The bad thing? It's not the only story I have in mind or the shortest.
In case anyone on my flist watches the show: Here be spoilers. Mostly up to 1x20, but this vignette takes place after 2x04.
(I just... yeah. Finn/Kurt needs to happen very soon. If the writers make Kurt hitch up with the Eyebrow Pervert-- uh I mean, Blaine, I will kill something.)
The day the Hudsons finally moved in with the Hummels, Finn found himself standing in his new room – correction, the room he was going to share with Kurt – holding a cardboard box to his chest and looking around disorientedly. Well, this is it.
He wasn’t particularly thrilled, but he had decided a good while ago he was going to do whatever it took to make his Mom happy – and Carole was certainly happy with Burt. He supposed this moving-in thing made sense, sort of; it might be nice to live in a larger house, or to finally inhabit a room where he could actually move around without bumping into the furniture (a luxury he hadn’t had since he hit that growth spurt at 13). Still, for all that… this place didn’t feel like him at all.
Shrugging, he drew his Ohio Stadium poster out of the cardboard box and fixed it to the wall with a small piece of tape, hoping to somehow make this alien habitat look more familiar. He stood back, gauging the effect. Pretty okay. Just as he was going to apply another piece of tape, though…
“Finn Hudson!” a high voice shot out from behind him. “You are not going to use duct-tape on my Burgundy Reverie wallpaper! It’ll make the color fade!”
Kurt strode quickly to where he was standing and snatched the tape roll from his hand, unceremoniously (but to his credit, still carefully) removing the poster.
Finn frowned. “I thought we were supposed to share. Can’t I have a say in how the place looks?”
“Under normal circumstances, that would be the norm, yes. Sadly, your taste is far too abysmal for me to take that chance,” Kurt replied primly, giving back the poster, now neatly rolled and somehow tucked into an elastic band which had come from out of nowhere.
Finn scowled at him, feeling like he should address the insult, except he wasn’t really sure what ‘abysmal’ meant (although he was almost positive it was a really bad thing) so he just huffed and started unpacking his clothes.
“Now, those all go in the dresser right over there,” Kurt instructed. “It would be nice if you could keep them tidy. I could help you with that.”
“Thanks. I got it.” Finn muttered, making it a point to not divide his clothes by matching color and stuffing his socks together with his sweaters. This really sucked. School was hard enough, what with being the quarterback and the lead singer in Glee and having to pretend to listen to Rachel and trying not to flunk every single one of his classes; home was the one place where he could just kick back and stop worrying and just do whatever the heck he felt like… and now he was going to have to abide by Kurt’s totally freaky rules. Why should he anyway? ‘Family’ meant they were all living together and—
“By the way, Saturday is laundry day. We need to get it done as efficiently as possible, because I usually always have minimum two or three loads of it. I usually start in around 9…”
“Dude, no!” Finn protested. “I never wake up before 11 on Saturdays. It’s like, a tradition.”
“All right, you can have the last laundry shift then,” Kurt conceded pleasantly. “But I hope you’re a sound sleeper, because I will start the machine at 9.”
Finn eyerolled and started putting away his comic books, a little more vehemently than was needed. “Anything else you’d like to tell me?” he asked sarcastically.
“Actually, now that you mention it, that bedspread of yours kinda needs to go. It clashes with like, oh, only everything else in the room.”
Finn wanted to scream. That’s because it’s your room, you jerk!, he wanted to yell. And you fuss over it like a 50-year-old lady! No way this was fair, he decided, anger pulsing behind his temples. He should put Kurt back in place, he really really should…
But he had already yelled at Kurt about this room, and insulted his taste in décor; it had been totally awful. Not only because Kurt’s dad had overheard him ranting and gone all Papa Bear on him – which had been pretty scary, to be honest – but also, and most importantly, because Kurt had been hurt. Kurt had actually frickin’ wept. And Finn wasn’t sure he could deal with that again so soon. Or, like, ever.
The weeks following the Basement Incident had been a total disaster. Kurt had stayed mad at him even after he had worn that stupid shower curtain, which in Finn’s opinion wasn’t really very fair, but then again Finn knew he got a lot of stuff wrong, so maybe he deserved Kurt’s anger. They had sort-of-kinda-made up, but there was still that small distance, that edge of coldness between them that had never been there before, that same edge of coldness that was making Kurt act like – well, like a bit of a bitch, to be fair.
So Finn swallowed his angry retort and just nodded, folding his football uniform carefully. It had taken a couple months for his Mom and Burt Hummel to get back together, and another couple for them to give another shot at the whole ‘living together’ thing. No way was he going to screw it up again.
Their parents deserved to be happy, he decided, telling himself that was the only reason he was trying to be nice, telling himself he didn’t miss Kurt’s kind smiles and affectionate looks and – Grilled Cheesus help him – even his flirty little touches. Okay, so maybe he was being kind of egotistical about it (Rachel had taught him that one. It meant something like ‘selfish’); but things were really much nicer when Kurt didn’t dislike him.
“Hello? Earth calling Finn Hudson?”
Oh. He was so busy thinking and mulling and trying not to snap he had actually not heard Kurt calling his name; apparently he’d been trying to get his attention for a bit and was now standing in front of him, waving a hand before his eyes.
“Yeah. Sorry, I uh, spaced out for a moment. What’s up?”
“I was trying to ask what you would like for dinner. But it better not be something covered in grease, because Dad needs his lo-fat diet and I can’t fight this war against two of you,” the boy sighed theatrically.
“Oh. Well, um, you know… whatever. As long as it’s not vegan or anything.” Finn shrugged.
An eyeroll. “That is real helpful, Finn, thank you.”
“Look, it’s your place. I can’t tell you what to cook. My Mom doesn’t even ask me what I want for dinner. I’m down with whatever you decide.”
“It’s supposed to be your place too. We’re kind of meant to be a family, much as it bothers you.”
Damnit! Why are you trying to pick a fight?
“Sorry. I’ll try harder. Just… I don’t have a preference, okay?” he turned his back to finish unpacking, hoping his sort-of-friend, almost-stepbrother, former-pursuer would catch the hint. Kurt did, and started in the direction of the stairs with a shrug.
Finn took out the picture of himself, 1-year-old and sitting in his Father’s lap. He ran a finger over his Dad’s uniform, wondering where to put the picture. At their old place it had always been in the living room, but now that would just be awkward, what with Burt and all.
He considered putting it on the nightstand, wondering if that would make him look like too much of a crybaby; besides the nightstand was some art-deco horror Kurt had probably ordered off some expensive catalog, and he would likely complain that the frame clashed with the wood or something. He stood there for a bit, just turning the frame over, so lost in thought he didn’t even notice Kurt coming back.
“Can I see it?” he asked, his voice softer than it had been in a while.
Finn really didn’t want him to. It was his Dad and it was kinda private and sure, Kurt had told him about his Mom but it wasn’t the same because at least he’d gotten to know her, while this picture was all Finn had and would ever have of his Father and—
With a logic of its own his hand had given Kurt the picture. The smaller boy took it carefully, almost reverently, looking at it for several moments, before giving it back to him, a kind half-smile on his face.
“He certainly made a dashing soldier,” he commented. “Handsome, too – now I see where you got your jaw.” His tone was light and friendly, and Finn couldn’t quite tell if he was flirting or just teasing.
“Thanks, I guess.”
“You should put it on the nightstand. Or the shelf,” Kurt suggested.
“I was going to,” Finn mumbled. “I just wasn’t sure if you… yeah.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. It’s a good picture. And you were a cute baby, although a little fat. I bet you ate like a pig back then too,” the other guy smirked, and Finn couldn’t help laughing. The frost in the room seemed to thaw a little.
“Really, Finn, you can put stuff up if you want. You’re right, we should share.”
Kurt sounded a bit tentative, but also honest and kind of meek.
Finn gave him a dubious look: “…Can I have my REO Speedwagon poster?”
Kurt closed his eyes, looking deeply pained. After a moment, he concluded: “Yes. If you let me color-sort your clothes.”
Finn grinned. “Deal.”
He was so going to mismatch them anyway.