress. Mike makes a mental note to tell Matt that he would make an awesome Batman in their hypothetical comic AU.
Mike waves off their looks of concern. “I'm fine, Kurt. I wasn't even there when it happened.”
He's not particularly inclined to share with Kurt how it happened, mostly because he doesn't need word spreading through the Glee Club grapevine (i.e., Mercedes) to Finn, Puck, or, most importantly, Matt. None of them would be particularly inclined to let the offense go unpunished, while Mike wants to move on.
Kurt squints suspiciously and again demands, “What happened?”
“Found it next to the car after school. Irresponsible teenage drivers, what're you gonna do?” he tries with a shrug.
Their answering expressions indicate that Mike is still a terrible liar. Anger practically rolls off Kurt in waves.
“Why do I feel like I'm missing something here?” asks Mr. Hummel, looking worriedly between the two boys.
Kurt ignores Mike's pleading look and says, “Mike stopped a guy from harassing Brittany after school yesterday. An absolute Neanderthal who is fairly well known for holding a grudge.”
“I didn't actually do anything,” Mike points out with a dismissive head shake. “Brittany's the one who took him down. I just distracted him long enough to give her the opportunity.”
“But he knows he can't take it out on Brittany. Ms. Sylvester would skin him alive. So that leaves you,” Kurt counters.
“Let it go, Kurt,” Mike implores. “I'm sure the insurance will cover it as an accident, so it really doesn't matter how it happened.”
“Bullies shouldn't just get away with stuff like this,” Kurt argues fiercely.
“No, they shouldn't. But they do,” answers Mike quietly, but with a pointed look. Kurt deflates a little.
“We have to pick our battles,” he continues solemnly. “There are some I really wish I'd had the guts to fight and hopefully next time I will. But he's not going to bother Britt again and that's all that matters here.”
Kurt's dad gives him an assessing look, while Kurt glares petulantly. Mike feels like he could disappear under the combined weight of their eyes.
“Pull your car around and I'll get to work on the mirror,” Mr. Hummel eventually directs. “If you feel like helping Kurt sort out the mess he's made in the back again, we'll call it even.”
Mike would object, but the firm tone and hard stare seem to indicate that it's not a suggestion. After Kurt sighs heavily and stomps off toward the storeroom, Mike mumbles a quick, but earnest “Thanks, Mr. Hummel,” and heads back out the door.
***
Kurt is elbow deep in a box of miscellaneous bolts, screws, and washers when Mike enters the storeroom, slump-shouldered as if bracing himself for a beating. Kurt's still a little mad, but he's not going to waste quality time with Mike when it's on parentally sanctioned offer.
He's about to apologize when Mike beats him to the punch.
“I'm sorry, Kurt. I...” Mike trails off miserably.
“No, I'm sorry, Mike,” Kurt corrects. “It's not my place to question your decision.”
Mike smiles wanly. “It's not much of a decision. I don't particularly care if he dings my car a little bit, as long as he isn't hurting anyone. I'm much more concerned about Matt ending up in jail for killing him if he finds out about it.”
Kurt takes a half second to wonder if he's missed something important about Matt and Mike's relationship, but his brain is unwilling to entertain the idea that he's been in Glee Club with not one, but two other gay guys for almost a year without noticing.
Instead, he asks, “How would you feel if it was Matt in your situation?” He knows it's a low blow, but Mike's self-sacrificing is incredibly frustrating.
“I'd get myself killed going after Karofsky, so there wouldn't be any jail time to worry about,” Mike answers with a smug smirk. Kurt knows it should be irritating instead of adorable, but it isn't.
“Matt's so mellow,” he observes. “I don't think I can imagine him actually hurting anyone.”
“He really wouldn't, without provocation. I can probably count on two fingers the number of times I've seen him lose his temper. But he has a worrying tendency towards stubbornly protective.”
“I know the type,” Kurt smirks, glancing toward the door to the shop.
Mike grins. “I remember once when we were 11 or 12. We were shopping with his mom and she accidentally bumped her cart into some guy, who I think called her a bitch or something.” Mike pauses and shakes his head at the memory. “Let's just say that you wouldn't like Matt when he's angry.”
Mike's obviously amused himself with this comment, but Kurt's not in on the joke.
“I assume you're referencing something specific, but I have no idea what,” Kurt informs him.
“Um, the Hulk?” Mike supplies, and Kurt's surprised it's not immediately followed with a “Well, duh, you tremendous great idiot.”
“Big green guy with purple shorts and anger management issues?” Mike continues.
Kurt turns his nose up at the description. “Edward Norton was in that one, right?”
Mike grasps his chest dramatically. “I can't believe you don't know who the Hulk is. What about the Justice League? X-Men? Avengers?”
“These are comic book things, right?”
“Oh, man, do I have so much to teach you!” Mike replies. He's literally bouncing with excitement. “I can bring my Young Avengers to school tomorrow, if you want. It's fairly accessible without much knowledge of the Marvel Universe and the characters are pretty awesome.”
Kurt's not really (at all, in any way) interested, but Mike's enthusiasm is utterly charming, so he nods agreeably. Mike's resulting smile is so earnest and bright that he can't even bring himself mock him for being such a massive nerd.
He tucks away a few barbs for later, though.
Unpleasantness forgotten, they settle down decidedly closer to each other than last time and take up their organizational tasks. Kurt remembered to bring his Ipod dock, so this time their work is sporadically interrupted in favor of impromptu sing-alongs.
Kurt loses himself for a little while fantasizing about romantic duets just the right side of cheesy they could sing together in Glee Club next year. After overthrowing Rachel and Mr. Schue in a bloodless coup d'etat, of course.
Mike's voice pulls him from his reverie a little while later. “You know, your dad really is kind of amazing.”
Kurt can't help smiling, but he's a teenage boy, so he replies, “Amazingly embarrassing, sure.”
Mike chuckles. “That's all parents. It's in the job contract. But he really doesn't need to fix my mirror for free. I'll call the insurance company about it. Will you tell him that?”
“I'll say something, but I doubt he'll listen. Obstinate is hardwired into Hummel DNA.”
Now that the subject of parents has been broached, Kurt can't help hearing Santana's words over and over in his head and something heavy settles in the pit of his stomach. He decides to prod gently for more information.
“What about your parents? I don't think I got to meet them at either of our performances.”
Mike's lips thin and he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the wire spool he is currently re-wrapping.
“My parents don't actually know that I'm in Glee Club,” he admits eventually.
Kurt's not sure what he was expecting to find out, but that certainly wasn't it.
“I'm not ashamed or anything!” Mike insists, head shooting up. “I love Glee, but my parents just...wouldn't approve.”
Kurt can't hold in his answering rant.
“I'll never understand what the big deal is about you jocks joining Glee Club. We sing perfectly sanitized standards and mainstream contemporary songs without the slightest nod to the sub- and counter-cultural influences behind them. Our dances always involve perfectly paired boy-girl couples. It's disgustingly heteronormative when you think about it. Much more so than guys in spandex chasing balls and tackling each other, anyway.”
Mike laughs, but it's hollow and the resulting smile is rueful.
“As depressingly unenlightened as my parents opinions are about that particular subject, I really don't think that's their main problem with my dancing.”
“What is it then?” Kurt asks, probably too curiously.
Mike's hand flies to his hair in frustration and Kurt mentally kicks himself. “I don't mean to pry. Feel free tell me to shut up if you want.”
“No, it's fine. I don't mind you asking,” Mike replies with a small, shy smile. Kurt's not sure if he's imagining the emphasis placed on the “you,” but he hopes not.
“My dad says I look like a street thug when I dance,” Mike continues sadly. “Though, I strongly suspect the entirety of his exposure to gang culture comes from watching West Side Story."
“Well, mine most certainly does, but I think your dancing is beautiful,” Kurt retorts. And then blushes.
Mike's grin is brief, but brilliant. It takes him a while to continue.
“I think they don't like that I like it so much. That dancing makes me so happy.”
“Why wouldn't they want you to be happy?” Kurt asks, barely a whisper as if to take the sting out of the words.
Mike frowns anyway.
“I don't think they think about it that way.” Kurt wishes he sounded more confident. “I guess it's just not practical enough? It doesn't fit into the future they want me to have?”
“Sports aren't particularly practical, either,” Kurt points out. “Very few college athletes actually go professional. And, no offense, but you in particular are much more likely to get a scholarship for your dancing than your athletic skills.”
Mike smirks. “You think? Man, I was counting on scouts crawling all over our football games senior year.”
Kurt shoves him playfully and gives a mock glare. He thrills a little when Mike's body leans back a little closer than before.
“But, a dance scholarship would be just that: pursuing dance,” Mike continues, his voice darkening again. “I don't think they understand what that life would be like or why I'd want it. It doesn't fit into their life and they can't see too far beyond that, you know?”
Kurt isn't sure he does. He and his father barely speak the same language most of the time, but Kurt knows he would support anything his son ever wanted to do. Still, he tries to smile reassuringly for Mike's sake.
“Where did you learn how to dance?” Kurt asks, hoping this will be a more pleasant topic.
Mike's smile lightens. “I don't know if you'll believe it, but I was something of a hyperactive kid.”
“No!” gasps Kurt, with a smirk.
Mike clears his throat exaggeratedly. “As I was saying, my parents put me into all kinds of sports, hoping it would wear me out. It didn't. So I was left alone in my room with too much energy and cable television. I can't tell you how many hours Matt and I spent watching Michael Jackson videos trying to figure out how he could move the way he did.”
Kurt smiles at the image and resolves to work on prepping an MJ song with Mercedes.
“My mom helped me bedazzle a sequined glove when I was five,” Kurt offers with a grin.
“Please tell me your dad has a picture. I think I'll go ask him,” Mike replies, waggling his eyebrows and starting to rise.
“Oh no you don't!” yells Kurt, latching himself firmly to Mike's arm to keep him seated.
For an all too brief moment, Mike's body relaxes under his hands and Kurt feels an exhaled sigh across the top of his head. He pulls back to look Mike in the eye, but the other boy's gaze is firmly locked on the spot where Kurt's hands meet his own arm.
“So you taught yourself to dance? That's pretty impressive,” Kurt says, letting go slowly and leaning back into his own chair.
“Mostly, yeah,” Mike replies, his cheeks noticeably pink. “No classes or anything. I asked for them once, but my parents didn't go for it.”
Kurt can almost see Mike's mind drifting away again. He decides to lighten the mood before he loses him completely.
“So, Ren McCormack, does this mean that you officially count as zero degrees of Kevin Bacon?” he asks with a teasing grin.
Mike's startled laugh is most definitely one of Kurt's new favorite things.
“You're a funny guy,” remarks Mike with a soft, teasing grin. “When you aren't too busy scowling at people's wardrobe choices, that is.”
“Try not to sound too surprised,” Kurt returns dryly.
“Oh, you're full of surprises, Kurt Hummel,” he observes, plucking Kurt's dirty coveralls to illustrate his point.
Kurt scoffs. “My dad's a mechanic. Is it really that strange that I know my way around cars?”
“It's not the car knowledge so much as the dirty fingernails and unflattering sartorial necessities.”
Kurt concedes the point. “Good use of sartorial, by the way. You seem to have your own share of surprises underneath that perpetual smile, Mike Chang.”
Mike ducks his head, but he's definitely grinning, so Kurt counts it as a win.
“Anyway,” Mike continues, “my dad's an accountant and I don't know the first thing about it. Although people probably assume I do, so I guess we have opposite problems.”
“Stereotypes suck. Didn't we get that particular after-school special from Ms. Sylvester and Mr. Schue's co-directing fiasco?” Kurt quips.
Mike smirks, but it isn't a particularly amused one. “Honestly? I don't put much stock in cultural sensitivity lessons offered by people who un-ironically and on separate occasions referred to me 'Other Asian.'”
Kurt winces. “Yeah, that was pretty horrifying. I think if Finn had pulled 'Gay Kid' out of that hat, I'd have burned the fucker to the ground. Or at least let my dad get someone fired.”
Instead of the laugh he's expecting, Mike gives him a shaky smile before looking away and falling silent.
He's getting better at understanding the way Mike communicates without speaking and this silence is telling him that the other boy is trying to figure out how to say something. So, Kurt waits.
“If Finn had pulled 'Gay Kid' out of that hat...”
Mike trails off and falls silent long enough that it seems like he isn't going to finish. He looks pained and Kurt aches to grab his hand or pat his knee reassuringly, but something holds him back.
Mike takes a deep breath and clears his throat before trying again. “If Finn had pulled out 'Gay Kid,' we would have had to flip for him.”
Even though he'd started to expect (and really, really hope) to someday hear this from Mike, the words still knock Kurt's breath from him. When he recovers, he turns to Mike, who has shrunken in on himself during the silence, and stares at him until he finally raises his eyes.
Smiling as brightly as he can muster, Kurt says, “I guess we'll have to fight over which one of us gets to be 'Other Gay Kid.'”
Mike falls into his side laughing. Kurt can't help but join in as he feels the last of the suffocating tension drain away.
Until, that is, it returns full force at the sound of his father's voice behind them asking, “What's so funny?”
***
Mike nearly falls out of his chair at the question. He's not sure how they're meant to explain the hilarity of Kurt's joke, but he doesn't quite put it past Kurt to actually try.
Fortunately, Kurt seems equally flustered by his father's sudden appearance and manages to choke out a “You had to be there” while he gets himself under control.
Mr. Hummel looks like he wants to push for a better explanation, but he wisely reads the stubborn set of his son's jaw. He turns to Mike instead.
“Your mirror's finished. I also touched up over the words that were scratched into the trunk.”
Mike has no idea what he's talking about, so he forces a smile and says, “Thanks, Mr. Hummel. I must have missed those. How much do I owe you?”
“Don't worry about it, son,” he replies gently. The combination of that tone and the dark look in his eyes give Mike a fairly strong idea of what the words were.
It wouldn't be the first time someone used a homophobic slur in his direction. He's an athlete and it's practically part of the culture. And he's been in Glee Club for the better part of a year. But even though this time is probably no more rooted in genuine suspicions about his sexuality than all the others, it somehow feels like it.
Suddenly, sitting in this room, with Kurt knowing and his dad having seen those words, panic sets in. He's terrified of the understanding and acceptance that he knows he'll find in their faces. Afraid that it might inspire him to do something rash and brave, something that he's just not strong enough handle.
Mike is standing before he makes a conscious decision to do so. He can't quite look Kurt in the eye, but he also can't just walk away. He gives the smaller boy's shoulder a pat and says, “I better get home. I'll see you tomorrow, Kurt.”
To Mr. Hummel, he says, “Please let me know if you need any more help around here.”
He's out the door and in his car before either have time to answer.
***
After Mike's disappearing act, Kurt follows his dad back out into the garage.
“Do I even want to know what those assholes wrote?” he asks.
“Language,” his dad admonishes. “And no. You don't.”
Kurt's body sags and he falls onto a stool.
“So,” his dad starts awkwardly, “was all that stuff about Brittany true or is there something else going on?”
Kurt sighs. “No, that's what happened. I was there.”
“So he's not really...you know...”
Kurt laughs flatly. “Oh, but he is. That's actually what we were laughing about when you came back. Lucky me, those idiots have mostly likely just chased him screaming back into the closet.”
His dad can't quite suppress a wince.
“Sorry, Dad, I know you don't like to talk about this kind of thing...”
Burt cuts him off. “Kurt, I know I told you I wasn't ready to talk about, you know, guys and stuff. And there are conversations I'll probably never want to have. But I need you to believe that you can come to me about anything. We're a team, so don't think I want you to ignore a chance to be happy for my sake.”
Kurt gives his dad a watery, but honest, smile. “Thanks, Dad. I just... I don't know what to do here.”
“Unfortunately, kiddo, right now it's not really about you,” his dad points out.
“I know that,” Kurt snaps. “I didn't mean it like that. It's just... I like him, Dad.”
The last words sound defeated, even to his own ears.
“I can see that,” Burt replies. It's only a little bit gloating. “And as much as it pains me to admit, he seems pretty darn fond of you, too.”
Kurt smiles at the suggestion, but he can't maintain it.
“You're probably going to have to be patient here, though,” his dad continues. “He seems like a good kid. But it's probably going to be really tough for him. He's not used to standing out or being different. I'm not saying it was easier for you, but you're a lot stronger than most. And, with one notable exception, you've always known exactly who you are.”
“I'm sorry, Dad,” Kurt says dejectedly, “but I really can't talk about this right now. Is it okay if I just go home?”
“Sure, kid,” his dad replies, but he pulls Kurt into a one armed hug before letting him go. “I'll see you at home.”
Kurt nods before turning and heading out the door in silence.
Several hours later, Kurt is (sulking) on his bed staring blankly at the ceiling when he hears footsteps on the staircase. Finn and Rachel vacated the room about twenty minutes after Kurt came home when their efforts to find out what was wrong resulted only in glares, cutting insults, and hurled pillows.
“I see my father and/or Finn called in reinforcements,” Kurt comments sourly upon discovering the identity of the interloper.
“Don't give me lip, boy. Now, scoot,” Mercedes replies, pushing him over so she can lay down next to him.
Kurt stays stubbornly silent for a long time, but Mercedes waits him out.
“It's not straight boy drama anymore,” he says quietly.
“That's supposed to be a good thing, isn't it?” she observes.
Even Kurt's sigh sounds depressed. “Turns out, closeted gay boys are much more frustrating than the straight ones.”
“Oh, honey,” Mercedes says with a sigh, grabbing his hand in hers. “Tell me.”
“He came in to the shop again because Karofsky trashed his car.”
“What?” she exclaims.
“Long, mildly hilarious story that involves Brittany kneeing him in the groin.”
“Brittany kneed Mike in the groin?”
“Not Mike. Karofsky,” Kurt clarifies.
“Holy shit! Tell me you got video,” Mercedes pleads.
“Alas, I was a bit busy focusing on Mike's effort to come to her rescue to think of recording it for posterity.”
Mercedes snorts. “Of course you were.”
She can almost hear his eyeroll. “Anyway, Mike came in and we talked. Like, really talked.”
“I still have a hard time picturing Mike Chang using actual complete sentences,” she comments. “So, amidst this 'really talking,' he told you he's gay?”
“Yeah. It was really heartbreaking, Mercedes. I think he actually thought I would judge him for it.”
“But he told you anyway,” she points out. “And he's apparently been trying to mack on you in his own sad way, so why aren't we celebrating?”
“Because right afterward my dad came in to tell us that he found a few of Karofsky's favorite words etched into Mike's trunk.”
“Damn,” she reflects heavily. “How'd that go down?”
“He freaked and ran.”
“Understandable,” she says. “He didn't say anything at all?”
“Well, he said he'd see me tomorrow,” Kurt recalls.
“Well, that's good at least. He's probably not going to blow you off out of fear of gay by association.”
“Maybe,” Kurt concedes doubfully, “but you didn't see his face. I'll be lucky if he doesn't start tossing me in dumpsters just to reassert his masculinity.”
The look she gives him is cutting. “You know better than that.”
Kurt sighs. “I know. It's just...”
“It's just you being disappointed that Mike didn't drop to his knees and vow to take on all bullies in defense of your epic gay love,” she interrupts.
Kurt glares stonily and starts to pull away from her.
Mercedes holds up her hands. “I get it, Kurt. I do. It's not fair that it has to be so hard for you guys. But you shouldn't write him off before giving him a chance to surprise you. You're both better than that.”
“When exactly did you decide to turn Pollyanna on me?” Kurt questions, sagging back against Mercedes.
“I think it's a side effect of overexposure to Quinn's baby doll dresses and Rachel's sweater sets,” she replies with a smirk.
“I told you those things deserved a Surgeon General's warning,” he returns, a hint of a smile finally breaking.
“Weren't you the one warning me against getting my hopes up?” Kurt continues after a reflective silence.
“New world order, baby,” Mercedes declares. “Now we don't rest 'til we get you your man.”
Kurt groans, but his heart swells with love for his amazing girl and cautious optimism about what tomorrow may bring.
***
Mike will never know how, running on autopilot, he managed to call to tell his parents he wouldn't be home for dinner and drive across town to Matt's house without retaining a single memory of the experience.
Fortunately, Matt answers the door when he knocks and, reading the distress on Mike's face, grabs his arms and ushers him up to his bedroom.
“You look like death,” Matt observes. “What's up?”
“I came out to Kurt,” Mike replies, toneless voice barely a whisper.
“Finally!” Matt exclaims. “Man is that kid dense.”
Mike can't even muster a scowl. He'd always wondered what it felt like to be numb from shock.
“So, what happened?” Matt continues with a leer, before clarifying, “Bearing in mind that I don't want any of the sordid details.”
“His dad walked in,” Mike answers flatly.
Matt snorts. “How naked were you?”
Frustration finally begins to crack through Mike's fog. He scowls, but refuses to dignify the remark.
Matt narrows his eyes. “So you're telling me that you finally told him and he didn't mack on you?”
Mike nods.
“Worst. Gays. Ever,” Matt pronounces.
Mike closes his eyes and counts to ten. “The fact that we're both gay doesn't automatically guarantee that we're going to get together, you know. You don't date every straight girl you meet, do you?”
“Yeah, but I have numerical advantages that you don't, my friend. Especially here in Lima,” Matt retorts.
“So, you're saying that I should jump him because he's statistically unlikely to have a better offer? Who ever said romance is dead?”
“No, moron,” Matt answers with a sigh of the long suffering. “You should jump him because you're in love with him and he's been staring at your ass all week.”
Mike's sigh is equally put upon. “I'm not in love with... wait, WHAT?”
Matt grins infuriatingly, but doesn't elaborate.
“You do know how much I hate you, right?” Mike asks conversationally.
“Yup,” replies Matt. “And I'm surprisingly okay with it.”
“Asshole. But, even if you're right, unprecedented as it may be,” Mike effortlessly ducks the sneaker chucked at his head, “Kurt won't want to settle for a guy who's scared into paralysis at the thought of being outed.”
“You're familiar with my stance on that particular subject,” Matt reminds him. Mike shrugs dismissively.
“But even if you decide not to come out,” Matt continues, “don't you think Kurt should get to choose what he wants, what's worth it to him, instead of having you make the decision for him?”
Mike doesn't have an answer for that. He hates it when Matt is annoyingly rational. Matt takes advantage of Mike's silence to continue.
“You need to decide what it is that you want. And what that's worth to you. Then you can see about getting Hummel with the program.”
Mike glares half-heartedly, mutters a quick, “I gotta go,” and ignoring Matt's protests, heads home.
But try as he might, he can't shake the weight of Matt's words. They keep him up most of the night as he chases images and memories around in his head.
By the time his alarm rouses him from a too brief sleep the next morning, he finds himself surprisingly and uncomfortably resolved on a course of action.
His confidence falters at lunch the next day. Upon entering the cafeteria, he, unsurprisingly, finds Kurt deep in conversation with Quinn, Mercedes, Tina, and Artie on the far side of the room. Mercedes is the first to notice him, grinning broadly and waving him over. Kurt, eyes following Mercedes' attention, offers a weak, tentative smile so foreign that Mike's heart aches at the sight.
Mike can't quite muster the courage to cross the room, instead gesticulating to the table he usually shares with Matt, Brittany, and Becky. He's sure that his smile is no more assuring than Kurt's.
He's busy contemplating excuses for he and Matt, the consummate wingman, to drop by their table before the end of the period when he's startled by a familiar voice speaking alarmingly close to his ear.
“A little too obvious, don't you think, Chang?”
Santana gracefully slides into the bench next to him with seemingly little concern for his personal space.
“Huh?” is all Mike can summon in response.
Santana rolls her eyes, but quickly schools her face into something alarmingly like a seductive grin. She leans forward, body pressed firmly against his side, to whisper in his ear.
“Hummel,” she clarifies. “I can appreciate desperate times and all that, but I didn't think your tastes would run toward the cliché.”
The disconnect between her words and actions paralyzes Mike for a minute, until it occurs to him that she is being surprisingly discreet in her efforts to discuss his apparently obvious infatuation with another boy in their current surroundings.
Still, her dismissal of Kurt rankles and, as scary as she is, he can't help but correct her.
“Don't call him that,” Mike hisses. “You of all people should appreciate that Kurt isn't nearly as shallow as he'd like the world to believe. And I'd be damn lucky for him to give me a second look.”
Santana raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “There isn't a closet big enough to accommodate that boy's gay. Do you honestly think you can handle that?”
Hearing his fears spelled out so directly, Mike hesitates. But one look at Kurt, brow adorably furrowed as he listens to something Quinn is saying, and he only has one answer.
“He's worth it.”
Before he knows what's happening, Santana leans in and kisses him squarely on the mouth.
“That's all I needed to hear,” she whispers with a smirk as she draws back and leaves as quick as she came.
When his eyes drift back to Kurt's table, the other boy is watching Santana's retreat with a vicious scowl. It takes all his self-control not to fall over laughing when Matt arrives and asks why he's grinning like an idiot.
Awkward confrontations with his friends seem to be the order of the day when Mike's attention is drawn from his locker by someone directly behind him clearing their throat loudly.
“So you're, like, gay now or something?”
Mike feels the blood drain from his face and immediately snaps his eyes around the hallway to see if anyone is listening.
He not so gently drags Finn into an empty classroom and hisses, “Who told you that?”
He hadn't explicitly asked Kurt not to say anything, but he had been fairly confident that the other boy wouldn't tell anyone. Other than Mercedes, anyway.
“Burt,” Finn answers.
Mike's first thought is to wonder if Finn really has been talking to a homosexual puppet with decidedly accurate gaydar. Then he remembers he isn't talking to Brittany and seeks another explanation. It comes to him with sickening clarity.
“Wait, you mean Burt as in Kurt's dad Burt?”
“Yeah. He said you were going to show up at the house with flowers and candy for Kurt.”
“When did he say this?”
“At dinner last week.”
“Last week?” Mike shrieks.
“Uh-huh,” replies Finn. “My mom thinks it's cute,” he adds.
“Oh god,” Mike groans. He's afraid to ask, but he needs to know. “What did Kurt say?”
“He said you were just friends. And that I shouldn't tell Rachel because you'd end up in a dumpster.”
For as much as he had longed for Kurt to think of him even as a friend, the words feel surprisingly like a slap in the face.
“For what it's worth,” Finn continues, “I'm pretty sure he was lying. He had the same pinched look on his face as he did when I confronted him about his crush on me.”
Mike watches Finn's face darken at that, presumably from the uncomfortable memory. He burns with curiosity, remembering the few days of awkward tension during their Gaga/Kiss period, but he knows it's none of his business.
After a few moments, Finn looks Mike square in the eye and squeezes his shoulder firmly. In his best quarterback/male lead pep talk voice he says, “Go for it, dude. Just make sure to treat him better than I did. He deserves it.”
Mike can't do anything but nod.
***
The fourth time Mike brings his car by Hummel's Tires and Lube, Kurt is sitting at the cash register, thumbingly absently through a parts wholesale catalog. He can't bring himself to enter the storeroom and his dad is giving him a wide berth.
He's replaying “the kiss” over in his head for the thousandth time. His first reaction had been a pure spike of jealousy. Then, anger at Mike for engaging in such a blatant display of overcompensation.
When he shared this with Mercedes during study hall, she stared at him blankly. Then smacked the back of his head.
“If you hadn't been too busy glaring death rays at Santana, you would've noticed that no one in that room was more shocked by what she did than Mike,” she informs him.
Kurt really hadn't been watching Mike's face. He was too busy discovering how surprisingly accurate that saying about seeing red really is.
With this new information, he doesn't know what to make of the kiss. Or what it might mean for his chances with Mike.
So, he sits (sulking) close to the front door, trying not to get his hopes up.
When Mike does walk through the door, Kurt can hardly resist the urge to run to him.
He watches Mike scan the room until he catches sight of Kurt's dad, to whom he offers a shy smile and a wave before moving to stand right in front of Kurt.
“Would you believe that I need to pick up some snow chains for my tires?” Mike asks, a nervous grin twitching at the corners of his mouth.
Kurt's grin has no such hesitance and widens until his cheeks hurt. “It's June, Mike.”
“It never hurts to be prepared,” Mike counters, his confidence growing with his smile.
“There has to be a boy scout joke in there somewhere, but I'm drawing a blank,” Kurt returns.
Mike doesn't seem to have an answer for that, so they fall silent and grin at each other some more.
A pointed cough breaks the spell.
“As charmingly pathetic as this is to watch, maybe you boys should take it somewhere else,” Mr. Hummel suggests. “Somewhere without any beds, couches, or other unsupervised horizontal surfaces,” he amends.
“Dad!” Kurt screeches in horror. Mike's laughter almost makes it forgivable. Almost.
Mike almost loses his abnormally good balance when Kurt grabs hold of his arm and yanks him toward the door without another word.
They find themselves, appropriately enough, side by side in the front seat of Mike's car in the driveway of Kurt's house. Kurt knows his dad would kill him if he caught them idling with the air conditioning running, but neither one makes a move toward getting out of the car.
As endearing as Mike's shyness is (and really, Kurt could just eat him with a spoon sometimes), Kurt is distressingly aware that the onus is squarely on him to make a move. It's only fair since Mike had the courage to seek him out in the first place.
Unfortunately, whereas suggestive comments and pointed ballad selections had come fairly naturally when the object of his affection was the poster-child for unattainability, flirting with a boy who is both gay and demonstrably interested is proving unfairly difficult.
He casts about for an innocuous tease to lighten the moment and get the conversation started again.
“So, you do realize that you never answered my question the other day.”
“What question?” Mike asks, smile bright, but increasingly shy.
“About why you joined Glee Club,” Kurt clarifies.
Judging by the stricken look that passes across Mike's face, Kurt has landed in an entirely different hemisphere than innocuous. He immediately backpedals.
“Forget it. It's not important,” he begins, but Mike raises a hand to cut him off.
“If anyone deserves to hear it, it's you,” says Mike, his quiet voice not quite convincing.
“Only if you want to,” Kurt insists, hoping his sincerity is enough to mask his morbidly burning curiosity.
Mike stares at him for a while, steeling his courage, and Kurt can hardly breathe from the weight of it.
“One day during football practice, this cute guy showed up and asked to audition for the role of kicker.”
Kurt narrows his eyes, sure he's being made fun of, and starts to comment, but Mike shakes his head.
“He walked onto a field full of small-minded idiots who had done nothing but torment him, refusing to compromise anything about himself even on their turf and in the face of their undisguised anger and hatred. Watching him dance openly and unashamedly, I asked myself why I couldn't do this one thing that I know I do well and has always made me happy.”
Mike's gaze drops to his lap and Kurt can't help but give in to an urge that has haunted him from the first day Mike showed up at his father's shop. He reaches across the armrests to grab Mike's hand and give it a firm, supportive squeeze.
Mike squeezes back, but doesn't look up. He swallows hard and clears his throat before continuing.
“Coming home and hearing my parents...well, I'd rather not repeat what they had to say if you don't mind. But knowing those words were also meant for me- the coward who hides everything important and real about himself away behind his bedroom door- it made me want to do something, anything, to be even remotely worthy of comparison to that amazing boy.”
The words feel like a physical force as his body tries to process the warmth spreading through him at the compliment and the ache for Mike's obvious pain. He's also never been surer that Mike is worth every bit of real or imagined drama the two of them might have to face.
Gently, he cups Mike's chin and lifts his gaze.
“You sell yourself way too short,” he says insistently.
Mike starts to shake his head in protest, but Kurt's hand is firm and his eyes are fierce when he continues.
“You're really not as good at hiding as you think you are, you know. Ask Matt. Or Brittany. Even Santana likes you enough to try and scare off unworthy, if impeccably dressed, suitors.”
Mike's eyes widen at the last one, but Kurt doesn't give him a chance to question it before he continues.
“And my dad has yet to murder you, so that has to mean something.”
Mike laughs weakly, but he still looks uncertain.
“I'm just tired of being scared all the time,” Mike confesses. “Just once, I wish I had your courage.”
Kurt's look is incredulous. “You don't think I'm scared 90% of the time? What is that old saying my dad's so fond of? Courage isn't the absence of fear. It's being afraid and doing it anyway.”
He has barely registered Mike's movement before warm lips gently brush his own. He must make some sort of mortifying noise in surprise, because Mike tries to pull away almost immediately.
Kurt grabs hold of his t-shirt and whispers, “uh-uh,” before pulling Mike back in.
A little while later, they pull back for air. They're both flushed and a little breathless.
Mike is the first to break the silence.
“Do we need to talk about this?” he asks, though his tone suggests that such a conversation is as welcome as facetime with Ms. Sylvester.
“I think we figured out that last bit rather nicely, don't you?” Kurt asks with a wink.
Mike nods enthusiastically, but doesn't let it go. “I don't really know what I'm doing here.”
“My experience is pretty much limited to throwing myself pathetically at unequivocally straight boys, as you are most likely aware,” Kurt reminds sardonically.
“Hopeless, blinding crushes happen to the best of us,” Mike replies.
Kurt narrows his eyes. “Don't tell me you had a crush on Finn, too.”
Mike's look is decidedly sheepish when he mumbles, “Worse.”
It takes Kurt a few seconds, but when it clicks, he chokes on a gasp. “Please do NOT tell me you wasted your straight boy crush on Noah Puckerman!”
Mike laughs. “In my defense, it started before his dumpster tossing days and pretty much ended with them. Also, I have spent a lot more time in locker rooms with the lot of them than you have.”
“Your taste in men is as inconsistent as your taste in clothes,” Kurt pronounces.
“But you have to admit, when I get it right, I get it really right,” Mike counters.
Kurt feels the blush all over and has to look down to his lap. It's then that they both realize that Kurt is still holding Mike's hand.
Mike starts to pull away, but Kurt is not planning on letting that happen any time soon. Instead, he covers their joined hands with his other one and gives a squeeze.
This time he's the one to lean in.
“We'll work it out together,” he whispers before their lips meet once again.
Things are, in fact, working quite nicely. Up until a loud pounding on the front windshield causes Kurt to jump up against the roof and fall back onto the horn from his position straddling Mike's right leg and Mike to bang his head, knee, and elbow on the driver's side door.
“Re-leash the dragon, Chang. Game starts in 10,” says a smirking Puck.
Behind him are an also smirking Matt and a goofily grinning Finn. Finn gives them two thumbs up.
Kurt turns to Mike with a raised eyebrow. They collapse back into one another with peals of incontrollable laughter.
After several false starts, they finally manage to calm down. Mike smiles sweetly and says, “Game 1 of the NBA Finals. Interested?”
“That's baseball, right?” Kurt asks, his nose crinkled.
“Basketball,” Mike corrects.
“So, no stirrup pants?”
Mike grins broadly and confirms, “No stirrup pants.”
“I'd love to.”
And, walking hand in hand toward the house, he's pretty sure he means it.
“So, I'm definitely rooting for Boston,” Kurt declares less than two minutes into the first quarter. All four heads turn toward him, but he only has eyes for Mike's fond smile.
“Why's that?” Mike asks.
“Purple and yellow? No. Just...no.”
Mike laughs and gives his knee a quick squeeze.
“You two had better not start making out or anything,” Puck warns with a shudder. “It's bad enough having to deal with Finn's heavy panting when Rachel's around.”
“Hey!” squawks Finn indignantly.
“Tomes could be written about the irony of you telling someone not to make out, Puckerman,” Kurt comments blandly.
“I'm with Jughead,” comes a voice from the kitchen doorway behind them.
Kurt can't quite stifle his laugh when Mike jumps and slams himself into Matt on his other side.
“Dude,” says Matt, shoving Mike away. He tips an amused wink at Kurt.
“Hi, Dad. We're watching basketball!” Kurt informs enthusiastically.
“I can see that,” his dad replies, dubious. “Mind if I join you?”
“Please do,” says Mike, recovering impressively from his shock.
Kurt can't contain his happiness as he presses his shoulder comfortingly into Mike's and grins broadly at his dad.
***
By the end of the third quarter, Kurt is sound asleep, his body curled into Mike's side and his head on Mike's shoulder.
Mike had taken advantage of the half-time exodus to stretch his arms out along the back of the couch he had been sharing with Kurt and Matt. Ever the opportunist, Kurt returned from the kitchen, plopped his bowl of unsalted, butter-free popcorn in Mike's lap and proceeded to drape himself against Mike's right side.
Mike tensed as the others came back in, but the guys only hesitated briefly before settling back in for the start of the second half.
The presence of Kurt's dad, who has been shooting them narrow-eyed, assessing looks throughout the game, slightly dampens Mike's thrill at the press of warmth and frequent requests for clarification about the game whispered in his ear.
But only slightly.
When Matt, Puck, and Finn take advantage of the break to (once again) raid the kitchen, Mike's heart stutters to a halt when he finds himself alone for the first time with a serious faced Burt Hummel.
“You seem like a good kid,” Mr. Hummel offers after a long, awkward moment.
“Um...thank you, sir,” mumbles Mike, not quite able to hold his gaze.
“I want to like you. I trust Kurt's judgment. Just remember that if you hurt him, his wrath is only a fraction of what you'll have to deal with from me.”
Mike's arm tightens unconsciously around the smaller body next to him. This time, he looks Mr. Hummel square in the eye and firmly replies, “Yes, sir.”
With a nod, Mr. Hummel retreats in search of another beer. Mike lets out a long, deep breath, only to have his attention drawn by the rhythmic shuddering of the body next to him.
Tears of suppressed laugher are beginning to form in Kurt's blinking eyes. Mike scowls.
“How long have you been awake?” he demands.
“Since my dad yelled at Puck for calling that Kobe guy more of a drama queen than me,” Kurt replies with a grin, still trying to get his laughter under control.
“So you pretended to sleep for most of the quarter just so you could keep cuddling me?”
“Yup,” Kurt replies unabashed.
“I can work with that,” Mike grins, darting a glance to the entryway before pulling Kurt towards him for a quick kiss.
Quick fades into lingering, which is only broken up by Matt's loudly hissed “Incoming!”
Kurt falls limply back into his position against Mike's side, while Mike shares a contented glance with his best friend.
Matt, predictably, rolls his eyes and makes a whipping sound.
“Would you mind loaning me Mercedes sometime?” Mike whispers into Kurt's ear. “I'm in the market for a new best friend.”
He can feel Kurt snickering, but when he looks up, his face is stony. “I like you, Mike, but not that much.”
“Noted,” Mike replies with a grin.
“We've been making progress breaking in Quinn, though. I'll see what I can do.”
Mike's laugh draws a harsh shushing from both Puck and Mr. Hummel. This time, they're both shaking.
***
“What are you two whispering about?” asks Finn a little while later.
Kurt had, in fact, been offering scathing commentary on the fit of the uniforms and what they do and do not leave to the imagination.
Mike flushes deeply at the attention, but Kurt calmly answers, “We were debating Doc Rivers' decision to keep Big Baby in the game with four fouls.”
Now all five sets of eyes are focused on him.
“What?” Kurt protests. “I listen,” he adds petulantly.
Mike beams at him. Kurt silently thanks his ninth grade English teacher for instilling the tendency to absorb one particular factoid in any given situation in case he is called on to offer an opinion.
His dad is smirking, which means he's onto him, but remains silent. He does, however, look pointedly at where Mike's fingers are absentmindedly stroking Kurt's forearm.
Kurt quickly turns his attention back to the TV. He can't quite suppress a shiver the next time Mike's fingers pass over his inner elbow.
“You okay?” Mike asks.
“I'm good,” Kurt answers, hoping that the foul on the screen is keeping everyone else from witnessing the dopiness of his grin.
The guys start filing out about twenty minutes after the game finishes.
Kurt and Mike share a meaningful glance before Kurt says to Finn and his dad, “I'm going to see our guests out.”
Finn looks confused for a moment, like he's wondering whether he too should be doing this since they were, technically, his guests. But that disappears when his eyes fall on Mike. The smirk is much less endearing.
“Five minutes, Kurt,” his dad replies.
Kurt rolls his eyes and once again pulls Mike toward the exit.
Once they are outside alone, Puck and Matt's catcalls fading into the night, they lean facing one another against Mike's driver's side door.
“So...” Kurt offers lamely.
“So,” Mike agrees with a nod.
“Is there any way to avoid this getting awkward again?” Kurt asks hopefully.
Mike laughs. “Probably not. But at least now we know what we have to look forward to, once we get past it.”
“You're smart. I think I'll keep you,” Kurt declares, then tenses at his own boldness.
Mike's still smiling though. His left hand reaches forward to sweep Kurt's bangs from his eyes, the gesture so familiar a habit that it makes the touch feel that much more intimate.
When he catches his breath, Kurt leans forward to press a kiss to Mike's cheek.
Mike smiles down at him fondly and reluctantly says, “I should probably go.”
Kurt nods, but stalls his retreat by grabbing a hand and linking their fingers.
“Do you want to do something tomorrow night?” Kurt asks. “Without Brittany this time,” he adds with a smirk.
Mike tenses. “I do. Very much,” he admits. “I'm sorry, but...”
“There's nothing to be sorry for, Mike,” Kurt assures. “We'll figure it out.”
He's almost certain he believes it.
The flickering of the porch lights herald an abrupt and welcome end to that particular discussion.
“Now I'm the one who should go,” comments Kurt with a roll of the eyes.
Mike nods and leans forward for a quick last kiss. “I'll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Kurt agrees firmly. He stays on the porch until Mike's car turns out of sight before heading inside to call Mercedes.
***
Mike can't help smiling the entire ride home. His parents are already up in their bedroom for the night when he gets there, so he grabs a snack from the fridge and heads up to his.
The last thing he does before going to sleep is turn on his cell and answer his messages.
Matt 10:47pm: fucking finally
Mike 11:40pm: :DDDDD!!!!
Matt 11:47: dork
Puckzilla 11:01pm: wtf? srsly?
Mike 11:42pm: y
Puckzilla 12:02am: ok
Kurt H 11:11pm: plz no c&y or flowrs tmrw
Kurt H 11:12pm: just u :*
Mike 11:52pm: u asked me- want both flowrs & c&y
Mike 11:53pm: gnight kurt :*
Kurt H 11:55pm: sleep well mike
Mercedes 12:36am: plz dont force me 2 hurt u
Mike 7:11am: if u need 2, ill help
Mercedes 8:03am: go get ur boy :)
Mike 8:05am: im on it