Fic: Something There That Wasn't There Before
Hello, first time posting here! Also first Hummelberry fic where they are more than friends, so. Be prepared for that. Hope you enjoy!
Title: Something There That Wasn't There Before
Pairing: Kurt/Rachel, mentions of Kurt/Blaine and Finn/Rachel (and Rachel/Blaine)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Franks mentions of some lady-parts, minor swearing. Gratuitous Wicked references, some sneaky meta, and a couple of Beauty and the Beast references (i.e. the title).
Spoilers: Many for 2x22, and some collectively from the whole series.
Summary: Inspired by http://glee-angst-meme.livejournal.com/15590.html?thread=11377638#t11377638 on the Glee angst meme. Rachel and Kurt have become very close friends recently, to the point where he doesn't really think about it. One day at the mall, and an inadvisable moment in the girls' change rooms, force him to think about it.
Kurt liked to believe that he was creating positive change in the life of one Rachel Berry; at least, as far as her wardrobe was concerned. But it seemed that no matter how many makeovers, shopping trips and sweater-ventions he and Mercedes forced upon her, within a fortnight she’d be regressing back to pleated skirts and Minnie Mouse dresses. It was highly distressing, but Kurt was nothing if not stubborn.
“Oh Kurt, what about this . . ?” she held up a tiny black dress with white polka-dots.
He didn’t bother to respond, merely prying the item out of her grip, grabbing her by the hand, and dragging her away. Honestly, he needed a leash. Or maybe a taser. “I’m beginning to think you’re a lost cause.”
Rolling her eyes fondly, she replied, “But Kurt, if I were to suddenly agree with your particular fashion choices, what would you do on the weekends?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said loftily.
“Please, you love using me as a Barbie doll.”
“Well, why else do I keep you girls around?” he teased. She shoved him in the side. He shoved back, not hard, but enough to make her stumble a bit; she squeaked and grabbed his arm to steady herself.
“Ooh, I really like that one,” she said, pointing at a black v-neck sweater.
“No. No sweaters.” He tried to lead her away, but she dug her heels in and once again caught him off-guard with her strength.
“We agreed to compromise, remember? It’s not pastel, there are no fuzzy animals, and it’s sensible. I want it, and I’m going to try it on,” she said, planting her hands on her hips and glaring stubbornly.
He threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine, whatever. So long as Her Highness doesn’t say I didn’t warn her.”
She was already folding the sweater over her arm, grinning smugly. He hid a smirk. It would be no fun if she didn’t win at least some of the battles.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” she said, looping her arm around his once again.
“A dangerous pastime,” he observed dryly.
“I know.” They grinned at each other. “But really, we ought to do Wicked as a school production this year. It’s fun, it’s accessible to the general audience, and it won’t get the school sued for inappropriateness.”
“Hmm. Quinn would make an awfully appropriate Glinda, I must admit, but she hardly has the vocal prowess . . .”
“What? Quinn? No, you must be Glinda!”
He gave her a tolerant look. “I’m not sure it’s escaped your notice, Rachel, but I am actually male. And I don’t think her sparkly dress would suit me, fabulous though it is.”
She gripped his arm in a sudden fit of enthusiasm. “Oh, but we could do a gender-reversed reimagining of the script! Like Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake!”
“Yes, I’m sure Mr Schue would be totally on board with that.”
“He would if we joined forces and convinced him!” she insisted. “And the UST between Elphaba and Glinda would be so much easier to convey to conventionally-minded people if the lead roles are played by two people of the opposite sex.”
There was an awkward pause, as she realised exactly what she’d just said.
“Gay,” he reminded her.
“Well, so was Glinda,” she said dismissively.
He sighed, prying his bicep from her death grip and herding her into the change rooms. “Rachel, while I do love the idea, I really don’t think the world is ready for a Guylinda just yet.”
“Hmph. Yet. This conversation isn’t over.” She pointed at him, and flounced into the nearest stall, her arms loaded with clothes.
Kurt rolled his eyes fondly, and settled in to wait for the inevitable whining.
He waited exactly six and a half minutes.
“Kurt, I don’t like this red dress,” Rachel called through her change room door.
Rolling his eyes, Kurt flipped through the magazine he’d brought along. “You say that every time. You know that once it’s on, my intuition will prove correct as usual.”
She grumbled to herself for a moment, then gave an exasperated sigh. “It’s no use, the zipper is caught.”
“Oh my God Rachel, when I lament your inability to dress yourself, I never meant literally.”
“Excuse me, I am perfectly capable of dressing myself!” she snapped, sounding so offended that he had to grin. “This dress was clearly tailored by the devil himself. I give up.”
“No!” He sprang to his feet. The red dress was his favourite, and Rachel’s incompetence with clothing would not rain on his parade. “God, open up. I’ll show you how to contend with evil zippers.”
The door cracked open, and a pair of brown eyes peered at him suspiciously. “You can’t come in,” she hissed.
He bounced impatiently. “Your virtue is safe with me, Rachel Berry. Female assets are a non-issue as far as I’m concerned.”
The eyes rolled. “I know that, Kurt. How many sleepovers have we had? But if someone else were to come along, I’m not sure they would see it the same way.”
Kurt glanced back and forth along the row of empty stalls. She had a point; someone could come in at any moment. “Then I’ll just have to be quick, won’t I?” he said pointedly.
She stuck her head out and looked around also, just to make sure, one hand clutching the strapless dress to her chest so it didn’t fall down. Then she sighed. “Fine, get in here.”
She opened the door a little wider and stepped back, allowing him to dart forward - but it was smaller than he’d anticipated, and he nearly elbowed her in the face as she hurried to shut the door behind him. Feeling uncharacteristically awkward and lumbering - God, was this how Finn felt all the time? - he flattened himself against the mirror to try and give them both some more room. Rachel tripped over a pile of discarded clothes and fell against his side, still trying to hold her dress up, and they both burst into nervous giggles. It was so ridiculous, but for some reason, he felt a tiny thrill of excitement at breaking the rules, such as they were. Between this and sneaking into the Gershwin theatre, he had to wonder if Puck was becoming a bad influence on him.
“Here, let me fix that thing already,” he said, once they’d both calmed down a bit. Still grinning, she turned around and exposed the back of her dress. It was done up halfway, but the zip had gotten stuck just below her shoulder blades. “Pull your hair up,” he demanded.
She obeyed, piling her curls up on top of her head, but had to let go of the front of the dress to do so. He reached around to pull it securely across her chest, and accidentally brushed his fingers across her ribcage. She shivered. Goosebumps spread along her arms.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “Cold hands.”
“It’s fine,” she replied quietly. There was something a bit . . . off about her tone of voice, but he couldn’t say what. Frowning slightly, he pulled the two flaps taught across her back and gently guided the zipper up over her shoulder-blades, where it had been struggling before. She had relatively broad shoulders, for a girl. Not to the extent that it was unattractive, but there was a reason Quinn’s barbs used to sting, he supposed.
The last few inches zipped up easily, and he let go with a flourish. “There we go. Not so difficult after all.”
Rachel let her hair fall back around her shoulders, and straightened the front of her dress. “Maybe with two people,” she pointed out. “But unless you’re going to be around every morning to help me get dressed then I’m not sure it’s totally worth the effort.”
“Rachel, fashion is always worth the effort,” he said as she turned around. His hands were still hovering over her shoulders; unsure of what to do with them now, he rested them on her upper arms. “Besides, when we’re in New York I’ll probably be dressing you every morning, so . . .”
A huge smile lit up her face, the same one that appeared whenever their future in NYC was mentioned. She tilted her head coyly to the side. “I should feel patronised, but I’m actually looking forward to that.”
“You’re looking forward to everything in New York,” he said, bending down slightly and mirroring her excited grin. It felt like sharing a secret. “Even the rats and the crazy, ticket-selling hobos.”
Rachel scoffed and swatted him on the arm. He caught her wrist in self-defence, and held it close to prevent her from taking another swipe. “Would you let that go? I was caught up in the moment.”
“Yes, well. So was I.” They smiled at each other, at the dream they shared and the future stretched out before them. He let his forehead drop down to rest on hers, dizzy with hope, excitement and the knowledge that it wasn’t just a dream, but a certainty. They were going to be stars together.
He pulled back after a moment and looked down at her, the girl who was his partner and rival and comrade-in-arms. Her hair was frizzy from the humidity of the tiny dressing-room stall, her face was flushed, and her big brown eyes were shining like the lights on a Broadway stage. She was wearing a dark red dress that he’d practically forced her into. “The dress looks nice,” he said, mostly as an afterthought.
Rachel blinked. “Oh. Thank you. Perhaps I will buy it after all.”
“Of course you will.” He was still holding her by the shoulders, keeping her closer than she needed to be. There was a strange tension between them, a connection that thrummed with promise, understanding and passion. It felt like being on stage in an empty theatre, with the lights and the orchestra blooming in their imagination, belting out the final song of one of their favourite musicals. It felt big and limitless, but right now, it was compressed into the tiny space between them, in a dressing room stall, in a small town in Ohio. It felt more potent, somehow, and urgent.
Kurt felt his hands sliding down Rachel’s arms, coming to rest on her waist. He watched her mouth fall open slightly, and heard her tiny intake of breath, and before his mind could impose any kind of regulation upon the strange, intense impulse he was currently feeling, he leaned down and touched his lips to hers.
She kissed back.
It felt awkward and strange, and a part of him was screaming that he’d clearly gone insane (a legitimate complaint, really), but it didn’t feel wrong either. When he’d kissed Brittany, it had been easy, nice-enough, and totally meaningless. When he’d kissed Blaine, it had been magic - exciting, passionate, and amazing in every way. This was something else entirely. It was meaningful, but he couldn’t say exactly what meaning he was trying to convey. It didn’t feel like some uncharted new territory either . . . it felt like what they’d always had, to some degree, only more intense, more . . .
Blaine. Oh God. Oh shit.
Kurt pulled back abruptly, breathing hard. Rachel stared up at him with wide eyes, her mouth hanging open. Perspective came crashing back, along with all his higher thought processes, and Kurt realised that he’d just cheated on his boyfriend with Rachel Berry.
“Kurt . . .” she breathed, looking dazed and incredulous.
“I . . . um . . .” He genuinely had no idea what to say.
The silence between them grew tense and thick. Finally, she managed, “I think you should probably get out.”
Get out. A marvellous idea. He snatched his hands away, backed up, and collided with the wall. Clearing his throat, he opened the door latch and stumbled out of the stall. It slammed shut behind him. Kurt took a deep breath of the cool, air-conditioned change rooms, and stumbled over to collapse on his seat.
What the hell was wrong with him? Was it something in the air conditioner? Were his hormones playing up, simply because he hadn’t seen Blaine in over forty eight hours? Was there something about Rachel Berry that made poor, unsuspecting gay boys go temporarily insane? Was she going to try and make him her boyfriend? Was he going to accept?
Kurt forced himself to calm down. Okay. Okay, so. He was definitely not attracted to Rachel, at least not in a sexual way. He hadn’t been joking about boobs being a total non-issue to him. Back in there, he hadn’t wanted to, like . . . touch her or anything. Well, he sort of had. But not there. Whatever he’d been thinking, or feeling, it hadn’t been lust. Not remotely. Rachel was his friend, his best friend if he were to be totally honest (along with Mercedes, and oh what would Mercedes think, she used to have a crush on him, she’d hate him for this), and they were clearly going to be spending a lot of time together over the next few years.
Well, there was the problem, he supposed. They’d been spending too much time together recently, to the point where she sort of just slept in his bed during sleepovers rather than him going to the hassle of setting the guest room up. It was just easier. What they had, it was just so easy and he didn’t think about it because few things in his life came so naturally as their friendship. And they’d been talking about New York and getting all excited, and it was a very small, stuffy, enclosed space, so he’d just been caught up in the moment. Perfectly understandable. God knows Finn and Puck got pretty cuddly when they’d had a few drinks.
(At least Blaine had had the excuse of alcohol when he’d kissed Rachel. Kurt really, really didn’t want to tell him about this.)
He should leave. He should walk right out of the store and not see Rachel for at least a week, during which time they could forget about it, and he would have a nice, long, make-out session with Blaine, and everything would be normal again.
But. Maybe it wouldn’t go back to normal. Maybe this moment, whatever it was, would fester between them as the days and weeks dragged on, and maybe it would grow bitter as they talked themselves in circles trying to justify it. Maybe the next time they met, it would be back to barbed insults and hurt feelings, and he genuinely didn’t want that. Besides, he was technically the sexual deviant in this situation, so she would have more leverage than him if it came down to it. And Rachel Berry with leverage was a scary prospect indeed.
Kurt let his head drop back against the wall with a hard thunk. They would have to resolve this now. It would be awkward and painful as hell, but since when was his life anything but awkward and painful?
Besides, he still had to buy her clothes.
He was honestly on the verge of bolting anyway, when Rachel’s door cracked open. She shuffled out, not meeting his eyes, and fussed with her armful of clothes. Behind her, he could see the red dress crumpled on the floor.
“So, I think I’ll just get these ones today,” she said, too-loud.
“Rachel.”
“I mean, the other ones were nice too, but I really think that these suit me the best, and they are efficient to start the school year with . . .”
“Rachel.”
“And I don’t want to be too thoroughly indebted to you, as I know I will probably pay for it in the future, so these ones will do for now. Okay? Okay, let’s go!” She flashed him a grin that was frankly terrifying, and began marching out of the change rooms.
“For the love of . . . Rachel.” He caught her elbow. She jerked to a halt. They stood in silence for a moment, breathing heavily
“I think it’s best if we just don’t mention it, Kurt,” she said quietly.
“You know that is why we have so much unnecessary drama in Glee club, right? Inadequate communications.”
She sniffed and drew herself up to look him in the eye. “Fine. Kurt, I apologise.”
That threw him. “Wait, what? Why are you apologising? It’s not like you assaulted me.” Though it’s not like he wasn’t tempted to make himself believe that.
“Well clearly I am irresistible to gay boys, which confuses them and can potentially harm relationships. I do feel awful about what happened with Blaine, you know, and I told myself I’d never tempt him away from you again. I wasn’t expecting that it would happen with you.”
Kurt rolled his eyes. So typical. “Rachel, I’m not attracted to you.”
“Oh? Not even a little?” she somehow managed to sound both sarcastic and hopeful at the same time.
“No. Look, I just think we’ve been spending too much time with each other lately, and there haven’t been enough boundaries, so our hormones mistook close friendship and excitement about the future for . . . something else.” There, that sounded nice and simple. In a softer voice, he went on to say, “I value our friendship, Rachel. And we need each other if we want to fulfil our mutual dreams, so I’d hate for this to be the start of a long, awkward, forced cohabitation in a tiny apartment in Manhattan.”
She gave a tiny, genuine smile. “I value our friendship too. And I don’t believe that this will ruin it.”
“Of course not. So, we’re good?”
She nodded decisively. “We’re good.”
They smiled at each other for a moment, and the awkwardness melted away. Hesitantly, she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and he rested his fingers on hers for a moment. It felt nice. Easy. Natural. Gathering their shopping basket full of clothes-to-purchase, they ambled towards the cash register.
“Although,” Rachel murmured in his ear, her breath stealing across his neck. “I’m not sure we should tell Finn and Blaine about this. I doubt they’d be as understanding.”
“I’m telling Blaine,” Kurt said sternly, mostly to convince himself. “Untold secrets can still break a relationship. He’ll lord it over me forever, but he’ll understand.” I hope.
Glancing at Rachel’s conflicted face, he said, “Perhaps in Finn’s case, it could wait a while. I’m sure that given the right time, he would find it hilarious. But until then, I’d rather he not beat me up for trying to steal his girlfriend away, paranoid idiot that he is.”
Rachel giggled, clearly relieved, and swatted his shoulder. “He’s not an idiot.”
“Not, but I’m his brother; I’m allowed to say things like that.”
It was almost too easy to return to their regular banter, as if nothing had changed. But something had changed. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but now that they’d gotten over the awkwardness, they seemed to have settled into another kind of vibe. It hummed and pulsed faintly, just below the surface of their smiles and knowing glances, just begging to be pulled apart like a pile of brightly-coloured thread.
As the clothes were being scanned, Kurt glanced down at Rachel, still attached to his arm. He still didn’t want to touch her boobs, or think about her in any kind of sexual context, or even kiss her again, really. But he liked the smile on her face. He wanted to keep it there. He wanted her to keep sleeping over in his bed, and wake up the next morning with her arm around his stomach like he was her substitute teddy bear, wanted to see her blush as she realised that she’d drooled on his pillow during the night. He wanted to argue with her loudly, for hours, challenge her and know that the challenge was fully accepted. He wanted to sing with her and hear their voices entwine perfectly, powerfully. He wanted them to face their future like this, arm-in-arm, courageous and scared and defiant.
He wanted her to feel happy and accepted. He wanted her to feel loved.
Kurt suddenly disentangled himself from Rachel. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he told the sales assistant, and darted back towards the change rooms. He picked up the red dress, spent a couple of seconds ineffectively trying to smooth out the wrinkles, then gave up and took it back to the cash register.
Rachel eyed the garment warily. “Kurt . . .”
“It looked good on you, and you might want to wear it in the future,” he interrupted. “Besides, I’m paying, so there’s no cause for you to complain.”
She blinked owlishly at him for a moment, before smiling softly. “Well, you know best.”
“Of course I do.”
They paid, and walked out of the store, shopping bags dangling from their arms. Rachel’s arm found his once again, and her heels clacked in tandem with his as they strolled through the mall.
Kurt knew that their relationship couldn’t be anything more than friends. He was gay, they were both in love with other people, and he was still pretty confused about everything. But . . . it had the potential to be something more, he supposed. Whether it would ever go there was unlikely, but the fact that it could go there was almost as comforting as it was scary.
Rachel said something that made her laugh, a full-body, infectious laugh that anyone rarely got the chance to see. He laughed along with her, because it was irresistible, and because he was a little bit in love with this annoying, narcissistic, insecure, passionate, courageous, female girl, and that was kind of hilarious.
Kurt felt the electricity between them pulse with affection and strength, and knew that, if nothing else, he’d never have to be fear being alone.
Title: Something There That Wasn't There Before
Pairing: Kurt/Rachel, mentions of Kurt/Blaine and Finn/Rachel (and Rachel/Blaine)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Franks mentions of some lady-parts, minor swearing. Gratuitous Wicked references, some sneaky meta, and a couple of Beauty and the Beast references (i.e. the title).
Spoilers: Many for 2x22, and some collectively from the whole series.
Summary: Inspired by http://glee-angst-meme.livejournal.com/15590.html?thread=11377638#t11377638 on the Glee angst meme. Rachel and Kurt have become very close friends recently, to the point where he doesn't really think about it. One day at the mall, and an inadvisable moment in the girls' change rooms, force him to think about it.
Kurt liked to believe that he was creating positive change in the life of one Rachel Berry; at least, as far as her wardrobe was concerned. But it seemed that no matter how many makeovers, shopping trips and sweater-ventions he and Mercedes forced upon her, within a fortnight she’d be regressing back to pleated skirts and Minnie Mouse dresses. It was highly distressing, but Kurt was nothing if not stubborn.
“Oh Kurt, what about this . . ?” she held up a tiny black dress with white polka-dots.
He didn’t bother to respond, merely prying the item out of her grip, grabbing her by the hand, and dragging her away. Honestly, he needed a leash. Or maybe a taser. “I’m beginning to think you’re a lost cause.”
Rolling her eyes fondly, she replied, “But Kurt, if I were to suddenly agree with your particular fashion choices, what would you do on the weekends?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said loftily.
“Please, you love using me as a Barbie doll.”
“Well, why else do I keep you girls around?” he teased. She shoved him in the side. He shoved back, not hard, but enough to make her stumble a bit; she squeaked and grabbed his arm to steady herself.
“Ooh, I really like that one,” she said, pointing at a black v-neck sweater.
“No. No sweaters.” He tried to lead her away, but she dug her heels in and once again caught him off-guard with her strength.
“We agreed to compromise, remember? It’s not pastel, there are no fuzzy animals, and it’s sensible. I want it, and I’m going to try it on,” she said, planting her hands on her hips and glaring stubbornly.
He threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine, whatever. So long as Her Highness doesn’t say I didn’t warn her.”
She was already folding the sweater over her arm, grinning smugly. He hid a smirk. It would be no fun if she didn’t win at least some of the battles.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” she said, looping her arm around his once again.
“A dangerous pastime,” he observed dryly.
“I know.” They grinned at each other. “But really, we ought to do Wicked as a school production this year. It’s fun, it’s accessible to the general audience, and it won’t get the school sued for inappropriateness.”
“Hmm. Quinn would make an awfully appropriate Glinda, I must admit, but she hardly has the vocal prowess . . .”
“What? Quinn? No, you must be Glinda!”
He gave her a tolerant look. “I’m not sure it’s escaped your notice, Rachel, but I am actually male. And I don’t think her sparkly dress would suit me, fabulous though it is.”
She gripped his arm in a sudden fit of enthusiasm. “Oh, but we could do a gender-reversed reimagining of the script! Like Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake!”
“Yes, I’m sure Mr Schue would be totally on board with that.”
“He would if we joined forces and convinced him!” she insisted. “And the UST between Elphaba and Glinda would be so much easier to convey to conventionally-minded people if the lead roles are played by two people of the opposite sex.”
There was an awkward pause, as she realised exactly what she’d just said.
“Gay,” he reminded her.
“Well, so was Glinda,” she said dismissively.
He sighed, prying his bicep from her death grip and herding her into the change rooms. “Rachel, while I do love the idea, I really don’t think the world is ready for a Guylinda just yet.”
“Hmph. Yet. This conversation isn’t over.” She pointed at him, and flounced into the nearest stall, her arms loaded with clothes.
Kurt rolled his eyes fondly, and settled in to wait for the inevitable whining.
He waited exactly six and a half minutes.
“Kurt, I don’t like this red dress,” Rachel called through her change room door.
Rolling his eyes, Kurt flipped through the magazine he’d brought along. “You say that every time. You know that once it’s on, my intuition will prove correct as usual.”
She grumbled to herself for a moment, then gave an exasperated sigh. “It’s no use, the zipper is caught.”
“Oh my God Rachel, when I lament your inability to dress yourself, I never meant literally.”
“Excuse me, I am perfectly capable of dressing myself!” she snapped, sounding so offended that he had to grin. “This dress was clearly tailored by the devil himself. I give up.”
“No!” He sprang to his feet. The red dress was his favourite, and Rachel’s incompetence with clothing would not rain on his parade. “God, open up. I’ll show you how to contend with evil zippers.”
The door cracked open, and a pair of brown eyes peered at him suspiciously. “You can’t come in,” she hissed.
He bounced impatiently. “Your virtue is safe with me, Rachel Berry. Female assets are a non-issue as far as I’m concerned.”
The eyes rolled. “I know that, Kurt. How many sleepovers have we had? But if someone else were to come along, I’m not sure they would see it the same way.”
Kurt glanced back and forth along the row of empty stalls. She had a point; someone could come in at any moment. “Then I’ll just have to be quick, won’t I?” he said pointedly.
She stuck her head out and looked around also, just to make sure, one hand clutching the strapless dress to her chest so it didn’t fall down. Then she sighed. “Fine, get in here.”
She opened the door a little wider and stepped back, allowing him to dart forward - but it was smaller than he’d anticipated, and he nearly elbowed her in the face as she hurried to shut the door behind him. Feeling uncharacteristically awkward and lumbering - God, was this how Finn felt all the time? - he flattened himself against the mirror to try and give them both some more room. Rachel tripped over a pile of discarded clothes and fell against his side, still trying to hold her dress up, and they both burst into nervous giggles. It was so ridiculous, but for some reason, he felt a tiny thrill of excitement at breaking the rules, such as they were. Between this and sneaking into the Gershwin theatre, he had to wonder if Puck was becoming a bad influence on him.
“Here, let me fix that thing already,” he said, once they’d both calmed down a bit. Still grinning, she turned around and exposed the back of her dress. It was done up halfway, but the zip had gotten stuck just below her shoulder blades. “Pull your hair up,” he demanded.
She obeyed, piling her curls up on top of her head, but had to let go of the front of the dress to do so. He reached around to pull it securely across her chest, and accidentally brushed his fingers across her ribcage. She shivered. Goosebumps spread along her arms.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “Cold hands.”
“It’s fine,” she replied quietly. There was something a bit . . . off about her tone of voice, but he couldn’t say what. Frowning slightly, he pulled the two flaps taught across her back and gently guided the zipper up over her shoulder-blades, where it had been struggling before. She had relatively broad shoulders, for a girl. Not to the extent that it was unattractive, but there was a reason Quinn’s barbs used to sting, he supposed.
The last few inches zipped up easily, and he let go with a flourish. “There we go. Not so difficult after all.”
Rachel let her hair fall back around her shoulders, and straightened the front of her dress. “Maybe with two people,” she pointed out. “But unless you’re going to be around every morning to help me get dressed then I’m not sure it’s totally worth the effort.”
“Rachel, fashion is always worth the effort,” he said as she turned around. His hands were still hovering over her shoulders; unsure of what to do with them now, he rested them on her upper arms. “Besides, when we’re in New York I’ll probably be dressing you every morning, so . . .”
A huge smile lit up her face, the same one that appeared whenever their future in NYC was mentioned. She tilted her head coyly to the side. “I should feel patronised, but I’m actually looking forward to that.”
“You’re looking forward to everything in New York,” he said, bending down slightly and mirroring her excited grin. It felt like sharing a secret. “Even the rats and the crazy, ticket-selling hobos.”
Rachel scoffed and swatted him on the arm. He caught her wrist in self-defence, and held it close to prevent her from taking another swipe. “Would you let that go? I was caught up in the moment.”
“Yes, well. So was I.” They smiled at each other, at the dream they shared and the future stretched out before them. He let his forehead drop down to rest on hers, dizzy with hope, excitement and the knowledge that it wasn’t just a dream, but a certainty. They were going to be stars together.
He pulled back after a moment and looked down at her, the girl who was his partner and rival and comrade-in-arms. Her hair was frizzy from the humidity of the tiny dressing-room stall, her face was flushed, and her big brown eyes were shining like the lights on a Broadway stage. She was wearing a dark red dress that he’d practically forced her into. “The dress looks nice,” he said, mostly as an afterthought.
Rachel blinked. “Oh. Thank you. Perhaps I will buy it after all.”
“Of course you will.” He was still holding her by the shoulders, keeping her closer than she needed to be. There was a strange tension between them, a connection that thrummed with promise, understanding and passion. It felt like being on stage in an empty theatre, with the lights and the orchestra blooming in their imagination, belting out the final song of one of their favourite musicals. It felt big and limitless, but right now, it was compressed into the tiny space between them, in a dressing room stall, in a small town in Ohio. It felt more potent, somehow, and urgent.
Kurt felt his hands sliding down Rachel’s arms, coming to rest on her waist. He watched her mouth fall open slightly, and heard her tiny intake of breath, and before his mind could impose any kind of regulation upon the strange, intense impulse he was currently feeling, he leaned down and touched his lips to hers.
She kissed back.
It felt awkward and strange, and a part of him was screaming that he’d clearly gone insane (a legitimate complaint, really), but it didn’t feel wrong either. When he’d kissed Brittany, it had been easy, nice-enough, and totally meaningless. When he’d kissed Blaine, it had been magic - exciting, passionate, and amazing in every way. This was something else entirely. It was meaningful, but he couldn’t say exactly what meaning he was trying to convey. It didn’t feel like some uncharted new territory either . . . it felt like what they’d always had, to some degree, only more intense, more . . .
Blaine. Oh God. Oh shit.
Kurt pulled back abruptly, breathing hard. Rachel stared up at him with wide eyes, her mouth hanging open. Perspective came crashing back, along with all his higher thought processes, and Kurt realised that he’d just cheated on his boyfriend with Rachel Berry.
“Kurt . . .” she breathed, looking dazed and incredulous.
“I . . . um . . .” He genuinely had no idea what to say.
The silence between them grew tense and thick. Finally, she managed, “I think you should probably get out.”
Get out. A marvellous idea. He snatched his hands away, backed up, and collided with the wall. Clearing his throat, he opened the door latch and stumbled out of the stall. It slammed shut behind him. Kurt took a deep breath of the cool, air-conditioned change rooms, and stumbled over to collapse on his seat.
What the hell was wrong with him? Was it something in the air conditioner? Were his hormones playing up, simply because he hadn’t seen Blaine in over forty eight hours? Was there something about Rachel Berry that made poor, unsuspecting gay boys go temporarily insane? Was she going to try and make him her boyfriend? Was he going to accept?
Kurt forced himself to calm down. Okay. Okay, so. He was definitely not attracted to Rachel, at least not in a sexual way. He hadn’t been joking about boobs being a total non-issue to him. Back in there, he hadn’t wanted to, like . . . touch her or anything. Well, he sort of had. But not there. Whatever he’d been thinking, or feeling, it hadn’t been lust. Not remotely. Rachel was his friend, his best friend if he were to be totally honest (along with Mercedes, and oh what would Mercedes think, she used to have a crush on him, she’d hate him for this), and they were clearly going to be spending a lot of time together over the next few years.
Well, there was the problem, he supposed. They’d been spending too much time together recently, to the point where she sort of just slept in his bed during sleepovers rather than him going to the hassle of setting the guest room up. It was just easier. What they had, it was just so easy and he didn’t think about it because few things in his life came so naturally as their friendship. And they’d been talking about New York and getting all excited, and it was a very small, stuffy, enclosed space, so he’d just been caught up in the moment. Perfectly understandable. God knows Finn and Puck got pretty cuddly when they’d had a few drinks.
(At least Blaine had had the excuse of alcohol when he’d kissed Rachel. Kurt really, really didn’t want to tell him about this.)
He should leave. He should walk right out of the store and not see Rachel for at least a week, during which time they could forget about it, and he would have a nice, long, make-out session with Blaine, and everything would be normal again.
But. Maybe it wouldn’t go back to normal. Maybe this moment, whatever it was, would fester between them as the days and weeks dragged on, and maybe it would grow bitter as they talked themselves in circles trying to justify it. Maybe the next time they met, it would be back to barbed insults and hurt feelings, and he genuinely didn’t want that. Besides, he was technically the sexual deviant in this situation, so she would have more leverage than him if it came down to it. And Rachel Berry with leverage was a scary prospect indeed.
Kurt let his head drop back against the wall with a hard thunk. They would have to resolve this now. It would be awkward and painful as hell, but since when was his life anything but awkward and painful?
Besides, he still had to buy her clothes.
He was honestly on the verge of bolting anyway, when Rachel’s door cracked open. She shuffled out, not meeting his eyes, and fussed with her armful of clothes. Behind her, he could see the red dress crumpled on the floor.
“So, I think I’ll just get these ones today,” she said, too-loud.
“Rachel.”
“I mean, the other ones were nice too, but I really think that these suit me the best, and they are efficient to start the school year with . . .”
“Rachel.”
“And I don’t want to be too thoroughly indebted to you, as I know I will probably pay for it in the future, so these ones will do for now. Okay? Okay, let’s go!” She flashed him a grin that was frankly terrifying, and began marching out of the change rooms.
“For the love of . . . Rachel.” He caught her elbow. She jerked to a halt. They stood in silence for a moment, breathing heavily
“I think it’s best if we just don’t mention it, Kurt,” she said quietly.
“You know that is why we have so much unnecessary drama in Glee club, right? Inadequate communications.”
She sniffed and drew herself up to look him in the eye. “Fine. Kurt, I apologise.”
That threw him. “Wait, what? Why are you apologising? It’s not like you assaulted me.” Though it’s not like he wasn’t tempted to make himself believe that.
“Well clearly I am irresistible to gay boys, which confuses them and can potentially harm relationships. I do feel awful about what happened with Blaine, you know, and I told myself I’d never tempt him away from you again. I wasn’t expecting that it would happen with you.”
Kurt rolled his eyes. So typical. “Rachel, I’m not attracted to you.”
“Oh? Not even a little?” she somehow managed to sound both sarcastic and hopeful at the same time.
“No. Look, I just think we’ve been spending too much time with each other lately, and there haven’t been enough boundaries, so our hormones mistook close friendship and excitement about the future for . . . something else.” There, that sounded nice and simple. In a softer voice, he went on to say, “I value our friendship, Rachel. And we need each other if we want to fulfil our mutual dreams, so I’d hate for this to be the start of a long, awkward, forced cohabitation in a tiny apartment in Manhattan.”
She gave a tiny, genuine smile. “I value our friendship too. And I don’t believe that this will ruin it.”
“Of course not. So, we’re good?”
She nodded decisively. “We’re good.”
They smiled at each other for a moment, and the awkwardness melted away. Hesitantly, she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and he rested his fingers on hers for a moment. It felt nice. Easy. Natural. Gathering their shopping basket full of clothes-to-purchase, they ambled towards the cash register.
“Although,” Rachel murmured in his ear, her breath stealing across his neck. “I’m not sure we should tell Finn and Blaine about this. I doubt they’d be as understanding.”
“I’m telling Blaine,” Kurt said sternly, mostly to convince himself. “Untold secrets can still break a relationship. He’ll lord it over me forever, but he’ll understand.” I hope.
Glancing at Rachel’s conflicted face, he said, “Perhaps in Finn’s case, it could wait a while. I’m sure that given the right time, he would find it hilarious. But until then, I’d rather he not beat me up for trying to steal his girlfriend away, paranoid idiot that he is.”
Rachel giggled, clearly relieved, and swatted his shoulder. “He’s not an idiot.”
“Not, but I’m his brother; I’m allowed to say things like that.”
It was almost too easy to return to their regular banter, as if nothing had changed. But something had changed. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but now that they’d gotten over the awkwardness, they seemed to have settled into another kind of vibe. It hummed and pulsed faintly, just below the surface of their smiles and knowing glances, just begging to be pulled apart like a pile of brightly-coloured thread.
As the clothes were being scanned, Kurt glanced down at Rachel, still attached to his arm. He still didn’t want to touch her boobs, or think about her in any kind of sexual context, or even kiss her again, really. But he liked the smile on her face. He wanted to keep it there. He wanted her to keep sleeping over in his bed, and wake up the next morning with her arm around his stomach like he was her substitute teddy bear, wanted to see her blush as she realised that she’d drooled on his pillow during the night. He wanted to argue with her loudly, for hours, challenge her and know that the challenge was fully accepted. He wanted to sing with her and hear their voices entwine perfectly, powerfully. He wanted them to face their future like this, arm-in-arm, courageous and scared and defiant.
He wanted her to feel happy and accepted. He wanted her to feel loved.
Kurt suddenly disentangled himself from Rachel. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he told the sales assistant, and darted back towards the change rooms. He picked up the red dress, spent a couple of seconds ineffectively trying to smooth out the wrinkles, then gave up and took it back to the cash register.
Rachel eyed the garment warily. “Kurt . . .”
“It looked good on you, and you might want to wear it in the future,” he interrupted. “Besides, I’m paying, so there’s no cause for you to complain.”
She blinked owlishly at him for a moment, before smiling softly. “Well, you know best.”
“Of course I do.”
They paid, and walked out of the store, shopping bags dangling from their arms. Rachel’s arm found his once again, and her heels clacked in tandem with his as they strolled through the mall.
Kurt knew that their relationship couldn’t be anything more than friends. He was gay, they were both in love with other people, and he was still pretty confused about everything. But . . . it had the potential to be something more, he supposed. Whether it would ever go there was unlikely, but the fact that it could go there was almost as comforting as it was scary.
Rachel said something that made her laugh, a full-body, infectious laugh that anyone rarely got the chance to see. He laughed along with her, because it was irresistible, and because he was a little bit in love with this annoying, narcissistic, insecure, passionate, courageous, female girl, and that was kind of hilarious.
Kurt felt the electricity between them pulse with affection and strength, and knew that, if nothing else, he’d never have to be fear being alone.