"You taste like shit."

"I taste like smoke." The other boy's voice was deep and currently near to a purr.

"Much of a muchness. Cedric, it's disgusting."

"Everything's relative."

"Well, it'd be nice if you at least didn't do it when I'm around."

"I never know when I'm going to see you."

"If I text you saying 'I'm coming 'round,' that's usually a pretty good indication."

"I'll buy some gum."

"I know you're kidding, but I hope you do."

"I'm not kidding…"

They fell silent. I assumed they were kissing again and I listened closely for any sign of being discovered.

"See you tomorrow?" asked the boy I guessed was called Cedric.

"Sure. I'll call you."

I started walking up the stairs again, as if that was what I'd been doing all along, and Kurt appeared at the top, passing me on his way down and nodding at me politely in acknowledgment. There were no sparks as he brushed by me. No fireworks or heralding horns. Just two boys going their own way, one of them completely unaware of the others curiosity. He did smell pretty sublime though. I don't know what it was. Some cologne I guessed, deep and spiced, and yes, just a small hint of cigarette smoke on his clothes from Cedric's apparent bad habit.

When I reached the top of the stairs Cedric had already retreated to his room. Some people in the dorm chose to decorate their doors with various things. Posters and quotes and little dry erase white-boards on which to write messages, but there was nothing of the sort on his. Nothing to give me any indication as to who he was. Honestly, I wasn't interested in him at all. I was interested in his relationship with Kurt though.

Kurt who I still knew nothing about.

On a whim that surprised even me I stopped as I passed Puck's Gene Simmons plastered door and knocked twice. A second later Puck opened the door, the faint sound of music floating out of his room.

"Hey man. What's up?"

I floundered, but not long enough for him to notice, "Hey. Are we meeting up before the party on Friday?"

"Oh yeah. I totally meant to tell you, we're going to have a couple of drinks over at Hoskins and then head off campus."

I wasn't surprised Puck had forgotten to tell me. He wasn't the most focussed guy I'd ever met, "Awesome. Around six?"

"Yeah, sure. It's going to be great man. Albarn knows how to throw a house party. If it's not going off by the time we get there, we'll soon make it." He grinned wickedly.

"Can't wait." I smiled, finally getting to my real point for stopping by, "Hey, that room," I pointed to Cedric's door, "Who lives there?"

Puck peered at where I was indicating, "Oh, that's Cedric Winton. Studies some kind of literature or something. Right up your alley. Why?"

My mind raced, "Um… I saw someone in the kitchen… they uh, they took a container of food marked with his door number. I thought I should probably let him know." I finished weakly.

Puck snorted, "That's cool man. Risk of using the communal fridge, but whatever. I don't know the guy. He mostly hangs with a bunch of people from McCarthy House."

I nodded. I hadn't met anyone from McCarthy yet, "OK, thanks. Probably catch you tomorrow."

"See you dude."

He closed his door and I just stood there for a moment. What the hell did I do that for? I had absolutely no vested interest in the love life of a stranger. I had a great group of friends already and unless we crossed paths at some point I had no reason to care about Kurt any more than any other student at Albarn.

It was then, dazed and confused by my not so subtle interrogation of Puck, that I decided to let it go. Kurt intrigued me, but I wasn't going to continue behaving in this uncharacteristic, frankly surprising way. He was just one ordinary, albeit eye-catching student among five hundred others.

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The next day I had my Satire tutorial. I walked in, glimpsed Kurt, David and Santana and deliberately sat at a desk three rows in front of them so that there was no chance of me even seeing them again during class.

I know this might seem melodramatic considering all I'd done was watch the guy a bit and ask after the boy I saw him kissing, but for me that was weird. My life and attitude as a whole may have been based on what could be interpreted as an initial, colossal overreaction to the end of a relationship, but that was beside the point. I never overreacted. I was measure and control personified. I couldn't help but be shaken by this odd side Kurt had uncovered.

This lesson we were studying the works of the author Evelyn Waugh. Our tutor, Olivia Renner, a black haired woman in her forties who had a penchant for flowing skirts and beaded necklaces, had my complete attention as she guided the class in discussion.

"Waugh may have been a master of humour and caricature," she was on a roll, "sometimes harmfully two dimensional caricature, but he's just as well known for his representations of the bleaker sides of life; even if they are generally portrayed by upper class individuals. His novel Vile Bodies caught a great deal of criticism for its obviously abrupt change of theme. One minute it's Bright, Young Things, champagne, cigars and race cars and the next it's war and madness and addiction. This became a bit of a pattern for him. Many critics put it down to the end of his marriage, some to his conversion to Catholicism in 1930, and I'm prone to agree with the latter. It's evident in much of his work from then on, notably in what's possibly his best known book, Brideshead Revisited."

She paused, taking a sip of water, the silence in the room complete.

"In a 1959 preface of the book, Waugh noted the overall theme as being 'the operation of divine grace on a group of diverse but closely connected characters.'Something that became obvious in his style was a latent guilt which could be attributed to his religion. Was this that 'divine grace?' The two main male characters, Charles and Sebastian, spend the first half of the book in gluttony and sloth, becoming so close that, though Charles is apparently heterosexual, they have a near homosexual relationship. An attraction and a love. Not only does that disintegrate rapidly, but Sebastian ends up living frugally in some Tunisian Monastery! It's as if he's hammering home that there is no sin without punishment. No indulgence without due repentance. At the time of the book's publication it was the source of some confusion and irritation, but it also captured a lot of people's imaginations. Many people with no prior knowledge of Roman Catholic faith became enchanted by it. He'd romanticised it with his words. Nowadays however, when there is so much ambiguity as far as religion is concerned, it tends to disconnect the reader, if not offend. I myself find the sudden changes jarring. Many find it preachy."

She was a wonderful speaker. At the beginning of the tutorial I diligently took notes for later reference, but by this point I just stared at her, head propped on my hand and mouth slightly open as the tune of her voice hypnotized me.

"That said, he had an inarguably beautiful grasp of the English language and a style that was difficult to fault. I wonder if any of you have a favourite passage of his? Preferably from one of his more serious fragments?" She gazed around at the class, blinking magnanimously.

I racked my brain, but found myself unable to conjure anything that I knew well enough to recite. After a moment in which I wondered if anyone would speak up, she pointed to the back of the room, smiling.

"Kurt isn't it?" My stomach fluttered rebelliously when she said his name, "Come up here so we can all hear you."

And there he was, picking his way to the front of the room where he half propped himself against Olivia's desk, facing the class. He had on white jeans and a dusky pink shirt, rolled up to the elbows.

He looked at Olivia, "This is from Brideshead Revisited, part three, chapter one. Charles is speaking to Julia, his love interest. She's also Sebastian's sister. Weird love triangle… it's kind of messy."

Olivia laughed, "To put it nicely, yeah. When you're ready."

As he spoke he stared at a point over all of our heads, apparently lost in the words. He didn't hesitate or stumble once.

'… perhaps all our loves are merely hints and symbols; vagabond-language scrawled on gate-posts and paving stones along the weary road that others have tramped before us; perhaps you and I are types and this sadness which sometimes falls between us springs from disappointment in our search, each straining through and beyond the other, snatching a glimpse now and then of the shadow which turns the corner always a pace or two ahead of us.'

I sighed without noticing. This was the first time I'd actually been able to see the colour of his eyes properly. They were a kind of steel blue, trimmed with lashes that only served to make them seem wider. Again, I felt they weren't as bright as they appeared on my first sight of him and he looked a little sad as he spoke. They were no less striking for it though. I wondered if it was actual sadness, or affected to match the tone of the quote.

Crap.

It was going to be somewhat harder to ignore him than I'd thought.

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Come Friday evening, and a beautiful autumn dusk, I sat on the commons with Puck and the group of Hoskins boys, drinking my first beer of my life at Albarn. We were sprawled in a haphazard circle, I myself propped on my stomach as we chatted and gossiped and I slowly became more aware of the people and places and goings on of the college.

Jeff, who had been distractedly pulling at the grass, now blew a clutch of the small green spears off his palm, addressing Puck once he'd done so.

"Tell Blaine about your crush."

Puck scowled, "I don't have crushes." He looked at me, "I don't."

I put my hands up in an 'if you say so' kind of way and Jeff continued his jibing.

"Well, tell him about your… whatever."

Puck sat back, "There's this chick, hottest girl in the college – "

Sam cleared his throat, "Says you."

"Yeah, says me. I think she's the hottest girl in the college." He moved his hands, I guess in a demonstrative show of her curves, "Just, flawless man. So fine."

I laughed, still not having confided in them my sexual inclination, but not about to make a show of having any actual interest in this girls physique, "What's her name?"

"Santana Lopez." He stretched her name out lecherously.

Now he had my attention, "Really?"

"D'you know her?" Nick asked.

"No, no. She's in my Satire classes."

I neglected to mention the part where she was friends with the confusing object of my affections…

"Oh?" Nick raised an eyebrow, "I always thought she'd be more of the Drama degree type."

I shrugged, "I have no idea what she studies. Is she going to be at the party?"

Puck smirked, "Sure as hell hope so. Only reason I'm going."

"She lives on campus." Mike added, "McCarthy house."

McCarthy house. I assumed that Santana and company were the friends Puck referred to when he said that was Cedric's scene. I squirmed a little at the thought that Kurt might be there.

Jeff grinned, "Anyway, Puck's on a mission tonight. He's never even spoken to her, but he'd like to get to know her, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows comically.

"Make me sound like a massive sleaze why don't you!" He looked at me again, "It's not like that. I haven't been like that since high school, I swear. I just… want to meet her."

"You want to sleep with her." Mike deadpanned.

"I don't!"

"Puck, your dick is your brain."

"Why am I friends with you?"

"Who else would have you?" Sam laughed.

"Screw you!" he pegged an acorn at him.

Nick joined in, throwing one back, "Dude, you just said the only reason your coming tonight is to get friendly with some girl. We should be offended!"

"OK, you guys suck. Like, so much. Blaine, you're my only friend now. These guys can jump off a cliff."

I found myself laughing as they bickered. Their rapid fire, practiced ease was so infectious I couldn't help it. I was glad they were making it easy for me to appear comfortable, because as they spoke I had managed to corral a flock of butterflies in my stomach.

Seriously, what if Kurt was there?

Sam sat up, "Does anyone want another beer?"

"Yes please!" My hand shot up. It was possible I'd be needing a little Dutch courage tonight.

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The party was in a two story clapboard house, with a covered porch that looked like it stretched all the way around. By the time we got there it was already heaving with bodies, blasting music. A pagan beacon in the chill night air, drawing likeminded souls to it.

The minute we got there Nick and Jeff were waylaid by a group of people who called to them, and Sam and Mike struggled through the throng with their keg, I assume trying to find the kitchen. I followed after Puck, at a loss for what else to do, and he stopped at a drinks table in the dim front hall. He grabbed two red plastic cups, filling them with some miscellaneous punch, shoving one in my hand. I was already tipsy, but I took it from him, eyeing the red liquid. There were some dodgy bits of pink stained fruit floating in it.

"It sangria." Puck shouted over the din, "Or some bastardisation. They call it 'Rocket Fuel Sangria'. It's fine I promise."

I took his word, taking a sip and wincing, "Oh my god, that's unholy."

"Beggars can't be choosers." He laughed, "Come on, wingman. There's Santana."

He pointed to the living room, where I saw her standing with a red headed girl I didn't know. She looked like a clone of Rita Hayworth, who'd somehow found herself in a world of high waisted denim shorts, bow blouses and ankle socks.

I trotted after him obediently, coming to a stop in front of the girls.

"How you doing? I'm Puck." He thrust his hand at her.

She lifted an eyebrow, taking his hand gingerly, "Santana. This is Rose," She indicated her friend who waved in a bored way, "and you – " she eyed me, "– are in my Satire class with that ex-hippy professor. "

"Yeah, I'm Blaine." I said awkwardly. I'd never been a wingman before, but I had a feeling it was going to be an uncomfortable experience. We were struggling to hear one another over the music and both girls looked wholly disinterested in Puck's brazen advance.

"Having a good night?" Puck asked.

"It's alright." She said shortly, "Could be better."

Poor Puck. She wasn't making this easy for him, but he persisted, "What do you study?"

"I'm majoring in Women's Lit." she droned.

"How about you?" I asked Rose, trying to stick to my duties even if I was burning with embarrassment for my friend.

"Postmodern Poetry."

Puck snorted, "Really? Isn't that kind of out-dated?"

He'd hit a nerve. Rose drew herself up, planting a hand firmly on her hip and glaring at him. Next to her Santana caught my eye and smirked, shaking her head minutely.

Rose took a deep breath, "William Wordsworth said that 'the poet is the rock of defence for human nature!'

Puck winced, murmuring, "I have no idea who that is."

She continued, "Poetry never stopped being relevant! It's relevance may not have increased throughout the twentieth century, but it most certainly hasn't decreased. Less is written, and what is written is paid far less attention, but that the critic's loss, not poetry's."

I glanced back at Santana. She seemed to be beckoning to someone behind her as her friends tirade persisted.

"Got your thinking cap on, Mohawk?" she tapped her head, "'Shall I compare thee to a summers day?' 'Oh Captain, My captain?' 'In Xanadu did Kubla Kahn a stately pleasure dome decree?'"

Puck gaped at her, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Fine! The Owl and the fucking Pussycat!" she flailed her hands and I couldn't help but stifle a laugh, "Even if you don't know the poets, you certainly know the poems. Don't ever imply that poetry has a use by date!"

She finally halted, chest rising and falling a little, face red as she took a gulp of her drink. Puck looked like he'd been slapped with a text book. I'm sure in coming to flirt with Santana he hadn't bargained on a fiery friend quoting verse at him.

Just then, the person Santana had been gesturing to walked up, an Asian boy in a tweed blazer. He put his arm around Rose' shoulders tentatively. "Everything OK?" he asked cautiously.

She shrugged him off, "Yes, Wes. Everything's fine." She huffed.

"Doesn't sound fine." He put his arm back, and this time she allowed it.

"Well it is. Let's go find the others."

Wes steered her away gently, mouthing 'sorry' to us over his shoulder.

"What the fuck just happened?" Puck asked, "I'm getting another drink man. I haven't had nearly enough to deal with something like that again."

He turned and disappeared in the crowd, leaving me alone with Santana.

"Hey." This time it was her who offered the hand, "Sorry about that. She isn't always that bad." She paused. "Actually, yeah she is…"

I laughed, "And they say passion is dead."

"I know, she's like a poor man's Sylvia Plath. It's be endearing if it wasn't so annoying. Then again, it'd be unbearable if it wasn't so damn funny." She sipped her drink, "She definitely keeps away the unwanted suitors though." She caught herself, "No offence."

I smiled, "None taken. I gather Puck isn't used to getting turned down. It's probably good for him."

"It's Blaine, right?"

"Yep, Blaine Anderson."

"Well, Blaine Anderson," she hooked arms with me, "You've just scored yourself a job. Tonight, you're my boyfriend."

My mouth fell open, "I… I don't… I'm not like…"

"Relax!" She cried, "I just need to look attached so no one else will try to pick me up. I'm so not in the mood. You're just my prop, OK?"

"Thanks." I snorted.

She punched my arm, "I don't mean it like that. You'll be compensated. Think of the new friend you're making even as we speak."

I relaxed, "OK, I'm in, but if it gets to the point where I have to fight for your honour, I have to warn you now that I'll probably run away."

"Pfft. You're assuming I have any honour to defend. Don't worry, you'll be fine." She started pulling me to the back door, "Come on. My friends are all outside."

Some part of me fell into a mild panic when she said that, but I couldn't think why and dismissed it.

We broke into the marginally quieter night air, cigarette smoke hanging heavy, and made for a group of people perched on an assortment of worn outdoor furniture and the wooden planks of the porch. The source of my panic clicked as I quickly recognised two heads of hair, one chestnut, one strawberry blonde.

Kurt and Cedric.

I raised my cup and drained it down to the sodden tinned fruit.

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TBC