Since the sectionals tie Blaine felt increasingly as if he were at war with himself. There were two Blaine's. The one who lived at Dalton, who did what he was told, who controlled the details of his life and found comfort in that—and the one who lived a sort-of secret life beyond the confines of the school. He was confused by both of them, and as he sat on a cold bench outside the Gap with Kurt at his side, he found himself frustrated. Because the sort-of secret Blaine? He did a lot of really stupid things.

Take Jeremiah, for instance.

A short while ago, before Kurt actually transferred to Dalton, Blaine had run into a nearby Gap just to get out of a downpour after one of his clandestine trips to and from the Lima Bean. Working there was a boy—a much older boy—who seemed to take an interest in him. Well, he'd offered a paper towel so he could dry himself off, and that led to a conversation, which led to the boys exchanging phone numbers. It had been flattering.

How could he be so wrong? So utterly, ridiculously wrong?

They'd had coffee together, and talked music (Jeremiah was a Robin Thicke fan) and football. The older boy showed an interest in Blaine's situation—he was curious about prep school, he laughed at Blaine's stories, he seemed to admire Blaine's position as lead singer of the Warblers, even if he'd never even heard of them. All the while Blaine had wondered, how can you tell? How can you tell if someone is into you? And he thought he saw something in Jeremiah's eyes, in the way he ducked his head as they sat near the window while cars pushed through slushy streets outside. It seemed written all over his face.

That he'd misread the message never occurred to him.

Equally frustrating, as he sat on the bench and sulked, with Kurt silent and supportive beside him, was that he'd gone through with actually serenading Jeremiah. In the middle of the store. With the entire group of Warblers in tow. The Warblers still rarely questioned anything he did, and on this occasion, neither did Kurt. "Man up," he'd said to Blaine, who'd felt nervous about the whole idea once he was actually standing there among the racks of clothes. Thankfully nothing strange happened as far as the Warblers were concerned, other then a group of them led by Thad eyeing the Baby Gap onesies with more curiosity than what would be considered normal for a bunch of teenaged boys. But what Blaine did was worse (he rubbed his face in embarrassment just recalling how he'd actually slid across the floor on his knees), because now Jeremiah had lost his job. And Blaine wondered how much any of his decisions lately were going to come back and haunt him, or worse, cause damage to people he cared about.

The ride back to Dalton was a quiet one. Humiliating, actually, because the only way to transport everyone was with the bus Edwards had arranged (after giving Blaine the first side-eye he'd ever seen the headmaster produce). Blaine sat near the front of the bus and sulked, his forehead pressed against the cold window. Then he felt Kurt bump his knee against his own, then a shoulder, then a knee again, until Blaine finally looked up, half-smiling.

"I know you think what you did today was pretty silly," he started, "but can I be perfectly honest with you about something?"

"Sure," Blaine said, wishing with a pang of guilt that he could return the favor. "Of course."

"I feel foolish too," Kurt admitted, then paused for a moment as he seemed to gather himself. "When you said you were going to serenade a boy you liked . . . I thought that boy was me."

"Oh," Blaine said. Then, "Oh," as he processed what Kurt meant. "Wow, I really am clueless," he mumbled, thinking about how he'd inadvertently led Kurt on. "You know, I've never had a boyfriend," he found himself admitting. "And I think we can all agree, after today, that I'm terrible at romance."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," said Kurt softly, nudging him again gently with his elbow.

But Blaine couldn't help it. His lame attempt at connection, at actually sharing his feelings caused someone to lose his job. And if Kurt had expected Blaine to serenade him, and if he actually had, then what disaster would happen there? In a flash he pictured Kurt leaving him behind at Dalton, and just as quickly he realized how devastated he would be to lose the person who had become his best friend. His lifeline. So he looked up at Kurt, whose expression seemed sympathetic, and said, "Kurt, let me be really clear about something. I really, really care about you. I don't want to screw this up," he said, gesturing back and forth between them with his hand.

"So it will be like When Harry Met Sally," Kurt said, smiling rather coyly. "But I get to play Meg Ryan."

"Deal," Blaine said, before doing a double-take. "Don't they get together in the end?"

Kurt merely smiled, then looked out the window as the bus approached the Dalton gates.

Once they got back to campus and off the bus, Blaine let the Warblers file ahead of him into the main building. He lingered, and Kurt followed suit with a curious expression on his face.

"Can I show you something?" asked Blaine, tentatively, looking sideways at Kurt.

Just as hesitantly Kurt responded, "Yes?"

It was cold and daylight was quickly fading. But Blaine was still feeling wounded by the day's events, and he knew he'd feel better if he could go where he usually did—the clock tower—but it meant trusting Kurt. It meant letting him in, as much as he could, without letting him in too much. It was getting so very complicated, all of it. So Blaine looked at Kurt and said, "Great," and then led him out across the grounds.

They walked in silence for what seemed like forever, Blaine not knowing what exactly to say, because it felt like, after today, there was something different between them, like something had opened up inside Blaine and revealed itself to Kurt—and it felt the same in the other direction. He felt closer to Kurt right now than he'd felt to anyone in a long time, if not ever.

When they arrived at the tower, they halted at its base. Blaine looked at Kurt, who merely raised an eyebrow and shrugged as if to say, "This is it?" Then Blaine took out his key and unlocked the door. Taking in Kurt's perplexed look at his having a key at all, Blaine said merely, "Uh, someone I know who has access to . . . things . . . was able to make this for me as a favor. I'm—he and I are the only ones who have a key." Kurt nodded, and then Blaine pushed the door open so both boys could finally get out of the bitter wind.

"Um," said Kurt, gesturing with his arm. "After you," he said.

"Okay," said Blaine, leading the way up the stairs.

The clock tower in winter was always tranquil, especially on an evening like this with a light layer of fresh snow on the ground. Even in the waning light, the snow made everything bright enough to see for a good distance around the school grounds. The boys walked about trying to find the best place to stand—a place where the wind didn't whip at their faces.

"So," Kurt ventured, smiling, "You come here often?"

Blaine glanced at his feet, grinning too. "Yeah, actually," he said. "I spend more time up here then I care to admit." He laughed, then said more quietly, "Sometimes I need to just be somewhere where others can't get to me." And then he took a breath, because he couldn't believe he just admitted that. A quick glance at Kurt's face told him that it was okay that he did, because Kurt was looking back at him fondly, and with what Blaine could only guess was mild concern, given what he'd said.

Kurt looked out beyond the playing fields, toward Lima in the distance. Without looking directly at Blaine he asked, "You do have a private dorm room here, though. It's not enough?"

Blaine swallowed and replied, "No, not always." Then he sighed. "Plus I like the view. It—" and then he was quiet for a moment as he readied himself, his heart leaping suddenly. "It reminds me, I guess, of stories my mom used to tell me when I was a kid."

"Oh?" said Kurt, his eyes fixed where they were before, beyond.

Blaine wrapped his arms around himself and curled into the corner. "Yeah, you know. Princesses locked in towers and knights coming to the rescue, that sort of thing."

Kurt smiled and said, "Well, now I'm imagining you as the most adorable kid knight—I bet you used to run around the yard with a sword and shield."

"Of course," said Blaine, smiling. "But sometimes that was my brother, and I was the damsel."

Kurt laughed. "Aw . . . so cute." Then he looked at Blaine more somberly. "I know I've already told you a little about my own mother," he began, "but do you want to talk about yours?"

Blaine paused for a moment. His eyes grew wide as he said, "Oh, she's not. She's not dead," he said quietly. "She just . . ." he trailed off, not sure what he could say about her. Could he tell Kurt that she'd worked with his father? That she'd complemented her husband in so many ways? Could he tell him that after Blaine was in the hospital, with broken bones and a concussion, that she and his father had fought bitterly over what to do, over how to protect him? Or how she'd been against the Dalton Project from the start? Meeting Kurt's gaze, Blaine decided to tell whatever truths he could. "She left my father last year. None of us even understand it, really. She just disappeared. We don't know where she is, even . . ." Blaine said, looking out into the wintry night. "Sometimes I think about finding her," he said, shrugging. "But I'm kind of stuck here at the moment. So I busy myself with other things."

Kurt plopped down next to Blaine. "You would think it would be easy to find someone. There would be traces online, a mention of her name, something," he offered. "I can help if you—"

"It's more complicated than that," Blaine replied firmly. "Sorry, but she is—she was—very good at covering her tracks. I know it sounds weird, but trust me. If she doesn't want to be found, we won't find her." Blaine stood up suddenly, the day's events taking their toll on him. "We should probably head back," he said.

He held out a hand to Kurt, which the other boy accepted, then helped him to his feet. Blaine must have tugged a little too firmly, though, because Kurt lost his balance on the way up and crashed right into him. The force of it pushed an "Oof" out of Blaine, who quickly reached out to steady them both, getting an armful of Kurt—of wool and warmth—in the process. "Sorry," Kurt said, sort of nervously, as the boys untangled themselves, and then they took the stairs down so Kurt could make the drive home.

Blaine had trouble sleeping that night, with the embarrassment over Jeremiah still stinging, and with Blaine's thoughts drifting to Kurt (and his panic earlier at the prospect of losing him) and to his mother. After wasting time tossing and turning in bed, he finally got up and went to the lab, where he pulled out a manila envelope he'd tucked in the back of a file cabinet.

The truth was, he didn't understand what had happened to his mother, and as the months wore on after her sudden departure, Blaine and his father had been wrapped up in the minutiae of Dalton; their structured days, full of designing and tinkering, had been a comfort to them in her absence. He opened the envelope and spread its contents on the table. Sadly, there were few items of significance, because of the secret nature of his parents' work: a short blurb from a conspiracy-theory website about her no longer being considered an employee at her company. Another article he'd found from a newspaper's online archives, profiling his mother back when she was more artist than top-secret cyborg designer. In the accompanying photo she stood next to one of her sculptures—a human torso, its spine curving gracefully. A tiny scrap of note paper with some unattributed quotation scrawled in her handwriting, next to some code he couldn't decipher:

When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.

And the last thing, a photograph, one he'd kept in his dorm room here but had removed before Kurt transferred. It was an image of his parents and Cooper from a long time ago, back when his older brother was just a 9-year-old kid. In the picture everyone was smiling, their arms intertwined, while Cooper, inexplicably, held the metal frame of a leg at his side like it was some kind of toy. He'd removed the photo from his room here because he didn't want Kurt to ask too many questions, but Blaine had always liked how happy everyone looked, how eager, back when possibilities probably seemed endless to them, before Blaine and his accompanying problems took so many of those paths away.

He finally nodded off at the table where he sat, his upper body sprawled atop the artifacts he'd collected, his fitful sleep full of uneasy dreams where shards of glass seemed to fall from the sky like stars.