Chapter 20

Blaine stood awkwardly in the doorway, but he smiled brightly when the boy in the bed looked up at him, "Hi."

His hair was wet with sweat and sticking to his too pale forehead. He wrapped his arms tight around his middle and hunched low over himself; like all of his effort was going into keeping his organs in place and simultaneously glaring at Blaine.

Blaine moved farther into the room, "I was over yesterday for a bit, I don't know if you remember or not, but I'm Bl—"

"I know who you are." The boy snapped. He let one hand slide out to pull the blanket farther up over his knees.

Blaine sat down on the edge of the bed, "You look like you're feeling a little better than yesterday."

"Yeah, I feel like a million bucks," He scowled at him; his lips trembled a little; his teeth clicked together in a barely suppressed tremor.

"Sorry," Blaine smiled faintly, "… do you like being called Trip or is their something else that people call you that you prefer?"

Trip drew his knees up to his chest and hugged his arms around his shins, "Fucking faggot comes to mind as a fan favorite, but feel free to stick with Trip."

Blaine cringed, "I know how much that stuff can hurt and—"

"Why are you back here?" Trip pulled his legs in even closer to his chest; his shoulders twitched with a muted shudder.

"You gave me the boot pretty fast yesterday, so I didn't really get to explain my reason for coming over," Blaine motioned a hand between them, "I heard you're going to be joining us at Dalton for your senior year, so I thought I'd stop by so we could actually meet face to face…maybe talk a little."

"Well we've met and we've chatted, haven't we?" Trip tried to hold his glare, but he looked nauseous, "You think you can find the door without instructions?"

Blaine drew his legs up to sit cross-legged on the end of the bed, "I thought we could talk a bit more."

"And why the hell would I want to do that?" Trip hugged his arms tighter around his shins.

"Because I know what it's like to be in your position." Blaine's smile finally faltered.

Trip looked Blaine over cynically, "You don't look like the drug doing type."

"Neither do you, but, you're right, I haven't ever done anything like that," Blaine admitted with a slow nod, "But I was the type to try and find a way to escape when things got bad…. It's why I transferred to Dalton."

"Who said I'm trying to escape anything?"

"I got the shit kicked out of me at my old school by guys I don't think I'd ever interacted with more than one of them cheating off me in biology," Blaine looked down at his lap, "I don't think anyone can blame you for feeling the way you do about things…I can't imagine the kind of hurt you must have felt having your friends—"

"Listen, you—"Trip opened his mouth to respond, but his face was suddenly ashy; his shoulders tense.

"Oh, uh—" Blaine scrambled off the bed and grabbed the trashcan from beside the door. He barely got it to the bedside before Trip lurched himself over it. Blaine held the trashcan flush with the side of the bed and looked toward the door; he hated seeing people throw up. When Trip stopped gagging, Blaine set the wastebasket down tentatively, "I'll just leave that here in case you need it again."

Trip ignored him. He lay down on his side; curled his legs in against his stomach.

Blaine spied a half-filled water bottle beside a plate of untouched toast on the nightstand. He picked it up and held it out to Trip, "You wanna rinse your mouth out?"

Trip pushed himself up on an elbow and took the bottle with a shaky hand. He tipped it to his mouth, but his eyes remained on Blaine's face. He spat a mouthful of water into the trashcan before fixing Blaine with another glare; "You're feeling pretty damn great about yourself right now, aren't you?"

Blaine startled at the words, "I—"

"You're feeling like the fucking greatest person ever," Trip balled a handful of his sheets into his fist, "Blaine Anderson, fucking gay super hero and mentor extraordinaire, here to save Trip Morgan from his evil vices and redeem him to a singing and dancing private school-going happy go lucky kid. Do I about have it, or am I leaving anything out?"

Blaine smiled weakly, "My boyfriend would appreciate your candor."

"You and the fucking boyfriend. You brought him up yesterday, too." Trip sneered.

Blaine ignored the venom in Trip's voice; his smile turned bashful, "Sorry, I tend to get chatty about him, and I wasn't sure you'd remember me saying anything about him, so I—"

"I'm in withdrawal, not suffering from Alzheimer's, idiot." Trip dragged a hand through his hair, apparently suddenly aware of his perpetual bed head, but it had little effect at taming it.

"Right, sorry," Blaine nodded quickly, but then smiled, "You're going to have to forgivemy poor memory, but did I show you his picture?"

"If I say yes will you spare me from having to watch you gush about Rainbow Brite number two?" Trip's glare intensified when Blaine sat back down on the end of the bed and fished his wallet out of his pocket.

"Here he is," Blaine held the picture out for Trip to take.

Trip ignored Blaine's extended hand and stared at his face instead. His fury melted to irritated confusion, "You're not one for taking hints, are you?"

Blaine laughed, "I can be pretty thickheaded… both intentionally and unintentionally."

"Attractive, charming, and just self-deprecating enough as to appear humble," Trip rolled his eyes, "You must be the cat's pajamas at your little prep school."

"I'm lead soloist for the Warblers, too, don't forget that." Blaine retracted his hand and smoothed the crease line in the picture idly, "Listen, Trip, I'm here because my aunt told me about you, and your story struck a chord. I know what it is to feel hopeless, and I've seen others struggle with it, too. I wanted you to there are people out there—good people—who want to see good things happen for you."

Trip let out an incredulous snort, but before he could say anything, Blaine was shaking his head.

"I know you don't know me and I don't know you but—"

"You're right. You don't know me." Trip fixed Blaine with another cold glare.

Blaine looked down at the picture in his hands and sighed, "I know you're hurting, Trip, and I know you're lonely, but I want you to know you're not alone."

"Did you ever think about the fact that maybe I prefer to go it alone?" Trip sat up straighter to look Blaine more fully in the face.

"Everyone needs someone to lean on, Trip."

"Well sometimes you lean and people let you fall on your fucking face," Trip glowered at Blaine, "I don't want anyone else."

Blaine remained quiet for a long minute, staring down at his lap. When he finally looked back up, Trip was still glaring at him, "I know you don't want to be friends, but… Could I stick around for a bit?"

Trip barked out a short laugh, "Excuse me?"

"It's hell at my aunt and uncle's house right now—big family thing and ninety percent of them are the ultra-conservative, lets-see-if-this-is-the-year-we-can-turn-Blaine-straight variety."

Trip blinked, "They try to turn you straight?"

Blaine smiled; shrugged, "Subtlety is the key. Little mentions about daughters of people they know at Crawford Country Day—that's Dalton's all-girls' sister school back in Ohio—they also take pleasure in making comments about how many girls I must have chasing me. I think the hope is that if they say it enough, I'll forget I'm gay and just start dating women."

"Hm." Trip studied Blaine with a frown.

"…So, what do you say? Can I hang out here for a bit?" Blaine folded his hands into a prayer position, "Please?"

Trip stared at Blaine for a moment longer before looking down to his knees. He nodded slowly, "…yeah, okay."

"You sure about this, Kurt?" Burt crossed his arms as he watched Kurt scurry around his bedroom.

"What's there not to be sure about? I'm going to meet up with the guy, and if it doesn't work out, then it doesn't work out," Kurt pulled on a sweater, wrinkled his nose at his reflection, and abandoned it to his bed before trying on another.

"I mean you chose to list some stuff in that classified that might make people a little uneasy and maybe they'll wanna lash out… I think I should go with you."

"Oh my God, Dad," Kurt stopped in his hunt for the perfect sweater to give his father a withering look, "First off, I chose to list I was gay to avoid the whole I-ended-up-with-a-raging-homophobe-for-a-roommate thing. Second, we're meeting at the Lima Bean, it's not like it's the easiest place to brutally beat or murder someone. And third, the last three people who have answered the ad have been Trip every single time, so chances are, even though I told him to go pick up Blaine and bring him over, it'll be him thinking he's being funny again."

"Putting an awful lot of effort into picking out an outfit if you just think it's that Trip kid." Burt grumbled.

"I'm going out in public, and if I'm going to be dragged away by the police and have my picture taken for the papers because I murdered Trip with a stirring stick, then I want to look good." Kurt pivoted from side to side in front of his mirror; finally pleased with his shirt choice.

"Just be safe, alright?" Burt sighed.

Kurt bit back the urge to say anything particularly nasty and instead replaced the words with a tight smile, "Sure thing, Dad. Go to work."

"We're gonna miss you around the shop, ya know; no one organizes paperwork better than you do." Burt called over his shoulder as he made his way down the stairs.

"No one sorts paperwork at all other than me." Kurt called back. He checked his reflection one more time; tried on four pairs of shoes, and finally made his way down the steps as quickly as he could. He was definitely going to be late.

The parking lot in front of the Lima Bean was nearly empty, not that Kurt could really blame anyone for not wanting a coffee in the middle of August. Even he was tempted to throw on a t-shirt and shorts for a little relief from the humidity and heat that seemed to rise up off the pavement as he made his way to the front door. Kurt took comfort in the soft wave of artificially cool air laced with the scent of coffee that hit his face as he stepped through the door. He glanced around curiously.

He'd been fortunate, he thought, to be contacted by someone who had actually suggested the Lima Bean as a meeting place rather than Trip's usual suggested places anywhere from fifteen minutes outside Columbus to half an hour in the opposite direction.

Kurt scanned the few patrons slowly—his could-be roommate had promised to wear a red baseball cap for easy identification. Kurt spied a blue hat, but the owner of it was already sitting with a woman and chattering amicably. Another set of women sat together at the table nearest the counter, and an elderly couple was seated near the window. There was no one in a red hat to be found.

Kurt glanced at his phone—12:08. He was late, but apparently his contact was even later. With little else to do, Kurt made his way to the register to order. He recognized the barista immediately, "Emily, hi."

"Hey, Kurt!" The blonde behind the counter smiled brightly at him, "It's been awhile since I saw you in here."

"I'm surprised you see anyone in here in this weather," Kurt motioned a hand toward the door, "I'm supposed to be meeting up with someone today otherwise I'm not sure I could have convinced myself to come in for coffee."

"You couldn't just stop in to see your favorite barista? We have air conditioning and iced coffee," She pouted at him, "Not to mention the fact that I practically set you and Blaine up."

"You sold us coffee." Kurt snorted.

"I gave you free refills so you could sit around and talk for five hours at a time."

"The refills are always free, Emily."

"No they're not. They're supposed to cost forty five cents." She folded her arms across her chest with a self-satisfied smirk.

Kurt blinked, "They… they are?"

She shrugged, "Told you. I am the reason you have a boyfriend."

"Why, though? You've cost the Lima Bean at least five million dollars in unpaid for coffee for us," Kurt slid his hand into his pocket to fish out his debit card.

"I liked watching you two. You're nauseatingly cute, so don't you dare try to pay me back for any of them. Whatever you get today is on me, too, if you fill me in on what's going on in your life," Her smile suddenly looked a little more sad, "How's Blaine doing?"

"All right; he misses the Lima Bean," Kurt smiled, "I'll bring him by next week sometime—it's supposed to rain on Monday, we can come cozy up then."

"How about you, ready for New York?"

"Not going," Kurt shook his head, but then, upon seeing the momentarily distraught look on her face, he added, "I'm moving to Columbus for the year. I just got a job as a design intern for Anthropologie and I'm going to take a couple classes at the university."

"That'll be fun," She bobbed her head up and down, apparently mollified by his response.

Kurt nodded too; looked around the coffee shop again, "I'm supposed to be meeting with a potential roommate today, actually, but I don't see him yet. Have you seen anyone in here in a red hat?"

Emily looked thoughtful before slowly shaking her head, "Not that I remember. What do you want to drink while you wait?"

"You mentioned iced coffee?" Kurt smiled and wrinkled his nose, "Is it a good thing? Because it just sounds like cold coffee to me, which is absolutely disgusting."

"I'll come up with something good for you, I promise." She smiled and turned to the back counter to begin creating a drink that involved ice and a bottle of something strangely red. Kurt accepted the finished beverage and took a seat at a table where he could easily watch the door.

He sipped at his drink—some sort of iced tea, he decided—and gazed around at the other patrons. He recognized a few—the elderly couple to his left were definitely regulars, as was a woman reading in the back corner, and Kurt wondered idly if they recognized him, too; if they wondered where his usual coffee companion was that day…he turned his gaze back toward the front door when he heard the automated ping that went off whenever it opened.

He felt a momentary sense of joy when his eyes zoned in on the red hat on a head far too high off the ground to be Trip, but his happiness dwindled to confusion as he studied the person underneath it. It had to be a mistake.

Still, the person stood awkwardly in the door; gazed around at the patrons just as Kurt had done when he first arrived. When his eyes landed on Kurt's face, he looked just as taken aback as Kurt felt.

"Hum—I mean, Kurt, are you… You're Kurt H.?"

Kurt blinked, "And you're…you're David K."

"Who did you think it would be when you saw David K.?" Karofsky looked almost panicked.

Kurt frowned at him, "Who did you think you were responding to when you saw Kurt H.?"

"I dunno, I thought—I never thought it was gonna be you." He glanced around the shop quickly as though he feared running into another familiar face.

"Relax, David, there's not that many ex-football players coming in here looking for a nice cup of tea and a quiet place to read." Kurt folded his arms across his chest and sat back in his chair.

Karofsky had the decency to blush as he sank down into the chair across from Kurt, "I…why are you looking for a roommate in Columbus?"

"I'm moving." Kurt replied shortly, "Why are you?"

Karofsky pulled his hat off his head; fiddled with it idly between both hands, "I need to get out of here. I need to…to start over."

"So you're moving two hours east?" Kurt quirked an eyebrow.

David shrugged, "It's a start."

Kurt studied him quietly, "You need a fresh start, and you answered a roommate wanted ad for someone who explicitly said they were—"

"Shhh!" David looked around the shop quickly. He lowered his voice, "I…yeah, I did."

"I'm kind of getting mixed signal here, Dave. You want some big clean slate thing, but I say one little word in a coffee shop full of strangers and you freak."

"That's why I want this," David clenched his hat between his hands and looked at Kurt intently, "I don't want to deal with the looks and the whispers and… I want to be myself without—"

"Without being mocked day in and day out? Without people ridiculing you for just being you?" Kurt fixed Karofsky with a cold glare, "Gee, that would be a nice luxury, wouldn't it?"

"I—" David blinked and Kurt felt like they were suddenly back in the halls of McKinley; David walking him to class looking torn and confused, "I know I can't change what I did to you, Kurt. I really, really wish I could take it back—I wish it everyday…it…I'm really sorry."

Kurt was silent. He studied the condensation beading on the outside of his cup for a long minute until he heard the scrape of David's chair against the ground. He tore his gaze from his cup to look up at David who was pushing himself to his feet, "You're leaving?"

Karofsky looked down at his feet, "Well, yeah… I mean this obviously wasn't what either one of us were expecting…I'm sorry for wasting your time."

Kurt bit his lip. His thoughts moved fast—too fast for him to really process, "David, wait."

Karofsky turned to face Kurt again, his expression still lined with guilt.

"Sit back down, Dave." Kurt folded his hands in his lap; studied David quietly.

Slowly, David slid back into his chair. He stared at Kurt; his features moving from guilty to anxious, "What?"

"Have you come out to your parents yet?"

Karofsky flinched, "No… not yet."

"To anyone?"

"You… Santana." David mumbled.

Kurt traced a finger down the side of his cup idly, "Your dad seems like a fairly accepting person, Dave."

"I know he is, I just…" David nodded his head slowly, "I'll tell him…soon…I just don't know what he'll think if it's…if it's me, ya know? It's okay when it's some stranger on the street, but if it's his kid…"

"He might feel differently," Kurt finished, nodding, "It's a scary thing. It's a big thing."

David let out a long breath, "Yeah."

"Would you consider telling him when you moved in?"

"Moved in?" David blinked.

"With me. In Columbus." Kurt held his gaze carefully.

"Wait a sec," David's eyes went wide, "You…you're saying you actually want us to live together? Like…like you and me?"

"Us generally constitutes the same thing as you and me," Kurt stirred his straw; listened to the ice cubes in his cup click against one another, "And I need to ask you some questions first, you don't just get to automatically cohabitate with me. I have standards."

"Um…yeah, okay," David relaxed a little in his seat, "Go ahead and ask then."

Kurt studied David for another minute before pulling his bag onto his lap. He pulled out a stapled packet of papers and a pen and slid them across the table, "Fill out the questionnaire and let me know when you're finished, so I can read through your answers and we can talk about them."

David's eyes went wide, "A questionnaire? You made a questionnaire for potential roommates?"

Kurt nodded pertly, "Blaine's coming over in a couple hours, so I'd appreciate it if you'd get started so I can get home early enough to change before he shows up."

David glanced at Kurt's outfit and then down at the papers. With a sigh, he uncapped the pen and set to work.

Kurt sipped at his drink and watched David work. He met Emily's eyes briefly, but she only looked at Dave and raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"How do I answer the favorite musical question if I've never seen a musical?"

"You write that you would love for me to provide you with a crash course on Broadway culture and also supply you with a set of burned CDs." Kurt sighed.

As David set back to work, sighing and grumbling as he wrote, Kurt studied him quietly.

Blaine wouldn't like it. His father would be furious—he might even threaten not to pay rent. Kurt didn't know how to feel. He'd buried the hatchet on his and David's differences a long time ago, but living with him…

"Done."

Kurt eyed David warily, "That was fast."

"I was honest; it's easy to answer questions when you don't spend a lot of time bullshitting people." David smiled just a little as he slid the packet back across the table to Kurt.

Kurt took it and scanned over the first page. He let out a thoughtful hum.

"What?" Karofsky shifted nervously in his chair.

"Nothing; nothing," Kurt took a drink from his cup; flipped the page; hummed again.

"Would you cut it out? You're making me nervous." Karofsky snapped.

Kurt glanced up from the papers, "You really want to live with me so badly that you're getting anxious about it?"

David flushed red; his gaze dropped down to the hat still in his lap. He worried his thumb over the bill, "Look, Kurt, I've done a lot of stupid stuff, and I know you and me aren't friends and you don't owe me jack shit, but... you—"

David paused; glanced up at Kurt and then looked back down at his lap, "You make me want to…to do better or be better or… or something. I think… I think you and me could do okay if you're willing to give it the chance."

Kurt still had a page left to read of David's answers. He rubbed his thumb over the staple between the pages and regarded David in silence. Finally, he put the packet back in its folder and replaced the whole thing in his bag. He folded his hands on the table, "What about your friends?"

David snorted, "What friends?"

"Your football cronies," Kurt looked at David pointedly, "What do you plan on telling them?"

"They know that I'm moving," David shrugged, "My dad runs a construction company; they need workers at some of their sites in Columbus."

"So you won't tell them about your potential living arrangements." Kurt spoke without contempt; his gaze moving over David's face curiously.

David let a long breath out of his nose, "I… I was kind of planning on just cutting ties with them once I was out of here, so… no, I wouldn't tell them where I was living…and that goes for whether it was with you or anywhere else. Some of them aren't leaving Lima and I don't need them trying to crash on my couch every time they wants to come party on campus."

Kurt lifted his cup; took a drink. 'I trust your judgment' his father had said the day he ran the ad, 'this is your decision.' Kurt wondered absently how much his father would still trust his judgment if he knew what was going through his head right now… "You're going to have to sign the lease."

David sat up straighter; nodded quickly.

"And pay your half of rent and utilities on time every month."

"Of course." David bobbed his head up and down again.

"And if you are messy, cruel, or otherwise overly jock like, so help me, I will kick your ill-fitting, bargain bin jean clad ass to the curb."

"My jeans fit fine." David smiled a little.

"Your jeans are a size and a half too big for you."

"Jeans don't come in half sizes."

"Tailors, David."

"Suits get tailored, not jeans."

Kurt scoffed, "God, I have a lot to teach you."

"So…" David wrung his hat between his hands; a hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "Is that a yes?"

Kurt fixed his already perfect hair with a quick flick of his fingers over the side of it, "Under one condition."

"Name it."

"You have to come formally make your case to my dad."

"You want me to die, don't you?"

"D'you know your front door's unlocked?" Trip leaned in the doorway and studied Blaine at the kitchen table, "Also, your neighbor is the most extreme anti-smoking individual I've ever met. She yelled at me from her porch across the street."

"Her husband died of lung cancer; she's touchy about the smoking thing," Blaine mumbled. He didn't look up from the tabletop.

"Mm," Trip took a step in closer to look down at Blaine's project. He eyed the picture cards before quirking an eyebrow, "What's this?"

"Shh." Blaine flailed a hand toward Trip, his eyes still glued to the cards. The automated blip of a timer pierced the air and Blaine set to work flipping the cards over and snatching a pad of paper from the other side of the table.

Trip frowned and took the seat across from him.

Blaine grunted his frustration when he dropped the pencil, but then he was back to scribbling furiously across the page.

"Do I even want to know?" Trip leaned his chair back until it creaked with the sudden strain of weight on only two legs.

Blaine didn't respond, but his pencil was suddenly still. He shut his eyes tight. He rested his forehead against the heel of his free hand; murmured under his breath, "Come on… come on, you know this…"

Trip watched him in silence then; let the legs of his chair slip back to the ground as quietly as possible.

Blaine suddenly threw his pencil down. It hit the tabletop hard and ricocheted down to the floor, "God damn it!"

Trip leaned forward on the table to study Blaine's handiwork, "You're trying to remember the cards?"

Blaine rubbed his temples in a show of sudden weariness, "And failing miserably."

Trip leaned over and groped under the table until he found the pencil. He dropped it back down beside Blaine's hand, "Your memory's not all that bad—you got five of them. Your handwriting, however, is absolute shit."

"Thanks for the encouragement." Blaine mumbled. He dragged the cards in closer to him again and studied the pictures intently.

"What you need is to chill out a bit. I wouldn't remember shit either if I was as uptight as you've been the past few weeks," Trip sat back in his chair; folded his arms loosely across his middle, "Is that a tumor thing or have you just suddenly turned into a bit of a dick now that you don't have all those dreamy curls to shellac to your head?"

"Both," Blaine sighed.

"You should have said it was just the tumor," Trip smiled a little, "I'd of believed you."

Blaine pushed the cards away from himself, "I don't even know anymore… I'm just angry all the time, and I just—I haven't been like this since I was fifteen. Maybe it is just me and not the cancer at all."

Trip regarded Blaine quietly. He shook his head slowly, "It's the cancer. Definitely that thing in your head."

"Whatever you say, Dr. Morgan." Blaine folded his arms on the table and rested his chin on them. He smiled grimly at Trip.

"It's fucking with the chemicals in your head or chewing on whatever messes with your moods," Trip shook his head again, "You're not an angry person, Blaine. Trust me, I'm the king of assholes; I know one when I meet one, and you're definitely not among our ranks. You're actually really fucking obnoxiously happy."

"If it's eating at my head then how do I know it's not me? My head's still me, isn't it? The words still come out of my mouth and they still hurt people." Blaine turned his cheek into his arms; his eyes drifted unseeingly over the smooth wood of the tabletop.

"Christ, Blaine, you've got yourself in one hell of a slump. Stop beating yourself up; you haven't fucked up a word since I got here, right? That's a good thing, that's…" Trip leaned back in his chair to look at the clock on the microwave, "Twelve whole minutes of normal. Well, other than your minor temper tantrum when you threw your pencil, but that's not much compared to when you almost took my face off last week."

"Since when are you optimistic?" Blaine muttered. He glanced at Trip out of the corner of his eye.

Trip shrugged; blushed a little, "New lease on life, bud. Also, your boy toy kinda terrified me a couple weeks ago into being a little less…me."

Blaine turned his chin back onto his hands and smiled a little, "He can be persuasive that way."

Trip snorted, "No kidding. Seriously though, Anderson, lighten up a bit, you're so fucking uptight I feel like I'm the one who's got the stick up his ass. Do you have any idea how many cigarettes I've been going through since I got to Ohio in an attempt to deal with your secondhand stress?"

"Sorry," Blaine pushed himself back upright in his chair, "Really, Trip, I am. I'm supposed to be acting as a good influence for you and—"

"I'm eighteen, Anderson, not five, and you've been pretty damn good to me in the past," a slow smirk crept over Trip's mouth, "Which is why I've decided to return the favor. I got a present for you."

"Yeah? What's that?" Blaine eyed Trip's smile warily. It was a little too cunning for his liking.

Trip, never one to pass up a chance for shock value, climbed up on the table and crossed his legs. He smiled down at Blaine, "For you, my good sir, I have the solution to all your problems."

Blaine smiled up at him, "A cure for cancer? You really should advertise that to some people over in Sweden; they might have a present for you."

"Not quite what I got, but close enough," Trip reached into his pocket and dropped a plastic bag down in front of Blaine.

Blaine squinted at it for a moment. The smell of it cued recognition in his head before the sight did. He nearly knocked himself and his chair over when he recoiled from the table, "Trip, that's marijuana!"

"Helps with nausea, all your household aches and pains, and it'll mellow you out a bit," Trip smiled; clearly pleased with himself, "You're welcome."

"Are you crazy?" Blaine hissed, "My mother is right outside!"

Trip hummed a mellow note of acknowledgement, "I don't think she'll mind."

"Trip, we are talking about the same mother who gave me a half of a glass of wine at dinner last Christmas and then lectured me for an hour about being safe when I start drinking once I turn twenty one."

Trip laughed, "Mommy doesn't know about Blaine's romp into the wonderful realm of bi-curiosity after a few sips too many?"

"How do you know about that?" Blaine flushed red.

"Your boyfriend's a real talker when he gets pissed off," Trip shrugged and motioned toward the plastic bag still sitting between them on the table, "And you're avoiding the topic at hand."

Blaine scrutinized the plastic with a scowl, "Where did you even get that?"

"One of your little birds," Trip grinned, "You were right, the Dalton kids are real nice fellas."

Blaine's expression softened, "You actually went and met some of them? How was it?"

"It was just peachy, Anderson, we painted each other's nails and made promises to be brothers for life." Trip rolled his eyes.

"Did you try to make friends at least?" Blaine pushed.

"Jesus Christ, I'll be fine, Mom, I already told you I don't need a fucking buddy system," Trip scowled, "Stop trying to turn this conversation around on me."

Blaine let out a long sigh, "Trip, I appreciate the sentiment, but you're going to get yourself in trouble buying this stuff and my mom—"

"I'm going to stop you right there, Anderson," Trip held up two fingers and pointed at the first, "A, I didn't get caught; it's fine."

He pointed to the second finger and looked pointedly at Blaine, "B, You really think your mom is going to be pissed if you do something that'll help you eat more than one fucking saltine cracker every couple hours? You and I both know parents can be pretty damn good at looking the other way when they need to."

Blaine ran a tongue over the sore in his mouth—it was a new thing he'd woken up with the previous morning. It stung and left a coppery taste in his mouth every time he worried his tongue over it, but he couldn't stop. He swallowed down the metallic taste in his mouth and sighed, "…Kurt will kill me."

"Kurt doesn't have to know," Trip waved a hand dismissively, "Do it now and we won't say anything about it when we go visit."

"You don't think he'll notice?" Blaine opened the bag and sniffed curiously. He wrinkled his nose.

"Nah, you'll just seem a little more chill than usual. It won't be a problem; trust me."

"…Where would we do it?" Blaine toyed with the bag between both hands nervously.

Trip spread his arms out, "Right here."

"I know you're crazy, but I didn't think you were stupid." Blaine rolled his eyes, "My mom is right…um, she's…"

"Outside," Trip filled, "And yes, I'm aware, we've already been through this, but I'll say it again: I think she's willing to turn a blind eye to her darling baby doing something potentially a tiny bit controversial."

"Illegal." Blaine corrected.

"Whatever," Trip groaned, "We'll drive somewhere then if you're so freaked out about it. We can leave a bit earlier than originally planned and hot box on the way to Lima."

Blaine touched his tongue to the inside of his cheek again and twisted the edge of the bag between his fingers, "…You're sure it won't be horribly obvious?"

Trip crossed a finger over his heart, "Positive."

"Kurt, are you absolutely sure we have to do this?"

"He's the one paying rent, and if he finds out I tried to keep this from him—" Kurt shook his head, "This is the only way it might work."

"Might?" David echoed; swallowed. He looked up at the house apprehensively, "And if he says no?"

Kurt drummed his fingers against the wheel, "He…we'll worry about what ifs when we arrive at them. Do you want to do this or not?"

"I—" David flexed his hands in his lap.

Kurt sighed, "I know it's scary, David—coming out isn't easy and—"

"I'm not scared," Karofsky sighed; sat back in his seat. He stared down at his hands.

"David." Kurt sighed, "If—"

David looked back up at him, "I'm ready."

Kurt rolled his eyes, "Are you sure this time?"

"Yeah, lets just—," David's attention was suddenly focused out on the driveway where a car had pulled up beside them.

Kurt looked too and sighed, "I forgot they were coming over… oh well, I guess it'll be good to have witnesses."

Karofsky shot Kurt a look before climbing out of the car.

Trip smiled a little too brightly for Kurt's taste as he climbed out of the driver's seat, his eyes sliding over David's form, "Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

Blaine was still in the car and he'd made no move to get out.

Trip leaned back against his closed door and smiled even wider when David only stared at him with wide eyes, "It's the haircut, isn't it? You don't even remember me."

"No! I mean you look different, but I remember— your eyes are the same, but I—" David cleared his throat roughly, "Yeah, I remember you, Trip."

"A name and everything," Trip raised an eyebrow, "color me impressed, Dave."

Kurt leaned over to try and get a better look at Blaine through the window, "What's he doing? Does he feel alright?"

"He feels great; he's just dawdling," Trip pounded on the top of the car and peered in through the window, "Blaine! Get out here."

"Don't yell at him." Kurt snapped. He hadn't yet fully forgiven Trip that day at Blaine's house.

Trip rolled his eyes and motioned a hand toward the car when Blaine's door opened, "It served its purpose."

"Listen, my dad should be home soon, so here's the deal—" Kurt stopped short when Blaine's arms were suddenly wrapped around him. He smiled despite himself and returned the embrace, "Hello to you, too."

Blaine nuzzled his cheek against Kurt's shirt.

Kurt laughed; hugged Blaine tighter, "What's gotten into you all of the sudden?"

"Mmm," Blaine was still rubbing his cheek against Kurt's shoulder, "So soft."

"What—" Kurt stopped short when the smell off Blaine's hat hit his nose. He knew the scent of Blaine well; a strange combination of hair gel, cologne, and bubble gum that had come to feel like home. But this was not that smell. He sniffed the collar of Blaine's shirt to be sure before pushing him back a few paces. He studied the bleary eyes; the lazy smile, "Oh. My. God."

"Problem?" Trip smiled innocently.

"Problem? You want to know if there's a problem?" Kurt hissed; he looked around the yard quickly to make sure no one was within earshot, "You got my boyfriend high!"

Trip folded his arms loosely across his chest and smiled faintly at Kurt, "No idea what you're talking about."

Kurt opened and closed his mouth before grabbing a hold of Blaine's shoulders and spinning him around to face Trip and David. He waved a frantic hand around his face, "Do not play stupid with me right now, Morgan. Look at him!"

Blaine tracked Kurt's hand slowly back down to his side. He giggled.

Trip tilted his head to study Blaine's face before looking back at Kurt, "Okay, he might have smoked a little—"

"A little?" Kurt seethed. Blaine moved in closer to Kurt's side; reached a hand up to touch Kurt's shirt again. He worked the fabric of Kurt's sleeve between his thumb and index finger.

Trip shrugged, "He's not a very big guy."

Kurt waved an arm frantically toward the house, "I'm supposed to be telling my dad that I'm planning on letting David Karofsky move in with me, and now you have my boyfriend over here smelling like Woodstock and acting like he got a lobotomy!"

"You're moving in with him?" Trip looked between Kurt and David with mild interest.

"Yes! You need to get Blaine out of here or—"

"I'm standing right here," Blaine frowned, "And I don't want to go."

Kurt ignored Blaine and let out an exasperated sigh, "Why would you let him smoke?"

Trip's face lit up. He turned his smile toward Blaine, "How you feeling, buddy? Headache? Car sick at all?"

"Mmm, little headache," Blaine shrugged; smiled blithely, "I feel good. Really good."

Trip looked back at Kurt, "See? There ya have it. He's happy as a clam."

"He's drugged," Kurt rubbed his temples and sighed, "Okay, here's what we're going to do; listen carefully—"

"Hey, what're you all doing out here? Don't you like flip out about your hair in this kind of humidity?" Finn appeared in the open garage; a basketball tucked under his arm. His expression turned hard when his eyes lit on Karofsky, "What's he doing here?"

Kurt ignored the question, "Is my dad home?"

"No, but he called to say he's headed this way soon," Finn narrowed his eyes at David, "Did he do something to you?"

"What? No!" Kurt let out another exasperated sigh, "What are you even doing home?"

"I don't work today and my mom took me to get dorm room stuff." Finn shrugged. When Blaine stepped closer to him, he smiled, "Hey, Blaine."

Blaine tipped his head up a bit to meet Finn's eyes; he giggled, "So tall."

Trip and David laughed; Kurt covered his face with a hand in exasperation.

Finn squinted at Blaine's face, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, "Blaine, are you… did you smoke weed?"

Trip and David laughed harder, Kurt groaned, "If it's obvious to Finn there is no way in hell my dad won't know, Trip you need to take him for a drive or something."

"But I wanted to see the fireworks! After that little display your old man started over changing a tire, I can't even imagine the show he'll put on when he finds out you want to live with this kid." Trip hooked a thumb in David's direction.

"What?" Finn's smile fell immediately, "No way, Kurt."

"Not your decision, Finn." Kurt glowered at his stepbrother. He turned his attention back to Trip, "We'll regale you with the whole epic tale later. Go."

"You're a little late." David nodded toward the street where a car was pulling up at the curb.

Kurt's eyes went wide when he recognized his father getting out of the driver's seat.

"Better be one heck of a party you got going in the driveway if I have to park on the street at my own house." Burt looked between the boys pointedly; his gaze resting on David the longest.

Karofsky squirmed beneath his glare; his eyes finally going down to the asphalt when Burt continued to stare him down.

Kurt straightened himself up; tried to appear as composed as possible, "Dad, there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"What the hell did you do?" Burt glared even harder at Karofsky and took a threatening step forward.

David looked up at him in alarm, "I didn't—I mean Kurt and I—"

"Dave, shut up," Kurt snapped, "Dad, could we go inside and talk, please?"

"You expect me to let him in my house?"

Kurt closed his eyes; he took momentary comfort in the feeling of Blaine's fingers suddenly tangled loosely in his. He opened his eyes and hoped he looked calmer than he felt, "Please, Dad. For me."

Burt fixed Karofsky with another look, "What's this about?"

"Dad, let's just talk about it in the house," Kurt resisted the urge to groan out loud, "It's about thirty degrees cooler, and Finn, you're right, this humidity is killing me."

Burt looked down at the driveway; pursed his lips in silent deliberation. No one moved for a minute.

Trip watched David.

Finn watched Kurt.

Kurt watched Burt.

Blaine watched Finn's basketball still tucked under his arm.

"Fine."

Kurt didn't realize he was holding his breath until he felt the air suddenly burst from his mouth. He forced a smile, "Great."

They all shuffled in and Kurt wondered absently how many big conversations he was going to have at the damn dining room table as he settled himself into a chair between Blaine and David.

Burt sat down across from them, "Well?"

Kurt folded his hands on the table; sat up as straight as he could, "As you know, I went to visit with a potential roommate for my upcoming move to the big city."

Burt didn't smile at the sarcasm. He narrowed his eyes at Kurt.

Kurt swallowed; he could feel his composure crumbling a little too quickly, "And that potential roommate turned out to be someone looking for trying out something new in his life, too, so we talked about it for awhile and we both decided we could see the arrangement working out well—"

"Are you telling me what I think you're telling me?" Burt's neck was turning red. If Kurt knew anything, it was that it was time to stop talking when he saw that telltale warning sign.

"Dad," Kurt met his father's eyes, "I asked David to be my roommate when I move to Columbus."

"Absolutely not." Burt clenched his hands on the table.

"Dad, please—"

Burt turned to glare at David. His tone low, "Where the hell do you get off even considering I'd let you anywhere near my boy?"

"Dad, I told him—"

"I'm addressing David, Kurt." Burt snapped, his venomous look never leaving David's face.

Kurt kicked David's foot under the table when he didn't respond right away.

David jumped at the contact, his gaze flitting to Kurt in alarm and then back to Burt, "I… I know I did some really awful things to Kurt—really, really awful—"

"You're damn right you did." Burt snarled.

"Dad, let him finish," Kurt turned—what he hoped to be—a comforting look to David, "Go ahead."

David looked down at the tabletop, "I know you didn't believe me when I said I changed back in high school when the school board let me come back."

Burt snorted.

Kurt shot him a look.

"I—I guess I still had a long way to go then… and I still do, I know that. But, the thing is, Bur—Mr. Hummel, Kurt's been the best influence I've ever had…" David glanced tentatively at Kurt and then looked back down at his hands folded tightly in his lap, "He… he made me think maybe it…maybe it's okay to be myself… maybe instead of being so pissed off all the time, I could… I could be honest about who I am and—"

Burt's glare intensified, "Doesn't seem like you've had much of a problem being honest about your thoughts in the past."

"Dad." Kurt snapped a little more harshly than he'd meant to. He reached out a hand and touched David's arm gently, "Is there anything else you want to say, David?"

"Kurt's always just been himself—he's never been scared to be who he is, but I…I was scared, and the truth is…" David glanced hesitantly around at the faces around him. He closed his eyes; swallowed audibly, "I…I'm like Kurt."

Burt blinked, "Excuse me?"

David opened his eyes to meet Burt's, "… I'm gay."

The sound of an abruptly stifled giggle turned everyone's attention to Blaine.

Blaine sat cross-legged in his chair; a hand clamped over his mouth and his eyes swimming with sudden mirth. His shoulders shook with the effort to hold in his laughter.

Trip glanced at Blaine, "Something you wanna share with the class, Anderson?"

Blaine dropped his hand, but he could barely speak, "M-my shoes—"

Everyone watched him in silence as he burst into another fit of giggles.

"M-my shoes—" Another fit.

Kurt resisted the urge to crawl underneath the table, "Blaine, this is so incredibly not appropriate right now, you—"

"What about your shoes, Blaine?" Burt frowned at Blaine with a mixture of confusion and concern.

Trip looked down at Blaine's feet, a slow smile pulling at his own mouth, "He has two different shoes on."

"Two different shoes!" Blaine half-shouted, half-choked on the words. He folded his arms on the table and dropped his face down on them when he dissolved into another loud burst of laughter.

Kurt resisted the urge to drop his own head to the table for a different reason entirely. He glanced nervously toward his father who was watching Blaine; his expression unreadable.

Trip stood quickly, a casual smile on his face, "Blaine, what do you say we go for a walk or something—I feel like we're intruding on family time."

"Hold on there for a minute, kid." Burt didn't move his gaze from Blaine who was still laughing into his folded arms.

Trip paused, his expression carefully blank.

"You boys can stay, but I'm sure Blaine's hungry," Burt looked pointedly between Kurt and Blaine, "Finn, why don't you order some pizzas?"

Finn wasn't listening. He was still staring at David in wonder, "You're…you're gay?"

To everyone's surprise, it was Trip who spoke up; his voice flat, "Is that a problem?"

Finn looked at him in alarm, "No! God no, but—after all that shit you did to Kurt in high school? Why the hell would you do that to him?"

Kurt rubbed a hand over Blaine's back in hopes of settling any latent giggles, but he watched David quietly.

David's cheeks flushed red; his eyes suddenly looked wet, "I… like I said, Kurt… Kurt's always been exactly who he is no matter who he pissed off, and I guess… it made me so… so angry that he was so comfortable with being him. I was confused and I hated myself and I was… I was jealous."

The room was silent. Even Blaine was quiet, his head still cradled between his arms on the table.

David looked up at Burt, "I'd like the chance to try again, sir."

Burt was hunched over the table; his hands folded tight, "Finn, go order the pizza. Take Trip and Blaine with you."

The room fell quiet again save for the sound of chairs sliding over the carpet as the boys disappeared to the kitchen.

A minute passed…. and then another…

"You so much as look at him wrong, you're out."

Burt spoke so abruptly, both boys jumped.

David recovered first; nodding quickly, "Yes, sir."

"You pay your half of the rent on time and you keep those thug friends of yours out of that apartment."

"I'm cutting myself off from them, and I'll have a job, Mr. Hummel, the rent won't be a problem."

Burt stared hard at David, "Your old man know about any of this?"

"N-no, sir," David glanced at Kurt, "Not yet."

Burt looked at him for another long minute before turning his gaze to Kurt, "I trust your judgment, kid."

Kurt nodded, "I'm sure about this, Dad."

Burt sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest; he studied them both quietly.

They stared back hopefully.

Burt let out a long breath, "Better get in the kitchen and give your input if you want any say about what goes on that pizza, Kurt, because I'm having a slice no matter how much you nag at me."

Kurt tried to suppress a victorious smile, "…so you're okay with this whole thing?"

Burt looked suddenly weary. He took off his hat and rubbed his head, "God knows I can't stop you once you get an idea in your head."

"Thank you, sir." David's shoulders relaxed visibly.

"I mean it. One toe out of line and I'll make sure something unfortunate happens to the breaks in that shitty pickup of yours, got it?"

David paled; nodded fast, "Yes, sir."

"Good," Burt pushed himself to his feet, "Go ahead and go in the kitchen with the guys then."

David and Kurt exchanged a quick look as they got to their feet and moved toward the kitchen.

Blaine was seated on the edge of the island; a jar of Nutella in one hand and a spoon in the other. He held his spoon toward Kurt, "It's like an orgasm for your mouth. Try."

Kurt wrinkled his nose, "There's still Nutella on there that has clearly seen the inside of your mouth already."

"I'm sure you've had Blaine's spit and plenty of his other bodily fluids in your mouth before, Hummel, a little secondhand Nutella won't kill you." Trip smirked.

"Ew, man, that's my brother," Finn cringed. He had a spoon, too, but he abandoned it in the sink.

Trip's smile softened when he turned to look at David who was standing quietly beside Kurt, "Big day for you today."

David glanced at him; studied his face suspiciously, and when Trip didn't add anymore, David looked disgruntled, "what, no punch line?"

"I wasn't trying to be funny," Trip's smile faded, "I wouldn't make fun of someone coming out."

David studied Trip; opened his mouth to respond.

"Pizza's here, fellas," Burt came into the kitchen and dropped three boxes down on the counter, "Dig in."

Kurt pried the jar of Nutella from Blaine's hand, "You don't need that for your pizza."

Blaine relinquished the jar in exchange for a paper plate from Finn and went with the other boys to hover over the boxes.

Burt turned his attention to Kurt, "Come on back out to the dining room for a minute, bud, we have something else we need to talk about."

David glanced nervously at Kurt.

"Sure." Kurt smiled reassuringly at David as he followed his father out of the kitchen.

Once they'd made it back to the dining room, and Burt turned around to face Kurt, Kurt started talking, "I know you think Dave and I living together is an awful idea and I understand your reservations, but—"

Burt sighed, "Kurt, I'm not going to try and stop you. You're moving into your own place; you get to make your own decisions… I'm glad you had the courtesy to tell me, though."

Kurt nodded; tried to smile, "You're my half of the rent; I got a little nervous about being disowned if I didn't mention something."

Burt snorted, "Listen, though, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

Kurt felt his cheeks flush. He knew exactly what this was about, "Oh…what'd you want to talk about?"

"Blaine."

"What about Blaine?" Kurt tried to work his face into something resembling befuddled innocence.

"Don't give me that, Kurt, I was a kid once."

"Dad, I don't know—"

"Kurt, I don't know what he did to get it to stick to his clothes like that, but I could smell him the second I came up the driveway."

"New cologne?" Kurt offered lamely, but it was no use, he knew when he'd lost a battle.

Burt sighed, "Just… make sure he's careful, all right?"

Kurt looked up at his father in alarm, "Excuse me?"

"Listen, when your mom was sick we looked into a lot of alternative medicine… stuff, so I know it can be pretty helpful," Burt looked as uncomfortable as Kurt, "But listen, if you ever decide to try it with him, make sure you're somewhere safe and make sure what you're buying is safe, all right?"

Kurt stared at his father in muted horror, "Dad, I didn't even know he—I wouldn't—I just…I—"

"Kurt," Burt smiled a little, "Relax."

Kurt closed his eyes; opened them again. He could feel the blush hot in his cheeks, "Yeah…okay."

Burt jerked his chin down once in acknowledgement, "…go ahead and get back in the kitchen."

Kurt nodded and walked away quickly; all too happy to be free from the conversation.

Trip grinned at him when he made it back to the kitchen, "Nice talk?"

"That was worse than a sex talk." Kurt muttered; shaking his head.

"Well then we have the perfect distraction for you, your brother and boyfriend were just discussing the exact flavor of pepperoni," Trip motioned a hand toward Blaine and Finn, "Real deep stuff."

Kurt smiled at Blaine, "Better than Nutella?"

"Kurt, you have to try—it's—it's—" Blaine shook his head and shoved his slice of pizza in Kurt's face, "Try."

Kurt wrinkled his nose, but Blaine was still looking at him with a mixture of desperation and rapture. He sighed and leaned in to take a bite. He chewed slowly; tried to ignore the oily feeling of grease on his tongue.

He rolled his eyes when he realized everyone was watching him, but he smiled for Blaine, "Very good."

"It's the best pizza I've ever had," Blaine sighed blissfully and took another bite. He shoved an open box toward Kurt and talked around a mouthful of food, "You need to have your own. And try the cheese too, it's—"

"The best pizza you've ever had." Trip and Kurt chorused; exchanging a smile.

"Exactly," Blaine grinned.

"Told you this was a good idea," Trip smirked at Kurt; clearly pleased with himself.

"Fine, you're right, it was a good idea." Kurt sighed.

"Let the record show that today, August thirteenth, Kurt Hummel said Trip Morgan was right," Trip looked at Finn, "Go mark the calendar."

Kurt rolled his eyes and grabbed the liter of Diet Coke sitting on the counter to pour himself a cup, "Forgive me for attempting to be a little open minded."

Trip glanced at David before raising his own cup toward Kurt.

Kurt eyed Trip's cup for a moment in confusion before smiling; he lifted his cup too, and Finn and David followed suit—Blaine was still fawning over his pizza.

Kurt tapped his cup against theirs; smiled at David, "To trying new things."