Blaine loves Fridays. He has no classes on Friday, and thus Fridays are like Sundays, only better, because while Sundays mean the end of the weekend, Fridays are only the start.

And today, this Friday, as he slowly becomes aware of his surroundings, Blaine thinks it might possibly be one of the best Fridays he has ever woken up to. He can hear the distant drone of the traffic on the street below, can almost feel the soft glow of the sunlight falling through the window, slowly creeping over his covers to the rhythm of his alarm clock on the bedside table and he allows himself to revel in the moment, enjoying the quiet serenity of it as he keeps his eyes closed for just a little longer and lets his thoughts drift to the night before.

He had meant it, all those weeks back, when he'd said that Kurt was welcome to come along if he wanted to, but that didn't mean it hadn't made him nervous. Because group was his, a small bubble of safety he built for himself - it was the one place where he'd never tried to be someone he wasn't. Some of the people there knew him better than he even knew himself -he'd spent hours talking to Jacky after what happened with Kurt- and even though he rarely felt the need to talk about himself anymore, the simple knowledge that he co�ld was strangely comforting. Sharing that with Kurt -and Kurt allowing Blaine to share it with him- had been both exciting and nerve wrecking. But when the first person to come up to Kurt had been George, and when after that Alex had brought up Victoria, Blaine's inner balance had quickly tipped from enthusiastic bouncing towards nail biting and hair pulling and he'd mentally prepared himself for Kurt running off, everything being too much, too soon.

But Kurt had stayed. He hadn't said a word, had visibly paled on one or two occasions, but he had stayed. And then when they had walked home...

It had been perfect. Even if Blaine had absolutely no intention of actually taking over group, let alone start sharing his story with the world -telling Kurt had been stressful enough, thankyouverymuch-, just the fact that Kurt, of all people, had told him not to hide, had told him that he was no one to be afraid of...

He opens his eyes, wide awake now, staring at the ceiling for a couple of seconds more before he almost literally jumps out of bed. If it had been up to him he would've kissed the hell out of Kurt the night before, but since that was kind of out of his hands, he'd just have to go for the next best thing: breakfast in bed.

He silently pads out of his room and into the kitchen, happy to see the door to Kurt's room is still closed, and starts taking out all the ingredients he'll need. Kurt has the upper hand in almost everything cooking-related, but there is one thing even he won't deny: Blaine makes killer cr�pes.

It doesn't take him long to make the batter, and when it's ready he covers the bowl with a towel to let it rest while he goes to take a shower. He's in and out in minutes, throwing on a pair of sweats and his old Dalton gym shirt before he walks back into the living room, toweling his hair and- stops.

There, in the kitchen in front of him, is Kurt, standing behind the stove, his back towards Blaine. His very muscular, very pale, but above all very naked back, and Blaine swallows thickly, promising himself he will never again make fun of Kurt and Nick's weekly fitness date. Because it might have been a long time since he's seen Kurt shirtless, but he sure as hell would've remembered his back looking like that.

He's not sure exactly how long he ends up standing there, silently watching Kurt move around the kitchen, pajama pants low on his hips, but when he finally manages to jolt himself out of his stupor there's three cr�pes already waiting for him and a fourth one on its way.

"Good morning," he says, getting up on his toes behind Kurt to press a kiss against his cheek over his shoulder, smiling a little when Kurt drops the shoulder and turns his head to make it just a little easier on him. He moves beside Kurt, trying his hardest not to accidentally touch him -this is the first time in months Kurt has left his room in anything less than three full-fledged layers and Blaine is not planning on losing that privilege just because he can't keep his hands to himself- but still he can't resist pushing Kurt aside with a playful shove of his hips. "Get out of the way, this was supposed to be my treat."

"And good morning to you too," Kurt grins, although he allows Blaine to take the pan out of his hands, not even pretending to want to be in charge. "You do know I'm perfectly capable of making my own breakfast, right?"

"Certainly," Blaine concedes with a cock of his head, "but I have a magic swirl that makes my breakfast just a little better."

He winks and Kurt laughs obligingly, lifting himself up on the counter.

"Well, I'm certainly not complaining," he says as he drags his finger through the pancake batter -Blaine's reprimanding swat comes just a moment too late-, "although to be honest I thought you would be out by now instead of making luxurious cr�pe breakfasts for your flatmate."

Blaine shoots Kurt a questioning look, trying not to pay attention -or at least not too much- to the way Kurt sucks the batter off his finger.

"How do you mean?"

"You haven't looked outside yet?" Kurt asks in surprise, and Blaine squints apprehensively.

"Not really..."

Kurt's face instantly splits open in a wide, knowing grin, and he gives a little encouraging jerk with his head towards the window, eyes sparkling and generally looking as if he's in on some kind of secret Blaine isn't yet aware of.

"Go!" he shoos when Blaine doesn't immediately move, and a little cautiously Blaine leaves his position behind the stove, unable to shake the feeling that this is some kind of ploy, although whose ploy and what the goal of it could be isn't very clear. But when he makes it to the living room window and looks outside, he immediately understands.

It's not much, just a couple of inches, but it's there - a thin layer covering window sills and cars, and when he spins around he knows he's probably sporting the biggest grin in human history.

"It snowed!"

"It snowed," Kurt confirms from where he's still sitting on the counter, laughing at Blaine's enthusiasm.

"Oh my god it snowed!" Blaine can hardly keep himself from bouncing up and down as he runs back to the kitchen. If there's one thing he misses in New York it's the glistening white carpet that invariably covered Ohio during winter time. "It snowed! We gotta go to Central Park - please tell me we will go - please please please? I'll make you cr�pes for breakfast?"

He looks up at Kurt with big eyes as he wiggles himself in between his knees, his hands folded against each other in a pleading gesture, but Kurt just lifts his eyebrows in amusement.

"I'm pretty sure you were going to make us breakfast anyway," he says, "with or without a walk in Central Park."

"Yes... but I'll make it with extra special care if we get to go?" Blaine tries again, ending his sentence about an octave higher than would be strictly necessary, and Kurt shakes his head.

"I gotta be at Mercedes' at noon," he says, "make up for our lost shopping date from last weekend, remember?"

"But that's three hours from now!" Blaine exclaims. "There's plenty of time to go for a walk! Please please pretty please with a snowman on top?" He lifts his folded hands, tilting his head and making what he hopes are his best puppy eyes, and when he sees Kurt roll his eyes in mock desperation he knows he's won. "Come on!" he says brightly, patting the sides of Kurt's thighs, "we gotta eat! And get dressed! And get to Central Park!"

.

The whole eating-and-getting-dressed-and-getting-to-Central-Park thing turns out to take just a little longer than Blaine would have liked, and it's well past ten by the time they finally emerge from the subway on the corner of 59th and 5th. Despite the cold weather there are surprisingly few horse-drawn carriages lined up outside the park, the animals stamping and snorting in the cold november air in an attempt to keep warm, but when they cross the street to enter the park Blaine can't resist to stop for a few seconds, patting one of the horses on the nose.

"You really just can't see an animal without needing to touch it, can you?" Kurt teases, and Blaine flashes him a wide grin.

"They're sweet and cute and fluffy and they deserve attention too," he shrugs easily, too used to Kurt's teasing to be bothered by it, and he stops as they reach the entrance to the park. "So, where do you want to go?"

"Eh, you're the snow man here," Kurt tells him, holding his hands up as if to ward off any responsibility, "you wanted a snow walk, you decide where to go. The ice rink, maybe?"

But Blaine scrunches his nose in reply.

"Nah," he says, shaking his head a little. "It's gonna be way too busy there now. How about... the turtle pond?"

The turtle pond is one of the smaller ponds, but it's Blaine's favorite by far - because of the turtles, obviously -although it's unlikely they'll see any this time of year- but mainly because it is one of the quieter areas in the park; it is also about half an hour walk, which means they should be able to make it there and back again in time for Kurt to make it to Mercedes'.

Kurt nods and they turn right, taking one of the smaller roads that lead into the park. It runs right in between the East Drive and 5th Avenue, and so for the first part of their walk they can hear the clacking of horse shoes and the creaking of carriages coming from one side, and the incessant rumble of traffic from the other. But as they make their way further into the park the noise slowly disappears into the background until it's nothing but a distant buzz, and they find themselves walking side-to-side in the relative silence of Central Park on a Friday morning.

They're not talking, not really, instead enjoying the clean crisp air filling their lungs and the crunch of the snow beneath their feet. Unlike the city, where the warmth leaking from apartment buildings and continuous traffic has already caused most of that night's snow to melt away, the park is still covered with a thin carpet of glistening snow, making the yellows and oranges and reds of the last remaining leaves look even brighter than usual. It's one of Blaine's absolute favorite times of the year - that moment where Nature seems to take in a big, deep breath, allows itself to be the best, most beautiful it can be before taking its final bow and retreating backstage to start preparing its next performance.

But as beautiful and wonderful as the park looks today, Blaine is having a hard time fully enjoying it, distracted by the body next to him, so close and yet so unreachable, and he wishes Kurt would curl his arm around Blaine's the way he had done the night before. Instead, they're just walking - the gap between them as wide as their status of friends requires, yet narrow enough for their hands to accidentally brush against each other from time to time, and even through the thick fabric of his gloves he can feel his skin tingle. It sends a jolt through Blaine's stomach each time, and after the third time he just stuffs his hands in his pocket, not sure if he can trust himself not to reach out if it happens again.

They're not the only ones who felt like going for a walk after the first snow fall of this winter, it appears, and Blaine laughs when an overly enthusiastic German Shepherd only just manages not to run him over, hitting him in the back of his knee with the stick he's carrying between his jaws, running ahead until he stops abruptly about 20 or 30 feet in front of them, turning his head left and right in search of his owner.

"Here boy!" Blaine calls out, sinking down on his knees, slapping his hands against his thighs. He can hear Kurt's sigh -'Impossible...'- but he pays it no mind, shooting him a quick smile before he returns his attention back to the dog. "Here - come on, boy, come here!"

The dog looks at him inquisitively, tilting his head a little, but then starts a lazy trot towards Blaine, snuffling at him as soon as he reaches him.

"Here, give that to me," Blaine tells him, taking one end of the stick and tugging at it a little. "I'll throw it out for ya, ok?"

The animal opens its jaws a little, no longer bothering about the stick now that he's got a whole new bundle of foreign smells in front of him, but as soon as Blaine gets up, raising the stick into the air, the dog starts jumping up and down, eager to play another round. It's then that Blaine catches sight of a short, Indian-looking girl who seems to be the owner, and he raises his eyebrows questioningly, silently asking her for permission, and as soon as he sees her smile and nod back at him, he stands up just a little taller, feigning a few throws before he actually launches the stick out on the lawn, laughing at the way the dog leaps at him before starting the chase.

Kurt hasn't waited up for him, his back towards Blaine as he saunters further down the path, and when Blaine spots a snow-covered bench he can't help himself; he runs his hand over the bench, collecting the snow and compressing it into a small, tight ball.

Kurt yelps when the snowball hits him full in the back, instantly spinning around to see who the culprit was, and Blaine's not sure which is more funny: his fury when he initially turns around, or his stupefaction when he sees it's Blaine.

"Blaine Anderson, this jacket is dry-clean only!" he shrieks furiously, but Blaine just laughs -he knows better then to be tricked into believing Kurt's coat is going to need dry cleaning after a brief encounter with a snowball- and he runs past Kurt before turning around.

"Come on, Hummel, think you can win a snowball fight from me?" he shouts walking backwards, his voice equal parts challenge and amusement as he holds his arms open in a mock invite.

Kurt seems to weigh his options for a few moments, squinting and biting his lip, and just as Blaine thinks he's going to let it go he takes off, getting within three feet of Blaine before Blaine even has the time to turn around and start running himself. He's not really worried -despite Kurt's natural kicker talent his aim when throwing things is questionable at best- but it's more fun this way.

No less than three snowballs have flown past him -one a mere two feet from his head- when Blaine hears it - the soft sounds of an accordion tune in 3/4 time. It doesn't take long for him to locate the busker courageous enough to get out in the cold weather: a short, brown-haired man, looking disheveled but for the polished wooden instrument he's holding, and when the idea pops into his head, Blaine knows he has to try.

He stops abruptly, spinning around just in time to catch Kurt who was about to run into him.

"Blaine Anderson, I won-"

"We should dance," Blaine interrupts him, wrapping his arms around Kurt, an amused smile spreading over his face when he sees Kurt's astonishment.

"We- what?"

"We should dance," Blaine repeats, nodding towards the busker, but Kurt tilts his head, squinting at him suspiciously.

"You're just trying to distract me from the snowball fight, are you?" he says accusingly, and Blaine lets his eyes grow wide.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says innocently, but when he tries to lift his arms around Kurt's neck, Kurt pushes them back down.

"Hey-hey! What do you think you're doing?"

"Letting you take lead?" Blaine answers hesitantly, making it sound like a question, and his heart sinks when Kurt shakes his head.

"No-no-no," Kurt says determinedly, making Blaine jump when he secures his arms a little tighter around his waist, wrapping his own around Blaine's neck. "No-no, that's not the way it goes. You ask - you lead."

"But- you're taller!" Blaine protests, but Kurt remains unimpressed.

"You ask, you lead," he repeats before cocking his head and raising his eyebrows. "Although there's very little lead going on here, I must say."

For a few counts, Blaine just stands there, a little baffled. It having been his idea didn't mean he'd thought it would actually work, but when the busker starts a new song he finally manages to shake himself out of his stupor, and he pulls Kurt in just a little tighter than is probably necessary as they start dancing.

It's not long before he closes his eyes - it's not as if there are that many people out that they could bump into and he's not planning on any big choreography either, simply holding Kurt close as they sway, letting the slow one-two-three count of the music guide them as they twist and turn. But closing his eyes makes him all the more aware of the proximity of Kurt - even with the layers and layers of winter clothing separating them he can feel the warmth of the body pressed up against him, the familiar scent of Kurt's shampoo and conditioner surrounding him, and when he takes in a deep breath he can't help but shudder a little, his stomach twisting when it makes Kurt nuzzle a little closer.

The song ends much too soon -even if Blaine strongly suspects the busker added a little improvisation to the middle part just for their benefit- and they simply stand there for a while, neither of them apparently willing to be the one to step back, until Blaine finally makes himself move, rubbing Kurt's back a few times before he pulls away.

"Thank you," he says - or rather, wants to say, because the words get stuck in his throat the moment he locks eyes with Kurt.

The gray and green and blue of his eyes are barely visible, his pupils dilated as he looks down at Blaine with an expression that seems to hold the middle between bewildered and expectant. His cheeks are flushed pink -because it's cold, Blaine reminds himself, just because it's cold- and his breath comes heavy, in time with Blaine's own, and Blaine can feel his heart beat fast and hard against his chest, so loud he's almost surprised Kurt doesn't seem to hear it. Instead Kurt just keeps looking at him, still with that same expression in his eyes and it's all Blaine can do to just lean forward and kiss him.

"Thank you," he says -actually says this time- as he pulls back from where he pressed his lips against Kurt's forehead, and that's what finally breaks the magic of the moment.

Kurt staggers back, untangling himself from Blaine, glancing down before he takes a deep breath and sends Blaine a bashful smile.

"You're welcome," he says with a nod of his head, voice a little breathy but still firm. "But I-eh... I have to go. Lunch. With- Mercedes."

He's adorable, Blaine thinks, the way he's blushing and stumbling over his words, eyes darting all over the place, and several seconds pass before he realizes that he should probably say something right about now.

"Yeah- yeah, of course," he hurries, "no problem. You- eh, go."

There's an awkward silence in which neither of them seems to know what to say, but then Kurt speaks up.

"Could you- eh- maybe, could you pick up some vegetables for dinner tonight on your way home?" he asks. "If you're not too busy making snowmen all afternoon, of course."

"Of course," Blaine concedes, trying and failing to contain a chuckle. "Though I don't think there's enough snow for a decent snowman. But I will. Pick something up, I mean."

Kurt nods.

"Good," he says. "That's good. Right. I-eh... I'm going now."

But he doesn't go, instead remaining where he is and looking at Blaine as if he wants to say something but isn't sure what or how.

"I'm going," he repeats, and then he does move, bridging the gap between him and Blaine with a single step, pressing a small peck on Blaine's cheek before he pulls back. "I'll see you tonight," he says, giving Blaine a small wave before he starts walking away.

"See you tonight," Blaine replies softly, although Kurt's already too far away to hear it anymore. The phantom press of Kurt's lips burns on Blaine's cheek, and he lifts his hand involuntarily, the touch of his fingertips sending a shiver down his spine. And it's at that very moment that he catches the eye of the busker, and he feels the blood rush to his cheeks when the man winks at him, making want to run off in embarrassment. He manages to control himself, though, instead reaching into his pockets for some change and throwing it in the open instrument case at the man's feet. And only then does he give in, spinning around on his heels, fully determined to go straight home - until he spots a small, blue baby hat on the ground.

-o0o-

Kurt's early when he emerges from the subway near Mercedes'. He'd left the park and Blaine much sooner than he'd planned, but staying simply hadn't been an option - not with Blaine as close as he was, not after the way they'd danced together.

It's at that moment that his phone buzzes, and he takes it out of his pocket, hoping it's not Mercedes calling off their date again, and frowning a little when he sees it's Blaine. As soon as he opens the message he bursts out laughing though: Blaine's smiling broadly into the camera, holding up his thumb next to a tiny snowman, no more than a foot high, wearing two sticks for arms, a couple of pinecone seeds for mouth, nose and eyes, and a bright blue baby hat on its head.

It instantly brightens his mood - he has no idea whether their dancing has affected Blaine as much as it has him, but if he can still make silly jokes like this, at least it means nothing has changed between them, and Blaine's not angry with him for taking off rather abruptly.

He pockets his phone, taking his time as he walks to Mercedes' apartment, although he doesn't think she will mind if he's early. Mentally he's already planning their day -which shops to go to, where to go for lunch, ...- but as he starts climbing the stairs he thinks that what he's really looking forward to is just to talk to his girl friend. So much has happened this past week -the wake, the group meeting, and now the dancing- and even if he knows Blaine is a sore subject between them, he hopes they'll be able to discuss it a little bit, at least.

He frowns when he arrives at Mercedes' door -usually she leaves it ajar when she knows he's coming, and surely he's not that early- and the frown only deepens when she doesn't immediately answer the door after he's knocked. He's just about to knock again when the door finally cracks open and Mercedes appears, wearing pajamas and looking appropriately disheveled, obviously straight out of bed.

"Kurt?" she asks, looking him up and down a bit questioningly. "What are you doing here?"

"Taking you shopping?" he says, in the same questioning tone, although he makes sure to add a fair amount of judgment when he returns the once-over. "You know, like we arranged we would when you were feeling sick last week?"

Mercedes' mouth forms a small 'o' in realization, and she's about to reply when another, heavier voice comes from within the room.

"Honey? Who is it? Just send them away already and come back to bed!"

Immediately Mercedes startles and pales, and if Kurt hadn't been sure who the owner of the voice was before, he is now.

"Mercedes?" he hisses. "What the hell is he do-"

"Sssht!" Mercedes cuts him off, quickly stepping out in the hall and carefully closing the door behind her. "It's not what you think, alright?"

Kurt steps back, folding his arms in front of him and sending her a pointed look.

"Then what, pray tell, is it that's going on here?" he spits out venomously. "Because I can only think of so many reasons why David would be in your bed, calling you honey."

Mercedes ducks her head guiltily and Kurt lets out a disbelieving gasp.

"It just happened, ok?" Mercedes exasperates before he can say anything. "It was a mistake and it won't happen again, promise. Just... don't tell Sam? Please?"

"He's calling you 'honey' and asking you to go back to bed!" Kurt repeats angrily. "That doesn't sound like something that 'just happened' to me!"

He won't tell Sam -of course he won't tell Sam, that's Mercedes' call to make, not his- but just the fact that she's specifically asking him not to puts him on edge. That, and he remembers Mercedes' doe eyes at the karaoke bar all too well.

"How long has this been going on, 'Cedes?"

He knows he's right when Mercedes looks back down and wraps her arms around herself, and he rolls his eyes, but still he's not nearly prepared for her answer when she whispers, barely audible: "... a month."

"You... what?"

Kurt almost chokes, flailing his arms around in exasperation. "You can't... you haven't... oh dear god just please tell me you're being safe at least?"

"I'm on the pill, Kurt, you know that," Mercedes says a little indignantly, squinting at Kurt, "of course we're safe."

"I'm talking about condoms, Mercedes!" Kurt hisses, stepping a little closer to her so he doesn't have to talk too loud; he doesn't really want David to listen in on their conversation. But Mercedes shakes her head again, raising an eyebrow.

"David's not gay," she says indignantly, "we're not like Blaine or anything."

And just like that, Kurt no longer cares who can or cannot hear them.

"HIV is not a 'gay' illness!" he explodes. "Did you both have two negative tests three months apart? Do you trust him enough to believe he hasn't had unprotected sex with anyone else? Or did he just tell you he was clean? You know, this is exactly what happened to Blaine! And you know David's no stranger to one night stands, you can't take that risk!"

"Hey, you're the one who was telling me HIV isn't such a big problem!" Mercedes shoots back. "You wanna date a positive guy for god's sake. So what are you making such a big fuss about?"

"Just because you can live with HIV doesn't mean you should go looking for it!" Kurt exasperates, unbelieving. Mercedes wrongfully thinking she doesn't have to use condoms is one thing, but her downright trivializing the impact it can have on someone's life, especially after how she's been acting towards Blaine, is something he can't quite deal with right now. "And did you consider hepatitis, or gonorrhea? Because those are a little less family-friendly, you know?"

Mercedes looks like she wants to say something, but Kurt just shakes his head, raising his hands.

"Whatever, Mercedes. Just... whatever... "

He turns around without another word, walking down the stairs and out on the street on autopilot, trying to keep himself calm as his heart hammers in his chest, but it's hopeless, and even the Aretha Franklin clone on the subway doesn't sing loud enough to drown out his thoughts, and with every stop the train makes, every extra mile that separates him from Mercedes, his anger and indignation only increase. He's not sure what pisses him off more - that Mercedes is cheating on Sam, that she hadn't told him, or that she dismissed his concerns about safety so easily. He can't wrap his head around either, but it's the thought of Mercedes being this reckless with her health that just makes the bile rise in his throat.

His phone rings but he refuses the call when he sees the caller ID - he wants to talk to David even less than he wants to talk to Mercedes right now and he just wants to get home, wants to get to Blaine and have him calm him down because he doesn't know what to tell himself anymore.

It seems like forever before he finally reaches their apartment, and he heaves a sigh of relief when he spots Blaine's jacket in the closet, meaning Blaine is already home. Kurt finds him in the kitchen, and he doesn't even bother to give an explanation or answer Blaine's worried questions before he flings himself at him - arms wrapped around Blaine's neck, face buried against his shoulder, but it isn't until he feels Blaine's arms close in around him that he lets himself breathe out again, and cry.

"What happened?" Blaine finally asks tentatively when Kurt starts to get himself back under control a little. He tries to pull back, but Kurt doesn't budge, instead tightening his grip on Blaine. "Did you... have a fight, or something?"

"She's cheating," Kurt blurts out, not moving from where he's holding on to Blaine. "Mercedes is cheating on Sam with David and how can she do that to him?"

Instantly he feels Blaine's arms close more firmly around him, pulling him closer and grounding him. He's vaguely aware Blaine is talking to him softly but he's not really listening, just lets himself be carried by the soothing sound of Blaine's voice, and he buries his face a little deeper against Blaine's neck.

"I would never cheat on you," he whispers. "Never. I don't care how long you'd be away for, if your internship takes six weeks or six months or six years, I don't care if it's in LA or in Australia or on the moon - I would never, ever do that to you."

It takes him a few seconds to realize why Blaine has suddenly gone rigid in his arms - but as soon as he does he jumps back, looking at Blaine with widening eyes.

"Oh god..." he stammers, clutching his hands against his mouth. "Oh god, I didn't... I mean - I don't... I just... I'm sorry. Oh my god, I'm sorry. Oh god I'm so sorry - I shouldn't have said that."

He stares at Blaine, both fearing his reaction and craving it, but Blaine's expression is unreadable, his eyes dark and and his jaw tense, and Kurt just wishes he would say something because he sure doesn't know what he's supposed to say now - if anything, he figures he has said enough for today. Instead Blaine just keeps watching him, as if he's trying to seize him up, trying to figure out what Kurt meant.

"Maybe we should talk?"