"Dad! Hurry! Hurry! Hell be here any minute!"

"Kurt, can you slow down please? I only got two lungs."

"Dad, Im sorry, but if you wanted to take it easy you should have stayed in the car like I suggested multiple times," the teenager said in one go, running on pure adrenaline.

"Hold up!" Finn said, quite out of breath, holding a stitch at his side, his face screwed up, looking more worse for wear than his stepfather, trailing behind the two as they dashed forward through the airport entrance and toward the arrivals area at top-speed. Or just a quick clip-his fathers offhand joke lingered in the back of his mind as a real warning, though, and now that they were inside and out of the August heat, the boys pace slowed, monitoring his fathers state while still eager to get to their destination.

"Not my fault you ate six burritos at Pucks before we even had dinner, Finn!"

"I feel like Im dying!"

"Suck it up!"

People were giving them odd looks as the three sped past, shouting at each other, but Kurt thought it was worth looking odd if it meant theyd be on time for their international guests arrival. The boy would be staying with them all year, and Kurt knew first impressions were important. His social life had pretty much been defined by them up until that point. He had to start off on the right foot with this boy, even though they seemed to get along well enough online. But messaging someone on the internet and meeting them in person were very, very different. There was simply no room for error in this situation, Kurt decided. He was hoping to come out of this experience with a good friend, perhaps someone he could visit when he made his way to France, maybe next summer, as a gift to himself after getting into Julliard, his dream school.

First things first, Hummel, he thought. Meet the guy, then get through senior year. You can do this. You survived dumpster tosses and slushies and Karofsky, of all things-pull yourself together, because this is your year.

Kurt stopped abruptly in front of the arrivals board. "Oooh," he breathed out. "Were not too late at all."

He heard his dad pant behind him, a little winded, "Im so relieved."

"Im ignoring your sarcastic remarks because Im way too excited at the moment to care."

Finn caught up not a half-second later, looking a bit nauseous. "I think Im gonna be sick."

Kurts attention snapped to his step-brother. "You absolutely will not!" he said, horrified. "Finn, everything has to be perfect. You dont want to meet the guy whos going to be living with us and going to school with us for the next year to remember you as that kid who threw up on his shoes?"

"Wont be if I get to a bathroom now-" Finn said, turning on his heel to locate the nearest restroom, but Kurt caught his arm before he could dash off.

"No. Everything has to be perfect. And anyway, theres no time. Take deep breaths; the nausea will pass."

"Kurt, dont you think youre being a little ridiculous?" Burt Hummel asked.

Before he could respond, the New York - La Guardia flight passengers started to come off the plane. Kurt started hopping in place.

After five minutes, he started to get to get antsy. After ten, seriously worried. "Hes probably just hung up getting his bags," Finn said. "No worries, little bro." Kurt was unknowingly crinkling the paper hed been holding, and Finn took it from him gently to have something to look at while they waited. On it was the foreign students name, basic info, picture, housing and flight information. Incoming arrival at Port Columbus: 5:15pm. Finn looked at the digital clock hanging overhead. 5:36. The flight hadnt been late.

"Maybe he missed his connection," Burt suggested softly at a quarter to six. "Or maybe the Paris flight got in late?" Kurt shook his head.

"I checked this morning and again this afternoon and again on my phone just now-he should be here."

"Want me to talk to someone, get them to put a call out over the intercom so he can find us? Maybe he just got turned around," Burt offered.

Kurt was shaking his head softly just as he heard it his own name being announced through the speakers. A grin overtook his worried face. "Hes here!" Kurt said, heading straight toward the front desk where hed been instructed to go. "Best behavior, all of you!"

"Whatm I gonna do, seriously?" Burt said rhetorically. He knew he wouldnt be receiving an answer.

But when they got to the front, they didnt see the boy theyd come to collect. Kurt looked around, but all he could see was an older couple clearly complaining just in front of them, another boy to their left looking down at some paperwork, a young woman to the right kneeling down in front of her wilful child two seconds away from throwing a fit. Kurt sighed.

"Excuse me," Kurt said to the middle-aged black woman behind the desk after she rid herself of the troublesome older couple. "I was just called up here to meet someone. Kurt Hummel?"

"Right over there," the woman said, indicating the short boy to the left. Kurt smiled placatingly at her even though his patience was nearly depleted at that point.

"There must be some mistake. Thats not who Im here for. A little taller than me, blond, his name is Henri Bisset?" Kurt said, hoping some of this information would sound familiar to the woman.

"Im sorry sir, but he asked for you. Perhaps you should try talking to him?" she suggested, indicating that her level of involvement had peaked.

Kurt turned back to his family, unfortunately catching the eye of the other boy on his way. He was dark and curly-haired, grinning at Kurt with what appeared to be a thousand watt smile and raising his hand in greeting, apparently recognizing Kurt even if Kurt didnt have the slightest idea who this stranger was. The mysterious boy made his way over and Finn looked down at the photo and then up at the him in confusion. "He doesnt look like the guy in the picture."

"Thats because hes not the guy in the picture." Kurt said, clearly irritated, undeterred by the admittedly quite gorgeous guy standing in front of him and staring at him like he hung the moon. Now was not the time to be hung up with looks. A Frenchman was missing on American soil and it was all Kurts fault. "WHO. ARE. YOU?"

"Dude, hes not deaf," Finn said.

"Well he obviously doesnt speak English either, or he would have explained himself already. It doesnt hurt to enunciate."

"Loudly...." Finn mumbled with a roll of his eyes.

"Hello!" the boy said, quite enthusiastically, holding out his hand. The group flinched back in surprise. But Kurt was thrown off for a different reason. Hay-loh. Even the way he said that one English word...something was wrong about his accent.

Why, Kurt would bet anything he wasnt French at all!

"Name is Blaine," the boy said. Well, at least he spoke some English. Perhaps Kurt can get the answers he wanted.

"...Kurt," he replied, taking the other boys hand and felt the tight grip and the force of his animated shake. Kurt prided himself on being able to read people rather easily, and it irked him that he immediately liked Blaine-the boy seemed open, friendly, earnest, incapable of deceit. But he could just be the worlds greatest actor. With a smile like that, who wouldnt believe it? "As wonderful as it is to meet you, Blaine, Im actually looking for someone else...Henri Bisset?"

Blaine looked confused for most of that sentence, smiling and nodding at his name and then nodding once more in recognition of the last name. "Henri," Blaine agreed, his smile never faltering. "Yes, Henri."

"Yes, what?"

"I know Henri."

Burt clapped Kurt on the shoulder. "Well see, there you go!"

Blaine nodded happily along, looking back between Kurt and his father.

"Can you tell me where he is? Did he arrive on the La Guardia flight? Is he alright?"

Blaine looked a little tripped up by all the questions, and Kurt was starting to catch on that his answers were more or less going to be confirmations or denials of key phrases and names Blaine manages to pick out in conversation. "La Guardia, yes," he said, nodding. "we arrive."

Kurt smiled back, breathing easier this time. "Thank you, Blaine." He went a bit slower, knowing now that Blaine definitely wasnt having an easy time with his mile-a-minute conversation. "Where is he?" he said carefully.

"He?" Blaine said, confusion crossing his face. "Henri no call you?"

"No, Henri no call me," Kurt said through his teeth. This was infuriating. What was this guy trying to insinuate?

Kurt pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts.

"Kurt, who are you calling? Whats going on?" His father asked, concern and irritation in his tone.

"Thats what Im trying to figure out, Dad. And Im calling Henri."

"Dude, you had his number this whole time? Couldnt you just have like, called when we got here?"

"Finn, you know I cant think well under pressure. I tried to feed glitter to doves when I had to plan our parents wedding-in-a-week, remember? Anyway its only for emergencies." The phone rang twice before anyone picked up.

"Oui? Kurt? Everything alright?" came a thick French accent Kurt had only heard twice before.

"You tell me, Henri. Where are you?"

"In New York, the city of dreams and beautiful women," Henri sighed.

"Was your flight delayed? And if so, why is your stand-in insisting that you should have called me?"

"Ah, you met Blaine."

"Yes, I met Blaine!" Kurt nearly shouted. "Blaine is here and you are notably not here so please explain yourself before I have you deported."

"/Calm down,/" Henri said softly in his mother tongue. "/Theres no need for hysterics. I think this will work out best for us both./"

"Im still waiting for a proper explanation."

"I met Blaine on my Paris flight. His English is not as good as mine." Understatement, Kurt thought. The guy could hardly form a sentence. "However, we got to talking. Were the same age, both studying abroad in America with host families for one year. I thought, why not switch?"

It took Kurt several moments to process what his friend-at least, someone he thought was his friend-was telling him. "Why not? Why not? I could give you a thousand reasons! Why did you even think for one minute this was a good idea?"

"Kurt, have you ever been in love? Actually? It is a feeling like nothing else. Blaine showed me a picture of Amanda-beautiful girl from his host family he was to stay with. Kurt, Im sorry, but once I saw her face, I was caught. Captee...captivated. I had to see her. And to see her is to love her. We got of the plane and there she was. I knew I could not leave her."

"You Frenchman and your unbridled passion..." he mumbled.

"/What?/"

"/Nevermind./"

"Kurt, forgive me. I did it for love. I know you would have done the same."

"Dont be too sure. You could get in a lot of trouble for this. Both of you. In fact, so could I! And my family! And what does Amandas family think of all this?"

Blaine perked up at the name of his former host, but said nothing.

"Please, Kurt. I know what Im doing. Amandas family is unconcerned. They live in Manhattan, Kurt. You of all people must know how exciting that is!"

"I guess I would choose Manhattan over a small midwestern town too..." he agreed reluctantly. "What about Blaine? What about me?"

"Do not be mislead. He knows more English than he can say. I did not trick him and he was happy to agree. He said he much preferred Ohio over New York."

"Who prefers Ohio? Thats just insane."

"/Kurt, trust me, this will all be fine. If you run into trouble, I promise we will get it sorted out before the school year even starts. Youre my friend; trust me./"

"/Youd better not get me in trouble for this./"

"Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Send me emails and update often! I will do the same! I must go-have fun with the Italian!"

"The what-" Kurt said before noticing the call had been ended. He sighed, rolled his shoulders, and turned back to his group, all watching him intently. "Henri will be staying in New York. Blaine will be coming home with us, I guess." Blaine smiled and Burt opened his mouth to question or object. "Too confusing; well talk about it later," he said preemptively. "I need cake."

*

Sure, the whole point of the exchange program wasnt that someone would fly across an ocean just to speak their mother tongue, but Kurt was looking forward to conversing with an actual French guy and perfecting his already near flawless accent and conversational prowess. They could have spoken French in the hallways at school; alienating the rest of the student body with a language they couldnt understand was something Kurt was endlessly excited about. And now, forget about it.

And to make matters worse, it seemed that Henri may have been stretching the truth a bit as far as Blaines ability to communicate in English.

After they brought Blaine home and Kurt gave him the grand tour, finally accepting the fact that Blaine would-barring unforeseen disaster-be staying with them for the next year, Kurt started interrogating the boy, trying to discover how Henri managed to swindle him out a stay in New York.

Blaine would smile and nod along, but when it came down to actually giving a response, Kurt noticed Blaine was lost for words. For English words, at least.

Sei sconvolto...mi dispiace. Ma nessuno qui mi disturberà, o guarderà oltre la mia spalla o mi dirà chi devo essere... Questo è quello che avrei avuto a New York. Posso essere chiunque io voglia in Ohio! E ti devo ringraziare per questo, Kurt Hummel! Grazie! Grazie! Grazie!

Kurt should have tried to Google translate any of that, but Blaine had sounded so genuine at what seemed to be an apology, then New York had been thrown in with a world-weary tone leading up to it, and Ohio rolled off his tongue like an answered prayer. By the time Kurt heard his name followed by the thousand "thank yous"--Kurt wasnt a total Francophile that he ignored the other romance languages, and he was no cultureless bore, so of course he knew some of the lingo offhand; he occasionally picked up a copy of Italian Vogue and humored himself with the text while critiquing the photos-he knew Blaine really, really wanted this, for whatever reason. And Kurt guessed he could live with that.

"And this is my room," Kurt said, rounding up the full tour.

"Questa camera è bellissima, Kurt." Blaine commented, looking around the room and nodding appreciatevely.

"Um, thanks?" he replied, unsure, as Blaine went happily about the room, picking up objects and inspecting them with a curious glance. On his vanity, Blaine picked up every product bottle and cream tin and mumbled the words to himself as if he were trying them out, the words "night time skin mask" on his tongue almost incomprehensible.

"Okay, well," Kurt said, taking the bottle out of his hand and placing it back on his table. "Now youve seen the whole house. Time for you to get unpacked in your room-hey! Careful with that!"

Blaine had wandered over to the bed and grabbed a photo off the night stand. It was an family photo his father, his mother and himself, standing in front of their old house.

"É tua madre?" he asked.

"Yes," Kurt said, catching on to the similar cognate. "Thats my mother."

"Mother," Blaine repeated, nodding, looking back at the photo.

"Her name was Liz," Kurt said, getting lost in the picture a moment, too. "She died when I was eight."

"Morta?" Blaine peered up at him through his long lashes.

"Sì," Kurt said. "Morta."

Blaine gave him an understanding, shy smile, that almost seemed sympathetic instead of pitying. Then he glanced back down at the photo, pointing to the kid in the photo. "You adorable baby."

Kurt blushed something fierce at the compliment and Blaine laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder at Kurts obvious embarrassment.

"Yes, yes. Thats enough of that," Kurt said brusquely. "Its nearly time for dinner. Manja, or whatever. Go on, get out."

Blaine smiled, noting Kurts playful tone even as he was shooing the Italian boy out of the room.

When they found their way downstairs at Caroles call for dinner, he introduced Blaine to his stepmother. She was a little flustered because shed just come from work and brought pizza home for dinner, which now just seemed wrong for her native Italian house-guest.

"Its probably nothing like pizza where youre from..." she said. "Would you even like pizza? Is that just a stereotype?" she said, addressing Kurt on the last question for a more complete answer, when she realized Blaine was just smiling politely and not really filling in the blanks.

"Dont look at me," Kurt shrugged. "I expected to take home a Frenchman."

Dinner was mostly a silent affair, with no one really able to communicate with Blaine to the extent they would have with Henri. Though, through their meager conversation and interactions they ascertained that Blaine did in fact "love Ohio," despite Kurt getting the impression that Blaine had never actually been to the state before. He also complimented the pizza in English, and thanked them, and told Carole she was pretty and that his room was nice and to his liking. Actually, he had mentioned the word love again, making Kurt fairly certain he would hear more declarations of love for random objects and places in the near future. Oh well, at least the guy was easily pleased.

The next day they went out shopping for school supplies, Blaine having exchanged his Euros in New York for US dollars. At every store he would pull decently large bills out of his wallet, making Kurt think he was keeping a years worth of cash in one place. Kurt would have to warn him that flashing that much cash out in the open probably wasnt the best idea.

They stopped by a few clothing stores, and Kurt found his new Italian friend to be a decent shopping buddy. Mercedes always seemed to get tired after a while, going from store to store after shed already found a few trinkets of her own, and Rachel fought his every suggestion and insisted on purchasing the most hideous item in the store. Shopping with Finn or his father was an exercise in futility, and Carole was too much of a pushover. Even Tina, who always insisted she was game to shop when she wasnt attached to Mike by the lips, would spend a good five minutes just standing outside the Hot Topic and sighing with nostalgic fondness, trying to get Kurts blessing to enter-which he never gave-before he would insist she either go inside or allow them to move on. She would always stall until Kurt had to manhandle her away and off to more eye-pleasing clothing options at the H&M.

But Blaine never tired, and seemed enthusiastic enough about shopping and trying things on and taking Kurts suggestions to heart. But he also had enough sense to question some of Kurts more outrageous ideas with a raised brow and a knowing smile, as if they had always done this. "Okay, fine," Kurt would acquiesce. "Maybe that one was a little over the top. How about this blue one?"

Kurt seemed to have truly unreliable gaydar: the wishful thinking with Finn, the false-positive with Sam, the unimaginable truth with Karofsky...even Santana slipped below his radar for a while, despite clearly being head-over-heels for Brittany since day one. He could forgive himself for that one. For a lesbian, all that hetero sex and beard boyfriends certainly made for an interesting cover.

So Kurt didnt dare to hope with Blaine, the oh-so-handsome and genuinely nice Italian boy that lived right down the hall. He didnt even entertain the thought that Blaine might be.

Kurt enjoyed his company, and Blaine seemed to enjoy his, and that was all that mattered. If Blaine wanted to call him his friend, Kurt wouldnt object to the title in the slightest.