I stepped outside to a slight breeze of clean fall air, and that odd sort of pressure that fills the atmosphere before rain. That feeling of nature anticipating its own changes. The weather holding its breath before blowing it out and gasping and gasping.

I spotted Kurt, surprised to see him standing with his chest pressed against a large elm, hugging it with one arm and peering around it. I stared at his back, his navy blue coat stretched across his broad shoulders, until he turned, the flat slap of my feet on the damp grass alerting him to my approach.

His cheeks were flushed, his eyes sparkling as he beckoned animatedly for me to join him. Under his coat, he was wearing a red and white striped top, and tight navy blue jeans, black Doc Martens on his feet. A few strands of hair were flitting around his eyes, and for a second I wildly thought, 'he looks like a sailor,' swallowing the lump that had formed in my throat at the sight of him looking so gloriously unstructured. So free.

I don't think I'd seen him looking quite like that since the first time I'd spotted him on the commons, arm in arm with Quinn as he sang, and nothing but an intriguing stranger to me. His eyes were so bright, somehow more alive. My breath caught slightly as I realised I wanted to sweep him into my arms, have him sweep me into his arms, and kiss him on his coral pink mouth. His hair fluttering on my cheeks, and his pulse strong against my palm on his warm neck.

Up until that point all of the small urges and impulses I'd felt towards Kurt had been manageable. Little spidery cracks that could be plastered over and hidden. Never had they been so vivid, and never had they created such a fracture. The kind that, no matter how carefully restored, would still be visible if studied for any length of time. He lifted a hand to brush a hair from his cheek, and I sharply decided that I'd reached a point where they weren't worth repairing. More cracks would come, more often and far deeper, and the amount of energy required to conceal them, already considerable, would become so draining as to be unbearable. I could strive to divert the eye from them, but I could no longer try to ignore them.

Seeing him in the bright light of morning, so solid and present and somehow astonishingly enhanced and even more wonderful than the Kurt of my mind, I wondered if he'd eventually cause me to simply fall to pieces.

I mentally shook and steeled myself, and once a couple of metres away, I asked, "What are you-" only for him to cut me off.

"Shh!" He hissed, grinning and beckoning, "Come here."

He turned back to the tree, and it took all my strength to remind myself that I couldn't crowd in behind him, slide my arms around his waist, and rest my chin on his wool clad shoulder.

God, I wanted to.

Yet another crack.

Instead, I huddled into the opposite side of the tree, my arm brushing his for a moment, and felt a huge unstoppable grin settle on my face as I peered out across the commons in search of whatever it was Kurt was watching.

"So… what are we doing?" I asked.

"Look over by admin. Miss Lopez is having a rendezvous." He sang, somehow managing to make the last word sound incredibly filthy.

I laughed, every trace of frustration from my chat with Cedric blissfully dissolving. This was a childlike, playful side of Kurt that I'd only had brief glimpses of in the past. There had been a couple of times at both of our dinners when it had seemed like he'd been on the verge of it. Laughter simmering below the surface and longing to bubble up and spill over, only to withdraw to wherever it had stemmed from. Seeing it unbridled, whatever the reason behind it, was like a balm. So irresistibly sweet, I couldn't help but relax.

I quickly spotted Santana, standing in the doorway to the building with the tall blonde she'd been kissing at the party the night before. A peal of breathless laughter met us, and as I watched, she tucked her hair behind her ear, glancing up through her lashes and smiling bashfully. She may as well have been a completely different woman to the Santana I was acquainted with. In fact, this Santana looked less like a woman, and more like a girl. Unsure and coy and calm. I already knew that there was more to her than the brash surface she projected, but her soft eyes and the coquettish tilt to her hip were entirely new.

"She's flirting." I whispered elatedly.

Kurt snorted, "You say that like you're surprised."

"No, I mean, look at her," I laughed, "She's shy."

"Nervous." Kurt sighed dreamily.

I rested my forehead on the bark of the tree and squeezed my eyes shut, "Okay, do you suddenly feel like a prying on something really private?"

"A little," Kurt stood up straight again, "But if it means I get to grill her about this later, then I can deal with that."

I moved back too, making sure I was out of sight, "Did they arrange to meet?"

"I don't think so. We were walking down here to fetch you, and the girl… whoever she is, called out to Santana. She blushed harder than I've ever seen, which I so wanted to tease her about, but she skipped off and told me not to wait up. Skipped."

I smirked, "She didn't tell you not to spy, though."

"I love loopholes." Kurt grinned, sneaking another glance at them.

After a minute of silent surveillance, Santana reached out, squeezing the other girls arm affectionately. To my delight, and Kurt's barely contained vocal delight, the blonde went one step further, leaning forward and pecking Santana on the cheek, finally turning and walking away with a wave.

Santana spun somewhat giddily and scanned the commons. We didn't have a chance to make ourselves inconspicuous before she located us, her sudden scowl obvious even from a distance.

"Oh my god, she's going to kill us," I whispered, jumping back and grasping Kurt's shoulder before I could stop myself, "Today is the day we both die."

"Shh, don't worry," he clutched my arm in both hands, his teeth showing in a pure smile, eyes crinkling, "She wouldn't kill me, and I like you too much to let anything happen to you. Besides, if she did kill you, I'd have to kill her, and then I'd be down two perfectly good friends. It'd be such a waste."

I gazed distractedly at his hands for a second, then back up at his eyes, "I feel like a Scooby Doo character."

He stared at me, eventually ducking his head and squeezing his eyes shut, trying to and failing to muffle his laughter, all gasps and shaking shoulders and dazzling mirth.

Oh, I was so screwed.

I reluctantly let go of his shoulder when Santana crept into my periphery, in no state to deal with the knowing looks and Cheshire Cat grins that she'd no doubt bombard me with if he had the reason. We both composed ourselves as best we could, Kurt's breathing still a little heavy, his chest rising and falling erratically as we turned to face Santana, our best blank, innocent expressions in place. We must have looked like little kids, swearing we didn't eat the cookies that were cooling on the windowsill, despite the tell-tale crumbs on our collars.

She stopped about two metres away, glaring, then pointing to us one after the other.

"Fuck you. Fuck you," she deadpanned, "Let's go get some breakfast."

Kurt let out one last weak cough of laughter, glancing at me with wide, slightly damp eyes, and we fell into step behind her, hurrying to keep up as she powered towards the cafeteria without a backward glance.

Kurt cleared his throat and casually said, "So, we're keeping this one are we?"

Santana glanced over her shoulder, the most impossibly imperious look on her face, "I haven't decided yet."

"Who is she?" I asked.

"None of your business."

I snorted derisively as we drew level with her, "Oh?"

She furrowed her brow at me, "What, Blaine?"

"Nothing," I said airily, "I know how you feel about interfering in other people's love lives. You're right. It's none of my business."

She stared at me, and for a second I thought she was going to smile, eventually looking away quickly and snapping, "Brittany Pierce."

"Well, you know her name," Kurt smirked, oblivious to the reason behind our sniping, "I suppose that's a start."

"Yeah, fuck you again," Santana murmured, "She's a dance student here."

"Are you going to see her again?" I asked.

"Yes."

Kurt bit his bottom lip to keep from smiling, "Are you going to introduce us?"

Santana stopped at the entrance to the cafeteria, turning to us and shouting, "Oh my god, what are you my parents? We're changing the topic," she paused and smirked, "Dads."

Kurt snorted as she aggressively shouldered through into the cafeteria leaving the two of us outside. Eventually he opened the door and turned to me, still grinning that playful grin he seemed intent on wearing all morning, "After you, dear."

For a second I thought I was going to choke, just managing to stop myself. To Kurt his words were just an appropriately playful tease in the playful ambiance. There was no way for him to know just how deep the word dear would demolish me as it fell from his lips, so I smiled tightly and hoped I wasn't blushing, sliding through the door with a brave, quiet, "Thank you, dear."

We joined Santana at the end of the line, shuffling forwards in silence. Kurt and Santana bought little containers of fruit salad that look surprisingly uncontaminated for pre-packaged college food, and I got one for myself, simply because I suddenly found that I was completely incapable of thinking in any kind of straight line. I probably would have bought a raw steak had someone offered it to me.

The buoyant mood that Kurt had leant me was trying its best to deflate in light of the task ahead. I felt like I was about come out to my parents all over again. Pacing in my bedroom and starting every time a car passed the house, thinking it was them pulling into the drive, chatting about work and money and having no idea that their only son was about to sit them down and voluntarily alter their opinion of him. It was the first time in a long, long time that the act had held that much gravity to me. I cared what he thought, and I didn't expect a negative response, but I wasn't holding out for ticker tape and balloons either. Until I'd said the words to Kurt, 'I'm gay,'and got some sort of reassuring response, a smile, a squeeze of my hand… him not yelling, you fucking idiot, why didn't you tell me?, then my stomach was doomed to be tied in little nauseating knots.

We paid for our food, and distracted and sweaty-palmed or not, my eyes honed on the little refreshment bar a short way down from the cash register. Coffee. Caffeine. I still hadn't had any since I woke, and I sure as hell didn't need to add to my jitters, but God, help me, I wanted it anyway.

I made a beeline for it, asking, "You guys want coffee?"

Kurt nodded, "Please."

"I'll help you," Santana said quickly, following me along to the end of the counter, "Kurt? Get us a table?"

"Uh huh." He nodded, wandering off.

Free coffee was one of those very few free on-campus luxuries that ended up meaning the world to every last food and sleep deprived student at Albarn. There were three percolators in the cafeteria that were pretty much on constant rotation from open 'til close, emptying swiftly as people trudged through with mugs and thermoses, or used the paper cups provided, the option for a coin contribution there for anyone who didn't need every last cent for ramen and beer. I tossed a couple of quarters in the donation can before grabbing three cups and passing one along to Santana, who'd sidled up right next to me, obviously itching to say something I didn't want to hear.

"Go on," I sighed, "Get it out."

"I don't know what you're talking about." She smiled sweetly.

"I'm sure."

We leant on the counter, waiting for the latest pot to finish brewing.

After a moment she said, "You're less surprised that I'm courting a girl than I thought you'd be."

"Courting?" I laughed.

She shrugged, "In my head it seemed more polite than 'fucking'"

"Oh, so it's just sex." I deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.

"Ugh, shut up," she elbowed me weakly, "No, it's not. Britt's really sweet."

"You like her."

"Yes, dad."

"Still not your dad."

"Yes, mum."

"Ha ha."

"Anyway," she pinched my arm, "like I said, less surprise than I was expecting."

I hummed, "Remember who you're talking to? Mr Selectively Closeted?"

She glared at me, then said quietly, "Yeah, I remember. Which is why I know you'd hate it if anyone ever called you that, so don't do it to yourself. Okay?"

I put my arm around her shoulders for a second, and squeezed, "Kay. And yeah, when pretty much every last one of your friends thought you wanted to sleep with me, I was under the impression that you liked your company male, but that kind of raced out the door when I saw you making out with Brittany in a crowd of drunk students last night," I hesitated, "Kurt filled me in on the rest. I hope you don't mind."

"Nah, it's cool," she scrunched her nose, "I'd have told you eventually, I guess. Anyway, I haven't exactly sworn off machismo…" she said slowly, "Let's just say I'm fluid."

"If that's you want." I agreed.

I grabbed a couple of packets of sugar from a basket, and shook them distractedly.

"How does Kurt take his coffee?" I asked.

Santana laughed, a short, rough bark.

I furrowed my eyebrows at her, "See, maybe I'm weird, but that question didn't strike me as funny."

She pursed her lips, eyes shining, and crooned, "You're in love with him and you don't even know his coffee order."

I dropped the sugar packets, quickly falling to my knees to retrieve them, rising with a scowl, "Don't just… say that."

"What?"

"Love." I hissed, "You just throw it out like that, and I… just, don't. Okay?"

Her eyes widened, mouth slightly open, "Shit, I was only joking, Blaine, but now I'm not so sure."

"Well you probably have about as much idea as I do, so congratulations."

"Do you?" she asked, gently, "Love him?"

It was a hell of a question. Every sensible shred of myself wanted to answer with, 'don't be absurd,' and every slightly rebellious one (and apparently they were multiplying by the hour) shrugged and asked, 'sure, why not?' The loneliest, most secluded part whispered, 'don't love again, it's dangerous, remember?' I squeezed my eyes shut and ignored them all.

"How can I?" I exhaled, "I barely know him. He knows me even less. And I'm a fucking emotional disaster, so I'm not sure I'd know it even if I could get my head around what I feel about him."

"Hey," she said softly, "I think that's the most internal insight you've ever willingly given me. Well done."

I couldn't tell if she was being intentionally patronising or not, "What am I, six?"

"The most fucked up six year old on the planet."

"You better believe it." I murmured.

"One day you're gonna tell me why you're so fucked up, right?"

My stomach lurched at the prospect.

"Please don't hold your breath."

"I promise I won't suffocate on your behalf," she said, her voice returning to its brisk norm, "But I'm just gonna get this straight for both of us, and say there's reason everyone whines about love being fickle, so you can stop hiding behind this, 'but we only just met,' bullshit, and admit that there's a distinct possibility that you love our Mr Hummel, whether you're in any state to do so or not."

I stared at her, my jaw hanging slack, struck silent by a lack of any other appropriate reaction that didn't involve shaking my head and walking away.

Once I found my voice again, I hissed, "You realise that I agonise about this stuff, and you stating it simply like that doesn't make it simple."

"What part of that was simple?" She laughed loudly, the sound echoing conspicuously off the high ceilings and causing me to look for Kurt in some kind of weird fear that he'd instinctively know what we were talking about, "It hardly even made any sense as I was fucking saying it. I'm just saying, Jesus Christ, Blaine, maybe you don't have to agonise so much. It's clearly not making anything any more comprehensible to you. You don't think maybe you're wasting your time?"

I thought, Yes. But I need it.

Out loud I said, more eloquently, alarmingly truthfully, and somewhat resignedly, "If it makes the fact that I'm tragically smitten with a gorgeous boy who thinks I'm straight any more manageable, then no. I don't think it's a waste of time."

She punched me in the shoulder, smiling broadly, "I should get you mad more often. It's makes you honest."

"I'm not mad," I murmured, looking at my feet, "You're awful. I don't like you."

"Yeah, you do." She grabbed a cup from me and filled it, snatching a couple of sugars for herself, "So… you and Kurt were talking for a long time last night. How'd that go?"

"You haven't asked him yet?" I expected her to have interrogated him every which way.

"Didn't have time," she waggled her eyebrows, "Too busy doing romancing of my own."

I laughed, then nodded slowly, "It went… well. I'm pretty sure it went really well."

"Told him yet?"

I didn't need to ask if she was referring to whether I'd come out to him or not.

"Nope."

"God, you were together for hours!" she squawked, "What did you talk about?"

I tipped my head from side to side in a noncommittal way, "This and that," I picked that the lip of one of the cups, "You know everything about his… his past, right?"

"Most of the things that matter," she said quietly, "He told you about landing in hospital, didn't he?"

"Yeah."

"You okay?" She poked my hand, trying to catch my eye.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," I smiled weakly, "It was just… you know, a lot."

"Tell me about it." She shook her head.

I took the jug of coffee from her, busying myself with it before asking, "How is he still standing?"

She sighed expansively, propping her elbows on the counter, "I could ask the same of you. You seem a little wobbly on your feet, at least."

I was still erring on the edge of being impressed or slightly disconcerted by just how perceptive Santana could be, "I guess so. I didn't get my head bashed in though."

"It's all about context, I suppose," she murmured, "Your issues, whatever they are, aren't any less important to you just because Kurt's seem worse. It pisses me off that there are so many people who'll tell you to stop licking your 'imaginary wounds,' just because somewhere else someone has it worse. How the fuck are you ever supposed to come to terms with something if you're always being told to harden the up and get over it?" she looked at me, "There's nothing wrong with hurting. Everyone has their ways of dealing with the bad stuff. As long as you make it out the other side and try your best not to fuck anyone else up in the process, who cares what it takes to get you there. Kurt does a good job of coming across like he is, but I honestly don't even know if he's there yet," she peered at me, "You sure as shit aren't. Which is why you've both got me."

I swallowed around the tennis ball sized lump in my throat and hoped that the prickling in my eyes wasn't manifesting into tears, "Do you moonlight as a Hallmark greeting card writer?"

She smirked, "Asshole."

"Thank you." I whispered.

"No need to thank me. You were an asshole when I met you."

"I mean it, Santana." I covered her hand with my own and squeezed.

"So did I." She looked down, eventually turning her hand palm up and returning the pressure, "I gather it isn't something you're used to, but I've got your back. Whether you want it or not."

I took a deep breath, "I'm kind of surprised by how much I do want it."

She cocked her head, "Aw… you're so messed up."

I gave a feeble smirk, "I've got to give you something to work with."

"Does that mean you want my help now?"

"Again with that word. Your definition of help is so much broader than mine."

"Okay, then. Let me in on your brilliant plan for snagging Kurt." She held her fingers up, counting off, "Step one: Make doe eyes. Step two: Try to incinerate Cedric with the strength of your scowl. Step three: Cry into your pillow. Rinse and repeat. And for the record, step two doesn't work. I've tried. Countless times."

"I'm going to tell him I'm gay." I said.

She narrowed her eyes shrewdly, "Is that step four, or are you actually going to make it a priority?"

"No, I'll do it soon."

"Like now soon?"

I took a vast breath, deciding, "Yes."

"Are you going to tell him you like him?"

I snorted, "Baby steps."

"So…" she bit her lip, "soon…"

"Yes."

"Really?"

I groaned, "Shit, Santana. Yes."

"Mhm… because in the short time since I met you, you haven't been at all prone to putting off challenging encounters."

"Yeah, yeah, you know me so well." I violently tore a bunch of sugar packets open, accidentally spraying little granules all over my hands.

"Blaine, I can read you like a book." Santana said, clearly trying not to laugh at my newfound uncoordination, "This particular page turner is titled, 'I have a tortured past and I'd rather deal with it myself, even though I'm clearly incapable of doing so.' I've read it a thousand times. Can't say it's a favourite."

"Then why do you even care?" I snapped, dusting the counter off.

"Because there's a sequel." She said matter-of-factly, "'My heart belongs to Kurt Hummel, but I'm too afraid to show it.' It's a little tawdry in places. Otherwise, it's really sweet. And in case you were wondering, it has a nauseatingly happy ending."

"Really?" I mumbled, petulantly, "I heard it ends in heartbreak and embarrassment."

"I don't know who your sources are, but they're full of shit."

"No, they're realistic."

"Pessimistic."

"You're so clever."

"I am." She chirped, "And I'm right. I care about you guys, and it's a fucked up trip to Bizarro World when I'm not the most sceptical soul in the room. How about for once you stop thinking about what's best for your fragile little heart, and try doing something that's actually good for it."

I narrowed my eyes at her, jaw tight, realising that there was pretty much nothing she could say to me anymore that I had it in me to be genuinely offended by. She was still disconcertingly skilled at putting me on my back foot though, so I decided to see how much it took to throw her.

"Tell me about Brittany."

She did freeze momentarily, but to her credit, only for a second, "What, not even a segue?"

I crossed my arms, "I like to get straight to the point."

"Good to know," she droned, "Take Kurt his coffee and get to work on putting that into practice."

I figured it was just below my dignity to whimper out loud, "Santana..."

"Please, Blaine. You'll be fine, and it'll be one less thing for you to lock up and dwell on. I don't think I can stand another minute of watching you melt into a puddle of nervous pining and repression." She looked over by the floor to ceiling windows where Kurt was sat, tapping his fingers and gazing out across the commons, "He's not an idiot. You think he won't start to notice on his own?"

She planted a kiss on my cheek that could only be described as angry, before turning on her heel and stalking from the room with a shouted farewell to Kurt.