4.

Kurt put down the concealer with an exasperated sigh. It was no good; the neat line of perfect little hickeys adorning the side of his neck couldn't be mistaken for anything else, no matter how hard he tried to cover them. He would have to replan today's outfit to include a carefully tangled scarf.

Except he had another dance class this afternoon, and somehow he doubted Miss July would accept epic hickeys as an excuse to sit it out, so soon everyone would know anyway. Oh, the gossip it would raise… NYADA's rumor mill put McKinley's to shame on any given day.

Kurt shrugged, resigning himself to attracting curious stares. He had more pressing problems anyway. Like, how to avoid Blaine entirely while attending the same school. Although, after an exit like that, Blaine would probably ignore him anyway.

Kurt felt his cheeks heat up as he remembered his last night's eagerness, getting ready to leave for Blaine's apartment – all the extra attention in the shower, trimming, scrubbing, preparing… there, just in case. He'd been so convinced he could go and have sex with the hottest guy he'd ever met, just like that. Not that he regretted saying no. It was the right decision. Just… he should have known better from the start.

The light cotton scarf wound loosely around his neck, Kurt sighed and left the room.

#

Avoiding Blaine turned out to be easier than Kurt had expected. All it took was keeping his head down and his eyes firmly focused on his phone or a textbook in his hand at all times; staying out of sight with earbuds in his ears so as not to catch a stray bit of conversation or hear Blaine's voice in passing. After a week, it was already second nature. It didn't make that much difference anyway – Kurt hadn't been particularly popular or social before. He hadn't made any close friends in the six weeks since school started – he wasn't sure he knew how – so there was no one to call him out on his strange new behavior. Not that it was really that strange or new to him. In fact, he couldn't help but think how it felt depressingly like high school, minus the bullying.

He was sitting in the cafeteria with his solitary lunch on Tuesday, a free period stretching out before him, when someone dropped onto the chair opposite. Kurt pulled his eyes away from the play he was reading for his next week's class – and immediately regretted it.

“Hi, Kurt.” Blaine smiled at him, wide and warm, over his lunch tray, and Kurt blushed.

“Hi,” he managed.

“How are you? I haven't seen much of you this past week,” Blaine asked, spearing a couple of fries with his fork.

“Okay. You?”

“I'm great. How's Cassie treating you?”

Kurt shrugged. “She teased me mercilessly about, you know…” He touched the side of his neck where the marks were no longer visible. “But then she moved on to another victim.”

Blaine froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. “I gave you hickeys? Shit, I'm sorry. I'm usually more careful than that, I didn't realize–”

Kurt waved his apologies away. “It's okay. I bruise easily, you had no way to know.”

“Still–”

“It's okay. Really.” Even Kurt's classmates had stopped asking after two days, when they realized he wasn't going to tell anyone who he'd been with. “Anyway, I'm sorry I left like that. I shouldn't have led you on,” he added, hoping to clear the air. He had once overheard Puckerman saying that leaving a guy hanging after getting him going was the worst thing a girl – or anyone, he guessed – could do.

Blaine frowned. “I don't feel like you led me on. You changed your mind, and that's fine. I was disappointed, but I can certainly understand it if you want something better than a one-night stand for your first time.”

Kurt nodded tightly, grateful. “What was yours like?” he blurted without thinking, then bit his tongue. “Sorry, that's probably too personal.”

Blaine laughed warmly. “No, it's okay. I don't mind. My first time was great, actually. We were both sixteen, but he was more experienced, so he knew exactly what to do to make it good for me. I never regretted it. We fucked all through the rest of high school after that and I learned a lot from him.”

“Oh. Um, good. I'm glad it was good for you.” Kurt stared at his salad, unable to meet Blaine's eyes, his cheeks burning hot.

“Thanks. So, any luck finding that true love?” The look on Kurt's face must have reflected the way he flinched internally, because Blaine raised his hands, placating. “Hey, I'm not making fun of you, I promise. In fact, I understand. I used to think I would wait, too, back before I met Sebastian. You should totally do what works for you.” He reached across the table to squeeze Kurt's hand with a grin. “I'm glad I got to be your first kiss though. I hope that was good.”

So good. “Oh, yes. It was. Thank you.” The heat in Kurt's cheeks flared even stronger as he automatically glanced at Blaine's lips, full and soft, the sense memory making his own tingle.

“Well, good, because I really enjoyed kissing you.” Blaine beamed, then reached for the book still resting open on the table. “So what are you reading?”

It was much easier to talk about neutral things, and by the time their lunch trays were empty and Kurt's free period had come to an end, Kurt felt much more relaxed. They'd chatted about their classes and teachers, and Blaine had suggested a few clubs Kurt might find interesting. His knowledge about the inner workings of the school was astounding, his advice well-thought-out and valuable, and Kurt was smiling as they stood up to leave.

“Thanks. I will definitely check out the clubs you suggested.”

Blaine nodded. “You should come see the Birdies'  rehearsal, too. Maybe I'll be able to convince you to join after all.”

Kurt snorted softly. “Blaine, I have no experience singing with other people. Well, except for a single month in Glee club before it was disbanded, but even then there were just four of us and we spent more time arguing than singing. You don't even know if I'm any good.”

“Of course you are, you wouldn't be here otherwise. And I've heard rumors. A countertenor, eh?” Blaine arched an eyebrow with a smile. “Either way, you should at least come and see. Give me your number, and I'll let you know when we're meeting next.”

He entered Kurt's number into his phone, frowning as he looked at the time. “Shit, I have to run. I'll text you!” he said before jogging to the door. Kurt stood there, stunned.

#

Blaine's Birdies' rehearsals attracted quite a lot of attention, Kurt was surprised to see when he slipped into the smaller auditorium two days later. Half of the chairs were occupied by little groups of students, most of them looking completely at home there, as if coming here to watch the Birdies practice was weekly entertainment for them.

The rehearsal hadn't started yet; there were at least a dozen guys sitting around on the stage, but they were clearly waiting for the rest to arrive. Blaine was nowhere to be seen. Kurt found a seat near the back of the room, feeling a little out of place. As soon as he put his bag down on the seat next to him, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Hi Kurt!” Nigel, a fellow freshman grinned at him from the row behind. “So you wanna join the Birdies too?”

Kurt shook his head. “No, just watching. Do you?”

“Yeah. I'm auditioning next week. Man, do I hope the rumors are true and they actually do have an audition couch,” he added conspiratorially. “Or a desk, I'm not picky. I'd totally bend over for him.” He smiled lecherously enough to make Kurt's eyes widen.

“Who, Blaine?”

Nigel rolled his eyes. “Who else? Don't look so shocked, half the guys only join to try and get in his pants, with various degrees of success. That's why people keep coming and going. Besides, don't tell me you wouldn't hop on that if you had a chance.”

“I, um. I guess he's attractive,” Kurt managed, grateful for the dimmed lights that hopefully hid his blush.

Nigel chuckled. “Well duh. Okay, they're starting. Shush now.” He sat back, leaving Kurt blissfully alone with his burning cheeks and galloping thoughts.

The group on the stage was indeed getting ready to start now. A couple more boys had arrived while Kurt was distracted. Blaine was there, too, his broad back to the audience as he explained something to the group, gesticulating animatedly. The fitted cut of his red pants was criminal. A minute later, the Birdies settled into an easy, colorful formation and at Blaine's sign, the music started.

They were good. They were really good, bouncy and happy and full of energy, radiating enthusiasm and confidence in a way that Kurt learned to associate with everything Blaine did. Their voices blended beautifully and they moved around the stage like puppies, their choreography more like a force of nature than anything organized. Kurt couldn't help but grin as he watched, tapping his foot in rhythm.

It felt like only moments had passed when they finished the last song of the day, and Kurt shook himself out of the daze and stood up to leave. He wanted to thank Blaine for the invitation and tell him that he enjoyed himself, but most everyone in the audience seemed to be staying back to talk to the band members. Kurt hesitated. No, it would look pathetic to wait around hoping Blaine had time to talk to him.

Before he could reach the door, however, he was stopped by a warm hand on his shoulder and a bright voice in his ear.

“Hey, you came!”

Kurt turned to see Blaine beaming at him, sweaty and disheveled from bouncing around, and still unfairly attractive. The memory of Nigel's words made Kurt's ears burn.

“Of course I did. You invited me.”

“And what do you think?”

“You are really good and you have a very talented group here. Let me know when you're giving a concert, I definitely want to see that.”

Blaine grinned impossibly wider, his eyes sparkling happily. “Sure. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself.” He reached for Kurt's elbow to pull him out of the way of the group of people headed for the door. The movement put Kurt closer to him, right in his personal bubble, and Kurt couldn't help the way his breath sped up at the proximity. Blaine squeezed his elbows before letting go. “Listen, are you busy right now? We're going out for coffee with the guys. Do you wanna join us?”

Kurt only hesitated for a second before nodding. “I'd love that.”

#

That night, Kurt went to bed with a wide smile on his face. He'd spent two hours hanging out with the Birdies, and despite his concerns about being the outsider, it was more fun than he'd had in a group of people in years; perhaps ever. It didn't matter that he wasn't one of them – apparently Blaine's approval meant being automatically accepted by the whole group. And since they were all NYADA students, they didn't lack common conversation topics. Between discussing classes and Broadway and music, somewhere around his throw-away remarks about costume design, Kurt stopped being a tag-along and became a person of his own merit to them, someone interesting and worth knowing. It filled him with a careful kind of excitement, with stunned disbelief: the Birdies, the popular crowd of the school, taking him in as an equal.

His phone chirped as he was getting into bed and he frowned at it, surprised. No one texted him at night – no one really texted him much, period. When he picked it up, Blaine's name on the display shocked him into a full-on grin.

Thanks for coming today. It was good to see you :)

Kurt settled against his pillows and switched off the lamp before replying: Thanks for inviting me, it was great!

And if he let himself think about Blaine before falling asleep, and not in an erotic context this time – well, no one had to know.

#

There was nothing like a long, solitary weekend spent studying for things that were still weeks away to remind a person of their place in the order of things. Everyone seemed to be out partying: Justin disappeared on Friday night and didn't resurface until late Sunday afternoon, and all of Kurt's classmates seemed to post nothing but pictures from various, ever-wilder New York clubs on Facebook all weekend. Even his room was not the haven he wanted it to be, too loud with the echoes of the party two floors down all Saturday night.

He could have probably gone to any of those things, to be honest; tag along with people he knew even if he wasn't very close to them. It wasn't like those were invitation-only events. But years of being on the sidelines, of making himself invisible, had taught Kurt not to stick his nose where he wasn't wanted. Besides, he wasn't even sure he'd know what to do at a party. He'd never been at any, other than the formal school gala in September. He didn't really dance outside of class. He'd never had any alcohol. Better not to ridicule himself.

So instead, he did his homework for the whole following week and a half, color-coded his wardrobe and did the longest versions of his skin care routine. He Skyped with his dad, sketched a few outfits and got more than enough sleep. He tried very hard not to think of Blaine, who hadn't contacted him since Thursday night, and did his best not to let disappointment get to him.

College was supposed to be different, a new leaf. It seemed like Kurt didn't really know how to turn it, though.

He had barely sat down in the cafeteria with his lunch tray on Tuesday when there were bright amber eyes smiling at him from across the table.

“Hi Kurt!” Blaine beamed at him. “I wasn't sure if you had free period every Tuesday or just last week, but hey, here you are. Do you mind if I sit with you? Or if you're busy, I can fuck off,” he added, glancing at the book in Kurt's hand.

Kurt slid it back into his bag. “No, stay. We're not starting this play for a month yet. I just didn't have anything to do.”

Blaine arched his eyebrows, surprised, but didn't comment. “So, how was your weekend?”

Lonely, while undeniably true, would just sound pathetic, so Kurt shrugged and went with, “Uneventful. How was yours?”

Blaine launched into a story about a bar crawl that ended at a truly extravagant birthday party of a friend of a friend's who had a smoke machine and a closet full of costumes in his basement, and by the end of his tale Kurt was laughing harder than he remembered  ever doing with another person.

They spent their whole free period talking again. As Kurt was hurrying to his next class, he marveled on how easy it all seemed with Blaine, how non-awkward he made everything, as if they'd known each other for ages. How comfortable Blaine had made him feel from the very beginning, in ways that Kurt never was outside of a tiny group of people closest to him. He wondered what that meant, that Blaine already felt like one of that exclusive group.

“You're coming to see the rehearsal on Thursday, of course?” Blaine had asked before they parted, and Kurt nodded without hesitation, smiling.

So there he was again two days later, at the back of the auditorium, in the cozy semi-darkness. Nigel was on stage this time, all grins and flailing limbs at the back of the group as he tried to learn the moves. Clearly the audition had gone well. Kurt tried very hard not to wonder if it had been the kind of audition Nigel had hoped for. It was not his business anyway.

(Later, over the post-rehearsal coffee that Kurt found himself herded to again like it was obvious he'd be there, he learned that no, there was no sex at the audition. A few inappropriate songs to make sure Nigel fit with the rest of the group, but no sex. Kurt hid his relieved smile in his cup of latte.)

And then there was a movie night at Blaine's on Saturday with a few of the other guys, and coffee on Monday morning just because, and soon enough it became a pattern. Between the free periods, the post-rehearsal hanging out, the movie nights and the coffees, Kurt spent time with Blaine roughly every other day.

Not that it was anything special, he reminded himself. Blaine was a social bunny, most of the time they were doing things as a group, and Blaine didn't treat Kurt in any way different than the others. Still, it felt great to be included. And when they did spend time alone – always in public, eating lunch or getting coffee in their favorite coffee shop just off campus – it felt as if they could talk for hours and never run out of things to say. He loved that about Blaine. He loved that he could be himself and be accepted for it.

#

“So are you going home for Thanksgiving?” Blaine asked him that Tuesday, as they were leaving the cafeteria.

“No.” Kurt shrugged, trying to cover his devastation about it. “I can't afford to go both now and for Christmas, so I'm choosing Christmas. You?”

“Same.” Blaine stopped by the stairs where they usually parted ways. “Is it your first Thanksgiving away from home?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to come to our little orphans' Thanksgiving?” Blaine's smile seemed unusually shy. “We did it last year with a few guys who were staying too, and it was fun. It's nothing like a real dinner, just a night of pizza, beer and absurd movies, but it helps with the homesickness.”

Kurt found himself nodding before Blaine even stopped talking, absurdly grateful for a rescue from the prospect of his depressingly empty dorm room. “I'd love that.”

Which was how he found himself at Blaine's doorstep that Thursday afternoon, a pumpkin pie from his favorite bakery in hand.

Blaine's apartment shouldn't really be a good place for entertaining. It was tiny, and on most Saturdays, with half a dozen or more full-grown men seated on and around the small couch in front of the wall-mounted TV, it often felt downright claustrophobic. But that night it was almost cozy instead. Kurt wasn't used to big Thanksgiving celebrations, but the company staved off the loneliness at the thought of his dad, Carole and Finn sitting to dinner without him. Here, there were pizza boxes everywhere and cold beer and soda in the fridge, there was laughter and friendly teasing, and even though Blaine was the only person present that Kurt was in any way close to, it felt nice.

Halfway through the second Monty Python movie, when most of the guests were already a little drunk and arguing about leftover pizza, Blaine raised from the floor, a buzzing phone in his hand. Kurt watched him cross the room and crawl out of the window by his bed, to the fire escape.

By the time Kurt felt a gust of cold air on his neck again, Mark was dozing off and Nigel and Thomas were making out on the floor in front of the couch. The window squeaked shut, but Blaine didn't reappear, and Kurt turned quietly to look for him.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees and his head hung low, the phone hanging limply from this hand. Kurt got up, careful not to disturb the others, and tiptoed the half a dozen steps to the bedroom nook.

“Hey,” he whispered, and Blaine looked up at him. In the dimmed light, he looked pale and tired. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, sure.” Blaine smiled at him – or tried, but it came out more like a grimace plastered to his face. He sighed and gave up, shrugging. “It was just my father.”

Kurt sat down on the bed, a foot away from him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Blaine shrugged again. “I usually don't talk about him.”

“Okay.”

“It's just… he hardly ever calls, only on holidays basically, and I see him maybe once a year, but every time–” His voice broke slightly and he shook his head. “Every time, we end up fighting. About my choices,” he spat the word out. “He hates that I'm gay, despises my choice of school and career. I don't know why he even bothers calling. It's not like I can ever do anything right anyway. He could as well forget about me and save himself the disappointment.”

“Blaine…” Kurt whispered, lost for anything more to say. What could he say? He could imagine the heartbreak of not being accepted by his own parents – he could, because he'd tortured himself with those visions for months before he'd finally come out to his dad. But that was all it was – imagination. Living through it must have been so much harder.

He didn't know what to do, how to help, so he only reached and put his hand on Blaine's shoulder, squeezing lightly. Blaine didn't flinch or move away, so Kurt left his hand there. After a moment, Blaine put his cold palm on Kurt's. They sat like that for a while.

“Thank you,” Blaine said eventually, straightening up, and Kurt took it as a sign to withdraw his hand. “I didn't mean to be a downer.”

“You're not. And there's only so long I can pretend not to notice those two making out,” Kurt added when a moan sounded from the other side of the room.

That seemed to break the morose mood. With a chuckle, Blaine thrown on the lights to the disgruntled protests of the other three. It was time to go home.

#

This was not a date. Yes, okay, so Blaine asked him out to dinner. And he did pay for the both of them, claiming Kurt could buy the movie tickets. Because that was what they did next, went to the movies. Sharing popcorn and a huge cup of Diet Coke, and the armrest between their seats. But it was not a date. They didn't make out in the half-empty cinema, or even hold hands. Blaine said nothing about it being a date. So it wasn't. Just a night out between two friends who happened to be single and had nothing else to do on that Friday night in December. That was all.

Not a date.

Kurt had to repeat it again and again, in firm inner voice, as Blaine walked him to his dorm. Blaine wasn't interested in him, not in that way.

“Goodnight Kurt. See you tomorrow.”

With a soft kiss to his cheek, Blaine turned away and walked into the night.

#

“Drink this. It will loosen you up.” Blaine yelled over the pounding of the music and pushed a shot glass toward Kurt.

Kurt narrowed his eyes at him. “I don't drink. And I don't need to be loosened up.”

“Yeah you do. It's your first time in a club and you're nervous like it's an exam. Come on, drink up.” He raised the glass to Kurt's lips, his knuckles brushing Kurt's chin.

Kurt drank. It was tasteless and burned its way down his throat in a way that made him cough, but he could feel warmth spreading in its wake all the way to his stomach.

“What was that?” he asked when he could speak again.

“Just vodka.” Blaine set the glass down on the table and grabbed his hand, grinning. “Now come on, we came here to dance.”

They weaved their way through the crowd of moving bodies right into the thick of things, far away from the safe oasis of their group's table. The dance floor was packed, the throng undulating in an overheated mass of bodies that pressed and brushed against Kurt in ways that should feel oppressive but really didn't. Music flowed through his veins, pounded with his heart, and his body wanted to move with it, with everyone else, in some wild primal response to the rhythm – so he did. He forgot all the practiced dance moves from Miss July's class; forgot he'd never done this before, and just moved. Blaine's smile, less than a foot away, couldn't be brighter.

It felt strangely freeing to abandon control and concern about what it looked like, and just dance, and for a moment, Kurt wondered if it was the alcohol talking, stripping him off of all the inhibitions in one powerful swipe. But his thoughts were crystal clear, his emotions felt distilled to their purest form, without fear or rationalization shadowing them. He felt alive. He felt joy and excitement, affection toward the man bouncing right in front of him, and gratefulness for being here, in this city, in this club, in this place in life.

He'd made it. He'd known this since he left Lima in August, but he hadn't really felt it until now. He'd made it out and into the bright new world of his future.

So he danced. He danced, and Blaine danced with him, and the music kept changing but never stopped, and at some point they somehow got closer, their bodies touching as they rocked together. Blaine's arms around him were bare, strong, and Kurt felt giddy and daring, pushing into the hot, firm body against his until they were flush, almost grinding right there on the crowded dance floor. He heard someone whistle nearby, felt Blaine's hot breath on his sweaty neck, his moan vibrating between them as Kurt rolled his hips. 

“Kurt, let's–” Blaine's words dissolved into a gasp as Kurt slid his fingertips under the hem of his shirt, to the hot sweaty skin of his back. “Let's get out of here. I really, really want to kiss you.”

“Okay.”

Kurt didn't even hesitate, too full of this new hunger for all the things that made him feel alive. He held onto Blaine's hand tightly as they navigated their way through the dancing crowd ­– off the dance floor, behind the bar, down some short, dark corridor. His arms went around Blaine's neck the moment he felt himself pressed against the wall.

Blaine's lips felt like a brand, hot and marking him to the core with nothing more but the hungry press of them against Kurt's mouth, his neck, his throat. He couldn't stop the sounds escaping his lips, but that was okay, the muted beat of music vibrating through the very walls of the club kept them quiet, intimate, trapped between the two of them. Blaine's body was pressed against his from his knees to their tangled hands pinned to the wall above Kurt's head, and it felt like anchor, and it felt like flying to give himself over to desire like that. Kurt rocked his hips forward against the undeniable hardness in Blaine's pants, and Blaine bit on his lip with a moan, rolling his own hips for a moment before pulling a few intolerable inches away.

“As much as I want you, we're not doing this here. Not for the first time at least,” he said, and something warm and fond burst in Kurt's chest. Blaine plunged in to kiss Kurt again. “But god, I can't keep my hands off you.”

“Then don't.”

When they returned to the table to catch their breath and get hydrated before more dancing, their hair were mussed, their clothes wrinkled, and Blaine's lips were as red and swollen as Kurt's felt from the glorious debauching that had left him wanting more, and wanting it soon.

It was only a matter of time. They were not dating, not yet. But that unnamed thing between them was clearly growing, and while Kurt refused to ask or push for them to talk about it, the fact that Blaine kissed him silly again when he walked Kurt to his dorm two hours later could only mean one thing.

Kurt could wait.

#

As intimidating as the Callbacks bar used to be when Kurt first came here with the Birdies almost two months ago, it felt safe and familiar now after so many evenings spent watching NYADA students try to one-up each other on the stage. But he'd never been up there himself, not yet, despite Blaine trying to get him to duet every time. Kurt had always refused, but maybe tonight… It was a week before the Christmas break and Kurt had Baby It's Cold Outside stuck in his head all day. He hadn't seen Blaine for three days – since that Friday night after the club – but they'd texted about silly little things every day and talked about meeting for hot chocolate when they went home for Christmas and just… Kurt had a good feeling about this. And yes, the first duet was almost like a first time, but he thought he felt ready for that commitment.

Blaine rushed in twenty minutes late, right when Kurt was about to text him to investigate. He looked better than ever – or maybe it was Kurt's crush talking, but he was flushed and beaming, eyes sparkling bright and hair in artful disarray.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, dropping onto the free chair that Kurt had saved for him. “An old friend called, crushed from a recent break-up, and needed some comforting. I couldn't just leave him alone without making sure he was alright.”

Jeff, one of the oldest Birdies, waggled his eyebrows. “If it was your special brand of comfort, I'm sure he'd forgotten all about the ex by now,” he laughed lecherously, and Kurt's Coke suddenly tasted like acid when Blaine smirked knowingly.

“Well he did seem to be pretty over her when I was leaving.”

Thomas leaned over the table and pulled the collar of Blaine's shirt aside, revealing a large purple mark. “And he's a biter, too, looks like.”

Blaine batted his hand away, laughing as he straightened his collar and buttoned it up to cover the mark. “Shit, I told him not to do it anywhere visible. But in the heat of the moment… Okay, what did I miss? Anyone sang already?”

There was a screech of chair legs over the floor and Kurt only realized he was standing when Blaine looked up at him. “Kurt? Where are you going?”

“Um, just… bathroom,” he managed, grabbing his coat, before retreating at a pace that was just shy of running.

Stupid. He'd been so stupid.