Santana never did tell me how Kurt took his coffee, so I snatched a few extra sugars and lingered for a second, a cup in each hand, before taking a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies having a rave in my stomach, and walking over to Kurt.

I also may have reminded myself not to vomit.

"Where's she off to?" Kurt asked, face upturned and eyes a surprising shade of green in the sunlight.

I seated myself opposite, slid Kurt his coffee and tried to think of an excuse, settling on, "I have no idea." My brain too busy with the mission ahead of me to come up with anything better.

"Just you and me then."

I swallowed, "Yup."

If it weren't for the fact that I was finally going to start offering Kurt pieces of the truth about me, I couldn't have thought of anywhere I'd rather have been. Sitting together, one on one, free to talk about any little inconsequential thing we chose, and free for me to watch his eyes crinkle when he smiled, or the way he sometimes carelessly twirled one hand in the air while he spoke. The sound of his voice, high as birds sometimes, or rumbling in a disarmingly low way, distant thunder.

Unfortunately we'd somehow managed to get the whole process of friendship backwards, and instead of spending a couple of months politely chatting about our favourite movies and songs, or what pets we had when we were kids, we'd already skipped to divulging the deep and dark. Mostly my fault, I know, but it still felt a little strange.

And wonderfully right.

It felt portentous. Our unusual almost instant camaraderie. I realise that feeling was contrived. I wasn't falling for him because I was miraculously willing to be honest with him. I was willing to be honest with him because I was falling for him, and because he was honest with me. He hadn't just sprung out of the ground with the sole purpose of helping me learn to be comfortable with myself… but gazing at him, his pale hands curled around a cup of watery coffee, I could almost believe that he had.

He tore just one packet of sugar open and sprinkled it in his drink, and I meticulously filed it away for future reference.

He swirled the cup a little and exhaled dramatically, "My pointless arts degree for a Starbucks."

My grin was so broad my cheeks ached, "I think that'd buy you enough caffeine to kill an army."

"Blaine, have you seen their prices?" He waved a hand, smiling, "A small army. New Zealand, maybe. Or I could buy a franchise and put it out of business with all the freebies I help myself to. You'd get friend discounts, too."

"Well in that case," I chuckled, "Maybe it'd be worth it."

"Definitely ." He took a sip of his coffee and winced a little, "I sometimes ask myself why I left a small town to come to an even smaller, colder town."

"Why did you?"

He stared at me for a moment, then shrugged, "This small town's beautiful."

"It is." I said softly, aware that I was staring at his mouth as he spoke. I altered my gaze to catch his eye instead, which proved even more perilously captivating.

He was apparently one of those people who can carry on a conversation while comfortably keeping eye contact, not looking away bashfully or blinking or blushing. It made me feel exposed, in an unpredictably pleasant kind of way. With him, it sort of just made me dimly think, go ahead, spot my blemishes and faults. I want you to. The idea of him seeing them didn't induce blind terror in me anymore, but a kind of rollercoaster adrenaline. That little thrilling jolt where you're aware of the possible risks behind something, but too interested in the outcome to care.

He nodded, continuing, "For a while I had my heart set on going to New York. I dunno, I'll probably still go there when I'm finished here. When there's less chance of me just… melting into the crowds. I feel like I still have some growing up to do before I can be sure that won't happen." He slid an empty sugar packet around with the tip of his finger, "I think I needed to come here first to prove to myself that just because every town can't be like New York, it doesn't mean they're automatically going to be like Lima."

I understood a little, if not entirely. I imagined myself being able to pick Kurt out in a crowd of thousands, singular and vibrant, glowing like a beacon. I knew what it felt like to not view yourself that way though, "Is it better here?"

"I'm older here." He sighed, but god, he didn't look it. He looked pale, the sweet pink bow of his lips and his unlined face, so incredibly young and so piercingly perfect, "It's easier to avoid prejudice when you aren't stuck in a school swimming with bigots who don't even know the meaning of the word." He laughed bitterly, "Funnily, that didn't actually make them any less skilled at the job. I mean, you still get that here. Same people, different faces. But," he said brightly, a little falsely so, "I haven't been attacked in the street, and I can't remember the last time anyone gave me trouble. Any of us for that matter." His voice lowered to a more sincere tone, "I like it here. So I guess for me that makes it better here."

"I'm glad." I said, with all the depth I could muster in two words. He so deserved to be happy.

"Me too." He nodded with brows furrowed, like he himself was only just realising how true that was.

We both picked at our food for a little while, then Kurt said, "I had fun last night."

I looked up, soaring, a balloon in the clouds, "Really?"

"Mm."

"So did I," I smiled, "I mean… it feels like the wrong word, given everything we talked about, but it was…" I paused, "It was nice."

He nodded, "I'm not a big fan of small talk anyway. It felt good to have someone to vent to about... everything. I hope it wasn't too much."

"Not at all," I murmured, spearing a piece of watermelon, and deciding to get the subject of Cedric out of the way, "When are you going to see him?"

He took a gulp of coffee and sighed, "I'm heading over to his dorm after this."

"Not looking forward to it?"

"Let's just say in this case I'd probably prefer mindless small talk." He deadpanned, "I have a feeling regardless of what comes out of this, it's going to be kind of heavy."

I think I was worryingly close to yelling, 'please, say you're going to dump him,' so I bit my tongue sharply and paused for a second before speaking.

"Well… whatever happens, I mean…" I struggled to find the right set of words, "This sounds so trite, but if you need someone to talk to, or… or talk at, you know where to find me. That is, if Quinn or the other's aren't available."

"Thanks. I think…" he looked up at me through dusty lashes, too beautiful, steam curling around his face, "I actually feel more comfortable talking about this stuff with you."

My heart went into a tailspin, colliding with my ribcage like a pinball. It sent a pleasant little Mexican wave of goose-bumps flurrying across my skin that felt so severe I worried that they'd be visible.

"Um…" my voice came out mutinously strangled, and I cleared my throat, "Why?"

"You're just…" he drew his bottom lip between his teeth, "You were really impartial last night. And kind of blunt."

Oh. I felt abruptly hot, "Sorry."

He laughed, probably at how far my face was capable of falling in the space of three seconds, "No, it's a good thing, Blaine. I don't know many people… actually, I'm not sure I know anyone who understands when I'd just like them to either be honest and objective or not say a word." He frowned, "And sometimes I do just want sympathy or advice, but it was nice to not get it unquestioningly."

I knew exactly what he meant, and that inconsequential detail filled me with a couple of gorgeous seconds of utter peace, like the tide coming in, washing away footprints and furrows scarring the sundried sand.

"My pleasure." I said quietly, centring myself.

He poked his tongue between his teeth for a second, "I'm sure it won't be after a few weeks of me running to you whenever I need a self-indulgent whine."

"Oh, I dunno…" I murmured.

I felt ready, and clutched my coffee tightly.

"I have to tell…" No. I ecstatically realised that wasn't quiteright, "I want to tell you something, too."

"Yeah?" Kurt cocked his head a little, "Go for it."

How was it that everyone but me managed to make that sound so easy?

"It's kind of big." I laughed weakly.

"That's okay."

"And I probably should have told you already."

"Okay…" he said slowly, a distinct look of curiosity in his furrowed brow and slightly parted lips.

"Um…" my voice kind of hissed out of me, uncooperative, and probably even more telling of my hesitance than my guarded body language; one arm clamped around my waist, one hand tucked in my underarm, and my eyes darting wildly. I could feel a sheen of sweat on my forehead, and I wished I'd removed my coat when I'd sat down.

Kurt put his coffee down, concerned, "Blaine, I feel like you're about to tell me your dad's in the mafia, or you've killed a man."

My name passing his lips gave me another fleeting moment of that bizarre calm. He somehow managed to make that one syllable, so familiar to me as to be the single most dull name on Earth, sound fascinating and profound.

"No. Nothing like that. It's nothing awful. Or illegal,"I stuttered, "I just… I feel a little bad for keeping it from you."

He hummed and gave a little one shouldered shrug, his voice warm and encouraging, "We've known each other for less than a month. You aren't obliged to tell me anything."

I paused for a long time, gnawing on my bottom lip, mind racing.

It wasn't like I didn't want to tell him I was gay. I mean it when I say I've never been ashamed of my sexual orientation, but… amongst everything else, I was somewhat humiliated that I'd kept it from Kurt for as long as I had. While in a way my homosexuality defines every scrap of me, it isn't all of me. Well… it is, but it it's complicated.

It took me a while, but I think I finally fully understood my reticence to be completely forthcoming about it. I remember when I was in high school. Even after everything that Malcolm and I went through, I was still stubbornly honest about my homosexuality. It was easier in a self-contained community where, through gossip and note passing, everyone just knew every secret that ever passed anyone's lips. Once I graduated, like everything else, it just got harder.

I don't know if it was the fault of the company I'd kept over the years, or just my imagination, but there was rarely ever an instance when the people I told, straight or gay, treated me the same once they knew. Not everyone was as effortlessly comfortable as Puck and Santana had been. It's one thing for acquaintances to switch from asking me if I have a girlfriend, to asking me if I have a boyfriend. Those sorts of little changes are fine, and expected, but to treat me like a different person altogether? Like the fact that I'm gay alters everything they thought they knew about me? I couldn't stand that. It was like a shock to the system that utterly jolted my approach to being 'out.'

I think I'd grown to love the moment, the bittersweet reprieve, when I wasn't the Blaine Anderson I knew, but the Blaine Anderson people chose to make of me. I can't reiterate enough how happy I am with my homosexuality. If I were given the opportunity, it's one of the few things about myself that I would never change. I'd simply grown tired of the look; that familiar look that people sometimes got. There was no one word for it and it varied constantly, but it was always recognisable. A pity, or overly eager understanding, or disgust, or bizarre unquestioning acceptance, or anger, or the odd feeling that I'd suddenly become prey. I meet new people so often, and I'd convinced myself that to essentially have to come out to every single one of them and catch that look on every second face was too much. Simply for being the way I am. The way I was born.

If I was on the other end of that look on a daily basis, I'm pretty sure my heart would break.

That's why I don't just tell people. That's why I wait. Wait for trust or a sense that any response will be genuine as opposed to knee jerk. I'd figured out almost immediately that Kurt was the kind I could confide in, but for whatever reason I hadn't, and guilt laced my veins.

In Kurt's case, there was also an added fear. Telling him was also making myself… available. Not that I had any illusions that he'd want me once he knew, but the idea that he wasn't, or wouldn't, or couldn't ever be interested in me was scary in itself.

Honestly, I think I'd reached a point where I couldn't even tell if I was being careful or cowardly.

That kind of broke my heart too.

I took a deep, deep breath, held Kurt's questioning stare, and it felt a little like the world was falling away from under me.

"I'm gay."

Kurt's eyebrows raised a little, his head tilting and his eyes narrowing the tiniest bit before he nodded, "Okay."

And just like that the ground rushed back up, solid under my feet. I wasn't sure what I'd expected him to say, but I couldn't deny that I'd thought maybe his reaction would have been a little more dramatic.

"Um…" my hand found its way to the back of my neck and scratched at the loose curls there, my eyes averted, "Did you know?"

"No." he said, "I didn't."

I didn't know what to say. I just kept staring at my swiftly cooling coffee, face flushed, feeling painfully, childishly foolish. After a moment I heard Kurt exhale and felt his fingers close around my elbow, gently pulling my arm down from where it was still nervously worrying.

"Hey," he said quietly, waiting until I finally looked up to his kind, searching gaze, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I whispered, willing my eyes not to prickle for the second time that day.

He smiled sweetly, "Did you expect me to disown you and tell you I didn't want us to be friends anymore?"

I inhaled, letting it out in a rush, "No. I just… I feel like a fucking idiot for not telling you earlier," I backtracked, "No, I know I'm a fucking idiot for not telling you."

Kurt moved his grip down my forearm, loosely gripping my hand, "This isn't… you've known you're gay for a while, right? You're not coming out to me, are you? Not that that changes anything, but just to clarify."

"No, no. I've known for a while," I stammered, "Since high school."

"Is there a reason you didn't tell me?" He ventured.

"Not a good one," I found myself laughing, though it was the last thing I felt like doing, "I just… I don't tell many people. There are only a handful of people here who do know, and I didn't actually mean to tell them… I guess."

Kurt looked down at my hand, absently playing with my fingers on the grey Formica table, "I'm not trying to send you on a guilt trip for keeping it from me, but of all the people you could have… confided in, I'd have thought I'd be a safe bet."

"You are." I murmured.

"Or David or Santana. Even Quinn."

"Um," I cough faintly, "Santana knows, actually. She kind of worked it out. A while ago."

"Oh," he chuckled, "Remind me to ask where she gets her gaydar serviced. I think mine could use a tune."

"You had no idea?" I asked.

"Blaine," he tapped my hand and let go, and it took all of my willpower to force myself not to chase after it, "I have plenty of straight male friends," he paused, "Well, I have a few straight male friends, but I don't generally spend my time trying to suss out whether they're actually gay or not."

I snorted, fanning my hands and fluttering my fingers half-heartedly, "Ta da."

He smiled, his eyes scanning my face, "You said there isn't a good reason you didn't want me to know, but are you going to tell me what the bad reason was?"

I pointed to his chest, "You don't have that hip flask hidden in your coat, do you?"

He laughed, his eyes crinkling, "Eleven o'clock. Just a little early for vodka, wouldn't you say?"

"No."

"You don't have to tell me."

I sighed, "I didn't not want you to know. And it's nothing personal. It's just… me."

"Will you tell me eventually?" he asked, "Once you trust me?"

"I… what?" I furrowed my brow, "Kurt, I trust you now. I realise I'm not the best at showing it, but I do. I can tell you right now that the reason I didn't let you know I'm gay straight away is that I'm harmfully insular and overly analytical, and… and I don't think I'm ready to explain that yet. But, I hope I will be… eventually. If you'll still want to listen."

I imagine Santana would have popped a bottle of champagne had she heard me admit that.

"I will." He said firmly, "Thank you."

I looked down, "It's nothing."

He craned his neck to catch my eye, a crooked grin on his face, "Something tells me that isn't quite true."

He was right. It was everything. I'd just vowed to let him in on a part of myself that I'd never before opened to another human being. To explain my secrecy was to explain my past with Malcolm and my transfer to Dalton. It was everything. And the strangest part was that when I swore it, it wasn't a lie. I knew that one day, whether it was in a week or a year or some time more distant than that, I would tell him all of the detrimental, reserved things that had gathered dust in the back of my mind and crippled me with their weight.

"Just…" Kurt swallowed, voice low, "Promise me you're okay? There isn't something sinister going on here that you really should tell someone, but won't?"

"No! No," I insisted, shaking my head fiercely, "It's… not at all. It's just, you know… old scars and all that."

He snorted, "Yeah. I can relate."

"Mine are metaphorical." I said, without thinking.

"I can relate." He repeated, eyes wide and earnest.

Of course he could. I didn't know him well enough to know if this was true or not, but I'd come to the assumption that Kurt was infinitely stronger and braver than I was. I was certain he was to some extent, at least. The way he carried himself and the confidence he exuded could be faked, though I didn't think they were. The main thing that set him apart from me was his willingness to show when he was unhappy or angry or anything fallible, anything other than fine. Or… maybe it wasn't a willingness, but he revealed it regardless.

My outer image may as well have been trapped in stasis, and with it, my ability to move forward in essentially every way. I was stuck, and had been for so long that I considered it normal. Kurt made me ashamed of that, but instead of resenting him for it, I wanted him to teach me.

I wanted to be courageous.

My hands shook minutely and I buried them in my lap, though didn't wait until my voice was steady to tremulously ask, "You don't… do you think less of me for not telling everyone I'm gay?"

Kurt shook his head, and shrugged, "Who am I to tell you how to live your life? Nothing's black and white. I don't judge you." He put his hand out in the centre of the table, palm up, and I stared at it for a second before bringing one of my own back up, holding on tight and physically needing his contact, "I never will, either. Just so you know. You don't have to worry about unburdening on me, if you ever need to."

I took a shuddery breath.

In with both feet.

"I do."

"In your own time." He said quietly, still not releasing my hand.

We were silent and still for quite a while. Kurt's skin was warm and dry against mine, smooth and firm and anchoring, and I didn't think I could actually let go unless he did

For the sake of him ever getting his limb back, I regrettably whispered, "Do you need to go?"

He glanced down at his watch on his opposite wrist, his lips pursing, "I probably should," his thumb twitched against the flesh of my palm, "I wish I didn't have to."

You don't, you don't, you don't. Don't go to him.

"It's okay," I smiled a little and our hands finally parted, his a fraction of a second before my own, "I think… I think I'm done talking anyway."

"As long as you're sure."

"I am." Apparently there were now two people in Albarn who were eager to look out for me, and I was so overwhelmingly happy that Kurt was one of them.

I stood as he did, hovering and waiting to follow his lead. I could have cried when he made his way around to my side of the table and, without hesitation, slid his arms firmly around my waist. I draped my own around his neck and buried my face in his shoulder, closing my eyes, my own breath warming my face and seeping into the fabric of his coat.

"Thank you." I mumbled. The words didn't feel strong enough, though. Why weren't there words to express the kind of gratitude I felt? It wasn't fair.

He just tightened his embrace briefly, his breath quietly puffing in my ear, eventually pulling back, his gaze hovering just above my eye line.

"Your hair's curly today." He said, as if he'd only just noticed my lack of gel, forgone when I'd rushed outside to meet him.

"Oh…" I dragged a hand through it self-consciously, my shoulders hunching, "Yeah."

He smiled amiably, "It's cute."

"Thanks…" I said automatically, my mind suddenly blank. If it hadn't been, I probably would have embarrassed myself by repaying the compliment far too enthusiastically, so I guess it was for the best.

"I'll see you later, then." He said, "Call me if you need. Or text."

"You too. After you've spoken to Cedric," I panicked, "Or… or, you know. Whenever."

"I think I will." He smiled, squeezing my arm fleetingly before turning and leaving.

I let my eyes fall shut, holding my breath for a few seconds before walking back over to the coffee counter, feeling somewhat floaty and disembodied. Kurt was heading over to Grayson to see Cedric, and I'd feel ridiculous following straight after him. I made myself a tea, hot and sweeter than I'd usually take it, the way my mum used to fix it when I was sick.

I wandered back slowly, holding the cup close to my face, and abruptly too exhausted to even think. I don't think I wanted to think. It was odd, but refreshing, not instantly seeking to dissect what had just happened.

I trudged up to my floor, casting a glance at Cedric's door as I passed it, and letting myself into my room, kicking my shoes off and propping myself against the pillows in my bed. I drank my tea in tiny sips, not reading or turning my lap top on, simply coasting on the vague fuzziness and undeniable heavy relief that had descended upon me.

Eventually I curled on my side on top of the blankets, retrieving my phone from my pocket to place next to my head, closing my eyes and drifting off swiftly.

I slowly emerged from my sleep at the sound of a text alert, though it was probably ten minutes or so before I bothered to open my eyes. I was surprised to find that the sun had almost set, my room swathed in long shadows. I couldn't recall the last time I'd slept a day away. Probably not since I'd last been cut down with the flu, and I'm pretty sure that had been back at Dalton.

My head was cottony and sluggish as I blindly padded around for my cell, unlocking it to find a text from Kurt that I hadn't actually expected, and blinking at the bright screen as I opened it.

As I read it, my heart sank, thudding dully against my spine.

I think Ced and I just made up.