Dedicated to Chris Colfer and Kevin McHale – thank you for teaching tolerance. This is AU – the kiss between Tina and Artie never happened. Ambiguous timeline, I guess, but definitely set during season one. This was written for jettakd at glee_fluff_meme.

I knew Artie Abrams was lonely. He had plenty of friends – which I knew by virtue of being the epicenter of his social circle – but he hadn't had a lot of luck in the dating department. I didn't often pity people when it came to romantic endeavors (or a lack thereof) but Artie was different somehow.

It was awful enough that his legs had been broken in such a permanent manner, but to shatter his heart in the same fashion was just the world's way of rubbing salt in the wounds that were still raw and oozing.

Tina had torn Artie's heart into miniscule pieces with her rejection and I wasn't sure how to put them back together. It seemed nearly impossible; veins lay severed and split, vulnerable to the world and its cruelties. Nerve endings were newly opened after every rejection, magnifying the pain of everything that had happened in the short sixteen years of his life.

Maybe the fragments of his heart, his soul, couldn't be repaired by someone like me, but I was certainly willing to try. I'd say I was helping a friend, but at the time, it felt like something more. I wasn't sure of Artie's sexuality. It didn't seem particularly relevant, because I knew that if he didn't reciprocate the slight crush I had on him, I would simply ignore the impulses and make my best attempt at maintaining a friendship with him.

We were alone in the auditorium, waiting for the rest of New Directions to walk in and kick off a rehearsal that was sure to be boisterous – I had watched in horror as Finn power slammed three slushies. Rachel had only had one, but that was enough to send her straight into a tailspin of hyperactivity. In all honesty, she resembled a squirrel that had been force-fed massive amounts of cocaine.

Pretty terrifying, I thought, but no one agreed with me – they were too busy pointing and laughing while she remained oblivious and babbled on about her next solo.

I sighed, putting my head in my hands and listening to the slight squeak of Artie's wheelchair as he moved towards me. I remained still, hearing the blood rushing in my ears, only looking up when I felt Artie tap my shoulder.

"Hey," he said, for once not having to look up at me. It was a refreshing change – he wasn't stuck with having to choose between looking directly into my eyes (kind of awkward, because for me, that signifies intimacy) or staring at my crotch (holy Gaga, why?). He often chose the second option, which elicited a combination of embarrassment and something akin to curiosity in me.

I was pretty sure the whole crotch-ogling thing was a common occurrence if you were stuck in a wheelchair, but being the romantic (and somewhat horny) fool I am, I wanted it to mean more to both of us.

Maybe it did mean something other than "oh, just another eyeful of clothed privates" to him, but I couldn't be sure without asking and I definitely wasn't about to do that.

"Hey," I replied when I finally tore myself away from introspection and paid attention to what Artie was saying.

"So about that duet we're doing," he said, triggering the instant motion of my head snapping up.

"Uh, the duet?" I mumbled awkwardly, confused.

I knew that Mr. Schuester had paired us up for a different kind of musical number. I had originally been partnered with Finn, but requested a switch when things between us got too…tense, for lack of a better word.

With the newly recognized situation involving Artie, the switch was more of a hassle than anything else. I suddenly felt bad for bothering Mr. Schuester – it wasn't his fault I seemed to be attracted to every guy in Glee club. I figured he had broken gaydar or something, because if he'd wanted to make things easier for all of us, he could have just paired me up with a girl and effectively killed what was starting to seem like a permanent boner – metaphorically speaking, of course, but the fact remained that my damn libido just wouldn't quit.

"I think Schue said to…find the song that tells the story of the emotions in your heart," Artie continued, politely ignoring my confusion.

"Right." I nodded in slow recognition, trying not to look totally bewildered.

"What's yours?" He asked, wheeling himself into the square of floor space across from where I sat on the piano bench.

"I haven't really found one," I confessed, heaving a frustrated sigh. "Since this is a duet I could just, you know, back you up." Get it together and stop implying double meanings, Kurt, I chided myself.

Artie nodded, somehow wheeling himself impossibly closer to the piano – he was definitely better with maneuvering than I was.

It was unfortunate that he'd had to learn this skill due to having his mobility suddenly ripped away from him. I really did feel bad for him, though Artie insisted he'd gotten over the shock that had been present initially.

I saw flashes of something in his eyes occasionally, though, that spoke volumes to the contrary. No one, besides me, appeared to really see his pain.

My question, the one that always throbbed as a hot pulsing beat in the back of my mind, consisted of only one word: why?

How, I wondered, could everyone else be so blind to blatant suffering? Couldn't they read the emotions written so plainly across his face? Artie was hurt and angry and most of all, afraid – terrified to open himself up to people, because every time he dared to expose his soul to others, the attempted connection backfired.

He had really, really liked Tina, and after a short attempt at romance, she called things off but was still interested in being friends – I figured it had to be similar to what I dealt with every time I saw Finn, except worse because he'd actually had a chance to get that close.

I was determined to ensure that the bond we developed – no matter how tenuous – would never be broken.

I may come off as cold and uncaring to outsiders, but a select few have managed to open my chest and probe into the inner workings of my heart, pry open my cranium to know every inch of what I may be thinking; sometimes they seem to comprehend my thoughts even better than I am able to understand them myself.

Mercedes was that person for me – my closest friend – and I wanted to play the same role in Artie's life.

Suddenly, I knew what song I wanted us to perform together.

"Have you heard I'll Stand By You?" I asked quietly, feeling kind of silly for what I was suggesting.

"The Pretenders?"

"Yeah."

That rehearsal had been before the start of a three-day weekend. The following Tuesday, Artie and I met privately in the auditorium so we could practice the song without anyone else watching. I'd brought Finn along to do the heavy lifting, because let's just face it – I've always spent more time moisturizing my face and putting my fashion sense to good use than I have working out.

"Hey, Finn," Artie said, "you don't have to stick around, man. Just meet us back here in an hour. We'll be fine."

Finn looked skeptical, but he went along with Artie's line of thinking.

"Okay," he said simply before walking off.

When Artie looked over at me after the door had slammed shut, I had begun to suspect that there may have been an ulterior motive behind his unceremonious send-off.

"What made you pick that song?" He inquired, still staring in my direction.

"Um." My mouth abruptly went dry. Because, God, the reasoning behind this was girly, even for someone as gay as me. I was turning into Rachel, and that's not a good thing. If I continued down that path of horror, I'd be sticking gold stars to every available surface and breaking karaoke machines with the sheer force of my enthusiasm before anyone could say 'Broadway'.

I had to tone it down a bit; I spouted enough show tunes already and if I had Rachel Berry's brain, everything would just get worse.

I'd probably be even gayer, impossible as that was to comprehend.

"Just to show you I'll always be your friend," I finally spit out. This earned a smile from Artie, but I thought I caught a trace of sadness in his eyes that, provided I wasn't imagining it, showed his true feelings to be somewhat more complex than unadulterated joy.

I was perceptive, for crying out loud, not stupid. Not oblivious.

In short, I wasn't Brittany's male counterpart. A blunt and very Puck-like way to put things, but definitely factual.

"Ah," he said simply, in a way that was almost wistful, and I waited as a few seconds passed in total silence, not sure what to say after that response. I didn't know whether to take it in a good or bad way.

"Friends," he mumbled under his breath, rolling himself over to the piano and parallel-parking next to the bench.

I stayed there for a moment with my hands frozen like brittle branches over the piano keys, trying to process the myriad of meanings behind his dejected whisper. He seemed almost…disappointed by my statement of friendly camaraderie towards him, leading me to believe that he wanted us to stop being friends entirely or, if I were in fact living my wildest dreams, he would want us to become more than the awkward, not-entirely-platonic-behaving duo we currently were.

I hoped his emotions could be pinned on the latter option – could Artie Abrams possibly have a crush on me?

More importantly, how would we act on these feelings if they were true and not just lust-filled figments of my imagination?

"Artie," I said after we had harmonized with each other to the point of becoming hoarse, "what's bad about my wanting to be your friend?"

He gulped visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing in a way that might have seemed funny had the situation been lighter. "It's kind of a long story," Artie said, staring at his feet, then mine.

"Well, I've got time," I reassured him gently, folding my hands in my lap. "We have time, rather."

Artie was still looking down, off to the side, or across the auditorium – anywhere but straight ahead, which would have trained his gaze directly on me. As I waited, the near-deafening silence was broken by a quiet sniff from my friend.

"You promise not to laugh if I tell you this?" Artie put his chin in his hands, obviously trying his hardest not to cry. The film of tears in his eyes reminded me of seeing droplets of water built up on a coin – that was a science experiment I'd done in the eighth grade.

By then, it was pretty obvious what he was about to say. This was a whole new side of Artie – I'd never seen him cry, at least not this much. I hated that whatever he felt was causing him such anguish.

"I don't laugh at –" I started to say friends, but stopped myself, "at people I care about, Artie. So no, I won't laugh," I said in a rush, feeling like I had worded my comfort exactly the wrong way.

"I kind of…like you," he said, hesitant, as though he expected rebuke.

"Like…like me?" I asked, feeling like I had a speech impediment. Artie flushed pink, nodding and looking slightly intimidated by my near-silence.

I discreetly pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming.

"I mean, I know you're gay," Artie croaked, "and I know you know that everyone knows, but don't feel, you know, obligated to act like you dig me just to avoid hurting my feelings."

I chuckled quietly at the convoluted opening to the sentence, then said, "I don't lie to people I care about, either. So I'm telling you the truth when I say I like you, too." Artie wasn't Finn, but that was the whole point, really – they were such polar opposites that I couldn't ignore my crush on Artie. Finn was what I'd found looking in all the wrong places for love. As it turned out, there was no 'right place' to find love, no pot of gold – the right person would just come to you.

Love, after all, is not a place. The vessel that holds it is.

I realized then that what Artie wanted was to be kissed, so I sat facing him and pressed my lips to his.

Artie was still crying when I broke the gentle contact between us moments later, but the smile on his face told me they were tears of happiness.

Someone had finally seen him as an equal.