Author's Notes:

First Fanfiction story, folks! Enjoy. I hope its not awful. I wrote it because i didn't think that Kurt would forgive Finn in Theatricality, so I wrote what I thought should have happened. Constructive criticism would make my day. Oh, and I don't own this. Duh.

Please please review. Pretty please... *puppy dog eyes*

The Sounds Of Silence

He cries that night after Finn leaves, sitting on the porch in the dark. His room feels suffocating; it only makes him think of what happened. The

decorations he used to love now look gaudy to him, and instead of the positive touch he had wanted to give his room, now the only thing it

reminds him of is hate. He loathes that he let it get to him, but the furnishings have got to go. He doesn't want a reminder of his past mistakes.

The best thing for him is to move on. To tell the truth, he misses his grey walled, minimalistic, future-chic room. That was him.

He cries quietly, tears dripping down his face. He watches the stars come out, and by the time he can see the constellations, his tears have gone,

as quickly as they came. And, with their disappearance, he realizes something else.

He is terribly angry. The deep hurt that he felt as he heard that word come out of Finn's mouth has gone; instead, overwhelming him, is pure,

devastating, fury. The strength of it separates him from himself, from how he used to feel, and clears his mind empty of himself. He finds suddenly

that it no longer matters what Finn thinks of him, because he has stopped caring. There will be no fervent promises to himself, promises he always

failed to keep, to not cry anymore over what will never be. He doesn't have to promise himself, because somewhere inside, a certainty lives, and

he knows, not thinks, knows, that he will never cry about being gay again. The stigma has lost its hold on him; the hurt, the hatred of himself, has

lifted from his shoulders. For the first time in years, he feels no shame for who he is.

Sleep doesn't come to him that night, but he doesn't care. He watches the clouds move across the sky, and explores the fury swirling in his mind,

putting each piece into place until he knows exactly how he feels. Sleep doesn't come to him, but when he slips back into the house at six thirty in

the morning, he doesn't feel remotely tired. It is a day of firsts, he decides, when he silently slips back into his room to get ready for school: for

once, he doesn't feel like dressing up.

He combs his hair back from his forehead; washes his face. A pebble-green long sleeve t-shirt and jeans and his black boots, and he's out the

door, grabbing his car keys off the kitchen counter. The drive to school is fifteen minutes, but he doesn't turn the radio on. It's drizzling outside,

not quite raining, but lightly sprinkling, and the hum of the car and the faint patter of the rain is music enough for him. The route is familiar to him

and he doesn't think about it. Before too long, he pulls in at school. It's early yet- there's not very many people there, just the few students

walking the halls. Absentmindedly, he finds his way to the auditorium.

The smell comforts him- the scent of dust and open spaces, mixed with the musty smell of the seats. Everything here, from his absolute solitude to

the soft pad his steps make as he makes his way down the aisle, says home to him.

Halfway to the stage, he stops. He turns into a row, and right when the stage is front and center, he sits down in a seat. Everything is silent

again.

The first bell rings, warning that there is only four minutes to get to class. The second bell rings. He's late, but it doesn't matter. He's not planning

on going to first period today. Maybe not second either. Maybe third period is a waste of his time, too. Kurt Hummel's never skipped class before.

Today seems like a fine day to start.

It's maybe forty minutes into third period when the door to the auditorium opens. He knew this would happen. It's why he's waiting there, sitting

in that seat as if he's waiting for the curtain to come up. Finn Hudson knows him too well, knows that this is the only place he'd be if he's skiving

class. Finn knows this because Kurt used to have loose lips when it came to Finn, and told him once. If Kurt has a bad day, he goes to the

auditorium.

He ignores the footsteps until they stop at his row, and that's when he looks up.

Finn looks like shit.

Kurt notes this. So he feels bad for what he did, a voice says coolly in his head.

Kurt meets his eyes. They're wide, searching, and horrified.

"Kurt…" Finn says. Even the way he says Kurt's name sounds like an apology.

Straightening his shirt, he rises from his seat. No defensive crossing of the arms, no trademark coldness or weak smile. He simply looks at him,

and waits. No brave face, no stony grandeur. He waits.

Seconds pass, and finally Finn, shuffling his feet, speaks.

"Oh God, Kurt, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, I, I didn't mean anything I was saying, I just, I don't know, I just said it and I wish I could take it back, it

was wrong-" Finn's voice cracks, and he runs his hand through his hair, messing it up even further.

"I didn't mean what I said. I just said it. I'm so…I'm so sorry, Kurt."

So that's it, then, his apology. He's standing there looking thoroughly ashamed of himself, but this time Kurt's not going to put on a brave face and

say nothing's wrong, that they can just go back to being friends. What Finn said hurt. He's not going to lie and say it didn't. And so, Kurt lifts his

head that one inch higher and answers him.

"We can't go back to being friends." He says quietly. "I know you feel bad for what you said to me last night, but that doesn't change how you

feel about this. You feeling sorry doesn't change that you did mean what you said to me." He plows on, because Finn sputters, opening his mouth

to deny.

"You really did. You may regret it, but at that moment, when those words came out of your mouth, you meant what you said. And no apology is

going to change that. And calling me a fag, Finn?" His voice never falters.

"It hurt. It did, it hurt. But then after the hurt, and after the anger, I started feeling sorry for you. I'm sorry too. I'm sorry we might have ruined our

parent's relationship, although I hope we didn't- and I'm sorry that this friendship is over. But I'm not sorry for who I am, and I'm not going to

apologize for it."

Finn stares at him, and the only sound is their breathing for a long moment.

"But-I-" Finn is speechless, his eyes far-away and troubled. He looks at his hands.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers. He says it to the floor, unwilling to meet Kurt's eyes.

"I know."

"We can't…be friends anymore?"

"No." Kurt says calmly. He is astonished by how distant he feels from the person in front of him, at how cold he feels inside. It is like talking to a

stranger, a person he has only briefly met. His eyes see nothing familiar, nothing of friendship or family in Finn.

"Ok," Finn breathes out, and his hands have started to shake.

But Kurt Just. Doesn't. Care.

Finn moves to leave, but when he's almost to the exit, one word stops him, in that clear, high voice.

"Wait."

Finn doesn't turn around. He doesn't trust his face not to belay the turmoil that is rising beneath, the crushing shame that is filling him up, the

sadness that is weighing down the beating of his heart. Is this who he is? A jerk? Is this how Kurt really sees him?

He has lost the respect of a friend, and now, now he can count that person a friend no longer. So he doesn't turn- he keeps his back towards

Kurt, one hand on the auditorium door.

"I want you to know something," Kurt continues, and his voice is no longer remote, but quietly sad. "I didn't like you just because of your looks,

you know. I didn't care about your popularity. I liked you because-" he pauses, and then goes on- "because I thought…that you were kind. I liked

the way you smiled when you were really excited about something. I even liked how you cheat off Britney in Spanish class. But now…I can't see

any of that. I can't remember what it was like to look up to you, to consider you a friend.

And I'm done hating myself for who I am, Finn. I'm through with it. I've finally had enough with playing the victim in my life. I've let go of the hate-

but I'll always remember what you said. I'll forgive you, but I can't forget it. And that's, that's why-

that's why we can't be friends. No matter what, if we'd be friends again, I'd be thinking if you still were afraid, still holding hatred for that part of

me. I just can't do it. You see…I'd always… I'd always be…"

"Always be what?" And Finn's voice is choked, but Kurt knows he has to say it. His father was right- he can't live with poison. He has to be able to

trust his friends. Friends are supposed to love you, to support you. Friends should never do you more harm than good.

He swallows, and says it, so softly, and the silence of the auditorium is the hushed breath of hundreds of people, waiting for the beginning of a

song; listening with all they have to hear one whispered line.

"…. wondering."

All it is a whisper, but Kurt knows, somehow, that he's never spoken this loud in his life. It's not about the volume, after all. The loudest scream,

the heartiest singer; all can be ignored when the audience isn't willing to listen. But these words are true, and they fill the air above the seats and

the stage, and they fill Finn's ears until he wants to cover them, but he can't, because the words are inside his head.

The quietest murmur can be louder than the loudest concert. Theatricality is light and action and costumes and noise; it can dazzle and shock- but

truth, honest truth, is everything.

The door of the auditorium swings for a moment, then shuts with a loud clang, and Finn is gone. The clang echoes throughout the auditorium.

It is the end of a friendship, Kurt knows. But even though he's sad, he feels at peace.

Because it's really just the beginning of something else; a new world. Slowly, Kurt walks down the aisle, and up the stairs, making his way to the

grand piano, which shines onyx in the dim shadows of the stage. He slides onto the bench, and his slim fingers find the chords, feel the coolness

of the keys beneath his fingers. This is where he belongs; and so, a tiny smile lifting the corners of his lips, Kurt begins to play.

Author's Notes: Come on. Press that review button, you know you want to. It wants to be pressed. That's its purpose in life. Do you want to take away a poor little button's purpose? Even a few words letting me know how it is would be amazing.