FIC: "At the End of Each Day" (5a/?)
Title: At the End of Each Day (5/?)
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG-13
Pairings/Characters: Finn + Kurt, canonical pairings (Kurt/Blaine, Finn/Rachel, Finn/Quinn, Burt/Carole, brief Blaine/Rachel, etc.)
Disclaimer: Glee and its characters belong to Ryan Murphy Television and 20th Century Fox Television.
Spoilers: For this chapter, up until 2.13. Eventually, everything.
Thanks: To my beta, the lovely tekalynn. I don't know what I'd do without her.
Summary: At the end of each day, they go home and talk. Except for the days when they don't. My own spin on the "lady chats over warm milk".
A/N: I calculate the number of days depicted in each episode by studying how many changes of clothes the characters go through. In Comeback, it seems to me that the editor altered the scripted order of certain scenes, causing some bizarre continuity errors in that regard. When that happened, I arbitrarily determined what-happened-in-which-day accordingly to my own convenience. ^__^
Previously:
Chapter 1 - Of Parties and Betrayals
Chapter 2 - Of Ornaments and Adjustments
Chapter 3 - Of Décor and Miscommunication
Chapter 4 - Of Signals and Infections
At the End of Each Day
by Morgan D.
Chapter 5 - Of Artistry and Overstepping
1.
"We were at a loss at first, you know, but Artie found this song that kind of has a slightly less ballad-y vibe, sort of a weird hybrid of Yes and Supertramp…"
"Sweet Dreams?" Finn smiled.
Mike nodded. "Yeah, that's the one. So Sam and Artie reworked the arrangement, and added a stronger bit so I could dance to it, and that was our number."
"Cool! Who else?"
Mike clasped his hands behind his head as he leaned back on the couch. "Mercedes killed it with I Can Wait Forever. She really turned it into something else, half the club was in tears by the end. Brittany and Santana sang Just as I Am... and I really did not expect Santana to do so well with this kind of repertoire, but wow... They made the lyrics sound much deeper than they really are."
"My god, what about Puck?" asked Finn. "What did he come up with? That's so not his style..."
"Puck has changed, man!" said Mike with a laugh. "He picked up the guitar and dedicated Every Woman in the World to his muse, Lauren Zizes."
"Dude, that's getting serious. Like, seriously serious."
"I know. Although I'm pretty sure he changed the lyrics here and there. But the worst part? Ms. Zizes was not impressed. At all." Mike clucked his tongue. "I'm starting to feel sorry for the guy."
Finn shook his head in sorrow. "I cannot believe Mr. Schue assigned Air Supply to the club when I'm home sick," Finn moaned. "That's so not fair."
"That's what Rachel said, actually."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, today, before her performance. She wanted us to understand that the only reason why she waited until the very last day of the assignment to show us her interpretation was not because she needed that much time to prepare, but because she wanted to give you as much time as possible to recover and play the drums while she belted out Making Love Out of Nothing At All."
Finn frowned. "Oh. Well. The drums part at the end is kinda dramatic, when it goes a little wild while the piano marks the beat. But... that's not what I meant."
"I know. Anyway, Travis, the jazz band drummer? I don't think he enjoyed the slight. I've never seen him play so loud. I could barely hear Rachel's voice, and that's saying something."
"That's... impressive. I can't imagine..."
"Quinn is back already, you know," said Mike abruptly.
"Yeah." Then Finn seemed to catch himself. "I mean, yeah? Is she, now?"
"Today was her first day back."
"Well. Good for her."
"Her voice is still recovering, but she sang Lost in Love with Tina."
"Cool."
"I think most of us expected Quinn to sing Goodbye and dedicate it to Sam, though."
Finn's eyes widened, but he lowered his head quickly to disguise it. "Hmm?"
"You know," said Mike, before starting to sing:
"I don't want to let you down,
I don't want to lead you on..."
"I know the song," Finn interrupted. "And I'm pretty sure those aren't the right notes."
"Those are the right words, aren't they?"
Finn shrugged. "I guess."
"Sam is a really nice guy, you know."
Now Finn turned to stare at Mike straight in the eyes. "I know. So is Artie."
Mike was taken aback. "Wha-what?"
"I'm just saying. If you're about to give me advice, I'd like to make sure it's not the kind of advice that ends up with 'Do as I say and not as I did at Asian camp last summer'."
Mike sat up stiffly, folding his arms over his chest. "Okay. Fine. Forget I said anything."
Finn still kept a wary eye on him. "Anyway, I don't know what you're talking about. I think Quinn could have sung I Want to Give It All. It'd sound great in her voice, and it'd be like her back-to-school song. You know. 'Here I am again, I've come to see you smile...'"
"'...And still you're waiting here, just waiting for my call...'," Mike continued, this time reciting instead of singing. "Yeah, I guess that one's appropriate too."
Light footsteps preceded Carole's entrance in the living room. "Hey, boys. I'm about to start on dinner. Are you staying, Mike?"
"Thanks, Mrs. H, but I need to go." Mike picked up his book bag and jumped up from the couch.
"You're sure? It'd be no trouble."
"My mom is waiting for me. It's ho jip zing tin gai night."
Carole blinked. "I see. Is that a good thing?"
"It's a great thing," Mike assured her. "I mean, who doesn't like frog legs?"
Finn sent his mother a queasy look. Carole bit back an amused smile.
Mike reached out with his arm towards Finn, his hand closed in a fist. "Take care, man. The club needs its captain."
Finn gave him a fist-bump. "Thanks, man."
Mike started turning towards the door, but then ended up doing a 360° spin, almost as gracefully as if it had been a deliberate dance move. "Oops, almost forgot. The very reason why I came." He unzipped his bag and fished a bunch of papers from inside, setting them on the coffee table in front of Finn.
"You don't have to keep bringing me your class notes, Mike."
"It's no trouble, really."
"No, I mean, you really don't have to bring me your class notes," said Finn, eyeing with a discouraged look the dismally tall pile of papers.
"Well, Kurt asked me to."
Finn blinked. "He did?"
"Yep. Photocopy my notes and bring them over every day while you're sick. He also asked me to get from Artie and Mercedes all the notes from the classes you and I don't have together. And to make sure that I let everyone else in the glee club know about the arrangement, casually but decisively." Mike shrugged. "I'm not sure how casual you can be when you're being decisive, but I did my best."
Finn frowned at that, but before he could say anything, Mike was already by the door, saying goodbye to Carole. So he just stared at the notes on the coffee table for a little while, then took the corner of the first page between his fingertips, as if trying to keep physical contact to a minimum, and flipped it over, finding the back also covered with the same neatly round handwriting that crammed the front.
With a sigh and a shrug, Finn pushed the whole pile aside and picked up the TV remote.
"Ah! Ah! Ah!" Carole interjected as she came back into the room. "I think you have a lot of homework ahead of you, mister."
"I have time."
"No, you don't. You're going back to school tomorrow."
Finn gaped at the news. "But... but I still feel weak..."
"Honey, half an hour ago I saw you lift the couch on your own to pick a piece of popcorn that had rolled under it."
"And after all that effort you didn't even let me eat it," he grumbled.
"Haven't we had enough conversations lately about being careful of what you put in your mouth?" she asked wryly. "That's how you got sick after all."
"Mom!" Finn whined, mortified.
"Maybe you could ask Kurt to give you a hand with your homework," she suggested. "And by that I mean help you understand your friends' notes, not do your work for you."
"He wouldn't go for that anyway."
"Oh, so you tried before?"
"What? No! I mean... He always has, like, a ton of homework himself. And I think half of it is in Latin or something. So he really doesn't have time to help me at all."
"I'm sure if you ask him nicely..."
"Can't I stay home another day? Please?"
"No."
"But, Mom..."
"Don't you miss your friends? And glee club?"
Finn slumped on the couch, dejectedly. "I do. It's just... if only school was just glee club. And sports. I mean, why do I need to know if Columbus was on the Niña, the Pinta or the Santa Fe when he discovered America? Or what Shakespeare wrote about the French Revolution, or how the centerpifugal force affects a ball of cotton and a ball of adamantium dropped at the same time from the Golden Gate Bridge? And really, if I ever need to find out the square root of x raised to the second power, I'll just use the calculator in my cell phone."
Carole's eyes widened in consternation. "I'll talk to Kurt myself. If he's too busy, I'm getting you a tutor."
Finn's misery seemed to only deepen at that.
They heard the sound of keys opening the front door.
"Okay, okay, I'll ask him, okay?" said Finn urgently. "Please, let me talk to him about it. Can't have my mom do it, it's too embarrassing."
"He's family, sweetie."
"Mom, please!"
"Wow, Mr. Sickly sure is demanding today," said Kurt amusedly as he stepped into the living room, carrying his messenger bag and loosening the scarf around his neck. "Hi, Carole."
"Hi, how was school?"
"A little tiring," he sighed. "I confess I'm still not entirely used to having to pay so much attention in English class. So what is Finn begging for now? Chicken soup? Ice cream?"
"Nothing," said Finn testily.
"Actually..." began Carole.
Finn sent her a pleading look.
She smirked. "He was asking me to go back to school tomorrow. He really misses it."
Kurt blinked, staring back and forth between them. "Is that true?"
Finn gaped at his mom.
"He was just telling me how much he misses glee."
"Uh... yeah," Finn stuttered. "They did Air Supply this week."
Kurt arched an eyebrow. "You're bummed because of... Air Supply? Really?"
Carole pointed a warning finger at her stepson."There'll be no mocking of Air Supply around me. I'll let you know they were my biggest allies when Finn was little."
"Mom, don't..." Finn moaned.
"How so?" asked Kurt, curious.
"Finn was such a fussy baby at night," she said, beaming down at the tall boy who was now hiding his face behind his hands. "During the day he was all smiles and giggles and he'd entertain himself for hours just playing with his own tiny fingers and toes. But at night he'd cry and cry and cry, and it'd drive me crazy. Until I found out that all I had to do was sing Even the Nights Are Better, and he'd go completely quiet, just staring at me and listening."
"Aww," Kurt cooed.
"Shut up," Finn muttered.
Carole giggled. "Anyway, I need to start on dinner. Burt should be home soon, and if there's no food at the table he'll be too tempted to scrounge the house for snacks his doctors wouldn't approve."
"I'll help you," Kurt offered, unhooking the bag from his shoulder.
"No need. You're tired and... well... you and Finn should... you know... talk."
Finn glared at his mom. She merely smiled and headed towards the kitchen.
Kurt sent a suspicious look at Finn. "What do we need to talk about?"
"Nothing. Nothing in particular. We always talk after school, don't we?"
"I suppose. Should I get the milk?"
Finn shook his head. "Nah. After dinner."
"Okay." Kurt set his bag on the end table beside the armchair that faced the couch. "So how was your day?"
"Normal."
Kurt waited for more, but nothing came. "Okay." He sat down on the armchair, clasping his hands over his crossed legs. "Well, if you have nothing to say to me, I have something to say to you."
"Yeah? What?"
"I need your help. I need to find the perfect gift for Quinn."
"Uh... it's not her birthday. Is it?" Finn frowned. "No, I’m pretty sure it isn't. So why are you...?"
"It shouldn't be too extravagant, but it can't be too impersonal either. Something nice and elegant that says, 'Thank you for saving my brother from choking on a gumball'."
A coughing fit took over Finn and tinted his cheeks bright red.
Kurt arched an eyebrow. "If you want, I can go over there and perform the Heimlich maneuver, but don't expect me to give you CPR. I hope you understand you'll still be contagious for several months now."
"Dude, who told you about the gumball?"
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Who didn't tell me about the gumball?"
"What did you tell them?" Finn sent a worried glance towards the kitchen as he leaned over and hissed, "Dude, no one can know how Quinn and I really got mono. What did you say?"
"There was nothing to say, Finn, mainly because all the people who talked to me about it had already guessed about you and Quinn on their own. Face it, the cat is out of the bag now, and not even a whole barrel of gumballs is going to lure it back in."
"Sam doesn't know," Finn countered. "He totally bought the gumball story."
Kurt eyed his brother closely. "Is that smugness I see in your face?" He shook his head in disgust. "Haven't you learned anything?"
"Learned?" Finn echoed, annoyed. "Learned what?"
"Oh, I don't know! Poor Sam, being so blinded by his feelings for Quinn that he'd believe this gumball nonsense? It reminds me a little of some other poor boy who was also so blinded by his feelings for this same girl that he fell for an equally unbelievable lie about spermatozoids making it through swimsuits in a hot tub. Does that ring any bells?"
"Why do you keep bringing that up? It's not the same thing!"
"Do you remember how it felt later? When you found out the truth? How embarrassed you were? Do you really wish that on anybody else?"
"Kurt, I'm telling you now, you need to stop butting into my life."
"I am not..."
"Yes, you are!"
"I can't help having an opinion on..."
"You can help throwing your opinions at my face all the frigging time! You can and you should!"
Kurt folded his arms over his chest, looking thoroughly insulted. "Fine. I'll keep my thoughts to myself, then."
"You do that. And while you're at it, do the same with your actions."
"Excuse me?"
"Wanna tell me what's this about you telling Mike to bring me his class notes? You're not my mom, dude!"
Kurt growled under his breath. "You really don't get it, do you? Someone would have brought you their class notes. I merely asked Mike to do it - and suggested that he made sure everyone knew he was doing it - to make sure that someone wouldn't use this as a lame excuse to visit poor little sickly you."
Finn blinked. "Wait. You mean Rachel? You did this so Rachel wouldn't..."
Kurt shrugged. "It's a ploy I could have come up with, so it's a safe bet that the thought would have crossed her mind too."
"You don't need to protect me from Rachel," said Finn angrily. "I can handle her."
"Who says I did it for you? I was trying to honor my pledge as a member of the DDTTCC."
"The... what?"
"Divas Devoted To Their Colossal Careers. It's an alliance formed by Rachel, Mercedes and myself in which we sworn off romantic aspirations for the time being so we could focus our heart and energies on improving our skills as performers." Kurt tilted his head, a weary look on his face. "I don't particularly like the name, but Mercedes likes the double-letter thing, so we needed an adjective starting with C, and 'colossal' was all I could think of. Rachel said she would go through all the C entries in the dictionary to find a better word, but that was almost two weeks ago. I don't know if she gave up or just forgot about it."
"So... uh... the three of you have, like, a club... to keep each other from going after love?"
"Well. In a manner of speaking, yes."
Finn sat back on the couch, all signs of hostility vanishing from his body language. "I don't think I'd want to be in a group like that. I mean... maybe I just don't care enough about improving my skills. Rachel and Quinn are always complaining that I'm not ambitious enough. But it's so good to, like, have someone. Be with someone. Swearing it off... it sounds so lonely."
"It is lonely." Kurt smiled sadly. "The group makes it just a little less so."
The boys fell into contemplative silence. From the kitchen they could hear Carole opening cupboards and handling utensils and cheerfully singing Keeping the Love Alive just slightly off-key.
"Both of us holding back, so afraid
To fall in love and lose again.
We've both been hurt before,
Saw love walk out the door
In the end."
"Kurt?"
"Hmm?"
"I need to ask you something."
"As long as it's not my opinion."
"It's not."
"Fine. Ask away."
Finn kept staring down at the papers on the coffee table. "Would you...?"
"...what?"
Finn opened his mouth again, but the words just wouldn't come out. Finally, he shook his head and asked instead, "What would you have sung if Mr. Schue had assigned us Air Supply when you were still in the group?"
Kurt took only a few seconds to think of an answer. "Chances."
Finn looked up at Kurt, surprised. "That's... that's a sad song."
"Yes," Kurt sighed. "I suppose it is. But it has six long bars of holding a high B at the end."
"Is that high?"
"Unremarkable for a countertenor, but in this case it's the act of sustaining it firmly through several chord changes that makes it powerful. And I just know I could make it very poignant and soul-stirring," said Kurt matter-of-factly as he got on his feet. "I'm going upstairs to change. You probably should..." He stopped himself, retracting the hand he had used to point to the papers on the coffee table. "Never mind. No more opinions from me."
After Kurt left the room, Finn spent a good ten minutes just sitting there, completely still but for his right index finger, which tapped a slow rhythm on the arm of the couch. Finally, he started singing under his breath.
"There's a chance you will be there
Wondering what to do.
How to play my role?
I'll leave it up to you.
If I disguise my smile,
It gives too much away.
What if we can't speak?
What then shall I say?
Don't you be too long,
Something has gone wrong.
The chances are all gone."
Finn turned a worried frown towards the corridor where Kurt had disappeared through, then shook his head and gave the pile of notes a despondent look. "I don't even remember taking half of these classes..."
2.
"I can't believe I'm in the dog house again!"
"You're not in the dog house, Kurt."
"Of course I am! Did you see the way Wes was staring at me?" Kurt paced furiously in his bedroom, pressing his cell against his ear. "He was one gavel bang short from sentencing me to forced labor in a sweatshop in Antarctica!"
"Well, you need to understand, Wes is really big on sportsman attitude and respecting the adversary. Calling one of the glee clubs we're going to be up against 'a bunch of cheating sycophants'... That's really strong language, you know."
"I was merely stating the facts, Blaine. Last year, Aural Intensity found out who the judges were beforehand and prepared a set list catered specifically for those judges."
"I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with trying to please the judges..."
"A mash-up of Olivia Newton-John and Josh Groban! Guess who the judges were!"
"While I admit that that might be taking it too far, it could have easily misfired anyway. Some artists can be harder when judging cover versions of their own works. The very fact that Aural Intensity didn't win perhaps..."
"That's not the point! Yes, being cheating sycophants might have played against them in the end, but it doesn't change the fact that they are cheating sycophants."
"As Thad pointed out, even though the Show Choir Rule Book states that the names forming the judges' panel shouldn't be revealed before the competition, it doesn't actively say that competitors are forbidden to conduct their own investigations to find out who the judges are."
"Yeah, yeah," Kurt huffed, sitting down at the foot of his bed. Then, mimicking Thad's stiff tone, he quoted, "'Neither does it prescribe any sort of punishment for either competitors or judges found in noncompliance with the implied secrecy stipulation.' So there's a loophole. It still doesn't make it right. I'm surprised the Warbler council finds that less offensive than my 'strong language'."
Blaine's voice sounded amused. "I think their point is that there's nothing we can do about it. So why waste energy badmouthing our opponents when we should be working on our own set list?"
But Kurt was still grumpy. "Or maybe we should find out who the judges are and engage in some pandering ourselves, since it's totally by the book. Apparently, that's all that matters."
"Kurt..."
"You know, Rod Remington never misses a competition, so how about we arrange an a capella version of the WOHN News theme?"
"Well, why not? There're tons of a capella versions of TV show themes out there..."
"Blaine!"
"But if we're going down the TV news route, there's some stuff from CNN that is much cooler. You think there's any chance Anderson Cooper could be a judge at Regionals?"
"Fine, make a joke out of it. As long as it's just a joke. Because I can't imagine that you'd truly be willing to sell out your artistry just to win a competition."
"Do you really think it's selling out?"
"You don't? What happens to self-expression when all you're expressing is what someone else wants to see and hear?"
"I think it's still there. For example, I could maybe sing You Were Meant for Me to you, just because I know how much you love that scene in Singin' in the Rain, but I'd still be expressing my own... uh..."
Kurt's eyes widened. "What?" he whispered.
"Hm. Sorry. Bad example." Blaine sounded flustered. "What I meant to say was that artistry is in the performance, in how you carry it out, in how you interpret the original material, in how you turn it into something that could only have come from you. Whether the public you're targeting has an affinity with the original material or not is inconsequential."
"Inconsequential," Kurt repeated. "Right. Of course you would dismiss your public's feelings of affinity."
"Wait, what?"
"Never mind. I still don't think pandering to the judges' panel is a valid tactic. And if Aural Intensity plays the same trick this time around, Wes can stare at me with his disapproving eyes until the end of days, because I will not pretend to respect them."
Blaine let out a soft chuckle. "Okay..."
"And I will keep on saying that we need to work harder than ever now. Because with both Aural Intensity and the New Directions in our bracket, we have two clubs with really good chances of beating us. And I am not missing the plane to New York when Nationals come, you can write that down."
"Kurt... not missing... the plane... to... New... York. Okay, got it."
Kurt snorted. "You did not really write it down."
"I did. On a post-it. And now I'm putting it on my mirror."
"Liar."
"Hold on."
A few moments later, Kurt heard a buzz and checked his phone's screen. There was an incoming message... from Blaine. Quickly brushing his index finger on the touchscreen, he opened it, finding only a picture. It showed a smiling Blaine holding up his own cell phone, and on the foreground a little square paper with words scrawled on it entirely in capital letters.
Kurt laughed and pressed the phone to his ear again. "Neon pink post-its, Blaine?"
"Too gay?"
"I guess I was expecting the very traditional canary yellow, Blaine Warbler."
"There's more to me than being a Warbler, you know."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah, really. You know I'm interested in football, and nineteenth century English literature, and civil rights politics, and..."
"Anything I don't know?"
"As a matter of fact... I'll have you know I'm the proud owner of a beautiful collection of vintage movie posters."
"I didn't know that. I've been to your house and didn't see any posters."
"Well, I don't keep them around, some of them are really old and valuable, they need to be protected from direct light, humidity, heat, critters... I've set them up in display racks in a special room. I don't think even Wes and David have ever seen them."
"Wow. How very secretive."
"I will show them to you, if you want. Next time you're here, I'll take you to my special room and show you my posters."
Kurt breathed in sharply. "Uh, Blaine?"
From the other end of the line came a rather undapper squeak. "No, that's not... I didn't mean... You're right, I shouldn't show you the posters. Uh, no, that's not what I meant either. I'd love to show you the posters. But I shouldn't say that I want to show you the posters... even if I do... although... actually..."
"Blaine?"
"Yes?"
"It's okay. I know what you meant. And what you didn't mean."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"I'm really bad at this, aren't I?"
"Impressively so, yes."
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine. I admit it's actually a little funny to see you sweat like this."
Blaine snickered. "Well, glad my struggles at least serve to amuse you."
The door, which had been ajar, was pushed open, and Finn's head appeared in the threshold. "Hi?"
Kurt waved him in. "Blaine, I have to go. Finn is here."
"Enjoy your milk."
"See you tomorrow."
"We still on for Sullivan after class?"
"Sure."
"Fantastic. Bye."
Kurt hung up and took one of the mugs Finn had brought with him. "Thanks."
Finn sat down on the bed at Kurt's right. "So how are things going with Blaine?"
"Okay. I think he's finally cluing in to the flirting."
"Whose flirting? I thought you had decided on being just friends."
"His flirting. The way he constantly keeps throwing his charm around, and the ways that can be so easily misconstrued."
"So you mean he's still, like, accidentally flirting with you?"
"Yes. And not just me. Now that I've removed my tea rose-tinted glasses, I can see he's actually rather indiscriminate with his suave manners."
"He's like a gay preppy Puck, then."
Kurt frowned. "A clueless gay preppy Puck, maybe. And thanks. You've just made Blaine about seventy percent less appealing to me with that one remark."
"Uh, you're welcome?" Finn shrugged. "I still say he's an idiot."
Kurt smirked and took a sip of his milk. "So... Aural Intensity again, huh?"
Finn gave him an irritated look. "You know, that's not fun! What am I supposed to talk to you about when I get home if Mercedes has already texted you with all the McKinley news of the day?"
Kurt smiled fondly at his brother. "Your jealousy is so very endearing, but, at this time, a little misplaced. I'm assuming you guys got the same letter we did? From the Ohio Show Choir Committee?"
"Oh."
"Yeah. So, Aural Intensity and anthems."
"Right."
"The Warblers are not short on anthems in their traditional repertoire, but Blaine and some of the others are pushing for something new." Kurt shrugged. "And I tell you that with no fear of committing treasonous over-sharing, because, really, at this point? Things could go either way."
Finn nodded. "Yeah, we... well... we've started working on the anthem thing, too. Sam suggested something. I didn't like it, though."
Kurt bit back a smile. "I see."
Finn rolled his eyes. "It's not because it was Sam. It was a stupid suggestion, period."
"I didn't say anything," said Kurt defensively.
"You don't even have to. You have, like, super butting-in powers."
"Well, did the others like Sam's suggestion?"
"The girls did."
"Yeah, I suspected that. I mean, Mercedes texted me that Sam had done 'something unexpectedly hot' today... those were her words... but when I asked her to elaborate, I got a message from Rachel saying she had temporarily confiscated Mercedes' phone as they were not 'at liberty to discuss strictly confidential battle plans with the enemy'... Rachel's words."
Finn growled under his breath, drinking his milk.
"Well, I am not going to offer my opinion," stated Kurt firmly. "But perhaps I can mention the definition of the word 'anthem'?"
Finn gazed at him out of the corner of the eye. "Okay..."
"We're not talking of church music here, of course. We're talking about the modern-day definition of anthem as a composition that is inspiring and motivating, often but not necessarily self-aggrandizing, with a celebratory connotation. It has to appeal to people's notion of unity. It needs to grasp people's hearts and make them want be part of a bigger whole, and celebrate what this bigger whole is capable of accomplishing. As such, it definitely has to appeal to the masses."
"The masses?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's, like, all kinds of people, right?"
"Right."
"Right. So the masses are not just, you know, people who are 12 and stupid."
Kurt blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"Never mind." Finn huffed. "I can't talk to you about any of this."
Kurt still looked confused, but gave in with a nod. "Of course. I'm the enemy now."
"You're not the enemy. You're just... on the other side."
"Still, Rachel is right, if overdramatizing the situation. We should not be swapping our glee clubs' secrets."
"Yeah..."
"So... what are we going to talk about?"
They drank the rest of their milk in silence.
3.
"This is Quinn Fabray. You know what to do." BEEP.
"Hey, it's me. I was thinking, we should do something Friday night. Like, a movie, or go bowling. Can't be dinner, because Burt and my mom insist on these family dinners every Friday... but hey, we can have dessert at Chloe's Cupcakes, or go to the ice cream parlor by the park... I mean, we always have dessert after Friday night dinner, usually something Kurt prepared the night before... but I don't mind eating two desserts. You can never have too much dessert, right?" Finn checked his watch, and sighed. "Anyway. Call me."
He hung up and dropped the cell phone on the bed, glaring at it.
"You know, I was planning to make a triple berry cobbler for Friday, but maybe I should just skip it."
Finn raised his eyes to find Kurt smirking evilly at him, his hands on his hips. "Remember that thing about not butting into my life? It kind of includes not listening to my private conversations."
"You were not conversing, you were trying to get Quinn to call you back. Again."
"Dude!"
"Merely stating the facts. No opinions."
"So that's how you want it? Fine! Hi, Kurt! How was your date with Blaine?"
Kurt rolled his eyes. "You know very well that it wasn't a date."
"Yeah, right. You just went ice skating together. Not romantic at all."
"Well, it wasn't. We knew there'd be no rehearsal today because all the seniors had to attend a lecture from the headmaster, so we decided to hang out at the Sullivan Rink. It was the Oldies-But-Goldies Matinee, which for some reason meant alternating songs from the fifties and the eighties, with some Rascal Flatts and Crystal Bowersox thrown in to make it even more baffling." Kurt shrugged. "Anyway, we skated and had coffee, and also pretzels, after much insistence from him. And we talked. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a friendly..."
"Oh, 'friendly'!" Finn echoed with a mocking tone.
"It was!"
"Uh-huh. So, no holding hands or anything like that."
"No, no holding hands, nothing like... Well. Actually, there was some hand-holding, but not in the way that you think. We were playing, you know. One would drag the other by the hand for a while, gain speed and then let go. And we did some twirling and spinning together. You know. What's the point of ice skating if you don't play a little?"
"I don't know, man, I went ice skating with Puck sometimes..."
"Hah! See? Friendly."
"...and we never twirled or spun or held hands for whatever reason."
"Yes, because Puck probably had you convinced that your genitals would turn female if you ever held another boy's hand."
Finn scowled. "Well, okay, yes. But that's not the point."
"I can't possibly imagine what your point is, Finn. You know very well that there's nothing going on between Blaine and me. You're just being hurtful."
"And you know very well that there is something going on between me and Quinn. She probably just... misplaced her cell, or something. So you are being hurtful too."
Kurt was silent for a moment. "All right. I'm sorry. How about a mutual non-butting-in policy, then?"
"Deal."
Finn reached out with his hand, and Kurt shook it.
"So, did you have fun? With your friend Blaine?" At Kurt's narrowed gaze, Finn amended, "What? That's a legitimate non-butting-in question."
Kurt sighed, crossing the room to take a seat on the recliner. "Yes, Finn. We had fun. Despite the DJ."
"Did you guys fall a lot?" asked Finn with a lopsided smile.
"I happen to be a very decent skater."
"And a boring storyteller."
"Not my fault if you only enjoy physical comedy," Kurt grunted. "Fine, we slipped a few times."
"How many?"
"Two for me. Eight for him."
Finn grinned. "Blaine is a lousy skater," he sang childishly.
"He's just... excessively enthusiastic. Oh, quit the giggling. You're one to talk anyway. You did not fare so well at April's roller rink either, if my memory serves me right."
"Hey, I can skate. It's stopping that it's a little hard."
"Yeah. Very hard on your behind, I'm sure."
Finn tossed a pillow at Kurt, who grabbed it easily before it could disturb his hair.
"I'm not sure I like skating," said Finn with a little shrug. "When you're not falling or seeing other people fall, it's kinda dull."
"Well, Blaine wouldn't agree. He wants us to go again soon. Sullivan now has sessions with bumper cars on Friday evenings and Sunday matinees, and Blaine is just dying to try them. He can be such a boy sometimes..."
"Whoa, bumper cars? Seriously???"
Kurt snorted. "Speaking of boys..."
"That is so cool!" Finn frowned in thought. "And it's perfect too. Kurt, you gotta promise me you guys won't go this Friday."
"Why?"
"Because I'm taking Quinn, and I'm not ready to go on a double date with my brother."
"Since I'm not dating Blaine and you're not dating Quinn, I don't think that'll be much of a problem."
Finn's eyes widened. "Dude! Didn't we just make a deal about that? Like, five minutes ago?"
"And didn't you just break it yourself? Like, five seconds ago? I'm not going to keep my end of the bargain if you don't keep yours."
They glared at each other for a little while, until Finn looked away with a growl. "Okay. Sorry. I slipped, that's all."
"Just like skating, stopping is what's a little hard, right?" Kurt stood up and moved back towards to door. "Well, if you really do go to the ice rink this week, do me a favor, okay? Take a look around, see what the girls are wearing."
"Are you crazy? I can't go out with Quinn and look at other girls. She'll bite my head off."
"I'm not talking about checking them out. Just give them a casual glance. If you can, count how many of them are wearing armwarmers."
"Armwarmers?"
"Yes. Like legwarmers, only on their arms. Apparently, it's the new trend in town and I'm more than a little puzzled. It's not a look I've seen in any fashion site or magazine."
Finn frowned. "You mean those wool sleeves without sweaters? Yeah. I think all the girls in school are wearing them. Well, not Rachel."
"Rachel wouldn't be able to spot a fashion trend if it hit her on the head." Kurt snorted as he stepped out of the room.
4.
"Kurt, would you like to go out on a date at Color Me Mine?"
Kurt choked on his milk, doubling over in a coughing fit. Finn patted his back, which didn't prove to be very helpful.
The smaller boy moved away from his brother, leaving his mug on his vanity before sitting on the chair by the window. "Wha-what?"
"You sound funny. Maybe you should breathe a little more before..."
"Finn Hudson, I'm sure you did not ask me what I think you've just asked me! So... please concentrate... and ask again. Choose your words carefully."
Finn's brows knitted together, and he just stood there for a long moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his mug forgotten in his right hand. Eventually, something seemed to light up in his expression. "Oh... Oh! You thought I was... I didn't mean..."
"Yes! I know!" Kurt snapped. "I figured as much. Now, focus and try again."
"If Blaine asked you out..."
"Finn!"
Finn grimaced. "Right. Not Blaine. If some boy... a hyperthetical boy... who's definitely not Blaine... asked you on a date at Color Me Mine. What would you think?"
"I'd think, 'What the hell am I going to wear?'"
"That's it?"
"What did you expect me to think?"
"Don't you think Color Me Mine is super lame?"
"I think it's lame that the boy asking me out is merely hypothetical."
"Kurt, I'm serious."
"And you think I'm not?"
Finn sat on the stool by the vanity, his back to the mirror. "Okay, never mind. I don't know why I thought talking to you would help."
Kurt bit down his lower lip. "Sorry. You caught me by surprise and I just... well..." He cleared his throat. "So. Color Me Mine."
"Yes."
"I admit that when I picture myself on a date, I think of more romantic venues. A quiet restaurant, a beautiful park in a sunny afternoon, a play or a good movie, maybe a dance performance... somewhere where we could hold hands and talk for hours."
"Like the ice rink?"
"Uh. Well. Yes, I suppose."
"So you agree with me. Color Me Mine is super lame."
"While I consider myself skilled in various crafts, somehow I've never been interested in either painting or pottery. So I can't really see myself going there just for the sake of it. Maybe, like, a day out with the girls... but I'd probably do my best to convince them to forget the pottery plates in favor of a nice white clay facial. As for a date... I'm serious, what the hell would I wear? I can't risk my good clothes on a place like that, but I can't wear my Hummel Tires and Lube overalls to a date either, can I?"
"Then that's definitely a no to a date at Color Me Mine, right?"
Kurt frowned. "I... I wouldn't say that."
"Why not? It seems to me like that was exactly what you were saying."
"I just think there're more important things than where the date is."
"For example?"
"Well, who is this boy?"
"I told you, it's hyper... hypo..."
"Yes, but do I like him? Is he gay? Is he out? Is he smart? Is he good-looking? Does he know the difference between silk and viscose?"
"Uh..."
"And as for the really important questions... Is he a good person? Does he honestly like me? Can I bring him home and introduce him to Dad without stressing his heart into another arrhythmia?"
Finn huffed. "I don't know. Let's say... he's sorta good-looking. Smart, but not school-smart. Smart in a dork-ish way. Totally clueless about fabrics and fashion, but... well, people think he's a nice guy. Burt would like him. I guess you did... I mean, I guess you would too."
Kurt narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "Does he have bottle-blond hair and big, full lips?"
Finn recoiled, lowering his gaze to the mug resting on his right knee. "Uh, I don't know? Could be, if you like that sort of thing..."
"I'm not interested in Sam, Finn."
"I didn't say you are."
"So what's this all about?"
"Forget it."
But Kurt kept eyeing Finn the way a biologist would examine a cell nucleus in the microscope. "Did Sam ask Quinn on a date at...?"
"That subject is not allowed."
Kurt sighed. "Okay. But my point stands. I doubt I'd ever ask anyone on a date at Color Me Mine. And I doubt I'd be interested in going there for the sake of painting pottery. But if the invitation came from the boy of my dreams?" He shrugged. "I don't know. I can think of worse ideas for a date. Like a Taco Bell drive-thru."
"So, where do you and Blaine usually go to hang out?" Before Kurt could protest, he added, "I know you guys aren't dating, but... you like him, right? And that's kind of what I want to know. Cool places to go with someone you like."
"Well, you know, we go to the Lima Bean every day. Sometimes we lose track of time and just stay there, talking for hours."
"Right."
"We've gone to Breadstix a few times. We went to Columbus to see Rent. We go to the movies whenever there's anything worth watching in the theatres. Sometimes, when the Warblers' rehearsal stretches until late, we go the garden by the west wing of the school and watch the sunset. It's good, you know, to wind down. And we went to a flamenco performance a few weeks ago."
"And the ice rink this week."
"Yes. The ice rink." Kurt eyed his brother suspiciously. "Why are you smirking?"
"I'm not smirking."
"Yes, you are. What did I say that's so funny?"
"Nothing I'm allowed to talk about."
(Chapter 5 continues HERE.)
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG-13
Pairings/Characters: Finn + Kurt, canonical pairings (Kurt/Blaine, Finn/Rachel, Finn/Quinn, Burt/Carole, brief Blaine/Rachel, etc.)
Disclaimer: Glee and its characters belong to Ryan Murphy Television and 20th Century Fox Television.
Spoilers: For this chapter, up until 2.13. Eventually, everything.
Thanks: To my beta, the lovely tekalynn. I don't know what I'd do without her.
Summary: At the end of each day, they go home and talk. Except for the days when they don't. My own spin on the "lady chats over warm milk".
A/N: I calculate the number of days depicted in each episode by studying how many changes of clothes the characters go through. In Comeback, it seems to me that the editor altered the scripted order of certain scenes, causing some bizarre continuity errors in that regard. When that happened, I arbitrarily determined what-happened-in-which-day accordingly to my own convenience. ^__^
Previously:
Chapter 1 - Of Parties and Betrayals
Chapter 2 - Of Ornaments and Adjustments
Chapter 3 - Of Décor and Miscommunication
Chapter 4 - Of Signals and Infections
At the End of Each Day
by Morgan D.
Chapter 5 - Of Artistry and Overstepping
1.
"We were at a loss at first, you know, but Artie found this song that kind of has a slightly less ballad-y vibe, sort of a weird hybrid of Yes and Supertramp…"
"Sweet Dreams?" Finn smiled.
Mike nodded. "Yeah, that's the one. So Sam and Artie reworked the arrangement, and added a stronger bit so I could dance to it, and that was our number."
"Cool! Who else?"
Mike clasped his hands behind his head as he leaned back on the couch. "Mercedes killed it with I Can Wait Forever. She really turned it into something else, half the club was in tears by the end. Brittany and Santana sang Just as I Am... and I really did not expect Santana to do so well with this kind of repertoire, but wow... They made the lyrics sound much deeper than they really are."
"My god, what about Puck?" asked Finn. "What did he come up with? That's so not his style..."
"Puck has changed, man!" said Mike with a laugh. "He picked up the guitar and dedicated Every Woman in the World to his muse, Lauren Zizes."
"Dude, that's getting serious. Like, seriously serious."
"I know. Although I'm pretty sure he changed the lyrics here and there. But the worst part? Ms. Zizes was not impressed. At all." Mike clucked his tongue. "I'm starting to feel sorry for the guy."
Finn shook his head in sorrow. "I cannot believe Mr. Schue assigned Air Supply to the club when I'm home sick," Finn moaned. "That's so not fair."
"That's what Rachel said, actually."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, today, before her performance. She wanted us to understand that the only reason why she waited until the very last day of the assignment to show us her interpretation was not because she needed that much time to prepare, but because she wanted to give you as much time as possible to recover and play the drums while she belted out Making Love Out of Nothing At All."
Finn frowned. "Oh. Well. The drums part at the end is kinda dramatic, when it goes a little wild while the piano marks the beat. But... that's not what I meant."
"I know. Anyway, Travis, the jazz band drummer? I don't think he enjoyed the slight. I've never seen him play so loud. I could barely hear Rachel's voice, and that's saying something."
"That's... impressive. I can't imagine..."
"Quinn is back already, you know," said Mike abruptly.
"Yeah." Then Finn seemed to catch himself. "I mean, yeah? Is she, now?"
"Today was her first day back."
"Well. Good for her."
"Her voice is still recovering, but she sang Lost in Love with Tina."
"Cool."
"I think most of us expected Quinn to sing Goodbye and dedicate it to Sam, though."
Finn's eyes widened, but he lowered his head quickly to disguise it. "Hmm?"
"You know," said Mike, before starting to sing:
"I don't want to let you down,
I don't want to lead you on..."
"I know the song," Finn interrupted. "And I'm pretty sure those aren't the right notes."
"Those are the right words, aren't they?"
Finn shrugged. "I guess."
"Sam is a really nice guy, you know."
Now Finn turned to stare at Mike straight in the eyes. "I know. So is Artie."
Mike was taken aback. "Wha-what?"
"I'm just saying. If you're about to give me advice, I'd like to make sure it's not the kind of advice that ends up with 'Do as I say and not as I did at Asian camp last summer'."
Mike sat up stiffly, folding his arms over his chest. "Okay. Fine. Forget I said anything."
Finn still kept a wary eye on him. "Anyway, I don't know what you're talking about. I think Quinn could have sung I Want to Give It All. It'd sound great in her voice, and it'd be like her back-to-school song. You know. 'Here I am again, I've come to see you smile...'"
"'...And still you're waiting here, just waiting for my call...'," Mike continued, this time reciting instead of singing. "Yeah, I guess that one's appropriate too."
Light footsteps preceded Carole's entrance in the living room. "Hey, boys. I'm about to start on dinner. Are you staying, Mike?"
"Thanks, Mrs. H, but I need to go." Mike picked up his book bag and jumped up from the couch.
"You're sure? It'd be no trouble."
"My mom is waiting for me. It's ho jip zing tin gai night."
Carole blinked. "I see. Is that a good thing?"
"It's a great thing," Mike assured her. "I mean, who doesn't like frog legs?"
Finn sent his mother a queasy look. Carole bit back an amused smile.
Mike reached out with his arm towards Finn, his hand closed in a fist. "Take care, man. The club needs its captain."
Finn gave him a fist-bump. "Thanks, man."
Mike started turning towards the door, but then ended up doing a 360° spin, almost as gracefully as if it had been a deliberate dance move. "Oops, almost forgot. The very reason why I came." He unzipped his bag and fished a bunch of papers from inside, setting them on the coffee table in front of Finn.
"You don't have to keep bringing me your class notes, Mike."
"It's no trouble, really."
"No, I mean, you really don't have to bring me your class notes," said Finn, eyeing with a discouraged look the dismally tall pile of papers.
"Well, Kurt asked me to."
Finn blinked. "He did?"
"Yep. Photocopy my notes and bring them over every day while you're sick. He also asked me to get from Artie and Mercedes all the notes from the classes you and I don't have together. And to make sure that I let everyone else in the glee club know about the arrangement, casually but decisively." Mike shrugged. "I'm not sure how casual you can be when you're being decisive, but I did my best."
Finn frowned at that, but before he could say anything, Mike was already by the door, saying goodbye to Carole. So he just stared at the notes on the coffee table for a little while, then took the corner of the first page between his fingertips, as if trying to keep physical contact to a minimum, and flipped it over, finding the back also covered with the same neatly round handwriting that crammed the front.
With a sigh and a shrug, Finn pushed the whole pile aside and picked up the TV remote.
"Ah! Ah! Ah!" Carole interjected as she came back into the room. "I think you have a lot of homework ahead of you, mister."
"I have time."
"No, you don't. You're going back to school tomorrow."
Finn gaped at the news. "But... but I still feel weak..."
"Honey, half an hour ago I saw you lift the couch on your own to pick a piece of popcorn that had rolled under it."
"And after all that effort you didn't even let me eat it," he grumbled.
"Haven't we had enough conversations lately about being careful of what you put in your mouth?" she asked wryly. "That's how you got sick after all."
"Mom!" Finn whined, mortified.
"Maybe you could ask Kurt to give you a hand with your homework," she suggested. "And by that I mean help you understand your friends' notes, not do your work for you."
"He wouldn't go for that anyway."
"Oh, so you tried before?"
"What? No! I mean... He always has, like, a ton of homework himself. And I think half of it is in Latin or something. So he really doesn't have time to help me at all."
"I'm sure if you ask him nicely..."
"Can't I stay home another day? Please?"
"No."
"But, Mom..."
"Don't you miss your friends? And glee club?"
Finn slumped on the couch, dejectedly. "I do. It's just... if only school was just glee club. And sports. I mean, why do I need to know if Columbus was on the Niña, the Pinta or the Santa Fe when he discovered America? Or what Shakespeare wrote about the French Revolution, or how the centerpifugal force affects a ball of cotton and a ball of adamantium dropped at the same time from the Golden Gate Bridge? And really, if I ever need to find out the square root of x raised to the second power, I'll just use the calculator in my cell phone."
Carole's eyes widened in consternation. "I'll talk to Kurt myself. If he's too busy, I'm getting you a tutor."
Finn's misery seemed to only deepen at that.
They heard the sound of keys opening the front door.
"Okay, okay, I'll ask him, okay?" said Finn urgently. "Please, let me talk to him about it. Can't have my mom do it, it's too embarrassing."
"He's family, sweetie."
"Mom, please!"
"Wow, Mr. Sickly sure is demanding today," said Kurt amusedly as he stepped into the living room, carrying his messenger bag and loosening the scarf around his neck. "Hi, Carole."
"Hi, how was school?"
"A little tiring," he sighed. "I confess I'm still not entirely used to having to pay so much attention in English class. So what is Finn begging for now? Chicken soup? Ice cream?"
"Nothing," said Finn testily.
"Actually..." began Carole.
Finn sent her a pleading look.
She smirked. "He was asking me to go back to school tomorrow. He really misses it."
Kurt blinked, staring back and forth between them. "Is that true?"
Finn gaped at his mom.
"He was just telling me how much he misses glee."
"Uh... yeah," Finn stuttered. "They did Air Supply this week."
Kurt arched an eyebrow. "You're bummed because of... Air Supply? Really?"
Carole pointed a warning finger at her stepson."There'll be no mocking of Air Supply around me. I'll let you know they were my biggest allies when Finn was little."
"Mom, don't..." Finn moaned.
"How so?" asked Kurt, curious.
"Finn was such a fussy baby at night," she said, beaming down at the tall boy who was now hiding his face behind his hands. "During the day he was all smiles and giggles and he'd entertain himself for hours just playing with his own tiny fingers and toes. But at night he'd cry and cry and cry, and it'd drive me crazy. Until I found out that all I had to do was sing Even the Nights Are Better, and he'd go completely quiet, just staring at me and listening."
"Aww," Kurt cooed.
"Shut up," Finn muttered.
Carole giggled. "Anyway, I need to start on dinner. Burt should be home soon, and if there's no food at the table he'll be too tempted to scrounge the house for snacks his doctors wouldn't approve."
"I'll help you," Kurt offered, unhooking the bag from his shoulder.
"No need. You're tired and... well... you and Finn should... you know... talk."
Finn glared at his mom. She merely smiled and headed towards the kitchen.
Kurt sent a suspicious look at Finn. "What do we need to talk about?"
"Nothing. Nothing in particular. We always talk after school, don't we?"
"I suppose. Should I get the milk?"
Finn shook his head. "Nah. After dinner."
"Okay." Kurt set his bag on the end table beside the armchair that faced the couch. "So how was your day?"
"Normal."
Kurt waited for more, but nothing came. "Okay." He sat down on the armchair, clasping his hands over his crossed legs. "Well, if you have nothing to say to me, I have something to say to you."
"Yeah? What?"
"I need your help. I need to find the perfect gift for Quinn."
"Uh... it's not her birthday. Is it?" Finn frowned. "No, I’m pretty sure it isn't. So why are you...?"
"It shouldn't be too extravagant, but it can't be too impersonal either. Something nice and elegant that says, 'Thank you for saving my brother from choking on a gumball'."
A coughing fit took over Finn and tinted his cheeks bright red.
Kurt arched an eyebrow. "If you want, I can go over there and perform the Heimlich maneuver, but don't expect me to give you CPR. I hope you understand you'll still be contagious for several months now."
"Dude, who told you about the gumball?"
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Who didn't tell me about the gumball?"
"What did you tell them?" Finn sent a worried glance towards the kitchen as he leaned over and hissed, "Dude, no one can know how Quinn and I really got mono. What did you say?"
"There was nothing to say, Finn, mainly because all the people who talked to me about it had already guessed about you and Quinn on their own. Face it, the cat is out of the bag now, and not even a whole barrel of gumballs is going to lure it back in."
"Sam doesn't know," Finn countered. "He totally bought the gumball story."
Kurt eyed his brother closely. "Is that smugness I see in your face?" He shook his head in disgust. "Haven't you learned anything?"
"Learned?" Finn echoed, annoyed. "Learned what?"
"Oh, I don't know! Poor Sam, being so blinded by his feelings for Quinn that he'd believe this gumball nonsense? It reminds me a little of some other poor boy who was also so blinded by his feelings for this same girl that he fell for an equally unbelievable lie about spermatozoids making it through swimsuits in a hot tub. Does that ring any bells?"
"Why do you keep bringing that up? It's not the same thing!"
"Do you remember how it felt later? When you found out the truth? How embarrassed you were? Do you really wish that on anybody else?"
"Kurt, I'm telling you now, you need to stop butting into my life."
"I am not..."
"Yes, you are!"
"I can't help having an opinion on..."
"You can help throwing your opinions at my face all the frigging time! You can and you should!"
Kurt folded his arms over his chest, looking thoroughly insulted. "Fine. I'll keep my thoughts to myself, then."
"You do that. And while you're at it, do the same with your actions."
"Excuse me?"
"Wanna tell me what's this about you telling Mike to bring me his class notes? You're not my mom, dude!"
Kurt growled under his breath. "You really don't get it, do you? Someone would have brought you their class notes. I merely asked Mike to do it - and suggested that he made sure everyone knew he was doing it - to make sure that someone wouldn't use this as a lame excuse to visit poor little sickly you."
Finn blinked. "Wait. You mean Rachel? You did this so Rachel wouldn't..."
Kurt shrugged. "It's a ploy I could have come up with, so it's a safe bet that the thought would have crossed her mind too."
"You don't need to protect me from Rachel," said Finn angrily. "I can handle her."
"Who says I did it for you? I was trying to honor my pledge as a member of the DDTTCC."
"The... what?"
"Divas Devoted To Their Colossal Careers. It's an alliance formed by Rachel, Mercedes and myself in which we sworn off romantic aspirations for the time being so we could focus our heart and energies on improving our skills as performers." Kurt tilted his head, a weary look on his face. "I don't particularly like the name, but Mercedes likes the double-letter thing, so we needed an adjective starting with C, and 'colossal' was all I could think of. Rachel said she would go through all the C entries in the dictionary to find a better word, but that was almost two weeks ago. I don't know if she gave up or just forgot about it."
"So... uh... the three of you have, like, a club... to keep each other from going after love?"
"Well. In a manner of speaking, yes."
Finn sat back on the couch, all signs of hostility vanishing from his body language. "I don't think I'd want to be in a group like that. I mean... maybe I just don't care enough about improving my skills. Rachel and Quinn are always complaining that I'm not ambitious enough. But it's so good to, like, have someone. Be with someone. Swearing it off... it sounds so lonely."
"It is lonely." Kurt smiled sadly. "The group makes it just a little less so."
The boys fell into contemplative silence. From the kitchen they could hear Carole opening cupboards and handling utensils and cheerfully singing Keeping the Love Alive just slightly off-key.
"Both of us holding back, so afraid
To fall in love and lose again.
We've both been hurt before,
Saw love walk out the door
In the end."
"Kurt?"
"Hmm?"
"I need to ask you something."
"As long as it's not my opinion."
"It's not."
"Fine. Ask away."
Finn kept staring down at the papers on the coffee table. "Would you...?"
"...what?"
Finn opened his mouth again, but the words just wouldn't come out. Finally, he shook his head and asked instead, "What would you have sung if Mr. Schue had assigned us Air Supply when you were still in the group?"
Kurt took only a few seconds to think of an answer. "Chances."
Finn looked up at Kurt, surprised. "That's... that's a sad song."
"Yes," Kurt sighed. "I suppose it is. But it has six long bars of holding a high B at the end."
"Is that high?"
"Unremarkable for a countertenor, but in this case it's the act of sustaining it firmly through several chord changes that makes it powerful. And I just know I could make it very poignant and soul-stirring," said Kurt matter-of-factly as he got on his feet. "I'm going upstairs to change. You probably should..." He stopped himself, retracting the hand he had used to point to the papers on the coffee table. "Never mind. No more opinions from me."
After Kurt left the room, Finn spent a good ten minutes just sitting there, completely still but for his right index finger, which tapped a slow rhythm on the arm of the couch. Finally, he started singing under his breath.
"There's a chance you will be there
Wondering what to do.
How to play my role?
I'll leave it up to you.
If I disguise my smile,
It gives too much away.
What if we can't speak?
What then shall I say?
Don't you be too long,
Something has gone wrong.
The chances are all gone."
Finn turned a worried frown towards the corridor where Kurt had disappeared through, then shook his head and gave the pile of notes a despondent look. "I don't even remember taking half of these classes..."
2.
"I can't believe I'm in the dog house again!"
"You're not in the dog house, Kurt."
"Of course I am! Did you see the way Wes was staring at me?" Kurt paced furiously in his bedroom, pressing his cell against his ear. "He was one gavel bang short from sentencing me to forced labor in a sweatshop in Antarctica!"
"Well, you need to understand, Wes is really big on sportsman attitude and respecting the adversary. Calling one of the glee clubs we're going to be up against 'a bunch of cheating sycophants'... That's really strong language, you know."
"I was merely stating the facts, Blaine. Last year, Aural Intensity found out who the judges were beforehand and prepared a set list catered specifically for those judges."
"I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with trying to please the judges..."
"A mash-up of Olivia Newton-John and Josh Groban! Guess who the judges were!"
"While I admit that that might be taking it too far, it could have easily misfired anyway. Some artists can be harder when judging cover versions of their own works. The very fact that Aural Intensity didn't win perhaps..."
"That's not the point! Yes, being cheating sycophants might have played against them in the end, but it doesn't change the fact that they are cheating sycophants."
"As Thad pointed out, even though the Show Choir Rule Book states that the names forming the judges' panel shouldn't be revealed before the competition, it doesn't actively say that competitors are forbidden to conduct their own investigations to find out who the judges are."
"Yeah, yeah," Kurt huffed, sitting down at the foot of his bed. Then, mimicking Thad's stiff tone, he quoted, "'Neither does it prescribe any sort of punishment for either competitors or judges found in noncompliance with the implied secrecy stipulation.' So there's a loophole. It still doesn't make it right. I'm surprised the Warbler council finds that less offensive than my 'strong language'."
Blaine's voice sounded amused. "I think their point is that there's nothing we can do about it. So why waste energy badmouthing our opponents when we should be working on our own set list?"
But Kurt was still grumpy. "Or maybe we should find out who the judges are and engage in some pandering ourselves, since it's totally by the book. Apparently, that's all that matters."
"Kurt..."
"You know, Rod Remington never misses a competition, so how about we arrange an a capella version of the WOHN News theme?"
"Well, why not? There're tons of a capella versions of TV show themes out there..."
"Blaine!"
"But if we're going down the TV news route, there's some stuff from CNN that is much cooler. You think there's any chance Anderson Cooper could be a judge at Regionals?"
"Fine, make a joke out of it. As long as it's just a joke. Because I can't imagine that you'd truly be willing to sell out your artistry just to win a competition."
"Do you really think it's selling out?"
"You don't? What happens to self-expression when all you're expressing is what someone else wants to see and hear?"
"I think it's still there. For example, I could maybe sing You Were Meant for Me to you, just because I know how much you love that scene in Singin' in the Rain, but I'd still be expressing my own... uh..."
Kurt's eyes widened. "What?" he whispered.
"Hm. Sorry. Bad example." Blaine sounded flustered. "What I meant to say was that artistry is in the performance, in how you carry it out, in how you interpret the original material, in how you turn it into something that could only have come from you. Whether the public you're targeting has an affinity with the original material or not is inconsequential."
"Inconsequential," Kurt repeated. "Right. Of course you would dismiss your public's feelings of affinity."
"Wait, what?"
"Never mind. I still don't think pandering to the judges' panel is a valid tactic. And if Aural Intensity plays the same trick this time around, Wes can stare at me with his disapproving eyes until the end of days, because I will not pretend to respect them."
Blaine let out a soft chuckle. "Okay..."
"And I will keep on saying that we need to work harder than ever now. Because with both Aural Intensity and the New Directions in our bracket, we have two clubs with really good chances of beating us. And I am not missing the plane to New York when Nationals come, you can write that down."
"Kurt... not missing... the plane... to... New... York. Okay, got it."
Kurt snorted. "You did not really write it down."
"I did. On a post-it. And now I'm putting it on my mirror."
"Liar."
"Hold on."
A few moments later, Kurt heard a buzz and checked his phone's screen. There was an incoming message... from Blaine. Quickly brushing his index finger on the touchscreen, he opened it, finding only a picture. It showed a smiling Blaine holding up his own cell phone, and on the foreground a little square paper with words scrawled on it entirely in capital letters.
Kurt laughed and pressed the phone to his ear again. "Neon pink post-its, Blaine?"
"Too gay?"
"I guess I was expecting the very traditional canary yellow, Blaine Warbler."
"There's more to me than being a Warbler, you know."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah, really. You know I'm interested in football, and nineteenth century English literature, and civil rights politics, and..."
"Anything I don't know?"
"As a matter of fact... I'll have you know I'm the proud owner of a beautiful collection of vintage movie posters."
"I didn't know that. I've been to your house and didn't see any posters."
"Well, I don't keep them around, some of them are really old and valuable, they need to be protected from direct light, humidity, heat, critters... I've set them up in display racks in a special room. I don't think even Wes and David have ever seen them."
"Wow. How very secretive."
"I will show them to you, if you want. Next time you're here, I'll take you to my special room and show you my posters."
Kurt breathed in sharply. "Uh, Blaine?"
From the other end of the line came a rather undapper squeak. "No, that's not... I didn't mean... You're right, I shouldn't show you the posters. Uh, no, that's not what I meant either. I'd love to show you the posters. But I shouldn't say that I want to show you the posters... even if I do... although... actually..."
"Blaine?"
"Yes?"
"It's okay. I know what you meant. And what you didn't mean."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"I'm really bad at this, aren't I?"
"Impressively so, yes."
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine. I admit it's actually a little funny to see you sweat like this."
Blaine snickered. "Well, glad my struggles at least serve to amuse you."
The door, which had been ajar, was pushed open, and Finn's head appeared in the threshold. "Hi?"
Kurt waved him in. "Blaine, I have to go. Finn is here."
"Enjoy your milk."
"See you tomorrow."
"We still on for Sullivan after class?"
"Sure."
"Fantastic. Bye."
Kurt hung up and took one of the mugs Finn had brought with him. "Thanks."
Finn sat down on the bed at Kurt's right. "So how are things going with Blaine?"
"Okay. I think he's finally cluing in to the flirting."
"Whose flirting? I thought you had decided on being just friends."
"His flirting. The way he constantly keeps throwing his charm around, and the ways that can be so easily misconstrued."
"So you mean he's still, like, accidentally flirting with you?"
"Yes. And not just me. Now that I've removed my tea rose-tinted glasses, I can see he's actually rather indiscriminate with his suave manners."
"He's like a gay preppy Puck, then."
Kurt frowned. "A clueless gay preppy Puck, maybe. And thanks. You've just made Blaine about seventy percent less appealing to me with that one remark."
"Uh, you're welcome?" Finn shrugged. "I still say he's an idiot."
Kurt smirked and took a sip of his milk. "So... Aural Intensity again, huh?"
Finn gave him an irritated look. "You know, that's not fun! What am I supposed to talk to you about when I get home if Mercedes has already texted you with all the McKinley news of the day?"
Kurt smiled fondly at his brother. "Your jealousy is so very endearing, but, at this time, a little misplaced. I'm assuming you guys got the same letter we did? From the Ohio Show Choir Committee?"
"Oh."
"Yeah. So, Aural Intensity and anthems."
"Right."
"The Warblers are not short on anthems in their traditional repertoire, but Blaine and some of the others are pushing for something new." Kurt shrugged. "And I tell you that with no fear of committing treasonous over-sharing, because, really, at this point? Things could go either way."
Finn nodded. "Yeah, we... well... we've started working on the anthem thing, too. Sam suggested something. I didn't like it, though."
Kurt bit back a smile. "I see."
Finn rolled his eyes. "It's not because it was Sam. It was a stupid suggestion, period."
"I didn't say anything," said Kurt defensively.
"You don't even have to. You have, like, super butting-in powers."
"Well, did the others like Sam's suggestion?"
"The girls did."
"Yeah, I suspected that. I mean, Mercedes texted me that Sam had done 'something unexpectedly hot' today... those were her words... but when I asked her to elaborate, I got a message from Rachel saying she had temporarily confiscated Mercedes' phone as they were not 'at liberty to discuss strictly confidential battle plans with the enemy'... Rachel's words."
Finn growled under his breath, drinking his milk.
"Well, I am not going to offer my opinion," stated Kurt firmly. "But perhaps I can mention the definition of the word 'anthem'?"
Finn gazed at him out of the corner of the eye. "Okay..."
"We're not talking of church music here, of course. We're talking about the modern-day definition of anthem as a composition that is inspiring and motivating, often but not necessarily self-aggrandizing, with a celebratory connotation. It has to appeal to people's notion of unity. It needs to grasp people's hearts and make them want be part of a bigger whole, and celebrate what this bigger whole is capable of accomplishing. As such, it definitely has to appeal to the masses."
"The masses?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's, like, all kinds of people, right?"
"Right."
"Right. So the masses are not just, you know, people who are 12 and stupid."
Kurt blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"Never mind." Finn huffed. "I can't talk to you about any of this."
Kurt still looked confused, but gave in with a nod. "Of course. I'm the enemy now."
"You're not the enemy. You're just... on the other side."
"Still, Rachel is right, if overdramatizing the situation. We should not be swapping our glee clubs' secrets."
"Yeah..."
"So... what are we going to talk about?"
They drank the rest of their milk in silence.
3.
"This is Quinn Fabray. You know what to do." BEEP.
"Hey, it's me. I was thinking, we should do something Friday night. Like, a movie, or go bowling. Can't be dinner, because Burt and my mom insist on these family dinners every Friday... but hey, we can have dessert at Chloe's Cupcakes, or go to the ice cream parlor by the park... I mean, we always have dessert after Friday night dinner, usually something Kurt prepared the night before... but I don't mind eating two desserts. You can never have too much dessert, right?" Finn checked his watch, and sighed. "Anyway. Call me."
He hung up and dropped the cell phone on the bed, glaring at it.
"You know, I was planning to make a triple berry cobbler for Friday, but maybe I should just skip it."
Finn raised his eyes to find Kurt smirking evilly at him, his hands on his hips. "Remember that thing about not butting into my life? It kind of includes not listening to my private conversations."
"You were not conversing, you were trying to get Quinn to call you back. Again."
"Dude!"
"Merely stating the facts. No opinions."
"So that's how you want it? Fine! Hi, Kurt! How was your date with Blaine?"
Kurt rolled his eyes. "You know very well that it wasn't a date."
"Yeah, right. You just went ice skating together. Not romantic at all."
"Well, it wasn't. We knew there'd be no rehearsal today because all the seniors had to attend a lecture from the headmaster, so we decided to hang out at the Sullivan Rink. It was the Oldies-But-Goldies Matinee, which for some reason meant alternating songs from the fifties and the eighties, with some Rascal Flatts and Crystal Bowersox thrown in to make it even more baffling." Kurt shrugged. "Anyway, we skated and had coffee, and also pretzels, after much insistence from him. And we talked. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a friendly..."
"Oh, 'friendly'!" Finn echoed with a mocking tone.
"It was!"
"Uh-huh. So, no holding hands or anything like that."
"No, no holding hands, nothing like... Well. Actually, there was some hand-holding, but not in the way that you think. We were playing, you know. One would drag the other by the hand for a while, gain speed and then let go. And we did some twirling and spinning together. You know. What's the point of ice skating if you don't play a little?"
"I don't know, man, I went ice skating with Puck sometimes..."
"Hah! See? Friendly."
"...and we never twirled or spun or held hands for whatever reason."
"Yes, because Puck probably had you convinced that your genitals would turn female if you ever held another boy's hand."
Finn scowled. "Well, okay, yes. But that's not the point."
"I can't possibly imagine what your point is, Finn. You know very well that there's nothing going on between Blaine and me. You're just being hurtful."
"And you know very well that there is something going on between me and Quinn. She probably just... misplaced her cell, or something. So you are being hurtful too."
Kurt was silent for a moment. "All right. I'm sorry. How about a mutual non-butting-in policy, then?"
"Deal."
Finn reached out with his hand, and Kurt shook it.
"So, did you have fun? With your friend Blaine?" At Kurt's narrowed gaze, Finn amended, "What? That's a legitimate non-butting-in question."
Kurt sighed, crossing the room to take a seat on the recliner. "Yes, Finn. We had fun. Despite the DJ."
"Did you guys fall a lot?" asked Finn with a lopsided smile.
"I happen to be a very decent skater."
"And a boring storyteller."
"Not my fault if you only enjoy physical comedy," Kurt grunted. "Fine, we slipped a few times."
"How many?"
"Two for me. Eight for him."
Finn grinned. "Blaine is a lousy skater," he sang childishly.
"He's just... excessively enthusiastic. Oh, quit the giggling. You're one to talk anyway. You did not fare so well at April's roller rink either, if my memory serves me right."
"Hey, I can skate. It's stopping that it's a little hard."
"Yeah. Very hard on your behind, I'm sure."
Finn tossed a pillow at Kurt, who grabbed it easily before it could disturb his hair.
"I'm not sure I like skating," said Finn with a little shrug. "When you're not falling or seeing other people fall, it's kinda dull."
"Well, Blaine wouldn't agree. He wants us to go again soon. Sullivan now has sessions with bumper cars on Friday evenings and Sunday matinees, and Blaine is just dying to try them. He can be such a boy sometimes..."
"Whoa, bumper cars? Seriously???"
Kurt snorted. "Speaking of boys..."
"That is so cool!" Finn frowned in thought. "And it's perfect too. Kurt, you gotta promise me you guys won't go this Friday."
"Why?"
"Because I'm taking Quinn, and I'm not ready to go on a double date with my brother."
"Since I'm not dating Blaine and you're not dating Quinn, I don't think that'll be much of a problem."
Finn's eyes widened. "Dude! Didn't we just make a deal about that? Like, five minutes ago?"
"And didn't you just break it yourself? Like, five seconds ago? I'm not going to keep my end of the bargain if you don't keep yours."
They glared at each other for a little while, until Finn looked away with a growl. "Okay. Sorry. I slipped, that's all."
"Just like skating, stopping is what's a little hard, right?" Kurt stood up and moved back towards to door. "Well, if you really do go to the ice rink this week, do me a favor, okay? Take a look around, see what the girls are wearing."
"Are you crazy? I can't go out with Quinn and look at other girls. She'll bite my head off."
"I'm not talking about checking them out. Just give them a casual glance. If you can, count how many of them are wearing armwarmers."
"Armwarmers?"
"Yes. Like legwarmers, only on their arms. Apparently, it's the new trend in town and I'm more than a little puzzled. It's not a look I've seen in any fashion site or magazine."
Finn frowned. "You mean those wool sleeves without sweaters? Yeah. I think all the girls in school are wearing them. Well, not Rachel."
"Rachel wouldn't be able to spot a fashion trend if it hit her on the head." Kurt snorted as he stepped out of the room.
4.
"Kurt, would you like to go out on a date at Color Me Mine?"
Kurt choked on his milk, doubling over in a coughing fit. Finn patted his back, which didn't prove to be very helpful.
The smaller boy moved away from his brother, leaving his mug on his vanity before sitting on the chair by the window. "Wha-what?"
"You sound funny. Maybe you should breathe a little more before..."
"Finn Hudson, I'm sure you did not ask me what I think you've just asked me! So... please concentrate... and ask again. Choose your words carefully."
Finn's brows knitted together, and he just stood there for a long moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his mug forgotten in his right hand. Eventually, something seemed to light up in his expression. "Oh... Oh! You thought I was... I didn't mean..."
"Yes! I know!" Kurt snapped. "I figured as much. Now, focus and try again."
"If Blaine asked you out..."
"Finn!"
Finn grimaced. "Right. Not Blaine. If some boy... a hyperthetical boy... who's definitely not Blaine... asked you on a date at Color Me Mine. What would you think?"
"I'd think, 'What the hell am I going to wear?'"
"That's it?"
"What did you expect me to think?"
"Don't you think Color Me Mine is super lame?"
"I think it's lame that the boy asking me out is merely hypothetical."
"Kurt, I'm serious."
"And you think I'm not?"
Finn sat on the stool by the vanity, his back to the mirror. "Okay, never mind. I don't know why I thought talking to you would help."
Kurt bit down his lower lip. "Sorry. You caught me by surprise and I just... well..." He cleared his throat. "So. Color Me Mine."
"Yes."
"I admit that when I picture myself on a date, I think of more romantic venues. A quiet restaurant, a beautiful park in a sunny afternoon, a play or a good movie, maybe a dance performance... somewhere where we could hold hands and talk for hours."
"Like the ice rink?"
"Uh. Well. Yes, I suppose."
"So you agree with me. Color Me Mine is super lame."
"While I consider myself skilled in various crafts, somehow I've never been interested in either painting or pottery. So I can't really see myself going there just for the sake of it. Maybe, like, a day out with the girls... but I'd probably do my best to convince them to forget the pottery plates in favor of a nice white clay facial. As for a date... I'm serious, what the hell would I wear? I can't risk my good clothes on a place like that, but I can't wear my Hummel Tires and Lube overalls to a date either, can I?"
"Then that's definitely a no to a date at Color Me Mine, right?"
Kurt frowned. "I... I wouldn't say that."
"Why not? It seems to me like that was exactly what you were saying."
"I just think there're more important things than where the date is."
"For example?"
"Well, who is this boy?"
"I told you, it's hyper... hypo..."
"Yes, but do I like him? Is he gay? Is he out? Is he smart? Is he good-looking? Does he know the difference between silk and viscose?"
"Uh..."
"And as for the really important questions... Is he a good person? Does he honestly like me? Can I bring him home and introduce him to Dad without stressing his heart into another arrhythmia?"
Finn huffed. "I don't know. Let's say... he's sorta good-looking. Smart, but not school-smart. Smart in a dork-ish way. Totally clueless about fabrics and fashion, but... well, people think he's a nice guy. Burt would like him. I guess you did... I mean, I guess you would too."
Kurt narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "Does he have bottle-blond hair and big, full lips?"
Finn recoiled, lowering his gaze to the mug resting on his right knee. "Uh, I don't know? Could be, if you like that sort of thing..."
"I'm not interested in Sam, Finn."
"I didn't say you are."
"So what's this all about?"
"Forget it."
But Kurt kept eyeing Finn the way a biologist would examine a cell nucleus in the microscope. "Did Sam ask Quinn on a date at...?"
"That subject is not allowed."
Kurt sighed. "Okay. But my point stands. I doubt I'd ever ask anyone on a date at Color Me Mine. And I doubt I'd be interested in going there for the sake of painting pottery. But if the invitation came from the boy of my dreams?" He shrugged. "I don't know. I can think of worse ideas for a date. Like a Taco Bell drive-thru."
"So, where do you and Blaine usually go to hang out?" Before Kurt could protest, he added, "I know you guys aren't dating, but... you like him, right? And that's kind of what I want to know. Cool places to go with someone you like."
"Well, you know, we go to the Lima Bean every day. Sometimes we lose track of time and just stay there, talking for hours."
"Right."
"We've gone to Breadstix a few times. We went to Columbus to see Rent. We go to the movies whenever there's anything worth watching in the theatres. Sometimes, when the Warblers' rehearsal stretches until late, we go the garden by the west wing of the school and watch the sunset. It's good, you know, to wind down. And we went to a flamenco performance a few weeks ago."
"And the ice rink this week."
"Yes. The ice rink." Kurt eyed his brother suspiciously. "Why are you smirking?"
"I'm not smirking."
"Yes, you are. What did I say that's so funny?"
"Nothing I'm allowed to talk about."
(Chapter 5 continues HERE.)