A/N: You knew this was coming. After watching the Prom episode, how could I resist writing some Kurtofsky fanfiction pertaining to it? So here are some drabbles/oneshots.

I wanted to dance with him. Oh, believe me, I did. And I would, too… if we were alone. If we weren't in a gym full of our peers, if his boyfriend wasn't standing nearby. Or maybe if I were braver, like him (to come back after having such a cruel joke played on him? To come back and accept the crown anyway, with dignity, with pride, even cracking a joke about it? That's true bravery, his Braveheart-like kilt somehow perfect, as if expecting that bravery), I could do it: come out, or dance with him, or be less miserable.

Because I am. I am miserable. I try to hide it, but in the week it's taken me to walk Kurt to nearly every class and then, finally, apologize to him like I wanted to (although I hadn't wanted to cry, I don't cry, but I fucking did and he saw it – saw my vulnerability – and he accepted it, accepted me, saying, "I know, I know,"), he saw straight through me. He saw through my guise, he stopped hating me because he saw my pain, and he understood.

And that right there was more than I could ever ask for.

But I couldn't do what he asked of me, what he keeps pressuring me to do: come Out. Be know as gay, like him. I just… I can't do that. Not now, not in high school. Things are on far too delicate a scale here. If I came out, things could fall apart.

But it hurts. It physically aches, because I'm already falling apart. When I left the gym that night, I went straight to my car. I couldn't face anyone. I hurt too much. And I almost expected Santana to come along – I was her ride, after all, and her date, even if it was a lie and I kept glancing at Kurt half the time and it burned me in a weird way to see him with his boyfriend – but she never did. She must have gotten a ride with someone else that night, even though I know she saw my car parked there. I didn't leave the parking lot until half of the other cars had already gone.

I was… in shock, crying, and thinking. I was shocked that I got Prom King – I thought for sure Hudson or Puckerman or both of them had far more votes than me, and maybe, in my paranoid mind, it's because they all know about how Kurt messes me up inside and they wanted to exploit it, wanted to force me Out, too. I don't know. But I do know how I was happy for a minute, thinking I would have the Perfect Evening, with all of my beardedness with Santana masked perfectly with our success, but no. No, Kurt was Prom Queen to my King, and it was wrong and right and awkward and oddly amazing and twisted and cruel and nearly laughable. Nearly.

It would be laughable, that is, if he and I were dates. And we were intentionally running together. And we wanted to win. And we did win because people liked us. Then it would be hilarious.

But not that night. Not that way.

For me, Prom turned into a disaster. I couldn't shake it, not all night. And thank God it was Saturday, because I didn't sleep and I needed to sleep, finally, when I crashed on Sunday. If I would have somehow needed to go somewhere the next day, I would have been a zombie.

But I still am a bit of a zombie. I can't get Kurt out of my head, not about he way he looked or what he said or how he acted, not from prom and not from that day in the hallway when I lost it. All I can think about is how he felt and smelled standing next to me, walking with me with books in his hand, looking me in the eyes and expecting me to dance with him. He… expected it. He was waiting for me to do it, to dance with him – what, proudly? – and show that I was as unafraid as I come off to be, that I was as unblemished by us as he was.

But I chickened out. I couldn't do it. I wanted to, so badly, but I couldn't.

So I left, cried in my car, and now, I'm left with two mementos taunting and haunting me of my failures: his wedding cake topper to represent the bullying I regret, and my crown that represents the set that he completes.

It makes something weird and heavy contort in my chest, as if my heart were made of thick, weighted lead wire and is twisted and snapping painfully between my lungs.

I wish it would all go away. My sexuality (because I can't deny it now, not when everything points to it and I'm left realizing for sure that I am gay), my mistakes, my… crush (I don't want to call it that, I'm afraid to, but I know that's what I feel, what it must be), and everything else that makes up my life right now.

Just… if it could vanish, then maybe, maybe I might be happy, and not feel… well, feel like shit.