Chapter 35: Get It Right

In the final two weeks leading up to Regionals, something fundamental had changed. Kurt wasn't sure when it happened; maybe it started the day Dave put the brakes on their periodic illicit rendezvous and refused to touch him any more than he was required to in order to teach him to play the guitar. Maybe it started well before that, even.

All he knew was that increasingly, when he looked at Dave he didn't want to cry or kick something. And when he heard his voice, his mind didn't force him through an instant replay of those ugly words in the locker room.

For the first time in a long time, all he saw and heard was…Dave.

Dave gently correcting his hold on the guitar, skin warm and palms roughly calloused but his touch so gentle, like he was afraid to allow more contact between them than absolutely necessary. Dave, leaning in close over sheet music and crossing out a line, re-writing, correcting, refining…honing the song they hoped would take the New Directions to a first place win at Regionals and all the way to Nationals in New York.

Dave catching Kurt's eye and smiling shyly before clearing his throat and turning his attention back to the task at hand. Dave, turning Kurt's heart inside out with the longing to pull his attention back, push the music to the side and crawl into his lap and kiss him until they both forgot how to breathe.

And Kurt could, he knew he could any time he wanted. Dave hadn't said it, but Kurt knew that under the right circumstances, Dave would let Kurt back in without a moment's hesitation. The problem was what Kurt would have to do—who else he would have to hurt—to bring about those perfect circumstances.

The problem, in short—and no pun intended—was Blaine.

Blaine, who had been there for Kurt, been a friend and a good boyfriend and a willing ear whenever Kurt needed one. Blaine, who knew Kurt still had feelings for Dave and didn't care, who hadn't said a single word against all the time Kurt had been spending alone with Dave working on this song. Blaine, who had never asked Kurt for anything he didn't offer to give and never complained about how little he did offer. Blaine who was so sweet, with his innocent kisses and chaste hand-holding, his gentlemanly dates and open, unashamed displays of affection. Blaine, who would proudly introduce himself to Kurt's parents and brother as his boyfriend, who wouldn't shuffle and look at his shoes and then creep off to Kurt's room to be his boyfriend in private, where no one could see.

Dave was afraid, and Kurt understood that, and he couldn't fault him or blame him for it. But Blaine was not afraid, and Kurt couldn't hurt him. He felt like he would be punishing Blaine for not being Dave…and how messed up was that?

The frenetic excitement of Regionals was unlike anything else, and Kurt loved it. He breathed in the smells of hairspray, carpet, shampoo, taffeta, and cough drops, and a smile lit his face in spite of his slight nerves. They were going to win Regionals this year. He could feel it.

He held himself back a bit, as usual, from the nucleus of insanity that was Rachel Berry before a performance. Her head was practically spinning, and he briefly entertained the image of it spinning right off her shoulders and escaping to terrorize the general populace with an endless stream of inspirational Barbra Streisand quotes.

"You imagining her morphing into a speedballing Chihuahua too, or is that just me?" Said a fatigued voice at his shoulder. A laugh burst from his lips before he could cover it, and he missed Rachel's glare in favor of turning to see Melodie slump into the chair beside him.

"Something like that," he admitted in a whisper. "You ready?"

"Are you kidding? I was born ready. I could do this in my sleep."

"No snoozing on stage, Dee," Kurt admonished playfully. "I don't care how well your snores harmonize, the judges dock points if they see your eyes closed."

"How many points do they dock if your lead singer vibrates herself into another dimension in mid-solo?"

"Some of us," Rachel cut into their giggling, "are rehearsing and preparing and getting into the proper mindset before we perform. Some of us are dedicated. Some of us care."

"Some of us forgot our tranquilizers and the rest of us regret that oversight deeply," Melodie shot back. Ire spent, Rachel decided to ignore her in favor of going back to practicing her breathing exercises.

"Woah there," Kurt said. "You okay? 'Cause you know, we already have a Santana."

"Monopoly is the death of capitalism, Kurt," Melodie deadpanned.

"And sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," he bit back, before adding more gently, "Not that it's ever stopped me. Seriously, what's wrong?" Melodie sighed.

"It's…Sam," she confessed. "He's…more important to me than I wanted him to be, and I don't know how that happened or what to do about it. I don't even know when it happened. I was so careful to keep him just at arm's length. How did he get so close? It's frustrating to realize you've let someone in without meaning to, and terrifying to worry when it's gonna backfire, y'know?"

"Yes," Kurt said sadly. "I'm afraid I do."

They sat in subdued silence for a moment. Then Kurt perked up.

"You know what," he said, turning to Melodie. "We're gonna do what all great performers do."

"And that is?" Melodie prompted, already looking skeptical.

"We're gonna get on that stage and take everything we feel, and just put it all into those songs."

"That's cute and all, Kurt," Melodie said, "but somehow I don't think my mountains of anxiety over possibly hurting Sam will add very much emotional integrity to a bouncy, upbeat pop song about owning your loser status."

"No no no," Kurt said excitedly, turning to face her more fully. "It's not about that. Just think of your emotions like potential energy. You have all that conviction of feeling stored up, just waiting to be let out. You just have to control it. Let it out in a form you choose."

"Okay, Master Yoda," Melodie quipped affectionately. "I'll give it a try."

"Do or do not," Kurt intoned. "There is no try."

Melodie stared. Kurt crossed his arms and arched a judgmental eyebrow.

"What?" He said coolly. "I'm gay, not culturally inept!"

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. Kurt sighed.

"Fine," he said with a haughty toss of his head. "I watched them with your cousin."

Melodie was abruptly quiet, and Kurt turned to find that she was staring at him, mouth open.

"What?" He said waspishly.

"Nothing," she hurried. "It's just…that's the first time I've heard you talk about Dave in ages without…" she trailed off, uncertain.

"Without bursting into tears?" He said dryly. Melodie flushed and looked down at her hands.

"Yeah," she admitted. "You know, I was really worried about Dave there for a while. But lately, he's been a little better. Since the two of you started working on this song together, actually. You guys seem like you're becoming friends again." Her voice was a question even though her words didn't ask one. Kurt sighed and directed his attention at the pale skin of his own hands.

"Dave and I are friends, Dee," he said softly. "The thing I'm not so sure about is what else we are. I just…I don't know how everything got into such a mess, and I don't know how to get out of it without hurting someone. I don't want to hurt people."

Melodie leaned into his shoulder.

"I know, Kurt," she said. "I know you don't. But…sometimes a little pain's inevitable, isn't it? To save a lot more pain later on?"

"Probably. Which is a stupid system," he replied morosely. Melodie nodded against his shoulder.

"I know, K," she said, voice wistful and said. "I know." And for a moment, Kurt felt like the worst friend in the world. It was always about him, his hurt pride and his problems. What about his friends? What about Mercedes, beating herself up for weeks over one stupid mistake? What about Rachel, missing Finn and too proud to talk about it? What about Tina, always chafing quietly under the weight of being overlooked time and again, and never saying a word about it, content to do her part and wait her turn? What about Melodie, far from home and feeling like her friends have all forgotten about her, stuck in the middle between Dave and Kurt and afraid to get close to anyone in case it all gets ripped away again?

What about Dave? And what about Blaine? And what about Dave?

Kurt had no answers, but the questions wouldn't stop repeating in his mind. By the time it was their turn to go on stage his stomach was in knots, and it had almost nothing to do with performance jitters.

What have I done? I wish I could run away from this ship going under. Just trying to help, hurt everyone else. Now I feel the weight of the world is on my shoulders…

The words were slightly different from the way he'd written it originally—Rachel had wanted him to make it a more "universal" ballad, or something—but Dave still recognized the opening lines of the song he'd written, the song Kurt had helped him rework until it was perfect. His mom leaned over a little and whispered in his ear.

"You wrote this, David?" He nodded, grateful for the darkened theatre as he felt his face heat up. His mom squeezed his arm gently.

"It's beautiful," she said, sounding proud and even a little teary. He hunched in his seat, trying to make himself small even as he felt the grin on his face growing fit to take it over. He looked up at the Glee Club, lit up and glittering in their costumes—turquoise dresses for the girls, all black for the boys—and smiled softly. He caught sight of Kurt, standing near the back with the other boys, and thought of the original words he had written.

What have I done? I wish I could run away from this ship going under. Afraid to be myself, I hurt everyone else. Now I feel the chill coming off of your cold shoulder.

How do I tell myself I can be good enough? I shatter when you come around. All my defenses keep making a mess of things. I just wanna fix it somehow.

At first when he sang it, Kurt would barely look at him. Then, it was like he couldn't look away. Dave poured everything into that song…all his pain and fear, his regret and his loneliness. He felt wrung out when he was finished, but proud.

The old Dave Karofsky allowed his pain to beget pain in others. This new person he was slowly becoming, though, had finally made something good out of all that darkness. He smiled.

And an hour later, when they announced the winner, Dave jumped to his feet and cheered louder, clapped harder than anybody. After all, it was his win, too.

He took the bundle of yellow roses from his mother. Yellow roses symbolized friendship, according to Wikipedia. He thought Kurt would appreciate the gesture. His dad pulled a second bundle, bright purple, from the back seat of the car. They were for Melodie. Dave had a feeling that had less to do with the meaning of purple flowers than the fact that Melodie liked everything to be eye-wateringly bright.

"Who're the yellow ones for again?" Dave's father asked as he was turning back toward the building. Dave froze, face going pale. He cut his eyes over to his mother. She gave him an encouraging nod. He took a deep breath.

Unclench your fists.
Tell the truth, if you dare.

"They're for Kurt," Dave said softly, and he didn't try to make himself sound nonchalant. He didn't try to look put-upon, like he was being made to be nice to the gay kid. He didn't stop the proud, timid little smile he could feel creeping across his face at the thought of Kurt. For once, he left it all on show, looked over at his dad with his eyes shining and a blush creeping across his cheeks, holding flowers he bought for a boy.

"Kurt Hummel?" His dad asked.

"Yeah," Dave said. "He loves roses." And I love him.

"That's a very sweet gesture, David," his father said. "I'm impressed. I was never good with romantic gestures, just ask your mother."

"He's terrible at them," she agreed, grinning widely as she slipped her arm through his. Dave gaped.

"Uh…thanks? Dad?"

His father smiled at him.

"Well," he said. "Go on, find the boy and give him his flowers!"

"Yeah, of course," Dave said, flustered. "Just…uh…so you get…I mean you understand…you know I'm—"

"Trying to get back together with Kurt, I take it."

Dave opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked at his mother and raised a questioning eyebrow, but she just shrugged and shook her head as if to say "no, I didn't tell him." Dave's father chuckled.

"Suffice it to say your old dad's not that blind and you are not that subtle. Now go on! Deliver your flowers. We'll wait."

A smile so wide it almost hurt broke over Dave's face. His father knew. And didn't care any more than his mom had. Both of his parents knew he was gay and neither one of them cared.

He turned and practically ran into the building, excited to find Kurt, give him his flowers, and tell him the amazing news.

From the moment the judge said "Regional Champions: New Directions," Kurt's eyes had been glued to Dave in the crowd. He was the first one out of his seat, clapping so hard it looked like it must hurt his hands and yelling out his joy and congratulations, a beautiful smile across his face. Kurt managed to keep himself from jumping off the stage and running straight to him. Just barely.

Something happened, while he was up there singing. He couldn't put his finger on what or when exactly it clicked, but it did. He was pouring his heart into these songs, and there it was: he loved Dave, not Blaine. He wanted Dave, not Blaine. He didn't want to hurt Blaine, but continuing to pretend would hurt him more in the end, not less. Dave was the one who made his heart race. Dave was the one he thought about constantly. Dave was the one he wanted to be around even when being around him was difficult, even when it hurt. Dave was the one he was willing to wait for.

He extracted himself from the group hug on stage as soon as he could, but when he looked towards Dave's seat, he and his parents were already gone.

They probably went outside to pull the car around for Melodie, he thought. He headed back stage with the rest of New Directions, deciding to grab his stuff and walk with her. He was going to talk to Dave Karofsky tonight, one way or another. He needed to tell him how amazing his song was. He needed to tell him he was sorry. And he needed to tell him that he was breaking up with Blaine.

"WE WON!" Melodie shrieked in his ear. He didn't even have the heart to reprimand her. He was too thorough a combination of nervous and happy. He changed and packed his stuff away almost on auto-pilot, keeping one eye on Melodie to make sure she didn't leave without him. Everyone was so excited, talking and laughing, but Kurt's mind was a dazed swirl of we won I love him oh god we won I love him oh god oh god.

He had just stuffed the last of his performance clothes into his bag and zipped it up when he was tackled and nearly toppled over from behind.

"Oof—what?!"

"Kurt! You guys won!" Someone spun him around, and it was Blaine. He was rosy-cheeked and grinning from ear to ear. As always, that grin was infectious, and Kurt couldn't help but return the smile even as he felt a pang of regret. I'm so sorry that I'm going to hurt you.

"You were all amazing," Blaine said earnestly. "I am so proud of you." And then he leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss to Kurt's lips. It was meant to be a kiss of congratulations, but to Kurt it felt far too much like a kiss good-bye.

He dropped his bag and wrapped both arms around Blaine, pulling him in and holding him, prolonging that kiss. There were some whoops, giggles and even a startled gasp from the people around him, but he ignored them all. He didn't know whether Blaine would ever want to speak to him again, whether he would be willing to remain friends after Kurt broke up with him…and Kurt would miss him, because Kurt did love him. He loved the way Blaine was effusive and unabashed about everything, the way he listened and always tried to understand, even when he couldn't. He was there for Kurt when Kurt was hurting, he was the first person to make Kurt laugh when he thought he'd all but forgotten how, and if he never spoke to Kurt again after Kurt did what he knew he had to do, he would take a little piece of Kurt's heart with him when he went.

He was slow to pull back, slow to let go. His eyes fluttered open slowly and he stared down into Blaine's dazed, happy expression. He smiled, but it was small and sad.

"Oh Blaine," he said softly. "Thank you."

"Of course, Kurt. No need to thank me," Blaine said, bemused. "I love you." Kurt could swear he felt a fissure in his heart.

"I love you, too," he said, and he meant it.

He extricated himself from Blaine's arms and picked up his bag, slinging it over one shoulder.

"I'm gonna walk Dee to her car, okay? Can you wait for me? I'd like to talk to you."

"I'll be right here," Blaine said, smiling. Not understanding. Kurt made himself turn and walk away. It hurt, but with every step his heart felt lighter. He was so dazed with his mixed emotions that he would have walked right past Dave without seeing him, if the flash of yellow hadn't caught his eye.

Dave was slumped against the wall in the shadow of an alcove, eyes on the floor and shoulders rounded forward. He looked tired, and sad. It was a jarring contrast to the bright roses he was holding in his arms.

"Dave?" He looked up, and his eyes were red. He stepped forward and offered Kurt the bundled of roses without a smile.

"Oh…they're beautiful." Kurt took the flowers, smiling but confused. "Thank you."

"Congratulations," Dave said in a flat voice.

"You too," Kurt returned. "We couldn't have done it without your song. It was perfect." Something was wrong. Dave was upset, and Kurt couldn't figure out why.

"Dave, I—"

"I need to go, my parents are waiting outside." He turned away.

"Wait!" Kurt reached out to grab Dave's shoulder. Dave froze.

"Please don't touch me, Kurt," he said softly. Kurt withdrew his hand, stung.

"What…I don't—"

"You know, I never really got it? The whole Blaine thing. I never understood it until now."

Kurt's eyes widened, realization dawning. Dave had seen him kissing Blaine. Kissing him goodbye, but how was Dave to know that? Kurt imagined what it must have looked like from Dave's perspective.

"Oh God…Dave, no. I'm so sorry. That…it wasn't what you think—"

Dave didn't turn, but he didn't walk away either.

"Why are you apologizing for kissing your boyfriend? You're allowed to kiss him. You're supposed to kiss him. I just…it never hit me until right this second, how totally fucked up we've been."

"Dave, please." Dave turned, then, and Kurt blanched at the sight of his face. It was as though all color had drained from it, all the joy from earlier, all the pride. He just looked sad. Sad, and so, so tired.

"I'm not the one you should be saying 'please' to, Kurt." His voice was low, and full of pain. "I'm not the one who deserves an explanation, and I'm definitely not the one you should be apologizing to." He turned again, and began walking away from Kurt, down the hall. Kurt felt a slow panic rising in him; this wasn't supposed to happen. He loved Dave, he still loved him after everything, and he was finally ready to admit it. He had to tell him. Kurt gripped the roses tighter and followed after him, determined.

"Dave, wait, I have to tell you something."

"Go away, Kurt."

"Dave, please—"

"Just save it, alright?" Dave almost yelled, rounding on him. Kurt froze at the angry look on his face.

"You know what I've been trying to figure out?" Dave asked. "Why is it that you're the only one in this…whatever we are…that gets to break their promises? Why is it okay for you to push when you said you wouldn't, and get angry when you said you understood, and cheat on your boyfriend, and use me and break my heart? Why is it okay for you to try to make me come out of the closet before I'm ready, when you can't even admit to yourself that you're still in love with me? Why are you the only one who gets to be scared, huh?"

"David…" Kurt quailed under the flood of angry words, each one barbed with truth and stinging as they hit their marks. Dave wasn't finished; he hadn't even started.

"Why do I make excuses for you in my head?" He said, gesturing wildly. "Why do I sit around telling myself I deserve it for all the shit I did to you? Why am I waiting around with flowers like an idiot while you're kissing your goddamn boyfriend?" He was nearly yelling, shoulders stiff with hurt and anger, expression open and guarded by turns. He was keeping his distance from Kurt, as though afraid if they made physical contact it would shatter one or both of them. Kurt just looked at him, breathless with hurt at his words. He didn't know what to say. All of the things Dave accused him of were true. He was a complete hypocrite, and he was hurting the people he claimed to care about.

A moment passed, and all the fight seemed to go out of Dave's body. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer, and so full of pain it made something in Kurt ache till he wanted to reach inside and rip it out.

"I just kept asking myself these questions, over and over. But you know what? I finally figured it out." He raised his head and looked at Kurt from behind a sheen of tears.

"It's because of the way we started out. I never got a clean slate with you, not really. So we were doomed from the start. I mean think about it…I'll take whatever you're willing to give because I don't feel like I deserve anything else. And you don't feel bad at all about using me because you haven't forgiven me either, whatever you say."

"Dave, no." Kurt choked out. He couldn't seem to force a stronger argument from his lips. He was awash in hurt and horrorstruck with the full reality of what he'd been doing, how he'd been treating Dave and Blaine. And yet somewhere underneath all that and rising fast was an anger so deep and hot it scared him. It was the kind of anger that kicked over chairs and said horrible things to people who were supposed to be friends. It was the kind of anger that cornered a bully in a locker room and yelled in his face, pushing until he did something desperate. Dave managed an exasperated sneer through his tears.

"Just admit it, Kurt. Some part of you still hates me, and that part enjoys hurting me because it's payback for the way I used to hurt you."

Kurt opened his mouth, though he wasn't sure what he could say. All that came out was an ugly sound that might have been a laugh. It was the sound of a person who was about to hurt someone.

"Used to hurt me?" He said softly, dangerously. He stepped towards Dave, expression thunderous. "You think you used to hurt me, David? Do I look happy to you? Do I look unhurt? God, you're even dumber than you look."

"And you're not as sweet and innocent as you look. All hail Kurt Hummel, paragon of virtue. At least till you get a few drinks in him and he decides other people's feelings don't matter."

That was it. Kurt was done.

"Shut up. Shut up you insufferable, ignorant, asshole! You lied to me. You think I didn't know you were lying? You kept telling me you were okay, when you weren't. You wouldn't just talk to me. You wouldn't just tell me what was going on with you. I never needed you to be honest with everyone, but you weren't even honest with me!"

That pulled Dave up short. He looked down at his shoes and mumbled something, looking almost shamefaced. Kurt remained unmoved.

"What was that? Grunt a little louder, Neanderthal, some of us in the front row can't hear you."

Dave's head shot up, and he glared.

"I didn't want to hurt you, okay?" He snapped. "I was so excited when we were all working on the halftime number together. I started to think things might actually change. I started to think I might come out and nobody would even care, it would just be like it always was. And then we get slushied by the hockey team, and suddenly you guys are freaks and glee club is gay and it's like nothing was different! Just because they got scared! I didn't want you to know that people could be such…such…"

"Cowards?" Kurt bit out. "I hate to break it to you, Dave, but that ship sailed a long time ago. And anyway, how does that work, exactly? You didn't want me to find out they were cowardly jerks, so you thought it would hurt less for me to witness it from you firsthand?"

"I was terrified, Kurt! I was so afraid of losing my best friend. What if he hated me. What if he told someone else, or everyone else? What if it got back to my dad before I had a chance to tell him? All the parents of the football players know each other. I wasn't ready! And I didn't see another way to make him leave me alone."

"And that is why this would never work, David." Kurt spit the words at him, feeling his heart break and his anger subside even as he said them. He wanted the anger to stay, to numb him against the horrible loneliness that was already surging inside him, the ache he felt whenever he looked at Dave knowing he couldn't touch.

"It's not because you were scared. It's not even because you were ashamed. It's because you think lashing out at other people to protect yourself is okay. You don't care if they get hurt, as long as your secret is safe. Whatever pain you cause them, they should just bear it and be understanding, because you're scared."

He looked down at the flowers in his arms.

"I can't take these," he murmured. He held them out without looking up. He felt Dave take them, somehow managing not to touch the bare skin of his arms in the process. Kurt was grateful, at least, for that small mercy.

"I can't do this anymore," Dave said. "I can't go around and around with you like this, not if that's really what you think of me."

"What else am I supposed to think?" Kurt asked. He hoped for another explanation. He hoped to be told how wrong he was. As usual when it came to Dave, he hoped in vain.

All Dave gave him was a tired sigh before he turned and walked away.

"I'm sorry," Kurt whispered at Dave's retreating back. It wasn't supposed to be this way. I was supposed to say 'I love you.'

He couldn't say it now. He'd never be able to say it now.

Kurt turned and retreated back down the hallway, wiping at his eyes and hoping that when he asked Blaine for a ride home, he wouldn't get a million questions.

As usual, Blaine didn't disappoint.

In two houses in different parts of town, two boys slowly got undressed for bed. Two tired bodies attached to aching heads slid under two sets of covers and sank gratefully into the soft mattresses beneath them. Two minds repeated harsh words spoken in pain and anger over and over, and two hearts in states of similar disrepair beat unevenly as two sets of eyes drifted closed, and they lost their sorrow in sleep.

Author's Note: You probably thought I was never gonna update this again! But I did. Thanks to stidean for the much needed inspiration/kick-in-the-pants to just cut my losses and rewrite the stuff I lost when my computer died.

On that note, I should inform you that I no longer have any guarantees of how this story will end. The original notes and ending were lost over a year ago when my computer spontaneously combusted, so I've had to rebuild. Some of the things I originally planned will still happen. Some of them will not. Thanks to anyone who's stuck with reading this story for this long, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the ride!