"Summer feels good, doesn't it?" Blaine laughed at Santana as she spun around in the middle of the sidewalk, her heels wobbling just a bit as her slight tipsiness made her stumble. He reached out and caught her as a precaution, and she laughed with him. The dying sun of the day caught in her hair and danced on her cheeks when she turned, and when she stopped and tumbled into him, he caught her again, her chin hooking over his shoulder for just a moment for he sputtered on her hair; she laughed that loud, free laugh of hers and pulled back.

"Summer doesn't feel as good as booze tastes!" she declared, and Blaine laughed again, because he hadn't had anything to drink at all and there she was, the bartender, drunk. Only slightly - not enough to really impair judgement too badly - but enough to make driving unsafe. Which he supposed wasn't too bad, considering there were cabs everywhere in New York.

People on the sidewalk gave them brief, judging glances, but Blaine didn't care. The sun was setting behind the buildings and the sky was lit with warm, deep colors, and shadows were heavier and everything was in stark contrast, and he loved it.

"Mm, Anderson," Santana said, getting his attention again. "What kind of drunk am I?"

"Right now?" he asked. "A 'slightly' drunk. Normally, you're a weepy drunk."

"I'm not weepy," she rebutted, but she was grinning.

Blaine was too happy to make himself think of reasons why she'd become so sad when her walls were forced down by alcohol. Instead he just smirked at her and said, "Not normally, no."

"Tell me a joke," she demanded suddenly, tugging on his arm. Alright, so maybe she was a bit more than slightly drunk.

"Sure," he replied easily. "What kind? A bad joke? A pun? An actually funny joke? An offensive joke? A dirty joke?"

"Dirty dirty dirty dirty dir-"

"Alright, dirty joke it is!" He arranged her so that the arm she was tugging on his with became intertwined with his, and he started walking again. Her shift had only ended half an hour ago, surely she wasn't as drunk as she was letting on. "There's a married couple sleeping in their bed one night. The husband wakes up and he's really..." Blaine hadn't actually told a dirty joke in forever. He blushed just saying it, "... horny, so he nudges his wife awake and asks if they can have sex."

"Pretty straight-forward," Santana remarked.

"Mm-hmm," he agreed. "She says she has a gynecologist appointment the next day and doesn't like to have sex the day before -"

"I wouldn't care."

"Believe me, I know," Blaine sighed, remembering the last time Santana invited a girl over to the apartment. He'd been kept awake all night and he'd never seen the girl again. Santana having a one-night stand had never surprised him in the slightest, but it hadn't been pleasant, not by any means. "So anyway, he says that's alright and turns over to go back to sleep."

"Respecting the wishes, yes!" Santana cheered, and then broke off in a giggle, her footsteps staggering so Blaine had to stop and steady her.

"Yes, consent is cool," he placated her. "But after a minute, he turns around and asks, 'You wouldn't happen to have a dentist's appointment tomorrow, would you?'"

Santana laughed, almost cackled, and her eyes closed and the corners crinkled, and her lips spread wide across her face, and she doubled over, her arm still in his so he was dragged down with her. He'd mind, normally, and he was sure that later he'd be tired of taking care of her - and regret it severely when she woke up with a hangover - but right then they were both happy and healthy and away from school. What could he honestly complain about?

"Anderson?"

And that's all it takes.

In a flash, Blaine had moved Santana behind him entirely, his one arm flung out entirely to keep her back and the other tucked over his torso, his legs apart and practically rooted to the ground. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he heard that voice, and it had only been a minute since he heard that word, but the reaction was as strong as he was sadly sure it would always be. Santana's giggles had been cut off and she was silent, but he could hear her breathing and feel it on the back of his neck.

In front of him was a person he hadn't seen in years. It hadn't been long enough. It never would be. He still wore baggy pants, and a baseball cap, and he still had scruff adorning his chin in patches. But this time he didn't have a bat held cocked and ready - and bloody - in his hand.

And Blaine still called him by his last name. And still with fear. "Harrison."

"Who is he?" Santana whispered in his ear. He pressed her further back, signalling for her to be silent.

"Why are you in New York?" Harrison asked.

Blaine didn't answer. The last time he'd asked him questions with no seeming violence behind them...

Harrison looked at him oddly. Those eyes were still as dark as Blaine remembered them, but they weren't quite as harsh. Maybe that scared him even more. He wasn't sure, but he stayed rigid and silent, and when Harrison got no answer, he sighed.

"Look, Anderson, I'm not gonna hit you now," Harrison told him. "I was a dick back in high school -"

"Hit him now?" Santana repeated incredulously. "You hit him before?"

"Santana, please."

There was something in his voice that made her stop.

Harrison's eyes flickered up to Santana and he seemed to notice her for the first time. The entire time he studied her appearance Blaine felt his stomach twist and convulse uncomfortably. Yes, he still had scruff, but it wasn't nearly as patchy as it had been. His baseball cap now looked clean and new. His pants were baggy, but at the appropriate height and held up by a belt. And his shirt was clean and washed and, though casual, definitely not slummy. His eyes weren't as hard. He wasn't the same person he had been...

But Blaine had the same response anyway.

"Who's this?" Harrison asked. "Your... friend..?"

"My best friend and roommate," Blaine deigned to answer. "Don't you dare touch her."

Harrison froze at the accusation and his shoulders slumped a bit. "Anderson..."

"Go away."

"I know what I -"

"Go." Blaine's voice shook and he was reminded horribly of how it had shaken the same way back at the dance and how they'd teased him for it.

Harrison studied him for a bit longer. The last time Blaine had been under his gaze, he'd been lying down. On pavement. Bleeding. And Harrison had been standing just like that, his shoulders a bit to the side, his left leg carrying his weight, his bat discarded then, but his right hand still curled in a fist. But this time it wasn't an expression of dominance - it was an expression of uncertainty. Blaine was all the more frightened because of that. "I'm -"

Blaine's glare cut him off, and he took a deep breath before heading off in the direction they'd come from. Blaine watched him go, never once breaking eye contact, and Santana's chest rising and falling against his back stopped touching him when he pulled away after Harrison was out of sight.

Whatever Santana expected, it wasn't for Blaine to hold out his hand and, when she took it, keep walking. Quicker the second time, and she nearly had to jog to keep up, and his grasp was tighter than it could have been, and his face was lifeless as he stared ahead, his jaw set. "Blaine?" she called to him, but he ignored her.

Blaine knew he was overreacting. His brain was still trying to process it; Harrison's dad had always lived in New York, he knew. But he'd lived in Albany, not NYC. The entire school had been aware of that, considering he never shut up about his summer trips there. Did he still take summer trips?

Summer wasn't as amazing as he'd thought.

"Blaine, talk to me," she commanded, jerking his hand back so he stumbled, and she caught him this time. "Who was that?"

"An old... acquaintance." How else was he to phrase it? He didn't want to worry her, though he knew it was pointless.

"Blaine," she pressed, squeezing his hand. "Come on."

"Kurt..."

"Does he know?" Santana inquired, her tone softer, and he thought maybe the weepy drunk was beginning for some reason. "Who that was?"

"No," Blaine replied. "But I kind of... only... he doesn't know, no."

"Tell me."

"I don't want to."

Santana pulled her hand away and stared at him.

In her face was hurt. Of all the people he'd have told something to, she was second only to Kurt, and only in some prospects. And they both knew that and worked with it. Rachel and Santana were scheduled to switch roommates at the end of July, and it was only a week before father's day, but Kurt and Blaine knew they needed to take the precaution of seeing how they lived together before they officially started planning their wedding. Blaine was, frankly, scared of that, of living with Kurt, and not because he was scared of their first fight or first big loneliness escapade or anything. He was scared of not living with Santana. Kurt would always be the best person in his life, but Santana had quickly become his best friend, and Blaine doubted that would change.

Santana knew everything. Except the majority of his past. And while they'd never brought it up before this, him saying that he didn't want to tell her not only threw up a wall again that they'd only luckily broken down but offended both of them.

Santana might have been drunk, but she wasn't stupid. Blaine had rarely been more grateful for that.

"Tell me right now." There was no argument in her tone - it wasn't just a command, it was a force. She would make him talk, and if he didn't, she'd make it so he never spoke again. The power in her words was chilling. That wall needed breaking down again - so in her voice she swung a wrecking ball.

"He was just an old bully," Blaine confided. "He - I... there was a Sadie Hawkins dance at my old school. Before Dalton."

Santana nodded. There was nothing else in her face that indicated anything other than comprehension.

"I went with a boy."

She nodded again.

"The only other openly gay kid in school. In town, really. We went as friends."

She nodded and this time he noticed that she was tapping her foot - not out of impatience, but nervousness. It was a habit he wasn't sure she was aware of and hadn't pointed out yet.

"There were these jocks after the dance, when we were waiting for my date's dad to pick us up - they bit the living crap out of us."

Santana's fingers curled into a fist.

"He was kind of their leader - wait, no, don't you go after him!"

Santana had turned and begun to stalk after the man who had already disappeared from view, but Blaine lurched forward and yanked her shoulder back so she spun around to face him. "He hurt you." Her voice was a monotone and yet still expressive than her face.

"Yes, and you can't hurt him in return," Blaine reprimanded her. "He's different now."

"You didn't treat him like he was," she pointed out, and this time something flashed in her eyes, something resembling contempt - or concern, he couldn't tell.

And she was right too. At least, partially right. Back then he'd have never told Harrison to do anything, let alone ordered him about - but his original reaction and the whimpers he'd been fighting down had been his real treatment, and it was no different than it had been. "I know."

Santana lifted her chin up a bit in defiance. "So why do I have to?"

"For just once, Santana," Blaine murmured, pulling her closer, "Be the bigger person. You'll regret it in the morning."

"Never stopped me before," he heard her mutter, but when he looked at her sadly in response she ignored him, her only reply being how her hand latched onto his again and she held her hand up to hail a cab. The sunset was much lower now, closer to night. The air was thinner, colder. But the town was just as alive as it had been, and Blaine felt like he wasn't, as opposed to how he felt earlier. He wondered if that mattered.

There are some things that you can forget about. You do something once and feel guilty for a while, but after some time passes it slips your mind and emotions and you just forget. Maybe sometime in the future someone brings it up and you apologize once you remember, but for the most part, it stops mattering.

There are some things that you don't forget but stop feeling guilty over. You always remember what you did and how guilty you felt when you did it, but the guilt goes away, even when the memories don't.

There are some things that you are constantly reminded of and never stop feeling guilty about. Every time you see a person, or an object, or even hear/see/smell something that could be connected in any vague and unremarkable way, you feel an overwhelming amount of guilt, like you did when you did it the first time, pour over you and drench you completely, and it's not gone for hours after you've left the presence of whatever made you flash back.

Kurt reading Blaine's journal did not fit into the first two categories mentioned.

Blaine almost never had it out. For the first two months after they got back to New York and started settling in, Kurt had had to cry himself to sleep a lot simply because the guilt was eating him alive. But he didn't dare bring it up for fear it would ruin things for Blaine (and himself) when they were just starting to look up.

After that, staying silent about it was easier. Blaine actually talked about it with Santana sometimes when Kurt was around, but it was only ever brief mentions. Kurt listened enough every time he heard it to see if Blaine had any inclination that he'd read it; he had a suspicion that Blaine knew, but Blaine never said anything about it.

When he came over on Sunday morning with his own coffee in one hand and Blaine's in the other, Blaine was writing in his journal what he'd forgotten to the night before. And he didn't try to hide it. Kurt was smiling when the door slid open after he knocked, and he said, "Hello, you owe me a coffee date," as soon as Blaine saw him.

"And why do I owe you a coffee date?" Blaine asked, raising his eyebrows in defiance. His eyes flickered to the coffee in Kurt's hands. Kurt took a sip of his and handed the other to him.

He went to grab it with his left hand, and Kurt immediately looked at his right, knowing it would have to be full for him to not use it, as it was his dominant hand - and he nearly choked on his sip of coffee because it was the journal.

"Kurt?" Blaine asked, not teasing that time, eyes on his face worriedly. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Kurt answered, a lot quicker than he should have, and brought his eyes back up to meet Blaine's.

"Is it the journal?" Blaine asked outright.

"I - Well, I -" Kurt's jaw dropped a bit, and his mind stopped functioning for a moment, because to him that journal was still everything Blaine hated about himself, and Blaine was just carrying it around as if it didn't matter. "I guess?"

"Hm."

That was all Blaine said on the matter right then, and then he smiled and stepped aside and beckoned - with his right hand and journal - for Kurt to come in. It only took Kurt a moment to decide to, and he schooled his features into a returning smile and went inside, closing and locking the door behind him with his foot and hearing the click.

"I forgot to do it last night, so I'm just catching up," Blaine explained further, before sitting down and beginning to put the journal aside. "I -"

"Wait!" Kurt cried out, without thinking about it, his hand reaching out on instinct to grab the book before it closed on the not-dry ink.

Blaine snatched it back and raised his eyebrows again. This time it was a challenge and Kurt could feel how red his face was, but he was terrified at looking in his reflection in the window because that would mean breaking eye contact and Blaine's eyes were - were they accusing?

"I read it," Kurt blurted out. He waited for Blaine to respond, but he didn't; not even with a shrug, or a shout, or anything. He didn't even become rigid. He didn't even blink. "I mean, it was months ago. It was when you and Santana got into your first fight as roommates, and she read it, and then gave it to me to read. And I read it. But I never got to finish it and -"

"Kurt?"

"Yes?"

"Relax and keep your voice down, Santana's still sleeping." And then the eyebrows dropped and he smirked at Kurt warmly. "And I knew you'd read it. It was really obvious."

"So you're not mad?" Was it possible for that much pent-up guilt to turn into relief so quickly?

Blaine's smirk slipped a bit. "I was pretty mad at first. And then I was only mad that you wouldn't tell me. But I figured if anybody had a right to keep secrets in our relationship, it was you -"

"Wait, what?" Kurt broke across. "Keep secrets? Why do I have a right? Why don't you?" Confusion swept across his returning guilt from Blaine's declaration of feeling. "It's your journal."

"Well, yes, but it's filled with my mistakes, and my secrets," Blaine explained, somewhat stiff and definitely unsure. "And if you read it you obviously know that I've kept some... some big ones, and so I figure that if you want to keep secrets -"

"Okay, no, I'm going to stop you right there," Kurt held up a hand and Blaine's voice cut off. "Yes, you kept secrets. That's what everyone does. The fact that you kept your self-harm a secret isn't really surprising, don't most people? That doesn't entitle me to keeping secrets, and it certainly doesn't entitle me to keep secrets that involve knowing yours."

"I don't know what most people do about self-harm," Blaine said, and that time he spoke his words were clipped, and Kurt really looked at how his face was shutting down and listened to how his tone was losing animation. "You're allowed to -"

"Don't let me do things you wouldn't do," Kurt interrupted him again.

"You mean like let me talk?"

Kurt reeled back at the vehemence that flashed outward from his boyfriend, but it had vanished into meekness and discomfort by the time he blinked twice. Blaine stared down at his hands, and then took his thumb, which was holding his place in the page, out of the journal and let it fall shut. His hand holding his coffee shook just the slightest bit - Kurt could hear the coffee sloshing inside the cup - and then Blaine mumbled something like "Sorry" and Kurt sighed.

"Sorry," Kurt repeated him, though he said the word louder, and then sat down next to Blaine, the couch cushion bending to his weight, and he turned just so that his knees bumped his boyfriend's. At the contact, Blaine looked up, and Kurt smiled as kindly as he could. "Okay?"

Blaine didn't smile at first. Blaine didn't seem to be able to decide whether to look at the journal or at Kurt, and when he decided on Kurt he didn't seem to be able to decide whether his chest or his eyes were more appealing. He decided on his chest, apparently, because when he dropped the journal entirely and sighed, the sigh led to another small smile, and Blaine bent forward so that his forehead rested on Kurt's collarbones.

From there, Kurt plucked the coffee back out of his hands and placed both cups on the end table beside the couch they were on - only to find that when he returned to Blaine, the boy nearly pounced on him, his hands clutching his shirt and drawing him closer so his lips found Kurt's neck - in the area right below his earlobe.

Kurt moaned without meaning to when Blaine kissed there and his hands went straight to his shoulders. It was a routine and they'd perfected it, and though Kurt could feel the adrenaline Blaine's lips always brought pooling thickly in his stomach, he knew what Blaine was doing. He was changing the subject and he was doing it because he didn't want to talk.

Kurt knew that communication really was the root to the majority of their problems - but it was getting rather hard to think.

"So," Blaine murmured, his breath hot on Kurt's neck, "tell me again -" he kissed Kurt's neck, lower this time, just a bit "- why I owe you -" and he kissed lower once more, a trail forming, zig-zagged and lingering "- a coffee date?"

Kurt leaned back on the couch and only stopped when his head reached the arm of the sofa. Blaine went with him, shifting so he crawled on his hands and knees above Kurt, his calves pressing against Kurt's thighs so they were held together tightly, his arms on Kurt's chest so his fingers could slide the first button on his shirt undone. He took his time with it, brushing his skin as often as he could, and each place of contact shot a jolt through Kurt that joined with the others and sank to his back, tightening it so it arched.

"You -" Kurt gasped when Blaine kissed his neck once more and caught his skin between his teeth - but he didn't bite it, and instead Kurt could feel even more of that hot breath pushing and pulling at it, sucking. "Oh, you - I went to get... Nh, I went to get coffee for you, and..."

It was then that Blaine decided to put his weight on Kurt. His arms slid off of Kurt's chest so his own chest could take their place, and his hips rested on Kurt's, his legs flattening out and widening so Kurt could spread his comfortably. His body was thrumming with the same energy Kurt's was, and his heart was beating as fast as Kurt's, and his breath caught when Kurt's did after Kurt rolled his hips, giving up on arching his back.

"And?" Blaine prompted, his voice strained, and Kurt opened his eyes - when had he closed them? - to see that Blaine's pupils were wide and the gold in his eyes was thicker and darker than they normally were; Kurt fought down the stirring behind his zipper as best he could at the gravelly voice Blaine used.

"I don't know anymore," Kurt whispered, and he didn't. Blaine's nose came to his and nuzzled it gently, and his lips kissed the corner of his mouth teasingly - and then the other corner. And then up his jaw. And the whole time Kurt could feel the heat of his exhaled breath and the coldness when he inhaled sending temperature fluctuations onto him; they traveled in patches and still somehow in waves, and each new wave made it that much harder to keep his pants down.

"Mm," Blaine responded with just that syllable, and it drove Kurt crazy because half of it was a moan and the other half was cocky, and his eyes were closed now because he was kissing Kurt all over, and Kurt closed his eyes in response just to feel more of the kisses. "Well then, I guess..." his teeth narrowly nipped at his skin before his lips met it again, and Kurt's heart lurched at the snapping sound. "... I'll do this instead."

Blaine took his turn to roll his hips, and when he pressed his waist into Kurt's like that it was impossible not to feel just how stretched their jeans were rubbing against each other.

"Oh," Kurt let out without even stopping to think of how low his voice is when he said it. "Yes, I - yes."

"You know," Blaine grinned into a slower kiss, "It really is fun to see you let loose like this."

"Mm," Kurt groaned softly behind his teeth, which were gritted together, and Blaine started sucking again, harder this time, and his tongue flicked Kurt's skin and Kurt's hips shook with the effort of just not moving. Blaine's dick was straining as hard as Kurt's to break free of the confines of their pants, and Kurt could feel the heat and the friction when Blaine started gyrating his hips up and down on Kurt's waist. "Kiss me and I'll be even looser."

"I am kissing you," Blaine taunted, and then his nose brushed yet another trail across the top of his cheekbone so he could kiss the tip of Kurt's nose. His hips were slow and steady on Kurt, and though Kurt wanted few things more than to simply tell him to go faster, Blaine was the one taunting him, and that was new - and he loved it, but he sure as hell wasn't going down without a fight.

"My lips," Kurt commanded, and opened his eyes to see Blaine's reaction to the demand. And it was a demand, there was no question about it; Blaine's eyes flew open to see the man that husky, deep voice came out of, and he looked startled - but only for one pleasing moment, and then his cocky little smirk was back.

"Getting feisty, are we?" Blaine commented breathily and completely on purpose. His hips rocked even slower into Kurt's, and it was almost making him flush had his blood not been somewhere else - and in retaliation, Kurt thrust his hips upward so they rammed into Blaine's, and their dicks were shoved together and Kurt felt the proximity.

Blaine's hips stuttered then and he gasped that time; Kurt's hand slid down his arm from his shoulder to his elbow teasingly, his fingers making small circles as they went down, and he kissed Blaine's closed eyelid. Blaine groaned then, louder than Kurt had been groaning, and dropped his head down so his lips met Kurt's.

The kiss was slow and lazy and hotter than Kurt thought it would be, and Blaine's tongue traced the inside of his cheek, and his face was up against his, overheated and all too human, flesh on flesh, skin on skin, and Kurt thrust again, this time without meaning to.

"Mm, Kurt," Blaine moaned, taking his tongue back but never removing his lips from Kurt's, "I - I think we should cool down -"

"Yeah," Kurt sucked in as much air as he could, but his lungs still felt empty, and he let it all out and then gasped in some more. Blaine's breath was just as accelerated as his, and still covering Kurt's cheek every few seconds when his nose caressed Kurt's when he inhaled. "I - oh, damn, I..." And then he felt Blaine's tongue come back, and Blaine's hips speed up, and suddenly the friction was almost painful.

"I'm..." Blaine didn't finish speaking, and that time it wasn't because Kurt cut him off.

"Me too," Kurt agreed, his lungs still empty, and he bit Blaine's bottom lip and began sucking, and was rewarded when Blaine's voice stuttered just when his hips did, and Blaine shook and convulsed his muscles tightly from his dick to his head to his toes.

And Kurt followed suit just seconds after. It shoved through him and he trembled and let Blaine hold him like he'd held Blaine, and then the moment passed and Blaine kissed him again. It was slow and lazy, like before, but it was more of a parting gift than it had been prior; Kurt wasn't sure if he was scared of that or not, so he just opened his eyes, met Blaine's, and said, "Hi."

"Hi," Blaine said, and then grinned. "I think that that was as messy as it was the first time we did it."

"Don't remind me," Kurt groaned in an entirely different fashion. "Let's just be glad that this time we didn't break my desk chair."

"Do you two mind?" Santana snarled, stumbling into the living room and holding her head awkwardly with the heel of her hand. She glared at the two of them past her horrible morning hair, and then gnashed her teeth and said, "I've got a hangover and I'm not in the mood to deal with puking, so stop being so in love and post-orgasm and go clean yourselves up before I barf on you."

Blaine didn't so much agree to meet Adam as not say anything opposing the idea.

To be completely fair, Kurt really could have read the signs better. Taking only classes that were as far away from what Kurt remembered of Adam's schedule was a pain in the ass, but Blaine went through it; steering clear of any extracurricular activities that mentioned either the name Adam or Crawford was a pain in the ass, too, but he did that; and though he knew in the months that had followed those three weeks of Kurt and Adam not speaking they'd become better friends than they had ever been boyfriends, and they texted, and they talked in the hallways, and they hung out sometimes with the girls, Blaine made sure he always had an excuse.

Honestly, it wasn't even that he didn't want to see "Kurt's Ex-Boyfriend". He didn't mind that they'd dated in the slightest. What he minded what the fact that Adam Crawford had been the name of his Sadie Hawkins date, and that his father had leaved in England. Blaine forgot where in England, but it started with an S. And he was sure it was just a coincidence, but if the name itself brought on nightmares at night whenever he knew Kurt was out with him, what would meeting the person do?

But he didn't have an excuse for that Thursday. He'd told Kurt just the day before that he'd gotten all the assignments due anywhere recently done, in case they wanted to do anything special, and Santana was recovered from her hangover from the day before, and Rachel didn't have an audition for the next three days - so he really should have expected something like Kurt suggesting he finally meet Adam.

"I don't know, Kurt," Blaine said, shrugging as nonchalantly as he could. "Wouldn't it throw off the group dynamic you guys have built up or something?" His hands, scrubbing the plate he was holding, scrubbed harder and faster, and he didn't notice.

"That's ridiculous," Kurt chastised him happily, not catching on, like always. "The only person there who isn't already your friend is Adam, and he's the one you're coming to meet, especially if Santana and Rachel will come."

"I have homework," Blaine tried next, setting the plate down on the towel to dry and picking up the next one, silently cursing their dishwasher for breaking and their lack of available funds for not being able to fix that.

"You said yesterday you finished it all," Kurt pointed out, his smile still not deterred.

"Oh, right," Blaine said, putting only half his normal enthusiasm into the words. "I forgot."

"So I can schedule it?" Kurt asked, and normally Blaine loved how adorable he was when he was excited, but this time he was weary of it; Kurt wasn't as unobservant as that, was he?

"Sure," Blaine said, instead of saying what he thought.

And boy, did he regret that.

Kurt tugged on his arm from the hand he was holding and turned and smiled at him. "Come on, Blaine," he said, pointing to the theatre. "We'll be late. Why are you walking so slowly?"

"It's possible that Gel-Head isn't comfortable meeting your ex-boyfriend, Lady Hummel," Santana remarked casually, walking past them with Rachel on her arm, who looked at Blaine pityingly as they passed.

"Is that it?" Kurt asked, his brow furrowing as if he'd only just then thought of it.

"No, it's not -" Blaine tried to explain, but as soon as he denied what Santana suggested, Kurt said, "Good!" And turned back around, and pulled him through the door.

"Hey Adam," Rachel greeted by calling out to the man with his back to the door looking at concession prices. His hair was sandy blonde and he was taller than them by a considerable margin and Blaine remembered that he was twenty-two and was struck again by that pang of anxiety that occurred whenever he thought of the similarities. "This is Blaine. Blaine, this -"

Adam turned around.

Blaine couldn't help the gasp that passed his lips, and Adam didn't seem capable of stopping it either. Rachel stopped talking when it happened, and looked between them curiously; Santana, on the other hand, had dropped her eyebrows and her smirk and stared intently at Blaine, studying his facial expression and body language; how his eyes were wide and his lips were parted and the paleness that overtook him; how his fingers were curled into fists tightly and how his back was straighter than normal. Though it was entirely different from his almost feral stance that night coming home from the bar, it reminded her of that encounter, and she, too, froze in place. Kurt looked between them like Rachel, but with more concern.

Adam was almost a mirror image of Blaine's reaction, until he spoke. "You... I thought it was a coincidence."

"Me too." Blaine found his tongue as loose as the thoughts streaming around his head, though the rest of him was tight and stressed. "I never..."

"What's going on?" Kurt asked.

"I thought your dad took you back to England?" Blaine asked, still speaking through gritted teeth to Adam.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked again, more emphasis this time.

"He did," Adam answered. "He - I got into NYADA with a video audition and we had the money, so -"

"Blaine!" Kurt exclaimed, tugging his arm once more. "Explanation, please?" he added, when Blaine turned to him as if hearing him for the first time.

Blaine looked at him and how clueless he looked, and then back at Adam, who was in the process of collecting himself. When he turned back to Kurt, he cleared his throat and flexed his fingers, relaxing his pose, shaking his head to bring the color back, he said, "Do you remember when I told you about Sadie Hawkins?"

"With Tina?" Kurt attempted to clarify.

"No, Kurt," Blaine sighed patiently. "The one before."

"Yes. What about it?"

Blaine glanced at Adam again. "He was my date."

As it turned out, the group dynamic wasn't so much destroyed as it was exclusionary. Mostly because after it had been explained to the rest of the group, Adam had pulled Blaine outside to talk, and the other three were left inside to wonder what about.

"It seems too coincidental to be real," Kurt muttered, staring at the huge container of popcorn in his arms. "Adam never told me he went to school in Ohio."

"He only went for a year, Kurt, and it didn't exactly work out well," Rachel reminded him, fiddling with her bottled water.

"Still," Kurt insisted, looking up at her. "You'd think he'd have thought to tell me he went to school in Ohio for a year when his parents divorced and his mother moved there."

"Do you blame him? He got beaten to a pulp and pulled back out of the country, and you're constantly throwing around the name of someone who got beat with him." Santana cocked her head to the side, daring him to defy her. "It's not exactly the type of thing he'd be encouraged to talk about."

"I do blame him," Kurt mumbled.

"Like you've never kept secrets before about something painful," Rachel scolded.

"I don't!" Kurt defended angrily.

"How did your mom die?" Santana inquired, feigning innocence, her head only pulling further to the side.

"Shut up," Kurt snapped.

"You're only proving us right," Rachel told him.

"Fine," Kurt snarled, "So I won't blame him. But Blaine could have -"

"Could have what?" Santana demanded, her head pulling back upright and her eyes getting harder as they glared at him, her voice whipping his eyes wide. "Don't you dare go blaming Blaine for this. At least he told you an idea of what happened. The same reasons apply to him. Don't you dare," she pointed a finger when Kurt opened his mouth to speak. "Do not even dare pinning this on Blaine."

"Is that why he always had an excuse to stay home when we went out with Adam?" Rachel wondered aloud, though her eyes were drinking in Santana's face and all it displayed.

"He'd have nightmares sometimes," Kurt said, and if he hadn't said it with such an air of realization it would have been muttered. "On days when I'd talk about Adam or hang out with him. At least, when I was with him. Now that I remember. Santana, what about -"

"Now that you mention it, Lady Hummel, you're right," Santana didn't look at him when she spoke that time. "Every time we'd all go out together he'd wake me up in the middle of the night with his stupid -"

"Don't call it stupid," Kurt stopped her, and she raised her hand and flipped him off. He snorted. "Right. Nice. Calm yourself, Satan."

"Would you two knock it off?" Rachel griped. "This isn't about you guys or how you see it, so stop getting angry when someone doesn't share your views on it. This is about Adam and Blaine and you're both being mean. What if they'd been each others' triggers?"

"Triggers?" Kurt asked.

"If I were to say the words 'heart attack', what's the first thing you think of?"

"My dad."

"A trigger is like that, a bit," Rachel explained. "It's when you hear or see or smell or touch something that reminds you of a certain thing, except for a trigger, it basically reverts your mind to the precise moment when your trigger became your trigger, and your body goes back to the chemical state it was in then. So a retired soldier's trigger could be a gunshot or seeing blood, and when that happens, he kind of has a panic attack."

"Blaine doesn't have panic attacks," Santana and Kurt said at the same time, and then looked at each other evenly.

"Okay then," Rachel said, "That doesn't mean he can't have a trigger. What if something reminded him of when he cheated on you?"

Kurt flinched. "I don't know. Maybe he'd cry? We haven't really... talked about when it... happened."

"His body would go back to the chemical state it was in then," Rachel kept going. "He'd be right back in that moment when the guilt first hit him."

"So he'd still feel like he'd just cheated?" Santana clarified.

"In other words, he'd feel like 'once a cheater, always a cheater'," Kurt repeated her.

"Yup," Rachel nodded. "That's what it is. We don't know if it's Blaine's, but it could be that."

"... feel like 'once a cheater, always a cheater'."

"Blaine?" Adam asked, laying his hand on Blaine's arm, his voice covering Rachel's distant one through the door. "What is it?"

"I..." Blaine's hand, holding the door open only a tiny bit, had frozen with the rest of him when he heard that.

How was he supposed to react? He'd thought he and Kurt had moved past that. Did Kurt really think that?

But Kurt was talking to Rachel and Santana. If he didn't think that, he wouldn't have said it. Not to them; at least, not both of them, and not after this happened. What had prompted it? Was it his keeping secret about this? This happening in general? Santana was saying something else through the door, but Adam was asking him what was wrong.

"Nothing," Blaine answered.

Everything. My boyfriend doesn't trust me. I've not given him a reason to trust me. I broke his trust and his heart and he's only pretending to have moved on from it. I'm stringing him along. He hasn't forgiven me. He can't possibly love me like this. And Santana and Rachel are agreeing with him, aren't they? Of course they are. They were his friends first. And I ran into two people from my past just in the last three days in public areas, and both times I wasn't able to protect myself or the people with me from being hurt in the process, even if it was just emotionally. Oh, god, I want to -

"I just can't believe this is actually happening," he finished, turning and smiling a small smile at Adam.

Adam smiled back reassuringly. "It's alright. At least it was me, right? Instead of one of them?"

But I ran into one of them, too, and I don't remember how I dealt with it back then aside from -

"Yeah," he finished. "At least it was you."

He pushed open the door and walked in. He didn't say anything - not even when Kurt slid his hand out of Blaine's when he took it, and the conversation stopped abruptly, and they all stared, and...

He needed an ice cube. He hadn't needed an ice cube for months, almost a year. He was getting better. What was happening?