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Artie can’t stand to see people cry. It’s either a character weakness or a character strength, depending if the person judging him is Slytherin or Hufflepuff. The psychologist he doesn’t go to anymore would probably say it started with trying to take control back after the accident. If he could stop his dad from crying things weren’t as bad as they seemed. In this particular case the origin story matters less than the simple truth that it’s been a half an hour and Tina, Rachel, and Matt haven’t stopped crying.
Intellectually Artie gets that they all have great reasons to be miserable. Really, all thirteen of them should be crying. In a week Glee will be over, they won’t have a creative vent, half their friendships will be decimated, and they’ll all have one less thing to put on college applications.
Emotionally Artie can’t fucking stand it. It’s awful and he needs to fix it. He has no idea what might help Matt. He could distract Rachel with Broadway if he had Youtube handy, but he doesn’t know where Schue keeps his computer. But Tina. He knows how to make her happy. Ecstatic, even. All he has to do is something he told her he’d never do.
They’ve been reminiscing for a while now, some more vocal than others, and while Mr Schue goes to get soda to be undrunk and match their uneaten pizza, Artie takes the opportunity to roll forward a few feet. There are several guys here, but Kurt’s the obvious choice. Puck would be second runner up with the pro of being slutty and the con of being really strong if he protests, but Kurt’s sitting half on Mercedes’ lap, so Artie doesn’t have to worry about it. He just leans forward, grabs Kurt by the lapel of his white jacket and kisses him.
Sure enough, when Artie pulls back Tina’s been stunned into not crying. Success.
“Uh, what was that?”
“I thought Kurt was our only gay.”
“Wow.”
“Santana, what’s a gay robot called?”
“That seemed a bit out of the blue.”
Artie looks at the way Kurt’s fingertips are pressed to his lips and shakes his head. “Only if you don’t know how Tartie works. Tina was crying. When we watch porn together I always want to watch girl girl and she always wants to watch guy guy. I thought it might make her stop crying.”
Tina smiles. “Well, it worked. I mean, I’m still sad, but that was hot.”
“Yes, it was. Feel free to do it again, Queerbot,” Santana smirks a little.
Rachel sniffles and runs the back of her hand over her eyes. “Normally I’m against the exploitation of non-heterosexuals, but your reasoning is sweet.”
“Seriously, feel free.”
Artie looks around the room and sees waiting faces of friends he’s managed to distract with so called sweetness. They might not be happy, but they’re interested and on their way to something even better. He looks at Kurt, silently asking for consent this time, and gets it. Their second kiss is far more participatory. Tina always tastes like waxy lipstick, but Kurt uses flavoured lipchap. It's an odd but nice difference.
That’s when Mr Schuester comes back into the room, pitcher of something orange in hand. Artie’s not a hipster, he’s never listened to vinyl in his life, but he imagines the sudden tension in the air is a lot like the needle suddenly being dragged off the record. He pulls back from Kurt so hard his chair moves a few inches, and prepares to get yelled at for getting to first base in a teacher’s house. It’s kind of Nancy Grace of him and Kurt, really.
“This isn’t appropriate.” Mr Schue shakes his head and crosses his arms over his sweater vest. “You can’t do this in my house. Not while we’re getting ready for Regionals. I’m going to get some sheet music for potential songs. I’ll be an hour. An hour exactly. I’m sure when I get back everything will be back to normal, and you’ll all be ready to behave professionally.”
And then he leaves. He actually leaves, surely knowing that no one in the room is going to encourage Kurt and Artie to behave like anything more than kissing sluts. Artie has the mad urge to clean his glasses in confusion, Giles style.
“That was abnormally cool of him,” Mike says.
“He’s as traumatised as we are,” Matt replies.
Santana moves from in front of the fireplace to sit on Rachel’s lap. With Rachel on the seat of the armchair and Finn sitting on the arm the piece is loaded to capacity, but Artie doubts anyone in the room cares if the short legs give out as long as Santana and Rachel don’t stop making out. Everyone stares, something Santana’s obviously used to. It’s a good minute before she pulls away and twists to face most of the room. That level of spine flexing has to be a Cheerios thing.
“What,” she demands, not exactly a question. “At least Wheels will see Lady Hummel for the rest of the school year. I can’t say anything to Berry until summer vacation.”
“You could make fun of her stupid clothes?” Brittany suggests.
“Yeah, but that’s different. I just wants to gets my mack on before I can’t.”
Finn frowns. “Rachel, you’re okay with this?”
She touches her lips in a mirror of Kurt, then nods. Santana reaches up and pries Rachel’s hand from her mouth and resumes kissing her. It’s kind of a trigger for everyone else. Puck and Mercedes turn to each other after Tina gets up and sits on the floor beside Brittany. Artie’s guess is that it’s just to get a good view of everyone without taking up valuable couch space but Brittany’s as bi as Santana, and maybe even a little more flexible. She twists and arches to the side so she can kiss Tina’s neck. Artie isn’t jealous. All he can think of is the tiny smile on Tina’s face, and how he’s caused this.
“So basically we’re having goodbye sex?” Puck asks.
“Goodbye makeouts,” Matt corrects him, voice still thick from the way his tears triggered his sinuses.
“I don’t think-” Quinn starts, rising from the second armchair as she does. Artie doesn’t believe in actual violence against women, but if she ruins this he’s going to imagine her starring in multiple films where the female lead dies. This is so good, can continue to be good, and it’s already got a certain end point. She shouldn’t bring that any nearer.
It’s a surprise that Mercedes is the one to cut her off. A surprise, but a source of pride to Artie, because out of all of them he would have pegged Mercedes as the least interested in making out that’s only reason is to cheer people up, not for romantic interest. If she’s into it, then he’s done his duty to Glee club.
“Come on, Quinn. Isn’t there anyone here you’ll miss when you’re not allowed to talk to them?”
It’s a good idea to sell it that way, even though not all the combinations are loser/popular. Matt just took the opportunity of Mercedes pulling away to talk to get his own kiss from Puck. And lord knows he and Kurt are both certified losers, and Artie hasn’t really stopped kissing him, even though Tina’s no longer watching them. It’s a way that Quinn might buy, considering how she fell from grace, and the losers in this room were the ones to pick her up.
“Kurt? Kurt, I guess. But he’s not-”
Kurt actually gets up to stand beside her and hold both her hands. Their first kiss is chaste, like fifth graders in a school yard. Then Quinn’s pregnancy hormones must kick in, because she starts eating his face. Kurt doesn’t seem particularly horrified. Maybe his brief courtship of Brittany warmed him up.
The keys jangle in the front door way too soon in Artie’s humble opinion. Maybe not by the numbers; he’s pretty sure everyone has made out with at least four different people. Brittany, surprising no one, has had her tongue down the throat of everyone in the room. But it’s certainly too soon if you judge by the emotional status of the room’s occupants.
The first emotion is adrenaline based. Either panic or thrill, depending on where the individual falls on the rebellion scale. Everyone pulls apart. There are hemlines being tugged down and straightening of mussed hair. In the guys cases, there are strategically placed pillows where needed. Artie’s the only one that doesn’t have to scramble for a seat, but he still has to check his zipper when Puck gets off his lap and crams himself onto the three seat couch with four others.
They make it. They’re all ‘appropriate’ by the time Mr Schuester is walking into his living room, which makes the second emotion pure relief. After that though the mood drops considerably. When Mr Schuester passes out the sheet music for a Sheryl Crow song everyone takes it silently. They’re halfway through their first dry run when Rachel stands up.
“I can’t do this.”
“Rachel-”
“No. I’m thirsty. I’m really thirsty and I want to go home. I’m calling my dads.”
Like Santana’s cue to get their mack on, this is a cue to bail. It’s the worst afterglow ever. Artie was feeling proud and turned on at the same time over what he had caused, and now there’s nothing, just all his friends trickling out of his favourite teacher’s house. It sucks. His only hope is that maybe after they do great at Regionals and get third place anyway because Sylvester is a vicious harridan, Mr Schue will close his eyes on the bus home and they can do this one last time. Artie’s sure they’ll need it.