I cannot believe Blaine. I've narrowed down what he's feeling. He's jealous. He's jealous because he does not have what me and Gave have- love. He's jealous that he doesn't have love, he doesn't have someone who makes him swoon, who kisses him tenderly and actually make love to him than dirty, meaningless sex. But then Rachel's words haunt back to me- that Blaine is jealous that Gabe is with me? No, that's not it. Blaine is jealous because he does not have the relationship I have with Gabe.

But that is the least of my worries right now. It's Wednesday night and I'm still picking out songs I should perform for Carmen Tibideaux and the entire NYADA board tomorrow. It's scary thinking about this. The last time I did this major of a performance was my audition- and of course in high school during sectionals, regionals and nationals. But this is different- this feels like my audition again, and I don't do well under the pressure.

I am knee deep in song sheets and my laptop is playing random songs. I placed my iTunes player on shuffle in hopes that it will shuffle to a good song. I cannot get this wrong. If I do, I'm toast- then I realize something. Rachel. Rachel knows performances better than anyone. She'll know how to help. I dial her California number and she answers.

"Kurt?" her voice sounds sullen.

"Rachel, hey. I need a favour."

"Oh. Now is not really a good time," she says.

"Why? What's wrong?" I ask, though I know it's probably about Finn. Typical Rachel Berry problems.

"Just- me and Finn are a little on the rocks right now. Is it important?" she ask.

"It kinda is," I say cautiously. I hear the phone go muffled for awhile, then the sound of a door slamming- hard. "Jeez, is everything okay over there?"

"Fine, don't worry about it. What's wrong?" she feigns are calming tone, though I know her tone when she's trying to hide her sobs.

"Rachel, if this isn't a good time, it's okay. But are you sure you're okay?"

"Can you just tell me what do you need?" she snaps and I am momentarily stunned. "Sorry," she sighs. "I just- Finn and I are fighting. That's all. But really, what is it?"

I should press on, but knowing Rachel, if she doesn't tell you something, you should not pry. It will piss her off even more and she gets pretty scary when she's angry. It's like when she's calm, she's a cat. When she's angry, she's a hungry lion. So I decide to just get to the point.

"Okay, so I need your expertise. I have to put up a performance for Carmen tomorrow, and I don't know what the hell I'm going to sing. I thought about an acoustic version of Wake Me Up Before You Go Go by Wham or Celine Dion's My Heart Will Go On."

"What is this performance for?"

"Well- okay I flunked the ballet course so I have to put up a performance," I lie to her.

"Oh god, Kurt. Okay, let me see-" she says and a long humming goes on for like ten seconds. "How about As Long As He Needs Me? From Oliver?" Rachel suggest. "Or Who Will Love Me As I am? From Side Show? Or the timeless classic I Dreamed A Dream?"

"I don't know, Rachel. Those are Broadway classics. I don't know if I can pull them off. Besides, I was hoping to do something that is not from a Broadway show- you know, to show them my versatility?"

"Oh, okay," Rachel hums again and I roll my eyes. She takes such a glaciers time. "I don't know, Kurt. Do something that you know- takes you back to the roots of your passion..that's what Finn told me to do for my Funny Girl audition before."

"I guess I'll try to find something," I tell her because I know she has resigned from this conversation. The fight between Finn and her must be really intense that she doesn't want to help me pick out a song for a performance. She usually leapts at chances like this, solely because it makes her feel good that people have to go to her for advice. "Do you- wanna talk about anything?"

"No," she says, but I hear her hesitation.

"How did Bernie and Rice go?" I ask her, hoping it would cheer her up because I know bragging about her success always cheers her up.

"I have to go, okay? I'll call you when I can," she rushes through. I hear a soft sob before the line goes dead.

I wonder what could possibly be wrong, though Finn and Rachel's problems are often minimal, and frankly insignificant. One, it's because Rachel is the queen bitch of drama queens, and Finn has the emotional stability of a two month old baby. They both exaggerate things when really their problems are not that big of magnitude.

The buzzer goes off then and I rush to answer it. "Who is it? If you're an axe murderer I'm calling the cops," I say because it's ten PM and I usually don't get visitors after nine- with the exception of Blaine's impromptu drop bys, though I doubt it's him.

"Hey babe, it's me," Gabe says and I swoon.

"Come on up," I tell him. A surprise visit always means surprise sex. I grin so wide like a carnally hungry thirteen year old. I can't help it. Sex with Gabe is incredible. There is a knock on the door and I dash to open it.

He stands there with his hair slicked back, his stubbles making him look human, his eyes bright like comets- green comets. He looks so good. Maybe I am drunk on love, but can you blame me when the guy I love looks like this?

"Hi," he whispers and catches my lips with his.

"Hi," I say shyly.

"Are you- recycling or something?" he ask, and I realize the mess my apartment is in. Song sheets covering every inch of the floor.

"Oh- sorry, I was looking for the perfect song to perform tomorrow," I tell him.

"Ah- what have you narrowed down with?" Gabe ask as he enters and I stride to the couch.

"Urm- I'm not sure yet. I don't know.."

"Why do you look all sad?"

"Because- because this performance will determine whether I will get cut or not. It's a big deal, and I can't find he right song to sing and it's stressing me out!" I yell and bury my face into my palms.

"Hey," Gabe says calmly, his hand rubbing down my back. "Hey, come on. Just pick something-"

"Pick something?" I glare at him.

"Or choose wisely- I don't know. I'm sorry."

"I can't mess this up-"

"You won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're amazing. I know you'll be amazing," Gabe says.

"I'm not," I sigh heavily.

"This is my fault," he says gravely. "I shouldn't have done anything-"

"No," I sigh when I hear his dejected tone. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm just stressed out. You were just trying to help me. Forget about it, and it's not your fault. I'll find something, don't worry."

"Still-"

"Stop," I warn him, and he drops it.

"I'm still sorry, though."

"I know you are, and don't worry about it," I tell him and I reach up to catch his lips. He pulls me deeper and I fall on top of him on my couch. His hand travels down my spine and I shudder at his touch. I feel his warmth through my thin t-shirt. "I won't get this done if you distract me like this," I mumble into his kiss.

"Like what? Like this?" his strong hands travel down and grasp my ass cheeks. I gasp.

"I should get back to picking out songs," I mumble, but I cannot pull away. "I should get back to work," he pulls me closer, his erection pressed against mine. "I should get off you," I say, but I am yearning for this man.

"You should, but you won't," he laughs.

"I won't," I grin and I feel his fingers tug on the hem of my shirt.

"I want you naked," he whispers and I feel it go to my groin.

"I can't," I sigh disappointingly. "I really should get to choosing the perfect song," I mumble and he groans when I pull away.

"Why does it matter," he sighs, and I frown at him.

"What do you mean?"

"I just- nothing. Forget it," he says.

"No, really. What does that mean?" I press on.

He laughs and tries to reach for me, but I push him away. "Tell me."

"Kurt, I'm sorry. Can we just forget about it?"

"It matters because I don't want to get kicked out of NYADA. That's why it matters," I say aggravatedly.

"I know that, baby. I'm sorry, okay?"

I know what he's trying to do. He's trying to avoid what he brought up, because I know it holds something more than just a passing comment because we won't be having sex tonight. I don't want to argue, because this really is important.

"I'm really busy," I say, and I turn my attention to my laptop.

"Do you want me to go?"

"Why does it matter," I say and I hear him sigh.

"I should let you focus. I've done enough damage. I'll just- call you tomorrow, okay?" he says and he kisses me briefly on my cheek. "I'm sorry," he breathes before he walks out the door.

I have no idea what the hell was that. Why does it matter? How dare he says that considering he's the reason this is happening. Of course it matters. Maybe I'm just tired, and stressed out but it doesn't change my pretty sharp senses. I know he means something more than just this- my performance.

----------

It's terrifying waking up to judgment day.

It's cloudy and mundane in the morning- which is good because it resonates with my spirits. On top of my performance today, me and Gabe are still on the rocks. He called me later last night to again apologize, and even though I assured him nothing was wrong, something is.

I climb off my bed and am about to head into the shower when my phone rings. No doubt another apologetic call from Gabe. I pick it up and check the ID, but it's not Gabe.

"Hi, I know you're mad at me, but I just wanted to wish you luck on your performance today. I know you're going to be great. Show them all you've got!" Blaine says quickly.

"Slow down. Why are you talking so fast?"

He stays silent for a second. "I was afraid you would hang up on me," he says insecurely.

"I'm not that mad," I say.

"Really? Oh thank god. I'm sorry," he says.

"It's okay."

"You're not stupid," Blaine says.

"Did you actually mean it?"

"About you being stupid?"

"No, that I'm being annoying all hung up on my boyfriend."

"Kurt," he sighs. "I guess I understand that you've never been with anyone and all, but I just wish you wouldn't..you know, let your boyfriend cloud your judgement. It was his fault, but that's behind it now. Okay? The important thing is that you get to perform for Carmen. I'm sorry for what I said."

"I'm sorry about what I said too- about you being cynical."

"We all know I am," Blaine laughs. "Anyway, what time is your performance?"

"Ten."

"Good. Get dressed. I'll give you a ride."

"Okay," I say. "And I'm sorry, okay? Maybe you will find love someday."

"I'm not particularly worried about that," he says.

I jump into the bathroom and take a calming shower. I have to push all thoughts away. My performance has to be excellent today. I've chosen my song, and I just hope my decision won't be my downfall.

I take my time picking my outfit- making sure it's neither too forward, or too plain. If they choose not to let me go forward- based on this performance, then I'll have to reapply for final year on the following year- which is in mine months. I cannot do that. I have to pass this. I decide on a silk black shirt, with maroon coloured pants and leather shoes.

Yes, this will do.

I head out my apartment, feel all nervous and jittery, and just as I slam my door, the light bulb outside my apartment falls and it shatters on my hand. I yelp in pain.

"Fuck," I groan to the empty corridor.

There is small cut on the top part of my hand and I wonder briefly how badly this day is going to go. I'm like a lightning rod in a thunderstorm- every worse possible outcome will always happen to me.

------

Blaine is already waiting in his town car when I emerge. Marcus sees me and he opens the door as I approach. "Good morning, Marcus. Thank you," I try to smile despite my spirits.

"Hey you," Blaine says when I slide into the back-seat. "What's wrong with your hand?" he ask, examining the piece of tissue I have pressed on the upper side of my hand.

"Just that stupid light bulb in my corridor fell on my hand. That is testament to how jinxed I am today-"

"Come on, don't say that," Blaine sighs. "You're going to be fine."

"I thought we've established on abandoning all hopes on things with slim chances?"

Blaine's face hardens, and I know I've reminded him of his father's test results. That look always takes me back to times when I was hurt from bullying and he watched me in pain.

"Has your father gone?" I ask.

"No," Blaine sighs. "Tonight."

"Tonight? God, he must be shitting nervousness," I try to joke.

"I bet," Blaine says. "Lets not talk about that, okay?"

I want to argue, I want to tell Blaine it's okay to have some hope, but being the stubborn nature he is- he is contempt that there is no hope left- so if he feels that way, I don't want alter that because even I know the chances are really, really low.

"The chances of you getting reinstated is not slim, so please don't say that, okay? What are you singing?"

"I wanna hold your hand, The Beatles," I tell.

"Ah- I remember you singing that. It was so good, but are you sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be sure? That song shows a very sentimental, emotional side of me. I don't wanna brag, but I think it was one of the best songs I've sung thus far. I've thought about it- all through out last night."

"Okay, I won't argue that that is one of your best solos, but that wasn't when you shined brightest to me."

"What? Are you kidding?"

"No. You know what was your best?"

"What? Not the boy next door?"

Blaine laughs, and I smile too because- as much as that performance was genius, I still burn crimson every time I think about it because it invovled incredibly tight gold pants, and a lot of hip movements. I still can't believe I did that.

"No," Blaine says, his laugh dies down. "Candles."

"Candles? The one I performed with you?" I frown.

"Yes," Blaine says confidently. "That performance was incredible, and not just because it was us- but I don't know, I just felt really, really good after we sang that, and I remember that look on your face- joy, liberation. Maybe I'm exaggerating, but that was your best performance to me."

I remember that performance, because it was the first duet I did with Blaine in an auditorium filled with people. I remember because I was crazy nervous that night. I remember because I was afraid people might throw pig's blood at the two homos on stage, but Blaine assured me. Blaine made me feel like it was going to be okay. I felt joyful, because he was there. With me.

"But that song- it's not a classic."

"It's still amazing," Blaine says casually. The car comes to a halt, and I basically feel myself crumble inside. "But go with your gut, okay? Either one, you're going to be amazing- because genius comes from within, not the songs you choose."

"That is really cheesy," I laugh.

"Hey, it's ture," Blaine argues. "Okay, give your best friend a hug. Go slay that performance."

"I'll try," I grin as Blaine pulls me into a comforting embrace.

"Oh, looks like someone's waiting for you," Blaine says and I turn to look out the window. Gabe is standing outside of NYADA, his hands inside his trench coat. He keeps looking from opposite sides of the sidewalk- for me, I'm assuming.

I see Blaine's face harden, and I know it's better to get him out of here. "I'll call you later?"

"Sure," he says, and he smiles halved at me.

I emerge out the car and the wind blows my hair into different proportions. Gabe sees me then, and he walks forward, but his eyes go to Blaine's town car. "Hey," he says to me.

"Hi," I say. "What are you doing here?" I notice his eyes still at the car. "Blaine wanted to wish me luck, so he gave me a ride," I explain to him.

"Oh, okay," he says, though his eyes follow as the black Rolls Royce pulls away. "How are you feeling?" he ask when his attention is back at me.

"Nervous- a little bit like dying- but mostly nervous. Wreck. Nervous wreck," I say.

"Did you find the perfect song?"

"Yeah," I tell him. "I wanna hold your hand, by The Beatles."

"Great song," he says.

"I know."

I know the reason behind this small talk. It's because he's trying to gauge whether I'm still mad or not. I don't know if I am still mad, but I sure as hell am not over it just yet. But my performance is going to need my full attention, so I can't think about anything else.

"I just wanted to wish my boyfriend luck," he says.

"Thank you," I smile up at him. "We can talk later, okay?"

"I'm sorry," he says earnestly. "I'm sorry about what I said."

"I already said it's okay."

"It's not. I should have known better than to say something so insensitive considering I'm the reason you're in this stupid mess. I'm sorry if that remark made you angry, I didn't mean anything by it and I'm sorry."

"Gabe," I sigh. My fingers caresses his cheek and he leans in to the touch. "It's okay," I say.

"It's really not."

"I really- don't want to argue with you right now, but don't worry about it. I'm just going to go in there, perform, and hopefully put this behind me- behind us, so we can forget everything and just start anew where it's us again, okay?"

"I'd like that."

"Me too," I smile at him. "Now kiss me for good luck."

He tugs me forward, our chest flush- our lips mere distance. "Good luck, and I love you."

I smile up at him, because despite my assurance, I still feel little stung by his words- it was as if he didn't care about this. About my performance, about this school, about my future. But maybe I just looked into his words too much- or maybe I am drunk on love and he does make my judgements cloudy. Either way, I forget words when he kisses me.

----------

I wait outside the round room, on a bench, alone. I am performing last, and the first one was Ginger. I don't know how she did, but she emerged with a proud, pretentious face. She looked at me and snickered, and I had to restrain myself from leaping at her with sharp claws.

"Mister Kurt Hummel," a junior student calls my name. He's the one who will tell you when it's your turn. I feel myself turning ice inside. I want to run so bad. I wish this never had happened. Mediocre grades at least meant I didn't have to perform this, but it's too late.

Focus.

I walk to the front stage, the band is situated at the back. There is a table in front, where three people- God's actually, because they will determine my face- seated. Carmen Tibideaux, who looks at me, not giving any hint of the slightest approval as I take my stance. I recognize the other two- Mister Matthews, my acting teacher, and Mister Robertson, vocal range coach. To be honest, I expected more people here- like, the entire administrators and board members. Kinda like prosecution determination in the courthouse or something.

"Good morning, my name is Kurt Hummel," I introduce myself, because I know I'm not that much of a memorable person.

"Mister Kurt Hummel, you realize that you are under a very rare circumstance, yes?"

"I do, yes," I tell them because this is either make it or break it.

"Okay, please proceed to tell us what will you be performing," Mister Robertson says. Carmen Tibideaux is not looking at me, her eyes fixated on whatever it is on the desk. I stand, about to tell them my choice of song- until I am baffled.

I don't understand it, but right now that song is not my gut. I love that song, and I know it reaches my deepest emotions when I sing it, but somehow inside me- I don't feel like that song would do me justice. It's a great song, but I know it's not the right song. My gut- my gut is telling me something else.

"I will be performing Candles, by Hey Monday," I tell before I can stop myself. Even I am stunned at my words. I see them all grow surprised at my choice, Carmen Tibideaux's head even snaps up and she stares at me, unable to understand. I stay silent and await for them to cue me.

I notice them glance at one another in- what, disapproval? disappointment? I cannot Blame them though. NYADA is known for producing the best of the best in the Broadway industry, so for me to pick something from the POP category of Billboard's top 40 is a little unorthodox. I don't know if I stand by my choice, but Blaine's words haunt back to me.

"Whenever you're ready," Carmen Tibideaux says, and she sighs heavily. I gulp so hard, my nerves practically oozing out of my pores. This is it.

You can do this, Hummel.

I cue the band and the melody starts. It is slow. A river forms inside of me and starts to flow. It is gentle, it is soothing- it is familiar. My mind wanders back to that performance. Parent's night at McKinley. My mind swirling with the worst possibilities that could happen when Blaine and I step on that stage. The whole town was there- homophobes, and homographs. It feels like I'm back on that very stage, nervous, fear running through my veins. I open my mouth and sing.

The power lines went out, and I am all alone.
But I don't really care at all not answering my phone.

I shouldn't have chosen this song. It does not feel professional, it does not feel classical. I can feel the panel judging me with their eyes. Their glares and stares burning on my skin. I close my eyes and my mind runs back to that night. I stand, right side on the stage, the audience staring back at me. Then that voice. That gentle, calming voice fills the room. I turn I see Blaine. His brown eyes warm, tranquil, encouraging. He sings the words.

All the games you played, the promises you made
Couldn't finish what you started only darkness still remains

I see him. His younger self. His innocent, bow tie wearing figure looking at me with those eyes. Those eyes I love, those eyes that were my sanctuary back when things were dark for me. Like a light at the end of a tunnel- a honey glazed light. He's standing there, singing this with me. Nothing, and no one else around us. Just like back then in McKinley.

Lost sight
Couldn't see, when it was you and me

Our voices in sync, the lyrics go. It feels right, now. He follows me as I venture further into this song, like a guardian angel. He guides me, and supports me. Gently encouraging me forward. I feel calm, and I lose myself in this song. This memory. Our voices entwine and we sing.

Blow the candles out
Looks like a solo tonight
I'm beginning to see the light

Blow the candles out
Looks like a solo tonight
But I think I'll be alright

I open my eyes, and I am in the round room. Carmen Tibideaux is watching me, her eyes narrowed, but I cannot gauge that expression. I feel my nerves coursing through me again. The fear is back, but just as I feel like it's about to swallow me whole, I turn to my left and I see Blaine standing there. His youth, his smile, his hair gelled back. Just like in McKinley's auditorium again, he takes me to that safe sensation. I sing the words, and he follows me.

Been black and blue before
There's no need to explain
I am not the jaded kind
Play back's such a waste
You're invisible
Invisible to me
My wish is coming true
Erase the memory of your face

His voice is like an angel's whisper. It is calm, it comforts me. It extinguishes the raging fire inside of me, calming me. It puts everything in perspective. I take refuge in that smile- young, confident, comforting. I sing the words again, and he's right there.

Lost sight, couldn't see
When it was you and me
Blow the candles out
Looks like a solo tonight
I'm beginning to see the light

Blow the candles out
Looks like a solo tonight
But I think I'll be alright

He watches me, those eyes gleaming and warm. The audience is back, but I don't take notice, because my fears are gone. I am lost in those eyes, and that smile. I sing.

Someday
You will wake up
With nothing but you're sorry

His voice is a gentle caress, voicing out assurance, confidence, solace.

And someday
You will get back
Everything you gave me

The round room greets me again, the panel is watching me, but I don't take notice, just like that night in McKinley- because they don't matter, not right now. The melody takes me away, takes me far in comfort, and those eyes, that smile. It follows me.

Blow the candles out
Looks like a solo tonight
I'm beginning to see the light

Blow the candles out
Looks like a solo tonight
But I think I'll be all right

We end, and a tranquil silence follows. That figure fades away into a distant memory, but I smile at it's departure because it has been there for me, it has always been there. My solace, my sanctuary- he is. Blaine is.

"Thank you, Mister Hummel," a voice takes me back to reality, and the panel is there. I cannot gauge their expressions. "We will let you know," Mister Matthews dismisses me. It takes me a moment to come back to my senses from walking down that particular memory lane.

"Thank you," I mumble and I descend from the stage.

My mind tries to comprehend what happened in that performance. I didn't understand it, but I lost myself. I saw Blaine there, and everything felt okay. Everything was in retrospective, but I don't understand it. I felt like everything was okay in there, but the thing is- that's how I feel every time I am around Blaine.

What the hell was that, and what the hell am I feeling.

------------

I haven't called anyone after my performance. It's late. Probably nine, or ten. I don't know. I've lost track of time. I don't know what I feel- glad that it's over? Nervous that they didn't give me a slight hint of how I did? That performance- I felt incredible. All my fears were obliterated, much like that same night at McKinley when I was gasping for air backstage.

It was the first duet Mister Schuester had assigned Blaine and I to perform, on stage, in front of an audience- much to Rachel's dismay. She had wanted Finn and her to perform for Parent's Night, but Mister Schuester told me and Blaine to. I remembered feeling nervous because Lima, Ohio is infested with homophobia. I remembered feeling afraid that people might throw things at us because Blaine and I were the only openly gay students in school.

But Blaine did not have the same concern. He wasn't afraid, he was brave. He kept reassuring me, but I didn't believe him. Not until we were up on stage and performing did I realize that it was going to be okay. He kept watching me, making sure I was okay- but he didn't realize that he was giving me the courage, the bravery.

His eyes was what I remembered the most. Amidst the spotlights blinding us, his hazel eyes shone brighter. I took comfort in them. I took comfort in the light, in the warmth because he was my bestfriend and I felt safe with him, next to him. I took refuge in his smile too- reassuring, confident. But what happened on that stage just hours ago was different. Something was different. Something was put in perspective- but I can't point it out. Or I don't want to, at least.

My phone rings and it pulls me from my thoughts.

It's Blaine. Typically, I would pick it up and answer in mere seconds, but this time I don't. And I don't know why. I stare at it, until I remember that his father is flying off to Chicago for the test results. He needs me. I press the answer button and greet him.

"Hi," I say.

"Hey," he says sullenly.

"Has your dad flown off?"

"Yup," Blaine sighs. "I took him to the airport. He looked so scared, Kurt. But he tried his best to hide it though. I could tell he was afraid."

"Did you offer to go with him?"

"I did, but he wanted me to stay here. Why bother, anyway. We all know what the results are gonna be."

I don't know what to say to him. I know the chances are slim, but if it was me, I would cling on to every hope- slim or not, because it's my father. But I know Blaine won't do that, and I don't want to tell him to hope on something, and then have it crushed. The best thing I can do is be here for me.

"How was your performance?" he ask and I freeze.

I don't know why, but it feels awkward to tell him that I imagined him there, singing that song with me. How his presence gave me courage, bravery, made me feel like I could. How his eyes were my security blanket. I don't know what I should tell him.

"It was- okay," I tell him.

"Did you go with I wanna hold your hand?"

I want to tell him the truth. Tell him that I went with Candles- his suggestion. I want to tell him that I felt amazing when I sang it. I want to tell him that it took me back to a place, to a moment, to a happy memory. I want to tell him that he was there with me when I sang it. That my mind formed his image, his eyes, his smile. But a part of me tells me I shouldn't, and I choose to listen.

"Yeah, I did." I tell him.

"How was it?" Blaine ask, not taking notice to my short silence.

"Urm- I don't know. I'm trying to not jinx it."

"Oh, okay," Blaine says. "Well, knowing you it was probably amazing. When you performed that in the choir room, got me crying for days."

"No it didn't," I grin.

"You're right," he laughs too and my mind forms that smile I know is on his face. That smile I imagined at in my performance. "When will they tell you?"

"Tomorrow? Next week? I don't know. They said they would let me know, so I guess it's a waiting game now."

"Yeah, and coincidentally a game we're both playing right now," Blaine says. "So what are you gonna do until they tell you?"

"I don't know? Drink myself to an oblivion?"

"Very un-Kurt like, but I like it."

"You like that I want to be an alcoholic?"

"I like that you're up for some fun. Since you started a monogamous relationship, I don't remember the last time we went to a bar together."

"I've never loved going to bars."

"Because you hate getting hit on?"

"No, because it's loud and it gives me terrible headaches the day after."

"That's called a hangover, in case you've forgotten," Blaine scoffs. "Come on, lets head out tonight. I could do with some distraction right now," he says and I know it's because he's trying to drown what is to come of his father's test results. My poor best friend, always wanting to drown his pain.

"I'd love to-"

"Really?" Blaine says excitedly.

"But you have work tomorrow, so no. For your own good."

"Fine," he grumbles.

"I'm tired, and you should go to sleep."

"I don't know if I can."

I can hear his tone. His fear. He's afraid of going to sleep because when he does, his dreams with venture deep into the darkness. He will have nightmares about his father's plausible death. I want to be there with him, for comfort- like how he was sort of there when I was performing.

"Do you want me to come over?" I ask.

"No, it's fine. It's late and with the neighbourhood you live in, you'll get mugged before you even make it out the door."

"Since when did that stop you from getting me out of my house late into the night? You called me at three in the morning multiple times to save you from clingy twinks, remember?"

"Safety, Kurt. Your safety is pretty significant to me."

"I know," I sigh, because I understand his protective nature over me. "I won't tell you everything will be fine, but I will be here for you."

"I know you are, and you always will be," he breathes sleepily.

"Go to bed, Blaine," I say, but he stays silent and I know it's because he doesn't want to voice out his fears. "If it helps, I'll say on the line with you until I hear your snoring."

"Why? So you can record it and set it as my own ringtone?"

"Maybe," I say. "But really. Go to sleep. You have work tomorrow." I hear him yawn, and all I wish for is to be there and be by his side.

"Don't come here, okay? I'll be fine," he says as if he's reading my mind.

"It's just a ten dollar cab away."

"I'll be fine," he says, though not remotely convincing.

"What can I do?" I ask, because I know he's afraid for tomorrow to come.

"Sing for me."

"Sing?" I ask, wanting his repetition.

"Sing for me," he yawns again. "I don't know when was the last time I heard you sing."

"Okay," I cackle. "Take a pick from my repertoire."

"Anything," he yawns again.

"Okay," I say. "This is not in my repertoire but I love this song."

"Repertoire is a really pretentious word, but go on," he mumbles. I take a deep breath, and ease myself into a gentle hum.

If you ever find yourself stuck in the middle of the sea,
I'll sail the world to find you
If you ever find yourself lost in the dark and you can't see,
I'll be the light to guide you

Blaine is silent. I hear his breathing in gaps, slow, gentle. Like a melody even. It's comforting.

You can count on me like one, two, three
I'll be there
And I know when I need it I can count on you like four, three, two
And you'll be there
Cause that's what friends are supposed to do, oh yeah

I sing softly, like a lullaby- for my bestfriend because despite his strong front, despite trying to slip in jokes, I know he's scared beyong the point of sanity. I know that even though he says he accepts it, he does not. He wants to hope, he just doesn't know how to.

If you toss and you turn and you just can't fall asleep
I'll sing a song, beside you
And if you ever forget how much you really mean to me
Everyday I will, remind you

I hear his soft snoring, his breathing slow and steady. He's in slumber. He has dozed off, into what I hope is not a nightmare, though the odds are not in my favor. He sounds serene through the phone. My best friend- afraid, scared is the truth of it all.

You'll always have my shoulder when you cry
I'll never let go
Never say goodbye

I end off in a silent tranquillity, much like my performance. My mind wanders back to that. How I felt. How brave and unafraid I felt. I felt joyful, and liberated and it had nothing to do with the song, or anything else. It was because Blaine was there, beside me. It's the way I feel when I am around him.

"Goodnight," I whisper softly amidst his snoring.

----------

It is bright and early on this Friday morning.

I am already walking down the streets of Manhattan in rush hour. People dashing across roads, cars and taxis loud and bustling. Rude, disrespectful people banging onto me and have the nerve to yell a vulgarity. There really is nothing quite like New York.

I am making my way down to Joe's Pancakes Factory.

Gabe had called in the morning and asked me out for breakfast. I had initially planned on staying home, drowning myself in movies and await the dreadful call from NYADA. I don't know when they're going to let me know, but I reckon sooner than later. Anyway, because things between me and Gabe has not been smooth sailing lately- because of the whole test cheating fiasco- I want to put things behind us and rekindle things back with my boyfriend.

I make it to the little diner. It's a cute little place with pink decorations. I enter and look for Gabe, who is sitting at the far window booth. He is talking on his phone, his green eyes stressed out. His hair slicked back in such a sexy fashion, though I feel like going there and ruffling it up a little. I really hate slicked back hair.

"Hey you," I greet him, but he raises his finger at me- asking for another second, or minute, or hour, or day, month, year.

"No, Donna...Yes...No, we need the stage set up as well...I know it's not tomorrow...just do it," he says and he hangs up.

"Problem?" I ask.

"Ah- nothing a kiss from you can't fix," he says and I lean forward, catching his lips with mine. "How are you?" he ask as I pull away and reclaim my seat.

"Great," I say, though I really am not. Apart from my own worries about NYADA, I am nervous for Blaine. I haven't heard from him yet, and his father's test results will be released today. He must be a nervous wreck, and knowing him, he will probably drown himself in work- or booze, or an endless parade of guys.

"Confident about your performance?" he ask.

"I don't wanna jinx it," I say.

"You think you did bad?" he ask.

"Rewind! I don't wanna jinx it," I say again.

"So we're not going to talk about it then?"

"Topic out the window," I say. "How has work been?" I ask, because one of the other reasons why Gabe and I barely spend time with each other these days is because he's been swamped with work.

"Stressful," he groans. "We have this event coming up, The Dance Class. We're getting two really talented dancers from Italy to come down and put up a show. It's going to be amazing, and clear you schedule, because I want you as my date," he says.

"When is it?" I ask.

"April twenty sixth," he tells me. "You'll come?"

"For my boyfriend? Of course," I say. "But that's like a month away from now."

"I know, but it's gotta be spectacular, you see, because we're also unveiling the new renovations. It's basically going to be a revamp party, so I hope you can be there."

"I'll try, don't worry."

"How is Blaine?" Gabe ask, and he sounds clipped.

"Okay, I guess." I haven't told Gabe about Blaine's father. Not that I want to, actually. It's not my secret to share, or my information for that matter.

"Has he said anything- about me?" Gabe ask, and I frown.

"What do you mean? He'll occasionally ask about how we're doing, that's all."

"He doesn't need to know how we're doing, does he? We're fine."

I raise my brow at his defence. I know he has a problem with Blaine, especially since the time he accused that Blaine and I used to be a thing- but I've already assured him that nothing ever happened between me and Blaine, though his insecurities still swallows him sometimes.

"As my best friend, I think it's pretty okay if he ask about my relationship," I say to him.

"I'm just saying- he doesn't need to know."

He's annoying when we touch topics about Blaine. He's particular about my best friend, despite my endless reassurance, and sometimes it's better to let go of it and let him realize he's being ridiculous.

"Hey, what happened to your hand?" he ask me, taking my wrist and examining the cut I have.

"Oh, just my corridor's light bulb fell on my hand."

"You could sue that landlord, you know."

"And have him kick my ass to the curb? No way."

"If you do, you could always stay with me," he says.

"That sounds like a really tempting offer, but I love my apartment," I tell him.

"It's small and there's only two rooms you can have dirty sex in. Three, if you count the bathroom."

"It's my first apartment that I bought with Rachel. I don't know- it's sentimental."

"Sentimentality is great and all, but doesn't living with your boyfriend sound hotter?" he teases.

"It does," I shrink in embarrassment. "But- I just love my apartment."

"Just a thought," he shrugs innocently. "We should order."

"I almost forgot the motive of coming here."

"My motive was to stare at your face all morning," he winks and I melt into a puddle.

We spend a good two hours in the Pancake Factory, talking, laughing. He tells me about the event at his gallery that is coming up, he tells me about his stresses at work. I tell him about my dance term, the tango I've been working on- in which he tells me that he knows I'll do great because I have grace. My heart flutters, I won't lie. It reminded me of why I fell for this man in the first place. How he makes me feel desired, how he makes me feel loved and how when people walk by, they're looking at him and I take the pleasure of people checking out my hot boyfriend.

It feels like our first date again, at the coffee shop. His eyes gleam as he rambles on about his passion. His hand is above mine, stroking my knuckles and I stare up at this man. He has done some stupid shit that messed with my life, sure, but it does not change the fact that he did what he did because he loves me. And for that, all is forgiven.

"Damn, I have to go," he says, glancing at his watch. "I have a meeting with the staff. Do you wanna come?"

"Where?" I frown.

"To my gallery," he says.

"What? No, you're working-"

"Which will be less mundane if you're there."

"I don't wanna be a distraction."

"You're always a distraction- the good kind, though."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, besides I miss you."

"Okay," I shrug, because I don't have much to do today.

"Okay?"

"Yeah," I smile.

"Great then," he drops a twenty on the table and leaps to his feet. He extends his hand to me and I take it gingerly. We head out into New York City, and he holds my hand as we stroll down the street. I look at him and he smiles at me. All really is forgiven, because despite what he did, he did out of love, and love is something I'm not going to easily let go because it was hard to find in the first place.

-----------

I spent the afternoon with Gabe at his gallery. It was a fine, fine day. He told me about every artefact in there, it's history- I was reminded how he got me hooked. He reminded me how I watched him as he talked about his passion- it was inspiring the way he spoke. It's six PM and I've reached my building. Gabe had a lot of things to do, so I decided to bid him goodbye and leave him be.

I haven't heard from Blaine all day, and I'm growing worried. I called his phone earlier, but I was sent to voicemail. I know he's busy with work, with his father's absence he probably had to deal with a lot. Jeez, everyone's so busy with work and here I am, awaiting whether I will or will not be allowed back into NYADA. I haven't gotten a call from NYADA either. I don't even want to think about that right now. I ascend up the stairs tiredly but when I reach my floor, I halt because there is a man struggling on his toes, standing on a chair- changing the light bulb that fell on my hand the other day.

I recognize that hair- it's curly, not slicked back for once since God knows.

"Blaine?" I say and he is momentarily aghast. He stumbles on his own sneakers and topples off the chair, falling hard onto the ground. "Oh my god," I rush to his aid. "Are you okay?" I ask, kneeling on his side.

"Don't scare me like that!" he grumbles.

"You're in my hallway," I laugh. "What are you doing?"

"Changing that stupid light bulb," he says, rubbing his elbow where it crashed when he fell.

"Why in the world?"

"Because you said it fell off, so I didn't want you coming home to a dark, creepy hallway, duh," he says factly.

"Oh," I say. "Thanks," I feel myself blush, and for the life of me I don't understand why. Why the hell am I blushing at Blaine?

"Where have you been?" he ask.

"Out, with Gabe," I tell him.

"Practising ballet?" he snickers.

"Shut up," I roll my eyes. "Why didn't you just ask Montry to change it?"

"I did, but that prick said he'll do it next week. He really is the worst landlord ever."

"Second that," I say, and I help Blaine to his feet. "You came here just to fix my stupid light? And what are you wearing? Taking casual Friday a little too literal, don't you think?" I remark, examining his washed out jeans, his light V-neck t shirt, not to mention the very casual hair style.

"I didn't feel like dressing today," he says, and I know why.

"Anything from you dad?" I ask nervously.

"Nothing," he says sullenly.

"Are you okay-"

"Don't wanna think about it, okay? I already know what's going to be the result, so I just want to forget about it, but I brought something," he says and he reaches for the brown paper bag beside my door.

"What?" I say, trying to get a glimpse of the contents.

He pulls out a tall bottle of Pure Vodka, another bottle of Tequila, and two shot glasses. I know what he's trying to do- drown his pain, drown his worries, drown everything basically. I can see it in his eyes- brown eyes- that he's scared, but he won't admit it because he is content of the results.

"We're getting wasted tonight," he says gleefully.

"You sound like a frat boy."

"Whatever, and you're joining me."

"Blaine-"

"Please?" he says in that tone that disarms me. To be honest, why not? I myself am worried for my own results, so why not do this his way. Drown it- drown my worries.

"Fine," I say and he pulls me into a hug. He smells amazing- husky. He smells like my bestfriend. Why the hell am I smelling Blaine? My mind somehow wanders back to that performance, that perspective. I push it away. Blaine is my best friend, that is it.

"Come on, lets drink to an oblivion."

------------

God knows the time.

I know Blaine has been drinking, but I've only had a sane number of shots. I disapprove of what he's trying to do, but I know he only does this whenever something is seriously eating up his insides. He's torn apart inside, and until he wants to open himself to me, I'm just here for him.

We're on my fire escape, staring out at New York City. The bare stars above us, the cars and the crowd beneath us. It's my favorite part of this whole apartment- this special place that reminds me of the reason why I chose this particular city to progress in.

"Do you remember the time, back in Scandals? That idiot guy Sebastian proposed a threesome with us?" Blaine says, his head is rested on my shoulder.

"Dear God, I wonder what ever happened to him."

"He was hot," Blaine says.

"He was cheap."

"With a really hot ass."

"You would know."

"Yup."

I want to hold him tight with me. He really is afraid of facing the reality of it, and it breaks my heart that he has to drown his sorrows. I wish he wouldn't do that- not with me, at least. He only has opened himself up to me a couple of times. I wish I was more for him, a solace, a haven just like he is for me- just like that feeling I got when I performed.

"Do you remember the time my dad brought us to the carnival that came to Lima? When we were like twelve?"

"Yeah, I remember," I say.

"I was so happy."

"Me too."

"I loved him so much. He was the best father in the world that night."

I remember that night. Blaine's mother was out of town, and Cooper had a bonfire with his friends. My dad had dropped me off at Blaine's house because he had dinner plans with my mother. One of the last few date nights of my parents. I remembered how Blaine and I were bored out of our minds doing homework, and then Blaine's father told us to drop all of our work and to hop into the car.

We had no idea where he was taking us, until the exhilarating screams from people on roller coaster rides, bright red and yellow lights and the smell of fresh corn dogs greeted us. The carnival was in town for only three days, and Blaine's father took us there that night. I remembered joy, happiness- I remembered smiling at how happy Blaine looked that night.

"You remember how he tried to win that big teddy bear for me and when he couldn't get it, he paid the man?"

"Yeah, because he loves you and wanted to see that big, goofy grin on your face." I say.

"I do have a goofy grin, don't I."

"When you're really happy."

"I don't think I've been smiling that much lately."

"You should," I say.

"I don't think I can. Not when I'm going to lose my father."

"Blaine-"

"He's going to be gone. Gone from this world. He'll only be a memory, and the only way I'll be able to see his face when he goes is through pictures. Stupid, posed pictures. Not a genuine smile anymore."

I let him let go, because this was what I wanted and the only time when he lets go of his control is when he is drunk. I feel a small tear drenching a small portion of my shirt and I wrap my arm around his waist, pulling him tighter- closer to me, wanting him to know that I am here for him.

"I almost lost you too, once," Blaine says and I go still. "That coma you were in back in high school? I was so scared I was going to lose you. That's kind of how I'm feeling right now about my dad. I felt like my world is going to hell. Like everything didn't matter anymore, because you were gone and not with me anymore."

"Blaine-"

"You're my world, Kurt. I love you so much."

"I love you too, Blaine."

"If you ever go, I don't think I want to live anymore."

"Don't be ridiculous. You'll do fine without me. You wouldn't have to put up with my incessant attitude to not each tartar sauce. Your life will be fine-"

"It won't," he says flatly.

"If I go, I'll take you with me."

"I won't object to that," he says.

He looks up at me, those brown eyes a hazel colour, but they're doleful. I want to make him feel better. Take his pain away so I can see that light in those eyes again, that light that is and will forever be my solace. I want that smile back, that smile that comforts and disarms me. He looks at me, but his gaze falls upon my lips. It feels like deja vu again, that night he was drunk- the first night he kissed me. I remember that feeling, the indifference, but tenderness- it's been intact since he first kissed me, and now his lips are just there, and he is looking at my lips too.

My phone rings then and I am brought to reality. I slowly ease away from Blaine and go back into the apartment, from the fire escape and pick my phone up. It is an unknown number, but a New York number still. I stare at it for a couple of heart beats- the time shows that it is nine thirty PM- before I answer it.

"Hello?" I say cautiously, ready for it either to be a prank call, or a wrong number.

"Kurt Hummel? This is Carmen Tibideaux," my heart sinks.

"Miss Tibideaux? Oh- hi," I say, a little unsure of myself.

"I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time," she says, though I can tell she couldn't care less.

"No, you didn't. Don't worry about it."

"I wasn't," she says gravely. "Anyway, I am calling to tell you of the results of your performance. I know it is a little past the clock, but we took a longer time than we thought to decide."

I don't know what am I suppose to respond, but I feel my insides turning into ice. Cold, hard, uncomfortable ice. "It's okay. Don't wor-"

"Mister Hummel, we have decided to resintate you back into NYADA where you will be completing the rest of your final year," Carmen Tibideaux says.

My mouth falls open. I forget every single thing in my brain- my name, even. My knees turn to jelly, but I clutch on to the kitchen counter for support. My other hand, trembling, but clutching on to the cordless phone. "Really?" I say breathless.

"Yes, really," she says.

"Oh my god, thank you so, so much! I swear to you I will not disappoint you."

"I hope so," she says. "But I do have a question."

I await in silence, my limbs still trembling.

"I wanted to ask, why did you choose that particular song to perform for us, given the wide range of Broadway classics that could have resonated with your tone of voice, why did you choose that song?" she ask.

I breathe. Inhaling, exhaling- and decide I will just bear the truth to Carmen Tibideaux. "I chose that song because it took me back to my roots- took me back to a time when I was afraid, and scared, and the person who did a duet with me with that very song, gave me the bravery, the courage and confidence. I felt- safe when I sang it, I felt like everything was okay- because it reminded me of that same performance I did with said person, and I guess because the circumstances were similar, that song would give me the same confidence as it did back then, and I think it did. I think he did."

"Well, whoever this person is, he clearly is someone special, because when you performed for us, there was something in your eyes that shined brighter than it ever did before. That was your best performance for me, Mister Hummel, and I am glad you chose it to perform for us."

"Thank you, Miss Tibideaux," I say shyly.

"I will see you back in NYADA on Monday, and do not let anything like this happen again," she says, though it sounds like a threat.

"I won't," I oblige diligently. "Have a good nig-"

The phone line goes dead before I can finish my sentence. I stand there, rooted on the ground, unable to process let a lot comprehend this. I am reinstated. I'm going to graduate out of NYADA. I did it- and it was all because of that song. I cannot move myself, because I am too much in shock.

"Blaine- I did it," I say with my back on him. "I did it."

"That's great."

I turn around and Blaine is standing there, his phone in his right hand. He is looking at it, his eyes confused. He stays rooted on that spot, I stay rooted in mine. He looks up and his eyes are brown, hazel. He looks in disbelief.

"M- my dad just called," he stammers and my heart sinks once again.

I await for him to go on, but he stares at nothing in particular. I await, slightly impatiently.

"It worked," he says and my eyes go wide. "The surgery- worked. His cancer is gone," Blaine says breathlessly. "His surgery worked. His cancer is gone, they got all the cells. He- he's cured. He's not going to die."

"It- it worked?" I say, in disbelief myself.

"It worked," Blaine says and a tear falls from his eyes. "Kurt- he's going to live."

"Blaine," I say his name before I stride forward and throw myself onto him. He clings onto me tightly, his tears of joy drenching my shirt. He repeats the words 'He's Going To Live' like a mantra. In the midst of very little chances, it worked. I pull Blaine closer into me- this boy, my courage, my solace, my sanctuary- and now I am his. I feel it, how I feel safe around him, he feels safe in my arms now.

He pulls away from me, his hand still clutching on my waist, my hands behind his neck. I meet his eyes, the colour of honey. As opposed to just now, it now looks relieved, contempt. They radiate liberation, and it's the eyes I am familiar with. The innocence, the pure joy. It's the indifference I felt when I kissed him. The very same sensation of indifference emits from his eyes now, and it draws me in.

Before I can stop myself, my lips come crashing down on his and I am kissing him. Heavily, deeply and passionately, I kiss him. This is the sensation- the feeling of something feeling right, where it's suppose to be. His lips soft against mine, and just before I come to my right senses, his lips are moving too and he is kissing me back. Full, moist lips on me.

I feel the hand on my back pulling me closer. Pulling me forward until we are flushed against each other, with only fabric in between bare flesh. I want him. I forget everything and I tug his shirt over his head. He throws it off and we fall onto my couch- him below me. It feels so good, it feels so right- it might feel perfect, even.

He tugs my own shirt over my head and I feel my flesh against his own warm flesh. His hand ponders over my back in a gentle skim down my spine and it's like nothing I've ever felt. I groan at the feeling and I lose my form of articulation. His lips are on my neck now, planting soft kisses all over my neck. His lips are warm, and tender. I lose my logics, yet everything feels logical.

His fingers go into the back of my hair and he twirls it. It calms me, but the other hand that is skimming down my back feels sensational. I am thrashing, like a tornado between something hot and cold. I lower my head down and I catch his lips. Nothing feels sensible, yet I want nothing to stop. He kisses me harder, his lips all over mine. His tongue slides into my mouth and I want nothing more than to feel him in me.

His touch is tender, but it is coursing through me and I feel it all set me on fire. I have never felt this sensual, yet cared for before. This touch is indifference, this touch is right- everything feels right, right now. I forget every single thoughts I had and I lose myself to this man. To this man who has hazel brown eyes and is warm, and comforting yet every single one of his touches is like dry ice on flesh.

The night fades on and all I can hear, all I can think, and feel is the indifference that fills me now.