This was written for the Valentine Day Exchange at Livejournal community Gleefics, in response to a prompt by westendbound.
Most sincere thanks to my darling beta Teka Lynn.

Set right after Sectionals.

Angelfish
by Morgan D.

Finn assumed he was the one to blame. When Rachel told him she was afraid of losing the diva-off to Kurt because most of the others liked him better than her, Finn had been the one to suggest that she had to work on getting people to like her. He should have realized that she wouldn't really know how to accomplish that. If she had known how, she probably wouldn't have a problem with that in the first place.

She had seemed to start on the right foot, though. Hosting a party for all the glee clubbers had sounded like a pretty good idea at first. Unfortunately, in one of those really weird freaky coincidence things, all the others were too busy to attend. Artie said he needed to polish his shoes. Tina said she had ballet class. Kurt said he had to iron his clothes. Mercedes said she had to train for a triathlon competition. Mike had to clean his room. Puck had to wash his hair. Quinn had to pray, Matt had to teach his dog to count to ten, Santana had to watch the grass grow, and Brittany somehow knew she would have a stomach ache on the day of the party.

Rachel did try to reschedule the party to a different day, but somehow everyone was still busy no matter what date she picked, which was a little strange because, even though Kurt probably had enough clothes to keep him ironing every night of the month, how much time did Puck really need to wash his mohawk?

That only served to make Rachel even more determined. So she came back to Finn and told him that, as co-captain of the club, he absolutely had to convince the others to go to her party. He wasn't sure why being the co-captain had anything to do with making her party a success, and he tried to tell her so. But then Rachel spouted off a long, rapid-fire speech full of big words he didn't recognize to persuade him that the future of the glee club totally depended on the others starting to like her and supporting her ideas and not resenting her talent, and that if that party failed, glee would fail, which meant her high school years would have been a total waste, and then her career would be in jeopardy, and her life would probably be over, and if Finn cared just a little about her and about his own future he simply must help her.

Honestly, Finn didn't quite get any of that. It was like what he had told Mr. Shue not too long ago. Unless something happened in that party to turn them all into zombies and they then proceeded to devour the brains of the entire population of Lima, one little party wasn't very likely to change much in their lives. Then again, Rachel was smart. Maybe she knew what she was talking about.

Or maybe she was just going chick-batty again. It kind of happened pretty often, really.

Either way, Finn didn't feel he had the patience or the vocabulary to argue with Rachel. It was just easier to go with it. Getting people to go to a party by his invitation shouldn't be a problem at all for him; even if glee had seriously hurt his popularity among the other students, the glee kids themselves still seemed to like him.

However, as soon as the others figured out it wasn't his party but Rachel's, their enthusiasm cooled down a thousand degrees.

Things were particularly awkward with Quinn. She looked so happy at first that he was inviting her, like, maybe she thought he was forgiving her for all the baby mess and all that, but then when he told her it was for Rachel's party, Quinn's face went so white, Finn thought she might pass out or puke on his sneakers.

"So... you... and Rachel...?" she sort of asked.

"She needs help," Finn told her. "So I'm helping." That wasn't what Quinn was asking, he knew that much, but that was the only answer he could give her. Or give himself, for that matter. He didn't know how he felt about Rachel anymore. Sure, she was still smoking hot. And when Finn had been with Quinn, Quinn was like the right path to school, and Rachel was like the little detour that passed by the video arcade. When school was good, with football and glee and chicken for lunch, he was pretty happy about being there and didn't think of the arcade at all. But when he got slushies in his face, or when he got confused in class, or when the cafeteria had nothing but meatloaf surprise, then all he wanted was to sneak out and spend the rest of the day playing The House of the Dead IV. It had been like that for months, up until sectionals.

But now? Now Quinn wasn't the right path to anywhere anymore. So it was like school was out and he was free to spend as much time as he wanted in the video arcade. And that was where the metaphere... metafour... metathing... whatever it was called... that was where it failed, because Finn couldn't really think of any reason why he wouldn't want to be in the arcade right now. Maybe Quinn not being the path to school anymore cancelled the whole thing, so Rachel was no longer the detour to the arcade either?

Whatever. All Finn knew was that he really missed the feeling of knowing where he was supposed to be and what he was supposed to be doing. And he really, really missed the feeling of being responsible for someone's care. The idea of becoming a father had freaked him out so badly at first, what with his mom thinking he was incapable of taking care of a pet... But since Kurt had made him sing his feelings for Baby Drizzle in a ballad, Finn had been really into it.

It was all gone now. And it was too soon to forgive, too hard to forget, but he would still be making a fool of himself if Rachel hadn't told him the truth, so Finn thought helping her might be the right thing to be doing right now. He kind of owed her.

Quinn stared at him for a long while, then nodded. "I'll be there."

He nodded back, unable to think of anything else to say.

Next in line was Puck. However, the last thing Finn wanted was to have Puck mistake the invitation for forgiveness or for an opening to restore their friendship. As far as Finn was concerned, there was nothing to be salvaged there. So instead of talking to him, Finn sort of borrowed Rachel's cell phone when she wasn't looking, and texted Puck, "Party my place Sat 3pm. Gay dads out, lots of booze."

Puck's instant reply was, "L'chayim! Count me in."

Easy as pie. And just like that, half the problem was solved. The promise of alcohol got Mike and Matt to agree to the party as well. Santana then decided that rather than keeping an eye on the growing grass, she preferred to keep an eye on Puck, to make sure he didn't get too happy and carefree at a party at Rachel's. And apparently Santana managed to cure Brittany of her stomach bug too.

After classes, Finn found Kurt in the choir room, playing some song Finn didn't recognize in the piano. In fact, he wasn't even sure it was a song. The mood kept shifting back and forth between quick and cheerful, and slow and gloomy, without apparent logic. Still, there was a strange beauty to it, and he didn't feel like interrupting it. So he just stood at the door, watching the way Kurt's shoulders moved as his hands ran all over the keys.

"Hello, Finn Hudson," Kurt said suddenly, filling a brief pause of the music. He didn't turn his head. He didn't smile at Finn.

That was so wrong.

Kurt always smiled at him.

"Uh. Hi." Finn cleared his throat, stepping into the room. "I kind of wanted to talk to you."

"To invite me to Rachel's party, I suppose?"

Whoa. "Hmm. Yeah."

Kurt's fingers moved to the keys at his right, and the high-pitched notes formed such a sad melody, frail and hypnotic. He didn't say a word, though.

"So." Finn cleared his throat again. "Can you come?"

"I could," Kurt shrugged. "But wouldn't that be entirely pointless?"

"What do you mean?"

"I hear you've already gotten half the glee club to attend, and yet not one of them is going because of Rachel."

"Well, yes, but..."

"If I go, I'm sure I can persuade Mercedes to escort me. And she would definitely bring Tina. And that should be enough to get Artie to tag along." Kurt sighed. "Wasn't that the play you had in mind, quarterback?"

That was eerie. "I was thinking more in terms of bowling than football, actually. You know, the ball knocks down one pin, which knocks down the next, and the next..."

"Ah." Finally, there was a smile on Kurt's face. Well, more of a smirk, but it was something. "Very clever of you, Finn."

Wow. Now that was something Finn didn't hear often.

"Except that it'll be your strike, Finn. Rachel will be the one jumping for joy in her skirts of inappropriate length and questionable taste, telling everyone who would care to hear it, and many who wouldn't, that she did it, she won, she succeeded... and yet she'll remain as clueless as she ever was on the proper way of holding the ball."

Finn frowned, thinking back of the day he had taken Rachel bowling, when she bowled a strike pretty much by accident. However, he knew Kurt was speaking in metaphones, and Finn had to admit that the odds of Rachel accidentally becoming popular were pretty slim. "It'll still be her party, Kurt. I'm just trying to get everyone to give her a chance. Once we're all there, it's up to her."

Kurt stopped playing abruptly, the last note reverberating in the room like a frightened screech. He spun on the piano bench to face Finn. "Okay. Then let's say it works. Let's say we all go, and the party is successful, and we all have a great time."

"All right!" Finn smiled. That sounded much more promising.

"What do you think will happen next time there's a solo up for grabs? Or next time we discuss whether we should sing more show tunes or try something different? Or next time there's a disagreement about the choreography? Or to put it simply, the next time we decide to do anything some way that isn't hers?" Kurt folded his arms over his chest. "How is this party supposed to change anything?"

It was a fair question. Finn wished he knew the answer.

"Seriously, Finn. Hasn't it ever occurred to you that maybe it's not us who need to give Rachel a chance, that maybe she's the one who needs to give a chance to... you know... anybody?"

"Come on, she's not that bad. She was willing to let Mercedes sing the ballad at sectionals. And she didn't argue against Matt, Mike, Santana and Brittany doing the choreography for You Can't Always Get What You Want. No much, anyway."

Kurt narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced.

"She's getting better," Finn insisted. "She knows she has to change, and she's making an effort. It won't be overnight. Like when Mr. Shue teaches us new steps, and at first we keep stumbling and missing the beat and bumping into each other and getting run over by Artie's chair... but at some point we get it, and it all works out."

"In other words, before Rachel gets it, there will be bruises, ugly falls, twisted ankles, swollen toes, much complaining, some angry storming-outs, and lots of tears." Kurt sighed. "Oh, yes. I can't wait."

Finn wasn't sure, but he felt maybe Kurt was being sarcastic there. It was hard to tell. "Kurt, please..."

Kurt rolled his eyes, let out a groan under his breath. "Fine. I'll go. And I'll bring the others. Because you asked."

Finn felt like a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Kurt was really, really awesome.

~#~

As it turned out, Rachel's two gay dads would indeed be out that Saturday, so Finn decided he should make good on the promise about the booze. When he went to work on the restaurant on Friday, he took his book bag filled with rolls of toilet paper, and when no one was looking, he sneaked into the storage room in the back and replaced the toilet paper with vodka and gin bottles. They tinkled a little in the bag, so Finn used some of the paper to wrap the bottles and keep them from banging against one another. Oh, that was pretty smart, if he said so himself. If someone noticed the missing bottles, he was counting on no one daring to blame the guy in the wheelchair. And if they did in fact blame him, well, it wasn't like Finn really needed the job anymore, now that he wasn't Drizzle's father. Besides, he was getting tired of pretending to be a cripple. It was especially annoying when he had to pee, and he couldn't get up and use the urinal because someone might get in the bathroom and see him on his feet and think he had been miraculously cured by Jesus or Santa.

Finn was pretty upset, though, when Rachel failed to show any appreciation for the big risk he had taken on her behalf. As soon as he showed her the bottles, she yelled at him and hid them in a cupboard, saying there would be absolutely no alcohol consumption at her party. She would be serving pink lemonade instead. And sugar cookies.

As soon as everybody had arrived and Mercedes asked why there was no music, Rachel announced they would be watching The Phantom of the Opera movie. That piece of news was not met with great enthusiasm, and Finn feared a riot. But Rachel was faster, and in a matter of seconds she had physically pushed everyone into the couch, the two armchairs or the pillows on the floor, turned out the lights, and started the DVD. There was still some annoyed grumbling, but soon the loud music was muffling any protests there might have been.

Finn didn't know what to think of the movie. He was pretty sure that he would never want to be part of an opera crew, because it must be really hard to keep speaking in song like that. How did they do it, holding whole conversations and even arguments in song, with rhymes and all? How did they even know the melodies they were supposed to speak in?

The music was cool, though. He wasn't expecting to like it, but he did, and he found himself playing 'air drums' along with the Phantom's theme the first time he took the girl to that crazy hideout of his. And wow, the girl's voice was so high, she probably scared a lot of dogs with it.

Finn hoped everyone had paid attention to the scenes with that Carlotta bitch. Imagine having her in their glee club! Rachel wasn't nearly that bad.

And Finn wished he could get his hands on whatever the Phantom had put in Carlotta's throat spray. That would be a great present to send to the members of Vocal Adrenaline...

The Phantom gave Finn the chills. Not entirely in a bad way, though. He didn't sound like too much of a singer, Finn thought, but the way he sang was just so intense, like his life depended on every word out of his lips. It was nerve-wrecking. The good guy, on the other hand, was kind of a douche. Finn liked the Phantom best. Fine, okay, killing was not a nice thing to do. But give the guy a break. With a face like that, he was probably slushied ten times a day, every day of his life, since elementary school. That much corn syrup on your skin had got to affect your brain somehow. Finn made a mental note to ask Kurt later. He would know, he knew everything about skin issues.

One part Finn really didn't like was the freak circus. Man, that was terrifying. And the public was even scarier than the attractions. The horrible faces they made when they laughed, full of teeth and ugly wrinkles... They reminded Finn of his friends' hysterical laughter when they drove around throwing eggs and... oh, God, the pee balloons. Damn, he had been such an asshole before joining glee. Finn suspected there was a special place in hell for boys who threw pee balloons at someone like Kurt. He did not like to be reminded of that.

And the end of the movie was such a downer. The Phantom let the girl go because he loved her too much, and she just had to act like a ho, singing a love song with the douchebag while the Phantom could still hear them. Seriously, who does that?

Rachel refused to turn the lights back on until the end of the credits. Finn thought about getting up and finding the bathroom, but he couldn't see too well in the dark living room, and the last thing he wanted was to step on somebody's limb or break some priceless piece of decoration. To distract himself from his protesting bladder, Finn looked around at his companions, trying to spot where everyone was and maybe get an idea if they were already having fun or not.

Finn himself was on the couch, right in the middle. At his right, Santana was playing with her hair. At his left, Matt was yawning. Quinn was on the armchair to his right, fast asleep. Brittany was sitting on the carpet at Santana's feet, scraping the icing off the cookies and into her glass of lemonade; she took a sip, made a face, and went on to add more icing powder to the pink liquid.

On the other armchair, Mercedes was texting on her cell phone. Mike was on the floor in front of her, pulling little tufts off the carpet. Kurt was on a dining chair at Mercedes' left, legs crossed and hands daintily resting on his knee. Finn wished he could see the expression on his face. He hoped Kurt was smiling.

Rachel sat on the floor upfront center, silhouetted against the glare of the TV, her back turned to the rest of the group.

Artie, Puck and Tina were nowhere to be found.

Interesting. Finn didn't even notice any of them leaving. He must have been really engrossed in the movie.

Finally, Rachel got up and turned the lights on. The sudden brightness woke Quinn up.

"So, friends... what did you think?" asked Rachel. "Wait. Where's Artie? And Tina?"

"She took him to the bathroom," said Brittany.

That reminded Finn of his own pressing needs. "Where is the bathroom, by the way?"

"That door." Brittany pointed.

"Brit, that's the front door," said Rachel. Then, to make sure Brittany understood, she added, "It leads outside. To the street."

"Oh! No wonder they never came back, then. They left right after the movie began. They must still be looking for the bathroom."

"Never mind them," said Santana. "Where's Puck?"

"I've found the goods!" yelled Puck from the kitchen. The next moment he joined them in the living room, holding a bottle of vodka in each hand.

"Yes!" Matt cheered. He and Mike practically pounced on Puck as they reached for the bottles.

"No!" Rachel shrieked. "Noah, give me those!"

"Sure, babe. Get the glasses."

There was no way Rachel would manage to steer Puck away from the booze now. Not without help.

But Finn had promised Kurt that once the party started, its fate would be up to Rachel.

Besides, his bladder couldn't wait.

~#~

Finn returned to the living room just in time to see Santana and Brittany escorting Quinn out of the house. Brittany waved him goodbye.

Mercedes and Rachel were actually the only ones left in the room, but they were probably too wrapped into their shouting match to notice it.

"I don't believe you! So that's why you threw this party?!"

"Of course not, Mercedes! How dare you?! I'm hosting this party so we glee clubbers can congregate and share some meaningful moments outside the choir room. So we can celebrate our friendship and our concurrent will to win regionals by showing the very best of what we can do."

"And obviously 'our very best' means you singing more white showtune crap?"

"I never said that! I merely pointed out that some of the songs from The Phantom of the Opera would brighten our program and give us the edge we desperately need to defeat Vocal Adrenaline."

"Right! And just who gets to sing the female solo part, I wonder..."

"Well, I am sure you will agree that I'm the only one in the group with the required training to attempt that kind of repertoire..."

Finn was surprised not to see Kurt there backing Mercedes up – and sending Finn an I-told-you-so look. There were voices coming from the kitchen, though. Maybe he was in there.

And indeed he was. He and Puck stood at opposite sides of the kitchen table, each one with a shot glass in front of him.

"What are you guys doing?" asked Finn. Although the answer was pretty obvious.

"Last Man Standing!" Puck hollered.

Matt and Mike cheered.

Kurt hiccupped.

"Although technically I win by default," Puck sneered. "Since I'm the only real man competing here."

Kurt's only response was to drain his glass in one gulp.

Mike refilled it with vodka, while Matt refilled Puck's.

"Guys, this is a really bad idea," said Finn with a sigh. That was not what he had in mind when he brought the bottles. He had imagined all of them together playing I Never or some other drinking game that got them to share stories and socialize. Be friends. No friendship would spring up from Puck drinking himself into oblivion and taking someone with him. Especially if that someone was Kurt.

Finn remembered when April Rhodes attended McKinley High, and each day Kurt would show up in school a little more drunk than the day before, until the famous moment when he barfed on Ms. Pillsbury, and they both ended up in the emergency room, although Ms. Pillsbury was probably the only one who really needed it. A reprise of that would be a fantastically horrible way to end that party.

While Puck had his next shot, Finn leaned down to whisper in the smaller boy's ear. "Kurt, you don't need to do this. You don't need to prove anything just because Puck dared you."

Kurt blinked owlishly at him. "I dared him," he said with a tiny shrug.

"Your turn, Bruno," said Puck.

And another shot disappeared down Kurt's throat. The glasses were refilled once again.

"Forget it, Miss Bossy-Pants!" yelled Mercedes from the other room. "I'm done with your squawking! Next time you decide to throw a party, try and find out what the word actually means! Bye, Kurt, I'm leaving!"

Kurt raised his hand and waved his fingers, apparently unaware that she wasn't there to see the gesture.

"Mercedes, wait!" Finn called after her, but the sound of the banging door told him she either didn't hear him or just didn't care. Damn. He had been counting on her to knock some sense into Kurt's head.

Instead, they got Rachel.

"Noah Puckerman, you get rid of those bottles right this instant!"

"We're working on it," said Puck, raising his glass in a mock toast before downing its contents.

"Don't you know how dangerous this is? Underage drinking is responsible for over five thousand deaths every year! And I'm not talking just about car crashes and falls from balconies, I'm talking about alcohol literally destroying your body from within. This is poison you are drinking. It impairs the development of the brain, corrodes the liver, upsets the hormones, weakens muscles and bones, and that's only if you don't manage to drink yourself to death in a pointless binge."

"Please tell us more, Rachel," asked Kurt. "In particular that part about corroding the liver. Give us details."

And so she did. While the game went on, Rachel meticulously described the effects of alcohol on the stomach, liver, kidneys, brain, heart, some organ called esofagious, and a few other organs Finn could not pronounce and wasn't quite sure he really had. Puck's face grew steadily greener as her descriptions became more and more graphic. He told her to shut up a few times, but she was on a roll, and Kurt kept encouraging her with questions. Finn was starting to feel queasy himself, and he hadn't had a drop to drink.

Eventually, Puck got Rachel to stop talking... when he bent over and threw up all over the floor.

"Thanks, princess," said Kurt. "I like you now." He swilled down a final shot, and staggered out of the house.

~#~

Rachel was not happy. Well, actually, she seemed convinced that her life was over.

Finn found himself having to choose between three tasks.

Comfort a stressed-out Rachel.

Take care of a drunken Puck.

Clean the vomit off the kitchen floor.

Easy choice.

He went to find some sort of cleaning cloth, while Matt and Mike dragged Puck to the bathroom, and Rachel locked herself in her bedroom.

Only a few weeks ago, things would have been so different. Finn wished he could find it in his heart to forgive Puck. He was tired of being angry. But some serious uncrossable lines were crossed. And there was also the fact that Puck had never really bothered to apologize to him for anything. "We're cool, dude?" was not an apology.

The first time Finn got drunk was when he and Puck were twelve; his then best friend stole a couple of six-packs his dad had bought to watch the Super Bowl, and the two boys hid in the park to drink them with barbecue Pringles. Finn remembered burping almost non-stop, which was fun. And he remembered something about garden gnomes, muddy socks, cigars and Russian dancers. Whatever that was.

He had gotten smashed again a few times after that. But not nearly as many as Puck. Or as any of his friends in the rest of the football team, for that matter. The aftermath just wasn't worth it.

It wasn't just the puking his guts out, or the killer headache, or the stench of rotten corpses in his mouth, or even his bruised backside from all those failed attempts to swing from the end of a vine just like Tarzan – he could totally pull the scream off, though. No, it was the disappointed look in his mother's face when he couldn't hide the signs of his drinking.

On Mrs. Puckerman, that look seemed to be permanent, regardless of whether Puck was doing something stupid or not. Maybe that was why Puck didn't care.

So Finn had gotten used to being the guy who put Puck back together, got him sober, took him home. He couldn't say he missed it, exactly. But it was weird not being the one to do it. It was weird not caring enough to do it.

He left a note on the table, saying goodbye to Rachel. He didn't dare disturb her dramatic agony over how the failed party had destroyed her future career on Broadway.

Outside, the night air was chilly. Great. Finn's mom had driven him there before going to work, and he had hoped to get a ride back home from one of his friends. He considered waiting for Mike and Matt, but both lived in the opposite direction he was going.

As he passed the front gate and reached the sidewalk, a hissing sound caught his attention. It came from the other side of the shiny black Lincoln Navigator parked in front. Kurt's car. That thing was so impressive, no jock had ever had the heart to mess it up, no matter how much they enjoyed hazing its owner. In fact, they had all been pretty upset at Mercedes when she busted the windshield during that car wash. Kurt himself was fair game, as far as the jocks were concerned, but damaging that huge beauty was crossing a line.

Finn treaded carefully around the car, trying not to make any noise that would disturb the source of those whispering sounds. He found Kurt sitting on the running board, his back against the driver's door, twirling the car keys around the fingers of his right hand. As the distance between them shortened, the sounds Finn heard resolved into sad words and a soft melody.

.
Wishing you were somehow here again,
wishing you were somehow near.
Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed,
somehow you would be here.

Wishing I could hear your voice again,
knowing that I never would.
Dreaming of you won't help me to do
all that you dreamed I could.
.

Finn recognized the look on Kurt's face, which in turn led him to recognize the song.

The song the girl in the movie sang when she went to the cemetery to see her father's grave.

The sad smile with which Kurt had spoken of opening his mother's drawers to sense her perfume and pretend she was still there.

There was something in the movie that had baffled Finn: how could the girl be confused about whether the Phantom might be her father? Wouldn't she know her father's voice? Finn didn't remember how his dad had sounded, but that was because he had never heard him. For all the piles of stuff his mom kept of him in the basement, there wasn't a single recording of his voice, not even from an answering machine. Nothing. But something told Finn that Kurt most certainly remembered what his mom's voice had sounded like. And probably would never forget it.

The song faded into silence, unfinished.

Finn stood there, not knowing what to do. This was a private moment. He shouldn't be there.

"Helllllo, Finn Hudson..."

There was a bit of a slur in Kurt's voice, not nearly as much as Finn had expected considering he had just drunk Puck under the table. It hadn't been even noticeable while he was singing. Then again, Kurt was a really good singer, even Rachel had admitted that he had great voice control. 'For someone who isn't nearly as talented or experienced as I am,' she had added, of course. So maybe it was actually easier for Kurt to sing than to speak. Hey, maybe he could join an opera crew, then!

"Go ahead, Finn. Scold away. 'M ready for it."

"What?"

"You know. Bad, bad Kurt. Ruining poor little Rachel's party." The car keys fell to the floor, and Kurt leaned forward to retrieve them, almost falling off the running board.

"Well, I don't think playing Last Man Standing with Puck helped," said Finn. "But honestly, I think the party was ruined before Puck found the booze anyway."

"So... no scolding?" Kurt's face was so hopeful and cute.

"Nah. No scolding. I'm just glad you came."

Kurt had that kind of smile that made it impossible not to smile back. "Thanks."

"I'm sorry the movie made you sad, though," said Finn.

"I'm not sad."

"You'd be more convincing if you weren't pouting."

"Not pouting!"

Finn shrugged, stepping a little closer. "It's okay. Sometimes I sing to my dad too."

Kurt stared at him, looking surprised that Finn had realized what he had been doing. Oh, man, maybe he shouldn't have said anything. It was too personal! Why had he?

Because... because he had wanted Kurt to know that he got it. That he knew what it was like.

That Kurt wasn't alone.

"Think they can hear us?" asked Kurt in a tiny voice.

Finn didn't dare to lie. "I don't know. I hope so."

"I guess mom is surprised at how little my voice has changed since she was alive," Kurt snorted.

Finn had to grin at that. "Well, I like your voice. It's pretty... unique."

"But you like hers better," Kurt muttered, glaring down at his car keys.

"Who? The girl from the movie?"

"No. Well, yes. Hers too. All the hers are better than mine, right?"

"What?"

Kurt shook his head. "Never mind, forget it." He tried to get up, but his legs didn't seem to obey him. Finn offered him a hand, then. In the end, he had to drag the smaller boy to his feet, and hold him by the arms so he wouldn't fall back to the ground.

"Whoa, there," Finn laughed. "What are you doing here all alone anyway?"

"Going home. Trying. My baby is acting funny."

"Your...?" Finn actually panicked for half a second, thinking Kurt might be pregnant. But it was only half a second. Really. Finn might be a little stupid, but not that stupid. Kurt might be prettier than many girls, but he didn't really have the right pipes to get pregnant. Finn knew that for a fact. He had watched Kurt in the showers after football practice after all. Not in a perverted way! Just... noticed him. In a completely harmless, non-kinky manner.

"Don't know what's up with her," said Kurt, turning towards his brilliant monster of a car. "Maybe she doesn't like me anymore..."

"It won't start?"

"Won't let me in!" Kurt raised his hand, dangling the keys way too close to Finn's nose. "The lock keeps... dancing all over the door. Can't put the key in."

Finn caught the keys, and the hand that held them, between his own hands. "That might be a sign that you shouldn't be driving, you know."

Kurt looked down at their hands, as if expecting them to catch fire or something. "I'm not as think as you drunk."

"...what?"

The smaller boy scowled. "Not drunk. I can drive. Don't wanna walk."

"Let me take you home, okay?"

"Can't leave my baby."

"Then I'll drive your... your baby." Finn was sure Kurt would refuse, and braced himself for a long argument.

"Okay."

Finn blinked. "Okay?"

"You'll be careful, right?"

Oh God. Kurt was letting him drive the Navigator? Seriously?

The image of the postman crashing against the windshield and his mother screaming in terror hit Finn like a ton of bricks. "Are you sure, Kurt?"

Kurt nodded. "Yeah. I trust you."

Oh God.

~#~

Getting Kurt in the passenger's seat was a bit of a challenge. It wasn't that Kurt was being uncooperative, no. The problem was that, in trying to cooperate, he somehow managed to make things a lot more difficult than they had to be. Also, Kurt was overly concerned about the possibility of the seatbelt wrinkling his clothes, so he did his best to hold the fabric in place while Finn buckled the belt up for him. They managed by the sixth attempt.

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"You know I'm your friend, right?"

Finn looked up from the seatbelt clasp, suddenly realizing how close their faces were to each other. "S-sure."

"Because I need to tell you something."

"Oh?"

"I've wanted to tell you this for so long... and I never had the courage."

"Uh... Kurt..."

"I almost did. A few weeks back. But I was afraid you'd be mad. I still am."

"I'm... I'm not gonna be mad."

"You promise?"

Finn took a deep breath. "Yeah. I promise."

"It doesn't work."

"What doesn't work?"

"I can still smell the Biofreeze. And the combination with Drakkar Noir..." Kurt's face contorted in disgust.

"Oh." Somehow, that wasn't what Finn had expected to hear. "Sorry." He started to get away from Kurt, to spare him from the stink, but Kurt grabbed him by the shoulders.

"No, don't... I'm sorry, Finn. I didn't mean... I just thought I could help you. Find something else."

"Oh!" Of course Kurt could help him with that. He knew all the cool products. "Thanks."

"Any time." Kurt breathed more easily now, despite Finn's unfortunate perfume. Apparently he had been really worried that Finn might get mad at him. "You should let me give you a makeover someday."

"Can you make me look like a movie star?" Finn smirked.

"Which movie star? Patrick Wilson?"

"I don't know that one."

"Yes, you do! Raoul. From the movie we just saw."

"The douchebag?" Finn grimaced.

Kurt let out a funny giggle. "You thought so too? Good looking, though."

"Yeah, but what the hell was that thing he was wearing at the masked ball? I mean, he didn't even bother to wear the jacket right."

"I know! It made his shoulders look like they were falling off his body. Really disturbing." Kurt raised his hands to pull at Finn's collar. "But you'd look great with a Victorian silk cravat."

Kurt's fingers brushed Finn's neck so softly, more heat from the proximity than actual touch. Finn took a moment to realize he didn't understand Kurt's comment. "With a what?"

"Those neckties the men wore in the movie. So beautiful, so classy. They'd go great with your face shape." Kurt's warm palms rested on Finn's cheeks, soft and sweetly perfumed. Finn gasped at the cold air when Kurt removed his hands to press them against his own face. "Mine is too round for it. It's so unfair." Kurt squeezed his cheeks with his index fingers, trying to make his face look thinner.

Finn couldn't help laughing. "You look like a fish like that."

Kurt frowned, his fingers still pressing on his cheeks, causing his face to look even funnier. "A fish? That's not good. That's terrrrrrrrrrible."

"No, it's cute. You look like an angelfish. I've always wanted angelfish."

Kurt's frown disappeared into a smile. "Really?"

"Yeah. Mom wouldn't let me have one, though." Finn arranged his too tall figure behind the steering wheel, having to pull the driver's seat way back to accommodate his legs. "You know, with the car on the move, you may feel like... puking... you know?"

"I won't," said Kurt prissily. "I'm not going to pollute my baby."

"Well. Okay. But if you feel it coming up, just tell me and I'll stop the car, so you can puke in the gutter. Okay?"

Kurt gave him a scandalized look. "Are you out of your mind?! This shirt is D&G. The vest is Missoni. There will be no expelling of stomach contents, period."

"You might not have a choice on that, you know."

"Just keep me away from Ms. Pillsbury's shoes. Or from Walt Disney's depraved need to destroy happy families. I'll be fine."

Kurt's speech became considerably less slurred as his temper rose. Finn tried to take that as a reassuring sign. Sending a brief prayer to any guardian angels who might be hovering nearby, he turned the ignition on and put the car in gear.

Dude, he was driving Kurt Hummel's precious Navigator. He felt like a little kid in a toy store at Christmas. A toy store with a candy store inside. And a pizza parlor, with pepperoni imported from Michigan. And a bowling alley.

"That's wrong," Kurt muttered after a while.

"What? What did I do?"

"I mean, your mom. If you like angelfish, you should have angelfish. It's who you are. Your mom needs to accept that." Kurt sighed, playing with the hem of his sleeves. "But if she still loves you and tries to be there for you... even if she doesn't really get why you like angelfish and maybe kind of wish you liked Labrador retrievers instead... Well. That's something, right? Not too bad."

"Uh, actually, Mom wouldn't let me have a Labrador either. She thinks I'm too clumsy to take care of a living being."

Kurt tilted his head sideways, gazing at Finn as if he was an exotic strain of angelfish. "You've always taken care of me," he murmured.

Finn tried to swallow through the major lump that suddenly formed in this throat. "You know that's not true. I wish it was." All those nasty pranks... And all the times he did nothing. He knew Kurt was grateful for the times Finn had saved his most precious garments from going into the dumpster, but that didn't change the fact that he had never done enough to save the boy from that same fate. And when Finn thought of all the things Kurt had helped him with...

For the past couple of months, every time Finn sensed the smell of grape flavoring, he got sick to his stomach. It instantly brought back to him the memory of Kurt committing 'slushiecide' just to keep Finn from being beaten up by the rest of the football team. That had to be the most noble thing anyone had ever done for him. It made Finn feel like a total heel, knowing how little he had done to deserve it.

Kurt was still watching him, but his eyes were barely open. He was humming a melody Finn promptly recognized.

"That's from the movie too, right?"

Kurt nodded, and restored the words to the song.

.
Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime.
Lead me, save me from my solitude.
Say you want me with you here, beside you.
Anywhere you go, let me go too.
Christine, that's all I ask of you.
.

At least Finn thought Kurt had sung 'Christine'. That was the girl's name, wasn't it? Kurt's voice control must have slipped under the influence of the alcohol there, because the name kind of came out as 'Sifine'. Or 'Seetfin'. Or 'sweet finn'.

Yeah, Kurt had to be really drunk to get the lyrics so wrong.

"That's a nice song," said Finn. "I wouldn't mind if Mr. Shue had us singing it in glee."

Kurt huffed. "You probably will."

"You mean 'we'."

"I mean you. And Rachel. In yet another romantic duet. We don't have enough of those."

"Uh, actually we kind of have a lot of those... Wait. Are you being sarcastic? Because I couldn't tell..."

Kurt let out one of those weird laughs of his, the sort that always sounded strained and not at all amused. "Maybe I was being a little sarcastic. Like, just a little. Just a tiny, tiny, little bit."

"Well, I don't mind singing those duets with her. I mean, Rachel is really, really talented, her voice is amazing. And she teaches me a lot. Plus, I think we kind of sound good together. Mr. Shue seems to think so. Don't you?"

Kurt didn't reply. He merely turned to the side window, but not to look outside, because he had his eyes tightly closed. They drove in silence for a couple of blocks, until Kurt started singing again.

.
Close your eyes, for your eyes will only tell the truth
and the truth isn't what you want to see.
In the dark it is easy to pretend
that the truth is what it ought to be.
.

Finn identified the melody after a moment. It was what the Phantom sang to the girl when he was trying to get into her pants… or under her long skirt… by singing about the music of the night. "Are you sure the lyrics go that way?" Maybe Kurt was coming up with new lines as he went because he couldn't remember the real ones. Puck did that a lot when he got sloshed.

Of course, when Puck did it, the lyrics usually gained words that would send him straight to Principal Figgins' office if any teacher in school ever caught wind of them. Booze seemed to rip apart any thin filters Puck might have between his brain and his mouth.

With Kurt, the effect was so very different. Booze made him sad. Which was scary, because Finn had heard his mom say once that booze revealed a man's truest soul. And he didn't want to think that this tired sadness was Kurt's natural, unmasked self. The boy who strutted up and down the hallways at school in cheerful designer clothes, chin up high, sneering at whoever dared to assume they were better than him... the boy who didn't let anyone tell him how to act or what he should be like...

'Yet in his eyes, all the sadness of the world.' That was what the girl had said about the Phantom. And Finn had noticed that the Phantom's eyes had that peculiar color that seemed to shift between green and blue depending on how the light hit them... just like Kurt's.

"Michael Crawford," Kurt muttered.

"What?"

"There are different versions to this song. This is how Michael Crawford sang it."

Finn was about to ask him who that Crawford fellow was, when Kurt interrupted him with an angry growl. "You know what irks me the most about Raoul? He never listens. He's condescending and conceited in that typical 'I know what I'm talking about and you don't' way, but it's worse than that. He doesn't get Christine. When she tries to tell him what she thinks or what she feels, he either ignores her or acts like it's irrelevant. I don't know what he sees when he looks at her, because I am sure he does not see her."

Ooh. That was deep. "I guess he sees how pretty she is," Finn offered.

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing if he can see the importance of looking fabulous in a Victorian ball gown bodice and layered taffeta skirt with embroideries of Swarovski crystals. But is that enough? Why can't he just, you know, clean out his ears and listen?"

Finn took a left turn, putting all his concentration into spotting any potential dangers and any defenseless pedestrians that might interfere with the maneuver. He was really, really afraid of crashing the car or pulverizing some poor creature under the weight of the Navigator. Only when they were safely in the next street did Finn let his mind go back to their conversation. By then, however, Kurt had started singing again.

.
Think of me, think of me waking,
silent and resigned.
Imagine me, trying too hard
to put you from my mind.
Recall those days,
look back on all those times,
think of the things we'll never do.
There will never be a day,
when I won't think of you.
.

It was eerie how Kurt kept picking the saddest lines of those songs. Finn didn't like that at all.

He parked the car.

"Finn?" Kurt was biting his lower lip, gazing blindly ahead. "Please say something."

"Hmm." Finn cleared his throat. "We're here."

"Yes." Kurt's voice came out shaky and breathy. "Here. You. Me. In the car."

"Well, yeah. But I meant... here." Finn turned off the engine. "Home sweet home."

Kurt blinked, then looked out the side window, at the house in front of which they had just stopped. "Oh God... what did Dad do to our garden? I was only out for half a day..."

"Uh, Kurt? This is my house. My mom's anyway. Well, it's a rental. But it's where we live."

"Ah." Kurt seemed relieved. "Remind me to lend your mom some magazines."

"Okay. As long as there's nothing about Emerald Dreams in them." Finn's mom really did not need those bad memories.

"Finn? Why are we at your house? Not that I'm complaining."

"I thought we should get you a little more sober before I take you home." Finn explained.

"I'm not drunk."

No, he just didn't remember what his house looked like. "Actually, you really are, Kurt. Trust me on that."

Kurt sighed in defeat, his lips curved in a little pout. "I trust you."

Finn fought the urge to seat his friend on his lap and hug all the sadness out of him. "So we'll just wait here until you're a little better, okay? I mean, your dad will be there when you get home, won't he?"

Kurt shuddered. "He's gonna look at me... that way..."

And Finn didn't need to ask what sort of look that was. He knew. Mr. Hummel was a scary-looking guy, even for someone as tall as Finn, but an angry look wouldn't make Kurt tremble like that. There was nothing worse than the look of a disappointed parent.

He stepped out of the car, moving quickly to the other side to open the door for Kurt and unbuckle his seatbelt before he tried to do it himself and got hurt. Kurt seemed to have even less control over his limbs now than before.

"But... I don't want your mom to see me like this either," Kurt moaned as Finn helped him out.

"She had to work tonight," Finn assured him. "By the time she comes home, you'll be sleeping in your own bed, I promise."

Maneuvering Kurt inside the house and up the stairs into Finn's bedroom was even more frightening than driving the Navigator, but it was at least easier than dealing with a drunken Puck. For starters, Kurt was smaller, lighter, easier to handle. But more to the point, Kurt let Finn guide him, no protests, no insults, and thank God, no spitting.

In fact, Kurt was completely subdued as Finn sat him down on the bed and took his colorful wool vest off. It was only when Finn started unbuttoning the pricy shirt that Kurt displayed some resistance. "Finn?"

"Hmm?"

"Wha-what are you doing?"

"I don't want your clothes to get ruined. I don't think you'd forgive me if they did."

"Why would they get ruined?"

"In case you miss the toilet." It had happened with Puck sometimes. Eww.

Kurt's face was taken by a look of utter confusion, which was then replaced by disgust. "No."

"Sorry, Kurt. I know it sucks." All buttons undone, Finn slipped the shirt carefully down Kurt's shoulders. The glossy fabric was so delicate, Finn feared he might rip it apart by pulling it just a little too hard. Maybe Kurt was similarly worried, as he froze in place until the shirt was completely and safely off.

"I won't. You can't make me." Kurt wrapped his arms around his naked chest, Finn couldn't tell if out of cold or modesty. "You stick your fingers down my throat, I'll bite them off."

Finn didn't doubt it. "I'm not sticking my fingers down your throat."

"What then?"

"Something else."

At that, Kurt looked baffled, dismayed, fearful... but also mildly curious.

After the eighth time Finn had had to bring Puck home to sober him up, he had decided to keep the supplies he needed in his bedroom. Much safer than leaving Puck by himself while running to the kitchen and back. If his mom had ever found the little jelly jar filled with a mix of salt and mustard powder hidden in the back of his lower desk drawer, she had never mentioned it.

In one arm he held the jar and a clean towel. The other he offered to Kurt. "Come on, on your feet."

"I'm fine here."

"Do I need to carry you?"

"Would you?"

"Absolutely."

Kurt took a moment to consider it. "Because I'm drunk?"

"Yes."

"Not a good reason," Kurt muttered, grabbing Finn's arm and clumsily hoisting himself to his feet.

Finn kept his arm around his friend's small shoulders as he led him to the bathroom. He tried not to think too much of how the smooth, warm skin felt under his touch, or of the way Kurt clung to him so he wouldn't fall, or of the weird disappointment he felt that he didn't have to carry Kurt in his arms after all. Right now, he had more important things to focus on. Like making Kurt feel better.

Finn filled a glass with water from the sink, added just a little bit of the salt and mustard combination, and handed Kurt the glass. "Don't gulp it too fast. You need to taste it."

"What is that?"

"Water."

"And...?"

"Salt and mustard."

Kurt frowned. "No sugar?"

"No."

"Okay, then." He took the glass and sipped. "Guh!"

"A little more. Courage." Finn hoped the nasty cocktail alone would work. Sometimes he had to spin Puck around to get him nauseous enough to barf, and that usually meant missing the toilet by a mile.

However, he didn't need to worry. Four sips more, and Kurt was emptying his stomach perfectly on target.

Well, almost. Finn hadn't taken in account the fact that Kurt had considerably more hair than Puck, and that his bangs were actually a bit on the long side now. When Finn moved to pull Kurt's bangs back, it was too late to save the tips from being hit.

Finn truly hated seeing people throw up. Usually when he got to this part of the sobering-Puck-up mission, Finn would leave the bathroom and stand outside in the hallway, just taking a glance from time to time to make sure Puck didn't pass out. If he could, he would just have walked away and returned when it was all over, but Finn had heard awful stories about drunken people drowning in their own vomit, which just had to be the worst kind of death ever, with the possible exception of being devoured alive by a velociraptor.

But now, Finn remained on his knees on the cold tile floor, holding Kurt's soiled hair with one hand, lightly petting his back with the other, completely unaffected by the stench or the pitiful sounds of his friend's heaving. Kurt needed him. And Finn genuinely wanted to stay.

Still, he couldn't quite tell when exactly the heaves turned into sobs. All he knew was that Kurt was feeling miserable, and Finn had no idea what to do to fix it. "Ssshhh... It's okay... Please don't cry... It's almost over. Soon you'll be home asleep, and all this will be just like a bad dream..."

But that only served to make Kurt cry harder.

Fighting down the growing panic, Finn got up and sat on the edge of the bathtub, bringing Kurt with him and setting him on his lap. Turning the water on, he proceeded to wash Kurt's hair with the shower hose and his mom's shampoo. "It's strawberry," he told Kurt as he massaged his scalp as gently as possible. "I'm sorry, it's cheap and probably not as good as the stuff you're used to, but it's better than nothing." It was also better than Finn's own anti-dandruff shampoo.

Kurt never replied, but by the time Finn was rinsing the lather off, at least the sobbing had subsided. The tears kept on coming, though, thick and copious. Finn tried in vain to dry them with the tip of the towel he had brought, before wrapping the blue terry cloth around Kurt's head like a turban. "It's okay. All clean now."

"Not my mouth," Kurt sniffed. "Tastes like spoiled sashimi."

"The cupboard under the sink. Mom likes to stock up toothbrushes for some reason. Toothbrushes, Q-tips and emery boards, we always have more than we need."

Kurt stood up with difficulty, and trudged towards the sink. It was only three steps, but the boy seemed to find it as tiring as fifty laps around the football field. Finn thought best to spare him from having to lean down, and crouched in front of the cupboard to find a new toothbrush. And since he was there, he spread toothpaste on it – just a little, so Kurt wouldn't start retching again – before handing it to his friend. "Here. Slow and easy, okay?"

"I know," Kurt grunted as he took the toothbrush. "Been drunk before."

Finn let him lean back against his chest, use the quarterback as a supporting pillar while brushing his teeth. He wasn't sure if Kurt was even aware of that, so focused he was in the task of cleaning his mouth as thoroughly as possible without triggering his gag reflex. Usually Kurt was much more hesitant about being that close to Finn. Probably out of fear that 'Frankenteen' might make a sudden move and hit him by accident with his overly long arms or something like that. Alcohol did make people less wary of potential dangers.

When Kurt was done, Finn undid the makeshift turban and gingerly rubbed the towel against his friend's scalp. "Sorry, I don't have a hairdryer. My mom has one, but she keeps it in a locked drawer in her room. I used to play with it, you know, pretend it was a phased plasma pistol, but one day I almost let it fall on the tub while it was still plugged on and she was terrified I'd electrocute myself."

"How old were you?"

"Sixteen. That was, like, four months ago."

For whatever reason, Kurt thought that was worthy of one of his cute, dreamy smiles. Finn felt oddly accomplished for that.

Too bad it didn't last. As Kurt stared at his reflection on the mirror, more tears welled up in his eyes. "I look like a drowned rat..."

Finn had to agree on that one. Well, more like a wet hamster.

Kurt was almost unrecognizable as the most stylish boy in Lima. The hair was a tousled mess, pointing in every direction. There were dark circles under the reddened, puffed eyes, and the cheeks were ghostly pale. Even the lips were drained of color. He was back to trying to cover his chest with his arms, and this time Finn was sure it was more of embarrassment than anything else.

Seeing Kurt like this... It felt like such an intimate moment. Like Christine looking at the Phantom's face without the mask for the first time.

Except that there was no horror in what Finn saw. Well, Kurt was probably horrified at being seen like that, so undone. But Finn couldn't help but think he looked absolutely stunning. Precious.

And dead tired.

Finn slowly turned him around, away from the mirror. "Put your arms around my neck."

Suddenly, the hesitation returned. The hairdryer story probably reminded Kurt of Finn's clumsiness.

"It's okay, I... I won't hurt you," Finn promised, praying he wasn't lying about that.

With obvious trepidation, Kurt raised his arms and rested them on Finn's shoulders. Very carefully but with little effort, Finn scooped him up, and carried him back to his room.

"Because I'm drunk," he heard Kurt mumble. "Nothing else. Don't be an idiot."

Was he talking to Finn? Must be, he was the only idiot in the house. Man, what had he done now?

He set Kurt on the bed as if he was made of glass. The smaller boy was trembling slightly, so Finn picked a clean tee shirt from his drawers and helped him put it on. Red, because Finn thought red was totally Kurt's color. It was, of course, huge on him, the hem draped around his thighs and the collar threatened to slide down one of his shoulders. But Kurt looked considerably less unhappy now, and that was all that mattered. "How do you feel?"

"My head feels funny," said Kurt, futilely wrestling his hair into obedience. "Like someone sucked my brain out through my ears and filled it with cotton. Or worse, polyester."

Finn didn't really know how that would feel, but Kurt made it sound truly vile. So he sat on the bed with his back against the headboard, and pulled Kurt to sit beside him and rest his head on Finn's shoulder. "Better?"

Kurt nodded. "Much."

"All right!" Maybe he was finally getting the hang of taking care of a living being.

And maybe Kurt could read minds, because the next thing he said was, "I think you're ready for your angelfish, Finn. If you need help convincing your mom, I volunteer to testify in your behalf. As a character witness."

"I don't think I want to tell mom about any of this," Finn confessed.

"Good. Me neither."

Finn imagined his mom getting home early and finding them like this. What would he tell her? 'Mom, can I keep him? Please? I promise to take good care of him.'

Okay, that was crazy. He couldn't keep Kurt. He wasn't a puppy. He was way cuter than any puppy, but he was a person, and people could not be kept. Unless they were slaves, and Finn didn't want Kurt as a slave. And he didn't want Kurt as a pet either, no matter how adorable he was, no matter how badly Finn wanted to set him on his lap and cuddle him sometimes. Kurt Hummel was his own master, and Finn liked that about him.

But Finn liked watching over him too.

"Finn?"

"Hmmm?"

"Would you sing to me? I mean, not to me. Just sing, so I can hear it. I know you won't... can't... sing to a dude."

Damn. Finn had said that, hadn't he? A thousand years ago, it seemed... "I can sing to you. What do you want to hear?"

"Anything you want. Anything you feel like."

It wasn't hard to choose the song. Finn closed his eyes, willing the lyrics to come to him. He had only heard them once and he wasn't good at memorizing things, but something about those lines had struck a chord in him.

.
No more talk of darkness.
Forget these wide-eyed fears.
I'm here, nothing can harm you.
My words will warm and calm you.

Let me be your freedom,
let daylight dry your tears.
I'm here, with you, beside you,
to guard you and to guide you.
.

A beaming smile lit up Kurt's whole face when he looked up at Finn, and started Christine's part of the duet.

.
Say you love me…
.

It was only a moment. Then Kurt's eyes grew big and round, and his whole body seemed to shrink in Finn's arms. "Sorry," Kurt mumbled. "That song doesn't fit my voice."

"Really? It sounded pretty good to me." It really did. Finn felt so disappointed that Kurt had stopped. Like he had been robbed of something really special.

"Trust me, Finn, you wouldn't want me to sing that."

"Why? You think you might miss some of the high notes? I don't care. Or you can sing in a lower key... Is that the right term? Key? Anyway, I think I started a little high..."

Kurt breathed in and out, deeply, slowly. Finn felt the warm air of his breath tickle his neck. Nice.

"It's not that," said Kurt, his eyes firmly closed. "It's just... the wrong song for me."

"But..."

"Like in football," Kurt added. "Each player has their position. So they know what they're supposed to do, what they can do... and which plays they're not supposed to interfere with. And maybe sometimes you'd like to... to do something you're not supposed to... take someone else's position... pretend you can do it all and have it all... But you know better than that, right?"

Finn giggled. "I don't know, Kurt. I kind of think you could probably do anything you put your mind to. Like, play tackle, even."

Kurt cuddled tighter to him, hiding his face against Finn's shirt. "Your confidence in me is very touching... if terribly misguided."

"Fine, so sing me something that does fit your voice, then."

For a while, Kurt didn't reply or even move. When the music eventually started, Finn was surprised at the somber tone, so unlike his friend's usual singing voice.

.
Who will be there for you,
comfort and care for you?
Learn to be lonely,
learn to be your one companion.

Never dream that out in the world
there are arms to hold you.
You've always known
your heart was on its own.

So laugh in your loneliness,
child of the wilderness.
Learn to be lonely,
learn how to love life that is lived alone.
.

"Kurt, please. Stop." Finn couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed Kurt's arm and actually shook him, staring furiously into his face. "Stop singing."

Kurt's lower lip was shaking. "I'm sorry."

"No! Don't! Don't you get it? You're not... Not really... I... AAAAARGH!" Finn didn't know how to put it in words. So he just kissed Kurt instead.

He was upset, and Kurt wasn't expecting it, so the first contact was forceful, a little angry, a lot awkward. But Finn recovered quickly, putting all his constant, desperate need to see Kurt smile into the kiss. Yeah, that made it much, much better.

It was sweet, and soft, and hot, and downright perfect. Finn only wished it could have lasted longer, but it would probably be a bad idea if either of them passed out from lack of oxygen.

To Finn's dismay, Kurt was not smiling. In fact, he looked positively dumbfounded. "You kissed me."

"Uh. Hmm. Yes." There didn't seem to be much point in denying it.

And Finn was somewhat surprised to realize that he didn't really want to anyway.

Kurt burst into tears.

So not the reaction Finn had expected. Or hoped for. "I-I'm sorry! Kurt, I'm so, so sorry. Please... please, don't cry... I didn't mean..."

But Kurt was shaking his head. "This was my first kiss! And it was with you!"

"Oh," Finn murmured. "I guess you were hoping it would be somebody else..."

Finn thought nothing would ever feel as awful as learning that Drizzle wasn't his.

Somehow, to Finn's immense astonishment, this moment came pretty close.

Kurt sniffed pitifully, his eyes gazing so intensely into Finn's that the quarterback felt it in every cell of his body. "Finn Hudson, you lovely idiot! I've been dreaming of this since the first day of freshman year, and now it actually happened, and I'm so drunk I probably won't remember it in the morning! Argh, I hate my life!"

Finn blinked, trying to make sense of that.

Lovely idiot. Okay. He knew he was an idiot. And if Kurt found him lovely, well, he could live with that. He kind of thought Kurt was lovely too anyway.

Kurt dreamed of kissing Finn. Okay. That was good. That was very good. To be honest, Finn had had a few dreams with Kurt lately. Not quite kissing, but... strange dreams. With lots of dancing. And some in which Kurt applied moisturizer on Finn's T-zone. And other zones. Oh, those were scorching hot. And now that he had actually kissed Kurt, he imagined he'd be dreaming of it pretty often now.

Kurt was drunk. Okay. Although... Kurt didn't really look or sound all that drunk now. His eyes weren't glazed over like before. His voice was clear. And the kiss... wow, that kiss! Kurt had to be a lot more sober than he thought he was.

Not remember the kiss in the morning. Hmm. Now, that would be bad. Finn wasn't that sure it would happen, but if it did, that would be really, really bad.

Then again, that problem was pretty easy to solve. "Don't worry, Kurt. If you forget, I'll just kiss you again." Finn frowned, and then grinned as he reconsidered. "On second thought, I think I'd like to kiss you tomorrow either way."

Kurt's blue-green eyes widened, his carefully shaped eyebrows rose into perfect arcs, the full lips lay open in a gasp. So beautiful.

Tomorrow was just too far away.

As he pulled Kurt closer and kissed him again, Finn felt like the smartest man in the world.

~fine~

.

All lyrics are from The Phantom of the Opera, music by Andrew Lloyd Webber, lyrics by Charles Hart, additional lyrics by Richard Stilgoe.