A/N: I calculate the number of days depicted in each episode by studying how many changes of clothes the characters go through. In Comeback, it seems to me that the editor altered the scripted order of certain scenes, causing some bizarre continuity errors in that regard. When that happened, I arbitrarily determined what-happened-in-which-day accordingly to my own convenience. ^_^

Chapter 5 – Of Artistry and Overstepping

1.

"We were at a loss at first, you know, but Artie found this song that kind of has a slightly less ballad-y vibe, sort of a weird hybrid of Yes and Supertramp…"

"Sweet Dreams?" Finn smiled.

Mike nodded. "Yeah, that's the one. So Sam and Artie reworked the arrangement, and added a stronger bit so I could dance to it, and that was our number."

"Cool! Who else?"

Mike clasped his hands behind his head as he leaned back on the couch. "Mercedes killed it with I Can Wait Forever. She really turned it into something else, half the club was in tears by the end. Brittany and Santana sang Just as I Am... and I really did not expect Santana to do so well with this kind of repertoire, but wow... They made the lyrics sound much deeper than they really are."

"My god, what about Puck?" asked Finn. "What did he come up with? That's so not his style..."

"Puck has changed, man!" said Mike with a laugh. "He picked up the guitar and dedicated Every Woman in the World to his muse, Lauren Zizes."

"Dude, that's getting serious. Like, seriously serious."

"I know. Although I'm pretty sure he changed the lyrics here and there. But the worst part? Ms. Zizes was not impressed. At all." Mike clucked his tongue. "I'm starting to feel sorry for the guy."

Finn shook his head in sorrow. "I cannot believe Mr. Schue assigned Air Supply to the club when I'm home sick," Finn moaned. "That's so not fair."

"That's what Rachel said, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, today, before her performance. She wanted us to understand that the only reason why she waited until the very last day of the assignment to show us her interpretation was not because she needed that much time to prepare, but because she wanted to give you as much time as possible to recover and play the drums while she belted out Making Love Out of Nothing At All."

Finn frowned. "Oh. Well. The drums part at the end is kinda dramatic, when it goes a little wild while the piano marks the beat. But... that's not what I meant."

"I know. Anyway, Travis, the jazz band drummer? I don't think he enjoyed the slight. I've never seen him play so loud. I could barely hear Rachel's voice, and that's saying something."

"That's... impressive. I can't imagine..."

"Quinn is back already, you know," said Mike abruptly.

"Yeah." Then Finn seemed to catch himself. "I mean, yeah? Is she, now?"

"Today was her first day back."

"Well. Good for her."

"Her voice is still recovering, but she sang Lost in Love with Tina."

"Cool."

"I think most of us expected Quinn to sing Goodbye and dedicate it to Sam, though."

Finn's eyes widened, but he lowered his head quickly to disguise it. "Hmm?"

"You know," said Mike, before starting to sing:

.

"I don't want to let you down,
I don't want to lead you on..."

.

"I know the song," Finn interrupted. "And I'm pretty sure those aren't the right notes."

"Those are the right words, aren't they?"

Finn shrugged. "I guess."

"Sam is a really nice guy, you know."

Now Finn turned to stare at Mike straight in the eyes. "I know. So is Artie."

Mike was taken aback. "Wha-what?"

"I'm just saying. If you're about to give me advice, I'd like to make sure it's not the kind of advice that ends up with 'Do as I say and not as I did at Asian camp last summer'."

Mike sat up stiffly, folding his arms over his chest. "Okay. Fine. Forget I said anything."

Finn still kept a wary eye on him. "Anyway, I don't know what you're talking about. I think Quinn could have sung I Want to Give It All. It'd sound great in her voice, and it'd be like her back-to-school song. You know. 'Here I am again, I've come to see you smile...'"

"'...And still you're waiting here, just waiting for my call...'," Mike continued, this time reciting instead of singing. "Yeah, I guess that one's appropriate too."

Light footsteps preceded Carole's entrance in the living room. "Hey, boys. I'm about to start on dinner. Are you staying, Mike?"

"Thanks, Mrs. H, but I need to go." Mike picked up his book bag and jumped up from the couch.

"You're sure? It'd be no trouble."

"My mom is waiting for me. It's ho jip zing tin gai night."

Carole blinked. "I see. Is that a good thing?"

"It's a great thing," Mike assured her. "I mean, who doesn't like frog legs?"

Finn sent his mother a queasy look. Carole bit back an amused smile.

Mike reached out with his arm towards Finn, his hand closed in a fist. "Take care, man. The club needs its captain."

Finn gave him a fist-bump. "Thanks, man."

Mike started turning towards the door, but then ended up doing a 360° spin, almost as gracefully as if it had been a deliberate dance move. "Oops, almost forgot. The very reason why I came." He unzipped his bag and fished a bunch of papers from inside, setting them on the coffee table in front of Finn.

"You don't have to keep bringing me your class notes, Mike."

"It's no trouble, really."

"No, I mean, you really don't have to bring me your class notes," said Finn, eyeing with a discouraged look the dismally tall pile of papers.

"Well, Kurt asked me to."

Finn blinked. "He did?"

"Yep. Photocopy my notes and bring them over every day while you're sick. He also asked me to get from Artie and Mercedes all the notes from the classes you and I don't have together. And to make sure that I let everyone else in the glee club know about the arrangement, casually but decisively." Mike shrugged. "I'm not sure how casual you can be when you're being decisive, but I did my best."

Finn frowned at that, but before he could say anything, Mike was already by the door, saying goodbye to Carole. So he just stared at the notes on the coffee table for a little while, then took the corner of the first page between his fingertips, as if trying to keep physical contact to a minimum, and flipped it over, finding the back also covered with the same neatly round handwriting that crammed the front.

With a sigh and a shrug, Finn pushed the whole pile aside and picked up the TV remote.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" Carole interjected as she came back into the room. "I think you have a lot of homework ahead of you, mister."

"I have time."

"No, you don't. You're going back to school tomorrow."

Finn gaped at the news. "But... but I still feel weak..."

"Honey, half an hour ago I saw you lift the couch on your own to pick a piece of popcorn that had rolled under it."

"And after all that effort you didn't even let me eat it," he grumbled.

"Haven't we had enough conversations lately about being careful of what you put in your mouth?" she asked wryly. "That's how you got sick after all."

"Mom!" Finn whined, mortified.

"Maybe you could ask Kurt to give you a hand with your homework," she suggested. "And by that I mean help you understand your friends' notes, not do your work for you."

"He wouldn't go for that anyway."

"Oh, so you tried before?"

"What? No! I mean... He always has, like, a ton of homework himself. And I think half of it is in Latin or something. So he really doesn't have time to help me at all."

"I'm sure if you ask him nicely..."

"Can't I stay home another day? Please?"

"No."

"But, Mom..."

"Don't you miss your friends? And glee club?"

Finn slumped on the couch, dejectedly. "I do. It's just... if only school was just glee club. And sports. I mean, why do I need to know if Columbus was on the Niña, the Pinta or the Santa Fe when he discovered America? Or what Shakespeare wrote about the French Revolution, or how the centerpifugal force affects a ball of cotton and a ball of adamantium dropped at the same time from the Golden Gate Bridge? And really, if I ever need to find out the square root of x raised to the second power, I'll just use the calculator in my cell phone."

Carole's eyes widened in consternation. "I'll talk to Kurt myself. If he's too busy, I'm getting you a tutor."

Finn's misery seemed to only deepen at that.

They heard the sound of keys opening the front door.

"Okay, okay, I'll ask him, okay?" said Finn urgently. "Please, let me talk to him about it. Can't have my mom do it, it's too embarrassing."

"He's family, sweetie."

"Mom, please!"

"Wow, Mr. Sickly sure is demanding today," said Kurt amusedly as he stepped into the living room, carrying his messenger bag and loosening the scarf around his neck. "Hi, Carole."

"Hi, how was school?"

"A little tiring," he sighed. "I confess I'm still not entirely used to having to pay so much attention in English class. So what is Finn begging for now? Chicken soup? Ice cream?"

"Nothing," said Finn testily.

"Actually..." began Carole.

Finn sent her a pleading look.

She smirked. "He was asking me to go back to school tomorrow. He really misses it."

Kurt blinked, staring back and forth between them. "Is that true?"

Finn gaped at his mom.

"He was just telling me how much he misses glee."

"Uh... yeah," Finn stuttered. "They did Air Supply this week."

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "You're bummed because of... Air Supply? Really?"

Carole pointed a warning finger at her stepson."There'll be no mocking of Air Supply around me. I'll let you know they were my biggest allies when Finn was little."

"Mom, don't..." Finn moaned.

"How so?" asked Kurt, curious.

"Finn was such a fussy baby at night," she said, beaming down at the tall boy who was now hiding his face behind his hands. "During the day he was all smiles and giggles and he'd entertain himself for hours just playing with his own tiny fingers and toes. But at night he'd cry and cry and cry, and it'd drive me crazy. Until I found out that all I had to do was sing Even the Nights Are Better, and he'd go completely quiet, just staring at me and listening."

"Aww," Kurt cooed.

"Shut up," Finn muttered.

Carole giggled. "Anyway, I need to start on dinner. Burt should be home soon, and if there's no food at the table he'll be too tempted to scrounge the house for snacks his doctors wouldn't approve."

"I'll help you," Kurt offered, unhooking the bag from his shoulder.

"No need. You're tired and... well... you and Finn should... you know... talk."

Finn glared at his mom. She merely smiled and headed towards the kitchen.

Kurt sent a suspicious look at Finn. "What do we need to talk about?"

"Nothing. Nothing in particular. We always talk after school, don't we?"

"I suppose. Should I get the milk?"

Finn shook his head. "Nah. After dinner."

"Okay." Kurt set his bag on the end table beside the armchair that faced the couch. "So how was your day?"

"Normal."

Kurt waited for more, but nothing came. "Okay." He sat down on the armchair, clasping his hands over his crossed legs. "Well, if you have nothing to say to me, I have something to say to you."

"Yeah? What?"

"I need your help. I need to find the perfect gift for Quinn."

"Uh... it's not her birthday. Is it?" Finn frowned. "No, I'm pretty sure it isn't. So why are you...?"

"It shouldn't be too extravagant, but it can't be too impersonal either. Something nice and elegant that says, 'Thank you for saving my brother from choking on a gumball'."

A coughing fit took over Finn and tinted his cheeks bright red.

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "If you want, I can go over there and perform the Heimlich maneuver, but don't expect me to give you CPR. I hope you understand you'll still be contagious for several months now."

"Dude, who told you about the gumball?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Who didn't tell me about the gumball?"

"What did you tell them?" Finn sent a worried glance towards the kitchen as he leaned over and hissed, "Dude, no one can know how Quinn and I really got mono. What did you say?"

"There was nothing to say, Finn, mainly because all the people who talked to me about it had already guessed about you and Quinn on their own. Face it, the cat is out of the bag now, and not even a whole barrel of gumballs is going to lure it back in."

"Sam doesn't know," Finn countered. "He totally bought the gumball story."

Kurt eyed his brother closely. "Is that smugness I see in your face?" He shook his head in disgust. "Haven't you learned anything?"

"Learned?" Finn echoed, annoyed. "Learned what?"

"Oh, I don't know! Poor Sam, being so blinded by his feelings for Quinn that he'd believe this gumball nonsense? It reminds me a little of some other poor boy who was also so blinded by his feelings for this same girl that he fell for an equally unbelievable lie about spermatozoids making it through swimsuits in a hot tub. Does that ring any bells?"

"Why do you keep bringing that up? It's not the same thing!"

"Do you remember how it felt later? When you found out the truth? How embarrassed you were? Do you really wish that on anybody else?"

"Kurt, I'm telling you now, you need to stop butting into my life."

"I am not..."

"Yes, you are!"

"I can't help having an opinion on..."

"You can help throwing your opinions at my face all the frigging time! You can and you should!"

Kurt folded his arms over his chest, looking thoroughly insulted. "Fine. I'll keep my thoughts to myself, then."

"You do that. And while you're at it, do the same with your actions."

"Excuse me?"

"Wanna tell me what's this about you telling Mike to bring me his class notes? You're not my mom, dude!"

Kurt growled under his breath. "You really don't get it, do you? Someone would have brought you their class notes. I merely asked Mike to do it — and suggested that he made sure everyone knew he was doing it — to make sure that someone wouldn't use this as a lame excuse to visit poor little sickly you."

Finn blinked. "Wait. You mean Rachel? You did this so Rachel wouldn't..."

Kurt shrugged. "It's a ploy I could have come up with, so it's a safe bet that the thought would have crossed her mind too."

"You don't need to protect me from Rachel," said Finn angrily. "I can handle her."

"Who says I did it for you? I was trying to honor my pledge as a member of the DDTTCC."

"The... what?"

"Divas Devoted To Their Colossal Careers. It's an alliance formed by Rachel, Mercedes and myself in which we sworn off romantic aspirations for the time being so we could focus our heart and energies on improving our skills as performers." Kurt tilted his head, a weary look on his face. "I don't particularly like the name, but Mercedes likes the double-letter thing, so we needed an adjective starting with C, and 'colossal' was all I could think of. Rachel said she would go through all the C entries in the dictionary to find a better word, but that was almost two weeks ago. I don't know if she gave up or just forgot about it."

"So... uh... the three of you have, like, a club... to keep each other from going after love?"

"Well. In a manner of speaking, yes."

Finn sat back on the couch, all signs of hostility vanishing from his body language. "I don't think I'd want to be in a group like that. I mean... maybe I just don't care enough about improving my skills. Rachel and Quinn are always complaining that I'm not ambitious enough. But it's so good to, like, have someone. Be with someone. Swearing it off... it sounds so lonely."

"It is lonely." Kurt smiled sadly. "The group makes it just a little less so."

The boys fell into contemplative silence. From the kitchen they could hear Carole opening cupboards and handling utensils and cheerfully singing Keeping the Love Alive just slightly off-key.

.

"Both of us holding back, so afraid
To fall in love and lose again.
We've both been hurt before,
Saw love walk out the door
In the end."

.

"Kurt?"

"Hmm?"

"I need to ask you something."

"As long as it's not my opinion."

"It's not."

"Fine. Ask away."

Finn kept staring down at the papers on the coffee table. "Would you...?"

"...what?"

Finn opened his mouth again, but the words just wouldn't come out. Finally, he shook his head and asked instead, "What would you have sung if Mr. Schue had assigned us Air Supply when you were still in the group?"

Kurt took only a few seconds to think of an answer. "Chances."

Finn looked up at Kurt, surprised. "That's... that's a sad song."

"Yes," Kurt sighed. "I suppose it is. But it has six long bars of holding a high B at the end."

"Is that high?"

"Unremarkable for a countertenor, but in this case it's the act of sustaining it firmly through several chord changes that makes it powerful. And I just know I could make it very poignant and soul-stirring," said Kurt matter-of-factly as he got on his feet. "I'm going upstairs to change. You probably should..." He stopped himself, retracting the hand he had used to point to the papers on the coffee table. "Never mind. No more opinions from me."

After Kurt left the room, Finn spent a good ten minutes just sitting there, completely still but for his right index finger, which tapped a slow rhythm on the arm of the couch. Finally, he started singing under his breath.

.

"There's a chance you will be there
Wondering what to do.
How to play my role?
I'll leave it up to you.
If I disguise my smile,
It gives too much away.
What if we can't speak?
What then shall I say?
Don't you be too long,
Something has gone wrong.
The chances are all gone."

.

Finn turned a worried frown towards the corridor where Kurt had disappeared through, then shook his head and gave the pile of notes a despondent look. "I don't even remember taking half of these classes..."

.

2.

"I can't believe I'm in the dog house again!"

"You're not in the dog house, Kurt."

"Of course I am! Did you see the way Wes was staring at me?" Kurt paced furiously in his bedroom, pressing his cell against his ear. "He was one gavel bang short from sentencing me to forced labor in a sweatshop in Antarctica!"

"Well, you need to understand, Wes is really big on sportsman attitude and respecting the adversary. Calling one of the glee clubs we're going to be up against 'a bunch of cheating sycophants'... That's really strong language, you know."

"I was merely stating the facts, Blaine. Last year, Aural Intensity found out who the judges were beforehand and prepared a set list catered specifically for those judges."

"I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with trying to please the judges..."

"A mash-up of Olivia Newton-John and Josh Groban! Guess who the judges were!"

"While I admit that that might be taking it too far, it could have easily misfired anyway. Some artists can be harder when judging cover versions of their own works. The very fact that Aural Intensity didn't win perhaps..."

"That's not the point! Yes, being cheating sycophants might have played against them in the end, but it doesn't change the fact that they are cheating sycophants."

"As Thad pointed out, even though the Show Choir Rule Book states that the names forming the judges' panel shouldn't be revealed before the competition, it doesn't actively say that competitors are forbidden to conduct their own investigations to find out who the judges are."

"Yeah, yeah," Kurt huffed, sitting down at the foot of his bed. Then, mimicking Thad's stiff tone, he quoted, "'Neither does it prescribe any sort of punishment for either competitors or judges found in noncompliance with the implied secrecy stipulation.' So there's a loophole. It still doesn't make it right. I'm surprised the Warbler council finds that less offensive than my 'strong language'."

Blaine's voice sounded amused. "I think their point is that there's nothing we can do about it. So why waste energy badmouthing our opponents when we should be working on our own set list?"

But Kurt was still grumpy. "Or maybe we should find out who the judges are and engage in some pandering ourselves, since it's totally by the book. Apparently, that's all that matters."

"Kurt..."

"You know, Rod Remington never misses a competition, so how about we arrange an a capella version of the WOHN News theme?"

"Well, why not? There're tons of a capella versions of TV show themes out there..."

"Blaine!"

"But if we're going down the TV news route, there's some stuff from CNN that is much cooler. You think there's any chance Anderson Cooper could be a judge at Regionals?"

"Fine, make a joke out of it. As long as it's just a joke. Because I can't imagine that you'd truly be willing to sell out your artistry just to win a competition."

"Do you really think it's selling out?"

"You don't? What happens to self-expression when all you're expressing is what someone else wants to see and hear?"

"I think it's still there. For example, I could maybe sing You Were Meant for Me to you, just because I know how much you love that scene in Singin' in the Rain, but I'd still be expressing my own... uh..."

Kurt's eyes widened. "What?" he whispered.

"Hm. Sorry. Bad example." Blaine sounded flustered. "What I meant to say was that artistry is in the performance, in how you carry it out, in how you interpret the original material, in how you turn it into something that could only have come from you. Whether the public you're targeting has an affinity with the original material or not is inconsequential."

"Inconsequential," Kurt repeated. "Right. Of course you would dismiss your public's feelings of affinity."

"Wait, what?"

"Never mind. I still don't think pandering to the judges' panel is a valid tactic. And if Aural Intensity plays the same trick this time around, Wes can stare at me with his disapproving eyes until the end of days, because I will not pretend to respect them."

Blaine let out a soft chuckle. "Okay..."

"And I will keep on saying that we need to work harder than ever now. Because with both Aural Intensity and the New Directions in our bracket, we have two clubs with really good chances of beating us. And I am not missing the plane to New York when Nationals come, you can write that down."

"Kurt... not missing... the plane... to... New... York. Okay, got it."

Kurt snorted. "You did not really write it down."

"I did. On a post-it. And now I'm putting it on my mirror."

"Liar."

"Hold on."

A few moments later, Kurt heard a buzz and checked his phone's screen. There was an incoming message... from Blaine. Quickly brushing his index finger on the touchscreen, he opened it, finding only a picture. It showed a smiling Blaine holding up his own cell phone, and on the foreground a little square paper with words scrawled on it entirely in capital letters.

Kurt laughed and pressed the phone to his ear again. "Neon pink post-its, Blaine?"

"Too gay?"

"I guess I was expecting the very traditional canary yellow, Blaine Warbler."

"There's more to me than being a Warbler, you know."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, really. You know I'm interested in football, and nineteenth century English literature, and civil rights politics, and..."

"Anything I don't know?"

"As a matter of fact... I'll have you know I'm the proud owner of a beautiful collection of vintage movie posters."

"I didn't know that. I've been to your house and didn't see any posters."

"Well, I don't keep them around, some of them are really old and valuable, they need to be protected from direct light, humidity, heat, critters... I've set them up in display racks in a special room. I don't think even Wes and David have ever seen them."

"Wow. How very secretive."

"I will show them to you, if you want. Next time you're here, I'll take you to my special room and show you my posters."

Kurt breathed in sharply. "Uh, Blaine?"

From the other end of the line came a rather undapper squeak. "No, that's not... I didn't mean... You're right, I shouldn't show you the posters. Uh, no, that's not what I meant either. I'd love to show you the posters. But I shouldn't say that I want to show you the posters... even if I do... although... actually..."

"Blaine?"

"Yes?"

"It's okay. I know what you meant. And what you didn't mean."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"I'm really bad at this, aren't I?"

"Impressively so, yes."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I admit it's actually a little funny to see you sweat like this."

Blaine snickered. "Well, glad my struggles at least serve to amuse you."

The door, which had been ajar, was pushed open, and Finn's head appeared in the threshold. "Hi?"

Kurt waved him in. "Blaine, I have to go. Finn is here."

"Enjoy your milk."

"See you tomorrow."

"We still on for Sullivan after class?"

"Sure."

"Fantastic. Bye."

Kurt hung up and took one of the mugs Finn had brought with him. "Thanks."

Finn sat down on the bed at Kurt's right. "So how are things going with Blaine?"

"Okay. I think he's finally cluing in to the flirting."

"Whose flirting? I thought you had decided on being just friends."

"His flirting. The way he constantly keeps throwing his charm around, and the ways that can be so easily misconstrued."

"So you mean he's still, like, accidentally flirting with you?"

"Yes. And not just me. Now that I've removed my tea rose-tinted glasses, I can see he's actually rather indiscriminate with his suave manners."

"He's like a gay preppy Puck, then."

Kurt frowned. "A clueless gay preppy Puck, maybe. And thanks. You've just made Blaine about seventy percent less appealing to me with that one remark."

"Uh, you're welcome?" Finn shrugged. "I still say he's an idiot."

Kurt smirked and took a sip of his milk. "So... Aural Intensity again, huh?"

Finn gave him an irritated look. "You know, that's not fun! What am I supposed to talk to you about when I get home if Mercedes has already texted you with all the McKinley news of the day?"

Kurt smiled fondly at his brother. "Your jealousy is so very endearing, but, at this time, a little misplaced. I'm assuming you guys got the same letter we did? From the Ohio Show Choir Committee?"

"Oh."

"Yeah. So, Aural Intensity and anthems."

"Right."

"The Warblers are not short on anthems in their traditional repertoire, but Blaine and some of the others are pushing for something new." Kurt shrugged. "And I tell you that with no fear of committing treasonous over-sharing, because, really, at this point? Things could go either way."

Finn nodded. "Yeah, we... well... we've started working on the anthem thing, too. Sam suggested something. I didn't like it, though."

Kurt bit back a smile. "I see."

Finn rolled his eyes. "It's not because it was Sam. It was a stupid suggestion, period."

"I didn't say anything," said Kurt defensively.

"You don't even have to. You have, like, super butting-in powers."

"Well, did the others like Sam's suggestion?"

"The girls did."

"Yeah, I suspected that. I mean, Mercedes texted me that Sam had done 'something unexpectedly hot' today... those were her words... but when I asked her to elaborate, I got a message from Rachel saying she had temporarily confiscated Mercedes' phone as they were not 'at liberty to discuss strictly confidential battle plans with the enemy'... Rachel's words."

Finn growled under his breath, drinking his milk.

"Well, I am not going to offer my opinion," stated Kurt firmly. "But perhaps I can mention the definition of the word 'anthem'?"

Finn gazed at him out of the corner of the eye. "Okay..."

"We're not talking of church music here, of course. We're talking about the modern-day definition of anthem as a composition that is inspiring and motivating, often but not necessarily self-aggrandizing, with a celebratory connotation. It has to appeal to people's notion of unity. It needs to grasp people's hearts and make them want be part of a bigger whole, and celebrate what this bigger whole is capable of accomplishing. As such, it definitely has to appeal to the masses."

"The masses?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's, like, all kinds of people, right?"

"Right."

"Right. So the masses are not just, you know, people who are 12 and stupid."

Kurt blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Never mind." Finn huffed. "I can't talk to you about any of this."

Kurt still looked confused, but gave in with a nod. "Of course. I'm the enemy now."

"You're not the enemy. You're just... on the other side."

"Still, Rachel is right, if overdramatizing the situation. We should not be swapping our glee clubs' secrets."

"Yeah..."

"So... what are we going to talk about?"

They drank the rest of their milk in silence.

.

3.

"This is Quinn Fabray. You know what to do." BEEP.

"Hey, it's me. I was thinking, we should do something Friday night. Like, a movie, or go bowling. Can't be dinner, because Burt and my mom insist on these family dinners every Friday... but hey, we can have dessert at Chloe's Cupcakes, or go to the ice cream parlor by the park... I mean, we always have dessert after Friday night dinner, usually something Kurt prepared the night before... but I don't mind eating two desserts. You can never have too much dessert, right?" Finn checked his watch, and sighed. "Anyway. Call me."

He hung up and dropped the cell phone on the bed, glaring at it.

"You know, I was planning to make a triple berry cobbler for Friday, but maybe I should just skip it."

Finn raised his eyes to find Kurt smirking evilly at him, his hands on his hips. "Remember that thing about not butting into my life? It kind of includes not listening to my private conversations."

"You were not conversing, you were trying to get Quinn to call you back. Again."

"Dude!"

"Merely stating the facts. No opinions."

"So that's how you want it? Fine! Hi, Kurt! How was your date with Blaine?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "You know very well that it wasn't a date."

"Yeah, right. You just went ice skating together. Not romantic at all."

"Well, it wasn't. We knew there'd be no rehearsal today because all the seniors had to attend a lecture from the headmaster, so we decided to hang out at the Sullivan Rink. It was the Oldies-But-Goldies Matinee, which for some reason meant alternating songs from the fifties and the eighties, with some Rascal Flatts and Crystal Bowersox thrown in to make it even more baffling." Kurt shrugged. "Anyway, we skated and had coffee, and also pretzels, after much insistence from him. And we talked. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a friendly..."

"Oh, 'friendly'!" Finn echoed with a mocking tone.

"It was!"

"Uh-huh. So, no holding hands or anything like that."

"No, no holding hands, nothing like... Well. Actually, there was some hand-holding, but not in the way that you think. We were playing, you know. One would drag the other by the hand for a while, gain speed and then let go. And we did some twirling and spinning together. You know. What's the point of ice skating if you don't play a little?"

"I don't know, man, I went ice skating with Puck sometimes..."

"Hah! See? Friendly."

"...and we never twirled or spun or held hands for whatever reason."

"Yes, because Puck probably had you convinced that your genitals would turn female if you ever held another boy's hand."

Finn scowled. "Well, okay, yes. But that's not the point."

"I can't possibly imagine what your point is, Finn. You know very well that there's nothing going on between Blaine and me. You're just being hurtful."

"And you know very well that there is something going on between me and Quinn. She probably just... misplaced her cell, or something. So you are being hurtful too."

Kurt was silent for a moment. "All right. I'm sorry. How about a mutual non-butting-in policy, then?"

"Deal."

Finn reached out with his hand, and Kurt shook it.

"So, did you have fun? With your friend Blaine?" At Kurt's narrowed gaze, Finn amended, "What? That's a legitimate non-butting-in question."

Kurt sighed, crossing the room to take a seat on the recliner. "Yes, Finn. We had fun. Despite the DJ."

"Did you guys fall a lot?" asked Finn with a lopsided smile.

"I happen to be a very decent skater."

"And a boring storyteller."

"Not my fault if you only enjoy physical comedy," Kurt grunted. "Fine, we slipped a few times."

"How many?"

"Two for me. Eight for him."

Finn grinned. "Blaine is a lousy skater," he sang childishly.

"He's just... excessively enthusiastic. Oh, quit the giggling. You're one to talk anyway. You did not fare so well at April's roller rink either, if my memory serves me right."

"Hey, I can skate. It's stopping that it's a little hard."

"Yeah. Very hard on your behind, I'm sure."

Finn tossed a pillow at Kurt, who grabbed it easily before it could disturb his hair.

"I'm not sure I like skating," said Finn with a little shrug. "When you're not falling or seeing other people fall, it's kinda dull."

"Well, Blaine wouldn't agree. He wants us to go again soon. Sullivan now has sessions with bumper cars on Friday evenings and Sunday matinees, and Blaine is just dying to try them. He can be such a boy sometimes..."

"Whoa, bumper cars? Seriously?"

Kurt snorted. "Speaking of boys..."

"That is so cool!" Finn frowned in thought. "And it's perfect too. Kurt, you gotta promise me you guys won't go this Friday."

"Why?"

"Because I'm taking Quinn, and I'm not ready to go on a double date with my brother."

"Since I'm not dating Blaine and you're not dating Quinn, I don't think that'll be much of a problem."

Finn's eyes widened. "Dude! Didn't we just make a deal about that? Like, five minutes ago?"

"And didn't you just break it yourself? Like, five seconds ago? I'm not going to keep my end of the bargain if you don't keep yours."

They glared at each other for a little while, until Finn looked away with a growl. "Okay. Sorry. I slipped, that's all."

"Just like skating, stopping is what's a little hard, right?" Kurt stood up and moved back towards to door. "Well, if you really do go to the ice rink this week, do me a favor, okay? Take a look around, see what the girls are wearing."

"Are you crazy? I can't go out with Quinn and look at other girls. She'll bite my head off."

"I'm not talking about checking them out. Just give them a casual glance. If you can, count how many of them are wearing armwarmers."

"Armwarmers?"

"Yes. Like legwarmers, only on their arms. Apparently, it's the new trend in town and I'm more than a little puzzled. It's not a look I've seen in any fashion site or magazine."

Finn frowned. "You mean those wool sleeves without sweaters? Yeah. I think all the girls in school are wearing them. Well, not Rachel."

"Rachel wouldn't be able to spot a fashion trend if it hit her on the head." Kurt snorted as he stepped out of the room.

.

4.

"Kurt, would you like to go out on a date at Color Me Mine?"

Kurt choked on his milk, doubling over in a coughing fit. Finn patted his back, which didn't prove to be very helpful.

The smaller boy moved away from his brother, leaving his mug on his vanity before sitting on the chair by the window. "Wha-what?"

"You sound funny. Maybe you should breathe a little more before..."

"Finn Hudson, I'm sure you did not ask me what I think you've just asked me! So... please concentrate... and ask again. Choose your words carefully."

Finn's brows knitted together, and he just stood there for a long moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his mug forgotten in his right hand. Eventually, something seemed to light up in his expression. "Oh... Oh! You thought I was... I didn't mean..."

"Yes! I know!" Kurt snapped. "I figured as much. Now, focus and try again."

"If Blaine asked you out..."

"Finn!"

Finn grimaced. "Right. Not Blaine. If some boy... a hyperthetical boy... who's definitely not Blaine... asked you on a date at Color Me Mine. What would you think?"

"I'd think, 'What the hell am I going to wear?'"

"That's it?"

"What did you expect me to think?"

"Don't you think Color Me Mine is super lame?"

"I think it's lame that the boy asking me out is merely hypothetical."

"Kurt, I'm serious."

"And you think I'm not?"

Finn sat on the stool by the vanity, his back to the mirror. "Okay, never mind. I don't know why I thought talking to you would help."

Kurt bit down his lower lip. "Sorry. You caught me by surprise and I just... well..." He cleared his throat. "So. Color Me Mine."

"Yes."

"I admit that when I picture myself on a date, I think of more romantic venues. A quiet restaurant, a beautiful park in a sunny afternoon, a play or a good movie, maybe a dance performance... somewhere where we could hold hands and talk for hours."

"Like the ice rink?"

"Uh. Well. Yes, I suppose."

"So you agree with me. Color Me Mine is super lame."

"While I consider myself skilled in various crafts, somehow I've never been interested in either painting or pottery. So I can't really see myself going there just for the sake of it. Maybe, like, a day out with the girls... but I'd probably do my best to convince them to forget the pottery plates in favor of a nice white clay facial. As for a date... I'm serious, what the hell would I wear? I can't risk my good clothes on a place like that, but I can't wear my Hummel Tires and Lube overalls to a date either, can I?"

"Then that's definitely a no to a date at Color Me Mine, right?"

Kurt frowned. "I... I wouldn't say that."

"Why not? It seems to me like that was exactly what you were saying."

"I just think there're more important things than where the date is."

"For example?"

"Well, who is this boy?"

"I told you, it's hyper... hypo..."

"Yes, but do I like him? Is he gay? Is he out? Is he smart? Is he good-looking? Does he know the difference between silk and viscose?"

"Uh..."

"And as for the really important questions... Is he a good person? Does he honestly like me? Can I bring him home and introduce him to Dad without stressing his heart into another arrhythmia?"

Finn huffed. "I don't know. Let's say... he's sorta good-looking. Smart, but not school-smart. Smart in a dork-ish way. Totally clueless about fabrics and fashion, but... well, people think he's a nice guy. Burt would like him. I guess you did... I mean, I guess you would too."

Kurt narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "Does he have bottle-blond hair and big, full lips?"

Finn recoiled, lowering his gaze to the mug resting on his right knee. "Uh, I don't know? Could be, if you like that sort of thing..."

"I'm not interested in Sam, Finn."

"I didn't say you are."

"So what's this all about?"

"Forget it."

But Kurt kept eyeing Finn the way a biologist would examine a cell nucleus in the microscope. "Did Sam ask Quinn on a date at...?"

"That subject is not allowed."

Kurt sighed. "Okay. But my point stands. I doubt I'd ever ask anyone on a date at Color Me Mine. And I doubt I'd be interested in going there for the sake of painting pottery. But if the invitation came from the boy of my dreams?" He shrugged. "I don't know. I can think of worse ideas for a date. Like a Taco Bell drive-thru."

"So, where do you and Blaine usually go to hang out?" Before Kurt could protest, he added, "I know you guys aren't dating, but... you like him, right? And that's kind of what I want to know. Cool places to go with someone you like."

"Well, you know, we go to the Lima Bean every day. Sometimes we lose track of time and just stay there, talking for hours."

"Right."

"We've gone to Breadstix a few times. We went to Columbus to see Rent. We go to the movies whenever there's anything worth watching in the theatres. Sometimes, when the Warblers' rehearsal stretches until late, we go the garden by the west wing of the school and watch the sunset. It's good, you know, to wind down. And we went to a flamenco performance a few weeks ago."

"And the ice rink this week."

"Yes. The ice rink." Kurt eyed his brother suspiciously. "Why are you smirking?"

"I'm not smirking."

"Yes, you are. What did I say that's so funny?"

"Nothing I'm allowed to talk about."

.

5.

"Kurt? I need your help."

"Does it have to be now? I'm kinda busy."

"You're texting."

"Yes, like I said, busy."

"Well, it's sort of... an emergency."

With a huff, Kurt finally looked up from his phone, setting his eyes on Finn for the first time since he stepped into the room. "Oh... my... Finn, what the hell happened?"

Embarrassed, Finn looked down at the floor. That made the top of his head visible to an increasingly horrified Kurt.

"Who did this to you?" Kurt jumped to his feet, hurrying towards his brother but hesitating to touch him. "Which of those pathetic Neanderthals...?"

"Uh, no. It was me. I did it to myself."

Kurt blinked. "You slushied yourself in four different colors?"

"It's not slushie. It's hair mousse. And hair gel. And lots of conditioner. And some sort of smoothing cream. And something called a hair mask. Which I don't get, because shouldn't masks go on one's face?"

Kurt seemed about to faint. "Finn... what have you...? Did you use every single product in the bathroom on your hair? At once?"

"Not every one! And not at once. I tried one, and when I didn't get the result I need, I tried another, and so on."

"Oh no."

"And I blow-dried my hair between each product, of course."

"Oh no, no, no."

"I also tried eggs."

"Eggs?"

"Yeah, I remembered you once said something about organic conditioners made of yolk, so... I couldn't figure out how to separate the yolk from the white, though, so I had to use them whole. Is that a problem?"

Kurt had his mouth covered with both hands now, and looked rather unsteady on his feet.

"Dude, are you okay? Maybe you should sit down. Or eat something. Or breathe. Are you breathing?"

Without a word, Kurt grasped his brother's hand and ran out of the room, down the hallway and into the bathroom, Finn stumbling after him. Then he spent a good minute just looking around, examining the floor, the sink, inside the shower box, and checking the vast assortment of bottles and jars of cosmetics.

"All clean," he murmured eventually. "All here."

"What, you thought I had used your stuff? Dude, I'm not crazy, you'd kill me."

"So... Carole's?"

"Yeah."

"In the master bathroom?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Will our parents have a fit when they see the state it's in now?"

Finn didn't answer.

"I'll get your hair back to normal," said Kurt. "But that's the only disaster zone I'm dealing with. With their bathroom, you're on your own."

"Actually... could you help me change my hair? Like, could you give me bangs?"

"Bangs?"

"Yeah, like, coming from the back and the side, and then falling over my eyes... like this." Finn tried to use his fingers to mimic the effect he was describing.

"Oh god, is that what you were trying to do?"

"Yep. But I only get bangs when my hair is soaking wet, and when it's wet it just lies flat down, it doesn't flow when I..." Finn flipped his head curtly to the right. "That's why I put all those products, to get the bangs, and then I'd blow-dry it to try to make it, you know, move."

Kurt shook his head in dismay. "Okay. Okay. First things first. We need to wash it all off." He took a deep breath to focus his thought. "Okay. Take off your shirt, your shoes and socks. I'll be right back."

Finn rushed to obey, as Kurt left the bathroom. He kicked his shoes to a corner, then dropped his shirt and socks unceremoniously on top of them. Then, with a worried glance at the open door, he picked it all up, arranged the shoes neatly together by the wall, put one sock inside each shoe, folded the shirt as best as he could, and set it on the counter. Kurt was back the next moment, bringing towels, a small flower-patterned bag and a shower stool.

"Is that your Dad's...?" asked Finn, nodding at the teak seat.

"Yes."

"So you went into the master bathroom."

"Yes, and now I know exactly what 'walking on eggshells' feels like, thank you. So you'll be cleaning my slippers too." Kurt placed the stool inside the box, away from the shower head. "Sit."

Finn sat down, rubbing his arms self-consciously. Kurt covered his brother's shoulder with one of the towels, leaving the others on the counter. Realizing he was still carrying his phone, he left it there as well. Next, he joined Finn in the box, picked up the hose and turned the water on.

"Lean your head back," he instructed. "A little more."

Finn winced as he felt the water running down his scalp. "Could it be a little hotter?"

"No." Kurt touched Finn's hair gingerly, trying to remove some of the crusts of dried product without pulling at the strands. "This is disgusting."

"Is it coming off?"

"Some. This will take a while, a lot of patience, a lot of shampoo... and some luck wouldn't hurt either."

Kurt worked in silence for a few minutes, grimacing when his fingers got stuck in knots of dirty hair. Finn flinched in pain from time to time, but tried to bear it as stoically as he could. After a while, Kurt picked an orange bottle from the crammed shampoo shelf, poured a little of its clear liquid content directly on the top of Finn's head and started massaging his scalp gently.

"Here, hold this for me," asked Kurt, handing the bottle to Finn so he could have both hands working on his brother's hair.

Finn examined the bottle. "Is this, like, hair medicine? It looks like one of those prescription bottles, and your name is written on the label."

"It's shampoo. I got my dermatologist to prescribe me something when the gang slushie attacks became a daily thing at McKinley. My usual stuff just wasn't cutting it anymore. I hope it'll make a dent on this mess."

"It's not making much lather," said Finn worriedly.

"It's not supposed to."

"Is it working?"

Kurt didn't answer for a while, just glaring down at Finn's head.

"Kurt?"

"I... I think so. I told you to be patient."

Chastened, Finn chewed on his lower lip. "Sorry."

Kurt let out a long-suffering sigh. "Really, Finn, why didn't you come straight to me? You've been complaining about how lately there's little we can talk about. Surely you can talk to me about hairstyling!"

"Uh. Well. Actually... I wasn't supposed to... Hmm."

"Oh. I see. This is for glee club."

"...yeah. But that's all I'll say about it."

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Was that Mr. Schuester's idea? Somehow I can't picture him as Bieber fanboy."

Finn snapped his head around to face Kurt. "Whoa, wait! Who said anything about Bieber?"

Kurt grabbed Finn's head and made him face front and down, so he could work on his nape. "You've just asked me to style your hair with bangs forming this very particular kind of side-sweep look. So you guys will either be singing a Bieber song, or doing a performance dressed up like Lego dolls. Do you want me to paint your face yellow too?"

"Uh, no..."

"Then Beiber it is." Kurt retrieved the bottle for a moment to pour more shampoo on his hand, and went back to massaging Finn's scalp.

"Kurt, you can't tell the Warblers about this."

Kurt snorted. "Please! Like I'd want to give them that idea."

"So you think Justin Bieber is lame too."

"Well, you'll find none of his idiotic tunes in my iPod, if that's what you're asking. Sure, they're very catchy, but so is the swine flu."

"Exactly!" exclaimed Finn. "Thank you!"

"On the other hand..."

"Wait, no. There's no other hand."

Kurt sighed. "Sorry. That was Blaine talking, I guess. He always seems to find some other hand."

"What other hand could there possibly be?"

"Well... He is ridiculously popular. His YouTube channel had a solid fanbase even before he was... insert air quotes here, my hands are busy... 'discovered'. The most viewed video in YouTube's history is that silly puppy love song of his whose chorus is a constant repetition of the word 'baby'. Oh, how eloquent and poetic," Kurt snickered. "And no one can deny he's a trendsetter. I mean, here you are, asking me for Bieber bangs. Even at Dalton there're three guys with Bieber hair. And one of them is the twenty-five-year-old gardener. Gross, really."

"The king of YouTube," Finn mused. "Wasn't that Lady Gaga? Well, the queen of YouTube, I mean."

"She's the queen of Twitter. And there's really no comparison. Gaga is revolutionary. Bieber is just... easy to digest."

"I don't get either of them," Finn admitted. "Give me Air Supply any day."

"Really, Finn, you should watch your consumption of sugar. Diabetes is no light matter."

Finn snorted. "Don't give me that. The other day I asked you what song of theirs you'd sing for a glee assignment, and you didn't even have to think about it. Don't pretend you don't know their stuff."

Kurt poured more shampoo on Finn's head, his massage becoming slightly more aggressive, encompassing every inch of his brother's scalp. "I'm not a music snob."

"Yes, you are. The Monkees?"

"Actors, not true musicians."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Regardless, I'm sure I know more music genres than you do," Kurt insisted. "You need to know the bad to recognize the good."

"Are you sure that's it? Because that sounds like an excuse. Like Puck listening to Barry Manilow and saying it's just because he's Jewish and he has to support his lineage or whatever."

"Mr. Bad-Ass Puckerman is way too focused on appearances."

"And you're not, Mr. I-Never-Wear-The-Same-Outfit-Twice-In-A-Month Hummel?"

"You're one to talk, Mr. I'm-The-Closest-Thing-This-School-Has-To-A-Celebrity Hudson." Kurt pulled Finn's head back once more, picked up the hose and rinsed the soapy hair with methodical care. "Yes, I know about that. People kept texting me, wondering if after you joined my family I started feeding you with a head-growing diet."

Finn looked up and stuck out his tongue at him.

Kurt bravely tried to respond with a glare, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by a sneaking fond smile. "Eyes ahead, you big toddler."

Finn complied. "It wasn't Mr. Schue, by the way."

Kurt blinked. "What?"

"Doing Bieber. It was Sam's idea."

"Oh."

"He said his songs sum up our generation."

"That's a terrifying thought." Kurt turned off the water, moved out of the shower box and picked a close-teeth comb from a drawer on the counter beside the sink. He was about to enter the cubicle again when he froze, eyes so big that they seemed about to pop out from their sockets. "Wait. Is that what you were talking about three days ago? Sam's idea for an anthem that you thought it was stupid?"

Finn grimaced, drying his forehead with the corner of the towel on his shoulders. "I'm not supposed to talk about that with you."

"An anthem by Bieber? Seriously?"

"I told you, I don't get it either. But it's like you said, he appeals to the masses, for whatever reason. Especially the female masses. So maybe there's something to it. I just want to give it a try."

Kurt started to say something, then closed his mouth and shook his head. He moved to stand behind Finn again, running the comb through the wet hair with utmost care. "It's none of my business anyway. I'm not 'butting in', as you say."

"Thanks."

"I just hope I never have to suffer through seeing you sing that awful baby-baby-baby nonsense. I don't know if I'd ever be able to respect you again."

Finn's lips contorted into an amused half-grin.

Kurt used the comb to locate and remove the rest of the solid clumps of residue, but that took time and several pulls to Finn's hair, no matter how gentle Kurt was. Finn, however, displayed the endurance of a martyr, and withstood the treatment in resigned silence.

Another handful of shampoo, another rinse, and Kurt turned off the water with a gesture of finality. "Okay. It's clean." He removed the wet towel from Finn's back and replaced it with a dry one, pressing it against Finn's scalp a few times. "Now let's see what can be done to give you Lego doll hair. Up!"

They moved the teak seat out of the box and placed it in front of the sink, and Finn sat back down, facing the mirror. Kurt touched the tips of his hair, examining them studiously.

"Do you know his secret?" asked Finn. "The secret to Bieber hair?"

"It's no secret. He actually posted a video demonstrating it."

"And you watched it?"

"For purely academic purposes," said Kurt defensively. "Anyway, that knowledge won't be very useful now. The simple fact is that your hair is just too short for the flipping-and-drying method. So what I'll do is just try to give you straight, smooth bangs, get you as close as possible to the real thing. Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, dude."

Kurt selected a small tube from among the many bottles on the counter top and squeezed a pea-size drop of a light blue mousse on his index finger. He spread the substance to the rest of his fingers before massaging Finn's head with it.

"Smells like pine wood," Finn mused.

Kurt smiled. "You have a really good nose for trees." He cleaned his hands on a paper tissue, plugged in his hairdryer and picked a new comb from the drawer. He combed Finn's hair forward quickly while moving the hairdryer with practiced moves. "Tell me if it's too hot."

"It's fine."

On the counter beside the sink, Kurt's phone buzzed, and Finn automatically picked it up. "It's a text from Mercedes."

"Thanks, I'll read it later."

"Actually, you have, like, a ton of unread messages."

"Yeah, I can imagine."

"It's okay, I'll read them for you."

"Put my phone down, Finn! You can't read my private conversations!"

"It's Mercedes! She's probably gossiping about glee club, which means it's something I already know about, so what's the harm?" Finn's fingers danced on the touchscreen.

"Finn!"

"First unread message. She says, 'I was your friend first, putting up with your crazy when you were still on the down low and Berry was the love of your life.'" Finn frowned at Kurt's reflex on the mirror. "Wait, you used to have a thing for Rachel?"

Kurt sighed. "Let it go, Finn."

"But..."

"It was before I came out, okay? I was... looking at... a boy. In an appreciative way. And Mercedes caught me looking, but the boy moved just when she turned to see who I was looking at, and Rachel was there instead. And I wasn't ready to correct her assumption."

"Oh."

"Mercedes is just reminding me that our friendship goes way back."

"Right." Suddenly, Finn smirked. "Oh, man, it was me, right? She caught you staring at my ass or something."

Kurt stiffened for a moment, until he saw Finn's amused expression on the mirror. Then he rolled his eyes. "While I'm glad you can joke about this now, no, I was not staring at your ass."

"Someone else's ass, then? Or my something else?"

"I pledge the fifth."

Finn snickered and checked the phone again. "Next one is from Rachel."

"I'll check it later. Now put my phone down."

But Finn only shrugged. "Well, I need to know if it's about me." He opened the message.

"No, you don't! Finn!" Kurt moved to take the phone from Finn's grasp, but stopped when he realized both his hands were busy.

"Hmm, she says, 'I thought you'd relate to my deep anguish and sense of betrayal, given how very much alike we are in our drive, loneliness and strife for perfection.' Crap. This is about me, isn't it?"

"It's not."

"It's okay, I told you, you don't need to protect me from Rachel. Clearly, she's not over me, and she thought you could relate to that, except you did get over me now that you have Bla... ouch! You're pulling my hair, dude!"

"And you should thank me, because not only I'm giving you the ridiculous look you asked me for, but at the same time I'm keeping you from saying something that will make you sound even more ridiculous than your look."

But Finn ignored him and went for the next message. "Rachel again," said Finn.

"Oh god..."

"'I don't remember anyone else from New Directions ever asking you to sing a duet with them. Including You-Know-Who,'" Finn read.

"Low blow, Rachel," Kurt muttered.

Finn stared in confusion at his own reflection on the mirror. "Is she comparing me to Voldemort?"

"What? No..." Kurt raised the hairdryer, as if threatening to bash Finn's head in, letting out a growl that caused the tall jock to shudder. Then, with a deep breath, Kurt forced himself to relax and went back to working on the hairdo. "I told you, this has nothing to do with you."

"Then who? Sam? Is this about that duet assignment?"

"No."

"But then..." Finn opened another message. This time Kurt didn't even bother trying to stop Finn.

"It's Mercedes now. 'She wouldn't be your friend until you were gone and not fighting her for solos anymore. You know her priorities. What's yours?'"

Kurt snorted. "Right now? Give my brother the most atrocious makeover ever." He turned off the hairdryer and put it away, unplugging it from the power outlet. Next, he opened the bag he had brought earlier and took out the gadget stored inside, which was covered with the same flower pattern as the bag.

"What's that?" asked Finn.

"Carole's hair straightener. I don't have one, and your hair needs to be silk-like smooth for this to work."

"But you know how to use it?"

"I have a lot of practice playing with Mercedes's hair, don't worry." Kurt plugged in the straightener and left it on the counter while it heated up. Meanwhile, he picked up a round spray bottle and sprayed Finn's hair a few times, making sure to shield Finn's brow so the product wouldn't get into his eyes.

Finn turned his attention back to Kurt's phone. "The next one is Rachel. 'I can only assume your inex... plic... inexplicable ret... reticence... is a sign of your... resentment... over your... humiliating defeat in our own diva-off.' Man, the words are getting bigger, that means she's about to blow up. You know, volcano-like."

"I'm not afraid of big words," said Kurt dryly.

Finn smiled. "Yeah, I guess you're not." He moved to the next message. "Still Rachel: 'I thought you were better than that.'"

"Oh, but I am," Kurt muttered. "If you only knew..." He grabbed the straightener and the comb and, alternating swiftly between one tool and the other, he combed lock after lock of Finn's hair towards his forehead.

Finn opened another message. "'I've never been so disappointed in you,' says Mercedes. And... huh. Rachel says exactly the same thing."

"Well, that just makes it quite even, as I'm disappointed in both of them myself."

"Dude, what is going on?"

"The truce is over. Mercedes and Rachel are back to despising each other."

"What? Why?"

"Good question. Mercedes said that Rachel said that Mercedes is not talented. And Rachel said that Mercedes said that Rachel is not talented. Neither confirms having said anything about the other before, but now they're both very eager to corroborate the assertion they deny having made."

"Uh..."

"They're fighting over which of them is more talented," Kurt abridged.

"Ah."

"And they both want me to pick a side."

"Like, to be the referee?"

"Oh, no. They don't care about my opinion that much. They're each entirely sure they're much better than the other, so they don't actually need a referee. They just want me to back up what they're convinced to be true."

"That sucks."

"Indeed."

"Which side would you pick?"

"None. They're both my friends."

"But if it weren't for that. Just on talent alone. Who would you pick?"

"Well, me, obviously," said Kurt with a snort.

Finn chucked. "I don't know why I asked." He rested his elbows on the sink to bring the phone closer to his face. "More Rachel. 'Thanks to the appalling attitude you and Mercedes are now displaying, I have no choice but to dissolve the DDTTCC club.' Whoa, can she do that? Was she like the president or something?"

"No, but... let's just say her issues tended to dominate the club's discussions."

"How?

"...never mind."

"Mercedes: 'Rachel texted me to say DDTTCC is over. Whatever, it should be spelled FFTTKRFFF anyway. Foolish Friends Trying To Keep Rachel From Flirting with Finn.'" Finn blushed. "Oh."

"Don't let it go to your head," Kurt cautioned his brother. "If it gets too big, your hair won't be long enough to cover it."

"'I'm sorry you've been caught in the crossfire. That's not really fair to you,'" Finn read.

Kurt blinked. "Wow. That's surprisingly thoughtful. Which of them sent it?"

"Uh, actually, that's from Blaine."

"Finn, no!" Kurt pointed the straightener menacingly at Finn's reflex. "Now you're really crossing a line. My communications with Blaine are private!"

"Crossfire," Finn murmured. "Have you two gone to a paintball field?"

"Are you listening to me? Let go of my phone. Now."

"Wait, Blaine's texted again."

"I said..."

"'I'd much rather hear a Rachel/Mercedes duet than a diva-off. If they're as good as you say, they'd bring the house down.' Wait, how is Blaine involved in the Rachel versus Mercedes thing?"

"He's not. I was just texting him about it before you asked for my help. Those two are driving me nuts, and I needed someone to talk to."

"And you chose Blaine?"

"Why not?"

"Why not me?"

"Because I can't trust you to be impartial. It's not like Blaine has ever dated either of them."

Finn snorted. "Well. It's not like he's telling you anything helpful, is it?"

Kurt frowned in thought. "Actually..."

"What?"

Kurt huffed and went back to straightening Finn's hair. "Well, since you're determined to butt in... Start a message to Mercedes. I'm going to dictate it for you."

"Okay."

"No netspeak. Full words, correctly spelled, or they'll think someone stole my phone." Kurt sighed. "Which isn't that far from the truth."

"Fine, but small words, okay? Shoot."

"'Of course I'm on your side, girlfriend,'" Kurt dictated. "'Rachel doesn't stand a chance against your soulful voice.'"

Finn frowned even as he typed. "You really think so?"

"Now, message to Rachel. 'You're right, I sympathize...' That's S-Y-M-P-A-T-H-I-Z-E... 'I sympathize with your pain and struggle. But I know you will prove yourself supreme in the diva-off.'"

"Whoa. You're two-timing your friends?"

"I'm trying to get them back to being each other's friends."

"By getting them both to hate you when they find out you're two-timing them?"

"They won't hate me. They'll thank me. You'll see."

"I don't know..." The phone buzzed, and Finn opened the message. "From Mercedes. 'Glad you recovered your senses, boo.'" Another buzz. "And Rachel says, 'It's a relief to know you're not so resentful as to deny the truth. Always a pleasure to have you as my ally against the med... mediocrity.'"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "To Mercedes: 'Have you ladies already picked the combat song?'" When Finn finished typing, he added, "To Rachel, same question."

A minute later, the phone buzzed again.

"Rachel says she wants to do Barbra's Stoney End." Another buzz. "And Mercedes is picking Jennifer Hudson's new song, Where You At. Don't they have to sing the same song? I mean, when you and Rachel had your diva-off..."

"Write to Rachel: 'You can't have a proper diva-off without a song from the Broadway catalogue.' That's C-A-T..."

"Dude, I can spell 'catalogue'."

The phone remained silent for a long while. Kurt unplugged the straightener and put it back on the counter to cool while he used comb and fingers to tame Finn's most rebellious locks.

Finally, the sound of a new incoming message. "It's Mercedes," said Finn. "'Rachel's just sent me 6 texts to explain why the diva-off absolutely needs to be some Broadway shit. Is she tripping?'"

Kurt grinned. "Reply: 'She's so afraid of you that she wants the advantage of genre. Seize this opportunity to beat her on her own turf."

Finn typed as instructed, the look on his face growing more confused by the second. "So, you're rigging the game in Rachel's favor? How is that going to help matters?"

"Trust me."

The next message didn't take long to come. "Mercedes asks, 'So what do you suggest? Something from Dreamgirls? How about One Night Only? 'Cause I'm not doing a Streisand musical, hell to the no.'"

"To Mercedes: 'Tell her you'd like to do something from Rent. And tell her you're willing to let her choose the song. Whatever she chooses, you can do better.'"

"Oh. So you're rigging the game in Mercedes' favor, then," said Finn.

"Finn Hudson, you're so far way from figuring out my brilliance."

Another buzz. "Okay, this is Rachel telling you that Mercedes is letting her choose something from Rent. With a lot more words than necessary, but... that's the gist. Oh, and she's considering Out Tonight."

"Right. Tell her that's too obvious. Tell her that she should pick Take Me or Leave Me because Mercedes would never see that coming."

Finn typed as instructed. The reply came fast. "Rachel says she's appalled to have to remind you that that song is a duet."

"I know that," Kurt growled. "Write to her, 'That's the point. What better way to prove your superiority than by showing everyone that you can be both Maureen and Joanne?'"

"Who are Maureen and Joanne?" asked Finn as he finished typing.

"A couple of lesbians who adore each other but can't stop fighting over their jealousy and insecurities."

Finn arched an eyebrow. "I'm kinda afraid to ask why you're choosing that song now." Two buzzes sounded in quick succession. "Rachel says you're a genius. And Mercedes says, 'Rachel picked Take Me or Leave Me, to be sung as a solo. What do you think?'"

Kurt grinned smugly. "To Rachel: 'Obviously.' To Mercedes: 'Perfect. Let Rachel go first, then jump in mid-song and teach her how it's done.' And Finn, please, please, please don't mix the messages up," he added worriedly.

"Chill, man, I'm not that stupid." Finn pressed 'send' after typing the second message and sighed. "Okay, done. But I really don't see the point of all of this. You tell Rachel to turn a duet into a solo, but then tell Mercedes to interrupt Rachel's solo, so in the end it'll just be a duet again, won't it?" Finn gazed up at Kurt's reflex with a suspicious look. "This is what Blaine was talking about."

Kurt's smile turned a little dreamy. "He gave me the idea, yes."

"I don't know, dude, I can imagine a dozen ways this could go very, very wrong. Rachel really doesn't like being interrupted when she's singing. Or talking. Or doing anything else." Another buzz. "But Mercedes is calling you a genius too."

"And tomorrow you will be telling me the same," said Kurt with conviction. He put the comb down, removed the towel and patted Finn's shoulders. "I'm afraid that's the best I can do."

Finn looked into the mirror, and smile. "This is great." He flipped his head to the right, and the pitifully short bangs moved a few millimeters with the jolt. "Awesome!"

Kurt sighed. "Well. As long as you're happy."

"Will it stay like this until tomorrow?"

"Don't let it get wet, and the straightening should last for a couple of days," said Kurt dryly. "Tomorrow morning I'll do some touch-ups."

"But you go to school super early."

"Which means we're both waking up even earlier to get it done. Unless you've changed your mind."

Finn sighed. "No, no. I need to do this."

"Really? You need to? Why?"

"I'm just trying to prove that I'm an artist."

"By copying Justin Bieber's hair?"

"What were you doing last year, with the whole theatricality thing and the Lady Gaga outfit?"

"You can't possibly compare..."

They heard the front door open and Carole's tired but cheerful voice call them from downstairs. "Finn? Kurt? I'm home!"

"Oh crap!" Finn exclaimed. "I didn't have time to clean the master bathroom!"

"Good luck," Kurt snorted as Finn ran towards their parents' suite.

He saw that Finn had left the phone beside the sink, and picked it up. After a moment of consideration, he typed a new text to Blaine. Lady Gaga or Justin Bieber. Who is the artist?

Kurt pressed 'send', then frowned. Quickly, he typed another message: And don't say Katy Perry.

The answer came about a minute later. The one who resonates with you.

.

6.

"Oh my god, you really are a genius!"

"Well, hello to you too, Finn Hudson." Kurt turned off the engine and got out of the Navigator, failing to dodge Finn's enthusiastic pats on his shoulders. "What's got you so excited?"

"It worked! It totally worked! Man, I swear I'll never doubt you again."

"The Bieber hair? What happened? Did all the girls at school swoon at your feet when you flipped your bangs?"

Finn's joy seemed to fade a little. "Uh, no. Not really." But then his smile grew big again. "I'm talking about your plan to get Rachel and Mercedes to make peace. Dude, it went without a hitch!"

"Oh. That." Kurt made his way into the house, Finn trailing close behind him. "So how was their performance?"

"They were amazing. Their voices sounded great together, and there was so much fire, you know?" Finn chuckled. "Also, I don't know if it was the lesbian thing, but they looked so damn hot!"

Kurt rolled his eyes as he put down his messenger bag and undressed his coat and wool scarf. "You just can't help being a boy, can you?"

"Hey, you chose the song," countered Finn defensively. "Seriously, it worked just like you planned. They were sniping at each other at first, then Rachel started the song, and it was so... it had poison, you know? And then Mercedes cut in, just like you told her to, and their eyes were shooting death rays at each other, but man, they sounded so good! We were clapping and dancing in our chairs, it was so freaking awesome, and when they got to the end, they knew it was awesome, how great they sounded together. And they hugged and laughed, and each one wanted the other to be named the winner. It couldn't have gone down more perfectly."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Kurt flatly.

"You don't sound glad," Finn pointed out. "And you don't look glad."

"I'm glad on the inside. And I'm thirsty. You want something?" Kurt went to the kitchen without waiting for a reply.

Finn followed him. "Warm milk?"

"Isn't it too early for that?"

"I think I want you to tell me what's wrong now, not later."

"There's nothing wrong."

"Did Blaine...?"

"It has nothing to do with Blaine."

"Ah, but there's something."

"Finn..."

"Come on. Sit down, I'll heat up the milk and you spit it out. Uh, I mean, spit out what's troubling you. Not the milk. That would be gross."

"I thought we had a no-butting-in agreement?"

"That's for unwanted opinions," said Finn, taking their usual mugs from the cupboard. "I can't let you come home upset without asking you what happened, it's not... brotherlike. And you'd do the same for me."

Kurt sighed tiredly and shuffled to the round table next to the kitchen, allowing himself to slide down onto a chair. "Fine. I was with Blaine at the Lima Bean..."

"So it is Blaine!"

"...when they called me. Mercedes and Rachel. Together, in a party line call. They told me about the results of the diva-off and that they were friends again."

"Right," said Finn, taking out the milk from the fridge. "I should've known they'd get to you and tell you all about it before I did."

"They also told me about the conversation they had after the diva-off. Which, along with apologies and vows of eternal friendship, included a discussion of my participation in the whole mess."

Finn paused, his expression turning into dismay. "Uh-oh."

"Apparently, Rachel said something along the lines of 'I hope you're not too upset that Kurt picked me over you'..."

"Oh, crap."

"...and then Mercedes got her cell out and showed Rachel her texts history..."

"Crap, crap, crap."

"...and then Rachel did the same."

"Fuck!"

"So, you were right. They figured out my little intervention, and now they're both mad at me."

"Do they know I did the typing? Man, I really don't want those two coming after me."

Kurt sent him a weak glare. "That's your concern? Don't worry, I told them I acted alone. I even stayed silent when Rachel mocked me for misspelling Maureen's name."

Finn rolled his eyes, spilling a few drops as he poured the milk into the mugs. "Oh, come on, there isn't one right way to spell people's names. I mean, there are a lot of Curts with a C out there."

"I'm not one of them, am I?" Kurt huffed. "Whatever. You're safe. I'm the only one they hate. I believe it's your turn to tell me, 'I told you so'."

"I doubt they hate you," countered Finn, placing the mugs in the microwave and setting the timer. "They'll just give you the cold shoulder for a few days, then they'll calm down and think it over, and they'll realize you only had good intentions."

"Just paving my road to hell," Kurt grumbled. "Although I'm told being gay is enough to put me there."

"They shouldn't have dragged you into their fight in the first place, that's what I think."

"I honestly don't know what I could have done. I tried to remain neutral, and they both accused me of betrayal. I suppose I could have flipped a coin and sided with one of them, so at least I'd have kept one friendship, but I'd have missed the other, and if they made peace later, things would be awkward for all three of us anyway. I just wanted them to be friends again."

The microwave beeped, and Finn took their mugs out, setting Kurt's by his hand before sitting down across the table. "I still think you're a genius. Like I said, I doubt it'll take them long to forgive you. Heck, they might even have another fight to see who gets to forgive you first."

Kurt moaned. "This almost makes me miss the days when I had no friends."

"Really?"

"No."

Finn smiled. "It'll be okay, you'll see."

Kurt checked the temperature of his milk and took a sip. "Blaine said the same thing," he murmured.

Finn opened his mouth to say something, but just drank from his mug instead.

"You haven't told me about your Bieber experiment yet," said Kurt, pointing at Finn's bangs, now seriously disheveled.

"Uh..."

"I know you can't tell me about what New Directions is doing. I was just curious to know if the makeover has helped you achieve whatever goals you were pursuing with it."

"Not yet," Finn admitted. "But I feel it's a work in progress."

"I see."

"You think you could help me do my hair tomorrow morning again?"

Kurt smiled. "Sure."

.

7.

"You're home early. Did something happen?"

"Skipped coffee with Blaine and came home straight from school."

"Did you two...?"

"No, Finn, we didn't have a fight. I was just eager to bring that little fellow home," said Kurt, pointing towards the corner beside his vanity.

Finn stepped farther into the bedroom to see what his brother was pointing at. "Hey, it's Pav!" he beamed.

Kurt snorted. "Right. Pav."

"Did you steal him from Dalton?"

"Of course not. I was asked to bring him home and take care of him here."

"He's not sick again, is he?"

"Not sick, but... he's not thriving there for some reason. I think the cold really upsets him. I'm thinking of sewing him a new birdcage cover. Something to keep him better protected. And more stylish."

Finn leaned down in front of the cage, and waved his fingers at the canary. "Hi, little guy," he said softly. "Welcome back."

Pavarotti chirped, shifting on his perch.

Finn took the seat at the vanity, facing the bed, where Kurt sat cross-legged, his laptop open on his lap. "So, is he staying for good this time?"

"I doubt it," Kurt sighed sadly. "He still belongs to Dalton, after all. And his care is traditionally the task of the newest Warbler, so I don't know what'll happen next year, when we'll probably get new members. That said, the council admitted he was doing a lot better here than at school, so..." He shrugged. "For the moment, he stays here."

"Well, that's better than nothing, I suppose. I kinda missed hearing him sing in the morning."

Kurt smiled weakly for a second, but the next moment a scowl took over his face as he glared down at his laptop.

"Something wrong?" asked Finn.

"Oh, nothing," Kurt huffed. "Just the world coming to an end."

"You're reading about global warming?"

"No. I'm reading about Brittany S. Pierce aka 'the trendiest girl in America', according to The Sartorialist."

"The... who?"

"Scott Schuman. A fashion blogger I used to respect."

"I didn't think there was anyone in Lima you respected when it comes to fashion."

"There isn't. He lives in New York."

"Then how does he know Brittany?"

"I have no idea. More puzzling yet: what the hell is she wearing?"

Finn joined him on the bed, so he could look at the screen as well. "I think it's cute."

"That's not Brit's style."

"I don't know. Today, I could swear every girl in school was dressed like that. Except Mercedes."

"Mercedes knows better than to copy other people." Kurt squinted and tilted his head to the side, as if by looking at it from another angle the image would suddenly make more sense. "I dare say... there's something almost... Rachel Berry-ish in that ensemble."

"Why would everybody start dressing like Rachel?"

"No reason I can think of. But I can see why people would want to dress like Brittany."

"But you just said Brittany is kinda dressed like Rachel."

"Yes, 'kinda' being the ungrammatical operative word. Rachel has no clue how to pick colors to suit her complexion. And while Rachel's animal sweaters always make me think of undesirable Christmas presents from unimaginative relatives, there's something whimsical about carousel horses that gives this sweater a different vibe," said Kurt, tapping the screen with his fingernail. "More to the point... fashion is not just about the clothes. It's about who you are and how you wear them. And how you carry yourself. Rachel is very talented. But when she walks into a room, people don't want to be like her."

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure. I mean, there're quite a number of celebrities who are crazy, annoying and self-absorbed but also trendsetters, so that's not it. I guess it's because, at this point in life, Rachel is someone with a lot of dreams that she has yet to accomplish, while Brittany seems to already have what most kids want: she's popular, beautiful, athletic, she can get whatever guy or girl she wants, she's comfortable in her own skin... She might not be the brightest bulb in the chandelier or have the best grades, but then again intelligence and academic achievement are usually not what make teenagers envious, are they?"

"But one day Rachel will be a star. And then everyone will want to be like her."

Kurt closed his laptop and set it aside. "Hopefully, she'll have learnt how to dress herself sensibly by then."

Finn slumped against the headboard. "You know, I just don't get this whole thing. Fashion and trends and stuff."

"Clearly," said Kurt dryly, eyeing Finn's bangs judgmentally.

"No, I mean... I was really trying to understand, but... Look. There's Bieber, right? He started this whole thing. The original artist."

"Both attributes are debatable," Kurt countered. "But I'll play along. Bieber is the original artist."

"Then Sam shows up in glee club with Bieber's hair, singing a Bieber song, and dancing like him too. And the girls love it and say Sam's an artist because he was shameless."

"I see."

"Then Artie, Mike and Puck join him to form a boy band of Bieber-clones, and that's apparently super hot, all the girls going crazy, with all the hysterical fangirl screeching and swooning."

"Wow."

"But then I go to school with the Bieber look, and I try to sing one of his songs, and they just mock me. Tina called me a copycat."

"What about Quinn?"

"What about her?" asked Finn defensively.

"Just wondering if she had any opinion about this."

"You're butting in again."

"Seriously? I can't even mention Quinn's name now?"

"I don't know. How's Blaine doing?" Finn retorted in a challenging tone.

"He's doing just fine," replied Kurt, refusing to back down. "And as a matter of fact, he said something the other day about artistry. About how artistry is about expressing yourself, even through someone else's song. Making that material yours. You don't like Justin Bieber, Finn. He means nothing to you. His work says nothing to you. I don't know about Sam and the others, I didn't see them perform, I can't judge. But even while you were asking me to give you a Bieber hairdo, you were telling me you don't get what he's about at all. You really were just copying what you saw... and I don't mean Bieber. You were copying Sam. Because the Bieber thing went well for him, got the girls fawning over him, probably got Quinn paying more attention to him than to you, so... monkey see, monkey do, right?"

Finn looked livid as he glared at his brother. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"Finn..."

"Thank you for sharing your damn opinions about me and my life, but like I said before... I'm. Not. Interested." Finn got on his feet and marched towards the door.

"Finn, I'm sorry. Finn!"

But the only reply Kurt received was the sound of Finn's own bedroom door being kicked shut.

Pavarotti peeped out a tiny, consternated note.

"Damn," Kurt muttered.

.

8.

"No. No, no, no. What the hell are you thinking?"

Sitting at his desk, Finn looked up from his laptop to the closed door, which was proving itself incapable of isolating him from Kurt's angry chattering across the hall.

"Maybe if... Oh, god, no. Absolutely not. What about... Ugh, that's even worse. And now, that's just pathetic!"

Finn went back to browsing through Facebook, screwing up his face in concentration.

"What is it with you?" Kurt's voice sounded close to hysterics. "You know better than that!"

Finn stuck his fingers into his ears, gritting his teeth as he glared at the screen.

"This is a disaster! Kurt yelled. "It's karma coming back to bite you!"

Eventually, Finn gave up and closed his laptop, making his way to his brother's room, whose door was wide open. He found Kurt standing at the foot of the bed, his hands covering his face.

"Why oh why did you have to open your huge, stupid mouth?" Kurt whimpered.

"I thought you were on the phone," said Finn, glancing around. There were several clothes and accessories spread out carefully on the bed, and several pairs of shoes aligned on the floor, but Kurt's cell phone was nowhere to be seen. "Who are you so mad at? Pav? What did he do? Sang off-key or something?"

Kurt blinked at Finn for a moment, looking confused and dejected. "What? No, Pavarotti didn't do anything. I'm just..." He shook his head, trying to regain some composure. "Never mind. Sorry for disturbing you. I'll keep quiet."

Finn frowned for a minute, looking between Kurt and the bed, then his whole expression changed. "Oh."

"Oh? Oh, what?"

"You were yelling at yourself. Because you have somewhere to go and don't know what to wear."

Kurt clasped his hands in front of his body, entwining his fingers in a nervous gesture. "Uh, well... Yes," he admitted sheepishly.

Finn beamed, proud of his successful conjecture. "Can I help?"

Kurt arched an eyebrow, staring up and down at Finn's dark jeans, red checkered shirt and red beanie.

Finn rolled his eyes. "Right. What was I thinking?"

"No, no..." Kurt sighed. "Actually... You might even be on the right track here. Or at least much closer than I am." He pointed dispiritedly at the many discarded outfits layered on the bed.

"Well, what's the occasion?"

Kurt cringed. "Please don't laugh."

"What?"

"Blaine and I are going to Color Me Mine tomorrow."

Finn did not laugh. Instead, he gaped at his brother in shock. "Wait, say that again?"

"Blaine. Me. Color Me Mine. Tomorrow. And before you ask, no, it's not a date. I inadvertently gave him the idea when I mentioned the place."

"Dude, you've been telling Blaine about all the stuff I tell you?" asked Finn indignantly. "That's private!"

"No... That's not how it happened, I didn't mention you at all."

"Then how...?"

"I was teasing him. He was talking excitedly about having geography with Mr. Crenshaw today, and, well, I have Mr. Crenshaw on Mondays, and his deep, drawling voice is the most efficient sedative ever invented, I swear. Which is so unfair, because his quizzes are a lot more complex than the usual 'What are the five largest states in U.S.?' that I'd get at McKinley. But Blaine, Nick and Jeff have found a way to stay awake in his class. They have an ongoing non-yawning championship."

Finn found a small spot on the bed that wasn't covered with clothes, and sat down gingerly. "A non-yawning... How does that work?"

"They sit side by side and keep tabs on one another. When one of them yawns, he gets a point. The one with the fewest points by the end of semester wins."

"Does that help to pay attention to class?"

"I doubt it. Anyway, Blaine was in last place. But Nick and Jeff were at a party last night that went past 2:00 AM, so Blaine doubled his usual caffeine intake and was practically bouncing off the walls, confident that he'd be able to turn the tables on both of them today and take the lead."

"Huh. That guy is weird."

"Yes," Kurt agreed, but with a little fond smile in his face. "He was being ridiculous, really. And I told him so. I teased him for the way he finds amusement in the oddest things. He shrugged and said, 'Well, that's the art of having fun!' And I asked, 'Isn't that the slogan for Color Me Mine?' And then his whole face just lit up like I had said the most stupendous thing, and he literally started jumping up and down, saying that we simply must go and paint some teacups at Color Me Mine."

"Ah."

"So here I am, just as I predicted, not having a clue about what to wear at a place like that."

"You could have said no."

Kurt sent him a weird look, as if the idea had never crossed his mind until that second. "Well. I guess. I could have." He shrugged, looking at everywhere but Finn. "I suppose I got sucked in by his enthusiasm."

"And I don't really see the problem here," Finn continued, gesturing at the surrounding clothes and shoes. "It's just Blaine, right? It's not a date. So who cares if you're not in your best clothes? You can wear your Hummel Tires and Lube overalls, he won't mind."

"I'd mind!" Kurt yelled, scandalized. "I don't want Blaine to see me in greasy, paint-covered overalls!"

"But if it's not a date..."

"I still want to impress him, okay?" Kurt snapped.

Finn said nothing, just gazed at him with a measuring look.

"I know, I know. He's already told me he's not interested," said Kurt defensively. "And if we never become more than friends, I'm okay with that. Truly."

Finn remained silent.

"I'm not actively pursuing him or anything like that, okay?" Kurt insisted. "He's the one inviting me to go to all those places and hang out. And I'm not going to do anything stupid this time. I'm just trying to improve the chances that he'll... notice me, you know?"

"I think you should wear your old football jersey."

"Wha-what?"

"Yeah! I'm guessing you won't care much if you get paint on it. And Blaine likes football, right? So he sees you in the jersey, gets curious, asks you about it, and you get to tell him about the time you played for the Titans."

"Why..."

"I think he'll be super impressed by that. Especially because you were not like any other player. You did your own thing, even though I told you not to, even though the other guys laughed at you at first. You were definitely shameless. That's artistry, right? And in the end, everyone in the team ended up copying you."

Kurt stared at Finn with big, surprised eyes, his mouth hanging open and speechless.

Finn's lopsided smile was warm, friendly, and just a tiny bit on the impish side.

After a long moment, Kurt nodded. "Thank you," he murmured sincerely.

Finn nodded back, and got up to go back to his own room.

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"If you don't mind my asking... why are you dressed like Paul Bunyan?"

"I can't tell you."

Kurt nodded understandingly. "Right. New Directions' secret. I get it. I won't ask again."

"Well, that too. But really..." Finn removed his red beanie, eyeing it with bemusement. "I have no idea why I'm dressed like this either."

.

9.

"Did you make us new mugs?"

"Why? You don't like our mugs?"

"I do. That's why I'm not sure I want them replaced by something painted by your weird friend Blaine."

Kurt smiled. "Well, don't worry then. I chose a photo frame. There's this picture of the four of us at our parents' wedding I've been meaning to put on my shelf, but I didn't have a proper frame for it. Now I do! Painted in russet and cognac, just like the wedding theme."

"Cool!" Finn sat down beside Kurt on the couch in the living room, both boys holding their old familiar mugs with warm milk. "What did Blaine paint?"

"A dragon figurine. He was leaning towards a piggy bank at first, but when he spotted the dragon, he wanted nothing else."

"Okay. Maybe he's not so weird, then."

Kurt arched an eyebrow at his brother, and let out a little exasperated sigh. "Boys," he muttered under his breath.

"What about the jersey? Did it work? Was he impressed?"

"He was, actually. Although he seemed stuck on the point of whether the Single Ladies play should be legal or not."

Finn shrugged. "It worked."

"That's what I told him." Kurt sipped his milk and licked his lips. He watched Finn out of the corner of his eye. "Sam and Quinn weren't there, if you were wondering," he said cautiously.

"I know. They broke up."

"They did?" Kurt gasped. "Are you sure?"

"Oh yeah. It was a little obvious by the way Santana sat on Sam's lap the whole time during rehearsal today."

Kurt looked utterly astonished. He picked up his cell phone, checked for missed messages, and shook his head in dismay. "Nothing. A break-up and a new couple all in one day, and nobody called me to spread the gossip." He put the phone down dramatically. "Mercedes and Rachel I understand, they're still mad at me. But what about Tina? And Artie hasn't called me either, although, granted, his gossip is usually not the relationship-y kind..."

"Well, Mercedes told everyone about your texts, so..."

"Great. So everybody hates me now."

"Nah! Puck thought your plan was brilliant. Except for the part where you got caught."

"I see. Unfortunately, the only gossip Puck has ever told me was that Quinn was expecting your child, which turned out to be untrue. Also, he told that to the room at large, and I just happened to be there."

Finn rolled his eyes. "So what? You still have me."

"Are you going to keep me posted on all the juicy secrets in New Directions?" Kurt asked with a grin.

"As long as they're not about Regionals..."

"Thanks, Finn."

"Well, we needed something to talk about anyway."

They stayed in companionable silence for a moment, drinking from their mugs.

"Finn?" Kurt's tone was hesitant.

"Hmmm?"

"Should I... congratulate you?"

"No."

"I thought you wanted them to break up, so you could be with Quinn."

"She picked him."

"What do you mean?"

"Between Sam and me. She picked Sam."

"But..."

"He found out that the gumball story was bogus. Probably from Santana. The only reason Quinn wasn't painting matching platters with him tonight is because he dumped her."

"Oh."

Finn slumped on the couch. "The fireworks... I was serious, okay? What I feel for Quinn... it's real. I never forgot her. Even when I was with Rachel... Sometimes I'd just look at Quinn standing across the choir room or passing by me in the hallways... and it was like I had stuck my fingers in an outlet, you know?"

"A sensation you know empirically, I presume?"

"What?"

"Never mind. So you're saying you have real feelings for Quinn. This isn't about getting the upper hand on Sam."

Finn stared down at his mug, a little scowl darkening his face. "Let's say it's not... just that."

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Meaning it's partially that?"

"I don't know," Finn huffed. "I didn't think it was. But the things you've said... I can't say you were entirely wrong."

Kurt sipped his milk, choosing not to say anything to that.

"I guess that makes me twice a loser, huh?" Finn snorted. "I didn't get the upper hand... and now, even if I get together with Quinn, I'll know I was her second choice."

"Is that really so important?"

"Shouldn't it be?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Kurt grimaced. "I've never been anyone's first choice, or second, or third... or nth, for that matter. So there's no reason why my opinion on this is remotely relevant." He turned his face to smile at his brother. "Besides, I was supposed to keep my opinions to myself, right?"

"Yeah, about that." Finn sighed. "Let's forget about it, okay?"

Kurt blinked. "Really?"

Finn nodded, slumping even more on the seat and crossing his outstretched legs at the ankles. "Yeah. I'm starting to think that this brother business doesn't really work without the butting-into-each-other's-lives thing. I mean, how am I supposed to have your back if I don't know what's going on with you?"

"How about you simply trust that I'll ask for your help when I need it?"

"I think the only time you've ever asked for my help was when you decided to get on the football team."

"I..."

"And what about last night? I guess it never occurred to you that I could be helpful choosing clothes."

Kurt smirked. "All right, I'll admit that was something I'd never in a million years imagine could happen."

"So, really, the only sure way we'll know if I can help you is if I..."

"Butt into my life?"

"Try to keep myself informed," corrected Finn cautiously.

"This sounds like an excuse to make a habit of going through my phone and reading my texts."

"It's not!"

"I'd better not be. Otherwise, Mercedes and Rachel might somehow learn about your little participation in my scheme to reunite them."

"Okay, okay, no need to blackmail me! But you'll have to promise not to snoop when I'm on the phone, too. Even if I'm just leaving a message on someone's voicemail."

Kurt rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Fine, deal."

"I just think... maybe we need each other more than we'd like to admit. But for that, you gotta let me be there for you. And I gotta let you be there for me too. So... you should go back to spitting out your opinions about anything and everything."

"Are you really sure about that?"

Finn hesitated for only a second. "Yeah. I don't always like your advice. Or maybe almost never. But I guess you're right more often than you're wrong, so... yeah."

"I suppose I could try being more tactful about it," Kurt pondered. "Less vitriolic and contumelious. More diplomatic and less vituperative."

"You could also try using shorter words," Finn suggested wryly.

"Well, since you mentioned it... Are you finally ready to ask me?"

"About what?"

"Carole has been hinting strongly this entire week about one of her sons needing help with his studies. And while I admit to having some trouble with geometry, somehow I don't think she means me."

Finn groaned. "Man, I told her not to talk to you about that!"

"Yes, well, we might still be learning how to be brothers, but our parents have been parents for seventeen years. If butting in is a fundamental part of being a family, then that's an art they've already mastered."

"I guess," Finn sighed. "Anyway, I don't need that much help. Just with chemistry and biology. And geography. And algebra. And English lit."

"You might want to ask someone else to help you with algebra," said Kurt, twitching his lips. "But we can plan some study sessions for all the rest."

"Thanks, bro."

Another comfortable silence followed, and they calmly drank the rest of their milk. They stayed there then, holding their empty mugs, unwilling to break the moment.

After a while, Finn started humming a tune distractedly.

Kurt's brows frowned lightly. "I know that one. Carole was singing it in the kitchen the other day, wasn't she? Air Supply?"

Finn nodded and jumped to the second verse.

.

"Acting as cold as ice
When we want to be;
Just a foolish game we play.
You couldn't hurt me bad enough
To make me give it up
And walk away."

.

Kurt laughed at the appropriateness of the lyrics, and joined in at the chorus, singing in harmony with Finn.

.

"We can't stop;
The feeling's too strong.
We've got the will to hang on.
Can't stop;
We struggle and fight to survive
Just keeping the love alive."

###

A/N 2: I'm blaming Cory Monteith himself for the idea of making Finn an Air Supply fan. ^_^ (BuddyTV interview with Cory Monteith and Chris Colfer from 2009 –YouTube: watch?v=52tNrJCP43E )