Day 028: Sunday 14th October, 2012
Chrysalis (Georgia)

"How are we supposed to choose? Rock paper scissors tournament?"

"Blaine, I think you're missing the fact that there's an Oscar-winning Sandra Bullock movie on this list."

"Huh. I guess you could say I was blindsided. ...Stop rolling your eyes at me, come on."



Every once in a while, there were times where Blaine acutely felt the blessing of having Kurt Hummel in his life. This, their second day in what he'd thought was going to be Savannah but had actually turned out to be Atlanta, was one of those times.

When they had left Columbia the previous day, Kurt turning out of the Sesquicentennial State Park with a bright smile the likes of which Blaine could barely ever remember him sporting, Blaine had retrieved the trip folder from the glove compartment to put their destination's zip code into the GPS. Kurt's arm had shot out and clamped the folder shut, dragging it across to his own lap. He hadn't been quick enough, however—Blaine had already seen the booking confirmation for Stone Mountain Park, Atlanta, GA.

"Atlanta?" he'd asked. "I thought we were headed for Savannah; it's right on the way to Florida."

"Ugh," Kurt had groaned, throwing up one of his hands and shoving the folder back at Blaine. "It was supposed to be a surprise since the dates worked out so well, but you might as well know."

Curiously, Blaine had reopened the folder, flipping straight to the GA divider, and his eyes went wide. "Kurt, are you serious?"

"You've never managed to make it to one before, so..."

"Oh my god, marry me," Blaine had breathed, so excited as he'd taken in the folder's colorful contents that he'd forgotten his words a second later.

And now here he was, still a little head-sore from Kiki by the Park the previous night, but loving every single second of this, his first-ever Pride event. They had been standing on Piedmont Avenue, across the street from The Flying Biscuit Caf� where they'd eaten a grotesquely large breakfast, for over three hours already. The thousands-strong crowd was cheering as Owl City's Good Time blared over a P.A. system, the first of the floats slowly approaching from the other end of the street, crossing a road that was probably named Peachtree. He and Kurt were shoved up against each other, Blaine behind him and slightly to the right with one hand either side of him on the railings. It was almost a perfect mirror of that magical night in Rhode Island, the memory marred only by Blaine's near misstep, and Blaine was beginning to think that perhaps now, perhaps soon, it wouldn't be such a misstep after all.

"This is what you've been missing out on all these years," Kurt told him, turning his head and his warm breath fanning across the shell of Blaine's ear. "Do you love it?"

"I love it," Blaine replied, and he couldn't help it: he wound his arm around Kurt's waist and rested his forehead on Kurt's shoulder. Kurt only tensed for a moment before relaxing entirely into the hold, leaning back against Blaine and threading their fingers together across his stomach. Blaine grinned into his shoulder, loving this newly affectionate side of his best friend—it was only a few days since Kurt had visited his mom's old college, but ever since that first hug in the kitchen, Kurt had seemed to be making an effort to just touch more. A glancing nudge to Blaine's thigh as Kurt got up to go to bed after their movie; a brief squeeze to his arm as they waited in line for breakfast at Caf� Strudel; a fleeting brush across his lower back as Kurt edged around him in the narrow walkway to take his turn in the bathroom.

Aside from it driving Blaine slowly and quietly crazy with desire, that softly tingling buzz in his bloodstream, it simply made him feel... Special. Worthy.

The crowd went wild as Atlanta's police and fire departments proceeded gradually by, red and blue lights flashing, and as Blaine followed them with his eyes, he caught the gaze of the tall blond standing next to him, rainbow stripes painted down his neck and arm. The guy gestured to Kurt—who was looking the other way, craning his neck to see the floats coming down the street—and gave Blaine a thumbs-up and a wink, and Blaine couldn't help but grin even harder.

"Today is perfect," he said into Kurt's ear, resisting the urge to nuzzle into his neck.

"I knew you'd love it," Kurt replied, and save for the occasional whoop or cheer as each float went past, they were enveloped in the comfortable quiet that they'd always been able to fall into together.

The parade was an hour-long riot of color, sound, light, and laughter that held Blaine's rapt attention as he took in floats for Bubbles Salon, Chi Chi LaRue, and the Swinging Richards. He watched in awe at the sheer number of families marching under the banner of PFLAG, proclaiming their love for their gay, lesbian, and transgendered children and relatives, along with the huge and bright turn-out from Atlanta's Gay-Straight Alliance. The longer the parade went on, the more Blaine felt drunk on the very air surrounding them, filled with love and acceptance for everything that they all were. It was one of the headiest feelings he'd experienced in a long time.

As the parade began to draw to a close, the music faded into The xx's Intro and a strange hush seemed to fall over the crowds further up the street. Still holding on to Kurt, he turned them both sideways to get a better look.

"It's Angel Action, like they did for Matthew Shepard in Laramie," Kurt said, and that was when Blaine realized what he was looking at: a procession of angels, everyone dressed in flowing white robes and holding boards with the names and faces of teenagers who had committed suicide after being victimized and horrifically bullied for their sexuality.

All at once, the sadness and melancholy settling over him like a well-worn jacket, Blaine's giddiness faded. Finding it hard to look at the faces as they passed by, he once again dropped his forehead to rest on Kurt's shoulder, his grasp around Kurt's waist tightening and pulling him closer.

After a moment, Kurt turned to face him. "I know what you're thinking about," he murmured, his hand a gentle pressure lifting Blaine's chin to meet his eyes. "Don't."

"I should have been there. If we hadn't had that stupid fight—"

"Blaine, it was a couple of bruises. Nothing I couldn't handle," Kurt said reassuringly, but when Blaine closed his eyes, he could still see the purple rage blossomed across the freckled skin of Kurt's cheek and jaw, the steel in Kurt's eyes as he looked at the contents of his McQueen messenger bag strewn across the dirty floor of their high school changing rooms. "Besides, you came back for me."

"It still shouldn't have happened," Blaine muttered, shaking his head and casting his gaze down at the frayed edges of his favorite pair of Sperrys.

"Need I remind you that it got him expelled? At the very least maybe he would've thought twice before doing it to somebody else," Kurt said. "Will you please look at me?"

Blaine did, and after a pregnant pause, Kurt grinned and shook him by the shoulders until Blaine was smiling too.

"I was lucky to have you, Blaine Anderson," he said. "Look at all these poor kids that didn't have someone like you; a best friend who wanted to fight their battles for them."

"You're right," Blaine agreed, something tightening in the pit of his stomach even as he did so. There was that word again: friend. "I was lucky to have you, too."

"I know you were," Kurt quipped, and turned back around to watch the end of the parade.

Blaine breathed slowly, trying to rid himself of the sense of deflation taking him over. They really had been amongst the lucky ones, and it was only at the beginning of the parade that Blaine had been feeling extra thankful to be able to call Kurt his best friend. Was he really willing to put all of it at risk? The thing was, what Kurt had said into the rain of Rehoboth Beach had been right. That night in Philadelphia, Blaine hadn't been anywhere near as drunk as Kurt, and he remembered every second of what had happened between them. The memory was burned more brightly into his mind than any other memory he had of Kurt—how could he simply be expected to forget it?

Blaine wanted more; he'd had one taste and it wasn't nearly enough. But for now, watching the passing faces of the teenagers who had felt like they'd had no one at all, the ball remained firmly in Kurt's court. It was why, when Blaine got into bed that night and Kurt slid the warm pillow he'd been leaning against over to Blaine's side of the bed, Blaine wouldn't crowd Kurt's body with his own and pepper kisses over the skin of his bare shoulder.

It was why, when Blaine felt Kurt pulling away from him to wave at the final group in the parade—the scantily-clad men in black booty shorts and thigh-high boots, bearing angel wings and signs offering free hugs—he simply loosened his grip and let Kurt slip from his arms.

"Hey, over here!" Kurt called out, and one of the angels sauntered over. His light brown hair was styled up and away from his face, focusing all of the attention on his piercing green eyes and the sweep of rainbow colors accenting his prominent cheekbones. Inclining his head towards Blaine, Kurt told the angel, "My friend here could use a hug."

"Is that right? Aren't you enjoying the parade, sweetheart?" the angel asked, raking his gaze down Blaine's body, and Blaine held his hands up, heat filling his cheeks.

"I'm—No, I'm having a fantastic time, I don't need a free hug—"

"How about a free kiss instead?"

Before Blaine knew what was happening, there were broad, sun-warmed hands cupping the sides of his neck and soft lips alighting upon his own. And for a handful of moments, he let himself get lost in the feel of the angel's mouth, lips gently working his own open with increasing pressure until Blaine was kissing him back and almost moaning into the sensation, finally, finally, and he could taste cinnamon gum—but Kurt hated cinnamon gum, this wasn't right, what was—

Blaine heard Kurt clearing his throat, and in a blink, the kiss was over. As he pulled away, the angel pressed a condom into Blaine's slack hand—and if that wasn't just the tackiest thing ever, he didn't know what was—and with a suave grin, murmured, "Find me later, killer."

"Oh my god," Blaine breathed as the angel turned away to rejoin the parade.

"Come on, Blaine, he can't have been that good," Kurt scoffed, and Blaine almost stepped back as he saw that same steel in his eyes. Kurt crossed his arms over his chest as he watched the crowd of angels continue down the street, the almost sheer fabric of his white tee stretching over his upper arms, and Blaine swallowed.

"No, I mean—" Blaine cut off, and dropped his voice. "He told me to find him later. I need a disguise!"

"So you don't—" Kurt stopped, dropping his gaze. Blaine watched as a small smile quirked the corners of his mouth for a passing moment, before Kurt cleared his expression and looked back up. "I think you'd make a very fetching Batman. They probably have face-painting inside the park, actually."

With the end of the parade, the crowd was filtering into the street to march behind them towards Piedmont Park for the rest of the day's Pride events. On a whim, Blaine grabbed Kurt's hand and linked their fingers together, and it felt like the Brooklyn Bridge all over again. "You know, if you want to go full Bowie, I won't stand in your way. I know you have an addiction, but it's really kind of adorable."

Kurt silently swung their joined hands between them and circled Blaine's palm with his thumb, another one of those new little things of his where Blaine felt like he'd been thrown a curve ball and didn't quite know how to act, other than to smile at him for just a little too long and with a little too much hope. While he might push, nudge, edge them a little closer to perhaps soon, he wouldn't be the first to break their stalemate. He couldn't, no matter how much he might want to make an unholy mess of everything they had built together, just so that he could know, one way or another.

All he could do was be ready for the next curve ball. He just didn't know what it would be.



Distance: 2,356 miles