Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a moment of weightlessness as Kurt felt himself swing towards the edge of the dumpster. He imagined that it was similar to the feeling that the Cheerios got when they were doing all their gymnastics and performing, where gravity became nothing for just a moment. A brief instant where you’re not bound to the ground. 

If that was true, Kurt didn’t know how they could stand to keep doing it. The sensation made him feel sick to his stomach. It made him wish that he hadn’t been thrown, but that he’d been slammed into a locker, or punched in the face instead. Almost anything would have been preferable actually. 

That was probably because of the situation though. Kurt wasn’t ignorant to the fact that he had been trained to equate this feeling, with the feeling that he knew would follow. The feeling of slimy plastic, or rough cardboard. The feeling of the air being kicked from his lungs as he made contact. The fear that something sharp would be underneath him, or something gross like old food. He’d seen the way the canteen staff treat the garbage, and he knew that there was no attempt at separating the food from everything else. And from past experience, they didn’t make too much of an effort to make sure the bags were tied securely either. 

Perhaps it was the look in everyone’s eyes that was the worst part. The part that meant he made sure to keep his eyes shut until long after everyone had left for their classes. Everything from the villainous enthusiasm on Lackey #3’s face, to the look of arrogant superiority on Noah Puckerman, made him feel like less than nothing. Despite his attempts to be heroic and hold onto Kurt’s bag, or jacket or hat, or whatever part of his outfit Kurt could take off before he was thrown, Finn was never close enough for Kurt to see when he actually went over the edge. So at least he didn’t have to see the look of pity, or second hand embarrassment, or perhaps worst yet, a faked look of amusement on Finn’s face. 

The first swing didn’t quite get him over the edge, and Kurt squeezed his eyes shut tighter as they pulled back at the last moment. Maybe that was the worst, really. When they played with him. When the whole thing was for their amusement. 

They were all jeering Lackey #3 for not being able to throw him properly, when a full body shudder overcame Kurt. He flinched, his foot kicking out instinctively at the apex of the throw, and the Lackey let go of him. Puckerman clearly wasn’t prepared for Kurt to be in flight, and he let go a moment later, but that threw the entire trajectory off. 

He hit the bags hard, and half a moment later, his head banged against the side of the dumpster. Outside, the jeering was louder than the crash, and Kurt had a moment to internally cringe about whatever might have just transferred from the dumpster’s walls into his hair, before his vision blurred and the voices got more distant, as exhaustion quickly overtook him. He was aware of the sound of the bell ringing, but it all seemed so far away…

He must have blacked out, because the next thing he was vaguely aware of was a warm, heavy feeling, and someone gently stroking his hair out of his face. He scrunched up his face, trying to open his eyes, but only managing to get one half open. The world was too blurry to do more than catch sight of a feminine hand with a wedding ring. His mind felt like it was full of tar and the spots where she touched were too warm, but still he managed to croak out, “Mom?” 

“I’m here, honey,” She said softly, but it didn’t sound quite right. Everything sounded like it was coming from beyond a wall of cotton wool and static, his own voice foreign to him. She was still speaking, but he was slipping under again, the heavy feeling swallowing him up.

“Told you two not to bother him,” a deeper voice was speaking, when Kurt was next aware of himself, and there was pressure leaving the space by his legs, and two sets of footsteps. “Did you close the window?”

“He said he was cold,” someone spoke in barely a whisper, and Kurt frowned at how young the voice sounded.

“Alright, you two, back to your room.” The deeper voice said, and there was the sound of the door closing. There were footsteps around him, and the sound of a window being opened, before the ground sank a little, making Kurt’s head swim as everything tilted a little. “You doing alright, kid?” 

Kurt wanted to answer; to ask where he was, why he felt so exhausted, or why his ankle hurt so much. But he was slipping back under and not even the murmured conversation could keep him in the present moment. 

There were other memories after that, half formed and blurry. Someone was helping him to sit upright and take some painkillers. Someone sitting next to him whilst he watched something on the TV with people in brightly colored sweaters, one of them with pointy ears and way too over-styled eyebrows. Grilled cheese and soup, eating it as carefully as he could and trying to ignore the way his stomach was rolling.

And then, in sharp relief to the haziness, he was snapping wide-awake. The aches he had remembered from the memory seemed to fade immediately, including the dull pain in his ankle, and when he opened his eyes, the ceiling above him wasn’t blurry. 

The ceiling also wasn’t any that he remembered having ever seen before.

Kurt jerked upright into a sitting position, the bed creaking a little under the sharp movement. The room was small, and after a moment, he felt like he could confidently say it was someone’s bedroom. A man’s room, Kurt decided quickly as he took in the sports trophies and the clothes that were shoved into a pile in one corner of the room. 

The bed was clean, and there were no signs that he was missing his kidneys, so Kurt forced himself to catch his breath instead of panicking. He didn’t seem to be injured in any obvious way. The last solid memory he had was of landing in the garbage, his head hitting the wall. He reached up to touch the back of his head, and winced at the painful sensation there. No blood or open wound, but tender to the touch certainly. 

He carefully climbed to his feet, patting himself down. He was wearing his button-up shirt and jeans, but his shoes were next to the bed, neatly placed side by side. Another glance towards the door revealed his sweater, the one with the sunglasses that he’d been wearing to school that morning, hung up on a coat hanger. The hanger probably belonged to the pair of trousers and another button up shirt that were thrown hazardously over a chair by a tiny desk. 

Turning towards the shoes, he paused as caught sight of his phone sitting on top of a camcorder. He reached for the phone carefully, and found a post-it note on top with an unfamiliar handwriting.

You should watch the video before you leave the room.

Kurt stared at the note, and turned it over in his hands a couple of times as thought there might be more information if he kept looking .He slipped the phone into his pocket and picked up the camcorder. There was a little label underneath, claiming it belonged to the McKinley High AV club, but someone had scribbled over it with a pen. He opened the screen, and opened the memory, to find an image of the bed. 

“Please don’t be a sex tape,” Kurt whispered under his breath, sitting back on the bed, “I do not need my Paris Hilton moment.”

He still hit play though, despite his misgivings. Obviously, if he had had sex with the kind of man who would steal a camera from school, he needed to know about it. ‘Knowledge is power’, and all the other placating things he could think of. 

As the image started to move, he watched himself walk into frame and sit down in a very similar position to how he was sat now. 

No. Not a similar position. It was the same spot, but that was not how Kurt sat. Legs spread, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as if he was bracing himself. Something about his face was different too. Looser. More… open, maybe.

“Uh, hi. Kurt.” The version of him on the camera lifted a hand as if to wave, before he dropped it again. “Alright, this is going to sound really weird, but I’m hoping some… like, visual proof will help? Like, seeing is believing, right?” 

Someone snorted on the film, and Kurt frowned more, but the Kurt-in-the-video rolled his eyes. 

“Ignore him. Or, I mean, don’t. He- uh- No, yeah, I should start at the start.” Kurt-in-the-video sighed, and rubbed his face. “Alright. So, my name is Sam. Sam Evans. I’m fifteen years old, I just started my freshman year at my school in Tennessee.”

Kurt’s eyes opened wider, as Kurt-in-the-video, no, Sam chewed on his lower lip.

“I was at home, because I’ve got a bad flu, and I sprained my ankle. I was trying to get to the bathroom, and I slipped. I think I hit my head? Which sounds like something we both did?” Sam continued, “I don’t think that explains it though, cause, I mean, just in terms of numbers, a whole bunch of people have to hit their heads at the same time and they don’t swap bodies.” 

Kurt watched as Sam looked away from the camera, to whoever was holding it. 

“I think… I mean, the painkillers were basically knocking me out, so you might have slept through the whole thing on my end? But I did my best to… be you? Puck’ll explain what happened after I woke up, but I don’t think I messed anything up too bad. There wasn’t exactly like… an instruction manual to being Kurt Hummel, you know?” Sam shrugged, “and since I don’t really know what made it happen this time? I’m not sure it’s not going to happen again. So I’m going to write down all the important stuff about me, and leave it somewhere where you’ll know to look for it. I haven’t worked it out yet, but I’ll try and make it super obvious.” There was a beat of pause, and Sam shuffled uncomfortably, “I hope I’m not crazy? I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m real. I have a mom and a dad, and a brother and sister. I’m trying out for my school football team when I get back on my feet. I think I’m real, but I think that’s what everyone would think right?”

Kurt let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. It was easy to merge the things Sam had said with the dreams he had had. The mom, the dad, the brother and sister. It wasn’t proof. Nothing like proof. But it sounded right. 

“I’m gonna go, because I’m freaking out.” Sam admitted on the video. “I think, uh, it’d be a good idea to get a… diary or something? In case we swap again, we can leave like… messages for each other?”

“Or you could leave your phone number, and that’d be much easier to prove.” Kurt said quietly to himself, trying to ignore the hysterical edge to his voice.

“I don’t know how you finish a film to your—“ Sam was saying just as the camera cut off, and Kurt stared at the last image, the look on his face as he was speaking to someone off camera. It was his face. It was him. But it wasn’t at all. It wasn’t him. It was—

The knock on the bedroom door jerked his attention away from the camera, and he froze dead. 

“Uh… Sam?” A vaguely familiar voice came from the other side, and Kurt held his breath until it added, “Hummel?” 

There was something about hearing the voice say his name that made the message from Sam snap into clarity, and Kurt swallowed before he asked quietly. “Puckerman?”

There was a tense silence for a moment, before Puckerman spoke again. “Yeah. Is it safe to come in?” 

Kurt glanced around, but if there were any weapons he could use to defend himself, they weren’t in view. He took a deep breath, checking again that his phone was in his pocket, before he moved across the room to collect his sweater, carefully folding it over his arm as he moved away from the door towards the opposite wall. Once there was as much space as he could possibly get, he took another steadying breath, “I think so?” 

The handle turned slowly, and Kurt watched as the familiar mohawk slowly came into view around the edge of the door. Puck looked around nervously, before he turned his attention to Kurt, examining him,“Hummel?”

Kurt wanted to say something sarcastic, or to start hurling accusations, but something about Puckerman’s demeanor made him hesitate. There was no arrogant smirk, or even the usual mocking laughter in his eyes. He seemed genuinely concerned and unsure. Kurt nodded slowly, and Puckerman repeated the gesture in response, before he glanced towards the bedside table. 

“You watched the video.” He said, his tone carefully, painfully neutral. Kurt nodded again, and Puck stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, “What… I mean, what the fuck, Hummel?” 

Kurt flinched, looking away, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Was that bullshit? Did you make it all up?” Puck gestured to him, a sudden burst of energy that made Kurt press his back tighter against the wall.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he rolled his eyes dramatically, but they immediately locked on Puckerman as he took another few steps towards him. He somehow found a few atoms worth of space where he wasn’t already touching the wall, and Puck stopped.

“I want to check your head.” Puck said, lifting his hands. “I need to make sure nothing’s changed.” 

“The only person checking my head will be me, my hair stylist, and my masseuse.” Kurt glanced around the room, and took a few half-steps towards Puck’s bed. If he could pull him in that direction, he could then duck around the other way and maybe get to the door before Puck could tackle him. “How did you make me say those things?”

“How did I…?” Puck let out an incredulous noise, “I didn’t make you do anything.” 

“So… drugs?” Kurt continued, taking another step, and watching Puck do the same. “You dosed me with something whilst you were throwing me in the dumpster?” 

“Okay, so you remember the dumpster,” Puck nodded slowly to himself, “okay. So, do you remember hitting your head?” 

Kurt hesitated, “I didn’t hit it that hard. I landed in the rubbish and then… bumped it.” 

“Yeah,” Puck took another step towards him, and when Kurt shifted he held up his hands placatingly, like Kurt was a wild animal that might flee at any moment. Which was his entire plan, but as Puck got closer, Kurt’s feet felt like lead. “I heard it. I was pretty much the only one close enough to. When you didn’t show up for first period, I got worried you’d died or something. So, I got a hall pass and came back out to the dumpster. You were unconscious, so I did, like, the medicine stuff.” 

“The ‘medicine stuff’ ,” Kurt repeated, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

“Yeah. I made sure you were still breathing, and that you had a pulse and everything,” Puck dropped his hands, and folded his arms. “I jumped in the dumpster for you, dude.” 

“The dumpster you put me in.” 

“Anyway,” Puck deflected the accusation as if he hadn’t heard it, “I planned on just like, making sure you were alive, and then going and mentioning that I’d seen you getting thrown in to the nurse or something. But you started waking up. So I did the question stuff. What’s your name, what’s my name, Where are we? What year is it?” He hesitated, his eyes dropping away from Kurt for a moment as if unsure about what to say next. “You… You got it wrong. Or, it wasn’t you answering or something.”

“What do you mean, I got it wrong?” Kurt was asking the question, but he was immediately thinking about the video. Sam Evans. Fifteen. Tennessee.

“Will you sit down, so I can tell you what happened?” Puck gestured to the bed, and Kurt’s eye darted to it, and then almost to the door before he caught himself. Puck rolled his eyes though, and folded his arms again. “I can totally see you eyeing the door. You’re kind of obvious.” 

“Are you going to tackle me if I make a break for it?” Kurt muttered.

“Obviously not. If you’ve got a brain problem, I’m not getting blamed for making it worse,” Puck muttered, “I know that being invited into a dude’s room is a new experience for you, Hummel, but you need to know what happened today. So, please sit down.” 

Kurt’s eyes narrowed a little, and he debated just leaving. It didn’t sound like Puck was going to physically stop him. But… It seemed important to Puck that Kurt hear what happened. He glanced at the bed, and then pointedly moved and pulled the chair away from the small desk, sitting on that instead. 

“Yeah, sure, great power play,” Puck scoffed and sat down on the bed, running a hand over his head before he straightened up. “Alright. I guess I just start at the beginning, right?” 

“That’s generally the place to begin a story.” Kurt crossed his legs and tried to remain as poised as he could on the chair.

“Alright, but you better tell me if you get a headache, or you lose feeling in your legs or anything. Sam wouldn’t let me call an ambulance, but I’m not dealing with a dead gay kid in my bedroom.” Puck scowled, and shuffled back so he could press his head against the wall. “Alright, so, I got a hall pass when you didn’t show up for second period either...” 

“Hummel?” 

The voice sounded scared, which was definitely enough to force Sam to start trying to wake up. He expected to feel dizzy, or nauseous, but neither hit him in the moment. In fact, as he took a few slow breaths, he didn’t feel that tired either, which was totally unusual when he had to take painkillers. They usually made him drowzy, and with the flu he’d caught whilst camping, that would usually make it feel like he was trying to move through honey whenever he was awake. Maybe he’d overslept, and missed his next pill? 

It was on the third breath that the smell hit him, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. It smelt like someone had dumped a ton of old trash in his room. He reached up to slap at a hand that was poking at his neck. “Stevie—“ He mumbled, “—leave me alone.” 

“Dude, I need to check your pulse,” the voice spoke again, and his hands were easily caught in a bigger one, the hands returning to his throat. Sam didn’t fight it this time, focusing on opening his eyes instead. That took more effort than it really should have, but once they were open, he had to blink rapidly at the sunlight.

He wasn’t looking at his bedroom ceiling, or any kind of ceiling. He could see blue skies with wisps of clouds breaking up above him. The guy who was checking his neck was entirely unfamiliar, but Sam felt like he could say with pretty much certainty that he wasn’t a doctor, or a firefighter or someone who might have had to drag him out of his bedroom. The mohawk didn’t scream ‘professional’ anything.

“Alright, you’re not, like, actively dying,” Mohawk leaned back, his face scrunched up uncomfortably as he leant back. “Can you wiggle your fingers? Feet?”

Sam did as suggested, wiggling his fingers and feet, and the guy nodded to himself. “What happened?” Sam asked, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.

Mohawk froze, and then leaned forward carefully, “I’m just gonna check the back of your head, alright?” Sam let him maneuver his head, and let out a hiss of pain when the guy’s fingers touched the back of his head. Mohawk pulled back again, checking his fingers quickly before his panic turned to relief. “Alright, no… there’s no blood. That’s good, right?” 

“I guess?” Sam carefully looked around, despite the concerned noises of the other guy as he moved his head. The source of the smell became obvious quickly, “I’m in a dumpster?” 

“Yeah, you’re… shit, what do you remember?” Mohawk’s eyes went wide, “What’s your name? What’s my name? What year is it? Where are we?” 

“One question at a time, dude,” Sam mumbled, and Mohawk pulled back a little, looking confused. “My name’s Sam. Sam Evans. It’s 2009, and I’m gonna hope we’re in, like, Tennessee? Somewhere?” He narrowed his eyes at Mohawk, “I’m sorry, man. I don’t know you.” 

“Fuck.” The word stretched out into a long breath, and Sam watched as Mohawk ran his hand over his head, and then immediately seemed to regret it. “Oh, gross. Shit,” He wrinkled his nose, and glanced around them before turning back to Sam. “Dude, don’t fuck around. You didn’t hit your head that hard, right? It was just a bump.” 

“I’m not messing around,” Sam tried to find some footing to sit up, but the garbage bags underneath him shifted. “What did I get wrong?” 

“All of it?” Mohawk muttered, and then shook his head, “No, it’s 2009. So… you know what year we’re in. That’s something, right? But you’re in Ohio.”

“What?” Sam frowned, “Why would I be in a dumpster in Ohio?”

“Because you live here,” Mohawk paused, “I mean, the state, not the dumpster. Obviously. Do I need to call… Fuck, I don’t know, an ambulance?” 

“I feel fine,” Sam shook his head, “I mean, my ankle isn’t even hurting anymore.” 

“Why would your ankle be hurting? Did you hit that too?” Mohawk shifted to examine his foot, but Sam moved it away.

“I fell down the other day when we were camping.” Sam looked at the confused look, and rolled his eyes, “Obviously not you and me, I mean, me and some of my friends.” 

“Dude, this is going to make me sound like the biggest asshole in the world, but… you don’t have any friends, Hummel. And you’re not the kind of guy who goes camping.” 

“It does make you sound like an asshole, yeah,” Sam narrowed his eyes, “and who is Hummel?” 

“You!” Mohawk gestured emphatically. “Kurt Hummel, homo extraordinaire.” 

“I’m not gay.” The denial came easily. Sam was used to having to say it. “And I’m not Kurt. I’m Sam.” 

“Is this some weird multiple personality disorder thing?” Mohawk asked, pulling back a little. “Is… Hummel in there? Can I speak to him?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam finally managed to get enough traction that he could get his feet under him. 

“I mean, look, I’m going for the science excuses before I assume some ghost possessed Hummel’s unconscious body.” Mohawk held up his hands in surrender, “because that always ends with a whole bunch of people dead in the movies.”

“This is my…” Sam glanced down at himself. The jeans were tighter than anything he owned himself, which showed off how much slimmer his legs were, and even under the sweater with a weird sunglasses motif, he could tell he was nowhere near as built as he was supposed to be. “This is my body.” He repeated himself, but he could barely convince himself.

“Look—“ Mohawk glanced around and then jumped over the edge of the dumpster. Sam forced himself upright, as Mohawk scrambled around in an expensive looking leather bag. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“Relax, it’s your stuff,” Mohawk muttered, and then stood up with a compact mirror in his hand. He flicked it open, and then hesitated. “Alright. Try not to freak out and like… turn into a serial killer or something?” 

“Why would I—“ 

“I don’t know! But like, one of the personalities is always a serial killer, isn’t it? I mean, it is in the movies I’ve seen, so, I’m just getting you ready.” Mohawk swallowed nervously and then carefully turned it around.

The face in the mirror was entirely unfamiliar, but as Sam’s eyes widened and the image in the mirror did the same, it became harder to pretend it wasn’t his face. Or— it wasn’t the face he was using? He knew his face. It wasn’t this. “I’m blonde.” He murmured to himself, barely aware of Mohawk anymore as he reached up to touch the shiny brown hair on his head, and poke at the nose, the jawline, the— all of it was wrong.

“Hey—“ Mohawk reached back into the dumpster, “I’m serious, don’t freak out and become a serial killer.” 

“I’m not a ghost!” Sam insisted, “Or, like, some weird multiple personality thing. I have a family! My mom’s name is Mary, my dad’s name is Dwight. We live in Tennessee. I just started at this all-boy’s school. I’ve got a little brother and sister, Stevie and Stacy. I… I’m going to be the QB, and I play guitar, and I like comic books— I’m a real person!”

“Alright!” Mohawk held up his hands. “You’re a real person. But right now, you’re a real person in a dumpster. So… let’s… get you out of the dumpster, and then you can freak out.” 

Sam stared down at the bags he was slowly sinking into, and put his hands on the edge, and tried to hop over. It was a move he had done a dozen times before, it shouldn’t have been any kind of an issue, but every part of his body felt wrong. His legs were longer, the weight and muscles not quite the same, and he was quickly overbalancing, toppling over the edge.

Before he could hit the ground, another set of arms were under his back, something hard digging into his shoulder blades. He managed to right himself enough that he could get his feet on the ground first, and stumble a few steps without collapsing. Mohawk straightened up from where he had dived to catch him, showing off a set of impressive arms that Sam hadn’t noticed before.

“Thanks,” Sam muttered, brushing off the bits of paper and stuff that had stuck to the clothes he was wearing, trying not to think about where the garbage had come from. And definitely not to think about why he was noticing this stranger’s arms. 

“I mean, if this is all some big plan to get me to catch you, there were definitely easier ways.” Mohawk grinned, dusting off his hands. “Alright, we can go hide in your car and talk.” 

“I have a car?” Sam blinked, turning to look out over the area. There was a school to one side of the dumpsters. McKinley High, he committed the name to memory, in case he suddenly woke up in his own bed at any moment. 

The other direction led towards a parking lot, and Mohawk was already walking, with the bag slung over his shoulder casually. Sam watched him for a moment, and Mohawk turned over his shoulder. “Are you coming?” 

“I don’t even know who you are,” Sam shrugged, “I’m not seeing a lot of reasons why I shouldn’t just take off.” 

“Because I really don’t want to have to try to tackle you and not make your brain more screwed up.” Mohawk didn’t look like he was joking, and when Sam squared up, he copied the motion, his chest puffing up, “You say you’re a football player? Cause you’ve got the body of a guy who never leaves the house.” Mohawk stared at him for a long moment, and then sighed dramatically, taking a few steps back towards him and holding out a hand. “Puck. You can call me Puck.” 

“Alright,” Sam’s lips twitched up into the start of a smile and shook Puck’s hand firmly. Something about the gesture seemed to discomfort Puck, but he didn’t mention it. “You go here?” 

“Yeah. I’m a Sophomore. Like Kurt.” Puck withdrew his hand, and closed his arms, “School badass. Play football too. Tight end.” 

Sam nodded casually, “See, now we’re not strangers.” 

Puck tilted his head, “Nothing? You’re not gonna blush, or laugh, or… anything?” 

“At what?”

“Tight end?” 

“I know what a tight end is?” Sam frowned, running over what Puck had said.

“Yeah. You’re definitely not faking…” Puck huffed, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his letterman. “Come on,” he gestured towards a really nice looking SUV, and Sam followed him towards it. It was clearly well taken care of, and Sam turned towards Puck, who was staring at him. The moment went on for a few moments, before Puck rolled his eyes. “You’ve got the keys.” 

“Oh!” Sam pat himself down, before he found a set of keys in his jeans pocket. He moved the keys towards the door, only for Puck to snatch them out of his hand, “Hey!”

“I’m suddenly realising that trusting you with car keys right now might be a bad idea, dude.” Puck looked him up and down, before he put the keys in the lock himself. Sam watched him climb into the drivers side, and lean over to unlock the passenger side for Sam to get in. 

The inside was really well kept too. No sign of any of the stuff that usually accumulated in the bottom of his dad’s truck thanks to Stevie and Stacy. He watched as Puck casually flipped down the visor and then leaned across to open the glove box. There was a moment of pause, before Puck laughed, pulling out a box.

“Nice.” He jiggled the box in front of Sam, and tossed them on the dashboard. “Didn’t know Hummel had it in him. Or had it in someone else, I’m not judging. Bad idea to keep it in the glove box though. And there’s actually gloves in there too! I mean who does that!”

Sam leaned forward and picked up the box, turning it over. Embarrassment flashed over him, and he shoved the box of condoms back in the glove box. “It’s kind of shitty to be going through his stuff when he’s … not here.” 

Puck glanced up from where he had started to look through Kurt’s leather bag, his eyes narrowing. “See, the sentiment is totally something Hummel would say, but I can’t imagine him saying ‘shitty’.” He sighed and passed the bag to Sam. “Alright. So let’s get crazy here. Let’s assume you’re a really real person—“ 

“I am.” 

“—then where is Hummel?” Puck gestured around, as though this other person might be hiding in the back seat.

“I don’t know,” Sam sighed, leaning back against the seat and trying to think. “I mean, you’ve gotta assume if I’m here… then he’s there. I mean, in my body.” 

“You swapped brains?” Puck frowned, “That’s not a thing.” 

“I mean, it happens in movies right?” Sam insisted, “like, Freaky Friday.” 

“The one with Lindsay Lohan?” Puck considered it for a moment, turning to look out of the front window. “There wasn’t, like, an earthquake though. And you’ve never met him before, have you?” 

“I don’t think so.” Sam shook his head, “I mean, I don’t recognise him?” 

Puck hummed, tapping the wheel. “Let’s say I believe this. What do we do? Go to the hospital?” 

“No.” 

Puck’s head shot towards him at the vehemence of Sam’s denial. “No?” 

“Dude, have you ever watched a sci-fi movie?” Sam gestured to himself, “I show up at a hospital saying I’ve swapped bodies, they’re gonna laugh at me. Or they’re going to lock me on a psych ward. Or, worse case, sci-fi movie scenario? I get autopsied while I’m alive to work out how it works.” 

“I don’t think you can be autopsied when you’re alive. Like, I think there’s another word for it, or something,” Puck said quietly, but he looked discomforted, “You think that could happen?” 

“I just think we can give it… what, 24 hours, before we risk getting me cut up by government scientists. Or, I guess, Kurt getting cut up?” Sam gestured to his body, “I mean, Kurt’s probably stuck at my house half out of it on painkillers and the flu. He’s probably not going to be able to do anything too weird. And maybe if we give it some time, it’ll fix itself.”

“Your plan is to wait and see if it fixes itself?” Puck shook his head, “That’s a terrible plan.” 

“I think I can pretend to be someone else for one day. It’s just high school.” Sam made a gesture to the school. “It’ll be fine.” 

“You’re going to—“ Puck looked at him incredulously, and then sighed, and rested his head back against the seat. “Alright. I mean, no-one’s going to believe me if I say you’re a ghost or something possessing Hummel. And it’s better for me if you don’t have a brain injury. So… I’ll help.” 

“You’ll help?” Sam blinked, “Really?” 

“I mean, look, me and Hummel are not friends.” Puck held up his hands, “but if you get him killed, I’m gonna be dealing with way too much guilt. So I’m gonna be around, and you’re going to have to get used to it.” 

“I mean, I’m not gonna complain,” Sam held up his hands in surrender, “I don’t know anything about this guy, so…” 

“Okay.” Puck took a deep breath and then grabbed the bag back. “We’re gonna have to hope that Hummel kept his class schedule in here, cause I don’t know it. Otherwise, we’re gonna have to get sneaky.” 

Sam was quickly realising that McKinley High was insane. There had been literally nothing stopping them slipping back into the school. In fact, the lunch lady who had been smoking outside the kitchen door had winked at Puck as they passed through, like this was a common occurrence. Nobody noticed them in the hallways, and the only person to give them the slightest moment of pushback, was the woman who they were coming to see.

“—really want to pass US History, Miss. Pillsbury, but I just don’t get it.” Puck was speaking softly, eyes full of concern and hurt. Sam might have even believed him if he didn’t know why they were actually here, “I’ve tried all the different things, but the only person who’s been able to get me to remember the difference between Rushmore and Roosevelt, is Kurt here.” 

“So, you want me to pull up both of your schedules?” Miss. Pillsbury looked concerned and confused. “Couldn’t you compare them yourselves?” 

“I think it’ll help us to have them written in front of us.” Puck said earnestly, and there was a beat before the guidance counselor turned her attention towards Sam. 

“Kurt?”

“I…” Sam glanced to Puck and then back to Miss. Pillsbury, “I think that it could be helpful?” 

She seemed to consider for another moment, before she picked up her phone and spoke to someone on the other end. A moment later, another woman appeared, with a couple of pieces of paper. Sam barely had time to notice her before she was gone again, and Miss. Pillsbury picked them up and examined them both, before handing them to the right students. Sam’s eyebrows raised as he saw the subjects Kurt was taking. French was gonna suck, he was in Spanish back in Tennessee. 

“Alright, that’s great.” Puck said, slapping Sam on the shoulder and standing up. Sam moved to follow, and they were halfway to the doorway when Miss. Pillsbury called out.

“Kurt?” 

It took Sam a moment too long to look back for the image to appear natural, but Miss. Pillsbury looked more concerned than anything else. “Miss. Pillsbury?” 

“I just wanted to say good luck on your audition today.” She gave him a hesitant smile, “I know you were never interested in Mr. Ryerson’s glee club, but Will— I mean, Mr. Schuester’s club should be more fun.” 

“I…” Sam swallowed nervously, glancing towards Puck and then back to Mr. Schuester. “Right, yeah. The audition. For Glee Club.” 

“Noah, have you considered trying out?” she continued, with a bright smile.

“I’m super busy with football,” Puck said casually, “but I’ll totally be there to cheer Kurt on. But that’s like, in confidence, right?”

“Sure?” She seemed confused, but she didn’t say anything else as Puck quickly tugged Sam out of the room. The bell was already ringing, and Puck looked both ways before he pushed Sam against a locker. 

“Ow,” Sam muttered, even if the blow didn’t actually hurt. “What’re you doing?” 

“Listen carefully,” Puck leaned in, a dangerous look in his eyes. Sam’s eyes darted around to where people were passing by without even looking his way. “Me and Kurt are not friends. So I’m going to be around, but we can’t be seen being buddy-buddy together, or we’ll both be in the shit. So, some quick Hummel rules. Dude’s gay. I mean, he hasn’t admitted it to anyone, but I mean… he’s super gay. Fashion, Reality TV… whatever. He doesn’t do sports, he doesn’t do nerdy stuff. He’s just… y’know, basically a chick. He doesn’t swear, he doesn’t stand up for himself. He just…exists.” 

Sam listened, watching Puck carefully. “You bully him.” 

“I’m a badass, and he doesn’t fit in.” Puck shrugged, “I’m not looking for judgement here, I’m giving you the download and then I’m just gonna watch from a distance, alright?” He didn’t wait before continuing. “He’s super into Finn Hudson. That’s the QB. Tall, brown hair, I’ll try and find him after I let you go, so I can point him out to you. He doesn’t really do anything, he just makes moon eyes from afar. His mom’s dead. His dad’s a mechanic. People will shove you around, and I know it’s gonna suck, but if you try and shove back there’s a solid chance you’re gonna get your ass beat. So just suck it up.” 

Sam stared at him for a long moment, and then glanced down to Puck’s hands. “Fine. We’re not friends, and I’m sucking it up. Are you done?” 

Puck glanced around and then let go of Sam. “Look—“

Sam turned on his heels before Puck could continue, trying to vanish into the crowd. Puck made no attempt to chase him, but before he had got too far, someone’s arm slipped into his. He blinked in confusion, almost pulling to a stop, but the tiny girl on his arm kept dragging him ahead. 

“Don’t stop, he’s still following us.” She said in a high, bright voice, and Sam quickly continued to move. “I was wondering why you hadn’t signed up yet but now I think it’s quite clear.” 

“It is?” Sam asked, struggling to work out how to keep pace with her without outrunning her or getting left behind.

“Well, yesterday when I explained that show choir is eat or be eaten, that must have put you ill at ease. And then this morning, Puckerman and his thugs threw you into the dumpster again, and it appears he’s been hounding you all day.” The girl gave him a sharp look, “Anyone would feel intimidated under these circumstances. It’s only natural. But you are, to the best of my knowledge, one of the only people in this school who comes close to providing a level of competition.” 

She looked to him clearly waiting for him to say something, so he took a guess at; “Thank you?” 

That seemed to be the correct answer, because she nodded and continued. “Now, you should sign up.” 

“I thought I already had,” Sam glanced back the way he had come from, “Miss. Pillsbury—“ 

“Oh, yes, I mentioned it to her this morning.” The girl rolled her eyes, “It came up quite organically whilst we were discussing my weekly list of issues I’ve noticed.” She paused before she added, “You weren’t an issue, to be clear. I was simply mentioning that I noticed several unsecured ropes backstage, and then she had me explain why I was backstage, and so I said I was teaching you.” 

“Right.” 

There was no warning that she was about to stop moving, and Sam lurched to a halt when she turned to face him so he didn’t barrel into her. She pointed towards a board, “So you’re going to sign up?” 

“I mean… That sounds like it was the plan, right?” Sam glanced at her again, and the pen that had appeared from nowhere and was being pointed directly at his chest like a knife. He took it carefully, not daring to look away from her crazy intense eyes, and then slowly turned towards the board she had guided him to. He scanned it quickly, and found the clipboard in question, and wrote his name underneath the only other name on the list. Rachel Berry. He had to assume that was her.

“You have sloppy handwriting,” Rachel murmured, tilting her head, and Sam took a deep breath so he didn’t immediately try to defend himself. Kurt probably had better handwriting, but he also probably didn’t have dyslexia too. “You didn’t hurt your wrist when you fell in the dumpster, did you?” 

“Maybe?” He handed her back the pen, and it vanished into her pockets. “It doesn’t hurt.” 

“Well, take good care of it. If you get into the Glee Club, there’s no telling what kind of dancing will be required. I don’t want you to drop me in two months, shattering my leg, because you were trying to hide an injury.” 

“I’ll… try not to?” Sam watched as she turned and vanished into the crowd. He glanced around, and without the focus of Rachel, he was suddenly aware of how hostile the environment was. Other people in the halls walked past and sneered at him. As he started walking towards his next class, some guy with a mullet lunged at him suddenly, and although he didn’t drop his bag, he flinched which was clearly enough to draw laughter from everyone. 

Whoever this Kurt guy was… there was no way he could be happy here. Something Puck had said outside struck Sam again with the mild contempt the other students showed him as he entered the classroom. 

You don’t have any friends. 

“Kurt?” 

Sam sighed, coming to a stop in the hallway. He’d hoped to move fast enough to avoid any of the scowls in the hallway, but clearly that wasn’t meant to be in the cards. He turned slowly, looking down to the guy in the wheelchair who was looking guiltily at him. “Yeah?” 

“Uh… I’m supposed to give you this?” The guy in the wheelchair, held out a folded piece of paper, and as Sam reached down to take it, the guy held on tighter and leaned forward, “I’m really sorry. He’s kind of terrifying, but you can run faster than me.” 

Sam’s brow furrowed as the guy let go of the piece of paper and turned away, and opened it. 

Meet me on the roof.

He glanced around, quickly picking out Puck leaning against a nearby locker, watching him carefully. He rolled his eyes, and shoved the paper into his pocket before making a confused gesture. Puck rolled his eyes, and started moving towards the stairs, and Sam gave it a couple of beats before he followed after. Puck stayed just ahead of him, turning corners only after Sam had seen him, until finally, Sam caught sight of him fiddling with some keys and opening another door. Nobody was around to notice as they both climbed higher, and by the time Sam reached the roof, Puck was already sitting on a ledge staring at him.

“Wasn’t sure you’d come.” Puck said, as Sam moved to stand opposite him. “Still Sam?” 

“What gave it away?” Sam crossed his arms.

“I mean, Hummel wouldn’t have come up here willingly.” Puck shrugged, “He’d have thought I was gonna, like, lock him up here.” 

“Are you going to?” 

Puck sighed defeatedly, and let his head flop backwards, “I mean, I dunno. Come here, I wanna check your pulse and stuff.” 

“No?” Sam snorted, “Look, I don’t know Kurt, but I’m pretty sure that he’d not be okay with you being all touch-y with his body.” 

“I mentioned the gay thing, right?” Puck smirked, “I think he’d be pretty on board with my touching his body.” 

“You know you’re nowhere near as funny as you think you are, right?” Sam tried to force down the urge to start shouting, “Why’re you fine treating me like a human being, but you and everyone else at this school treats Kurt like he’s… I’m too angry to even think of a reference. You all glare at him and laugh at him, and—” Sam shook his head, “—What’s the difference?”

“I mean, you seem like a pretty normal guy, but Hummel’s… weird. He isn’t like other guys.” Puck shrugged, “He’s at the bottom of the social hierarchy, and I’m at the top. That’s just how things work. I mean, you’re a jock right? You get it.” 

“I really don’t.”

Puck narrowed his eyes at Sam for a moment, though whether it was confusion or anger was beyond Sam, but then he dropped his chin to his chest, staring at the ground. “You know I came to check on him before I knew he swapped bodies right?”

“After you threw him in and hit his head.” Sam muttered, watching Puck’s head snap back towards him. “You came back because you felt guilty.” 

“Yeah, well, his crush didn’t come back at all. Maybe I did it for the wrong reason, but at least I did it.” Puck’s tone was sharp, but he didn’t make any threatening moves. The two stared at them for a long moment, and it was Puck who looked away first with a frustrated sigh, “Will you come get something to eat?”

“The cafeteria is—“ Sam started, only to watch as Puck slowly disgorged some wrapped sandwiches and snacks from inside his Letterman Jacket. They all pooled on his knees, before he carefully took off the jacket, laying it on the floor and putting the stuff on top. 

“The lunch lady likes me,” he explained when he saw Sam’s confused look. “I thought it was smarter to try and keep you away from people right now, so you didn’t accidentally blow up Hummel’s whole life.” 

Sam almost said something sarcastic, but he was starting to get hungry. And he was a little uncomfortable with the idea of spending Kurt’s money. “Thank you.” He said quietly, sitting down opposite Puck on the ground.

They ate in silence for a little while, before Puck put down his chips and stared at Sam. “Look, you’re probably right. Hummel wouldn’t want me to be touching him if he could help it. But he’d probably have gone straight to the nurse, who would know what to do about a multiple personality thing, or a broken brain. I don’t. So, all I can do is make sure your heart is beating normal, that that bruise on the back of your head isn’t going weird, and that you’re not actively dying in front of me.” 

Sam took another bite of his sandwich, and chewed thoughtfully, before he folded the paper around it again and put it in his lap before he offered his wrist to Puck. A moment passed, before Puck brushed off his hand, and pressed his fingers into Sam’s wrist listening quietly.

“So, you said you’re trying out for quarterback?” Puck asked after a while, pulling his fingers away and pulling out a piece of folded paper that he made a quick note on. “What happened to the last one?” 

“Guy who was the QB graduated, from what I heard. And then the second string guy moved out of town. Blew the whole thing wide open.” Sam shrugged, “I know I’m just a freshman, but I thought, y’know, make a good showing and I could get second string. Give it a year or two and I might make it to starting.”

“Sounds like a solid plan.” Puck muttered, standing up. “Stay still, I’m gonna check the back of your head.”

Sam rolled his eyes, and tilted his head forward as Puck moved to poke and prod at his neck. He let out a hiss as Puck pressed on a sore spot, and Puck scoffed.

“Man up, Evans.” 

“Bite me, Puckerman.” Sam muttered back, and Puck chuckled before moving to the other side of the jacket and sitting down. “What’s the damage?”

“Hummel’s probably gonna wake up with a weird bruise,” Puck picked up his bag of chips, “but it’s not bleeding, or swelling up, or like, growing brain tentacles, so…” 

“That was a worry? Brain tentacles?” Sam couldn’t help but smile at that.

“Hey, I don’t know what happens when people swap brains. Or… souls?” Puck offered the bag of chips towards Sam, who took a couple. “I’m thinking, after school, I drive Kurt’s SUV to my place. We hang out there for as long as we can—“ 

“After school, I’ve got to do his Glee Club audition.” 

Puck hesitated, his face halfway through amusement and confusion. “What?” 

“His Glee Club audition is after school.” Sam explained, “In the auditorium.” 

“Yeah, but you’re not… I mean, you don’t have to—“ 

“Listen, if I had a football tryout today, and Kurt was in my body? I’d want him to go and do his best for me—“

“Trust me, no you wouldn’t. Dude hasn’t played a sport in years.” Puck looked thoroughly amused, “You should see the look he gives Tanaka every class.” 

“It’s better than me just not showing up for a tryout.” Sam shrugged, “And I mean, I’m not a bad singer. I can sing whatever the audition thing is, and then Kurt can be like, ‘Oh, I was really nervous. Can I try again?’” 

“You’re trying to give me an ulcer, aren’t you?” Puck huffed, “Fine. You sing for Homo-Explosion. And then we go to my house. See if we can wait it out, and if not, I drive you back to Hummel’s house and you go straight to bed. Don’t pass go, don’t collect $200, do not talk to Burt Hummel.”

“His dad?” Sam checked, and Puck nodded. “Fine. But, you’ve gotta stop on the homophobia, man.” 

“Why, are you gay?” Puck snorted as he looked away, and then paused, looking at Sam expectantly.

“I’m not gay. But I don’t think it’s funny, or cool, or badass. It just makes you look like a bigot.” Sam focused on keeping his face as neutral as he could, “You’re not gay for singing, or being in a glee club. You’re gay for… being gay. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Puck watched him for a moment, and then shrugged, “Fine. I’ll lay off when we’re alone.” 

“I guess that’s all I’m gonna get out of you,” Sam sighed, shaking his head, “You don’t seem like the biggest douchebag I’ve ever met. But you’re treating me a lot better than I guess you’ve ever treated Kurt. Or the guy in the wheelchair.” 

“Look, maybe where you’re from it’s different, but this school is predator or prey. I’m a badass, sure, but that’s because people are scared of me. The minute that slips, I’m getting slushie facials right next to Hummel.” Puck looked a little smaller as he spoke, staring into the bag of chips with all his focus. “I’m looking out for number one. Everyone just hates me, because I’m the one winning the game.” 

“You call it a game, but… it’s your life. It’s Kurt’s life too.” Sam sighed, moving to open his sandwich again. “I don’t know him, but… I don’t think he deserves the way people look at him, just because he’s not… what you all think of as a normal guy.” 

They finished their lunch in silence, and Sam made sure to be on his feet before Puck. He stood by the door whilst Puck shook off his Letterman and slipped it onto his shoulders. Turning to look at Sam, he chuckled and shook his head, “You think I’m really going to lock you on the roof?” 

“I’m not gonna give you the option,” Sam muttered, and stepped onto the stairs. Two more periods, an audition, and then… Well, at least he’d be out of this school.

Sam didn’t get the chance to find Puck after his last class, but there was some part of him that knew that he wouldn’t have come with him anyway. It wasn’t badass to come to a Glee Club audition, after all. And Sam didn’t know if he really wanted him to, either. 

Except for it had been way too many hours, and Sam hadn’t felt anything that he could even pretend felt like he was swapping back. And what if he didn’t? What if this wasn’t some weird temporary thing, and he was stuck in Kurt’s body now? He could maybe pull off just being a little weird for a day, but he’d never convince Kurt’s dad he was actually Kurt for the rest of his life. And joining a Glee Club might sound fun, but… The way people treated Kurt at this school wasn’t something Sam could ignore…

He kept his head down as he approached the auditorium. His heart was hammering in his chest, and everything felt like a dull roar around him. Past the stage door things were, for a moment, peacefully quieter.

“Are y-y-y-you here to try-out?” A voice spoke from nearby and Sam almost leapt out of his skin, turning to the sound of the voice. The girl seemed as surprised by his flinching as he had by her voice. 

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” He forced down his nerves and instead smiled offering a hand. “You too?” 

She nodded and smiled shyly, “Tina.” 

“S—“ Sam caught himself, and he could feel his smile flicker a little, “Kurt.” 

“I g-g-guessed.” She glanced around, “The only other boy to sign up w-w-was Artie.” 

“Artie?” Sam glanced around, and Tina turned her attention towards another area of the stage, where the guy who had handed him Puck’s note earlier was watching him from behind a curtain. “Oh. Hey, Artie.” 

“’Sup.” Artie nodded slowly, “I kind of thought we’d be scraping you off the front steps after lunch.” 

Sam blinked and then shook his head, “No, Puckerman wanted to scare me. He locked me up on the roof, and then came back just before lunch was over and let me out.” 

“I g-g-guess that even jocks have a l-l-limit.” Tina muttered under her breath, and Sam wasn’t sure what exact emotion it was that suddenly filled his chest, but wherever it sat between frustration and shame, there was a lot of it.

“Mercedes is up first,” Artie said quietly, moving closer to them. “And Rachel is watching from the other side. Girl said she needed space to warm up, but I think it’s so she can get the best view of us all.” 

“She’s… intense?” Sam shrugged, “But she tried to help me out when Puck was bothering me this morning?” 

Whatever the other two were going to respond with was cut off by Mr. Schuester calling for someone called Mercedes. Sam turned to watch as a girl stepped out from behind another curtained area, and if he weren’t so concerned about his own situation, he knew that he’d have been staring after her as she passed.

“You should warm up,” Artie whispered as he reached into his bag on the back of the wheelchair. “Do you have your sheet music?”

“Sheet Music?” Sam’s heart skipped a beat, and he quickly pulled open Kurt’s bag, flicking through the notebooks, until he found a set of papers. Pulling them out, he flashed them at the two of them, “guess so.” 

“Mister Cellophane?” Tina leaned in to read the title. “Have you listened to it a lot?”

Sam glanced back down at the paper and swallowed the ball of fear that had settled in his throat. “I—“ 

Mercedes’ voice cut off their questions and Sam couldn’t help but turn to look at the stage with the others. It was powerful, and amazing, and distracting enough that neither of the other people waiting seemed to notice that he was having a mild freak out. He’d been so busy worrying about getting through the classes that were way above his level, and the glares in the hallway, and dealing with Puck, and dealing with the fact he was in the wrong body, that he hadn’t even thought about the audition song. And there wasn’t another copy of this music in Kurt’s bag, so he couldn’t just audition holding the lyrics. 

He clapped along with the others, and was about to bow out and freak out somewhere else, when Tina gestured to the stage. 

“Y-Y-You’re up.” 

The few feet onto the stage felt like a death march, and he was kind of hoping that this feeling of panic and nausea was a sign that he was about to swap back to his own body, but by the time he hit center stage, he knew that was a pipe dream.

“Alright, Kurt. What’re you going to be singing for us today?” A voice came over the speakers, and Sam glanced up towards them, before looking out towards the teacher sat at a desk back in the audience. 

“Uh, I was… planning on singing Mr. Cellophane?” He said, glancing down at the sheet music, “but I’ve forgotten it.” 

“The song?” The teacher’s voice sounded mildly amused, “You seem like the kind of guy who would know Chicago pretty well.” 

Sam nodded slowly, and swallowed, glancing around. “Sorry.” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” The teacher said, his tone reassuring. “Take a deep breath. You can sing whatever you want, acapella.” 

Sam nodded, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment. He needed to think of a song. Something that he knew, but something that would probably be in Kurt’s wheelhouse. His fingers tapped at his thigh for a moment, and then he carefully opened them again. “Do you have a guitar?” 

“I think there’s one back there?” The teacher sounded confused, and Sam quickly glanced past the piano player who was watching him silently, to another collection of instruments. He found a guitar easily enough, and quickly slung it over his shoulder, checking that it was tuned. 

“Alright, I’m ready.” He said carefully, forcing himself to take a long breath. Kurt’s fingers didn’t have the callouses his fingers did, but he was pretty sure he could get through one song.

I was ridin' shotgun with my hair undone

In the front seat of his car

He's got a one-hand feel on the steering wheel

The other on my heart

It was a little bit more country than Sam expected Kurt would usually sing, but Taylor Swift was a pretty popular artist, and the guitar playing would definitely make up for Sam’s nervousness. He’d learnt to play the song for Stacy when it first came out, the two of them sitting on the couch, Stacy watching his fingers play along the chords and smiling and clapping.

I was walkin' up the front porch steps after everything that day

Had gone all wrong and been trampled on

And lost and thrown away

Got to the hallway, well on my way

To my lovin' bed

I almost didn't notice all the roses

And the note that said

It was easy to get caught up in the music, and ignore the eyes on him. Honestly, he really did enjoy performing. It just wasn’t something he had really put a lot of effort into. But there was something strangely electrifying about being on a stage, performing for an audience, even if that audience was just one teacher and the other people auditioning in the wings. 

I was ridin' shotgun with my hair undone

In the front seat of his car

I grabbed a pen and an old napkin

And I wrote down our song

He held the last note for a moment, and then let it fade. He stood nervously, very aware of how hard his heart was beating, or the pain in his fingers. There was some clapping from the darkness of the audience, and Sam smiled nervously, slipping the guitar over his shoulder.

“That’s… not what I expected from you, Kurt,” the teacher called, “Good work. I’ll be putting up the list tomorrow. But you did well. No need to be nervous.” 

“Thank you,” Sam bowed awkwardly, and put the guitar back before he jogged off the other end of the stage. Rachel and Mercedes looked as surprised as the teacher had, but Sam just gave them a polite nod before he slipped out into the hallway.

Of course, once he was out of the room, he wasn’t quite sure where to go. Sam glanced both ways, and was almost ready to start walking in a random direction when another door further up the hall opened, and Puck slipped out. Sam nodded sharply, glancing around the mostly empty corridor trying to work out if he could approach, but Puck was already shaking his head, and pulling Kurt’s keys out of his jacket, before turning and making a beeline for the front of the school. 

Sam managed to keep his distance behind him, and avoid anyone’s ire, until he was slipping into the passenger side of Kurt’s SUV, and Puck was checking the mirrors, and moving the seat around. Puck seemed content for them to sit in silence, but the uncomfortableness weighed on Sam, until he finally asked, “Can you even drive?” 

“Like, in terms of skill, or legality?” Puck’s lips twitched up into a smile for half a second. “I can get us to my place, as long as we’re not pulled over.” 

“That’s probably not as comforting as you think it is.” Sam grumbled as he pulled the seatbelt into position.

“I— uh—“ Puck checked the visor again, and then pressed it back up into the ceiling, “I really don’t know what to say about that.” 

“About me not being comforted?” 

“About your Glee Club thing,” Puck narrowed his eyes. “I mean, it was pretty gay.” 

“It wasn’t—“ 

“You were singing about some dude driving you somewhere,” Puck rolled his eyes, “It was pretty gay…” he trailed off for a moment, before he shrugged, “…but it was pretty good too.” 

“You’re admitting something that’s gay can be okay?”

Puck’s nose wrinkled, “Whatever. Glee Club is still lame. I’m just saying that my eyes didn’t start bleeding or whatever.” 

“You’re real charming, you know that?” Sam rolled his eyes, and then gestured, “Dude, put your seatbelt on.” 

“Fine!” Puck rolled his eyes dramatically and pulled it across and clicked it into place. “Happy?” 

“Look, from the sounds of it, you don’t have a license, and I’m fifteen.” Sam gestured rapidly between them. “I’m just ready for—“ His words suddenly turned to a hiss of pain, and he instinctively reached down to wrap his hands around his ankle that throbbed suddenly. Puck was immediately unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning in, but as quickly as the pain started, it faded away. Sam slowly straightened up, but before he could say anything, Puck was jabbing his neck with his fingers. “Puck!”

“Evans? Hummel? Personality number three who hungers for human flesh?” Puck asked, and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Still me. My ankle just…” He trailed off, rolling it experimentally. “I think it’s wearing off.” 

“Your ankle?” Puck paused, and then shook his head, “No, yeah, the body swap. Because you hurt your ankle in your body?” 

“Maybe?” Sam shrugged, and reached for the back of his neck, “Any brain tentacles?” 

“Ha,” Puck muttered sarcastically, but Sam still felt his hand graze against the back of Sam’s neck. “No, you’re good.” 

“Right.” Sam nodded, “Okay, so… we should get back to your house.” 

“Right, yeah.” Puck nodded, and quickly clipped his own belt back into place. “Try to stay Sam until we get there at least. I don’t need Hummel freaking out whilst I’m driving.” 

“Alright, welcome to Chez Puckerman.” Puck announced as they began climbing the stairs. “My mom’s probably still out picking up my sister, so we’ve kind of got the place to ourselves for a while. If she asks, you’re tutoring me or something.” 

“Alright,” Sam muttered, watching as Puck unlocked the door and gestured him into the house, “US History, like you said to Miss. Pillsbury.” 

“Sure, yeah, whatever.” Puck shrugged, and stepped into the house. Sam quickly followed, and closed the door behind him as Puck started climbing another set of stairs, turning back to look at Sam exasperatedly, “Hurry up.”

“Where are we even going?” Sam muttered, but quickly followed Puck up the stairs and into one of the rooms.

“This is where the magic happens,” Puck announced, “now Hummel can brag about how he’s seen the inside of my bedroom.” 

“You think he’s going to be bragging about that?” Sam looked around, trying not to smile as he saw the general state of the room, “What, picking up after yourself isn’t badass?” 

Puck looked around, and then rolled his eyes before kicking his dirty clothes over under the window. “I was looking for something this morning. Whatever, I didn’t expect company after school.” 

Sam shrugged and wandered around the room. “So… uh… what do you do for fun in here?” 

“Nothing I’m planning on doing with Hummel.” Puck chuckled to himself and collapsed back onto his bed. “I mean, I’ve got Mario Kart?”

“I’m really learning some stuff here. Tidying clothes, not badass. Mario Kart, badass.” Sam grinned, and almost laughed when Puck flipped him the bird, but before he could agree to the game, the phone in his pocket began to buzz. On instinct, he pulled it out, and then froze when he saw the number showing up as Dad. Puck leaned over to look too, and sucked a breath in between his teeth. 

“You’ve gotta answer it!” 

“What do I say?!” Sam hissed back, as though the phone could hear him. 

“You’re at a friend’s house. You’ll be back when you’re done?” Puck made helpless gestures, “It’s gonna be worse if he rings twice.” 

Sam moved his finger towards the answer button and then shook his head, “I can’t—“ 

Puck didn’t seem to care that this was terrifying, because he reached forward and jabbed the button, before jerking Sam’s hand towards his face. Sam wanted to yell at him, but there was a gruff voice asking “Kurt? You there?”

“Dad?” Sam put his finger to his other ear like it’d help him here better. “Is everything… okay?” 

“Yeah, was just worried. You usually swing by the garage.” The gruff voice continued, “You heading home?” 

“Soon.” Sam swallowed, “I was at the try-out?”

“You found a team to join? That’s great, kid.” 

Sam glanced to Puck, wincing, “Yeah. I’m just hanging out with a friend. I’ll be home as soon as I can.” 

“Hey, no rush. You should celebrate. What’re you doing?” 

“Just talking about—“ Sam glanced around the room for anything that could be a topic, and came to a halt on some of Puckerman’s trophies. “—Football.” 

He immediately felt Puck’s hand on his arm, whipping Sam around to see him shaking his head emphatically.

“Football?” The gruff voice sounded confused.

“Football… on Ice. It’s this show—“ 

“Oh, yeah, I think you mentioned it. Well, I hope you and this girl are having fun. Let me know if you’re gonna be late to start dinner?” 

“Will do, dad.” Sam grimaced, and the line clicked closed again. Puck stared at him for a long moment, and Sam let out a huff, “What?”

“Football on Ice?” Puck grinned, clearly holding back laughter. “We’re talking about Football on Ice?” 

“Well, Kurt’s dad assumed you’re a girl so…” Sam shot back, and Puck laughed as he moved to start setting up the game system by the small TV. Sam watched for a moment, wondering how to phrase his next question,“Kurt’s dad doesn’t sound like how you described Kurt.” 

“Yeah, well, sometimes the apple drops from the tree, and sometimes it gets caught in a hurricane or something.” Puck shrugged, “Burt Hummel’s a mechanic. He’s like this big, bald bulldozer of a guy. Karofsky’s dad used to play football with him in High School, according to Karofsky at least. I mean, you wouldn’t look at the two of them and think ‘oh, yeah, that’s his kid.’”

Sam nodded quietly, and then shrugged, “Maybe Glee Club’ll be good for him.” 

“How can something like that be good for anyone?” Puck shifted, almost uncomfortably. “Like you got a good day when nobody threw a slushy in his face. But when people see him getting up on stage and singing ‘I Will Survive’, it’s going to be open season on him.” 

“I mean, maybe? But I’ve been Kurt for one day, and it feels like it’s pretty much open season on him already.” Sam shrugged, “It sounds like he could do with some friends. Better to be miserable together than miserable on your own.” 

Puck considered him for a moment, his face carefully neutral, before he moved to one of his draws and pulled out a video camera. He walked back, and shoved it into Sam’s hands. “Here.” 

“What?”

“Look, I don’t know what it’s going to be like when you stop being Sam and go back to being Kurt . I mean, I’m kind of hoping he remembers the whole thing so I can just be an asshole, but if he doesn’t? He’s not going to know where he is, or why he’s here. He’s just going to suddenly be in my room, and whilst it’s probably a dream come true? It’s also probably going to freak him out. He’s not going to trust me to tell him anything.” 

Sam nodded slowly, and glanced back down at the camera and back to Puck, “So you want to… record a video?” 

“I want you to record a video,” Puck shrugged, “Then there’s gonna be proof that he was… someone else. That he came here because of you, not because I kidnapped him or something.” 

Sam looked at it for a moment, and then shrugged, handing the camera back to Puck. “Alright. I’ll record it. But you need to talk to him. You need to answer whatever questions he has, without being an asshole.” 

“What am I supposed to answer? Cause the main question, the one I’m still going to be trying to work out when I’m 80, is ‘how did this happen?’” Puck muttered, but he grabbed a chair from his desk and swung it around so he could sit down. Sam took a deep breath, pacing for a moment, before he turned towards the bed. Puck hit the button before he even got there, and he sat down slowly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. 

“Uh, Hi.” He started, and then quickly added, “Kurt.” As though he needed to make it clear who he was talking to. It felt awkward and stilted, but Sam just tried to think about what he’d need to hear if he suddenly woke up somewhere else. “Alright, this is going to sound really weird, but I’m hoping some… like, visual proof will help? Like, seeing is believing, right?” 

Puck snorted, and mouthed ‘seeing is believing? ’ back to him sarcastically. Sam wanted to snap at him, but he was very aware of the camera, and so he instead just rolled his eyes, and gave Puck a pointed look

“Ignore him.” He said, and then quickly added, “Or, I mean, don’t. He-“ 

Puck was making the cut gesture rapidly, and Sam stammered for a moment before he managed to catch himself

 “No, yeah, I should start at the start.” He sighed, rubbing his face. “Alright. So, my name is Sam. Sam Evans. I’m fifteen years old, I just started my freshman year at my school in Tennessee.”

Puck gave him a thumbs up, and that helped his confidence grow. He quickly ran through his current situation in his own body. The flu, spraining his ankle. His last memory of falling in the bathroom, which made Puck tilt his head curiously. 

“Which sounds like something we both did? I don’t think that explains it though, cause, I mean, just in terms of numbers, a whole bunch of people have to hit their heads at the same time and they don’t swap bodies.” He looked over to Puck as though he might be able to agree. 

“I think… I mean, the painkillers were basically knocking me out, so you might have slept through the whole thing on my end? But I did my best to… be you? Puck’ll explain what happened after I woke up, but I don’t think I messed anything up too bad. There wasn’t exactly like… an instruction manual to being Kurt Hummel, you know?” It was supposed to be a joke, but he could barely smile as a wave of unease built up inside him. What if he had somehow made everything worse for Kurt? What if he— Puck made a gesture to carry on, and Sam tried to shrug it off. “and since I don’t really know what made it happen this time? I’m not sure it’s not going to happen again. So I’m going to write down all the important stuff about me, and leave it somewhere where you’ll know to look for it. I haven’t worked it out yet, but I’ll try and make it super obvious.”

Puck continued to stare at him, but Sam’s attention drifted back to the camera. He shuffled uncomfortably under it’s unblinking gaze, as his mind raced over what Kurt was going to see. Someone piloting his body? Someone who had taken over his life for a day, and brought him to his bullies room? Puck made a gesture to continue, but it felt hazy on his periphery, and Sam shuffled more. 

“I hope I’m not crazy? I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m real. I have a mom and a dad, and a brother and sister. I’m trying out for my school football team when I get back on my feet. I think I’m real, but I think that’s what everyone would think right?” He took a deep breath, but even he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. “I’m gonna go, because I’m freaking out.” 

Puck frowned, and looked like he was about to lower the camera, but Sam shook his head sharply as another thought came to him. He was leaving this for Kurt, but Kurt wasn’t going to be able to send one back to him. If this was going to happen again, they needed some way of communicating. “I think, uh, it’d be a good idea to get a… diary or something? In case we swap again, we can leave like… messages for each other?” 

He tried to take another breath, but it felt shallower, less useful, and he managed to glance at Puck.

“I don’t know how you finish a message to yourself, but…” 

Puck had already put down the camera and was moving to kneel in front of him, looking concerned, “Sam, dude, are you okay?” 

“No?” Sam laughed a little hysterically, his hand coming up to cover his mouth quickly. “What if this happens again, Puck? What if… What if we don’t switch back? Or if we—“ 

“Hey, listen,” Puck reached up and put a hand on Sam's shoulder, drawing his attention to him. “Whatever happens? We’ll work it out. And like, you’re obviously freaking out right now. Anyone would be. But you said it felt like you might be swapping back. So instead of panicking about forever, let's just… get you out of that gay ass sweater, and play some Mario Kart. Give it an hour. Then we can panic.” 

Sam forced himself to take a deep breath, and nodded slowly. Puck reached down and helped him pull the tight sweater off, and by the time Puck was holding it in his hands, Sam felt stable enough to crack a small smile. “Y’see, now Kurt can tell everyone you were undressing him in your room too.” 

“Ha ha.” Puck rolled his eyes and almost tossed the sweater aside, before he caught himself. Instead he moved over to the back of his door where a nice shirt and trousers were hung up, and carelessly tossed them over the back of the chair, before he put the sweater on a hanger. He turned back towards Sam and shoved his hands in his pocket. “What? He’s always getting Hudson to like, hold his jacket or his bag, or whatever. If I’m supposed to explain all this bullshit, I need him not to start crying about wrinkles.” 

“See? You can be a normal person,” Sam chuckled, and then dodged as Puck grabbed one of his pillows and swung it at him. “Alright, alright. So, Mario Kart?”

“…so basically we played Mario Kart for an hour or so, and then Evans started to feel really sleepy. He kinda just… slumped down, and fell asleep, so I laid him, or I guess you? I laid whoever was in there down on the bed. And then I kind of had a mini freakout and decided I should wait outside until you woke up.” Puck finished, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall behind his bed again. “Is there any chance you remember any of that?” 

“I don’t.” Kurt shook his head. “So… I swapped bodies with…” Even saying it felt ridiculous. 

“I honestly don’t know. But if you’re not gonna let me check for any weird stuff with your head, I’ve basically done my good deeds for the whole year.” Puck shrugged, “Sam seemed like an okay guy, but now you’re Hummel again.” 

“Has anyone ever told you how charming you are?” Kurt muttered sarcastically, climbing to his feet, pausing when Puck’s lips quirked up. “What?”

“I mean, Sam made a pretty similar joke.” Puck shrugged, standing up too, “You know, you can be pretty funny, Hummel. You’re so gay it’s hard to look at, but sometimes you’ve say real funny one liners. You just need to grow a backbone and not mutter them, or whisper them under your breath.” 

“I’ll take it under advisement.” Kurt rolled his eyes, and quickly patted himself down before he held out his hand. “Can I have my keys?” 

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Puck reached into his pocket and tossed them to Kurt. “Pretty sick ride.”

Kurt wasn’t quite sure what to do with that. “Thank you?” 

Puck shrugged in response, “So, like, you remember all the stuff right?”

“I think so? My dad thinks I was at a friend's house watching…. Football on Ice .” He mimed the quotation marks. “The list for Glee Club goes up tomorrow. If anyone cared to note me as absent, I missed two periods yesterday, and I had a conversation with Rachel Berry that you didn’t overhear. And Artie gave me a note from you at lunch.”

“Sounds about right.” Puck gestured to the door, “I’ll walk you out, so my mom doesn’t have a fit about me being rude.” 

Kurt rolled his eyes, but let Puck lead him silently down the stairs, and to the front door. There was the sound of the TV from a room further into the house, but Kurt couldn’t see it from where he was, and Puck was quick to push him out of the door. 

The air was cold on his skin, but the sense memory of being so warm and feverish made it feel almost pleasant in comparison. The car was in the state Puck had confessed to, the glovebox in disarray and the box that he tried to pretend didn’t exist on clear display. He put the seat back into the correct position, and started the car, before he called his dad.

“Hey, Kurt. Everything alright?” 

Kurt felt some of the tension ease away at the sound of his dad’s voice, and he nodded to himself before he forced a smile, “Yeah, dad. I just wanted to let you know I was on my way home.” 

“Alright. You feeling up to cooking, or should we order in?”

“Honestly, let’s order in.” Kurt sighed, “It’s been a very long day.” 

“Yeah, I can’t wait to hear about this tryout you went to,” His dad sounded really enthusiastic, “And you’re already hanging out with someone from the team?”  

“I’m not sure yet,” Kurt swapped the phone to his other ear, his hand coming up to rub at the sore spot on his neck. “We’ll see what happens. I might not have even made the… the team, dad.”

“Hey, you know, what matters is you put yourself out there, kid.” His dad sounded so proud that it kind of stung at Kurt’s chest. “I’ll order the usual.” 

“I’ll be home soon.” Kurt smiled and ended the call, before checking his mirrors one last time, and reversing away from Puck’s house. 

It was weird. It was impossible. But it was over. And now he never needed to think about it again

Chapter Text

Nobody was waiting for Kurt by the dumpsters the next morning, which was a lucky thing because Kurt wasn’t sure he could deal with one more thing right now. His dad’s words were still echoing around his head as he hurried into the building, his knuckles almost bone white as he clung to the strap of his bag. “I’m glad you’re trying to do something you like. But I thought, y’know, you’d be with a group of guys… bonding over a shared goal or something.”

He’d been too exhausted to argue his point, or talk about how much he wanted to do this. His practice with Rachel had been thrilling, but… He hadn’t got to go to his audition. He hadn’t met anyone else who would be in the group with him. That was all Sam. 

And really, in terms of the important things going on in his life, Glee Club wasn’t the highest. That had definitely been usurped by his body-swap with a Freshman in Tennessee. Glee Club came in… maybe third? His dad would always come first, obviously, but body-swaps superseded after-school clubs. 

“If you wanted to try out for a sports team, you’ve still got today.” His dad had said with a kind smile, touching his shoulder. And Kurt had felt very small all of a sudden.

Kurt shook his head violently, trying to shake the memory free, and forced himself to fix his posture. He couldn’t stay trapped in his head all day. From what he had been told, the list of who made it into Glee Club would be going up on the board today. He had to check to see if Sam had got him into the club. 

The message board was in the worst possible place, in Kurt’s opinion. Three hallways converged, and it was impossible to watch your back from all three sides, so Kurt quickly looked both ways before darting over to the board and scanning it quickly to find the list.

“I already checked the list,” Another voice came from his side, and Kurt almost leapt out of his skin. Rachel Berry stood next to him, looking so intense that he thought she might actually go all ‘Carrie White’ on him. “I don’t think it’ll come to you as any surprise, but all of us made it into the group.”

“I mean, I’m a little surprised,” Kurt smiled nervously, glancing around again. “Who else made the cut?”

“Mercedes Jones, obviously.” 

“Oh, I think I’ve seen some of her church choir videos.” Kurt hesitated for half a moment after he said that. He had intended to go and talk with her yesterday, to see if she had any tips for his audition, but… Sam didn’t. Not according to Puck’s retelling of events.

“I actually went to her church to hear her sing,” Rachel cut him off from his thoughts, “and she is very talented. However, she’s very competitive too. I tried to explain that since our voices and goals are very disimilar, we could work well together, but she insisted that she’s going to fight me every step of the way. Which, you’ll agree, is not a positive start to our working relationship.” She stared at him for a long moment, until he nodded, which made her smile. “Tina Cohen-Chang sang Katy Perry’s ode to sexual experimentation, and althought she isn’t as polished or trained as myself or Mercedes, it was definitely an adequate performance. Then Artie Abrams sang a song that… well, let’s say it had themes that I was shocked to read about when I went home and researched it.” 

“I was a little worried—“

“Because you chose to sing in your lower register, which you’re clearly less confident in?” Rachel cut him off, “It was a strange choice I’ll admit, but I think that with some vocal training, it could certainly work to your advantage. I think that your choice to sing a woman’s song about being in love with a man, but singing it as you did, certainly threw off Mr. Schuester’s expectations, but now I think it’s important to capitalize on that. You’ll also need to prove that you’re not going to choke like you did in the audition, when you’re performing in front of an audience.”

“I choked?” Kurt winced.

“Quite dramatically. You apparently forgot all the words to Mr. Cellophane, or any other song from Chicago. You have seen Chicago, right?” Rachel glanced him up and down, and Kurt bristled.

“Of course I’ve seen Chicago.” 

“Well,” Rachel seemed unconvinced, but she smiled brightly, “The list says that the first rehearsal is on Monday, after school. Congratulations on making it into the Glee Club.”

Kurt watched as she flounced away, and let out a little sigh of relief. Maybe he’d had choked in his audition yesterday, but she hadn’t mentioned anything about him seeming different or strange. He might have to put a little more work into making everyone believe he wasn’t too nervous to perform, but that was doable. Everyone got a little stage fright from time to time.

He nodded to himself, and turned to walk away from the board, only to almost walk face first into Puckerman. Kurt flinched, and Puck’s smirk dimmed for a moment before it came back in full force. “Hey, Hummel. Fancy running into you here.” 

“Puckerman,” Kurt’s eyes immediately dropped to the ground. 

“I saw you got into your little singing club,” Puck sneered, and glanced over Kurt’s shoulder. “That’s a big accomplishment, don’t you think Karofsky?” 

Kurt swung around to where the other jock was standing behind him, a large slushie cup in his hand. He immediately flinched, his hands jerking as he tried to work out which part of his body he needed to protect. Karofsky grinned, looking past Kurt to Puck. “It’s easier to hit those high notes when you don’t have balls, right?” 

Puck laughed, and Kurt pushed down the sharp stab of humiliation. “I don’t know, Hummel, you’re the expert on comparing dude’s balls, right?” 

Kurt shook his head, and turned his eye-line to the floor. “Can we just get this over with?” 

“But the taunting is the fun part.” Puck shoved his shoulder lightly, “I’m not a monster though. How about we make it a game?” He looked over to Karofsky, and then back to Kurt. “How about this. You tell us who the hottest guy on the football team is, and I’ll hold your bag for you like Hudson does. Hell, if you make me laugh? I’ll be even nicer.” 

Kurt swallowed, his cheeks burning with humiliation. Puck had turned his attention to Karofsky, who looked unsure but still laughed along with it. “Yeah. Do you have a little crush, Hummel?” 

“Why? Are you looking for a boyfriend?” Kurt muttered under his breath, but both of the jocks paused and turned to look at him. 

“What was that, Hummel?” Puck asked, reaching forward and putting a hand on Kurt’s shoulder.

“Nothing, I—“ 

“No, no, come on. You’ve got something on your mind, right?” Puck squeezed a little, but not painfully. “Grow a backbone.” 

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, and then glanced up to Karofsky, and then back to Puck, reaching up to brush his fringe out of his eyes. “I said…. Why? Are you looking for a boyfriend?” He shrugged, “Because if you’re that lonely, you can always just take each other to Breadstix. See where the night takes you.”

Puck stared at him for a long moment, and Kurt was worried he was about to get a fist to the face, until Puck chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah. Yeah, that was a good one, Hummel. But here’s the thing, if I was a homo? I could probably get a date. You’re actually a homo, and you’re all alone in the world. I mean, you’ve failed at being a homo. That takes some real skill.” 

Kurt felt his stomach sink, but Puck was already pulling his bag out of his hand and gesturing down the hallway. 

“Walk.” 

Kurt hesitated, and Puck’s hand tightened on his shoulder as he leaned in. 

“You got a good zinger in,” He whispered, “now walk with your head held high, and get slushied. People won’t remember the slushy, they’ll remember you holding your own.” 

He wished he could see Puck’s face, but he just knew in his spine that turning around to look would be a bad idea. The option was to be slushied here, or be slushied somewhere else with the chance that Puck was right. 

Kurt straightened his shoulders and marched to his doom, Puck’s hand on his shoulder.

And, standing in the men’s showers,as slushy dripping from his face and the few people who had followed his procession laughed, his eyes could only move back to Puck. The other teen pointedly took a piece of paper from his pocket and slipped it into Kurt’s bag, nodding at him with something akin to respect in his eyes before he started casually and subtly herding people from the room.   

The note was not what Kurt had expected. He’d seen Puck handing notes before, usually with doodles, or smudges all over the edges, the same paper used for a dozen or so messages before. This one was clean and neatly folded though, the edges only slightly bent from where it had been carried in Puck’s pocket. And the only content was a simple message.

Meet me on the roof at lunch.

Obviously it would be ridiculous to go. Puck made Kurt’s life hell. Less than ten minutes ago, he’d mocked Kurt for not having a boyfriend. But if the small supportive smile from Tina Cohen-Chang, and the shift from outright hostile looks to mildly amused smiles from everyone else, was any indication? Then Puck pushing him to argue back and to walk proud had worked, at least in the short term. And it definitely seemed like he’d looked after Sam, whilst Sam was in his body. Maybe he wasn't quite the monster Kurt had built him up to in his head.

By the time lunch came around, Kurt had just about convinced himself to go up to the roof. He was up on the second floor when he saw Mr. Schuester leaving a classroom, and he paused. “Mr. Schuester?” 

The teacher turned, looking confused at first, before he smiled politely, “Kurt, how are you feeling?” 

“I’m feeling well,” Kurt smiled politely, moving closer so he didn’t have to talk quite so loudly, “I wanted to thank you for letting me join the Glee Club, Mr. Schuester.” 

“Hey, your audition was great. And please, call me Mr. Schue.” Mr. Schuester’s smile grew. 

“Well, I was very nervous, but I wanted to make it clear that that’s not going to be a problem going forward.” Kurt assured, “I’ve got a wide range, and I feel confident performing any song.” 

“That’s great,” Mr. Schuester’s smile dimmed a little, “but you don’t have to push yourself. There’s a lot of pressure in music to be out there , and unique. But there’s nothing wrong with a guy just… singing what he’s feeling.” 

Kurt hesitated, trying to stop his face from twisting into a frown. “Oh?”

“Well, we’ll see how the first rehearsal goes,” Mr. Schuester nodded to himself, “We might be looking for more of those guitar skills at some point though, so be ready with that.” 

“Guitar skills?” Kurt parroted, his mouth going dry. 

“You’ll be fine,” Mr. Schuester pat him on the shoulder and then moved past him as though he hadn’t just set off a mild tailspin in Kurt’s head. Kurt debated following him, but he could see a pack of football players coming from that direction, so instead, he quickly continued on his journey to the roof. The door to the roof access was unlocked, and by the time he reached the top of those stairs, his hands were curled into fists at his side. 

Puck was sitting on a weird little ledge, and he smirked as Kurt let the door swing shut, a rock stopping it from closing entirely. “Knew you wouldn’t be able to resist a roof date.” 

“I assumed there was some point to this, but if you’re just excited to try out your new gay jokes, I can go get lunch downstairs.” Kurt rolled his eyes and started to turn away. 

“No, wait,” Puck jumped to his feet, “shit, Hummel, you’re real sensitive aren’t you?” 

“I don’t find it particularly fun to be mocked.” Kurt took a breath and then turned back towards Puck. “What?”

“Alright, so here’s my pitch.” Puck held up his hands and then gestured to the blanket on the ground. “I provide lunch, and you let me check out the back of your head.” 

Kurt stared at him for a moment, “What?”

“I wanna make sure that there’s nothing weird with the…” Puck made a vague gesture. “No-one’s gonna be looking for us up here. You get lunch with the biggest stud at McKinley, I’ll even let you talk about Beyonce or whatever, and I get a little peace of mind.” 

Kurt shook his head slowly, “You’re not pretending you actually care, are you?” 

“Oh, don’t be a little—“ Puck huffed, “I thought me helping your rep downstairs would’ve made you realize I’m trying not to—“ 

“That was helping my ‘Rep’?” Kurt scoffed, “You told people I’m gay, and then made fun of the fact that I don’t have a boyfriend.” 

“I mean, both are true.” Puck shrugged.

“No, they’re not!”

“Oh, you have a boyfriend?” 

“I’m not gay!” Kurt snapped, and his rage only grew when Puck threw his head back and let out a loud bark of laughter. “I’m leaving.” 

“Oh, come on,” Puck chuckled, reaching out to grab Kurt’s arm, “dude, you might think you’re in the closet, but that thing is made of pink glass. It’s cool. So you like D over V. So what?” 

Kurt looked down at the hand holding him in place, his stomach rolling. “I— I’m— Of course you care. You mock me about it every day.” 

“Yeah, because you do that deer in headlights look, and freak out. Look,” Puck shrugged, “I bully everyone for the things they’re scared of. I call you gay, I make fun of that asian chick’s stutter, or Berry for being, just, all of that. Doesn’t mean I mean it. It’s just real effective at keeping me on top. You wanna suck every dick in the school? I mean, everyone’s gotta have a goal.”

Kurt watched Puck for a long moment, and then slowly pulled his arm out of his grip. “Why do you think I’m gay?” 

“Okay, we’re gonna jump straight over the way you dress, talk and act,” Puck rolled his eyes, “Cause the guy time-sharing your body is real insistent that none of that makes you gay.” 

“Sam would be correct,” Kurt folded his arms.

“Then how about this? Finn Hudson.” Puck said it entirely casually, and then immediately pointed as Kurt’s lips twitched into a smile. “See? That. You want him so bad.” 

“I do not—“ 

“Oh come on, if there’s one thing I know, it’s when one person is hot for another person. That’s why I’m a sex shark, I can smell it from miles away.” Puck shrugged, “You’re not the only one, Hummel. Girls all over this school get shaky knees over the big lug.” 

Kurt’s squeezed his arms tightly against himself, and glanced off the side of the building. “Are you going to tell him?” 

“I think you should, at some point.” Puck shrugged at Kurt’s offended face, “I mean, not in like some big public thing. Please do not sing at him. But, how’s he supposed to know it’s an option if you don’t tell him.”

“I’d rather not.” Kurt muttered, shaking his head.

“Fine, then I’ll just keep making jokes about how you want to ride him like a show pony, and you can just be a wimp and deal with it.” Puck shrugged, “Come on, sit down so I can check your neck.” 

Kurt wanted to say anything about how offensive Puck’s joke was, but honestly he was too exhausted to. He slumped down to sit on the edge of the blanket, and Puck moved out of view. Kurt could feel his presence behind him, but he was surprised by the strangely gentle touch on his shoulder that slowly moved up to the back of his neck, pressing gently.

“I’m not gonna lie,” Puck spoke quietly, “I kind of thought you’d fight me checking you out more.” 

Kurt nodded, and shrugged, “I’m just tired.” 

“Yeah?” Pucks fingers shifted to a slightly different spot. “What’s got you tired?”

“You mean, besides the body swapping?” Kurt muttered sarcastically. 

“Yeah, besides the body swapping.” 

Kurt took a moment to gather his thoughts, before he spoke again. “I joined the Glee Club because my dad told me I needed to join a group before tonight, or he’d take away my sewing machine.” 

“I’ve heard worse reasons to do a thing.” 

“Well, you know that Sam told my dad about my audition. But my dad got it into his head that I’d joined a sports team. He wants me to be part of a group, all working towards the same goal. And he made sure to remind me that I still have today to think about joining a sports team.” 

Puck chuckled, “What kind of fairy tail is your dad living in?” 

“I could do a sport if I wanted to,” Kurt straightened up, ready to defend himself, but Puck made an annoyed noise, gently but firmly moving Kurt back into the position he had been in.

“I meant, that’s not how the teams here work,” Puck continued quietly, “I mean, sure we’re all trying to win a game. But we’re all doing it for our own reasons. To be popular, to impress a girl, to get their parents off their back…” He tilted Kurt’s head forward. “Only difference between Glee Club and the Football team is that the Football team is popular. And has more money, probably. And we get cheerleaders in tiny skirts doing flips for us, but I guess that’s not a big draw for you.” 

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Well, maybe if I swap with Sam again, I should just stay swapped. You said he plays football? And it’s clear that Mr. Schuester likes Sam pretending to be me, more than he like me being me. He could probably rehabilitate my whole image, and my dad would love having a straight son. He always assumed I’d grow out of—”

“I need to take your pulse,” Puck cut him off, and Kurt let out a tense breath as Puck scurried around in front of him and sat down. Kurt moved to offer his wrist, but Puck was already jabbing his fingers gently into his neck. Kurt tried not to look at him, but it was hard. “Why do you think Schuester likes Sam more. “

“Oh, he thinks that musicians focus too much on standing out, instead of making good music. So, Sam singing that Taylor Swift song was on the ‘right side’ of that divide.” 

“I mean, I’m really the wrong dude to talk to about that,” Puck shrugged, “Some of my favorite music is just some guy with a guitar singing what’s in his heart. But… Beyoncé and Brittany sell out stadiums, right?” 

“They do,” Kurt sighed, and there was a long pause before Puck pulled his fingers away and pulled a little spiral notebook out of his pocket. “What’s that?” 

“It’s where I’m tracking things.” Puck showed him a couple of lines of numbers that made no sense to Kurt, and what sounded like descriptions of the bruise. “You know, in case we ever need it. Have you had any…” He trailed off and flipped a few pages in, and narrowed his eyes at the page, “phantom sensations? Sam felt like a swap was going to happen, because he could feel his ankle hurting.” 

“Nothing I’ve noticed,” Kurt glanced at the notebook again, and back to Puck. “You’re… planning on carrying on with this?” 

“I mean… Yeah? It’s weird, and I’m not like a scientist or anything, but… It’s better that someone knows what’s going on, right?” Puck suddenly looked a little unsure, and then suddenly he sneered, “Unless you think I’m not good enough to—“ 

“I appreciate it.” Kurt cut him off. “You might not have been my first choice. My first choice would be this not happening ever again. But… You’re clearly taking it seriously. So thank you.” 

The sneer faded into the unsure confusion again, and finally Puck shrugged, “Whatever.” 

Kurt watched as Puck quickly added some more notes to the notepad, and sighed, “There’s about to be one major issue.” 

“There is?” Puck looked up sharply. “Do you feel like you’re falling asleep, or—“ 

“No, I’m not swapping,” Kurt waved his hand, “You said Sam played the guitar for my audition?” 

“Yeah. He was pretty good,” Puck nodded, “Why?” 

“Well, Mr. Schuester agrees with you. And of course, having members of the club to play instruments can make for very interesting choreography.” Kurt reached up to brush his hair out of his face. “I have many skills. Dressmaking, Piano, French… I’ve taken Ballet and Gymnastic classes, and my range is amazing. But one skill I do not have is the ability to play the guitar.” 

“And?” Puck frowned, and then it quickly dawned on him. “Schue expects you to be able to play the guitar.”

“I suppose I can throw him off for a while. Explain that I learnt to play that one, specific song for… some reason.” Kurt chewed his lip, “but every time Sam comes back, he’s going to know how to play. And then the rest of the time, I… won’t.” 

Puck considered for a long moment, and then sucked in a long breath. “Football.”

“No, guitar.” Kurt rolled his eyes, “If you’re not going to pay attention—“ 

“Sam is probably gonna try out for his school’s football team. He wants to be the QB. The quarterback, like Finn.” Puck huffed, and dropped his head back to look at the sky. “I mean, he’s not always going to be high on pain meds when you’re in his head. So you need to know how to do that.” 

“Or, he could just not.” Kurt hissed, “I don’t know football. I don’t like football. Any part of it.” 

“I mean, you like the players,” Puck muttered, turning to look at Kurt. “I only knew the dude for a few hours, but football was important to him. I’m not in charge of anything, but it’s not really fair for him to have to sit and watch everyone else doing the thing he loves, because you don’t know football. How would you feel if you had to do that with Glee Club?” 

Kurt narrowed his eyes, but… Puck wasn’t wrong. “Well, there’s no good solution. I can’t explain to someone that I need to know how to be the Quarterback, but that I have no intention of ever playing.” 

“Sure you can. Me.” Puck shrugged, and offered a hand. “I’ll teach you football and guitar.” 

Kurt stared at the hand, and then Puck, and then back to the hand, before he settled on “Why?”

“Because.” Puck shrugged as though that explained anything at all, and then grinned, “Besides, it’s gonna be hilarious watching you try to ‘understand’ football, and not just spend the whole time checking out guys in those tight, tight pants.” 

It took him a little longer to come to a decision, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice. Puck’s hand was warmer than Kurt expected, and Puck shook it firmly, not like the dainty handshakes he’d had to learn to accept from people who looked at him like a girl. 

“Alright. So here’s the plan,” Puck said, leaning back onto the blanket, “You’ll come over on Saturday. Wear something… less gay, dude.” 

Kurt rolled his eyes, but there was something about the idea of having plans that made him smile. Plans beyond shopping online and sewing a new outfit. Plans with another human person. “I’ll see what my glass closet can offer.” He snarked back, and couldn't help but smile when Puck laughed.

The tiny girl who answered Puck’s front door was glaring at Kurt, which… was disconcerting to say the least. He’d already said hello, and asked if Puck was here. She’d not answered, just glared, and now they were caught in a one sided staring match, as Kurt looked up and down the block in case he had got the wrong house.

“I…” He turned back towards the girl, “My name’s Kurt? Puck knew I was coming?” 

The girl continued to glare, and Kurt was about to start backing away nervously, when there was the sound of feet on the stairs.

“Sarah, has Kurt—“ Puck came into view, and Kurt felt his shoulders relax a little, even as Puck scowled. “Sarah!”

“What?” She turned to glare at him instead.

“Why didn’t you shout me?” Puck finally hit the bottom of the stairs. There was something a little less threatening about him in the sweatpants and t-shirt he was wearing, Kurt thought, but he’d never admit that out loud.

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. So I wasn’t listening.” Sarah stuck her nose in the air, and flounced off into the dining room. Puck made as if to follow, and then stopped, turning his attention back towards Kurt. 

“Ignore her, she’s just got a bad attitude.” 

“I don’t think she likes me very much.” Kurt offered a nervous smile, and Puck smiled in return, gesturing him into the house.

“She doesn’t like anyone visiting. Definitely not chicks, and I told her that the same rules apply to you.” Puck gestured over his shoulder. “Come on, my rooms upstairs.”

“I feel like in your mind, calling me a girl was a very kind thing for you to do.” Kurt’s smile dried up, but he still began to follow Puck up.

“Well, yeah. You get my undivided attention now.” Puck shrugged, “The rules for girls is that Sarah leaves us alone, and she only knocks on the door if somebody is bleeding, choking or they hit their head. She doesn’t barge into the room, and she doesn’t do anything that’d mean I have to come out of my room early.” They reached the top of the stairs, and Puck turned to grin, “I mean, usually it’s because we’re making out in there, but that’s not going to be happening today, cause you’re not gay.” 

Kurt opened his mouth to argue, and then quickly shut it again before he accidentally incriminated himself. Instead, he feigned casualness, stepping so his back wasn’t to the staircase. “The only reason is that I’m not gay?” He asked, not sure if he expected Puck to laugh at his comeback, or to break his knee cap, but neither happened. Puck just looked concerned for half a moment, before he gestured past Kurt. 

“Rooms down there.” 

Kurt didn’t push his luck, and just quickly moved down the corridor. Puck hesitated for a moment longer before he followed, and reached past Kurt to open the door to his bedroom. 

It was cleaner, this time. No piles of dirty clothes, for one thing, and the window was slightly ajar to let in some fresh air. Everything else was neater too, from the sports trophies, to the hat that Puck had been displaying on his lamp, to the bed sheets which were definitely different from two days ago and were folded as neatly as Kurt imagined Puck could manage.

“Sit wherever you want,” Puck announced, moving around the bed, and retrieving an old, well-used guitar from underneath. Kurt glanced around, before sitting on the desk chair he had used before. “So, first thing first, I’m probably gonna be touching your hands a whole bunch.” Puck moved around the bed, his hands tight on the guitar. “Just so you don’t freak out or anything if I start reaching towards you.”

Kurt nodded silently, and Puck handed him the guitar, helping him get the strap over his head. 

“Alright, so you want to put that hand like this,” Puck mimed a hand gesture in the air, and Kurt did his best to copy him on the guitar. “And the other hand will be down here?” Puck gestured differently, and again Kurt copied him. “How does that feel?” 

“Strange.” Kurt muttered, and then shook his head, “but doable. I’m just used to focusing on where the fingers are.” 

“Well, you’ll definitely need to do that when we start playing,” Puck chuckled and sat on the edge of his bed, “I’m just trying to make you stop looking like you’re holding a bomb.” 

Kurt looked down at the guitar and forced himself to relax his shoulders. “Sorry—“ 

“Okay, first rule of looking cool with my guitar?” Puck leaned forward, “You don’t apologize for anything. You don’t sit like you’re apologizing for existing, or say sorry. Unless you break her.” 

Kurt frowned, glancing at Puck. “I don’t sit like I’m apologizing for—“ 

“Oh really?” Puck snorted, and sat up, arranging his body differently. It took Kurt a moment to realize what he was doing, but it hit him as Puck pouted at him with big, sad eyes, his legs pressed together tightly, and shoulders hunched. “Gee, I hope Finn Hudson notices me.” 

“Alright,” Kurt muttered dryly, straightening his back, “you’ve made your point.” 

Puck exaggeratedly flinched, and mumbled something under his breath that Kurt couldn’t hear, before looking away. Kurt glared at him, until Puck straightened up and did a little bow. “See?”

“Really, you should consider becoming an actor.” Kurt rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll try.”

“Do, or do not. There is no try.” Puck said solemnly, and shifted forward. “Alright. It looked like Sam didn't play with a pick, so we should probably get to work on toughening up your fingers.”

“I look forward to working out a new addition to my skin care routine.” Kurt rolled his eyes. 

“The calluses are a good thing. It’ll mean you can play for longer without being in pain.” Puck explained, “plus, like, some people think it’s hot.” 

Kurt tried not to think about the rougher sensation of Puck’s fingers on his neck, and shrugged, “I’m in favor of less pain.” 

Puck spent the next half an hour or so working Kurt through some of the chords, leaning in occasionally to reposition Kurt’s fingers on the frets. It wasn’t perfect, and Kurt could see a little frustration in Puck’s eyes as he kept miming in the air what Kurt should be doing, and then having to mirror it for him. But it was Kurt who eventually took his fingers off the guitar and shook them out. 

“Can we take a break?” 

“Probably for the best,” Puck muttered, and helped Kurt take off the guitar, laying it on his bed. “But you did better than I thought you would. You didn’t even apologize for wanting to stop. I'm having a good effect on you.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, standing up to stretch his legs. “I’m surprised you know how to play honestly. Isn’t playing an instrument a little too feminine.” 

“Hell no. You have any idea how many girls’ rooms I’ve got into by being able to play the guitar?” Puck snorted, and leaned over to pick up the guitar again. Kurt moved out of the way as Puck pushed his chair back to the desk, and positioned his fingers.

I'm through with standing in line 

To clubs we'll never get in 

It's like the bottom of the ninth 

And I'm never gonna win 

This life hasn't turned out quite the way I want it to be

Kurt watched as Puck started to perform, eyes widening in surprise at how competent Puck actually was. No, not even competent, Puck was good at this. It was hard to look away from Puck’s eyes to see what his fingers were doing on the guitar, because Puck’s eyes had pinned him against the door with their intensity, and honestly, the guitar was more of an extension of Puck’s body as he moved and weaved around. 

I'm gonna dress my ass with the latest fashion 

Get a front door key to the Playboy mansion 

Gonna date a centerfold that loves to blow my money for me 

Even if the song was painfully heterosexual, Kurt found himself nodding along with Puck’s voice, as Puck moved around the bed, and then did a ridiculous looking roll over it landing on his knees on the floor to do some more complicated guitar solo section that Kurt did not remember from the initial song. It still made him smile, and Puck was grinning back until he moved past the chorus, and into the next verse. It was strange to see the shift as Puck climbed to his feet and moved closer to Kurt. His voice got quieter as the song slowed and got a little more melancholy.

I'm gonna sing those songs that offend the censors 

Gonna pop my pills from a pez dispenser 

I'll get washed-up singers writing all my songs 

Lip-sync 'em every night so I don't get 'em wrong 

Kurt was still following along with the song, as Puck moved away, but his own smile had faded by the time it reached it’s conclusion. “That was… very good.” 

“I know,” Puck shrugged, “I can do a pretty good Wonderwall too.” He almost smiled, as he put the guitar back down.

“That one is a little sad at the end,” Kurt pointed out, “The last verse doesn’t exactly fit with the high life he was talking about.” 

“Hey, sometimes you’ve gotta do things you don’t like to stay on top.” Puck muttered, “You know, smudge the artistic integrity or whatever.” 

“I imagine that’s one way of looking at it,” Kurt nodded quietly, as Puck moved to sit on his bed and grabbed a remote from the bedside table. 

“The other stuff makes up for it though, right?” 

“Well, I’m not exactly the target audience for Hugh Heffner’s mansion.” Kurt said quietly, and Puck chuckled before patting the bed. Kurt glanced at the guitar and then back to Puck, “I thought we were taking a break?” 

“From guitar playing. Let’s get started on the football stuff.” He hit a button and everything lit up. “I borrowed some old tapes of old games. We can watch a little so I can point out what is what, and then we can go out back and throw the ball around.” 

Kurt considered for a moment, looking at the bed. Puck managed to find whatever he was looking for on the TV, and then turned towards Kurt with a raised eyebrow, before moving the guitar further out of the way. 

“I mean, you can head home if you want, but this is for Sam. You need to know your tight end from your wide receiver, dude.” 

“Those are terms that you just made up.” Kurt huffed, “There is no way that people would let a position be called—“ 

“Entirely real positions.” Puck snorted, “I’m a tight end, dude.” Kurt wasn’t quite sure what his face did but it was enough for Puck to start laughing and slap the bed again. “Come on, Hummel. We’re two straight guys watching some football. Nothing weird about it.” 

Kurt gave the room one last look, before he sat down next to Puck, trying to keep as much distance as he could as Puck hit the play button. 

“Alright, so, that’s Finn.” Puck gestured to one of the figures. “You wanna watch him to know what Sam should be doing. Our team sucks but it’s not entirely Finn’s fault.” 

“Is this from school?” 

“Yeah. Karofsky’s dad has a video camera. This is from one of our games last year.” Puck leaned in a little closer to point at the screen. “So, you know the basic point of the game right. You get the ball from point A to point B. Other team tries to stop you.” 

“Yes, Puck. That is the basic rule of any competitive ball sport.” Kurt dramatically rolled his eyes, trying not to show how nervous Puck’s presence made him. But… he didn’t feel scared. He’d pushed the boat out a couple of times, and Puck had pushed back, but Kurt hadn’t ended up bleeding, or shoved into a small dark space. 

He couldn’t believe he was thinking it, but this might actually be fun. 

It was easy to practice the football knowledge at home, even if Kurt didn’t find it particularly fun. The guitar practice was much more difficult, but Puck had made it clear that Kurt couldn’t come over on a Sunday, though there wasn’t any explanation as to why. 

So Sunday was spent in the basement, rhinestoning a pair of jeans he had got in a second-hand store, whilst he watched the tapes that Puck had lent him and tried to understand it. Boring work, but Kurt wasn’t exactly swimming in distractions. 

Well, a couple of distractions. Rachel had sent him a friend request, and that was quickly followed by Mercedes, Tina and Artie. Even if they weren’t exactly friends yet, it was nice to have someone on the other end of the computer that wasn’t just spilling a litany of hate about the occasional picture of one of his projects he shared.

The other distraction was doing his best to fill in the simple slate grey notebook that he had bought at the mall to put his Sam information in. Name, Birthday, Locker Combination. All of the information he could think of that Sam would need. Beyond that, he used it like any of his other journalling projects in the back, to-do lists in neat bullet points, mostly for his own benefit.

Sunday passed in a haze, but Monday started with a feeling like prickling electricity up his spine. There was no dumpster toss before school. No slushies in the hallway. Someone had slipped a note into his locker with the obligatory homophobic message, but that wasn’t enough to put a dampener on his day. 

He felt so happy as he approached the choir room that he was positively floating. The drab room seemed to sparkle in his minds eye, and the five red plastic chairs lined up in front of the raised step-like area called out to him. This was it. This was the possibility for friendship, for a community, for a group of people who would know him and—

The feeling didn’t last until the start of their first run through. There was a physical shudder of frustration as Rachel Berry began throwing a diva fit worthy of a post on the high school version of Perez Hilton’s blog, throwing around accusations that if they wanted to be taken seriously, it couldn’t be about ‘color, or disability, or— whatever’. 

They managed to get through the first song, but it wasn’t… anything like Kurt had hoped. Mr. Schuester was entirely focused on the choreography from his original production of the number, that he seemed entirely unaware of who was actually making up his ensemble, when he suggested the guys lift the girls, and everyone turned to look at Kurt as the only person who could possibly fit that description of sex and ability.

By the final production, Kurt wasn’t even trying to lift Tina any more, and his enthusiasm had tapered under a constant barrage of ‘More’ and ‘Don’t draw focus’, until he was more focused on getting the blocking correct than any kind of enjoyment. He watched Rachel reignite her earlier Diva attitude to insist there was nothing ironic about show choir, and then storm out of the room. Mr. Schuester gave it a moment, and then gave the rest of them a tight smile. “Good work, everyone. We’ll circle back to this at the next rehearsal.” 

Kurt waited until he was out of the room to begin peeling the gloves off his hand like they personally offended him. “Well, I think we can all agree that she is going to be an issue,” he muttered under his breath, his spirit buoying a little when there was a titter of laughter.

“Rehearsals always sucks at first,” Mercedes rolled her eyes, “trust me, she’s not going to last long with that attitude, and then when she’s gone, we’ll be able to have a lot more fun.” 

“I w-w-w-wouldn’t bet on it,” Tina murmured as she put her hand familiarly on Artie’s shoulder, “she managed to be in almost every student club in this school. Except the athletic programs.” 

“Well, we’ve all been saved from the sight of Rachel Berry, Cheerio.” Kurt smiled, “I, for one, will count that as a victory.” 

“Low bar for victory,” Mercedes offered and Kurt shook his head sadly.

“Not when the cost of losing would be so high.” He slipped his bag over his shoulder. “Same time tomorrow?” 

The group went their separate ways after that, and Kurt paused at his locker to collect everything he needed to take home. He was just closing the door, when there was a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eyes. He took a step back, lifting the book in his hands as if he could use it to defend himself. 

“Relax Hummel,” Puck grinned, “It’s just your friendly, neighborhood Puckster.” 

“I’m failing to see a reason to relax,” Kurt muttered, glancing behind him waiting to see Karofsky, but finding the hallway empty. “Every time we talk in the hallway, you tend to end up humiliating me.” 

“Yeah, well,” Puck's smile faltered a little, and then was replaced with cool indifference. “I wanted to check your neck, and I wanted to give you my number. So, you’re coming to the guys bathroom for once.” 

Kurt looked around again and then rolled his eyes, “Fine.” 

Puck led him down the hallway and into a bathroom, quickly knocking open all the stalls before he locked the door with the key. “If someone starts knocking? I’m trying to give you a swirly.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve tried,” Kurt unzipped his jacket, and folded it down his shoulders to give Puck more access. Puck took a couple of steps forward, and then frowned.

“What’s with you? You seemed like in a super gay, super happy mood this morning, and now it looks like you’re chewing glass.” 

“First Glee Club rehearsal,” Kurt huffed, “It was not the magical rousing success I was hoping for.” 

“See, that’s why I try not to be excited about anything,” Puck shrugged, “you go in knowing it’s gonna be terrible? You get to be pleasantly surprised when it turns out to be less than total bullshit.” He stepped around Kurt and gently tipped his head forward. 

“Seems like a very pessimistic way to look at things,” Kurt said quietly as he felt the rough feeling of Puck’s fingers moving his hair around. “How’s it looking?”

“I mean, the good news is you’re color coordinating with your jacket,” Puck muttered, “but it’s healing. The edges have changed color.” 

“Well, you know what it looks like,” Kurt tried not to look at the bluish-purple of his jacket and instead stared at the floor. “Do you need to check my pulse?” 

Puck hesitated, and then shrugged, “Can’t hurt.” He turned Kurt around so they were facing each other, and gently pressed his fingers into Kurt’s neck. “So, what’s awful about Glee Club?” 

“Well, Artie got the first lead, which infuriated Rachel Berry to no end. She thinks we shouldn’t focus on race, or disability, or…” Kurt made a gesture to himself, “Whatever.”

“Like she’s got any room to talk. Seriously, I give it… two days, and one mean comment, and suddenly it’ll be all about her gay jewish dad, and her gay black dad.” Puck shook his head, “Don’t worry about her.” 

“I have enough to worry about without making it about Rachel.” Kurt sighed, and Puck pulled back, making notes in his little notepad. “No phantom sensations. For your notes.”

“Thanks,” Puck smiled a little, and slipped it back into his pocket. “I can’t do guitar practice tonight, I’ve got a… date.”

“Oh.” Kurt nodded slowly, “Okay, that’s fine. I hope you have a good time.” 

“Yeah, thanks. I mean she definitely will, but it can be a little hit or miss for me.” Puck’s grin was wide, but this close, Kurt couldn’t help but notice that it didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Anyway, tomorrow after school, I’ve got football practice. But if you don’t mind me being a little sweaty, we can work on your fingering.” 

Kurt rolled his eyes, “You’re terrible.” 

“Yeah, but you’ve got to admit that when it’s just the two of us, you kind of like it, right?” Puck laughed, and slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Alright, write this in your Sam notebook. Then you both have it.” He recited his number, and Kurt quickly wrote it on the inside of the front cover. He was about to write Puck’s name, when he paused, and instead wrote emergency contact. Puck looked at what he wrote, and then back to Kurt.

“People have a habit of slapping my books out of my hand, and taking them. I assumed that you wouldn’t want your name anywhere near me.” 

 Puck hesitated and then shrugged, “Probably for the best. Do I have a secret code in your messages for Sam?” 

“You’re P.” Kurt flicked to a page and showed it to him quickly. “Sam should be able to work it out, but there’s a lot of P’s at this school.” 

Puck nodded, and took a step toward the door. “Alright. Tomorrow’s probably gonna suck a little, but I’ll do what I can to keep you clear. And I’ll meet you at my house after football practice.” 

“I’ll look forward to it,” Kurt’s voice was quiet, and Puck didn’t seem to hear what he had said, but the sound of the bathroom door closing seemed to know them out of alignment in his head, sending them rattling around like a piece of metal in a tumble dryer. 

Because… it wasn’t a lie, Kurt realized as he straightened his jacket, purposefully not looking at the mirrors arrayed on the wall as he moved towards the door. He was looking forward to seeing Noah Puckerman again.

Tuesday morning, Kurt wore one of his third tier outfits out of the house, his hounds-tooth jacket doing a good job of making the whole thing look at least palatable to his sensitive sense of fashion. He didn’t expect to be wearing the outfit for long though, thanks to Puck’s warning. And when he pulled into a parking space, and saw the football players waiting by the dumpsters, he knew what he had to expect.

“Hummel!” Puck waved him over, as though Kurt had the option to not pass them all by. “Are you busy?” 

“Just going to class,” Kurt said quietly, his eyes darting over the assembled football players, and finding Finn Hudson amongst them. He looked away quickly. “I should—“ 

“You know, Hummel, you’re such a good guy, trying to get Karofsky a boyfriend.” Puck continued, and there was a small ripple of laughter in the group, even as Karofsky’s face twisted in rage and humiliation. “So we were hoping you’d help us out.” 

Kurt forced himself to look back to Puck, straightening his shoulders. “If you all need boyfriends, and you haven’t worked it out amongst yourselves, I don't know if my match making efforts are going to be any help. It'll certainly take long enough that we'll be late to class.” 

There was a wave of cold annoyance, though Kurt was sure he saw Finn’s lips twitch up into a smile, and a passing Hockey player ooh-ed at them. Puck’s smile weakened, but Kurt could see amusement in his eyes. “No, see the problem is, Azimio here thinks he lost his keys in the dumpster. You wouldn’t mind getting in and looking for him, right?” 

Kurt glanced to the dumpster, and then to the football players who were slowly moving to encircle him. “I—“ 

“Great,” Puck gestured, and someone grabbed his shoulders. Kurt’s eyes shot to the dumpster, and the half formed memories of being somewhere else swam back to the front of his mind as his neck throbbed in pain. 

“Please—“ He started to ask, trying to pull himself out of the grip on his shoulders, “Don’t—“ 

“Dude, you need to stop wearing such expensive stuff to school, if you’re gonna get this upset over it.” Puck sneered, stepping forward and taking a hold of Kurt’s shoulders, pulling him out of whoever was holding him. His grip made it clear that Kurt wasn’t supposed to get away, but Puck wasn’t breaking eye contact either. 

“Come on, let him take off the jacket.” Finn said, and Kurt’s eyes darted to where he was standing slightly outside of the circle, watching carefully. Puck rolled his eyes dramatically, holding out his hand. Kurt quickly handed him his bag, slipping the jacket off and handing it to Finn. 

“Alright,” Puck clapped his hands and then put them back on Kurt’s shoulders. One of the bigger guys— An offensive lineman, a quiet voice at the back of Kurt’s mind offered, which was not useful and just reminded Kurt of sitting next to Puck on his bed watching football tapes and trying to learn what all these positions were— reached down and took his feet, so that Kurt was dangling between them. 

There was something much more deliberate to the movements, and much less showmanship as Kurt flew over the edge and landed on the garbage. Puck’s head appeared over the edge, trying to catch Kurt’s eye with a concerned look. Kurt shrugged , feeling defeated, and gave him a thumbs up. 

His things were stacked carefully by the side of the dumpster, and nothing disgusting had managed to find it’s way onto his clothes, so it wasn’t the worst start to a morning he’d ever had. 

His first two periods were relatively quiet too. The football players were glaring at him a little more than usual, but one of the girls that Tina spent time with who had thrown food over his head last week turned around and looked him up and down. “I hear you’ve grown some brass ones, Hummel. Good for you.” She didn’t seem too interested in his response, turning away before Kurt could say anything.

Traveling to his locker between classes lead to his second revelation of the day, as Tina appeared at his side, looking around sharply. “D-d-d-did you hear?”

“Hear what?” He asked suspiciously.

“Rachel got slushied.” 

“That’s not exactly groundbreaking news. Not at this school.” 

“They did it right in front of Mr. Schue. Like… right in front of him.” Tina whispered, and Kurt paused with a frown. It wasn’t as though anyone would honestly be worried about a teacher doing anything, but there was a generally accepted feeling that it was a bad idea to slushy someone in a teacher’s eye-line just in case. To slushy Rachel in front of Mr. Schuester? Someone was trying to send a message.” 

“Do they know who did it?” He asked, closing his locker and turning towards Tina properly. 

“Karofsky, and Puckerman,” Tina stepped away, “I should g-g-g-go.” 

“I’ll see you after school,” Kurt said absently as she made her way down the hallway. 

The news of who had done it shouldn’t have been important. Puck slushies someone below him in social status, in front of a teacher, but first, Water: Wetter than previously thought? But for some reason, it only begged more questions.

He stepped out of his french class to use the bathroom, but paused as he walked down the corridor towards the bathroom, and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. He wrote a quick message, asking Puck to meet him on the roof for lunch, and slipped it into the vent of Puck’s locker. He somehow managed to refocus on his school work until lunch afterwards, but when he found the door to the roof unlocked, and the door at the top held open with a brick, Kurt began to regret his request.

“Hey,” Puck was calling out to him before Kurt had even seen him, “Hummel? Sam?”

“Still Kurt,” Kurt said carefully, turning to where Puck was stretched out on a blanket staring up at the sky.

“The dumpster wasn’t my plan. I tried to convince them to lock you in the janitor’s closet, but… you know, most of them don’t do well with the idea of change. You didn’t get hurt, right?” Puck lifted his head, checking Kurt over.

“No, I’m okay,” Kurt shook his head, “That girl, Bex? She was impressed that I’m speaking back.” 

“Yeah, Bex is good people,” Puck snorted, “She’s got the hookup for fake ID’s too. Good person to know.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind if I start a life of crime.” Kurt muttered, “She’s Tina’s friend, I think.” 

“She doesn’t really do friends. She probably thinks Tina’s interesting for now, but… not a lot of loyalty.” Puck sat up, a smile tugging at his lips. “Neck check.” 

“I—“ Kurt took a quick breath to center himself, “You slushied Rachel Berry today.”

“Yeah.” Puck’s smile turned to a grin, “Thought you might get a kick out of it.” 

“A kick—“ Kurt swallowed, “Tell me you didn’t do it for me.” 

“I mean, kinda? I’d have probably done it anyway, but like you said. She called you a ‘whatever’.” Puck shrugged, “You weren’t going to do it, so I knocked her down a peg.” 

“Of course I wouldn’t have done it,” Kurt’s voice was rising a little higher, and he ran a hand through his hair, “I didn’t ask you to do that. I didn’t want you to do that.” 

“…I was trying to…” Puck’s grin vanished, replaced by confusion, “I was standing up for you.” 

“You think because you slushied her, that Rachel’s never going to make accusations about my sexuality?” Kurt shook his head rapidly, “Why would she assume that this was retribution for anything? This is just mindless cruelty, something we’ve all become inured to, Puckerman.”

Puck stared at him for a long moment, and then stood, moving for the door. “Whatever. I try and do a nice fucking thing for you—“ 

“Nice?” Kurt laughed as Puck passed him, shaking his head incredulously.

“Yeah!” Puck turned on him, a lot closer than Kurt had expected, “I was trying to… I dunno, make you feel better.” 

“Why?” The question fell from Kurt’s lips without thought, and Puck hesitated, before he reached out. Kurt’s heart suddenly started hammering, out of fear or something else, but Puck just took a rough grip on his shoulder and turned him around. Kurt flinched at the feeling of Puck moving his hair and jacket out of the way to examine his neck for a moment. 

“Your neck is fine.” Puck’s voice was quiet as he stepped away, and by the time Kurt was turning back around, Puck was already moving through the door out of sight. 

“Everybody up, we’re moving to the auditorium.” 

Kurt stood slowly, his jaw tightly wound as he tugged at the bottom of his sweater. He was vaguely aware of Artie and Mr. Schuester talking, but it wasn’t until Mr. Schuester told them all to grab a copy of ‘You’re the one that I want, that his ears pricked up. It was an older song, sure, but it was leaps and bounds above ‘Sit down you’re rocking the Boat.’ 

 “Hold up, who gets to sing the ‘Sandy’ part?” Mercedes called out, and Mr. Schuester’s moment of hesitation was enough for Kurt to have a startling realization of what was coming.

“Rachel.” 

He could have almost laughed as the two of them started to argue, if it weren’t for the sudden wave of exhaustion. He took a couple of steps back as the focus was solely on them, trying to find something to steady himself, but his grip on the bookcase behind him slipped, and he was falling towards the ground—

“—You okay?” 

He blinked rapidly, feeling hands on his arm. “I think so?” He said, his voice sounding more mumbled than he expected, and deeper too. The hands helped him more upright, but when he tried to steady himself, there was a spike of pain through his ankle. “No, no, ow.” He winced, grabbing at the hand holding him up for support. 

“Come on, there’s a bench over there.” The other voice was definitely masculine, and that was what got Kurt’s brain really whirring as he looked up from the stone floor (not linoleum), to the sea of parked cars and buses (not the choir room), and then to the source of the voice, a handsome, brown haired guy with startling blue eyes and a smattering of freckles (definitely not anybody in the Glee Club). 

“Sam…” He murmured under his breath, and the guy helping him gave him an odd look.

“Is your name, yeah.” He grinned, “You’re not going to bust into the green eggs and ham thing again, right?” 

“Sorry,” Kurt glanced around again, his heart hammering in his chest as they finally reached the bench and the guy helped Kurt sit down.

“How’re you getting home?” The guy asked, sitting down next to him.

“I don’t… know…” Kurt moved to pat himself down, until he felt the tug of weight on his back. He quickly slipped the backpack off, wrinkling his nose at the empty wrappers and things that were collected at the bottom, and began to quickly check the books. “Thank you, for your help, but I think I’m okay to just sit and take a breath now.” 

“It’s cool, I can wait with you.” The guy shrugged, “What’re you looking for?” 

Kurt glanced at him, and then back to the bag. “A… journal? But honestly, it’s fine—“ 

“Here,” the guy scooted away a little, so there was space for Kurt to put the books. It wasn’t exactly leaving him alone, but Kurt wasn’t sure who he was, so he didn’t feel comfortable just insisting he left. He managed to find the journal, a surprisingly nice one actually that reminded Kurt of a Moleskine, in the back pocket and opened it up. 

Of course, that was when the panic set in. The letters were all legible, and Kurt knew he was looking at words, but it was the visual equivalent of blood thumping in his ears. The words were swimming about in front of him, or the letters maybe? He managed to get a couple of lines in, and then suddenly he realized he didn’t actually understand something in the middle of the line before, and when he looked back, it was like he was looking at an entirely different word. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, and his breathing getting quicker, when there was a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay, Sam.” The guy was saying. “What’s wrong?” 

“I can’t read this,” Kurt muttered under his breath, and the guy just nodded. 

“Take a deep breath.” The guy shifted a little closer, “It’s harder when you’re rushing and panicking, right?” 

“I…” Kurt let out a long breath, tipping his head back. “I don’t know what’s going on.” 

“Can I…” The guy didn’t wait for actual permission, taking the journal out of Kurt’s hand before he even realized what was going on. “So, you wrote that, if you don’t have to be at practice because of your ankle still, you were going to ring your dad and have him pick you up after Stacy and Stevie. Does that sound right?” 

Kurt nodded slowly, glancing between the guy and the book, “That makes sense.”

“Alright, well, why don’t you do that, and I’ll put these away for you?” The guy gently pulled the straps of the backpack out of Kurt’s hands, and started slipping the books back in, in an organized way. Kurt carefully patted down the pockets of the denim jacket he was wearing, until he found his phone which luckily only needed a prompted key combination to unlock. He almost panicked for a moment when he couldn’t find ‘Dwight’, until his brain kicked in and he moved further up to ‘Dad’.

The phone took a few moments to answer, and the guy Kurt was with was waving to some other guys, who waved back just as casually. 

“Hey Sam, everything okay?” 

“Hey… dad.” Kurt said slowly, “Everything’s fine, I…” He glanced down at his feet, “I think I’m done for the day? If you could come pick me up?” 

“Sure, I’ll swing by after I’ve got your brother and sister.” The gruff voice was vaguely familar from Kurt’s vague memories from last time. “How was your first day back?” 

“It was fine,” Kurt said, and it wasn’t quite a lie but… he also had no idea, “I should go, dad. I’m waiting with someone.” 

“Alright. Be there soon as.” 

The line clicked dead, and Kurt took a moment to breathe before he slipped it into his pocket. “Sorry about all that.” 

“No problem,” the guy smiled, “You got my number saved in there, in case you run into any problems with your homework?” 

“I…” Kurt reached back to take the journal, and flicked through it quickly to a clean page, “Maybe it’s best if you write it down again? Just in case.”

That didn’t seem to be the right answer. The guys brow furrowing a little before he caught himself and smiled, “Sure.” Kurt watched him quickly write a name, which Kurt deciphered as Ray, and then a number, so Kurt had to assume that was his name. “There we go. I’ve gotta go meet my mom, but I’ll see you later, Sam.” 

“Good to hang out,” Kurt nodded, “Thanks Ray.” 

The stream of people out of the school behind him had faded to a trickle, and he took a moment to breathe before he started trying to work through the journal. It took longer than he wanted to admit, but he finally deciphered the most recent page. Sam had laid out as much of the day as he seemed to be able to. When he’d taken pain killers, what homework he had turned in, and what he still had to do. Interspersed were little recollections of what had happened during the day, but Kurt wasn’t in a position to focus on those except for the most recent one. 

Coach said I could stay and watch practice because of my ankle, and I could try out in a week or so, but I thought I should get home ASAP in case I swapped again. I need to call my dad when I’m done with school and let him know to pick me up.

At least Kurt knew why Sam wasn’t going to practice. The fact that ‘Ray’ had seen the phrase ‘swapped’ made Kurt a little nervous, but that could mean anything really. Just a weird choice of words.

Skipping back a few pages, Kurt found a similar page to the one he had written. Name, Date of Birth, Address and Phone number…

The beep of a horn grabbed Kurt’s attention, and he glanced up to see a minivan idling across the empty parking lot. There was a blonde man in the front, and two smaller blonde people in the back, and as Kurt looked in their direction, there was motion like someone waving. He struggled to his feet, keeping his weight off his ankle. Before he could get very far though, the minivan had driven around the parking lot to reach him, the man in the front looking concerned. “You alright?” 

“Just… Ankle.” Kurt said, glancing at the back seat with the younger kids.

The man frowned, and leaned over to open the door. “Come on, Sam, let’s get you home.” 

Kurt nodded slowly, sliding his hand into his pocket as he got in, and hitting the call button again. There was a buzzing from the man’s jacket, and Kurt relaxed as the the man pulled out his phone. 

“You’re calling me?” 

“Oh, sorry,” Kurt slipped the phone out of his pocket and ended the call, before putting on his seat belt. “It’s been a long day.” 

Sam’s dad nodded, but didn’t say anything as he started driving. 

The same could not be said for Sam’s siblings.

“What was school like?” The girl (Stacy, Kurt had to assume) asked, “Did you make any friends?” 

“It was like school,” Kurt said vaguely, “How about you?” 

That sent Stacy on a whole story about a girl that had brought a bunch of dresses for her doll in, and Kurt did his best to listen and pay attention. He had no idea where they were, or where they were going, until they pulled to a stop outside of a relatively nice home. The younger siblings were already rushing out of the van, but Sam’s dad put up a hand to stop Kurt from following.

“Are you feeling okay?” 

“Like I said, it’s just my ankle. I’m a little tired, and I have a lot of homework,” Kurt tried to smile, “I’ll be okay.” 

Sam’s dad nodded, and put a hand on his shoulder. “You need to take it easy. I know you want to be out there on the football field, but if you rush yourself, you’re going to hurt yourself again.” 

“I know,” Kurt nodded seriously. 

“Alright, you can head up to your room. I’ll distract Stevie and Stacy until your mom comes home.” Sam’s dad smiled, and opened his door. Kurt quickly did the same, and followed him up to the front door, trying not to limp too obviously. 

It wasn’t hard to find Sam’s room, since two of them had those kitschy wooden signs with Sam’s siblings’ names burned into them, and Stevie was coming out of another door that clearly led to the bathroom. Kurt let himself into Sam’s room, and carefully put the backpack on the back of his desk chair before sinking down onto the bed.

“I hope you’re surviving whatever is going on in Lima,” Kurt murmured to the ceiling, and then forced himself to sit upright, carefully pulling Sam’s shoes off. One of his ankles was definitely more swollen than the other, and Kurt took a moment to stretch it out, writing the alphabet in the air with his toes. There was the sound of life from downstairs, but Kurt definitely didn’t feel like trying to be a straight teenage boy whilst he was this tired, and sore, and frustrated.

He glanced around the room, a small smile tugging at his lips. It definitely had it’s rustic charms, and as opposed to Puck’s room, it was neat. There was a mirror next to the door, and Kurt carefully stood up, approaching it. 

“Oh, no.” 

Kurt’s heart hammered a little as he examined himself-- Sam’s self. Broad shoulders, strong jawline, swoopy dark blonde hair and blue eyes? 

“I’m cute.” He muttered under his breath, feeling his cheeks heat up a little. “That’s… not fair, at all.” 

He quickly moved away from the mirror, trying not to focus on that. Sam had homework? Kurt could do homework. Reading might be hard right now, but Kurt still knew everything he knew. 

He moved to the desk and paused, tilting his head at the Taylor Swift CD case that was propped up at the back. He reached for it carefully and opened it, watching as a folded piece of paper fell out. 

Hey Kurt,

I don’t know if you’ll have my Dyslexia too when you swap over, but I wanted to leave you a message and this was the only way I could think to do it, since I don’t own a video camera. I put most of the stuff you should need to be me in the front of my journal, but I guess we don’t really know each other.

So… if you have any questions, you should probably write them down? Like, what-if questions, or like… if there’s something I didn’t think of? 

But I did want to say something, and if it’s way off base, you can ignore it. Puck said you were gay, but you weren’t telling anyone, and I just wanted you to know that if you are gay? That’s okay with me. I support you, and it doesn’t affect my opinion of you. My family is Christian, but not the fire and brimstone kind. More the… love everyone, treat everyone with respect kind, you know?

Anyway, if it’s not something you’re ready to talk about, you totally don’t have to. I just… wanted to make sure you knew that there wasn’t somebody driving around your body who had a problem with who you were. 

Sam

Kurt stared at the note for a while, and felt his eyes getting damp. It was ridiculous. He didn’t even know Sam, and it wasn’t as though people hadn’t done the whole ‘If there’s something you want to tell us’ thing before. But… There was something so earnest about the way that Sam had taken the time to write it, and leave it for him to find and either talk about or ignore. 

He took one of the pens from a holder on the desk, and turned over the note, trying to focus on what he was writing. He got a sentence in, before he realized that his penmanship made it even more difficult to read, and paused before trying again in block capitals.

Here is my number. You should try to call me when we swap back. 

Kurt.

It didn’t admit or deny anything, but it was an attempt to reach out. Kurt carefully folded the note and then after a moment's pause, took the booklet out of the front of the CD case and turned it around, so there was a more obvious sign that it had been touched. He put it back on the desk, and then carefully unloaded Sam’s bag. 

And then, unable to resist, he carefully cleaned out the bottom of Sam’s bag, putting all the empty wrappers and screwed up pieces of paper in a bag that he hung from one of the handles on his chest of drawers. 

He was halfway through some math problems when a bubble of laughter started in his throat. 

Phantom sensations? 

He frowned and quickly moved to the bed, lying on his back and brushing the hair out of his face, staring at the ceiling. It took a few moments, almost a minute, before his arms became heavier, his head felt like it was lolling forward and—

Chapter Text

The next time Sam woke up, he knew he wasn’t in Puck’s bedroom almost immediately. The guy really had been trying to make him comfortable, but Sam doubted he would have tucked Sam into bed and sat and gently stroked his hair out of his face whilst Star Trek played quietly in the background. He leaned into the touch, and heard his mom hum quietly in acknowledgement.

“You’re awake again, honey?” 

“Mmhm,” He mumbled, cracking open his eyes and looking around. It was his room. Okay. “Did I go somewhere?” 

“You fell down in the bathroom earlier, but you’ve just been in bed since then,” she assured. “Your soup has gone cold, but I can warm it up if you’re hungry?”

Sam shook his head, trying to sit up slowly. His whole body ached, and he could tell that he hadn’t taken a pain killer in a while. His mom must’ve seen his wince, and reached for the packet of pills, but hesitated as he shook his head. She looking at him curiously, and he tried to answer. “Can I have… half of one?” 

Her eyes narrowed a little, searching his face, “This isn’t some silly ‘man’ thing, is it? If you’re in pain—“ 

“I don’t like how they knock me out,” Sam shook his head, “I know it’ll suck, but… I don’t want to be asleep all the time.” 

He could see her considering it, until she finally sighed. “We can give you one instead of two. But if the pain is too much—“ 

“I’ll tell you right away, I promise.” Sam smiled, and reached across to hug her. “Thanks mom.” 

“You’re thanking me for letting you be in pain,” She huffed, but returned the hug softly, “You’re a weird kid, Samuel.” 

“You’re a weird mom, mom.” Sam shot back, and laughed as she slapped his arm lightly. “What time is it?” 

“Around seven,” she put the pill in his hand, and then handed him a glass of water to wash it down. Sam took it quickly, exaggeratedly opening his mouth and moving his tongue around so she could see he’d actually swallowed it. She feigned exasperation at his antics, but smiled as she stood up. “Don’t push yourself today. I know you have some homework, but you can do it tomorrow, okay?” 

Sam nodded, settling back into the pillows behind him. “Watch TV and read comic books. I’ll manage somehow.” 

She chuckled again, and Sam waited for her to be completely out of the room, before he quickly began to check his neck. There was no pain or tenderness there, which was… Sam didn’t know what that meant, but he felt like it meant something. It had been Kurt who had hurt himself, not Sam. So if all of what he just witnessed was true, Kurt would have the bruise. 

Or, he just had a really weird dream while he was passed out. 

It didn’t feel like a dream though. He had some super intense, super plot-driven dreams sometimes, but he could remember Puck’s face in perfect detail. He could remember the face in the mirror that wasn’t his own too, Kurt’s face. He knew he had auditioned for a Glee Club, he’d met Tina, and Artie, and Rachel, and Mercedes. All of those things had happened.

He managed to get to his feet, and awkwardly inchworm his way to the desk with tiny, imperceptible hops, until he was sitting in the old wooden chair there. He wrote down everything he could remember on some paper, hiding it in the draw, and then reached for his phone. He sent his dad a quick message asking if he could borrow the family laptop to look something up as he made his way back into his bed. His dad appeared shortly after, handing it over. “You’ve got an hour.” 

“Yes, dad.” Sam tried to hide his exasperation, but took the laptop thankfully and waited for his dad to leave before he started his google search. McKinley High School definitely existed, in Lima Ohio. Glancing at their website, he saw familiar cheerleading outfits on their athletics pages, and shots of hallways he remembered. There was even a profile for the teacher, Mr. Schuester, that had held the auditions.

Social media helped with the next step. It was surprisingly easy to find Rachel Berry’s page, and from there, he skipped between the people leaving comments until he found a football player, and in their friends list, Noah Puckerman.

“It was real.” He whispered to himself, taking in the profile page. There wasn’t a lot of information, or a lot of posts from Puck himself. Mainly people tagging him in other posts about going to parties, or playing football. The profile picture though... It was Puck, in his football gear, helmet under one arm. He was a little sweaty, his mohawk obviously damp and heavy, but his eyes were shining and his grin seemed genuine. Sam wasn’t sure who had taken the photo, but it was definitely a very good one.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs spooked him out of his investigation, and he quietly deleted the browsing history with practiced efficiency. He quickly looked up something about the episode of Star Trek that was on the TV to hide his search. He put the laptop to one side, and rested his head back against the wall trying to settle his mind. There was more he could look into, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to see Kurt Hummel looking back at him from a screen.

It was impossible. People didn’t just ‘swap bodies’. That wasn’t something that just happened in the real world. 

But it had happened. 

Before today, Sam had never heard of McKinley High, or Puck, or Rachel or— It had happened, which meant it could happen again. And since there wasn’t a whole list of people going on the nightly news talking about that time they woke up in a Russian prison and had to live there for a while, or fell asleep in Australia and woke up in New York, he had to assume it was something unique to him or Kurt. Or both of them. Maybe they were mutants, or, like… secret aliens? 

He was still trying to work out the odds of Kurt’s situation at his high school being his supervillain origin story, when his dad returned to collect the laptop. “You got everything you need?” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Sam managed a smile, tapping his fingers on his bedspread as he tried to work out his next move. “Dad… is there any chance you can take some of my pocket money and get me some things over the weekend?” 

“What do you need?” His dad leaned against the door frame, looking curious.

“I…” Sam considered for a moment, trying to work out what the best lie would be to cover his sudden need to document everything. “I’m trying to get a little more organized and stuff, and I wanted to get like… a nice journal? To write stuff in?” 

“A journal?” His dad looked thoughtful for a moment, and then nodded, “I can do something about that. Won’t need any pocket-money, either.”

“And, uh, could you see if you can get me that Taylor Swift CD?” Sam added quickly before his dad walked away, “It’s called ‘Taylor Swift’ and it’s got her picture on the front?” 

“I can have a look,” his dad nodded, a small teasing smile tugging at his lips, “You suddenly got an interest in her?” 

“Dad—“ Sam complained, feeling his cheeks get a little red as his dad laughed and took a few steps towards the door, hands in the air. “It’s not like that.” 

“Sure, kid,” his dad shook his head, clearly not believing him, “Anything else?” 

Sam considered for a moment, vaguely aware of the pain in his ankle. He should be cutting down on calories if he wasn’t going to be able to work out as much. But, everything was kind of hard right now, and he just wanted something comforting, “Cool Ranch Doritos?” 

“I’ll put it on the list.” 

“You look like you’re ready to climb the walls.” 

Sam looked up from his new journal, and gave his mom a small smile, “It’s that obvious?”

“You’ve been tapping your foot so hard, we could hear it in the kitchen,” His mom laughed, and sat down on the edge of his bed. “You’ve done all your homework?” 

“Mmhm,” He made a vague gesture towards his bag, continuing to tap his pencil on the desk. “I’m doing a thought experiment thing I read about.” 

“Oh?” His mom asked curiously, “What’s that?”

“I’m trying to…” He chewed his lip as he tried to find the words, “Okay, imagine that you’d never met me—“ 

“So, I’m less happy than I am now?” His mom cut in, and Sam rolled his eyes even as he tried not to grin. 

“You’ve never met me, and obviously that’s a really sad thing, but you find a… letter, or a journal or something that I wrote. What could I write in it to let you know who I was?” He shrugged, “Like… what’s important?”

“So it’s about self-reflection?” His mom crossed her legs underneath her and rest her elbows on her knees. “That’s a deep well to go to. What do you have so far?” 

“Uh, my name,” Sam looked at the page, at the information he had painstakingly wrote out and checked and double checked. “When I was born? My parents' names, my siblings' names. My dyslexia.” He made a mildly frustrated gesture as he reached the end of his list. “Height and weight?”

“Well, that’s all important information,” His mom nodded, “Allergies and blood type would probably go on that list too. But, that’s not ‘you’, Sam. I mean, yeah, it’s physically you, but I bet I could find more people out there with those exact numbers and diagnosis. It’s not what makes you, you.” 

Sam considered for a moment, tapping his pencil. His mom was probably right, but he wasn’t sure what else would be useful to help Kurt pretend to be him. “So, I should write about what I like and don’t like?”

“And if you have any strong beliefs?” His mom suggested, “Where do you think you’d start?”

“I… like playing football. And I really like Sci-fi and Space stuff.” Sam smiled a little as his mom nodded encouragingly. “That kind of thing?” 

“I think that’d be a really good place to start.” His mom stood up, and moved over to ruffle his hair, “You’re more than just numbers, honey.” 

“Oh, not the hair!” He tried to duck away from her hand, laughing. His flailing knocked the CD sitting on the edge of his desk onto the floor, and his mom leaned down to pick it up. 

“You know your sister already has this CD right?” She turned it over in her hands, “If you wanted to listen to it, you could have borrowed it.” 

“I know,” Sam’s fingers twitched as he stopped himself from reaching out for it, “I just wanted to… own that CD.” 

“Any particular reason?” She offered it to him, and he took it. “Your dad thinks you have a crush on her, but I said, if that was true, you’d have asked for a poster.” 

“Dad thinks I have a crush on every girl he sees me talking about,” Sam muttered under his breath, looking away from his mom to prop the CD up against the wall, “he still makes jokes about when I said Uhura is my favorite Star Trek character.” 

“Your dad is just teasing you,” His mom assured, “Was there another reason? For the CD?” 

“There’s…” He hesitated, looking back at the CD, “There’s a boy at school. And he sang one of the songs, and it… it made me think. It’s kind of why I’m doing this.” He lifted the journal as if to display it. 

“Is he your friend?” His mom asked curiously, and Sam bit his lip as he thought.

“I think I’d like to be his friend.” 

“You like being everyone’s friend.” His mom pointed out, and Sam shook his head.

“I mean… he doesn’t seem to have a lot of other friends. I think he’s lonely? And people say stuff about him, and it doesn’t seem fair.” He considered his words carefully, “I think some of it is because he’s different , but…” he trailed off, not sure how much more to say.

“One of the best things about you is how much you care about other people,” His mom stepped closer, and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re always the most enthusiastic member of our congregation when we help out with the food drives and fundraising, and you know I don’t agree with fighting, but I know that pretty much every fight you ever got into trouble for was protecting someone else.” 

A  small smile tugging at his lips for a moment, before he hesitated again. “Mom… when I say he’s different… he’s…. Different, you know? Like… Do you know what I’m saying?” It was hard to find the words, and he could feel his eyebrows pulling together in concentration.

“I don’t think I do,” His mom looked concerned. 

“People say he’s… gay.” Sam couldn’t look at his mom’s eyes as he said it, and there was some part of him that felt ashamed that he was repeating Puck’s rumor.

“Does he say he’s gay?” His mom’s tone was neutral, and she didn’t look mad, but she wasn’t smiling any more.

“No. He says he’s not, but…” Sam took a deep breath as he readied himself to ask a very difficult question, “Would it be a problem if he was?” 

His mom hesitated, and Sam was sure that he’d just opened a really ugly can of worms, when she quickly crouched down to follow his eye-line. “Sam, no. It wouldn’t be a problem at all.” 

“It wouldn’t?” Sam’s eye jumped to hers, his hand tensing on his thigh, “Because… I mean, with the church and everything…” 

“What about the church, Sam?” His mom looked concerned, and Sam chewed on his lip.

“I mean, I’ve heard some of the people there talking about… you know, ‘ it’s a shame about Martha’s son, and the lifestyle he chose. ” He looked away unable to meet her eye without his eyes tearing up a little.

“There’s always going to be a few people who think they know better,” His mom reached out and took his hand, untangling the fingers from his jeans and wrapping it in her own hands gently, “Better than us, better than the pastor, and maybe even better than god. But he is the only one who gets to judge, and he told us to love our neighbors.” She squeezed his hand, “These are big questions, and you’ve got a long time to work out how you feel about them. But you know… if you wanted to be friends with this boy, and invite him over to hang out? That’d be fine with me and your dad. You’re allowed to be friends with whoever you want. Gay, Straight. Christian or not. Boy or Girl. What matters is that they are your friend and you both treat each other with respect.” 

“Thanks mom,” Sam mumbled, and his mom squeezed his hand lightly as they sat in silence for a while, before his mom finally stood up and moved toward the door. He waited for the click of the latch before he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. It felt like a weight lifted off his shoulder, even if he hadn’t—

He wasn’t going to focus on that. This was good, and Kurt deserved to hear it too. That was the thought that carried him as he took out another piece of paper and put it on the desk, staring at it for a while, before he started to write.

Sunday passed with the usual church service, where Sam tried to coral his brother and sister into behaving themselves whilst his parents spoke to the other parents, followed by dinner at one of the restaurants in town. Checking homework, and family meals, and all the things that came with existing. 

Monday… was more nerve wracking. 

“You’re sure that you’re feeling okay?” His dad asked in concern as they pulled up outside the school. “How’s your ankle?”

“Sore, but I can walk on it,” Sam assured, looking around at the people heading into the school, “I’ve got my pain killers, and I’ve got my phone. I’ll be fine.” 

“Call us if you need us,” His dad gave him a serious look, “I’ll come pick you up.” 

“I’m fine, dad.” Sam unlocked his door, and carefully slipped out. “I’ll see you after school.” 

He made sure to walk as normally as he could until his dad’s car was out of view, and then let out the hiss of pain he’d been holding in since he got out. He didn’t exactly limp, but it was clear he was favoring one side of his body over the other as he climbed the stairs outside the school, nodding to the guys who waved at him. He paused for a moment at the doorway, lifting and circling his ankle to try and push the pain out. 

“You doing okay?” A familiar voice, sounding mildly concerned came from behind him, and Sam half turned, half hopped to see Ray looking him over.

“I’m fine,” He offered a fist to bump, and Ray returned the gesture without hesitation, “Don’t tell me you’ve been waiting for me?” 

“My brother is the laziest person in the world, we only just got here,” Ray gestured over his shoulder to the parking lot, where Sam could see a bunch of older students talking by their cars. “Seriously, I was worried about you. You tripped hard. I thought you’d broke your ankle.” 

“Just sprained it, or… twisted it, or something,” Sam shrugged it off, “Honestly, it was totally swimming in the lake that messed me up. Painkillers and the flu? I slept most of the week.” 

Ray nodded, gesturing towards Sam’s backpack, “You get all your homework done?” 

“Yeah, Mom. ” Sam snorted, “Thanks for bringing it over.” 

“I’m just a good Samaritan,” Ray clutched his chest for a moment, before throwing an arm around Sam’s shoulder. It was a friendly gesture, but Sam could see how he had shifted so he was supporting Sam’s weak side, “plus it’s kind of a mandatory question, since you didn’t text for any help with the questions.”

“My mom and dad helped me read them, and checked what I wrote.” Sam shrugged, “If I text you as much as you think I should, I’d text you more than your girlfriend.” 

“Yeah, but your texts would be more boring.” Ray snorted, reaching over to jab Sam in the ribs. Sam squirmed away, but laughed along with it. Ray slipped away when they reached Sam’s locker, heading for his own with a promise to see Sam at lunch. Sam watched him walk away, and then glanced around the hallway. 

The atmosphere was totally different to McKinley. Maybe it was because McKinley had guys and girls there, or maybe that school was just insane. Sam wasn’t sure, but nobody was freaking out at the sight of two dude’s touching and talking closely with each other. Not at his all boy’s school at least.

But then, maybe he was looking at it from a really biased point of view. Kurt would probably be terrified here, if all his interactions with guys were the kind that Puck had hinted at, or the ones Sam had seen at McKinley. He was used to spending time with guys. The little nudges and pushes and insults were just... a fact of living. They weren’t personal to him. 

He made sure to put his journal in the safest part of his backpack. It was a pretty nice journal, but Sam only noticed that it was in comparison to the spiral bound ones already in his bag. His dad had said it had been a Christmas present that he wasn’t going to use, so Sam might as well take it.

He’d been taking careful notes on everything he had done, or had to do. He knew that he needed to try and see the coach today and ask about if he could try out for QB later in the year, so that had gone in the journal. He knew he had to hand in his English homework, so that went in the journal. He’d even wrote when he had taken his last painkiller, in case Kurt swapped in and needed to take one, double and tripped checking the time and date. 

The attempts of writing messages to Kurt had been so uncomfortable that he had abandoned it, beyond the letter hidden in the Taylor Swift CD case, in favor of just statements. I’m doing this. I think that. It all felt a little bit less… close? Because, in all honesty, Sam didn’t know Kurt. And Kurt didn’t know Sam. What if he didn’t want to get along with him? Who knew what opinion Kurt had of him really. All he could see were the after effects of anything Sam did. He might think Sam was a dumb jock, who thought about Kurt the same way the other guys seemed to back at McKinley. 

That thought sat heavy on Sam’s mind throughout the entire day. It was hard to really put any deep thought into the subject when he had to focus so hard on his school work, but when he sat down for lunch, Ray was right there by his side. “Fries, Evans? Something must really be on your mind.” 

“We’ve known each other a while, right?” Sam said, poking at his food with a fork. “You know me pretty well?” 

“I mean, yeah, obviously.” Ray frowned, “What’s up?” 

“I just… If you didn’t know me. If we’d never talked before, but you’d heard about me? What would you think of me?” Sam glanced at Ray.

“I mean, you’re a good guy?” Ray tried, but Sam sighed, “Alright, well, I mean, the first thing I’d probably hear is that Sam’s a good guy. That he’s not an asshole football player like my brother, he’s kind of a geek and he stands up for people.” 

“Yeah,” Sam frowned, wishing that meant more to him.

“Not the answer you were looking for?”

“No, it is—“ Sam sighed, “Like, yeah, that’s what other people say too. But…” He trailed off.

“But?” Ray poked him, “Come on, dude.” 

“I dunno, I guess I’m just being dumb,” Sam snorted, “There’s a guy… I met him at the grocery store? And like, he doesn’t know anything about me, but I just had this weird moment of like… what would he see when he looked at me, you know?” 

Ray’s eyes narrowed a fraction, and then shrugged, “I mean, first impressions are cool and everything, but you only get to know someone over time, right?” He shoved a fork full of food into his mouth and chewed it for a moment. “I think you’re pretty cool.” 

“Yeah, you have to say that, because you’re my best friend,” Sam waved away the compliment, “The guy who’s known me since I started Sunday school. And technically, you’re like... my student advisor person too.” 

Ray nudged him, “Even if you were just my friend, I’d think you were cool. A doofus, but cool.” 

“Aww,” Sam mockingly clutched his heart, “ Now I know how you got your girlfriend.” 

“Shut it,” Ray shoved him lightly, and Sam turned back to his food. Ray seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then dug into his own food too. Sam finished first, his portions smaller even if he had been distracted, and pulled out his journal to update it, crossing off the homework he’d handed in. He was in the middle of writing a note about his diet when Ray nudged him lightly, “What’s that all about?” 

“Oh, I’m… just trying to be more organized.” Sam quickly shut the journal. “I can be kind of scatterbrained, so… writing everything down. Even if writing sucks. It’s dumb.” 

“Hey,” Ray’s disapproving look made Sam feel embarrassed, “It’s a cool idea.” 

“Yeah?” Sam tapped a quick rhythm on the surface. He definitely couldn’t tell Ray the truth, but… “You know, if I ever seem… confused, or whatever, you should tell me to check my journal. Sometimes when I’m stressed, everything just kind of—“ He mimed an explosion, and Ray nodded casually. 

“Yeah, sure. Do I get to read it?” 

Sam frowned, and then quickly tried to cover it, “It’s kind of private. You know, personal stuff.” 

“Sure,” Ray shrugged, “So, you coming over this week so we can swap comics?”

“If my mom’ll let me walk anywhere, sure.” Sam grinned, lifting his leg to draw attention to it. 

“Cool.” Ray grinned, and the two fell into easy conversation that pushed Kurt from Sam’s mind.

Tuesday started stronger, and went downhill after school.

“How did your talk with the coach go?” 

Sam glanced away from his locker to where Ray was waiting for an answer, and tried to smile in a greeting, but Ray just sucked a breath between his teeth. 

“That bad?” 

“He, uh…” Sam swallowed, turning back to his locker, “He said that if I feel better in a week or so, I can try out to be a back-up or something. But he has to get the team moving.”

“Dude,” Ray’s face fell, and he put a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “that blows. Do you want me to ask my brother to—“ 

“No, no, I… I mean, I knew I wouldn’t get first string.” Sam shook his head sharply, “I just… I really wanted to try, you know?” 

“Look, you know my opinion on jocks—“ 

“That I’m the only one you like?” 

“—but you’re totally gonna heal up, and then you’ll try out. You’ll show how good you are at practice, and Coach’ll make you second string. Then you’ll be on the field, making everyone jealous.” Ray grinned and nudged him. “But you know what’s more important?”

“That I try my best,” Sam batted his eyes, and Ray snorted.

“No, it’s that I found a DVD copy of Dr. Horrible’s sing-along blog. You’ve got to come over tomorrow and watch it with me.” 

“That sounds great,” Sam grinned and began walking with Ray towards the entrance. “You’ve got to get snacks.” 

“Uh, I’m providing the DVD, the DVD player, the house—“ 

“The older brother who likes to burst into the room and call us nerds.” Sam ticked off the item on an imaginary list in the air.

“He’s making my mom pick me up,” Ray grumbled, “I even said I’d wait and do some homework in the library or something, but no, he’s going out with his friends.” 

“Friends,” Sam snorted as they pushed through the doors, “Who needs them?”

“Not us.” Ray smiled and everything was fine. Maybe it wasn’t great that Sam wasn’t going to get to try out with everyone else for the team, but he was going to get to try out, and he was a freshman anyway. He had three more years after this one to make it to the top. There were a hundred more important things to think about, instead of…

A wave of dizziness hit him as he reached the last step and he paused, as his stomach sank. “I—“ 

“Sam?” Ray asked, reaching out for him, as Sam tried desperately to get down the last step onto something flatter. “What’s wrong?” 

“I need—“ Sam blinked rapidly, reaching the ground and taking a couple more steps, “I need to…” 

“Sam, are you—“ Ray’s words faded out as Sam lurched forward, vaguely aware of Ray lunging to catch him. But his body felt like a wisp of air, and the stone underneath him seemed to blur into linoleum, and there was a yelp of surprise as he crashed heavily into the ground.

“Kurt? Are you okay?” 

The world snapped into focus around him, and Sam was looking into Mr. Schuester’s concerned face. “What…” He looked around rapidly, his eyes finding the rest of the people he remembered from Kurt’s audition crowding around a piano to look down at him. It took him a moment to realize he’d been asked a question. “I’m okay.” He said, carefully lifting himself off the ground. “What happened?”

“You looked like you were trying to lean on the shelves, and then—“ Artie mimed a splat with his hands, “Wipeout.” 

“Very nice, Artie,” Rachel huffed sarcastically, turning her attention towards Sam with something approaching genuine concern, “Did you hit your head, Kurt?” 

Sam took a slow breath, and then shook his head, “I feel okay. My arm hurts a little, but I think it’s just a bruise.” 

“Do you need the nurse?” Mr. Schuester asked, offering him a hand. Sam took it gratefully and quickly jumped to his feet. No ankle pain , he noted.

“I’ll be fine.” He smiled brightly, “Can I just sit down for a minute?” 

“Yeah,” Mr. Schuester nodded, and Sam moved to one of the chairs with a familiar, unattended bag. “We’re going to the auditorium. You take a minute, then grab a copy of the music and follow us?”

“Can do.” Sam nodded, and tried to ignore the looks everyone was giving him as they filed out of the room. As soon as they were out of sigh, his hand launched into Kurt’s bag, moving past the text books in search of any kind of a journal. He found a simple, slate grey one and quickly scanned the front page. Kurt seemed to have had a similar plan to himself, but Sam didn’t have the time to really go over all the information there. 

The last page with writing had a to-do list in Kurt’s nice handwriting, with things like Attend Glee Club and Cook dinner for dad or come up with an excuse for why I can’t. 

There wasn’t really… anything for him to read to help with the situation. Sam sighed, turning back to the first page, and glanced down the list of information, before his eyes jumped to the inside cover, with another number written there as Emergency Contact. The note was less neatly written, and wasn’t his number, or his dad’s number since that was written lower on the page. 

He didn’t have time to work out who it belonged to though. He had to get to the auditorium for Kurt’s rehearsal. He quickly put the bag over his shoulder, and moved to the piano, picking up one of the pieces of paper. Just reading the title made him smile, remembering curling up with his mom and dad and watching the movie on TV.

He jogged towards the auditorium, mostly because he actually could without wincing in pain, and pushed open the stage door that had a note taped on it to announce ‘Glee Club Rehearsal’

I got chills, they're multiplying 

And I'm losing control 

'Cause the power you're supplying 

It's electrifying! 

Sam paused in the doorway, listening to the sound of the group singing. Sure, there was an immediate frustration that they hadn’t waited for him, or Kurt, to join them, but they sounded… good. He carefully moved around the side of the corner, and Mr. Schuester smiled at him and gestured him into the line-up as Rachel continued to sing and tug at— 

The face suddenly clicked in Sam’s mind, and a strange set of nervousness set in Sam’s stomach. Finn Hudson looked mildly horrified and concerned about everything, his eyes riveted on Rachel’s enthusiasm, and all Sam could think about was Puck saying that Kurt was ‘super into’ Finn, and how he ‘made moon-eyes at’ Finn. 

“Oh, hell to the no!” Mercedes burst into Sam’s panic, by literally bursting through the middle of Rachel and Finn’s dance. “Look, I’m not down with this background-singing nonsense. I’m Beyonce, I ain’t no Kelly Rowland.”

“Okay, look Mercedes, it’s just one song,” Mr. Schuester sounded exhausted, and Sam could see the frustration quickly mounting amidst the group.

“I mean, I kind of just came in,” Sam said, stepping forward and drawing attention towards himself, “but it sounded good?”

He watched as Mercedes visibly calmed herself, and threw a half-hearted compliment in Finn’s direction, before smiling and suggesting they run it again. Everyone was shuffling back into place, and Sam paused before he awkwardly held up his hand.

“Kurt?” Mr. Schuester frowned, “You doing okay? Do you need to go?” 

“Oh, no.” Sam dropped his hand awkwardly, “I just didn’t know where you wanted me? Or what part you want me to sing?” 

“Oh!” Mr. Schuester quickly came over, and gestured at something on the page, “You’re going to sing the chorus parts. And you can stand… here. Between Rachel and Tina.” 

“Thanks,” He smiled, which seemed to confuse Mr. Schuester, and stepped into line. Mainly he tried to keep his head down, but it was clear that all the attention was on Rachel and Finn. 

And all of Rachel’s attention was on Finn.

“Poor guy,” He murmured to Artie as Mr. Schuester tried to introduce some more blocking, and he ended up next to him whilst Rachel tugged and pulled at the clearly nervous football player, “She’s—“ 

“Certifiable?” Artie muttered back, and Sam shrugged.

“—enthusiastic?” He offered instead, and Artie chuckled, “Like, it’s important that he feels… welcome? But I don’t think she’s really getting to that point.” 

“And how would you do that, because I don’t think Hudson’s going to go for a mani-pedi session either.” Artie glanced Sam up and down, and Sam tried not to frown at him.

“I dunno. I was going to suggest the guys hang out and play some video games, but if you’re just gonna be rude about it—“ He flicked out the lyrics and tried to focus on them instead.

He could see Artie frowning at him out of the corner of his eye, and then after checking that Mr. Schuester was still busy, turning towards Sam. “I…. Yeah, Video Games could be fun. From what I hear though your house isn’t exactly accessible.” 

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Your bedroom is in the basement, right?” Artie shrugged, “It’s why everyone joked you were a gay vampire?” 

“I’m—“ Sam immediately started to deny it, and instead sighed and shook his head. “Whatever.” 

“I mean, my house is pretty accessible though. I don’t think Hudson exactly wants to be inviting Professor X and Dazzler over to his house, so… we could invite him to hang at mine.” 

“I’m supposed to be Dazzler?” Sam snorted, “I’m way more of a Bobby Drake kind of guy.” 

“Are you—“ Artie’s frown grew, “ Did you hit your head?”

“No, I...“ Sam started to try to think of an explanation, but he was saved by Mr. Schuester calling them back to attention. Rehearsal only ran for another twenty minutes or so and then Mr. Schuester talked about how he had something planned for later in the week and when the next rehearsal would be. 

“Well, that’s that settled then,” Mercedes muttered as she collected her bag from under the piano, whilst Sam slipped Kurt’s over his shoulder. “Welcome to the Rachel Berry show.” 

“He said it was just for this one song.” Sam reminded her carefully.

“Oh that’s what they always say. Just this once, we’ll do it this way.” She scoffed, “and then it’s Oh, but it worked so well the last time we did it that way. Or Do we really want to try something new, when we know the old thing works just as well?” 

“I guess… I just think it's a good thing that we have more members?” Sam offered with a small shrug, “I mean, we’re all here because we like music—“ 

“I’m not looking for the pageant show answer,” Mercedes rolled her eyes, “I love music, but I came here to perform. And I can’t perform if I’m just ooh-ooh-oohing in the background.” 

He wanted to say something else to reassure her, but he glanced over, and noticed Finn and Artie heading out through the side door. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” He smiled and jogged over towards them as casually as he could. “Hey.” 

“Oh, hey… Kurt.” Finn offered a nervous smile.

“I was just grabbing my bag,” Sam gestured over his shoulder. “So what’s the plan?”

His eyes moved towards Artie, who was not looking at him at all, and then back to Finn who gave an uncomfortable smile. “Me and Artie are gonna go play some video games.” 

“You and—“ Sam blinked, glancing back at Artie who was somehow looking even further away from him. “Oh.”

“I mean, we’d invite you, but you don’t really seem into that kind of thing?” Finn’s smile was awkward, and Sam could feel his stomach sinking. “Anyway, Artie’s mom is picking us up so…” 

“Yeah, totally,” Sam forced himself to smile, and took a step back. “I’ll see you both at the next rehearsal.” 

Finn waved another goodbye, and Sam watched until they were out of the door. Another glance around the room made it clear he was the only one there, and he slowly moved to the front of the stage, sitting so his feet dangled off the edge.

It took him a moment to realize that his eyes had got damp, and he rubbed at them quickly with the back of his hand. He didn’t know why he really cared. He should be furious instead of… whatever this was. This feeling of being unwanted and uninvited. Because it wasn’t aimed at him. It was aimed at Kurt. 

But right now it was aimed at him, because he was Kurt. 

A few more minutes passed, before the next part of the problem hit him. He didn’t know how to get home. Or, to Kurt’s home. He didn’t know his way around Lima, and he couldn’t drive Kurt’s car there either.

He pulled out Kurt’s phone and the journal and stared at them both for a long moment, before he dialed in the ‘Emergency Contact’ number. It rang a couple of times, before there was the quiet sound of someone picking up. 

“Hello?” He asked quietly, and there was some shuffling. 

“Hummel?” 

The voice was familiar, and it took Sam half a second to place it. “Not exactly, Puck.” 

“Sam?” Puck sounded more concerned, and Sam nodded for a moment before he caught himself.

“Yeah. I’m back. I’m… at McKinley? In the Auditorium?” He wiped at his face again. “You weren’t joking about Kurt having no friends, were you?” 

“What happened?”

“I must have swapped at the start of the rehearsal, and… uh, Finn Hudson is in the Glee Club?” Sam tapped the back of his heels against the stage. “Rachel was being super intense, so I suggested to Artie that we invite Finn over to play some video games. And I think Artie maybe… invited Finn to hang out, but left me— I mean, left Kurt out of it? Like, Finn seemed to have no idea it was my idea.” 

“That is like… so much information.” Puck took a moment, “You’re sure it’s Finn? Tall, Brown Hair—” 

“Yeah, Puck, I’m sure. I googled you all when I woke up at home.” Sam snapped, “That’s what you’re focusing on, dude?” 

“I’m trying to work through it!” Puck snapped back, immediately, and then seemed to catch himself, speaking quietly, “Just…You sound really upset.”

“It’s hard not to take it personally. I mean, at some point I’m gonna stop, and then I’m just going to be really, really pissed off for Kurt, but…” Sam looked up at the ceiling, “I know it’s not badass to be hurt. ” 

“I mean, physically hurt, yeah. Emotionally? Not really.” Puck muttered, “Look, me and Kurt kind of had a blowout. I don’t know if he wants me around.” 

“Right.” Sam scoffed, “Right. Okay. I’ll just… I’ll work it out.” 

“Sam, no, I’ll—“ 

“I’ll see you if we don’t swap back by tomorrow.” Sam snapped, before he shut off the phone. 

“You’ve got to be more careful with your car keys, Kurt,” Kurt’s dad was saying as they pulled up by the front door. “I’ve got to get back to the shop, but seriously.” 

“I know, dad,” Sam said quietly, “I don’t know how I didn’t notice them in that book.” 

“You sure you’re doing okay?” Kurt’s dad paused, looking him over, “You said you were happier in Glee Club, but this isn’t looking like ‘happy’.” 

“Just a rough rehearsal,” Sam lied, forcing himself to smile, “but people have hard practices all the time right?” 

“Sure…” Kurt’s dad put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, and Sam nodded before jumping out of the car. He could feel Kurt’s dad’s eyes on him as he found the right house key and let himself in. The house was silent, which… was weird. The house was never all that quiet back in Tennessee, unless everyone was asleep. 

He slowly moved around the space, working out where everything was, before descending into the basement. 

“Whoa.” He whispered, looking around. It wasn’t like any guy's room he’d ever seen in real life. It kind of looked like a supervillain lair, if he was totally honest, but he wasn’t going to let Kurt know that he thought that. He took off Kurt’s shoes, mainly because this definitely didn’t feel like the kind of room you were supposed to wear your shoes in, and wandered around, whistling at the bathroom attached to his room, and the huge closet full of weird and amazing clothes.

But exploring lost it’s luster quickly, and he sat down at Kurt’s desk. He didn’t dare touch his homework, but he made an effort to record, as clinically as he could, what had happened in the journal. 

Finn Hudson joined the Glee Club. You sang backup on ‘You’re the one that I Want’. Mercedes thinks that the fact that Rachel got the Sandy part means Glee Club will always be about her. I suggested to Artie that the two of you invite Finn to hang out and play video games to make him feel more welcome. The two of them went to play video games, because they didn’t think you’d be interested in playing. I think that means Artie didn’t tell Finn you suggested it. I called Emergency Contact, I don’t know what’s going on there, but he knows Finn is in the Glee Club, and he knows I was here. 

I’m sorry.

He looked at the last line, debating scratching it out, but instead he put the journal up against the sewing machine, and grabbed a couple of pieces of scrap paper, and began to doodle to try and clear his mind. He drew a cartoonish version of himself, his letterman jacket fluttering in the wind like a cape, before he drew a cartoonish version of Kurt, a sketched army of mannequins in the background. He was halfway through drawing a giant ape smashing up a city line, when he had the sudden urge to give it a mohawk. It felt a little vindictive, but he drew it anyway and smiled at the result, and then blinked as the image swam in front of him. 

“Quicker this time.” He murmured, glancing towards Kurt’s bed, before he decided he wouldn’t make it. He instead leaned forward, carefully putting his head on his arms and making sure Kurt wouldn’t accidentally knock anything off when he—

There was a wave of vertigo as Kurt felt something press against his head suddenly, and his understanding of up and down changed. He was bent in half, sitting on something solid, with his chest pressed against something else hard. He quickly sat up, and let out a sigh of relief as he recognized his own bedroom. 

His journal was in easy view, his bag on the floor against one of the legs of the desk, and although his arm was a little sore, there was no sign of anything too dangerous in his line of sight. He was home, and safe, and he only had Sam to thank for that.

He looked back to where he had been lying, and smiled as he saw a small drawing on one of the pieces of paper he kept there for bolts of inspiration. It was easy to recognize Sam now, and the giant ape with a mohawk was almost definitely supposed to be Puck, but Kurt’s eyes were drawn to the small figure in the corner. Whilst Sam’s character was drawn with a relatively bulky frame under the jacket, the other figure was long, lean lines, a look of superiority on his face as he gestured towards… either Sam or the Puck-Ape, it was hard to tell. There was an army of mannequins behind him, all in crudely sketched action poses.

His heart clenched strangely, and he stood to get a little distance from the image. He carefully walked around the room, trying not to notice the fact that his wardrobe and bathroom doors were open. Of course, once Sam got home to his house, he’d be a little curious. Kurt had been checking Sam out in the mirror, so it wasn’t as though he had any room to judge somebody looking in a closet—

He rubbed his face as embarrassment settled in, like pin pricks beneath the skin, and he quickly moved to the stairs. “Dad? Are you home?” 

Silence met him in response, which made sense. His dad should still be at work. But after the constant noise at Sam’s hope, the emptiness made Kurt feel strange. He moved back towards his desk, moving to pick up his journal, when his phone buzzed suddenly in his pocket. He hesitated for half a moment, before he pulled it out and looked at the unfamiliar number.

Proof. Potentially proof at least. Or someone calling and telling him he was going to burn in hell, but—

He hit the answer button before he could talk himself out of it, and pressed it to his head hopefully. “Hello?” 

“Kurt?” The voice on the other end was a little mumbled, a little nervous, and more familiar than Kurt really knew how to admit after maybe two hours of using it.

“Sam?”

“Yeah. It’s…. Sam Evans.” 

Kurt’s knees got a little weak, and he was sliding down into the desk chair without even realizing he had started. “Sam Evans.” He repeated, his eyes skating around the desk as he tried to decide where to start. The silence seemed to stretch on for too long, and he had to fill it. “I found your drawing.” 

“Oh!” Sam sounded surprised, “I… uh… I didn’t know what to do, and I doodle when I’m… feeling stuff. I found my homework.” 

“I like to complete tasks when I’m overwhelmed.” Kurt replied, “I’m sorry if—“ 

“No, no, it’s… I mean, what kind of person is going to complain to someone doing their homework for them,” Sam laughed and the noise was warm and kind. Kurt heard the sound of a chair scraping back, and he could only imagine that Sam had got up from his desk now. “No, I’m just… I’m sorry I didn’t get started on any of yours. I’m not exactly an A+ student, and I didn’t want to mess it up for you.”

“The drawing was… It meant a lot.” Kurt touched it with his finger, looking at the characters. It was proof. All of this was proof. “We… We exist.” 

“Yes! I mean… yeah. I googled McKinley as soon as I woke up the first time,” Sam made a soft pained noise, and Kurt’s breath caught in his throat, “Sorry, just—“ 

“Ankle.” Kurt nodded to himself in understanding. He’d felt the aching like it was his own. It was impossible not to empathize with it.

“Yeah.” Sam paused, “This is weird.” 

“A little,” Kurt kept his tone light, but he felt like he was almost on the edge of hysterical laughter at the understatement, “I… Well, I don’t really know how to talk to most people. So this is even more uncomfortable for me. Not in a bad way!” He quickly added, “I mean, you seem very nice.” 

“Yeah?” Sam sounded unsure, “I wasn’t… I mean… I don’t know what I mean.” 

“It’s okay,” Kurt assured, “It’s nice to know I’m not going insane. That’s more than enough for a phone call.” 

“Did you… read the journal?” Sam asked quietly,

“I did. You said I was supposed to?” 

“Yeah. I… I mean, I didn’t read if you’d left any notes for me in mine yet.”

Kurt glanced at his own journal, “Discussing it on the phone kind of removes the point of having them, but… I can tell you what happened, whilst I was inside you.” 

“Uh… you wanna rephrase that one, dude?” Sam chuckled and Kurt felt his cheeks flush as he let out an unintelligible denial, “Sorry, I’m joking, I know what you mean. The last thing I remember is walking down the stairs.” 

“Some boy caught me before I fell. I think his name was Ray?” Kurt said carefully, listening for Sam’s reaction. “I called your dad to pick me up, because that’s what it said in the book. Then I went to your room, and found the letter, and then just started on homework.” 

“Ray’s a good guy,” Sam hummed, “I’ve been friends with him for years. I’ll tell you about him, if you want? Or I can tell you how the rehearsal went? Or we can talk about the letter, but we totally don’t have to.” 

Kurt hesitated, glancing towards the cartoon and journal. “What happened during rehearsal?” 

“It… was a lot?” Sam was hesitating too. “Apparently Finn joined the Glee Club?” 

“That doesn’t seem right. Are you sure?” 

“I’m really sure.” Sam sighed, “Puck asked the same question.” 

“Well, the idea of somebody popular joining the Glee Club is akin to the idea of Beyonce taking up Mixed Martial Arts as a side gig.” Kurt muttered, “But… okay. Okay, that’s… That’s nice. Finn’s always been kind to me, you know, relative to… everyone. And Mr. Schuester was wanting a stronger male lead. It was never going to be me, honestly, so—“ 

“Why wouldn’t it be you?” Sam cut in.

“I don’t exactly conform to the—“ Kurt sighed, “You know what I look like, Sam. What I sound like and how I dress. I’m not the… handsome, all-American jock like you. I know that must make it difficult when you’re having to inhabit me, but… I’m not going to get chosen for the opportunities that you might be chosen for. “ 

There was a long pause, and Kurt closed his eyes waiting to hear the line go dead, or for Sam to shout at him. He could still hear Sam breathing on the other end, and finally he spoke, “I don’t think that’s fair at all—“ 

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have—“ 

“I’m saying, it isn’t fair that you’re not given those opportunities. I mean, I bet you’re a way better singer than Finn. Your voice can go way high, and it can go as low as mine, like, you can sing whatever you want to, and you can probably sing it great.” There was a beat of pause as Kurt sat in stunned silence, “I know it’s not like… my place to say anything, cause I’m just a guy you don’t really know who you swap bodies with occasionally? But you deserve a lot better than that school, Kurt.” 

Kurt didn’t know what to do in the silence that followed, and he was almost the one who hung up the phone just to avoid having to deal with the weight of those words. “Well,” he finally settled on, “you have brought me the closest I’ve gotten in years to having a male friend, so… You seem to know how to claw me back from the social abyss one step at a time.” 

“Yeah, say that after this next thing,” Sam sounded frustrated now. “So, Mr. Schuester had Finn and Rachel singing ‘You’re the one that I want’, and Rachel was being really…” 

“Enthusiastic?” Kurt offered, and Sam laughed.

“That’s the word I used too. Artie said ‘Certifiable’.” 

“He’s not wrong,” Kurt hummed, “I don’t imagine he was too happy about that? Finn, I mean.”

“He seemed a little freaked out. So I suggested to Artie we should all hang out and play some video games together. I was talking to Mercedes about the rehearsal, and Artie went over to talk to Finn. I mean, from what Puck said, you wouldn’t be rushing over to talk to him alone.” 

“Well, I…” Kurt winced, tilting his head, because… if he had a reason to talk to Finn Hudson, and the opportunity? Then he’d almost certainly have taken it and began their secret romantic interlude. “Never mind, what happened next?”

“I caught Artie trying to sneak out the side with Finn. I mean, I can’t say for certain, but from the conversation, it seemed like Artie had suggested they hang out, and just… not mentioned you.” 

The pain bloomed, but it was dulled from a lifetime of not receiving invites to birthday parties, and being picked last for team sports. “That makes sense,” He said calmly, “If the intent is to have Finn Hudson feel more comfortable, it wouldn’t do to have the supposedly gay kid spending time with him.” 

“That’s not fair.” 

“Sam… if you’re going to be spending a lot of time as me… you need to learn that things often aren’t.” Kurt sighed, his finger poking at the edges of the drawing. “Honestly, with the exception of… whatever Noah Puckerman considers a kind gesture, this drawing, and your attempts to continue my life as close to normal as possible, might be one of the nicest things someone has done for me in years.”

Sam was quiet for a while after that, and Kurt moved to lie on his bed and stare at the ceiling. There felt like there were a hundred important things he should be asking or telling Sam, but his mind was racing. Sam had been kind to him. And Kurt had already capitalized on that kindness to check him out in the mirror. If Sam ever knew, Kurt couldn’t imagine he’d be so kind again.

“We should talk about if there are any rules. Whilst we’re… not in the driver's seat?” Kurt spoke carefully, picking at his fingers as he tried to work out how best to broach the subject. “I understand you have some… preconceptions about me, so I’ll understand if there are certain… hygiene tasks that you’d prefer I avoid.” 

“Huh?” 

“We clearly don’t know how long these swaps will last.” Kurt struggled through, feeling his cheeks flush as he tried to make his point clear without just saying I’m gay, and I’m worried if you find out I saw you naked, you won’t be as okay with this as you are trying to be now. “Previously it was… close to eight hours? This time, two. If it took a whole day, or perhaps longer… well, I didn’t actually look in your bathroom, so I’m going to say, should I shower? What if you need the bathroom?” 

“Oh.” Sam coughed awkwardly, and it felt like a blow for a moment, “I didn’t… uh… think of that.” 

“One is an unfortunate biological necessity, and in terms of cleanliness… I’m just saying that you’re free to do whatever you need to in my body. In regards to that.” Kurt was swimming in humiliation, and his finger inched towards closing the call.

“I mean, yeah? You can totally shower as me, or use the bathroom as me, Kurt.” Sam sounded mildly perplexed. “Why would I say no?”

“I’ve been in public showers before, Sam. I don’t shower after Gym class until everyone else is done and gone because of what they joke about. I would understand if you felt uncomfortable about the idea of me seeing you…” He trailed off, blushing to himself. 

“I don’t. I mean, not any more than I feel uncomfortable with the idea of anyone seeing me… you know.” Sam spoke quickly. “You do what you need to do.” 

“Okay.” Kurt rolled over and buried his face in a pillow for a moment, “That was humiliating. But I didn’t want you to find out I’d had to shower as you, and get upset.” 

“I’m not gonna get freaked out about people saying you’re gay, Kurt. Or… you know, if it’s true.” Sam paused for a moment, “I need to ask you for something though.” 

“What is it?” Kurt asked, a sudden wave of suspicion overcoming him as he sat up.

“It’s a big ask, but… I kind of need you to stop driving. At least until we know how this works.”

It sounded entirely ridiculous, and Kurt tried not to immediately refuse. “How will I get anywhere?” He frowned, “How will I get to school?” 

“Kurt… I’m 14. I don’t know how to drive.” Sam said slowly, “What happens if you swap with me in the middle of driving to school? The weird sleepiness gives us a few seconds, maybe a minute, to react, but… I can’t drive.”

Kurt stared at the ceiling, eyes wide in sudden concern. He hadn’t thought of that at all, and was suddenly aware of how badly that could turn out. Not just if he was in an accident. Kurt could accidentally leave Sam stranded in the middle of nowhere.  “Okay. Okay, I will… tell my dad that I can’t drive to school anymore. Or get him to take away my car. I imagine I can have him find my tiara collection without realizing I set him up.” 

“You have a tiara collection?” 

Kurt flinched, “No—“ 

“That’s really cool,” Sam cut off his denial, “Are they like… real gemstones and stuff?” 

“No,” Kurt hesitated, “They’re more like costume pieces.” 

“That’s still pretty fun,” Sam didn’t sound like he was lying, and that might be the most confusing thing so far. No. That was a lie, there were much more confusing things going on, but Kurt just didn’t know how to deal with this. “Stacy’s really into that stuff, but I’ve done a few tea parties with her.” 

“Okay…” Kurt chewed his lip for a moment. “This… has been a lot.” 

“Sorry.” Sam suddenly sounded concerned, “I didn’t mean to—“ 

“No, you’ve been… Honestly? This has been weird, but it’s also been nice.” Kurt sighed, “It’s just a lot to unpack. But… I could call you again tomorrow?”

“I’d like that.” Sam sounded genuinely enthused. “I can tell you about me and Ray, and you can tell me about your dad maybe?” 

“That… sounds like a plan.” Kurt felt a smile tug at his lips. “Goodnight, Sam Evans.” 

“Goodnight, Kurt Hummel.” 

Kurt hung up, and flopped back onto his bed. He’d wanted proof it was all real, and… there it was. Art he wouldn’t have drawn himself, memories of being Sam, and then a phone call. Sam was a real person, and Kurt was swapping bodies with him.

Sam was also a real person who… seemed nice? That somehow threw Kurt more than any of the science fiction stuff. It wasn’t as though Kurt thought there were no good men in the world. It was just that, in the most general terms, he hadn’t met a lot of them. Most guys tended to look at him, and write him off as either someone they didn’t want to know, or an easy target. 

It wasn’t a particularly fair comparison for Sam though, Kurt decided as he stood up and stretched, before making his way towards the stairs, because Sam had to get to know Kurt. They were swapping bodies, and they needed to be able to mimic each other without issue to ensure that nobody asked any questions. Sam had to be nice to Kurt, and had to get to know him. 

But, he could lie to himself for a while and pretend that maybe he had made a friend. 

He set to making a simple pasta for dinner, and was part way through chopping the vegetables, when there was a frantic knocking at his door. He hesitated, before quickly turning off the heat on the stove and moving to the door, wiping his hands on a towel as he went.

When he opened the door, Puck was waiting for him. Kurt’s eyes immediately skated over his body, the dampness of his shirt, and how out of breath he seemed. 

“Puck?” 

“Hey, Kurt, ” Puck craned his neck to look past him into the house, “I thought we were going to work on that American History stuff tonight?”

Kurt turned around trying to see what Puck was looking for, “What American History—“ He turned back towards Puck, who mouthed Dad at him exaggeratedly, “He’s not here. It’s just me.” 

“Oh,” Puck untensed a little, and then reached into one of the bushes by the side of the door, and pulled out his tightly wrapped letterman jacket, before pushing past Kurt into the house. “Good.” 

“Did you throw your jacket in the bush?” Kurt asked, turning around and closing the door after him. Puck was looking around curiously, but turned back to him at the click of the door. 

“Yeah, I mean, Kurt’s got to have told his dad about the football team being an asshole to him, so I thought, a guy in a letterman shows up on his doorstep? That’s gonna set off alarm bells for his dad.” Puck took a few steps forward and Kurt flinched as Puck shoved his shoulder hard. “Where the hell were you? I ran to the school, and Kurt’s car was there, but you were nowhere, dude. I thought you’d been like… kidnapped, or hurt, or whatever.” 

“Puck—“ Kurt started, taking a step back.

“And how did you even get to Kurt’s house? I mean, even if you knew the address, you don’t know Lima. Tell me you didn’t hitch hike, or just ask strangers for directions. You’re a freshman, not seven years old. I don’t know what you look like, but Hummel’s not exactly going to be fighting off an adult who decides he wants to take him —“ 

“Puck, I’m not Sam!” Kurt cut in, and Puck froze. “We swapped back… fifteen, maybe twenty minutes ago.” 

“Oh.” Puck blinked and then deflated a little. “Okay. You’re okay?”

“Everything is fine.” Kurt assured, “I… spoke to him on the phone.”

“Spoke to who?” Puck frowned, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Sam.” Kurt couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips, “He seems… nice?” 

Puck watched Kurt for a moment, before a small smile tugged at his lips, “Yeah. I think so.” 

“Well, I’m sorry that you had to come all the way over here. Especially since you clearly ran both ways.”

“Exercise is always good.” Puck shrugged, “You’re okay? With everything?” 

“I…” Kurt’s polite look shifted a little as he considered what Sam had told him, “Honestly? Being rejected by Artie Abrams and Finn Hudson probably meant a lot to Sam, but it’s just one in a long line of rejections I’ve become used to. I probably wouldn’t have even tried.”

“Yeah, well, they’re missing out.” Puck shrugged, slipping his jacket on, “You can be a really funny guy, when you wanna be.” 

“Thanks,” Kurt smiled softly and then paused, “How was Finn at a Glee Club rehearsal when you had football practice?”

“Practice got moved to tomorrow,” Puck muttered, folding his arms, “because someone couldn’t make it. I mean, Coach didn’t say why, but… I mean, it's pretty clear, right?”

“I couldn’t possibly comment on the inner-politics of the football team,” Kurt took a couple of steps towards the door. “You’re not going to get some kind of karmic justice on Artie for me, are you?” 

“No, you made it pretty clear you don’t appreciate that,” Puck sighed as thought the idea of not bullying someone was exhausting him, but then smirked at Kurt, “He totally deserves it though.” 

“What I do appreciate is that even when we were arguing, you came to help Sam,” Kurt opened the door again. “There might be a person under all that badass after all.” 

Puck snorted and stepped out of the door. “I’ll text you if I’m free for guitar practice tomorrow night. Text me if you swap again?” 

“I will do.” Kurt agreed, and stood at the door to watch Puck jog down the street, waiting until he was out of sight. There were too many strange things in his life right now, but the fact that he appreciated Puck being around might certainly be the biggest one.

Chapter Text

“Puck isn’t here.”

Kurt swallowed nervously, looking down at Puck’s sister again. He had no idea how an adorable child could be so intimidating, but of the two times he had met the girl, she had managed to make him feel like she had caught him actively committing a crime. “I know. He asked me to meet him here, after football practice.” 

The girl stared at him, and then repeated, “Puck isn’t here,” even slower, as if he was having trouble understanding her.

“Okay…” Kurt glanced over his shoulder, but there was no sign of a mohawked savior on the horizon. He gestured to the porch, “Is it okay if I sit out here and wait?” 

“Where’s your car?” She narrowed her eyes, glancing away from him to check the street. 

“My dad found something he didn’t like in my room. So, I’m not allowed to drive my car until I get rid of that thing.” Kurt admitted quietly, trying not to pay attention to the sharp pain he felt in his chest at the memory. He shook it off when he remembered he was talking to a child. “It’s not a big—”  

“Boy stuff?” Her nose crinkled in disgust, and Kurt could have almost laughed, but he was sure that’d only make her more annoyed.

“No, actually. That was kind of the problem.” Kurt gestured over his shoulder, “I can sit on the curb if you want. I just wanted to see if he’d got home before me, and ask if I could sit on the porch.” 

“Puck isn’t—“ 

“Here. Yeah, I got it the first time,” Kurt sighed, and turned around, sitting on the little steps that lead up to the porch. He heard the door behind him close, and tried not to wince. He definitely wasn’t winning any points with Puck’s family. But, that was fine, really. His dad wasn’t a big fan of Puck either.

But as the minutes dragged on, boredom began to set in. He ran his fingers through the guitar positions Puck had taught him absently, but that could only take up so much time before Kurt was forced to do something else. His phone was the next most interesting thing, and he turned it over and over in his hands, before he pulled up the newest number and sent a quick text message.

Kurt: Have you met Puck’s little sister?

Sam: I don’t think so? 

The response came quicker than he had expected, and Kurt glanced over his shoulder towards the house before turning his attention back to the phone.

Kurt: I’ve met her twice now, and I don’t think she likes me much.

Sam: How old is she? Are you hanging out with Puck?

A quick glance up and down the street revealed no sign of Puck, so Kurt made himself more comfortable and started to tap out his reply.

Kurt: That’s kind of the plan. Once he’s done with football practice, he’s going to keep helping me learn guitar and football. So, I walked to his house, and now I’m sitting on his doorstep.

Sam: It sounded like the two of you had got in a fight the last time I was there.

Kurt: He came to the school looking for you after you hung up. Then ran to my house to find you. It’s more than a lot of people would have done.

Sam: People should do more.

Sam: I’m heading over to Ray’s house to watch a movie. An internet thing on DVD really. Nerd stuff.

Kurt: I can stop bothering you.

Sam: You’re not bothering me. I like hearing from you.

It was a nice sentiment, even if Kurt wasn’t entirely sure he believed Sam. Still, he tapped on the phone case for a moment as he worked out if he could think of anything else to say to keep the conversation going.

Kurt: I’m learning football for you, just so you know. I wanted to make sure that if we swapped and I had to go to a practice for you, I didn’t humiliate you. 

He sat back, waiting for Sam’s response. When a few minutes passed, the words he had written settled in his stomach like a literal weight, and his fingers hovered over the keys. Maybe Sam hadn’t responded because there was something wrong with what he had said. He read the message over and over, trying to work out if he should apologize or try to laugh it off.

He was still stuck in his indecision when he heard the sound of someone running down the street. He looked up, and quickly stood as Puck began to slow down. 

“Hey,” Puck reached the stairs and put his hand on one of the railings, catching his breath.

“Hi,” Kurt nodded politely, trying not to notice how the damp shirt clung to Puck’s body. 

“That took way longer than it was supposed to. Coach Tanaka’s kind of on a warpath,” Puck straightened up, and gestured to the door, “You wanna come in?” 

“Sure.” Kurt nodded thankfully, and followed Puck into the house. “Your sister is home.” He added quietly as the door clicked closed, before Puck could say anything terrible.

“It’s me, Sarah!” Puck shouted, as he moved toward the kitchen.

“Your friend is outside!” Puck’s sister called back, and Puck chuckled as he gestured to the stairs.

“You wanna head upstairs and get yourself ready?” 

Kurt looked to the stairs and then Puck, “I could?” He paused and tried to change his tone. “You’re not coming?”

“I’m gonna be here for a couple of minutes,” Puck tapped the sink, filling a glass of water as he spoke.“I’m probably gonna finish this tap off before I follow you.” 

“Alright,” Kurt slowly climbed the stairs, and let himself into Puck’s room. It was just the same as before, everything as neat and tidy as Kurt thought Puck was able to. He put his bag on the desk, and hung his jacket on the back of the desk chair, before he began to look around for something to occupy himself whilst he waited for Puck. The guitar was waiting on the bed, and Kurt carefully picked it up and slipped it over his head before he sat down on the edge of the bed, running through some of the chord positions as he waited.

Of course that only distracted him for a moment, before he found himself staring at his phone again, watching the lack of activity. He was so focused on it, that he didn’t hear Puck coming up the stairs, and startled a little when the door opened. Puck didn’t seem to notice as he moved to the drawers, and pulled out another t-shirt. 

Kurt’s body might as well have turned to stone, because he couldn’t move an inch as Puck pulled the shirt and vest he was wearing over his head. If he moved, Puck might suddenly remember he was there, he justified to himself as his eyes darted over the exposed skin. 

Puck seemed entirely ambivalent to his presence though, moving to a mirror hanging on the wall and rubbing his chest for a moment. “Do you see a bruise?” 

Kurt’s eyes jumped to the mirror, where Puck was looking back at him. “Sorry?” 

“What’ve I said about apologizing when you’ve got my guitar?” Puck turned around to face Kurt. and his knowing smirk would have worried Kurt last week, but now it was just a little annoying rather than a threat. “Azimio got me real good at practice. I told him if he bruises the merchandise, I’m gonna bruise his face.” 

Kurt nodded quickly and turned his attention back to his phone. “Maybe?” 

“You waiting for a call, or something?” Puck asked curiously, and Kurt tried not to blush as Puck casually sat next to him, leaning over to look at the phone. He could feel the heat of Puck’s body against his arm, not touching but close enough that Kurt could smell his aftershave. 

“No. No, I— uh—“ Kurt tapped his fingers on the base of the guitar. He wasn’t sure what to say with Puck’s nipple ring glittering out of the corner of his eye, and the warmth and presence of Puck so close, “I sent Sam a text, and he stopped replying, and now I’m freaking out.”

“What’d you say?” Puck asked curiously, not getting closer but not moving away either.

“I just let him know why I was learning football,” Kurt opened the phone and turned the messages towards Puck, leaning the opposite way to give himself a little bit more breathing room, even if there was a quiet voice in his mind that definitely didn’t want to do that.

Puck examined the screen for a moment, and then nodded, “I mean… Do you want me to make you feel better? Or my honest opinion?” 

“Is there an option that does both of those things?” Kurt slipped the phone back into his pocket.

“You kinda put a lot on him? Kind of like, ‘hey, I’m doing this thing for you.’” Puck stood up, and paced back forward a little, “I know I’d think that was weird. Because my whole experience is… people don’t just do things for other people. There’s always something else they want out of people.” 

“That’s…” Kurt frowned, looking at the guitar. “Do you really think that?” 

“No, I said it because I like the sound of my own voice.” Puck scoffed.

“Then what’s this?” Kurt gestured at the guitar. “What are you getting out of me?” 

“I…” Puck stopped moving, and crossed his arms as he turned to look at Kurt. “You really want to know?”

“I do.” Kurt moved to take off the guitar, but before he could get it out of his lap, Puck reached out and put a hand on top of it, holding it in place.

“Guitar means you have to be a badass. So the guitar stays on.” He took a step back, and picked up the clean shirt, swinging it back and forth as he moved as if it was bleeding off the excess energy. “When we threw you in the dumpster, and you hit your head? I came looking for you. I mean, a big part of that was looking out for myself. But I felt guilty too, like, I didn’t want you dead. And I didn’t want someone to find you and be like Puck threw me in here and left me for dead. ” 

“Okay,” Kurt nodded, trying to accept the words as neutrally as possible.

“And when you woke up, you… weren’t scared of me. I mean,” Puck rolled his eyes, “now it’s obvious that that was Sam, but in that moment, it was like you trusted me to make sure you were okay. And then Sam found out the kind of asshole I am, in the middle of the hallway, and I saw this look on his face of like… disgust? And fear?” He shook his head, “That sucked. But I totally deserved it, from you or Sam.”

“I’m not going to disagree.” Kurt shrugged, “You have been awful to me in the past.” 

“See? Guitar makes you say things you’d usually be too chicken shit to say out loud.” Puck nodded to it, and turned to go the other way across his room, “But then, I kind of think I won Sam back, maybe? Like, not completely, but he still trusted me enough to come home with me. And I thought… I don’t want to be the kind of guy who’s gonna run into a burning building to help someone, but people are still going to say well, yeah, but he was still an asshole. So… if I can prove that I can be a decent person, and help you out, then maybe I’m not a complete fuck-up.” 

Kurt waited for Puck to finally stop moving, watching the slightly silhouetted form in the window with tense shoulders, and balled fists. “I don’t think you’re a complete fuck-up.” He said after a moment.

“Yeah, right,” Puck snorted, his shoulder jumping with the motion.

“I’m telling you the truth. Honesty can be badass.” Kurt twanged one of the strings as he collected his thoughts. “I think you’re… a lot of things. You seem to think cruelty is the only option that can lead to your safety. You think that the only way to get ahead is by kneecapping the competition at every step of the race, well after you’re already in the lead.” He glanced up at Puck who was watching him silently, clearly absorbing everything he was saying. Kurt stood up, making sure to keep a firm, obvious hold on the guitar. “I can continue to list the opinions I have on the negative ways that you act, but let’s jump to the other side of this.” 

“Hey, you can say whatever you want. I deserve it right?” Puck muttered, “You want to keep laying out all the ways I suck, you go ahead, and—” 

“You helped me and Sam. In the dumpster, even if it was guilt and self preservation, you did something. That’s the reason I like Finn. Even if it’s next to nothing, he still does… something when I’m being bullied.” Kurt continued, catching Puck’s eye and forcing him to hold eye contact. “And you keep looking out for Sam, and for me. Do you know how long it’s been since someone consciously decided to have lunch with me? Even if it was to check out my injuries, you chose to eat lunch with me. And the little notebook? Even when the immediate danger had passed, you still wanted to help. And when we were fighting, and Sam needed help, you came running. Literally running.” Kurt shook his head, and reached out nervously to touch Puck’s arm. “You can be better. There are… good instincts buried in there somewhere. So, if I can help those come out, by asking for help? I’ll keep asking for help.” 

Puck turned to look at him, the frustration having given way to a suspicious, unsure look. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Kurt nodded, and then took an exaggeratedly sharp breath. “Let’s start with putting a shirt on. I’m trying to ignore the gay rumors, Puckerman, not intensify them.” 

Puck snorted, the moment broken, and quickly pulled the shirt over his head. “I do a nice thing and show off my rocking bod for you, and you bitch about it? Seems about right.” He gestured toward the bed, putting a warm hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “Let’s work on those chords again.”

“Kurt! Door!”

Kurt groaned in frustration, looking up from his sewing machine towards the door at the top of his stairs. He was almost done with these jeans, and he hated leaving things half finished… but he also never got visitors, and it was hard to imagine a situation where this was about to be a good thing. Better that he face the problem now, instead of hiding down here.

He calmly made his way up the stairs, holding his head high, ready for judgement. But the sound of laughter from beyond the doorway made Kurt hesitate, and when he opened the door, he revealed a sight he had never thought he’d see. 

Finn Hudson, standing in his living room, with a can of Kurt’s diet coke in his hand, Letterman jacket and adorable crooked smile. 

He wasn’t sure if he actually made a noise, but something drew Finn’s attention towards him, and Kurt watched the smile falter. His dad was stepping out of the kitchen, waving Kurt over towards them. “Kurt, Finn here just dropped in to talk to you.” 

“Oh?” Kurt walked as casually as he could, wishing he was wearing something a little more apropos to the situation. Everything he was wearing was clean and fashionable, of course, but it wasn’t the outfit he expected to be wearing when Finn realized what he had been missing all along. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Finn’s smile ticked back up at the corner of his mouth, and he turned to give Kurt’s dad his full attention, “Actually, Mr. Hummel, it’s probably better if we talk in private? If that’s cool with you?” 

“Sure?” Kurt watched his dad’s good humor fade a little, and forced himself to smile brighter so his dad would get out of this room and let him have his John Hughes moment, “I’m gonna go see if I can find what’s rolling around in the bottom of the truck.”

Kurt watched the door click shut, and turned back towards Finn. “Is it something to do with Glee Club? Or is this more of a personal call?”

“It’s— uh, I guess both?” Finn shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. “It’s about that… first rehearsal?” 

Kurt nodded, trying to remember if Sam had said anything in particular about Finn’s performance. When nothing came to mind, he settled for vague compliment. “You were quite impressive, to say you’ve had no formal training.” 

“Rachel said the same thing, pretty much.” Finn’s smile grew, “You’ve all really tried to make me feel… welcome.” 

“Music is the great unifier.” Kurt shrugged casually, his heart hammering in his chest, “It brings people together. Makes you see each other in a different light, maybe?”

 “That’s a really cool way of looking at it,” Finn nodded, and then hesitated, “Which kind of makes what happened suck even more.” He shifted his weight from side to side, his gaze dropping down to Kurt’s shoulder, as thought he couldn’t quite look at him head on. “When I was leaving Artie’s last night, he kind of… admitted what he’d done? That you were the one who suggested we hang out?” 

“Oh.” Kurt reached up to straighten his hair, suddenly uncomfortable at the change in subject, “It’s not a major problem. I just hope you had a good time. Rachel can be very intense, and I thought… some time with the boys would make you feel more welcome.” 

“It was a cool idea. I just didn’t want you to think I was trying to keep you away.” Finn shrugged, “I guess I wanted to say sorry?”

“Well, apology accepted,” Kurt smiled warmly, “Honestly, I’m used to it. I don’t get a lot of invitations to things. I tend to get… well, the opposite. Specifically uninvited to events.” He laughed lightly, “But it’s very honorable of you to come and apologize.” 

“Yeah,” Finn smiled nervously, “I should probably go, but I’ll see you at rehearsal?” 

“Definitely.” Kurt walked Finn to the door, and watched in mild mortification as his dad waved goodbye too. He managed to get back to his sewing machine before his dad reached the stairs, and he let the silence sit there as he finished the seam he had been working on.

“So… The quarterback just showed up on our front doorstep,” His dad said calmly as Kurt pulled the material away and examined the stitching. “That… uh… Everything okay there?”

“Yes?” Kurt tried to look casual as he glanced in his dad’s direction. “Finn? We’re acquainted.” 

“Acquainted?” His dad smiled a little, “You having second thoughts about the football team?” 

“No,” Kurt tossed the jeans into the air a little so he could fold them more dramatically, “Finn joined the Glee Club. I told you, we’re going to be a big deal.” 

“The quarterback joined your club?” His dad looked surprised, “Sounds like it must be a pretty popular club.” 

“Oh, we’re just getting started.” Kurt couldn’t help but smile at that idea, “just wait until we win our first title, Dad.”

“Well, you know, if you ever want to have any of the guys over to watch the game, or to practice your songs? That’s cool with me. I’m glad you’re hanging out with guys your own age.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Kurt walked to a set of drawers and slipped the jeans in, listening to his dad climb the stairs. He waited until the door clicked close before he moved to his bed, pulling out his phone and flopping onto it as gracefully as he could. He felt like he had to tell someone, and…

For the first time there was someone he could tell.

Even more impressively, there were two people he could tell, and he could choose who to share it with first. He considered that for a moment, weighing it up before he tapped out a message.

Kurt: Are you free to talk?

Sam: I can be, call me in three minutes?

Kurt: Will do. 

Kurt rolled onto his front, staring at the phone until the clock clicked over to the right time. He hit the call button almost immediately, and listened to the ringing, until it was replaced by a warm voice. “Hey, Kurt.” 

“Hi Sam,” Kurt grinned, “You’ll never guess who just turned up on my doorstep.” 

“Uh… Stan Lee?” There was the sound of movement and Sam let out a humph of effort. “Taylor Lautner?” 

“No,” Kurt chuckled, “Finn. He came to say that Artie told him what happened on Tuesday, and he was sorry.” 

“Oh.” Sam sounded surprised, “I mean, that’s cool of him. Weird that Artie told him today though.”

“No, no, Artie told him yesterday.” Kurt waved it off, and then paused as a hesitant noise on Sam’s end. “What’s wrong?” 

“I… I mean, it’s good that he came and apologized today. After school?” 

“Yes. Do you have a point to these questions?” 

“But… Why didn’t he come over and apologize yesterday? Or… today at school?” Sam made a displeased noise, “Sorry, it’s… It’s good he apologized.” 

“It is.” Kurt’s smile faded a little, and he rolled onto his back. “I know it’s a little late, but… people don’t apologize to me, Sam. Finn took the time—“ 

“Yeah, and it’s better than nothing,” Sam agreed, “I’m just… you know, you seem like a good guy. And I want you to get good things, not just… not bad things.” 

Kurt sighed, “I wanted to… I wanted to share this happy moment with someone. And, no offense, but you’ve made it feel less happy.” 

“I’m sorry.” Sam sounded genuinely upset about Kurt’s chiding, and then quickly added in a more enthusiastic voice “Hey! You know, maybe this’ll be his wake-up call, and he’ll invite you over to play video games tomorrow?” 

“I can dream,” Kurt chuckled, “my dad was trying to shove the two of us together like he was the prince of England, and I was his unwed daughter.” 

Sam laughed at that, “I’ll be on the lookout for that then. I helped Stevie with a science experiment today? If you wanna… hear about it?” 

“I’d love to,” Kurt smiled, shuffling his head around until he found some pillows. 

Kurt: I thought I’d have more money now that I wasn’t buying gas all the time, and I’m not allowed to drive to the coffee shop.

Sam: You’re a big coffee drinker. :( Do I have to pretend to like coffee now?

Kurt: I’m sorry, I can’t share your body any more. How do you get up in the morning? 

Sam: Without a caffeine addiction? 

Kurt laughed to himself, tapping out a quick reply. There were annoyed noises behind him, and he looked up to see the gap ahead of him. He quickly took a few steps forward in the concession line, offering an apologetic smile to the two women behind him. 

He could see Finn and Rachel at the stand, and Mr. Schue and Miss Pillsbury were stepping out of the line. All in all, it wasn’t that bad of a way to spend a Saturday, with his Glee Club on a field trip to watch Vocal Adrenaline. Apparently, they were the local ‘team to beat’ but Kurt knew they couldn’t match up to their talent levels. Rachel and Mercedes were vocal powerhouses, Finn’s voice was developing nicely when he stopped being so terrified—

He took another couple of steps forward, looking down at his phone again finishing his message to Sam.

Kurt: So what’s your vice then? If it’s not coffee.

Sam I have to have one? Maybe, I like eating healthy and taking care of myself.

Kurt: Vanity then? I suppose that it’s fine in your case, since you already look like you could bench press me.

Sam: Hey, you’ve seen me. Being this ab-ulous doesn’t come easily.

Kurt shook his head as he grinned, about to type a denial when he felt an arm slip into his. He immediately shoved his phone into his pocket as he turned towards Mercedes. “You’re talking with your… girlfriend?” She asked curiously, her eyes tracking the phone.

“No,” He let out a fake, light laugh, “why would you think that?” 

“You’re always looking at your phone, smiling and laughing.” Mercedes nudged him lightly, “If she isn’t your girlfriend now, you should definitely think about it. You’ve got it bad.” 

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Kurt patted her hand, and gestured to the counter in an effort to distract her. “What kind of food says ‘We’re your competition and we’re here to judge your performance ’?”

Of course, he spoke too soon. Casually sat between Mercedes and Tina, Kurt watched his sense of superiority crumble like sand against a wave, as Vocal Adrenaline performed a rendition of Rehab to thunderous applause.

Nobody really spoke much on the trip back, Mr. Schuester’s attempts at raising their spirits didn’t even draw a comment from Rachel. Kurt wanted to pull out his phone and text Sam, and tell him all about this situation, but Mercedes was right behind him, so he instead wrote it in the journal and then watched the cars shoot past in the opposite direction. 

His dad made a lame joke about it looking like they’d come back from a war they’d lost when he picked Kurt up, but Kurt didn’t laugh. If they’d just gone to war, they had been thoroughly trounced.

“I’m a good singer,” He said simply in the quiet of the car, and watched his dad frown. “I mean… I am, right? You’ve come to the sing-a-long Sound of Music with me, and… I’m a good singer.” 

“Yeah,” his dad nodded, “Did someone say you weren’t?” 

“No…” Kurt turned his attention to the mirror, “They’re just… there’s a lot of people, in Vocal Adrenaline I mean. And they’re all great singers and dancers. Our club has six people.” 

“Hey, a lot can get done with six people,” His dad nudged him gently, “You’ve got a club. That’s where you start.” 

“I suppose,” Kurt sighed, “I’m just being morose. We’re new. We’re going to have to put in the work before we’re that good.”

“Exactly.” 

Kurt was about to reach for the radio, when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out with a frown, and answered it, “Hello?” 

“Hey. Kurt?” Puck’s voice was a little rough, and Kurt felt his frown deepen.

“Yeah. Are you okay?” 

For some reason that made Puck laugh, but it wasn’t a pleasant noise. “No? I… uh… I did something really shitty.” 

“To what degree?” Kurt swapped the phone away from his dad and leaned away for some semblance of privacy.

“I shot my best friend since elementary school with paint-balls?” There was a beat before Puck added, “I mean, me and like, seven other guys from the team. We waited until he left your bus, and we cornered him behind the school, and…” Kurt heard him make some shooting noises, the sound laced in sarcasm, before he asked, “You still think I’m capable of being a good person?”

“I think you’re capable of it. I don’t think you just were, but I think it’s something you could be.” Kurt sighed, resting his forehead against the glass. “Why?”

“Why?” 

“Why’d you do it?” Kurt shrugged, “There has to be a reason, Puck. You wouldn’t feel guilty if there wasn’t.”

“Because he told me that he couldn’t come to practice today, because his mom was having her prostate removed. Like, it was just me and him, he could’ve told me the truth.” Puck sounded genuinely hurt by that, and Kurt hummed thoughtfully. “And anyway, some of the other guys had already worked out he was in Glee Club, and they got to talking in the locker room. And I’m the bad-ass right? I’ve got to… lead the charge.” 

“Well… It’s not a good representation of being a good person, I’ll give you that. Is F—“ He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at his dad, “—ido, Fido, okay?” 

“You with someone, Hummel,” Puck muttered sarcastically, “You find a gay date over at Carmel? I’m not here to be a cock-block—” 

“You’re not going to win yourself any points by lashing out either,” Kurt muttered back, trying not to get his dad’s attention, or give Puck the satisfaction of putting him on the defensive, “I don’t have the guitar to justify being a ‘badass’, but I can just put down the phone.” 

“You won’t. Just like you wouldn’t shoot someone with paintball guns.” 

“It sounds like the first thing you need to do is apologize to Fido.” Kurt shook his head, “and ask yourself if what you did was worth how you feel now.” 

“You sound like a therapist or something.” Puck snorted, “I don’t apologize.” 

“Like… ever?” Kurt frowned, thinking back to their conversations and pulling a complete blank.

“Apologizing isn’t badass.” 

“We’ll agree to disagree.” Kurt rolled his eyes at the machismo, “I don’t think you’re irredeemable, if that’s what you’re looking for here. I’m not absolving your, or damning you. You get to keep making choices, and I get to keep making these faces that you can’t see about those choices.”

“Are they the same ones you make at Hudson? Cause I’ve got to tell you that when chicks look at me that way, they usually end up getting a good night—“ 

“I’m going now.” Kurt spoke over him, his cheeks flushing as he cut off the call and shoved his phone into his pocket. 

“Everything okay?” His dad asked, and Kurt forced a small smile.

“Just a friend having some trouble. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Kurt arrived in the auditorium expecting to hear about how they were going to beat Carmel, or at the very least, hear Rachel and Mercedes yell at each other over a solo number for a while.

He didn’t expect to see all his dreams come crashing down around him, as Mr. Schuester announced his departure and turned his back on the group. 

“He didn’t really… answer my question…” Finn murmured under his breath, and Kurt felt his chest erupt with painful emotion as the shock ran out. 

“Of course you don’t have to be here, Finn.” He snapped, jerking his arm away when Mercedes tried to touch him. “This might have been a fun diversion for you, but we… I mean, I…” The dizziness hit him suddenly, and Kurt stumbled for a seat, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Forget it.”

“You’re texting your girlfriend about this now?” Mercedes asked, “We’re just as upset as you are Kurt, you don’t need to take it out on Finn, or any of the rest of us!” 

Glee Club cancelled Schuester leaving Swapping NOW call Sam Angry At Finn

Punctuation was not his focus as he fired off a message into the void, and then hit the button to bring it up again. 

“I’m just saying, like, Mr. Schue was the reason I joined, so if he’s not here then, is there even a club?” Finn’s voice faded out, and Kurt turned his body and much as he could away from everyone, so that as his eyes fluttered closed, his head would hit— 

— nothing but air. His chest and shoulders hit his own knees though, and the strange vertigo of his point of view rolling from sideways to downwards made his stomach roll. He jerked upright, taking a deep breath and trying to understand his surroundings. He was sitting on a bench, by the side of a football field where guys in workout clothes and the occasional blue jersey were slowly jogging towards him. The hands in front of him weren’t his own, but they were starting to look familiar, especially when paired with the moleskin in them. He was Sam. 

Kurt tensed instinctively as the football players looked towards him, but they passed by him through the bleachers, and Kurt turned his attention towards the journal in his hand. Sam had clearly been writing something, but Kurt could read an Ar— before the pen seemed to have slid off the page. He looked around rapidly, and spotted a pen lying in the dirt by his feet, and as he reached for it, another hand moved into view.

Kurt hesitated, watching the hand pick up the pen and then following the arms, up to shoulders, up to a face that seemed vaguely familiar. The lips were curled into a small smile, and the blue eyes sparkled with amusement as the…football player? Kurt assumed he was on the team, since he was wearing a mesh jersey and looked sweaty, but he was holding out the pen for Kurt to take.

“You planning on getting up any time soon, Sammy.” 

Kurt blinked, and then forced a smile, “I— My ankle needs a minute.” He said casually, looking down at himself and the sweaty grey t-shirt and loose shorts. He had been exercising too, or... practicing, probably.

“Yeah, you really pushed yourself, dude.” The jock laughed, “come on, I’ll help you to the locker room.” 

Kurt shook his head quickly, “I’m just gonna call my dad and have him pick me up.” 

“Your phone’ll be in your locker too, man,” the guy offered Kurt a hand and when Kurt didn’t immediately take it, he sighed, “Dude, no offense, but you’re sweaty, and gross, and you need a shower. Come on.”

Kurt did everything in his power to hide the visceral, internal reaction of shrieking panic at that suggestion. “I—“ 

He didn’t get a chance to try and come up with a suitable lie or justification for why he shouldn’t be in a room of naked, sweaty football players. The jock was reaching down and pulling Kurt to his feet by his arm, “Look, I promised Ray I’d keep an eye on you. And part of that is making sure you don’t get a reputation as the weird guy. So come on. It’s not like you’ve not gone skinny dipping with us before.” 

Kurt let himself be dragged along, the journal tight in his grip as he approached the locker room, and the jock let go of his arm at the door, before giving him a light push. He wasn’t sure what he actually expected, maybe some kind of horror-movie esque scene where a bunch of muscular, naked men froze, and turned to him in unison to announce ‘you have a gay soul’ or something. But barely anyone glanced in his direction, and once he was inside, the guy who had forced him into the situation just moved towards some lockers. 

Kurt quickly flicked open the journal, moving out of the direct line of sight of the door, and praying that Sam had left the locker number and combination in there. He managed to find it, right before a pretty long paragraph about why Sam thought they might be Mutants, and was forced to follow the jock from earlier to a row of lockers, twisting the dial on the locker and pulling out Sam’s bag and clothes. He debated making a sprint for the door, but before he could come to a decision, the jock threw him a towel, and Kurt got an eye full of broad chest and shoulders, and the towel wrapped tightly around the guy’s waist. 

Kurt winced, and fixed his eyes on a screw at the back of Sam’s locker, quickly pulling the sweaty shirt off, and wrapped the towels around his waist, before he pushing the shorts down his legs. He carefully balanced on one foot and slipped off his underwear, before grabbing the loose bottle of body-wash from Sam’s bag. “You really need to invest in more products.” He muttered to the absent Sam, as he wrinkled his nose as the store-name brand. This must be doing nothing for his skin.

“What was that?” the jock asked, turning back from where he’d been grabbing his own stuff.

“Talking to myself,” Kurt shook his head, shoving Sam’s sweaty clothes into the locker, and continuing to keep his eyes on the locker. 

“Alright.” The guy shrugged and started walking toward the back of the room. Kurt followed, trying not to look at any of the guys who cared a whole lot less than he did about modesty. He was flooded with relief when he saw the stalls had walls that reached the ceiling, and even curtains, and he quickly stepped into one that was relatively distant from everyone else, making sure the curtain was taking up the whole space before he quickly put the body wash to one side, and hung the towel on a hook near the curtain.

He didn’t dare vocalize how uncomfortable he was, didn’t dare draw any attention to himself, as he stepped under the water and started to efficiently wash his—Sam’s— his hair. He couldn’t think of this as Sam’s body right now, because that was leading to two, very different, very humiliating problems. One, despite having permission and having spoken about it, it felt really weird to be touching, and washing, and just generally dealing with a body that wasn’t his own. And two, Sam was… really muscular. Kurt had been aware that he had broad shoulders and nice arms, but it was different to be feeling the firmness of the muscles, the feeling of soft hairs under his finger tips, and—

It was the worst balancing act in the world. Don’t think about how weird it is, so you don’t freak out. Don’t get too comfortable, because there could be absolutely no teenage hormones in the showers. Kurt focused on efficiency, and then slammed the temperature on the shower head the other way as quickly as possible, letting the freezing cold water deal with any reaction to… everything. He quickly dried himself and wrapped the towel around his waist again. His hair was in his eyes, blocking most of the sights from him, but Kurt’s main focus was on getting back to the locker, getting dressed, and getting out of this living hellscape.

He managed to get into his underwear and jeans before the other jock returned and punched his shoulder. “See, painless.” 

“Mmhm,” Kurt tried to sound as non-committal as possible, as he pulled on a stripy polo and carefully folded the gym clothes and stuffed them in Sam’s backpack. The phone went into his pocket, itching for an opportunity to call Sam and find out what was happening. “Well, I should go—“ 

“I thought you were coming over to hang out with Ray?” the jock cocked an eyebrow, “I’m driving you over?”

“Oh.” Kurt took a quick breath, “Yes, sorry. I’m kind of all over the place.” 

“No problem. I’m gonna be a couple of minutes anyway. Why don’t you head out, and I’ll meet you in the parking lot?” The jock gestured, and Kurt nodded thankfully before he quickly moved out of the room. He didn’t dare stop moving until he was by a familiar bench. 

His phone was in his hand almost immediately, and he quickly dialed his own number, chewing on his lip as he waited for Sam to pick up, watching carefully over his shoulder in case the jock caught up quicker than he expected. 

“Hey, Kurt, are you okay?” Sam sounded genuinely concerned, but it was disorientating to hear his own voice.

“I… just endured a living hell. But physically? Sure.” He took a quick breath, “I… Are you supposed to be going to Ray’s house?” 

“Yeah, Alex is supposed to drive me there.” Kurt nodded, quickly filing that name away, “Living hell?” 

“Public showers are not a place I feel particularly comfortable,” Kurt muttered back as quietly as he could, “Even less so when it’s not my body—“ 

“Hummel saw you naked?” A more familiar voice cut in, and Kurt huffed in frustration, “What’s the verdict? Does Evans have it going on?” 

“Hi, Puck,” Kurt grumbled, swapping the phone back to his other ear as he turned to face the parking lot again. He wasn’t going to answer that, wasn’t even going to think about an answer to how correct Puck was. “Sam, is there anything else I need to know?” 

“I don’t think so. Just, like… call my dad before seven to pick you up, I’m supposed to wash the dishes tonight… homework?” Sam sighed, “I’m sorry about practice, I wouldn’t have gone if—“ 

“No, no. It’s fine, Sam.” Kurt sighed. “I’m just not used to it, and it’s very—“ He caught himself before he finished that sentence, “It’s difficult to shower and change without seeing anything I’m not supposed to.”

“You were going to say it’s hard, weren’t you?” Puck snickered, “Hummel—“ 

“I have to go, I see Alex coming.” Kurt cut him off, feeling his cheeks heat up as he cut off the call. He didn’t actually see Ray’s brother anywhere, but he couldn’t deal with the idea of Puck finishing whatever he was about to say. 

The original flight or fight response from the locker room was wearing off now though, and Kurt’s shoulders slumped as the situation he had seemingly swapped to avoid came back into sharp relief. Mr. Schuester was leaving. Sam didn’t have to worry about being in a Glee Club anymore, because there wasn’t going to be a Glee Club. Nobody cared enough to try and make it work on the faculty, no matter what Mr. Schuester insisted about finding a replacement. And once Glee Club was over, it wasn’t like they would talk to each other. Everyone would go back to their own quiet existence.

And then his dad would insist he find another team to join. Which wasn’t going to happen. Meanwhile, Kurt would keep swapping into Sam’s body, and having to survive being a hot, somewhat popular jock, who showered with other jocks and had friends who knew stuff about him, whilst dealing with his own pathetic life in his own body. 

“Hey, cars this way.” 

Kurt’s head jerked towards the voice, watching as Alex walked past him to a nice car. He climbed to his feet as quickly as he could to follow, slipping into the passenger side seat and putting the backpack by his feet. Alex waited until Kurt had the seatbelt in place before he began to drive.

“You did pretty well today,” Alex said casually, “You’re gonna fit right in with the team, I think.” 

“Thank you,” Kurt nodded awkwardly, trying to gauge how familiar he should be. “I was worried, because of the ankle. You know?” 

“I don’t think anyone could even tell,” Alex chuckled, shaking his head, “It was really good for a freshman.” 

“Well, I’ll do my best to keep it up.” Kurt turned his head to stare out of the window, hoping Alex would drop the conversation.

“You just… seemed a little weirded out about the locker room,” Alex continued, and Kurt flinched, his eyes closing as the humiliation and fear washed over him,  “which doesn’t seem like you, dude. You wanna talk about it?” 

“I’m just having a weird day,” Kurt turned back towards Alex and smiled politely, offering a vague shrug. 

“I mean, there’s loads of reasons someone might be uncomfortable in there.” Alex turned on to another street, “and like, if you wanna talk about it, I’m at least two degrees of separation, right? And I’m pretty… What's the word? Like, it’s not that I don’t care, but I’m not invested?”

“You’re ambivalent,” Kurt muttered, and Alex grinned.

“Exactly.” 

There was a long pause, but Alex was clearly waiting for an answer, and Kurt tried to think of a lie that wouldn’t cause Sam any trouble. “It was just a lot.” He finally said, hating how weak it sounded.

“Well, it’s just something to get used to, right?” Alex shrugged, “and if you don’t want to talk to me, you could talk to Ray. I think he might know how you’re feeling. I’m kind of used to dudes walking around with it all swinging around, so it’s not a big deal for me.” 

Kurt didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just nodded and turned back to the window. They pulled up outside a house that looked pretty similar to Sam’s, and Kurt followed Alex into the house.

“Ray’s probably in his—“ Alex started, but before he could finish, Kurt watched as Ray appeared from the kitchen holding a huge bowl of popcorn, bottled under both arms.

“Sam!” He grinned brightly, and Kurt couldn’t help but return the smile. “Are you gonna grab these before we lose them?” 

“Sure,” Kurt quickly stepped forward and took the bottles into his own hands.

“You two are gonna go geek out aren’t you?” Alex rolled his eyes, “Cool. I’ll see you later Sam.” 

“Thank you for driving me here,” Kurt nodded, and then let Ray urge him up the stairs, and towards a room. Ray had to open the door, to reveal a relatively nice room, neat and ordered, with a bookshelf full of movie cases and books, and a relatively big TV mounted opposite the bed.

“So,” Ray knocked the door shut behind him, grinning at Kurt. “How’d it go?” 

“Alex said it went pretty well,” Kurt smiled back, standing in the center of the room and looking around, “It’s all a blur to me.” 

“Well, I guess he knows football better than I do. But I’m sure you did great.” Ray moved and sat on the bed, folding his legs underneath him and putting the bowl down next to him. “What’re we thinking?”

“What are the options?” Kurt asked as casually as he could. 

“Pretty much anything?” Ray shrugged, “Have a look at the Wall of Weird.” 

If he hadn’t gestured to the book case, Kurt would have had no idea what he meant, but with that prompt, Kurt moved and had a glance over it. Popcorn suggested they were supposed to be watching something, so he focused on the cases. He ignored the ones that looked like box-sets for TV shows, and finally picked out a name he vaguely recognized. “This one?” 

“X-Men?” Ray glanced at it, and nodded, “Solid choice. I’ll get it set up, you get comfortable.” 

Kurt carefully took off Sam’s shoes and set them at the base of the bed before he sat on the edge. Ray was fiddling with the TV and the attached devices, so Kurt quickly sent Sam a message. 

We’re watching X-Men. Alex noticed that I was weird in the locker room. I said it was ‘A lot’, trying to be as vague as I could. Ray seems nice.

He didn’t have a chance to wait anxiously for a response, as Ray flopped onto the bed again, almost knocking over the popcorn if Kurt didn’t grab it. He handed Kurt one of the bottles, which Kurt noted was not fizzy and hit the play button. 

“We might not get to hang out as much if you make first string,” Ray said quietly as the advertisements played. “I guess we should enjoy hanging out when we can, right?” 

“I…” Kurt frowned, looking over at the other boy who was staring at the TV with laser focus, “I don’t think that I’d let that happen? We’re friends, right?” 

“Yeah,” Ray smiled a little.

“And I don’t think I seem like the kind of person who is going to give that up without a fight.” Kurt looked back to the TV, taking some popcorn. “There will be lots of movie hang outs in the future.” 

Ray nodded, speaking quietly, “I like the sound of that.” 

The music began to play and Kurt turned back toward the screen, as they finally reached the opening menu. This whole situation was entirely foreign to him, but… It wasn’t unpleasant by any stretch of the imagination. 

He was even kind of enjoying himself.

 “The floating plastic prison seems impractical.” Kurt muttered as the movie came to an end and the credits began to roll. “Did they measure out exactly how far away his powers worked before they built it?” 

“You know what? That’s definitely a sign that you need to call your dad to go home,” Ray laughed, nudging him, “I’m not sitting here for a whole thing.” 

“A whole thing?” Kurt cocked an eyebrow, “I don’t think it’s a whole thing to point out that there is a metal window not… 100 feet from the plastic prison. I think it’s logical.” 

“Well, so long as it’s logical, ” Ray teased, and moved to pick up the popcorn bowl. Kurt took the last few pieces, popping them in his mouth, “You must’ve really liked it.” 

“Hmm?” 

“You actually managed to get through half the bowl,” Ray shrugged, gesturing to the empty bowl, “You usually have like… a handful and then start complaining about your diet.” 

“Oh,” Kurt felt his smile fade a little, “I can… I can’t give the popcorn back, but I’m sorry if—“ 

“I offered,” Ray shook his head, “What’s mine is yours, right? You must’ve just been hungry after football practice.”

“That must be it,” Kurt nodded, jumping on the excuse, “I’ll have to do some more crunches when I get home.” 

“Speaking of getting home…”Ray gestured towards his alarm clock that was getting dangerously close to 7, “Unless you’re gonna try to sleep over, you should probably call your parents.” 

“Yeah,” Kurt nodded, pulling out his phone. “Maybe sleep over another time.” 

“Yeah.” Ray grinned as he gathered everything up, and stepped out of the room. Kurt took a deep breath, and hit the number for Sam’s dad, pressing the phone against his ear. 

“Hey Sam. Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?” Sam’s dad didn’t sound too annoyed, but Kurt straightened up instinctively.

“Sorry, it’s my fault. Ray let me choose the movie, and I must’ve picked one that was longer than I thought it was—“ 

“You’re fine. It’s not like you’re out causing trouble.” Sam’s dad chuckled, “You ready for me to swing by and bring you home?” 

“Yes, please.” Kurt nodded, “Thank you.” 

“I’ll be there in ten.” 

Kurt let Sam’s dad hang up first, and then stood up, cracking his back. It was close to two and a half hours since he’d swapped with Sam at this point, which put it somewhere around the length of the second swap. He turned back to his phone, and considered for a moment before he sent a text.

Sam: Is Puck keeping track of how long the swaps last? Of what happened before them? 

Kurt: It’s really weird to see my name show up when you text me, dude.

Kurt rolled his eyes at Sam ignoring the question, even if he definitely agreed with him about the strangeness of seeing his own name appear. He waited a couple of moments before Sam responded again.

Kurt: He is now. 8-ish hours the first time. Two-ish hours the second time. We’re coming up on two and a half now. He says he doesn’t see anything in common about when it happened.

Sam: Thanks, Sam.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket as he heard footsteps on the hallway, and managed to stand up before Ray stepped back into the room. “You got everything?” 

“Everything I came with,” Kurt nodded, slipping on his shoes and grabbing his backpack. “My dad shouldn’t be long.” 

“Well…” Ray seemed to hesitate, and then shrugged, “I’ll see you tomorrow at school then?” 

It didn’t take long for Sam’s dad to arrive, and Kurt made sure to wave at Ray as he climbed into the car, the other boy waiting in the doorway. He kept half an eye on him in the mirror until they were out of sight. 

“You have a good day?” Sam’s dad asked, and Kurt nodded.

“Some of it was rough, but… I did.” He admitted, “How was your day?” 

“Pretty good,” Sam’s dad’s smile grew and the two of them traveled to Sam’s house in relative silence. Kurt was still smiling as he walked through the front door, to the sound of the TV and the smells of cooking. 

“Is that you, hon?” Sam’s mom called from the kitchen, and Kurt watched Sam’s dad head off in that direction. He carefully hung up his jacket, and quickly dropped off Sam’s things in his room, taking a moment to stack all the books on the desk. 

Family dinner was nice too, even if Kurt had to be very vague with his answers when they asked what had happened at school. Stevie and Stacy were much more enthusiastic in their answers, so it wasn’t as though things were quiet. He was almost done, when Sam’s mom smiled at him.

“You seem distracted.” She said, and Kurt hesitated, “What’s going on in that head of yours?” 

“I…” Kurt looked down at his plate, pushing some food around, “I have a friend, and he’s having some trouble with a school club. I’m just trying to work out what advice I can give him.” He looked up and smiled, “It’s not important.” 

“Is it… the same friend as before?” Sam’s mom asked curiously, which was not helpful to Kurt in the slightest. 

“He’s a friend. He goes to a different school.” He shrugged, “It’s not a big deal.” 

“Well, what’s the problem? I mean, it might shock you to hear, but we’ve got a couple more years of experience than you, Sam.” Sam’s dad said with a smile.

“Okay. My friend is in a Glee Club. It started very recently, but now the teacher who was supposed to run it has quit.” Kurt frowned, “It means a lot to him. It’s the first time he’s had… friends, I suppose. Besides me, obviously. He doesn’t want it to end, as you can imagine, but he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do about it.” He shrugged and ate another forkful of food.

“There’s not another teacher to run the club instead?” Sam’s mom asked, and Kurt shook his head. “Is it that he won’t get to sing? Or that he’s lonely?” 

“Both?” Kurt sighed, “He really enjoys singing, and the school doesn’t really support the arts. But… it’s like, he had a taste of having something to look forward to at school, and now… nothing.” 

“Well, not nothing,” Sam’s dad said thoughtfully, “the other people in the club will still be there. Maybe he won’t be able to do anything officially with the school, but he could invite the club over to do karaoke.” 

“I suppose…” Kurt nodded, trying to mask the internal thought that that’s not enough. “Thank you. For your advice.” 

“Well, if there’s anything we can do to help, you tell us.” Sam’s mom smiled and pat his shoulder. “Alright, so you’re on dish duty.” 

“I’ll get right on that.” Kurt forced a smile, and collected the dirty plates. He washed them quickly, and then went upstairs to get to work on Sam’s homework. It took a little while, going over each sentence to make sure he’d understood, and then going over his answer to make sure he’d written it correctly, but he was fairly confident that it was all okay. 

Then, he organized Sam’s bag for tomorrow, with the books that he would need for his classes. 

Then he read Sam’s version of their journal, smiling at Sam’s descriptions of the day, and the random thoughts and ideas mixed up in between the descriptions. It took him forever, but it was worth it in Kurt’s mind. 

He was so engrossed that the knock at Sam’s door made him jump out of his skin. He dropped the journal, and by the time he’d picked it up, the door was opening and Sam’s dad was stepping inside. “You heading to bed, Sam?” 

“Hm?” Kurt glanced around, noticing the time on the alarm clock and how dark it had gotten outside. “I... guess so.” 

“Alright,” Sam’s dad nodded and stepped out of the room again. Kurt waited a couple of moments, before he pulled out Sam’s phone.

Sam: This is lasting a while. 

Kurt: I was just thinking that. And still weird to see my own name.

Kurt shook his head, and glanced around the room. 

Sam: Hopefully we’ll swap back in our sleep.

Kurt: Hopefully. 

Kurt was about to put down the phone, when it lit up with Kurt’s number. He quickly answered it before it made too much noise. “I think your dad was telling me I need to go to sleep.” 

“We’ve got a bit of time,” Sam spoke softly too. “I… I’m alone now.” 

“No Puck to try and humiliate me?”

“I don’t think he knows how to deal with people,” Sam sighed, “Hey… You know…” He hesitated on the other end of the line, and then sighed, “This is going to sound weird, I probably shouldn’t say it.” 

“I’m currently in your body,” Kurt whispered as quietly as he could, “I don’t think you can say anything weirder than that.” 

“I don’t know.” Sam went quiet for a moment, “I appreciate that you’re trying to be a good person and like… not look at me without my permission. So… this is my permission.” 

“What?” Kurt frowned, “What are you saying?” 

Sam spoke quietly, “ If we were in the same place, I wouldn’t not get changed in front of you. You’re allowed to look at me, when you’re… y’know, in the driver’s seat.” 

“Oh.”

“I’m not like… ordering you to go to the mirror right now and start stripping.” There was a beat of awkward silence, and Kurt did his best not to look at the nearby mirror, “I’m just telling you that you’re not doing anything wrong.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind. It’s going to be helpful in terms of finding clothes that you’ll look good in.” Kurt tried to sound light, even as the idea of looking consumed his mind. How had he gone from averting his eyes away from boys, to having two of the most attractive ones he’d ever met practically throwing their shirtless chests at him. Kurt sighed, “I don’t think it’s fair of me to do it. Because… Sam, I’m not being honest with you.” 

“You’re not?” Sam sounded confused. 

“You wrote me that letter, and I… I took the easy route out. Not talking about it. But I can’t… shower as you, or get dressed as you, if you don’t know. That’s not fair to you.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Kurt. Honestly—“ 

“Sam. I’m gay.” Kurt whispered, and sat in the silence on the phone. He wasn’t sure what to say, the words hanging like a knife above him. “Please don’t hate me.” 

“No. I don’t hate you, Kurt.” Sam assured, “Thank you. For… being brave enough to tell me. I know it’s difficult.” 

“Does it change... anything?” 

“No.” Sam spoke confidently, “You’re still Kurt.” 

“Okay.” Kurt sighed to himself and rubbed his face. “I’m going to lie down and try to sleep.” 

“Me too.” Sam spoke quietly, “I’ll call you in the morning, if we’re not back in our bodies. Or, y’know, maybe even if we are.” 

“Sounds like a plan. Goodnight, Sam.”

“Goodnight Kurt.” 

Kurt quickly changed into some sleeping clothes he found in a draw, and went to sleep not long after. It was strange, the room, the ambient noise, the feeling of the bed sheet, all of it so different from home.

He woke up in Sam’s room too. 

“That… does not feel like a good sign,” He muttered to himself as he rolled out of bed and looked around. There was the sound of movement all around the house, and Kurt glanced at the clock nervously. “New record… fourteen hours and counting.”

Chapter Text

“Alright, Evans, you’ve done a good job, but you don’t need to push yourself too hard. You take a seat for the rest of practice,” Coach slapped Sam’s shoulder and gestured to the bench. It had barely been ten minutes since practice had started, and Sam almost argued that his ankle wasn’t hurting at all anymore, but Coach was already turning away. This wasn’t up for discussion it seemed, and Sam had already pushed and pushed just to be allowed these ten minutes.

He picked up the journal from the bench, but didn’t open it, instead focusing on what was happening on the field. Alex was hanging out with his friends, but he did give Sam a nod of acknowledgement when he saw him looking. The guy was pretty okay, to say he was his friend’s older brother. Sam had to maintain a level of solidarity with Ray that Alex was the absolute worst, after all, but Alex was already looking out for him and backing him up with Coach.

He watched a few plays in rapt attention, before he flinched. It was like someone had just poured a bucket of ice water down his spine and his smile faded immediately with no suggestion as to what was happening. He hadn’t noticed anything different, but— 

He opened the journal carefully, pulling the pen from inside and checking his notes. This definitely sounded like a phantom sensation. He started to write a message, to check in that Kurt was okay, but he got two letters into the word Are before his hand slipped off the page and sent the pen tumbling out of his hand, as a wave of exhaustion hit him.

He couldn’t fall asleep on the bench, not where everyone could see. Laying down now would be a social death sentence. He leaned forward as much as he could, trying to brace himself against his knees as—

— his sense of balance seemed to vanish for a moment, and there was suddenly a lot less ambient noise, and a lot more arguing very close by. He felt something yanked from his hand, as someone snapped, “You can’t just ignore us to talk to your girlfriend, Kurt!”

“What’s…” He blinked, opening his eyes to see a row of seats at a weird angle. It took him half a moment to realize that he was lying on his side, and as he straightened up, he recognized the auditorium at McKinley and the Glee Club. Mercedes was closest, waving Kurt’s phone around to underline her point. 

“He has a girlfriend?” Finn sounded more confused than anything else, which only drew Mercedes’ attention directly to him. 

“He’s always texting her—“ Mercedes announced, only to be cut off when Kurt’s phone started ringing, “— and that’s her.” she added, with a scowl shoving the phone in Finn’s face. “See? Kurt’s already got one foot out the door like you, and now—” 

“Uh…” Finn’s eyes widened a little as he examined the screen, and then he quickly took the phone from Mercedes’ hand, and rejected the call. Everyone stared at him for a moment, as Finn passed it back towards Sam, who accepted it gratefully, before he turned his attention towards Mercedes, “You probably shouldn’t just grab people’s phones. It’s kind of rude.” 

“We can’t all turn on each other,” Rachel held up her hands trying to steer the direction back towards her, “We need to work out a plan of attack here—” 

Sam glanced between the group, and back to the phone as it started to buzz again. He shot everyone an apologetic look, before he pressed it to his ear, “Uh, Hey?” 

“Hey… Sam?” Puck sounded concerned, and that made Sam feel even more on edge.

“Yeah.” He nodded, “Do you know what is happening?”

“Kurt text me. Mr. Schue quit or something? No more Glee Club. I’ll meet you… I’ll be out front, look for me.” 

“—if we all pay attention,” Rachel snapped, and Sam turned his attention back towards her. 

“Got it,” He muttered to Puck and quickly cut off the call. “Sorry, I had to…deal with that. I’ve got to go though.” 

“You’re just leaving?” Mercedes huffed, folding her arms.

“I think Kurt’s got the right idea.” Finn shrugged, “We can’t practice without a… director? Or teacher? Whatever you want to call it.”

Sam nodded seriously. “We’re all upset. We should take some time to work through it, right?”

“Well, if nobody else is going to take it seriously, I suppose I’ll have to work this out on my own.” Rachel huffed, turning on her heels and storming off. Sam quickly grabbed Kurt’s bag and rushed up the stairs. He didn’t wait for any of the others, only stopping briefly at Kurt’s locker to make sure there wasn’t anything he thought Kurt might need tonight in there.

He managed to find his way to the front entrance, and glanced around for Puck, and fear set in that he might have missed him, until he saw his friend's head appear across the car park. The mohawk was certainly distinct enough to use as an identifier, even from a distance. Walking as calmly as he could, he caught up with Puck a little way down the street. “Glee Club is over?”

“I don’t know?” Puck shrugged, “The message I got was ‘ Glee Club cancelled Schuester leaving Swapping NOW call Sam Angry At Finn’. So I called Kurt’s phone, and you answered.”

“That… sucks.” Sam frowned, straightening out Kurt’s bag by his side. He knew Kurt had really been looking forward to Glee Club, and to see it all torn away must sting, “and apparently Kurt has a secret girlfriend?” He asked after a moment, looking for any kind of recognition on Puck’s face. “Should I know about that?”

“What?” Puck paused, turning to look at Sam with a wide grin, like a kid who had just been handed candy, “Who… What?” 

“I have no idea. He hasn’t told me anything about a girlfriend, or a…” Sam shrugged, not sure about what he was supposed to say, “Do you think that’s why he’s angry at Finn? Maybe his secret girlfriend is Finn’s girlfriend?” 

“Kurt’s way too smart to date Quinn. ” Puck snorted, “Who said it? What did they say?” 

“Mercedes said he was always texting her?” Sam shrugged, “It sounds serious.” 

“Oh…” Puck hesitated, and although he was still grinning, it seemed less energetic, “Yeah, that makes sense.” 

“What?” Sam frowned, “What do you know?” 

“I mean, I think I know who his ‘girlfriend’ is.” Puck shook his head, “Someone he’s texting all the time, calling every night…” 

“Who?” Sam frowned, “Why do you think he hasn’t told me? Like, what if I’ve been talking to her without knowing about it? What if some girl just randomly kissed me when I was Kurt? Was I supposed to just go with it—” 

“Sam… Dude, just look at his phone.” Puck rolled his eyes, “I think that’ll make it all pretty clear.” 

“I can’t do that,” Sam shook his head, his hand immediately curling protectively around the phone. “If he doesn’t want me to know, we shouldn’t—“ 

“It’s you, dumb-ass.” Puck scoffed, “He’s always texting you .” 

Sam hesitated, coming to a stop. “Me?” 

“Yeah,” Puck shrugged, “I mean, he texts me when he has to, but we see each other in person. If people think he’s dating someone he’s texting, then it’s you. You’re the guy on the other end of the phone.”

“Oh.” The phone suddenly felt a lot heavier in his hand, “You think he… thinks of me like that?”

This time, it was Puck’s chance to look confused, “Thinks of you as his friend?” 

“No. You know, thinks of me as his…” The word didn’t quite come out, but he could see the recognition in Puck’s eyes. “No, I’m being dumb. Can you just get me to Kurt’s house—“ 

“No way. You’re hanging out with the Puckster today.” Puck punched his shoulder and started to walk again. Sam considered not following, but he was already pretty much lost, and he wasn’t sure if he could call Mr. Hummel again if he was at work. He jogged a few steps to catch up, and Puck glanced at him. “Would it be a problem?”

“Would what?”

“If Kurt was into you?” Puck shrugged, “I mean, you kind of struck me as a guy who didn’t have a problem with it, but you look… think-y.” 

“I dunno. I mean… no?” Sam couldn’t quite look at Puck as they walked, “I don’t know how I would feel about Kurt being into me. We don’t even know if he is. Mercedes might just be jumping to assumptions instead of actually knowing anything.” 

“Alright…” Puck glanced around, before he dropped his voice even lower. “What if it were some other guy?”

“Kurt can date whoever he—”

“Some other guy who was into you.” 

“I’m not gay.” Sam said quickly, and Puck stopped again, turning towards him with a look that made Sam feel guilty. Like he had been caught in a lie. “I’m… I’m not.”

“I mean, sure, you can totally say that. But in my experience, the only people who jump to deny something that quickly are the people with something to hide.” Puck turned to look Sam up and down, “You hiding something, Evans?” 

“I just…” Sam glanced around, “I’m not. I’m… There’s nothing wrong with it, I mean, but I’m…not.” 

“Okay.” Puck watched him for a long moment, “Why not?” 

“Why am I not gay?” Sam felt his stomach twist a little, but he forced out a laugh, “I like girls.” 

“I mean, yeah. Chicks are hot.” Puck snorted, shaking his head, “We can definitely agree on that, even if Hummel doesn’t appreciate them. But that’s not the answer we’re looking for in the studio.”

Sam frowned, shoving his hands into Kurt’s jacket pocket. “Why do you care?” 

“Because I did something really shitty on Saturday, and I’m trying to do something nicer now.” Puck glanced around and then tugged Sam’s arm, until they were both sat on the ground, there back to the fence behind them. “Chicks are hot, but you can still think that and not be totally straight. Cause… dudes can be hot too?” 

Sam glanced at Puck and then quickly looked away when he saw the knowing look. “I wouldn’t. I mean, everyone notices when a guy is… you know? When he’s muscular, or he’s… It’s not gay to notice a guy is objectively attractive.”

“Sure.” Puck nodded, “Objectively, sure. But, I’m thinking sometimes it’s less… objective?”

Sam didn’t know how to answer that, just focusing on the cracks in the pavement. It’d be easy to deny it again, but it would also be a total lie. It wasn’t like he’d never noticed when a guy smiled at him, and his heart got a little light. Or the half forgotten dreams with hands that weren’t ladies hands. 

“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to,” Puck said quietly, and Sam flinched as an arm settled around his shoulder, pulling him gently against Puck’s side. It was almost like every casual  “I’m not gonna say anything to anyone. Not even Kurt. But… you know. there might be people who know what you’re feeling. People who’ve already come to terms with the sometimes boobs, sometimes dick thing. If you wanted to talk about it.” 

Sam didn’t answer for a while, picking at his fingers and trying to work out what he wanted to say. “Sometimes...” 

“Sometimes?” Puck prompted quietly.

“Sometimes, I think… you know, a guy is… you know.” Sam sighed to himself. “You know.” 

“Yeah. Sometimes there’s a hot guy, and sometimes there’s a hot girl.” Puck shrugged, “And just like you don’t have to shoot your shot with every girl you think is hot, you don’t have to shoot your shot with any guys you don’t like. But you’re totally allowed to shoot your shot with any guys you do like.” 

Sam sighed, “I don’t know.” 

“You don’t have to know anything. But if you want to talk about it, you can always ask Kurt for my number.” Puck offered his fist to bump. “You just better not be hotter than me. I’m the sex shark. Can’t have you trying to steal that title.” 

“You’re a dork,” Sam snorted, but bumped Puck’s fist with his own. He was about to start standing when he felt Kurt’s phone buzz, and quickly pulled it out, frowning. “It’s Kurt.” 

“Are you going to answer it?” Puck suggested at his hesitation, and Sam quickly hit the button.

“Hey, Kurt, are you okay?” He asked, looking towards Puck who nodded and leaned in closer.

“I… just endured a living hell.” Kurt sounded exhausted on his end, and Sam shot Puck a quick look. “But physically? Sure. I… Are you supposed to be going to Ray’s house?” 

“Yeah, Alex is supposed to drive me there.” Sam shifted away as Puck tried to move closer, “Living hell?”  

“Public showers are not a place I feel particularly comfortable. Less so when it’s not my body—“ 

“Hummel saw you naked? ” Puck’s smirk was firmly in place again as he pulled the phone closer to him, his hand tight around Sam’s so he couldn’t move away. “What’s the verdict? Does Evans have it going on?” 

“Hi, Puck.” Kurt sounded annoyed, and Sam could swear he could see a flash of concern on Puck’s face too. “Sam, is there anything else I need to know?”  

“I don’t think so. Just, like… call dad before seven to pick you up, I’m supposed to wash the dishes tonight… homework?” Sam sighed, the guilt pooling in his stomach. He shouldn’t have gone. He knew it was a bad idea. “I’m sorry about practice, I wouldn’t have gone if—“ 

“No, no. It’s fine, Sam.” Kurt sighed on the other end sounding defeated, and Sam felt the pool of guilt roll and twist violently, “I’m just not used to it, and it’s very— It’s difficult to shower and change without seeing anything I’m not supposed to.”

“You were going to say it’s hard, weren’t you?” Puck snickered, “Hummel—“ 

“I have to go, I see Alex coming.” 

“— you’re going to give me a complex if Evans is getting your motor running more than I do.” Puck carried on, but Sam could see that the call was already disconnected. Puck’s smile faded slowly, and he stood up, offering Sam a hand to his feet. “Guess joking about it isn’t going to make it less stressful.” 

“Make what less stressful?” Sam asked, and Puck shrugged, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “Dude, use your words.” 

“It’s kind of my fault he isn’t comfortable in the locker room. Well, kind of everyone’s fault.” Puck set his jaw, glaring into the middle distance. “Last year, we all decided… you know, you can’t have a fag showering with you. He might see things ,” he rolled his eyes in exasperation, “and everyone was saying it, so I had to say the loudest because if I didn’t, then everyone would ask why I wasn’t saying anything.” 

“Even if you’re…” Sam trailed off, not sure what to say. “Even if ‘sometimes’?” 

“Hey, I’m a badass. I can slap guys asses in the locker room and nobody looks twice. But Hummel takes three steps into the room, and suddenly it’s a whole thing.” Puck smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I get away with a lot.” 

“Would you do it again?” Sam asked as they turned onto a new street. “If you knew what you know now?” 

“… I want to say that I wouldn’t,” Puck sighed, rubbing his hair, “but I really suck at giving in to peer pressure. People expect me to be a certain way, and I don’t disappoint.” 

Sam nodded quietly, and didn’t push it any more. “Well, since I don’t need you to teach me about football or guitar, what’re we doing at your house?” 

“Super Mario until my mom gets home?” Puck shrugged, and then grinned, “And if you’re still around then, and you can swing a later curfew with Kurt’s dad, I can start teaching you the basics of driving a car.” 

“You’ve been staring at your dinner for a while there,” Kurt’s dad grumbled, and Sam jerked his head up to look at him, “It done something to offend you?” 

“No, sir.” Sam said quickly, and then winced, “Dad. Sorry.” 

“You’ve been acting a little weird since you got home, you wanna talk about anything?” Kurt’s dad watched him for a moment, and Sam shook his head, “You hanging out with Finn Hudson?” 

“Just another friend,” Sam shook his head slightly, “I’m just tired.” 

“Okay.” Kurt’s dad turned back to his food, and Sam frowned. His parents would have pushed at least a little, but Kurt’s dad didn’t seem to care. 

“I think I’m done.” He said politely. “What would you like me to do with it?” 

“Throw it in the fridge. I might take it to work with me tomorrow.” Kurt’s dad gestured and Sam moved to do so. “I’ll be up here if you decide you want to talk.” 

“Okay,” Sam nodded, and quickly retreated to Kurt’s room. It felt as eerie as it did the last time he was here, but he did smile as he glanced at the desk and saw his doodle in a picture frame. A little more homely at least, in his opinion. 

He spent most of the night struggling through Kurt’s homework. He could read it just fine, which felt like a miracle, but he was struggling through understanding stuff he’d never been taught before. When he finally decided he had done all he could do, he was surprised by how late it was. He got up, walking a tight circle around Kurt’s bedroom as he waited for any phantom sensations, or feelings of exhaustion, but… 

He finally gave up waiting, grabbing the pajamas which were folded on the bottom of Kurt’s bed, and starting to slide out of Kurt’s clothes. The turtleneck tangled around his ears for a moment, sending Sam’s hair in every direction. He put it to one side, looking around for a laundry basket, when his eyes fell on a full length mirror, and he hesitated.

Kurt looked back, his hair in disarray, chest rising and falling with each breath. It took Sam a moment to realize, to remember that it was him in control of the body, but even after he realized it was impossible to look away. Kurt looked like... Sam didn’t even have words. 

His hand briefly touched his stomach, watching Kurt do the same in the mirror as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing and feeling. The touch made his heart beat faster, the feeling of soft skin, and then harder muscles beneath. Kurt was beautiful, in a way that made Sam’s mouth a little dry to even comprehend. He wasn’t heavy with muscles like Sam was, or what Sam assumed Puck must look like, but his skin was soft and smooth, and underneath it all was a solid core.

He knew he had to finish getting changed, and he knew he should look away from the mirror, but his hands moved of their own accord. He pushed Kurt’s pants down his legs, revealing the briefs beneath, and swallowed heavily. 

This was... Sam had never really felt like this before. No. He had, he’d just always clamped it down and refocused on girls and boobs and… not gay stuff. But he hadn’t jumped to do it so quickly this time, whether it was the fact that he was basically alone, or that it was on his mind from talking to Puck… He hadn’t clamped it down quick enough, and now he was aware of it. 

He couldn’t deny it anymore. He was definitely attracted to men. Definitely attracted to Kurt. He couldn’t stop touching his stomach, like if he did, it’d break some kind of spell. His skin felt hotter by the moment, and there was some tightness in his underwear and—

The chiming of Kurt’s phone jerked him out of his thoughts, and he quickly pulled on the pajama pants, not bothering to remove his underwear before he grabbed the phone.

Sam: This is lasting a while. 

He tried to push off the disorientation of seeing his own name, and quickly wrote his own response.

Kurt: I was just thinking that.

Which was much safer than saying ‘I was just checking you out in your mirror, like a creep’ , but now that Kurt had mentioned it, he was very aware that they were coming up on…. five or six hours? 

Sam: Hopefully we’ll swap back in our sleep.

He chewed his lip for a moment before he wrote back a one word response.

Kurt: Hopefully. 

Immediately that didn’t feel like enough. It was totally dismissive, and… His eyes jerked to the mirror and then quickly hit the call button, holding the phone to his ear. Kurt answered a lot quicker than he expected.

“I think your dad was telling me I need to go to sleep.” 

Sam rolled his eyes, looking at the time. That sounded about right for his dad, as though Sam couldn’t manage his own sleep schedule. You find your son playing video games under the covers at 1 AM one time, and then you have to check in on him every time. “We’ve got a bit of time,” He spoke as quietly as he could, aware of the silence of Kurt’s home. He hesitated and then added, “I… I’m alone now.” 

“No Puck to try and humiliate me?” Kurt sounded like he was joking, but the words got stuck in Sam’s head. Would Kurt think that Sam was humiliating him by looking at him in the mirror?

“I don’t think he knows how to deal with people.” He offered, but it felt weak as an explanation. He sighed, looking back to the mirror again and then collapsing onto his back on the bed. “Hey… You know…” He trailed off, his fingers picking at the bedspread, as he tried to find the right words. But, he couldn’t find them, and Kurt was clearly waiting for him to speak now. “This is going to sound weird, I probably shouldn’t say it.” 

“I’m currently in your body, I don’t think you can say anything weirder than that.” 

Sam almost laughed at that, and the way that Kurt whispered it. He was right, but it was weird how quickly, in just a week and a bit, he’d got used to… all of this. “I don’t know,” He muttered, and paused again, trying to settle on how to approach the topic. “I appreciate that you’re trying to be a good person and like… not look at me without my permission.” As opposed to me, who had just been leering at you in the mirror. He winced, shaking the snide voice out of his head. “So… this is my permission.” 

“What? What are you saying?” 

“If we were in the same place, I wouldn’t not get changed in front of you,” He said quietly, trying to justify it. It was just like being in a locker room. Which was already something Kurt was uncomfortable with, god, he was really, really messing this up. “You’re allowed to look at me, when you’re… y’know, in the driver’s seat.” 

“Oh.”

There was absolutely nothing he could do with that response, and he quickly added, “I’m not like… ordering you to go to the mirror right now and start stripping.” Immediately, he could see Puck in his mind’s eye giving him a really pointed look. He couldn’t even tell Kurt what he’d done. He was just trying to get around the guilt by telling Kurt he could do it too, “I’m just telling you that you’re not doing anything wrong.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Kurt sounded entirely unconvinced, but he didn’t sound angry. “ It’s going to be helpful in terms of finding clothes that you’ll look good in.”

Of course. Because if they didn’t swap back tonight, he was going to have to dress like Kurt tomorrow. He wasn’t a fashion guy. He couldn’t put an outfit together. Not one that would look good on Kurt.

He was already moving on to panicking about that when he heard Kurt sigh. “I don’t think it’s fair of me to do it. Because… Sam, I’m not being honest with you.” 

Sam’s heart clenched, “You’re not?”

“You wrote me that letter, and I… I took the easy route out. Not talking about it. But I can’t… shower as you, or get dressed as you, if you don’t know. It isn’t fair to you.”

It was obvious what he was going to say, and Sam was already dealing with one crisis about his sexuality. He didn’t need to feel like he had to reciprocate. “You don’t have to tell me, Kurt. Honestly—“

“Sam. I’m gay.” 

It was barely a whisper, and Kurt sounded so terrified to say it that Sam’s heart broke a little. 

“Please don’t hate me.” 

“No.” He had to cut that thought off right away. No matter what was going on in his head, he couldn’t let Kurt think that he… “I don’t hate you, Kurt. Thank you. For… being brave enough to tell me.” He looked back to the mirror, and the shame felt heavy on his chest, “I know it’s difficult.” 

“Does it change... anything?” 

“No.” He spoke as confidently as he could, sitting up, “You’re still Kurt.” 

“Okay.” Kurt sighed on the other end of the line, sounding exhausted, and Sam wished he could hug him tightly and assure him that everything was okay. “I’m going to lie down and try to sleep.” 

“Me too.” He knew he wasn't going to sleep for a while though, “I’ll call you in the morning, if we’re not back in our bodies. Or, y’know, maybe even if we are.” 

“Sounds like a plan. Goodnight, Sam.”

“Goodnight Kurt.” He waited for the line to click off and laid in silence for a few minutes before he dialed Puck’s number. It took a couple of minutes for the line to connect, and Sam’s chest felt tight. “Puck?” 

“Who is it?” Puck asked carefully.

“Still Sam.”

“Oh. You doing okay?” Puck seemed to relax a little, and there was the sound of shuffling in the background. 

“No?” He muttered, “I think I did something wrong.” 

“I’m not a priest, dude. Or the guy who helps people fix the wrong things.”

“I…” Sam chewed his lip, rolling onto his side away from the mirror. “I had to get changed. As Kurt. And… I looked.” 

“At his dick?” 

“No, don’t be—“ Sam felt his cheeks burn hot with shame. “I was still wearing underwear.” 

“You’re a jock too, right?”

“You know I want to play football.” 

“Then you’re gonna see a lot of naked dudes.” 

“But… it felt weird to…I mean, I’m in his bedroom and he’s not here. I'm in his body, and he’s not here to tell me whether he’s okay with it or not.” 

“So the problem isn’t that you were looking. It’s that you were looking,” Puck sighed on his end of the line. “Dudes check out girls all the time. It’s not any different. I think the one most people agree on is that you can look, but don’t touch. And even then, like… talk to Hummel about it.” 

“No, to talk to Kurt about it, I’d have to—“ 

“Talk to him about the ‘not gay’ stuff too..” Puck cut him off “Yeah. Then… The church of latter day Puckerman absolves you of any bad behavior done by your eyes on Kurt’s body. Does that make you feel better?”

“No.” Sam shook his head, “but thanks anyway.” 

“Yeah… Alright, well, don’t take this the wrong way, but I really hope I don’t see you tomorrow. This is already skating close to the first swap. Night, Evans.” 

The line was dead before Sam could respond. He rolled onto his back and stared at Kurt’s ceiling silently. He barely remembered falling asleep, just one minute his eyes were drifting closed and the next—

“Kurt! You slept through your alarm!”

Sam jerked upright, the sound of bird song sharply transitioning from dream to reality. Kurt’s expensive bed sheets were wrapped tightly around his legs, and after the immediate jolt of consciousness, his body immediately began to feel like tar. 

“I’m awake,” he managed to call, struggling to his feet and stumbling towards the bathroom. The door at the top of the stairs closed loudly, as Sam brushed his teeth, and then staggered out into the bedroom, quickly pulling open the drawers and looking for something he could wear. He found a simple pair of jeans, tighter at the legs than he would usually wear, and a simple checkered button up, and was rapidly combing his fingers through his hair as he got to the top of the stairs.

Kurt’s dad seemed surprised to see him, but it quickly phased to amusement as he handed him a cup of coffee. “That’s got to be the quickest I’ve ever seen you get ready.”

“You said I was late,” Sam pretended to sip the coffee, but even the taste on his lips made his nose wrinkle. 

“Yeah. You’ve got to be at school in three quarters of an hour.” Burt chuckled, “I’m not complaining.” 

“Oh.” Sam glanced over his shoulder, “I’ll go—“ 

“No, no. You’re ready, except for your books and stuff. Sit down and have some breakfast.” He turned back to the pan, and Sam slowly sank into a chair. “I’m going to be at the shop until late tonight. You hanging out with your friend?”

“I… might be?” Sam chewed his lip, “I mean, I can find something to do.” 

“Alright.” Kurt’s dad plated up an omelette and handed it to him. “All of it, Kurt. You didn’t eat all your dinner last night either.” 

Sam wasn’t going to argue, and finished off the plate as fast as he could. By the time Kurt’s dad turned around with his own food, Sam was sliding the plate into the sink. “I really need to get my things together.” 

Kurt’s dad watched him leave, and by the time he hit the bottom of the stairs, Kurt’s phone was ringing. He accepted the call before he even checked the name, “Kurt?” 

“Yep.” Kurt sounded frustrated. “Do you have football practice today?” 

“Not today. Do you have… anything?” 

“No. I mean, classes, but… not french, which would be a difficult one for you.”

Sam nodded, looking around, “It can’t last much longer, can it?” 

“I don’t know. We’re on 14 hours, which is the longest we’ve been swapped so far.” Kurt sighed. “I’m sorry. I hate the idea of you having to be at school for me.” 

“Just… I’ll be fine,” Sam shook his head, “And my school is fine. This is going to be your first time there as me, so… Just stick with Ray, and stay casual. Nobody is out to get me.” 

“Okay.” Kurt hesitated, “I know this is the least of our problems, but how are you dressed?” 

“Blue jeans, checkered shirt.” Sam looked down at himself, “I saw this… see through raincoat? But I was just going to wear that blue one that zips up weird?”

“Not exactly haut couture, but not too objectionable. Bring at least one change of clothes, in case I get slushied.”

“Will do.” Sam looked around the room in concern, “Do you… This can’t last much longer, can it?” 

“I hope not, Sam. I really hope not. I’ll call you at lunch.” 

Sam: 21 hours.

Kurt: y’know, counting every hour doesn’t seem to be making us swap back any quicker, dude. 

He tried not to be too frustrated as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. He thought he’d felt tired around lunch, but when he didn’t switch, he had to assume it was because Kurt’s body was craving caffeine. Every twinge or strong emotion made him pause and try to work out if it was him, or if it was a hint that he was about to swap back.

“Hey Hummel,” a voice cut into Sam’s thoughts, jerking him back into the present. It only took half a moment to realize that he was surrounded on every side, and that none of the faces of the approaching football players looked friendly. The one speaking to him looked really proud of himself though, so Sam assumed he was the leader. “We got you a present.”

“That’s nice,” Sam said carefully, “but I’m late for—“

“It’s fine,” the guy’s grin grew, “someone’s gonna tell your teacher that you went to the nurses office. You’re coming with us, for your gift right?”

The other football players snickered, and began to move towards him. He quickly held up his hands, pressing his back to the lockers. “I can walk myself.” 

They hesitated, and one of them turned to the talker, “What do you think, Karofsky? Should we grab him?”

The leader, Karofsky, seemed torn for a moment, and then shrugged, “If he’s gonna walk there himself, no reason to. We don’t want anyone asking why we’re dragging him somewhere. And if he tries to run, he knows we’ll catch him before he gets anywhere.” 

The rest nodded, and Sam took a deep breath before he looked at Karofsky. “Which way are we going?” 

The group formed around him as Karofsky started to walk, and Sam was forced to keep pace with them, or risk bumping into the guys behind him. Everyone was watching him go, but nobody said or did anything as he was led out behind the school, next to the football field.

“Y’see, you’ve been real quick on those gay jokes recently, Hummel.” Karofsky announced, and the group parted to reveal a row of portable toilets. As they spoke, Sam could hear someone start to shout and band on the walls inside one of them, and he felt his back straighten. “But Puckerman was right. You’ve not had a chance to go on a date with a guy, and maybe that’s why you’re being such a bitch. So me and the guys set you up a little date, in the only place in town that’ll let fags in.”

“You’re mad at me,” Sam focused on keeping his voice calm and steady, “but whoever is already in there has nothing to do with it. Just let them go, and I’ll—“

“Hey, I didn’t pick your date.” Karofsky snorted, “That was all Puckerman’s idea. Bring it up with him.” 

One of the other football players seemed to unlock the stall door from the outside, and Sam started to move to try and get it open, and get whoever was inside out, but the others were grabbing him under his arms, and he couldn’t get a good angle to kick at them as they tossed him into the portable toilet. Somebody gave out a cry of pain, but the door was already slamming behind him, and the lock clicked into place as they all laughed.

“Kurt?” 

Sam looked down and winced as he saw Artie wedged into the space between the door and the toilet. “Yeah. Hey.” The moment he opened his mouth, it was like he could taste the air, and he immediately gagged. “Oh, gross, no.”

“It’s— It’s the toilet, it’s not me,” Artie said, not quite looking up at him, his face red with shame.

“Yeah, I… I figured,” Sam started to shift, trying to find space to stand, “I’m… I’m gonna have to kind of… straddle you.” He looked around, before gesturing to the spots he could see. “ I can put one foot here, and one foot on the toilet.” 

Artie shrugged, and Sam could see him wincing as Sam’s knee dug into his leg a little more as Sam tried to find balance, and then the look of relief when Sam finally got his leg up onto the toilet, his back pressed against the wall behind him. “You… that doesn't look comfortable.” 

“I can handle it.” Sam shrugged, “Sorry.” 

“Why are you sorry?” Artie finally looked up at him, frowning. 

“I think they put us in here because we’re both in Glee Club and they were trying to embarrass me—“ 

“Puckerman put me in here to test Finn,” Artie cut him off, shaking his head. “Now that there’s no more Glee Club, he wants to make sure Finn hasn’t grown a conscience.”

“Oh.”

They stood and sat in awkward silence for maybe five or ten minutes, before Sam started to notice the ache in his legs. He shifted slightly, but that just made it more obvious. 

“You can…” Artie started to speak, and then went silent immediately. He looked almost as humiliated as Sam felt, still staring at his legs and cleraly trying not to breathe in the smell.

“If we’re supposed to make a point to Finn, then it’s going to be a while.” Sam muttered, “There’s another… what? 40 minutes of gym.” 

“It’s weird you know what class Finn has.” Artie muttered, his nose wrinkling.

“I don’t,” Sam sighed in frustration, lifting himself on his foot on the toilet for a moment to stretch out the cramping feeling in his other leg. Kurt was flexible, but he definitely didn’t have Sam’s stamina. “They came and got me before last period, so they obviously wanted us in here for that class. Otherwise they’d have got us on our way out of school. There’s no football practice today, because we were supposed to have a Glee Club practice after school, and Finn wouldn’t have been able to go to both, but they put us next to the football field. They want it to be a surprise. They kept calling it a gift, so they’re not gonna convince him to come all the way out here from another class without telling him where they’re taking him, especially after they shot him with those paintball guns, right?” 

Artie stared at him for a moment, and then looked away. “Sorry.” 

“It’s just easier to think that I’m a creep than I’ve got a brain, right?” Sam muttered, lowering himself again as carefully as he could. 

“I don’t think you’re a creep,” Artie spoke quietly, and Sam couldn’t help but snort. “I don’t.” 

“You don’t think much of me. You made that obvious, dude.” The stress was clearly getting to him, and he forced himself to shut his mouth before he said anything else. But the damage was clearly done. 

“Look, I didn’t… I don’t have a problem with you, Kurt.” Artie held up his hands as if to ward Sam off. “I just thought… we wanted Finn to stay in the Glee Club, and I thought that if you were there, it’d make Finn uncomfortable.” 

Sam closed his eyes, taking a deep breath despite the smell, trying to steady himself. “You decided that, because you think I’m gay, I’m not the kind of guy that you and Finn should be spending time with.” He opened his eyes and Artie quickly looked away. “Finn Hudson wouldn’t have spoke to either of us before Glee Club.” 

“I know,” Artie sighed, “I just… wanted a friend.” 

“Well, hopefully you got one by throwing K—“ Sam caught himself, “by throwing me under the bus, Artie.” 

That killed the conversation for a while. Sam looked around the stall and then carefully pulled Kurt’s phone out of his pocket, trying to work out if he should text Kurt and tell him what was happening. But the entire situation filled him with shame, and embarrassment.

“I thought about texting Tina,” Artie said after a while, and Sam looked back to him “but they’ve probably got someone watching us.” 

“No offense to Tina, but I think if they put one more person in here, we’re going to suffocate.” Sam muttered, and Artie almost smiled. 

Sam slipped the phone back into his pocket, and took out the journal instead, writing what had happened in there. That way, if Kurt swapped in, he’d know the situation. And if he didn’t swap back until later, Sam could explain it to him when it wasn’t going to make Kurt panic, like Sam currently was. Artie shifted uncomfortably, and then murmured, “Honestly… now that I’m not alone, this is… kind of boring.” 

“Don’t tempt them,” Sam chuckled , and then let out a hiss of pain as his bent leg started to throb, and he wobbled onto one foot, trying to shake it out. “Sorry, cramp.”

“Look…”Artie closed his eyes taking a deep breath, “This is kind of humiliating, but… if you want to… like, sit on my knee, you can.” His face had turned a little red, and he had gone back to examining the walls of the room instead of looking at Sam. 

“I can stand.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we’re both big strong men.” Artie muttered, “but you’ve been doing that weird side-ways lunge thing for fifteen minutes.” 

“I—“ 

“Look, if I could offer you the chair, I would. But we’re gonna have to share.” Artie patted his lap, “Hop on, Hummel.” 

Sam sighed, lifting his leg over Artie’s head awkwardly and then sitting sideways on his knee, one leg folded on top of the other. “Thanks Artie.” 

“I’m thinking singing is gonna get rid of whatever dignity we have left, and they’re definitely gonna hear us, so…” Artie chewed his lips, “You think you’re more of an Iceman than a Dazzler?” 

Sam couldn’t help but smile at the nerd question. “Don’t get me wrong, Allison has amazing outfits. I just identify with Bobby more.” He felt it was definitely a nice blend of Kurt’s fashion stuff and his own comic book knowledge.

“You’ve got hidden depths, Hummel,” Artie grinned, “You’re into comics?” 

“I’ve read a few,” Sam shrugged, “I watched the first X-Men movie again recently.” 

“Patrick Stewart plays a bomb-ass Professor X, no doubt.” 

They fell into awkward, but easier conversation after that, and soon, Sam could almost forget they were sitting in a portable toilet waiting for the football team to make an example out of them. 

Almost forget, that was, until someone started hammering on the outside of the door. “You two having fun on your date?!” Karofsky called, and Sam rolled his eyes, “You know what they say. If the toilet’s rocking, don’t come knocking—“ 

Sam was about to ask what that meant, when the whole structure shifted slightly, and there was laughter from outside. Artie’s eyes went wide, his hands clinging to the arms of his chair, and Sam slammed his fist on the door. “That’s not funny! If you topple us, Artie could get really hurt!” 

“Isn’t that sweet,” Karofsky snorted, “he’s worried about his boyfriend!” 

Sam could hear the toilet water sloshing behind him, and the smell suddenly got worse. The banging got louder, and the swaying was actually lifting the floor of the cubical off the ground over and over again. Sam glanced around in a panic, climbing to his feet. “Artie, try and cover your head with your arms, in case we go over.” 

“What’re you—“ Artie started to ask, but Sam was already bracing his hands on either side of the stall, and slamming his foot into the part of the door where the lock was. There was a moment of fresh air as the door bulged open under the force and the swaying stopped as Sam fell backwards, his ankle aching a little. 

“Hudson’s coming,” Someone called, and Sam straightened out again, trying to change his feet so he could get a better angle on the lock. There was murmuring outside and Artie looked about as freaked out as Sam felt. 

But his foot paused as the quiet murmuring was cut off by a louder, familiar voice. “He’s already in a wheelchair!” Puck was laughing, and Sam flinched, looking at Artie. There was a little more quiet murmuring, and right before Sam was about to try and kick open the lock again, the door suddenly opened. 

Finn looked completely thrown to see him, and Sam had to almost duck under his arm to escape. That seemed to jolt Finn into action, and he carefully helped Artie out of the stall, even as Sam turned to face the mildly dumbstruck football team.

And at their head, the horrified looking Puck. The two of them locked eyes, and Puck shook his head lightly, before his face shut down into mild disappointment. 

“What the hell dude? I can’t believe you’re helping out these losers.”

Finn stared at him for a long moment, and Sam was surprised at the pity he saw there, “Don’t you get it man? We’re all losers. Everyone in this school. Hell, everyone in this town. Out of all the kids who graduate, maybe half will go to college, and two will leave the state to do it. I’m not afraid of being called a loser ‘cause I can accept that’s what I am. But I am afraid of turning my back on something that actually made me happy for the first time in my sorry life.” 

“So, what? Are you quitting to join Homo Explosion?” Puck sounded like he didn’t believe what he was saying, and Finn shook his head putting his hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“I’ve kind of got used to not thinking a lot of you, Puck. I mean, locking someone in a toilet’s really on brand. But to do it to your—“ Finn trailed off, shaking his head and letting his hand drop to his side again. “No. I’m doing both. Because you can’t win without me, and neither can they.” 

Sam watched as Finn and Artie started to walk away, and shot one last look of disappointment at Puck before he moved to follow them. A truck had rolled out onto the football pitch, and Finn had stopped to watch some guy spraying the grass with a hose, so Sam was able to come up alongside them easily enough. 

“Hey, Artie,” Finn said after a moment tapping the handles of the chair. “Do you think you could go on ahead for a minute? I kind of wanna talk to Kurt.” 

“Uh—“ Artie glanced towards Sam in confusion, and then Finn, before he shrugged, “Okay. I’ve got to take the entrance with the ramp so… I’ll be going that way.” 

“We’ll catch up.” Finn nodded, and Artie started back towards the school as Finn straightened up and brushed down his shirt, turning to look at Sam seriously. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Sam offered a small smile, his eyes tracking Artie’s progress, “I think it was scarier for Artie than me, since he couldn’t—“ 

“I meant with Puck,” Finn cut him off, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly, “I mean… him. Doing that to you. That’s way out of line.” 

“Puck bullies me all the time,” Sam shrugged as casually as he could, trying not to give anything away, “a lot of people at this school do. This was just another—“ 

“Yeah, but he’s—“ Finn opened his mouth, clearly trying to find a phrasing something, “It’s different, right? Because it’s… him?” 

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say,” Sam frowned, folding his arms.

“I mean… I saw your phone, dude, in the stage-seat thing?” Finn sighed, giving up any pretense of subtlety, “I spoke to Mercedes?” Sam still didn’t understand what he was driving at, and Finn looked around quickly before he leaned in so he was basically whispering in Sam’s ear, “I’ve been friends with Puck since middle school. I know his phone number. And Mercedes was talking about your secret girlfriend, and how you’re always texting her and calling her, and how you’re always smiling when you do.” 

The pieces clicked together in Sam’s mind in a kind of hilarious, kind of horrifying moment. “We’re not—“ 

“So, I went to Puck’s house to talk to him, but he was out doing something. Sarah told me you’ve been coming over a lot, and that she wasn’t allowed to bother you when you’re there. Same rule as when he has girlfriends over.” Finn shrugged, “I know you guys didn’t want me to know, so I don’t know anything. I’m just saying, it must really suck that he did that to you, and if you need a friend to talk to… I mean, I don’t know about this gay stuff, but I’m willing to listen, alright?” 

Sam felt like he had completely lost his voice, and he could only make a vague head gesture that was somewhere between a nod and shake as Finn put a hand on his shoulder and started to walk with him back towards the school. They caught up to Artie at the ramp, and they were halfway to the auditorium when Sam suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion.

“I… I need to—“ He made a gesture over his shoulder, digging his fingers into his leg to try and keep himself awake. Finn nodded understandingly, and Sam ducked into the toilets, barely managing to sit down before his head was lolling back and then to the side as he slumped against the stall wall and—

— felt something warm against his cheek. He tilted his head slowly, as pain seemed to blur into his awareness. He was lying on his back, and his face had been pressed against someone’s knee— Ray’s knee, he realized as he looked up. He sat up quickly, blinking rapidly as he took in more of the situation. 

“Are you okay?” Ray asked, looking concerned. Sam hesitated, looking around at the basketball court and the people who were staring and muttering, as Ray touched his arm in concern, “You’re alright?” 

“What happened?” He asked, reaching up to rub at the pain in his shoulder and face.

“You fell,” Ray looked like he wanted to say something else, but one of the gym teachers was rushing back into the room with a nurse. He let them flash a light in his eyes, and check him out before they let him stand up.

“We’re going to take you to the nurse’s office until your parents get here,” the nurse spoke calmly. 

“Can…” Sam stopped, turning to look over his shoulder, “Can Ray bring my stuff?” 

“I’ll bring everything,” Ray nodded, watching Sam with a strange look. “I’ll be right behind you.” 

Sam let himself be guided out of the court without arguing, wishing he had his phone already. Kurt needed to know what had happened, what Finn had said.

But by the time Ray had got his stuff together and brought it to him, Sam was getting checked out by the nurse more thoroughly, and Sam watched him hand everything to Sam’s mom who’d arrived to pick him up.

He didn’t say much as they climbed into the minivan, and Sam watched his mom put all of Sam’s things in the back, unintentionally out of reach. “Your dad is going to pick up Stevie and Stacy, but I thought we could go and get some ice cream before we head home.” She announced casually, and Sam couldn’t think of a reason to argue against ice cream. They drove to the little shop in the center that Stevie and Stacy loved, and then sat in the minivan with the little tubs and plastic spoons. 

He could feel her watching him out of the corner of his eyes, and once he’d finished his tub, he carefully put it on the dashboard. “Is everything okay? I’m not dying right?” 

“Sam.” She didn’t sound amused at his joke, and when she sighed, he couldn’t help but frown. “Is everything… okay?” 

“Yeah.” He nodded, “I’m just tired.”

“Because… Ray mentioned…” She seemed to chew on her words for a moment, “He mentioned you seemed a little odd at school today.” 

Sam’s mind jumped to the obvious explanation, but he couldn’t say it wasn’t me, it was Kurt, without sounding insane, “Odd how?”

“Just that you seemed…” His mom shook her head, “happy? Which shouldn’t be concerning, but it was the kind of happy where you haven’t been happy in a while.”

That stung Sam a little, because… that definitely sounded like something he might say about Kurt. “It’s just been tough, getting used to a new school.” He lied carefully, “sometimes you can just be surprised by a good day.” 

“But you’d tell me and your dad if something was wrong, right?” His mom gave him a serious look, “Even if it’s just that you’re having a hard time at school. We want to hear about it, so we can help.” 

“I know, mom.” He nodded, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” She smiled and then sighed, “We need to get rid of these tubs so that your brother and sister don’t throw a fit when they see them.”

Sam chuckled and quickly threw them in a nearby trashcan before he climbed back into the car. “Let’s go home.”

Sam’s wardrobe hadn’t exactly offered a lot of opportunities for fashionable choices, so Kurt had just chosen the plaid shirt that hurt his artistic soul the least, and ignored the part of his mind that wanted to look for an interesting tie or contrasting pattern t-shirt to jazz it up. The hoodie he chose had the benefit of being very soft inside, and although the jeans were looser on the leg than Kurt would have usually worn and the sneakers were showing signs of wear, Kurt didn’t hate the outfit. 

He didn’t dare try for the coffee maker, no matter how much his soul longed for a cup. The kitchen was a maelstrom of activity anyway, and Kurt found a bowl of cereal being handed to him over Stevie’s head as Stacy loudly shouted about how she couldn’t find her homework. He made the executive decision not to try for the table, and instead stood in the doorway, finishing the bowl quickly, and moving to wash it before Sam’s mom shooed him away to get his school things together. 

And then, school. The reading was difficult, but Kurt had known to expect that. But… people said hello to Sam in the hallways. When Kurt looked lost, people would direct him towards the classroom he needed, with a ‘took me forever when I was a freshman too.’ And when he offered an opinion in an English class, nobody sighed or made a sarcastic comment under their breath. It was like a different world entirely.

Whenever he could, he’d check in with Sam about how long it had been, but honestly, he was just amazed at… what Sam’s life was like. Nobody threw things at him, or shoved him, or called him names. He felt unbelievably light, like he’d thrown off a heavy weight. 

Ray was great. Kurt had never had a friendship like it before, lightly teasing but with genuine respect and care. It felt a little weird since he had to be Ray’s friend as Sam, but…

He shot off a message to Sam putting their swap at 21 hours so far, and stepped into his last class of the day. Gym. Which… okay, changing was frustrating, but he could get away with showering at Sam’s home afterwards instead of in the group shower. He had just slipped Sam’s gym shirt on when a man that Kurt vaguely remembered from the football practice stepped into the room. 

“Mr. Hall has had to step away for the last period, so we’re going to be having both classes in the basketball court for some circuit training.” The man gestured to a couple of the people who were already changed, “Green, Murs, come help us set up.” 

Kurt watched them head out and then bent over to finish tying his laces. He waited until a couple of other people were heading out of the room to follow them, tucking Sam’s phone into the locker before he went. 

“Sam!”

Kurt turned towards the voice and couldn’t help but smile when he saw Ray waving. He jogged over, and returned the fist bump that Ray offered. Before they could really talk, someone was blowing a whistle, and one of the teachers was laying out how the day would go. If Kurt was back in his own body, he’d have said that the whole process sounded like hell. Not because he couldn’t do it, but because the mixture of effort, bullies and boredom would have killed him. But this wasn’t his body. This was Sam. Popular, athletic Sam. 

“Hey,” Ray muttered in his ear, and Kurt turned towards him, “What do you think to coming over tonight? Watch the second X-Men movie?” 

“I could be convinced,” Kurt nodded, “I promise not to hog the popcorn this time.” 

“I’ll just make more.” 

“Torres!” Ray jerked to attention at the teacher's voice, blushing a little, probably at being called out. Kurt glanced back to the front too, and the coach gestured, “Maybe you should join your own class, Evans.” 

“Yes, sir,” Kurt nodded, and offered Ray an apologetic smile before he moved closer to his own class. The explanation was over a few moments later, and Kurt began to jog with everyone else. Ray and the Sophomores were the first ones to peel off and start on their squats and lunges and that kind of thing, leaving Kurt to run with the other freshman. 

It took another lap of the basketball court before he realized that there was a whole bunch of people who looked like they were out of breath from the easy jog. But it wasn’t an easy jog, he reaslised as he looked back at the distance he had already covered. He was just… stronger. Fitter. He tilted his head a little at the thought, and immediately regretted it as he started to swerve. He corrected his path, before he started to pick up speed. That got his lungs burning a little more, but now he was definitely near the front of the pack. Maybe not the fastest, but… not languishing near the back like he would be at McKinley. He could see himself lapping some of the others if he really wanted to.

And that feeling carried on as they moved to the squats, and the lunges, and although Sam’s body seemed a little less flexible than his own, it was… 

It was a strangely heady feeling to go from a boy who was shoved into lockers and thrown into dumpsters, to somebody who was physically powerful. He couldn’t help but grin as he worked through the circuit, and went back to jogging, to the circuit, to the jogging— 

The coaches were telling everyone that time was nearly up when Kurt decided to really push himself, to go all out on his last circle of the gym. That was finally enough to have him feeling a little tired, but accomplished too. He glanced over to where Ray was watching as he did an awkward lunge, his mouth slightly ajar and a look in his eyes as he stared back, in envy maybe? Or— 

The world suddenly tilted, and Kurt had barely a second to realize that he wasn’t tired from the running, but his eyes were already fluttering closed, and his legs seemed to suddenly go weak as he tried to catch himself, but his eyes— 

— snapped open as he lifted himself off the side of a toilet wall. Kurt rubbed at his face in disgust at the idea that he’d just been touching the surface, and then carefully stood up. The joy from before quickly dimmed as he looked at his surroundings. 

They were only more dampened when he heard the main toilet door open, and he resisted the urge to lift his feet off the ground. He listened carefully for a beat, before he heard someone whisper, “Kurt?”

“I’m…” He hesitated, and then unlocked the stall, stepping out into the main room and letting out a sigh of relief when he saw Mercedes. “This is the men’s bathroom… I hope.” 

“I’m on this side of the doorway,” She drew a line on the ground. “Finn sent me to get costumes. He said you were down this way, and I thought, if I know anything about Kurt Hummel? I know he’s a fashionista. Today’s clothing choices aside.” 

Kurt looked down at himself, and frowned. He didn’t look terrible. If anything it was relatively close to how he had dressed Sam this morning, which… said something about how their sense of fashion could match up. “I am of course willing to help with a costuming situation. But… what for?” 

“Beats me. He’s handling the music which… girl, I do not trust that boy's opinion on what counts as good music, but he came in there all sweaty and determined, and with this big speech. And he got Rachel to shut up, so we can give it a go, right?” 

Kurt nodded slowly, “Okay. I can… We can find costumes.” He straightened his bag on his waist, and checked his phone was still in his pocket before he gestured to Mercedes. “After you.”

“So, does this mean you’re staying?” 

Kurt watched as Mr. Schuester seemed to give in, announcing how much it would kill him to see the group win Nationals without him, as though the club had any chance of even surviving without him. But there was another flicker of movement that grabbed Kurt’s attention, and he turned his head slowly to the other door at the back of the auditorium to see Puck slipping into the seat at the very back. 

“From the top,” Mr. Schuester announced, and Kurt’s head jerked back towards the front of the stage as everyone started to move back into their positions. Finn walked past him and put a hand on his shoulder, urging him into movement.

“Does he come and watch you all the time?” Finn whispered, and Kurt looked at him in confusion, “I’m not complaining! It’s kind of… cute? Is that offensive?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Kurt tilted his head, and Finn frowned before a look of understanding blossomed across his face.

“Totally got it.” He patted Kurt’s shoulder casually, and then shifted towards his end of the line-up. Kurt returned to his end of the line-up, as the lights came up and blocked out his ability to see the back of the auditorium. Even if he had been giving his all before, he found another well of energy somewhere deeper, and tried to decipher the way that Finn smiled at him when his eyes flicked in his direction. 

When they hit their final pose, Mr. Schuester nodded enthusiastically, “Great work! Finn, Rachel, can you stay there? Artie are you alright to keep playing?” When Artie gave them a thumbs up, Mr. Schuester turned towards Kurt and the girls. “You did a great job guys. I’m going to run through some of the solo sections with Finn and Rachel. You can stay and watch if you want, or get picked up early.” 

Kurt opened his mouth to argue that they were just as integral to the performance as everyone else, but his eyes floated back to the auditorium, where Puck was slowly standing and gesturing to the door with a nod. He quickly grabbed his bag and jacket, and after a quick goodbye to the others, rushed after him.

He caught up to him in the empty hallway, but before he could speak, Puck grabbed him and pulled him into a storage closet.

“Why does that feel like a practiced move?” Kurt joked as he straightened up, glancing at the space he had been pulled into and cataloguing how much space he had. “They really should make sure this room is locked. With the chemicals and—“ Puck still hadn’t spoken, and Kurt turned back towards him, suddenly aware of how dim the space was. The light-bulb above was clearly on it’s last legs. “What did you think of the performance?”

“Kurt.” Puck’s voice was too quiet to really get a bead on the emotion behind the name, but that was telling within itself. Puck didn’t speak quietly. 

“Sorry. I should have texted you to let you know we swapped back, I know. But Mercedes grabbed me as soon as I woke up to get costumes, and then we had to learn and practice the song—“ 

“You haven’t spoke to Sam?” Puck asked quietly, and Kurt’s hand moved for his jacket pocket, only for Puck’s hand to catch his. “Don’t.” 

“Puck… You’re acting strange.” Kurt said carefully, “Less cryptic than Finn, but odd. I know I was gone for a while—“ 

“It’s not because of how long you were gone,” Puck let go of his hand, and reached up to rub his face. “Will you let me tell you what happened before you talk to Sam?” 

“Okay,” Kurt nodded, “You’re making me nervous.” 

“I—“ Puck huffed, and looked around before he pulled a fold-able step ladder from next to one of the shelves, and unfolded it before gesturing for Kurt to sit down. Kurt did so carefully, folding his legs. “You know I’m not a good person.” 

“People aren’t good or bad—“ 

“Kurt,” Puck snapped, “I’m not. I mean, you tell me I’m not irredeemable but I’m not a good person. So, when Karofsky and the guys started talking about how Mr. Schuester was leaving, and how we had to make it clear to Hudson that he had to quit Glee Club, I…” He sighed, running his hand through his mohawk, “The girls were fine, they weren’t going to do anything as shitty as they wanted to do to them. So, my whole thing was making sure it wasn’t you. So I really pushed them to do something to Artie.”

“Puck…” Kurt let out a huff of disappointment, “What did you do?”

“I didn’t think they’d actually do it. Dude’s in a wheelchair. And I knew that Hudson wouldn’t let us either. But I grabbed him at the end of fifth period, and locked him in one of those toilet things behind the football field, and then went to class. I was supposed to get Finn to come with me after gym, and get him to flip the toilet with Artie inside.”

“That could have really hurt him—“ 

“And it could have really hurt you .” Puck gestured at him, “you’re the one Karofsky wanted to shove in there.” 

Kurt shook his head, looking away, “I’d have never asked you to do that.” 

“Yeah, well you’re…” Puck trailed off, and shoved his hands into his pocket, turning away from Kurt. “Anyway. Turns out I wasn’t as convincing as I thought I was. Or maybe Karofsky just really has it out for you. Anyway, whilst I was grabbing Abrams, they grabbed you. Waited until I wasn’t there and then shoved you in there with Artie.” 

“Sam.” Kurt muttered, “Shoved Sam in there with him.” 

Puck turned back towards him, crouching so he was at eye level. “Hudson let you out. I had to keep playing the part, and… I mean, you should’ve heard Hudson’s speech. And the look Sam gave me… If I’d known, Hummel, I’d have found a way to get you out. I promise. I didn’t know you were in there—“ 

“But you knew Artie was in there.” Kurt pointed out, shaking his head, “You knew there was a chance that Finn wouldn’t get him out, and that didn’t matter to you.” 

“Of course it mattered, it just didn’t matter as much as—“ 

“Your reputation.” 

“—you. You jackass.” Puck snapped, standing again. “If I had to pick between you and Abrams, I would pick you.” 

“You don’t get to make it my fault that you were willing to let that happen to someone else,” Kurt stood up too, pushing the ladders back against the wall, “I… I’m not doing this right now. I had a really good day today, and do you want to know the sad thing?” He chuckled darkly, “It only started going downhill once I had to be myself again. I’m going home. I’ll talk to you after I’ve spoken to Sam.” 

He didn’t wait for an answer, pushing past Puck and back out into the hallway, his hand tight on his bag as he called his dad.

“Can you come pick me up? Please?” he took one last glance back over his shoulder, watching Puck step into the hallway with a heartbroken look on his face. “I really need to get away from here.”