"What did Blaine want?" Gabe ask when I enter my apartment. It took awhile for me to gather myself, to not look like I crumbled into pieces downstairs so my boyfriend won't ask me what's wrong.

"Nothing," I lie.

"Were you crying?" he ask from the couch.

"No-" I hastily manage. "Just, it was cold outside."

"Oh," he says. "Okay then. Kind of weird for him to be waiting downstairs like that."

"Yeah," I say, hoping he won't press on. The last thing I need right now is my boyfriend to be inquisitive.

My thoughts are everywhere, my head in a vacuum, my heart in shattered pieces. What just happened really did feel like a final goodbye, like a credit roll to a very tragic end to a movie. I feel my lungs compressing, my tears still threatening to fall behind my eyes.

But he said those words- in an earnest, broken whisper- he muttered the words I think I'm falling in love with you, and I knew then that we longer had a friendship-before he even said his goodbye.

"So, babe," Gabe calls, pulling me from my reverie. "You still haven't given me an answer."

I am in no state to recall anything, to process my thoughts to even the remotest gesture of confound, so I simply stare back at him blankly, hoping he would go on to refresh my memory.

"About Italy," he says and I remember.

"Oh," I say.

"Yeah- oh," he smirks. "How long are you gonna make me wait, Kurt? It's been awhile."

"I just- it's a big decision."

"I know that," he says. "But I just- I really want you to be there with me."

I haven't given him an answer- not even a slight clue as to what my answer would be because- well, because I don't know really. Do I want to travel across the world, and be with my boyfriend in a foreign country, isolated anyway from my city, my friends? The idea does not sound appealing, but how do I break it to him that I don't want to go, without breaking up with him?

There is also an enigmatic, mystery of an invisible tether as to why I don't want to go. I don't know what it is, but something feels unfinished here to just up and leave for two years.

"How long more are you gonna make me wait, baby?" he says.

"I need time to think about it!"
I snap, and my boyfriend's eyebrow rises at me.

"Why are you snapping at me?"

"Because what you're asking is a lot from me! I need time and you're pressuring me and I don't like it! You want me to give you an answer, well then you have to wait for it because I don't know what it is yet!"

He looks positively aghast by my temper, bowing his head when I finish. His shoulders rise and falls before he sighs, looks up and strides to me. "I'm sorry," he says. "I know it's a lot and I should give you space and time to make your decision- I just really want you there, that's all."

"I know," I say, a little annoyed if I were to be perfectly honest.

"Do you want me to go?" he ask.

"Actually- yes. I just- I need to be alone right now."

"You were fine before Blaine showed up," he says. "Are you sure everything is alright?"

I want to scream- no. I want to scream that everything is not alright because everything is down the crapper and my best friend had fallen in love with me, and because he can't stand me anymore, he had let me go completely and I am heart broken at his departure. I am heart broken that my best friend in the whole world has left me, because he has feelings for me- feelings that might or might not be in me too, but because I am a coward, and I hide behind walls of protection, of security- I lie.

"Everything's fine," I say with my best smile.

"Okay," he says and he leans forward to kiss my cheek. "Goodnight?"

"Goodnight," I say, because right now I just want him to leave so I can crumble into a millions pieces alone.

-------

The morning rays stream through my half creaked window, but I am not feeling quite as bright today. I pull up a mental notepad to jot down why am I down.

Number one, well obviously is the elephant in the room- my complete break with Blaine, because that is what he wanted and if I wasn't going to open myself to feeling for him, I had to respect that he wanted to walk away from me- though I felt so reluctant to let him leave.

Number two, my boyfriend wants me to go to Italy with him. Italy is a foreign concept. But if I think about it, New York was once a foreign concept, but I adapted and inhabit eventually. Could it be the same if I were to move with Gabe? But there is something. A tether, a chain- just, something holding me here.

Number three, my future in the Broadway industry is a dense cloud right now. Nothing is progressing, which makes me wonder if Carmen Tibideaux was on drugs when she utter those words about my future with so much confidence. I've kept my nose into most of the Broadway blogs but nothing seems to be in production, just rough ideas. Sometimes I regret not jotting my name down on that sign up sheet.

"Kurt?" I hear Rachel's soft spoken nature creaking my door open. "Are you awake?"

"I wish I wasn't."

"Bad night?"

"To say the least," I say. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to share with you some great, great news," Rachel says and she walks in, and plants herself on my bed. "I got a call earlier- from Jason Morgan."

"Jason Morgan?"

"The guy who produced Funny Girl on Broadway, the time I played Fanny Brice for a little while?" I nod. "Yes, well he called me because- well, because he's producing another Streisand show, and he wants me to play the lead."

"Oh my god," I squeal in excitement. "What is it?"

"A Star Is Born, and he wants me to play Esther Hoffman."

"Oh my god! Rachel! That is amazing news!"

"I can hardly believe it myself," she says.

"I told you coming back to the city would do you a great service."

"I have you to thank," she smiles. "I said yes, and it starts production next week. Rehearsals start next week."

"I can't believe it! That is so amazing, Rachel! Truly!"

"Thank you," she smiles. "How about you, huh?"

"Me?" I frown at her.

"NYADA graduate? You have that cert now, you're in the city of musicals- why are you not out there auditioning?"

I sigh, because to be honest- with everything that has transpired in my life- I feel demoralized to audition for anything. Who wants to cast a fragile guy as a male lead opposite a female anyway? No one.

"I haven't- found anything yet."

"Did you not write your name down on anything?"

"No- nothing caught my eye."

"Oh," she says, though I sense her suspicion. "Can I ask you something?"

"Since when have you needed to ask?" I laugh.

"You just seem a little down these days. Is everything alright? Between you and- Blaine?"

That hit me like a bullet to an innocent deer. My face falls in a second. I keep reminding myself that I have to stay strong, do not crumble, because if you don't crumble they'll stop asking what's wrong.

"Fine," suffice, and the same suspicion bestows upon her brown eyes.

"Okay," she says. "Well, I better go. I thought of calling up Finn to tell him about A Star Is Born."

"Finn?" I frown. "Why? Aren't you guys over?"

"Yeah," Rachel says. "But there are just some people in your life you can never truly say goodbye to."

I beg to differ- I think to myself.

"Oh, one more thing," Rachel says. "I ran into Mister Montry when I went to get mail downstairs- he's asking for rent. Do you want my half now or should I give it to you later?"

It almost completely left my mind- after months of not having to worry about this, that now I do. Blaine is gone, and though I've always hated him taking care of him, I somehow miss it now knowing that it's not there in case I needed it.

"He sounds urgent, by the way," Rachel adds.

Great, another thing to add into my list of things that are bringing me down.

--------

I have saved up basically anything I have, from the small modicum of money I've kept for so long for a rainy day, to all my tips I got from working at Coffee Inc.

But I have come down to a conclusion- I need a job, and fast. I need a part time job while I look around the Broadway chatrooms and blogs for upcoming shows I can audition for. I need something on the side to pay for life while I wait it out.

"You're getting a job?" Gabe says distastefully when I tell him over the phone. "Why?"

"Because the rent don't pay themselves,"- unless you had an overly protective best friend whom you hated taking care of you, but now miss it desperately.

"But- why?"

"Why what?" I say, a little irritated with his tone of voice.

"So is this your way of telling me 'no thanks' about Italy?" he says.

"No- of course not. I'm not saying anything, I'm just saying I need a job to pay my rent while I look out for roles to audition."

"But getting a job means dedicating yourself to something, so if you're going to dedicate yourself to something then does that not mean you don't want to go to Italy?"

"I don't know yet, Gabe," I say flatly. "I need-"

"Time, yeah. A whole lot, apparently."

"I'm sorry, okay, but I can't just up and decide to leave for two years."

"Think of it as a vacation from working so hard for years in NYADA! A break, before you start your life."

"A really long break."

"I just- want you there with me, Kurt. I hope you realize that is my intention and why I'm persistent on this."

"I know," I sigh, because even though I feel like he's tugging me and nudging me to come with me, it's because he loves me that much and the thought flatters me at how someone would care for me that much.

"So- a job."

"Yes, a job. A part time one, just to help pay the rent. Rachel is doing her part, I should do the same."

"I guess you're right," he says. "But you promise this isn't you shutting the doors completely on Italy?"

"I promise," I say, though I'm not too sure how believable that sounds.

"Alright then. Go find a job," he says. "I love you."

"I love you too," I say, and stop outside a coffee place- Ben's Caffeine Place. "I got to go, I might have found something."

I enter the place. It's a small, intimate little coffee house with round tables scattered everywhere, some of them with single sofa couches as seats. It looks cozy, and I can instantly picture myself here on the weekends. I approach the counter, where a man with a dense forest on his chin is standing behind, his hair oily and unkempt. He looks to me when I approach.

"Can I help you?" he ask, sounding a little unfriendly.

"Hi, I was wondering if you were hiring," I ask.

"Hiring?"

"A waiter, someone to work the counter maybe?"

"Oh," he says, and a slight gleam fills his eyes. "You want to work here?"

"Yeah, if there is an opening," I smile.

He studies me, his eyes travel down my body, taking me in. I feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny- eyes basically judging me. I wonder briefly what he's thinking, but he definitely isn't looking at me like my previous boss Loranzo used to.

"Any experience?" he ask.

"Sure. I've worked in a couple of coffee shops. Basically worked my way through college making coffees," I smile.

"Bet you're good," he says in a husky breath that makes me feel uncomfortable. "Alright then, you're hired. You start tomorrow."

"I'm- hired? That easily?"

"Yeah. You're pretty hot so why not," he says and I am momentarily taken aback.

"Thank you?"

"You can thank me another time," he winks. "Fill this out and start tomorrow," he hands me a sheet of paper and his hand grazes mine lightly. "Soft hands, I hope everything else is too."

This guys makes me deeply uncomfortable, but then the words of someone who used to be close with me rings in my head.

"In this recession, it's hard to find a job at all."

I need this job, for rent. He's right.

-------

"Hey Kurt," Rachel greets me when I enter the apartment that night.

"Hey," I smile at her.

"Where've you been all day?"

"Out- I got a job."

"A job? You went to an audition? For what?"

"No, not an audition," I roll my eyes at her. "A job at a coffee place."

"A coffee place? Why the hell would you go back to a coffee place?"

"Because the rent needs payment?" I say matter of factly. "Besides, making coffee is my rite of passage."

"Funny. Being on stage is your rite of passage."

"I know, but I need the money, so it can be a good part time job until I get a life altering role or something."

"Hm, okay," Rachel says. "Oh, by the way, you got flowers from your man. I read the card- sorry- but, urm..can I ask you something about it?"

"What?"

"It's none of my business, I know- but what does he mean by 'I hope I get an answer soon'?"

Shit, I think to myself. Nobody else knows of Gabe's move to Italy proposal, and frankly I want to keep it that way. I want to make the decision, and not be influenced by the perception of others. But at the same time, I've always been able to tell Rachel anything, right?

I sigh, and place myself next to her. "I have something to tell you," I say, inhaling deeply to muster my courage. She looks expectant, practically on the edge of her seat. "Gabe asked me to go to Italy with him- for two years."

Her big brown eyes widen even more, jaw hanging low, eye brows shooting up high to the heavens. "What?" she says in complete disbelief.

"Yeah," I say.

"And you haven't- given him an answer, I suppose."

"Not yet."

"But you think your answer would be?" she trails on.

"I don't know."

"It should be no, of course," she says as if it's common logic

"Should be?"

"Yes, should be," she adds on. "It should a big fucking No."

"Why?" I frown.

"Because- look at happened to my relationship when I compromised my dreams for love. It went into the crapper."

"But I'm not compromising them. It would just a break- a two years break."

"You are if you're sacrificing what you want to do, for what someone else wants you to do."

"For two years, Rachel," I say.

"Two years is still too long. You heard my rant, you found me on your doorstep crying. Did that not affect you at all?" she says. "Kurt, we're artists, an artists don't let love get in the way of their dreams and career! It's what we planned back in high school, to get on that Broadway stage if it killed us. I was stupid to go along with Finn, I see that now.
I'm not going to let it happen to you. You can't go."

"But I've never had love like you and your multiple conquest- Jesse, Finn, heck even Puck at one point. You don't understand- it was so hard for me to wait for someone to love me in that romantic sense. Is it so bad that I want to hold on to it?"

"So- you're going because you're afraid you might not find someone who will love you again?"

"That sounds pathetic, but everyone is foolish when it comes to love."

"Kurt, you're moronic if you decide to go," she says.

"It's true. Did you love the way you felt with Finn? Did you love how he makes you feel confident, makes you feel beautiful, make you feel loved?" I say, and Rachel is silent. "That's how I feel when I'm with Gabe- because nobody has loved me and made me feel the way he does."

"But still- look at me, Kurt. Look what compromising dreams has left me with. No one, no Finn," she says. "What does Blaine have to say about this- have you even told him?"

"No," I say.

"Why not? Because you're afraid his words might make more sense? Since when do you not tell him things anyway? Since you slept together, everything is all weird-"

"There is no reason to tell him-"

"Why the fuck not? He's your best friend!"

"He's not anymore!" I scream. "He's not anymore! He left! He walked away because he said- he said he has fallen in love with me, but because I don't feel the same way he can't be around me so he left! He fucking left okay?" I spit, and before I can stop myself, I cry.

"He said- he's falling in love with you?" Rachel ask and I barely manage a nod. "And you don't feel the same way?"

"I don't know what I feel, I mean- he is my best friend.."

"Whom you slept with," Rachel says. "Maybe it's time to forget that title."

"I can't. He's been a big part of my life- what if..what if I do have feelings for him- what if that will ruin our relationship and we lose everything? I can't take that chance to feel that way for him."

"Hate to break it to you, but you both loss the relationship anyway," Rachel says. "Is that why you're thinking of moving to Italy then? To- run away from him?"

I can't answer that, because maybe that is my subconscious. Is that why I'm contemplating Italy?

"You want to move to Italy, because you might have possibly loss Blaine?"

"I don't know."

"You can't keep saying you don't know just because you're unsure of your feelings, Kurt."

"I don't know anything right now, okay? All I know is my life is going down the drain and not knowing anything suffices all questions."

Rachel sighs and places herself next to me. "Well, maybe it's time you stop putting off your feelings and start confronting them. Just because you fear feeling something for someone, does not mean it's a bad thing. Maybe- maybe you might even want to be with Blaine if you confronted your feelings."

"That idea scares me," I say. "He's- Blaine."

"Your Blaine," Rachel corrects. "All I know is- you shouldn't run half away across the world just because you fear a possibility. What's the worse that hasn't already happened? He's already walked away. Maybe- maybe if you were truthful, you might get him back."

That is an uncertainty I don't see myself investing in. Love has proven, through my second-hand experiences with the constant change of couples in glee club, that it can ruin friendships. Quinn no longer even speaks to Finn after the whole love-triangle debacle. What if- feeling something for him will lead to a permanent separation?

"You should confront your feelings. Kurt," Rachel adds on. "Because ignoring them is obviously doing more bad than good."

I sigh heavily. Confronting feelings might lead to something I don't like- and I don't know if I want that. I don't know if I want to listen to the little voice in my head- the possibility of Blaine.

--------

"Kurt- there you are. I've been waiting all morning for you," my new boss says with a salacious tone when I enter the coffee house.

"I'm not late, am I?" I ask fearfully.

"No," he says. "But I have been awaiting your arrival," he winks.

What the heck is his problem?

"So, before you start- let me introduce myself. My name's Mick, and I own this joint," he tells. "So anything that has to be signed or is being delivered has to be signed by me."

"Okay," I say.

"How old are you again?" he ask.

"Twenty two," I tell.

"You look fairly young for that age, but that's fine. I like them young."

I swallow my barf.

"So- uh, where do you want me?" I ask, and a dark gleam falls upon his eyes.

"Where do I want you?" he says in a shallow breath.

"To work. Where do I start?"

"You can be anywhere you want," he winks. "But the counter would be good."

"Okay," I say, thankful at least I have an instruction to follow than his vague hit ons.

I'm not particularly scared or anything. Obviously I can tell he's hitting on me, but to me it's harmless. Besides, as long as his hands are kept to himself- my hands will keep from reaching the knives.

The day passes on, and I am tediously behind the counter, keying in orders, breaking notes. Yup, pretty much your average day of a barista. My mind though- swirling with thoughts. Thoughts of Italy, thoughts of Blaine, thoughts of what Rachel said last night.

Confront your feelings, because ignoring them is doing more bad than good.

I know I sound like I'm whining away in my head, but I really am afraid of confronting anything. Confronting will always lead to a physical confrontational, and it scares me- the simple thought. Why did things have to blow so out of proportion. I find myself reminiscing the past- just Blaine and I against the world, or New York at least. Simplier times- no feeling, nothing. Just two great friends in the big apple. Now everything is so confusing, and to add Gabe to the picture. I wish I never painted this, honestly.

Apparently thinking too much speeds time up, because before I am even beyond the line of exhaustion, I look over the wall clock and it's nine PM. Closing time is soon, from what my boss tells me. The place is a ghost town now- not one soul, and because the coffee house is situated somewhere discreet and secluded, the population of New York is not bustling outside either. Why I chose to work somewhere so far from civilisation is beyond me.

"Kurt- you can start cleaning up now," Mick tells me.

"Okay," I respond, and begin the mundane task of putting chairs on tables, sweeping up, moderate mopping, cleaning the counter and wiping the counters while Mick counts the money. I am about to turn the sign from "Come On In!" to "Go Away" when Mick calls my name.

"Kurt?"

"Yes?" I say tiredly.

"There's like- fifty dollars missing," he tells me.

"What?" I say in shock. "How?"

"You tell me. You were working the cash register for the entire day," he says.

I am offended- baffled that he is accusing me of something like that. "I didn't take it," I say flatly, because I know for a fact that if you act all defensive, chances are you're guilty. But I am a drama queen at heart, and overreacting is a part of me.

"Really?" he says, tilting his head. "Well then who did?" he ask.

"How would I know," I say.

"Why don't you come around here and count it for me," he says darkly.

I do just that. I go behind the counter and take the wad of cash from his hands. I thank myself for being a genius in math, because that means I am amazing with money. I miss nothing. I count every strip of cash one by one, following my counts carefully, in focus. The cents too.

"One thousand two hundred sixty seven dollars, and sixty cents," I tell him. "How much is it suppose to be?"

"One thousand three hundred, seventeen dollars and sixty cents," he tells.

I recount quickly, fingers carefully flipping through every note- but the results remain. "I swear I didn't steal anything."

"You sure?" he says. "Because I'm assuming you were in need of a job, hence why you applied for one here in this shit joint, so I'm guessing when you saw a window of opportunity, you thought you could snag some extra tips-"

"I didn't-"

"How can I be sure?"

"I didn't! I don't steal! Run a background check or something. I don't steal. I swear!"

"I might have to report this to the paps," he says. "I've never had a cent go missing, until I hired you. The police will probably see from my point."

"What the hell," I say in shock. "Mick, I swear to you I didn't steal anything!" I say desperately to clear my name. I have never been in such a situation, so when someone is accusing me of something I didn't do, and is threatening to bring the cops in- naturally, I'm tripping major ballsack.

"My hands are tied here, Kurt," he says.

"Mick, I swear-"

"Well," he cuts me off. "Maybe there is something you could do to assure me you didn't do this," he says with a slight hinge of his eyebrow. His eyes befalls a shade of a dark night, lower lip caught between his lips. He studies me, trailing down my body with his eyes like the first time I came here.

I know what is coming. I see it in his eyes, in the way his upper lip is sweating. He heaves his breath as he takes a step closer to me, filling the small space in between us so he is mere inches away. I gulp at the proximity and what makes this whole situation worst- the place is deserted. I feel it then. The warmth of a hand slowing climbing up my thigh.

"Don't touch me," I swat his hand away in panic. I want to retreat- run- but when I turn to the door, he grabs me by my waist and pulls me closer to his body. I try to push him away with all my might, but to no avail. He's stronger, but I try my luck anyway constantly smashing his chest with my fist wanting him to get away from me.

"Come on babe," he breathes, his lips disgustingly kissing my neck, licking my skin. I want so desperately to be free. "You know you want me," he says.

"Fuck off!" I shrill, trying to push him away.

"I'd love to fuck you," he says, and his hands immediately goes to the back of my pants- grabbing me forcefully. He wraps an arm around my body and holds me in place, tight and flushed against his own. I want to yell, but the moment I want to scream, I feel his dry, cracked lips forced on mine. His breath stinking of cigarettes. Vomit builds up inside me.

"Don't fucking touch me!" I scream, pushing his face away.

"I actually like my men with a little resistance," he smirks and I manage to smack his face with my palm. His eyes burn in rage before he forcibly turns me and pushes me down to the counter so my head is pushed flat and I am bent over. "Fuck- this ass," he moans.

I thrash and kick, but he holds my arms behind my back. I hear it then- the tale of the sound of a zipper. I panic knowing what is about to happen. I can't let this happen, and miraculously with some energy I managed to muster despite working all day, I horse kick his knee hard. He stumbles back. I turn and as he is about to grab me again, I grab whatever I can reach on the counter- a coffee mug, to my luck- and smash it hard on his head.

Seeing this opportunity, I dash out of the coffee house- the sound of a man wincing in pain echoing behind me.

----------

I cannot stop my tears from falling. My overwhelming tears? My tears of relief? The fact that I almost got raped by a man who looks worst than Osama Bin Laden makes me tremble. I bury my face into my pillow, trying to forget the events that transpired just hours ago. I'm still shaking, my heart hammering in my chest.

When I arrived safely in my apartment, I quickly shut the door and triple locked it, before my relief consumed me and I burst out crying. Rachel was on my side the second I sunk to the floor, and when I told her what had happened, she was beyond disgusted and in shock. She helped me to my bed, tugged my nicely, but despite her motherly care, I'm still deeply shaken by the whole thing. It's late- super late, I think. I spent the time crying and trembling- not to mention vomiting too.

I take my phone from my nightstand, the device shaking in my hold. Time check- it's 2AM. I don't know how am I suppose to sleep after what just happened. What if he comes looking for me? Or worst- what if he's downstairs right now, waiting for someone to come out so he can come into the building and finish what he started? The thought scares me, and when my bedroom door creaks open and a dark figure is standing there with the light drawing his silhouette, my heart sinks.

"Get away! Get away!" I scream in fear, but the figure runs towards me. I bury myself inside my blanket, muttering the words "Please go away!" like a mantra, but then a familiar, gentle voice speaks my name like a call of prayer.

"Kurt- Kurt it's me," he says. I pull my blanket off me, and am beyond relief when I am staring at the face of my former best friend. His brown eyes filled with worry and concern for me, lips set in a tight line- no trace of relief when he sees me in fear, but I cannot stop myself from feeling safe that he's here, so I quickly wrap him into a hug and pull him down onto my bed, hugging him tightly.

"You're safe," he says. "You're safe, okay?" he assures me, his finger twirling the back of my head to comfort me, because he knows it does. His voice sents me off the edge, and and I weep and cry again. He comforts me, holding me tightly and not saying anything- allowing me to cry it out. God knows how long this lasted- how long my wuss of crying lasted, but he is patiently allowing me to cry it out, and I love that.

"You're safe," he mutters again, and again. With each assurance, I do feel safer.

It is awhile later before I get my crying to a stable and coherent level. I sit up on my bed, and Blaine does the same. His knees pressed into the mattress and he waits for me as I stifle, my body still slightly trembling.

"Do you want anything? Water?" he ask quietly, but I only managed a tired shake. I breathe slowly, trying to get myself stable. He answers my question before I can even ask. "Rachel called me, and briefly filled me in. What happened exactly?" he ask.

"He- that guy, my boss. I got a job at a coffee place-"

"After your first experience with coffee shops, I thought you took a pledge of abstinence to never again work as barista," he says, and I know it's because he's trying to put a smile on my face.

"I needed a job," I tell him.

"You graduated from one of the most prestigious dramatic art schools in the whole country. Why in the world did you go back to a coffee house?"

"I needed a part time job to pay the rent," I say.

"I thought I took care of that already," he says.

"No- but I'm not asking you to. I wanted to get some money, to pay you back and to also get my own payments done."

"Kurt-"

"Please don't, not right now."

He sighs heavily and resigns from pressing on. "What was the name of the coffee house?" he ask.

"Ben's Caffeine Place. Why?"

"No reason," he says, though I know it's more than that. He wants to know for his own personal
agenda, and normally I would try to talk him out of it, but I know it's useless, especially considering how drained out I feel.

"Do you want to go down to the police station?"

"For what?"

"To report the son of a bitch?" he says as if it's suppose to be as logical as the sun in the morning.

"I don't want to report him," I say, and Blaine's round eyes grow rounder.

"What?" he says, as if he didn't hear my clearly. "Why the hell not? He tried to rape you!"

"I know that- but..I just don't want to, okay?"

"Are you crazy?" he tilts his head. "It's your duty to do so!"

"It's not, and I don't want to."

"Kurt, the man tried to force his dirty dick inside you out of your free will. It makes me sick how someone would do something like that to you. You're reporting the asshole, or so help me God I will drag you down there myself," he says.

"Blaine," I sigh exhaustedly. "I don't want to ruin his life just because he got a little too horny. I'm fine, am I not? I managed to get out. Besides, if I report him and he gets arrested, it'll only fuel his vendetta more so than he already has on me."

"What does he already have on you?" Blaine frowns.

"I smashed his head with a mug," I tell.

"Damn," he says. "But still- he deserves his sorry ass thrown into a prison where he'll hopefully get the same treatment. I hear statistics of prison rape in New York is pretty high."

"I don't want to report him, Blaine."

"Kurt, you're going to report him," he says it sternly.

"Why does it matter to you anyway?" I spit at him. "Didn't you already walked away from me?"

"Why does it matter to me?" his eyes wide at me. "Because a son of a fucking asshole touched you and almost force fucked you! That asshole hurt you and it makes me fucking angry and sick that someone would do something that fucking twisted to you! It makes my fist twitch and it makes me fucking angry that I wasn't there, that I didn't fucking help you with your rent so you wouldn't have gone out to get that stupid fucking job and almost get raped! I'm angry, I'm fucking pissed. It's my fault! If I had remembered to settle your rent earlier this wouldn't have fucking happened!"

He heaves his breath, his head turned to stare out the window, but I see it then. The guilt in his eyes- he feels he's to blame. I can see it. It's tearing him apart, and it makes me sad that he would feel such a thing and connect dots that are in no close proximity at all. It kills me that he always feels like he's to blame if I get hurt. It goes back to when I went into that coma.

"Blaine," I sigh and take his hand in mine. "Please don't stupid. It wasn't even near close to your fault. I needed a job, and I got one. Nobody knew the guy would turn out to be some creepy ass rapist. I fought for myself, something I should be doing. I don't want to report him, because even though it's rightful to, karma will get him eventually. I don't want to have the fear that I threw some guy into jail and he might come after me when he gets out. Please- just, accept this?"

"You bet your ass karma will get him," he smiles a small mischievous smile. "I just don't like the idea of someone hurting you. It makes me sick," he says.

It's always been like this- our history. Him always wanting to protect me from things, making sure I won't fall, or if I do, he'll be there to pick me up. I've resented it for awhile, but I know deep inside it he wants to protect me, and if he needs to do what he needs to do, I can't do anything much about it- because, knowing Blaine, when he wants something, he won't stop until he got it. Well, that isn't quite true anymore.

"I guess old habits die hard," I say and he turns to me with a curious frown.

"Old habits?"

"Protecting me," I say.

He contemplates this, gauging it inside his head. His head falls, probably allowing his thoughts to consider this before his head slowly rises to look at me with his hazel eyes. "I think it's not protecting you that's the habit I need to kill," he says.

"Then what is it?" I ask.

"I like knowing I saved you."

Those brown eyes. Gentle. A caring coat, a security blanket. My former best friend, the one I feel safe with, turns out to love the idea of saving me. My heart is warm inside my chest, his hand still entwined with mine in between us. "Like a hero?"

"Like superman," he pulls a smile.

That smile. A goofy, contented smile I love to the depths of this world. I've grown to miss that smile in our seperation. I would trade the world just to frame that smile up, and those eys to. I wonder if they would radiate the same warmth and compassion if they were in a photograph. I smile back at him, feeling nice to be talking to him again, but suddenly his head falls and he slowly pulls from my slight grasp.

"So, urm," he clears his throat. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," I tell him, more confidently now because I really do feel better. A little shaken by what happened, sure, but definitely significantly better than a few hours ago.

"Good," he says. "Next time, something like that happens again, knee him in the nuts and run."

"Okay."

How did things just up and decide to become awkward again. Just minutes ago we were having a nice little moment- a best friend moment, and Kurt and Blaine moment. Now he's retreating, and I know it's because he's trying to go by his word- leaving me. I can't stop him, or maybe I can..if I listened to Rachel at all.

"I better go. It's getting late," he says.

"Yeah," I say.

"Just- find a better job if you have to, okay?" he tells.

"I will," I say.

"Goodnight, Kurt," he says flatly and turns to the door.

"Blaine," I say timidly, but he hears and he turns. "It was nice seeing you again."

I am hoping the feeling is mutual, that he's glad to see me again, but I honestly don't know, but I like to believe he does. I just really wish things didn't screw us up. "Yeah," he says. "Goodnight."

----------

"Good morning," Rachel smiles cheerily at me when I emerge from my bedroom the next morning. "I hope you slept well. After what happened last night," she says.

"I did," I say. "Thanks, but why the hell did you call Blaine in?"

I've been wanting to ask Rachel since Blaine had arrived last night. After everything I've told her, why would she go to the one person who has decided to cut any form of ties with me. It's ridiculous, and frankly it was as if she was trying to set up a World War 3 or something.

"Because you crying and I needed someone I know could comfort you?" she says factly.

"My boyfriend could have done that," I say.

"I don't know Gabe that well. Besides, judging from how you're back to your bitch self this morning, calling Blaine in to comfort you was the best decision," she smiles.

"Rachel," I sigh. "Blaine doesn't want anything to do with me anymore. I told you that, and for you to call him like that-"

"Hey," Rachel snaps. "All I told him was that you almost got raped and you were crying and trembling. I didn't tell him to swoop in here with his cape and save you like a hero he wants to be. He made that decision himself."

Like Superman, I thought to myself.

"Thank you though," I say.

"No problem," she smiles. "So what did he say about it?"

"He's insistent that I should report him, but I don't want to."

"Why the hell not?" Rachel's brows furrows in my direction.

"Urgh, can I not go through this again with another impossible person? It's just- the decision I've come to after meticulously thinking about it. I'm fine, and frankly I felt good that I was able to protect myself. Forget about it, because I sure as hell would want to," I say.

"Still-" Rachel wants to press on, but I shoot her a warning glare and she sighs in defeat. "Fine."

"Isn't rehearsals for A Star Is Born suppose to start today?" I ask Rachel, hoping it would change the subject, because after last night, talking about somebody else's life might be more therapeutic.

"Yeah, and I'm a nervous wreck right now."

"You don't seem that way," I point out.

"That's because I'm a great actress," she winks and pours whatever fruit juice she was making into a tall handy bottle. "Oh, by the way- Santa is coming to town."

"Santa?" I frown.

"Satan?"

"Who are you talking about?" I ask.

"Santana."

"Santana? Why? What occasion is it this time?" I ask, because a visit from Santana is deeply far fetched, unless with an agenda.

"I don't know. She called me yesterday and told me to, and I quote, 'Ask lady hummel to hide his kinky butt toys' before she came."

"Classy," I roll my eyes. "It's weird that she's coming to town though."

"Believe me, if I'm anxious for the first day of production, anticipating Santana's arrival is thrice that."

"Any idea why she would want to come here though?"

"I'm not sure, Kurt, but it does not sound like it's going to be a short trip, so brace yourself for her."

I'm don't particularly hate Santana, nor am I fond of her either. She's great company, and a really blunt and hilarious person, but sometimes her words are so insensitive I wonder briefly if she has a heart of is it an organ that pumps venom through her system. She never filters her words, ever.

"Alright, I have to get going," Rachel says. "Wish me the best of luck!"

"Good luck!" I call after her, but just as she is about to leave, she stops and turns to me.

"I really do hope you're feeling better," Rachel says. "I can't imagine being a victim of molest."

"I'm fine, Rachel," I say.

"I hope Blaine made you feel better," she says. "I know you guys are no longer close, but through my years, I know how close you guys are and I know how you feel safest around him, hence my decision to call him in. I really hope he made you feel better."

"He did," I say truthfully, because if Blaine hadn't came over- maybe I would still be in bed right now, trembling at what happened. Just his presence alone can take the heavy weight and fear off my shoulders. It's crazy.

"Bye now," she says before the door slams.

----------

"Are you okay though?" Gabe ask me over the phone later at night after I filled him in on what happened.

"I'm fine," I say, though I was careful to leave the part about Blaine coming late at night to comfort me, out. I know he wouldn't have liked it- get mad at it even, that I didn't call him right after it happened.

"You quit, I hope," he says.

"Yes of course I quit. I thought it was implied when I smashed that bloody mug on his head.

He is silent for a while, just the sound of his stable breathing through the small speaker on the phone. He doesn't not sound up and angry, like how Blaine was, but I guess everyone has their own reactions. I wait patiently for his next response, a little dreadful as to what it might be.

"So, is that not a sign?"

"Of what?" I ask, confounded.

"That you should go to Italy with me," Gabe points out, and a fury burns inside me.

"You call me almost getting rape, a sign that I should go to Italy with you?"

"Kurt, come on- I was reluctant in the first place when you told me about getting a job, now look what happened. It clearly means a higher power wants you in Italy with me-"

"Are you serious right now?"

"I'm just saying-"

"I almost got raped, Gabe!"

"Look, don't get mad, alright-"

"Oh my god," I say in complete disbelief at his lack of comprehension at his own words. "You're serious. You know what? I have to go. I'll talk to you soon," I hang up quickly, before I say something I regret- or what.

Can you believe his audacity? I mean, I know he really wants me to go with him, but to reference what happened to me as a curse from God because I still haven't given him a solid answer to his proposal is just crazy- and a little ill compassionate considering he's my boyfriend. I still can't believe my ears, and in a rage- I fling my phone hard and it slides under my bed.

Perfect, I groan to myself. The rage inside of me is building, still, but I need my phone so I bent lower and stick my arm underneath the bed. It's like the Bermuda Triangle down here. The moment something goes into it's barrier, it just never comes out again. That is my fear at least. I feel around for my device. In an attempt to aid my search, I fit my head inside the darkness and search for it, but my eyes falls upon something familiar.

It's a silver lunch box, with a Captain America logo plastered on the face front, with a blue handle. It's the lunchbox my mother used to pack my lunch in back when I was in preschool. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich, with the compulsory oreos and an apple. An apple juicebox, if she didn't forget to buy them at the store sometimes. Curious, I pull it out. I've completely forgotten about this, and the contents inside. A slight tinge of guilt fills me.

I on my knees, on the floor, looking at it as if it might kill me. This box gives me such memories. I think I brought it along all throughout my school life- even high school. Slightly trembling, I unclipped the hook and the box opens like a treasure chest from deep under the Pacific. It opens, the contents all yellow and old- like gold coins to me. I pull out the first item, and I almost want to cry in a bawl of emotions just looking at me.

It's my mother's favourite pin. An antique my father gave her on their seventh anniversary. It's beautiful, and in fact, I think I can pull this off in one of my outfits. My mother used to wear it with everything- even when she's at home, an apron tied around her waist, she would wear it on her chest. I carefully place it aside, like a fragile glass.

I notice another item then- a piece of folded paper. It has caught age- it's all yellow, and old looking with it's corners brown. I'm not quite sure what it holds, but my curiosity consumes me anyway and I unfold it, and immediately I am taken back to who gave me this. Back in high school. I remember it vividly, because it was a night I've kept with my forever.

It's almost a shame I've forgotten about it, in the hectic bustle I call life.

--------

October 30th, 2008.

I almost had wanted to stay in bed all day, because God knows how much I hate this day. I hate the significance, the symbolism, the commemoration of this particular day- and I think it shows in my face because I've gotten a few looks as I aimlessly drag my legs across the hallways of McKinley.

I don't even know what period I'm having right now, nor do I actually care because today- today I don't care about anything, but my thoughts are interrupted when I am rudely shoved onto a locker. I crash onto the metallic warm, my arm stinging with pain. I wince in pain and crumble to the ground as my knees cave in.

"Morning, fag," one of the asshole jocks mutters to me. Usually I would have a comeback, but like I said, today I don't care, but someone does defend me though. Someone who has an act for defending me, even if I don't ask him to.

"Keep it up, asshole, and you'll find yourself picking your balls up from the ground with your fucking mouth," Blaine yells to the jock, who flicks him off. "You okay?" he ask, helping me to my feet.

"Fine," I say, dusting myself off.

"I mean- how are you doing..with today being..well..today?" he ask nervously.

"Never better, Blaine," I feign. "I have class. See you later okay," I say as I snake around him and make my way to home room. I feel bad, considering he's my best friend. But today is a sensitive day, and I don't really feel like being company for anyone. I just- want to be alone.

And I am. All throughout the day, I kept my distance from everyone. Especially my chemistry partner, who goes by the name of Stoner Brett. That wasn't much of a challenge to keep away from though. He's always in his own world. In glee club, I sit in the back row and watch Rachel and Mercedes bud heads on who should get the solo for regionals. Normally this would amuse me, but today- not really. I feel Blaine watching me from the far end of the row. I wish he would quit doing that.

Dad is quiet today too, over dinner. We barely speak, both completely aware as to what date it is. Normally, dinners with us Hummel men would be chatty with me telling dad all about my day, and who I think will be working for me in the vast future, but today we just quietly play with our food. Instant spaghetti, because today, dad doesn't care either, and I don't blame him.

I choose to opt out from homework tonight, and simply let music take me away from today. Secondhand Serenade is my choice, because they always compose morose, depressing songs and that pretty much sums up how I feel, so why the hell not lose myself along. The track ends, and as it is about to proceed on to the next, I hear it then. The soft tapping on my window. I take my earplugs off, and focus on the sound. For a second, I think I'm hearing things, but then the tapping gets more urgent and I know it's real, and coming from my window. I stand up quickly, grabbing the defensive baseball bat from underneath my bed and begin taking small steps towards the window.

My heart is hammering in my chest, my nerves on hyper alert. I gulp hard, mustering all my fear into my bowels- yup, you read that right. With one courageous move, I yank the curtains to the side and raise the bat in my hands- but I lower immediately when I realize who it is. A big pair of brown eyes is looking into my bedroom. He looks at me and wave.

"Blaine?" I say, opening the window. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Drop the weapon, Hummel," he tells me.

"Not so fast. Why are you here?"

"Take a drive with me?" he ask, tilting his head to the side in a way that disarms me.

"To where exactly?"

"The stars," he says casually.

"We'd need something bigger, and probably with an aircraft function at that."

"Get your butt out here," he says.

"I really- rather just not, Blaine,"
I say because even though I'm curious, I'm tired and depressed more.

"Look, I know what today is, and I know you feel down, but give me a chance to make you smile at least."

I contemplate him, because he's one of the few who knows exactly what today is, in my circle of friends, and if he has made the effort to come all the way here for the sole purpose of comforting me, the least I can do is humour him.

"Give me twenty minutes," I sigh.

"Now would be better-"

"I'm not going out with hair like this," I frown at him, saying it out like it's a household fact. "Wait at the door."

"Okay," he says. "And don't take too long."

"Don't rush me," I say, and though normally he would make a smart ass remark about me being bitchy, today he swallows it down.

I throw on a sweater, some lose jeans and a pair of chuck Taylor sneakers. My hair is a mess, but I do the best that I can with my fingers. Dad is asleep on the couch, the television turned on. He looks peaceful- a far better look than the sorrowful expression he wore earlier today. I opt to not wake him, but I kiss him chastely on his forehead and pull the blanket over him. He must be cold.

Blaine is sitting at the front porch when I emerge. He is dressed in his McKinley High football jersey, with denim jeans and similar sneakers as mine. His arms crossed over his chest, looking like your average jock.

"Why are you still in your jersey?" I ask.

"Practice ran late. Came here straight after," he tells. "Come on," he gestures for me to follow him.

"To where?" I grumble as I follow him to his car. "I really rather just be in bed, Blaine."

"Just- trust me, okay," he says and though I'm reluctant, I do anyway because I can't bring myself to think too much about it. I enter the passenger seat and he takes the driver.

"Seatbelt," he reminds me- every single time we carpool together.

The engine roars to life, and soon we're gliding past houses. It's cold in his car, I silent am grateful I chose to put on a sweater.

"Aren't you tired? Practice must've drained you out."

"Yeah. Maybe a little worn out," he tells.

"Then go home!" I shrill and he laughs.

"I wanted to see you," he says.

"You didn't need to," say.

"No- I wanted to. Besides, I know today must be hard for you."

"I think you're the only one who remembered," I say quietly. "Besides dad."

"Your mother passed on this very day, that left you devastated for months. Of course I would remember."

I heave a heavy sigh at the reminder, though very real in my heart, after years it still feels surreal that she's gone. Blaine notices me, how I've turned almost immediately sullen and he rest a hand over mine.

"I'm sorry," he breathes earnestly, and I manage a tired smile. "I just thought going out, and getting some fresh air would do you some good."

I don't think I can disagree to that, considering I felt lighter when I left the house. That house holds so much memories of my late mother, sometimes it feels impossible to progress in life with the little fragments of her there to remind me of my great loss. Especially today.

The car makes a right turn, and we find ourselves cruising down a road, with the town's dam beside us. I look out the window, in this crisp night, the stars visible here because it's dark and there are barely any street lamps. Blaine slows the car down, until we come to a halt, and he gets out.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

"Fresh air," he smiles. "Come on."

Though my heavy hesitation, I go along with it anyway and follow him out the car. It's really cold outside- like, really cold. I wrap myself tighter with my sweater and join Blaine, who is seated on the hood of the car, his arms resting on his knees- he's staring out at the water.

"I forgot about this place," I tell Blaine, because this place is actually one that holds a lot of memories. When Blaine came out to his parents, he came here to calm his mind. I spent the night looking for him, until I came here. When the glee club lost regionals that one time, I came here because I was afraid my safe zone in school would be disbanded. We both have come here to release our thoughts, and it feels appropriate that I'm here- on this day.

"I'm hurt that you forgot," he says, though I know he's joking.

"Can you blame me? We haven't been here in awhile."

"Precisely why we're here tonight," Blaine says. "I know you miss her- a lot."

"I do," I sigh heavily.

"It's okay to miss her, you know. You don't have to hide it."

"I know," I say.

"She really was a great mother," Blaine tells, because he has met her a couple of times before her passing. Back when we were in preschool, my mother would pick the both of us up from school and take us out for ice cream. Blaine's mother protested the idea of giving ice cream to him when he was a child, but my mother kept it a secret. Their own secret.

"She reall was," I say. "Sometimes I wonder why good people get taken away."

"It's parts of parcels of life, Kurt. People get taken away from us, no matter how much we don't want them to be."

"Hence why I don't believe in a God."

"I wrote something for you- in an attempt to make you feel better," Blaine says shyly. "Wrote in during practice. Coach was annoyed, but screw him."

"Wrote- something? What is something?" I ask.

"A poem? A trying attempt, at least," he says. He lifts himself up a little and produces a piece of folded up paper from his back pocket. He holds it in his hands for awhile, before he hands it to me. "I just- don't like seeing you sad, but I know today is an exception, so I wrote this..to maybe cheer you up a little," Blaine tells. "I'm not good with words, okay- so please don't laugh."

I take the piece of paper from him and unfold it gradually. It's crinkled from being shoved in his pocket no doubt, but after a few tries to straighten it out, I hold it up in front of me and read the words scribbled on the lines.

Death is not goodbye
Death maybe unkind
But deep inside
I believe with all might
That death is temporary
For when the sky falls
We will all be reunited
And though it pains now
I know that at the final bow
I will see your smile
I will see you with no mile.
I will see you- in a little while.
~
Blaine Devon Anderson

Taking AP English literature, this is pretty bad work, but still- it tugs on my heart strings somehow. The emotions come at me like an unpredicted earthquake. Before I can stop myself, my tears begin to fall- violently. I feel Blaine's arm snaking around my waist. He tugs me slightly so our shoulders are pressed against each other. He doesn't say anything- he lets me cry, but I feel his finger twirling the back of my hair. Something he and I realized would calm me down.

"I miss her, Blaine," I confess, because to Blaine, I can confess anything. "I miss her so much, but I don't want to say that out loud because I don't want dad to feel like he's not enough- but he is. He's more than enough, actually, but I loved my mother. My mother was my strength- my pillar. She made me feel strong, but still made me feel like someone's there to catch me if I fall. She- she's my mother and I miss her and I hate that she's no longer here," I stifle my sobs. "God, I hate today."

"I know," Blaine comforts. He doesn't say anything, but his finger gently twirls my hair and I slowly begin to inhale, and exhale. My eyes still stinging with tears. My heart is literally in shatters, like it always is on the anniversary of my mother's death.

"I can never imagine how you must have felt that day. I saw the devastation in your eyes, and I will remember that look forever. You looked so- broken," Blaine tells. "It's okay to say you miss her out loud, Kurt. She was your mother- you're allowed to miss your mother. She might be gone, but I'm here, and- right now, I vow to you, that I will be your strength, I will be your pillar if you want me to- and I will catch you if you fall. I promise you that, Kurt. You don't have to feel like nobody is here to be that kind of person for you anymore, because I am here, and I will always be here," Blaine says.

I have no response, because my heart is in awe of my best friend. I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling his warmth caress the side of my cheek. He rest his face on the top my head and I sink in his embrace. "Thank you," I manage to stifle, and now a part of me feels lighter, less heavy as compared to just a few minutes ago. That, is what I call the Blaine effect; able to comfort with his finger in my hair, and words of gold compassion.

"You know I'd do anything for you," he says.

"Can you do one more thing for me then?" I ask.

"Anything, Kurt," he says genuinely.

"Can you please get new socks because I might die from the stench of your feet sweat," I say, and he crackles into laughter.

"This is what you call an athletes foot," he stands his ground.

"That is what I call someone who is too damn lazy to wash his socks," I say and he laughs louder. In one swift movement, he yanks his left sneaker off, along with his socks.

"You want to insult my foot sweat again?" he says with bared teeth.

"If you bring that thing near me-" I say as I slowly back away, but he comes forward with the sock clenched tightly in his hand. He's after me, and I take off, running in the other direction but he tugs my backwards.

"Feel the wrath of thy sock," he says.

"No! Don't!" I laugh, pushing his hand away. He tries to bring it near me again, but stumbles upon something and he falls backwards, pulling me with him. We fall onto the ground, rolling in laughter. I've never felt more free and liberated- at least, for today. I catch my breath and stare up at the stars, wondering where my mother is up there- but even though I wish she was here, like Blaine's attempt of poetry, I will see her again- with no mile, in a little while.

"I love you, jackass," I say to Blaine.

"Love you too, Kurtie," he says and he flashes me a goofy grin when I glance over at him, and in that moment, even though my heart still aches at the loss of my mother, I know that there is someone here to keep me standing, and catch me if I fall.

---------

My phone rings then, and it pulls me from a walk down memory lane. I place the notebook, with Blaine's poem scribbled on it back into the safety of my lunch box, and look underneath my bed again for my cellphone. The screen light gives it's position away and I reach in for it. The number is unknown and I contemplate to answer, but I do anyway.

"Hello?" I say into the speaker.

"Is this Mister Kurt Hummel?" the voice of a man echoes from the other end.

"Yes, speaking. May I know who's calling?"

"My name is Jackson Spence, and I'm calling from the Spencer Raid Productions," he says and I am silent, hoping it's an indication that his identity says nothing for me. "The guy producing the remake of Romeo and Juliet?" he adds on.

"Oh!" I say, a light bulb practically just illuminated inside my brain- but why the hell is he calling here anyway?

"I just wanted to find out if you're still interested in the role, because we would love for you to come down and do an audition for us," he tells.

I am beyond the point of confusion. What the heck is this guy talking about? I never wrote my name down on their list- on any list for that matter. Could he have probably heard about my brilliance? I doubt so. I mean, I'm not that substantial. He clearly understands my silence, so he continues on.

"Mister Hummel?"

I go with my gut, though inside is screaming I should say I'm not interested, my subconscious is louder. "I am interested- but urm, how did you know?" I ask.

"How did I know what?" he ask, and he sounds sincerely confused.

"How did you know I was interested," I say.

"Oh, well- from the audition tape you gave us. Normally we would pick out names from the NYADA sign up sheet, but you went the extra mileage, and well- frankly we were impressed, hence this call."

I am genuinely baffled by his words. "Audition tape?" I ask.

"Yes, the one you performed at of Being Alive? That was simply brilliant, and frankly I am looking for a Romeo with a little feminism and vulnerability. So, will you come down for an audition-"

"Hold up- huh? I don't think I've ever sent an audition tape to you guys," I say.

"Didn't you ask your friend to drop if off? He came down here and dropped it off on the day after we got that sign up sheet. I must say, he spoke very fondly of you- said how you would be the best fit for a role of Romeo because you tap very well into your emotions, and evidently from your performance tape, he was right."

Did I die somewhere around that time, or was my body possessed or something because I have no recollection of that whatsoever. This is seriously confusing me, and frankly I don't like feeling confused. "Could you describe my apparent friend to me?" I ask.

"Well, he wasn't very tall. Dark curly hair- wore a suit. The expensive kind. Kinda looks like a younger Jesse Lacey, only less broody," he describes. "Came here telling us we should consider you, handed us the tape and well- he was right."

It clicks then- Blaine. My mind is a water sprout right now. Blaine- he submitted an audition tape for me, behind my back- without no form of letting me know beforehand. Despite how I told him I didn't think I can fulfil the role. I am speechless, my mind forming thoughts I don't quite understand.

"Look, Kurt- we've been looking for a fresh face to fill the role of Romeo, and I'll be frank, you're different. Very different. A complete parallel for Romeo even, but that's why I'm most interested in you, so if you're still interested, I'd like you to come down here and audition for us- read some lines, act out some scenes tomorrow."

I am still speechless.

"Kurt?"

They say you're most honest when you're not thinking. "Yes- yes I'm interested."

"Okay then. I'll see you tomorrow at two PM. I'm email you the address," he tells. "I'm most looking for to it, Kurt."

"Thank you-- so much."

"Thank your friend. We wouldn't have come across you if he hadn't dropped that tape off," he says before the line goes dead.

I sit there, completely stumped at what just happened. My thoughts a puzzle- after that recollection, and that phone call, but suddenly everything comes into focus. All my mixed emotions, all my fragment of thoughts- all if it, points to one thing, and in this moment, I know I cannot ignore it when it's staring right in my face.

It's Blaine. Blaine- the guy who protects me, who worries about me, who blames himself for things that happen to me even though it's not even remotely close to his fault, the guy who believes in me even when I don't believe in myself, the guy who twirls my hair- who knows how to calm me down, the guy who lets me cry, the guy with brown hazel eyes I seek solace in, the guy who is here in a second when he found out something happened to me, the guy is impossibly stubborn when I tell him I don't need his help- the guy..who loves me.

It all becomes clear now, like snow clearing when spring arrives. My feelings are clear, more than ever. Every confound, every confusion I once had comes in focus, becomes crystal. It's Blaine- it's Blaine that my heart's been screaming. It's been him all along, hasn't it? I've been looking for someone to love me, someone I love- little did I realize..it's been there all this while. Blaine's been here all this while.

My adrenaline fills me. I feel it, like a blast furnace. I have to see him.

I dash out my bedroom, Rachel is momentarily startled when I run out and grab my coat. "Where you off to?" she ask.

"Something that should have happened awhile ago," I manage to mutter before I am out the door, barrelling down the stairs and out in the streets of New York.

How could I have not seen this earlier? It's Blaine. Everything that I wished in a guy, everything I want to feel, everything I hoped to find in this mad world- it's been right there in front of me. The guy- my fantasy guy- who makes me feel desired, made me feel loved- that is Blaine. Maybe his best friend title in my life clouded my vision, but I see it now. I don't know what it took. That recollection, that phone call that showed how much he believed in me. Not everything is in your control, right? I don't know how fast I sprinted here, but I'm breathless when I arrive at Blaine's building- Haven.

"Kurt, I haven't seen you in awhile," Mister Thompson, the man behind the desk greets me at the lobby.

"Is he home?" I ask as I quicken my pace to the elevator.

"I think so, but-"

"Thanks Thompson!" I say as the elevator door shuts.

My mind is swirling with what I should do. Now that it's just mere storeys away from me, what the hell should I do when I see him? Tell me how I feel? Tell him I've realized that he's the one? Tell him that, he's right, that it was an impending thing? Run up to him and kiss the life out of him? Oh- his lips. I want those lips on me right now. I want to feel what I always feel when it's him kissing me. I've never admitted that before, but now that everything has come to focus- it's those lips, that kiss that I think about every night. When the elevator comes to a halt, my nerves is a time bomb waiting to explode.

The doors slide open and I dash up to the second level, but I halt when I bump into a stranger. A young guy- probably just a year or two younger than me. He's tall, with platinum blond hair, dark brown eyes, a spray tan. He's shirtless, but has a towel wrapped around his waist. He looks at me and a small smile pulls across his chapped lips.

"Who is this fine creature," he mutters to me. "Blaine- you have another visitor."

Blaine appears from his bedroom- in his tight black boxer briefs, his hair a curly mess, his brown eyes aghast at my presence. My stomach feels like it's about to implode, my heart basically sinks to into an abyss.

"Kurt?" he says in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

In that moment, as I look across from Blaine, to the guy with a fake spray tan, it dawns on me why I chose to ignore my feelings in the first place- it was, in fact, fear. Fear that I was going to let myself have feelings for- for a guy with many conquest and one night stands, the guy who has never actually committed himself to any man, the guy who hates love movies, the guy I have had to pick up from gay bars late into the night on countless of occasions. This is the guy that I wanted to let myself feel for? The guy who-- just a few days ago professed that he was falling in love with me, but now here he stands, fresh from sex with a stranger.

"Kurt?" Blaine acknowledges again, and I knew then that these feelings- they're wrong. I should not feel this way, not for someone like this. Not for someone who has this wild of a sex life. I find myself questioning- what if I do let myself feel for him, and then later down the road, he realizes I'm not enough? I can't take the chance, the risk of a broken heart.

"I'm sorry," I manage to say, and I quickly turn on my heel because I feel my tears building up. I was afraid letting myself feel for Blaine might lead to me getting hurt..Rachel asked what was the worst that hasn't already happened if I let myself feel for him- me feeling this devastated is, in fact, worse. I press on the elevator button repeatedly, wanting to leave right now.

"Hey," Blaine calls. He followed me down the stairs, I didn't realize. I turn and he's looking at me with curious brown- innocent brown eyes. His head tilted slightly. "He's just-"

"A trick, yeah," I say, finishing his sentence.

"Yeah," Blaine says. "Why are you here, Kurt?" he presses on.

"I thought I was here to get something, but it turns out it was suppose to be left alone."

"What is it?" Blaine ask, but the elevator saves me when it arrives.

"Forget it," I say as I step into the elevator. It closes on him, but his eyes never leave mine. Not until the door closes, and maybe it is poetic, but the door closes on any possibility of Blaine and I. Like my presence here, it shouldn't have came.

But a new realization comes to me.

--------

I tap on the door lightly, though it's urgent. I'm afraid I might be too late, but when the door pulls open and he stands there with eyes filled with wonderment and relief, I knew this is where I should be, and where I should stay.

"Kurt? What are you doing here?" Gabe ask.

"I've made my decision," I say, trying to ignore the nagging at the back of my head.

His eyebrows raise. He's clearly impatiently and anticipating my answer. For dramatic affect, or not, the answer somehow feels like a plaque, but I say it anyway because I know, after what dawned on me earlier, this one has dawned on me too.

"I want- to go to Italy with you."