Instead, I now hummed with a sort of anticipation. I was incapable of putting my finger on exactly what this feeling was in relation to, or even what I was expectant of, but it was without a doubt connected to Kurt.

Since I'd first noticed him I'd found myself wanting to know more. It was just that inexplicable magnetism at first, but now I was self-aware and self-consciously seeking. It hadn't been through any endeavour of my own that I'd ended up closer to him, so by some mangled equation I told myself that it was perfectly alright for me to finally give into the curiosity I'd been fighting. After all, Kurt and I were now acquaintances. Maybe soon we'd be friends.

I would bravely allow myself to pursue that goal as much as I truly wanted to.

If I'm honest, it terrified me. My habit is to build walls around my emotions as a pre-emptive strike against disappointment or harm, and it had been years since they'd been lowered. Been years since I'd endeavoured to get close to someone. Since I'd allowed them to get close to me. I'd always felt it was with good reason too. If not to protect my own interests, then to save anyone else from my slightly sad, slightly detached self. Last time I'd done so it had been for Malcolm, and now it was for Kurt.

Always for a boy.

Difference being that I'd known Mal a whole lot better than I knew Kurt. I'd fallen in love with him and helplessly allowed my internal fortifications to crumble. Back in high school I'd really had no idea of what injuries would end up being inflicted by doing so. I'd not known just how indelible a mark would be left by our relationship ending. It was already obvious that Kurt may be a little volatile in his affections, and the fallout from that could prove devastating to me. Yet here I was, willing to dismantle those barriers again.

I possibly would have felt more at ease doing so if I could put my finger on why he was so enthralling to me. Yes, he was intriguing. Yes, he was definitely gorgeous. He appeared intelligent and witty and shrewd, however he wasn't the first boy I'd met with those traits and he almost certainly wouldn't be the last.

I think what got to me was that I saw something in him that was very familiar to me. An unidentified, hidden side which gnawed at me.

So as justification I kept telling myself that to ignore him would also wound. Without a shred of doubt. This boy was making me feel in ways I'd almost forgotten existed. It felt like waking up.

For some reason, I felt this boy had the potential to make me happy.

I didn't have any plans for the Sunday of the dinner at Kurt and Quinn's house, so headed out onto the commons to sit in the sun and catch up on some readings for my classes in the coming week. My focus was somewhat divided between the text and my excitement, and every couple of paragraphs my mind would wander as I basked against a thick tree trunk. At one point I spotted Wes and David walking leisurely in the distance, but they were headed in the opposite direction to me, I assumed to the cafeteria for lunch.

After about an hour, and a trip to a vending machine for a lemonade, a pair of impressive tan legs appeared next to me, and I looked up as Santana lowered herself to the ground, lounging in front of me.

"Hello again." I smiled.

"We have a bit of a situation." She said.

"Um, OK?" I had a feeling I knew where this was going.

"Everyone thinks I want to get down and dirty with you."

I laughed at the matter of fact way she said it, "I've been having the same problem."

"Problem?" she lifted an eyebrow.

"Not what I meant."

"Yeah, I know," she smirked, "I'm just messing with you."

"So… you don't want to sleep with me?"

"Should I?" she looked me up and down.

"Wow…"

She grabbed my drink and took a sip, "It actually wasn't a rhetorical question. But no, I don't."

I relaxed, "OK, good. Also, no. There's no particular reason why you should want to have sex with me. You aren't missing out." I'd had some odd conversations in my life, but this one was probably taking the cake as the strangest.

"Cool." Her eyes flooded with warmth, "Anyway, no offence. I mean you're pretty smokin' and all, but you're not really my type."

"That makes me feel kind of better for saying you aren't mine either."

"I'm everyone's type." She grinned.

"Not quite."

"Oh, Blaine, you're brave."

"Or stupid."

"Yeah, I was getting that." She laughed.

"Thanks." I mock pouted.

"Joking!" she punched me playfully on the knee, "You're lucky though, I almost dragged the whole thing out for the fun of it. Fortunately for you, I got bored."

"After two days? Great attention span you've got there."

"You don't know the half of it." She handed my lemonade back.

"So, nobody's pursuing here? Totally platonic?"

"Totally."

I sighed in relief, "Great."

She shifted a little, "I hear you're coming to dinner tonight?"

"Yeah, Kurt invited me yesterday."

"Not Quinn?" she sounded surprised.

"Nope, it was definitely Kurt."

"Hm."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing really. I mean, Quinn's such a doll she'd probably invite Charles Manson around for cocktails, but Kurt's usually a little less willing to throw open his doors, if you know what I mean."

I managed to keep a straight face, though I was secretly rejoicing, "Oh. Well, I'm honoured I guess."

"So you should be, honey." She stood, "Tonight you're dining with the elite."

"Modest too."

"Look at me, Blaine." She started walking away, deliberately swinging her hips, "You don't get an ego like mine without a reason."

"Again, not my type!" I called.

"Keep telling yourself that!"

"See you tonight." I laughed.

"Bye, babe."

So far all evidence suggested that even if things didn't pan out with Kurt, Santana could prove to be a valuable friend in Albarn.

If nothing else, I'd certainly be amused.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kurt and Quinn's house was a narrow two story building, painted a fading blue with narrow stairs leading to the front door on the first floor. It was half enigmatic, half dilapidated but all in all the end result was rather cute.

I knocked a couple of times and the door was flung open by Quinn, glowing as ever, a dainty little apron tied around her waist that it would have been a crime to splash food on.

"Come in!" she cried, and pulled me into a hug, "Come in, come in!"

I put an arm around her, slightly stunned by just how warm a welcome she was offering me. Her feathery hair tickled my cheek and she smelt like cooking and the kind of perfume you'd catch on a grandmother who'd worn the same scent since the thirties.

"Thank you so much for inviting me." I said once I'd been released.

"Oh, the more the merrier."

"I brought wine," I lifted the bag it was in, "I didn't know what we were eating, so I brought red and white…"

She gasped like a kid on Christmas morning, "That's sweet! We really aren't picky, but it's the thought that counts, isn't it?"

I sort of shrugged, grinning like a dim Labrador as she grabbed my arm and pulled me down a short hall and into the dining room. Wes sat on a worn mustard yellow sofa that could only have been a product of the seventies, and Kurt and Santana stood near him. I immediately noted the distinct absence of Cedric.

"Blaine's here!" Quinn chirped, turning to me, "I have to go help David in the kitchen, but make yourself at home. Kurt! Take his coat!"

Like that, she was gone, through a door to the left of the room.

I giggled, feeling vicariously out of breath, and waved, "Hi."

"Glad you could make it," Kurt slung my coat over his arm and handed the wine to Santana, "How are you?"

"Pretty good."

"I love your cardigan." He briefly rubbed the collar between his thumb and forefinger.

He barely touched me, but I imagined I could feel his skin through the fabric of my t-shirt, burning in a pleasant way.

"Oh, thanks. You look great too."

I felt my face colouring as soon as I'd said it, however, Kurt just popped his foot back jauntily, with a little cascading laugh and a half curtsy. It was the most childlike thing I'd ever seen him do, so sweet it pierced me to the heart. I don't think there had been a single occasion when I hadn't felt just a little underdressed around Kurt, so the compliment seemed to me a significant one. I don't know what possessed me to so blatantly praise him back though. I suppose it was a perfect example of the way he was working his way under my skin. I was always on my back foot around him. Mildly muddled and baffled. Hopefully it was something I'd be able to adjust to.

Santana handed a glass of wine to me, "You look like a robust red kind of guy." She purred.

"I am, but I'm not sure what that means…" I took a sip.

"Santana's like a sexual innuendo scout." Wes said, "She can do it to anything. Unfortunately you'll get used to it."

Kurt reappeared, "Which is why we were under the impression she had a thing for you, and vice versa." He smiled at me, "Sorry about that. I feel kind of bad for assuming."

"No harm done."

"It should probably bother me more that my friends think I'm a harlot." Santana smirked.

"Shh, we don't." Kurt dismissed, "Do you want to sit down?" he pointed next to Wes, "I just have to make a phone call."

I sat as he left, gazing around at the room, decorated almost exclusively in second hand furniture and fittings, a large stained wooden dining table taking pride of place, a vase of some pink dried flowers in the centre.

Santana sighed, "Three guesses who he's calling."

"Cedric, Cedric, and Cedric." Wes chanted.

"Uh huh. For like, the millionth time."

"Is he coming tonight?" I asked cautiously.

"With any luck, no."

"Santana!" Wes hissed, then addressed me, "He's supposed to be here already. I think Kurt's a little upset."

"He should be pissed off." Santana growled.

"It's not that black and white, and you know it."

"Look, I don't care how pretty he is, or how good he is in the sack, Kurt deserves better than that jumped up manikin. I'd have told him to take a hike months ago if I was him. I mean, for good."

"Well you're not him, and we don't know the whole story, so stop it."

"The whole story? Cedric's a dick head. End of story. I don't know how you can be so diplomatic and impartial about everything!"

"I'm not, I'm just sensible. It's none of my business. Or yours."

"Whatever."

Throughout this exchange I stared into my wine, feeling mildly uncomfortable. I knew little of Kurt and Cedric's situation, though given the opportunity knew I would immediately take Santana's stance, without cause or reason. Even so, and even with my curiosity, I couldn't help but agree with Wes' pragmatic opinion on whether it was our place to discuss it.

Just as the silence in the room threatened to become awkward, Quinn's voice echoed from the kitchen.

"Santana, can you come here? I need your hands."

"Ugh." She put her glass on the dining table, "Here we go. She thinks she's Martha Stewart. Wish me luck."

"Good luck." Wes turned to me, eyes full of sympathy, "I'm really sorry about that."

I laughed, "Everyone just keeps apologising to me."

"I'm - " he caught himself, " - I almost said 'I'm sorry' again… I know how weird it must be coming into something like this. We've all known each other for ages, it's probably a bit awkward for you."

"No, it's not! Seriously, I'm kind of touched by how inviting you're all being."

"Nah," he smiled, "It's nothing. I was sort of preoccupied the other night, but Quinn, Kurt and Santana gave me a shining report on you. They're usually pretty solid judges of character." He paused, "Well, Santana less so, but I won't hold that against you."

"I really like her." I admitted, "She's kind of hilarious."

"She is, yeah." He grinned, "I don't know why I said that. She's actually got her head screwed on more than just about everybody I know. She's got her eccentricities like everyone else, but there's something kind of nice about having someone around who tells it how it is."

"Right?" I nodded ardently.

"I'm glad you get her. A lot of people write her off as a bitch, but it's mostly for show."

"She's been nothing but civil to me. Or maybe civil and blunt."

He laughed, "I think you just summed up Santana in two words."

I squirmed where I sat as it occurred to me I knew almost nothing about Wes.

"Um… where's Rose?" I asked.

He exhaled, "We had a fight this morning."

"Oh. Was it serious?"

"No, not too serious. I was supposed to have lunch with her today, but I blew her off. Something important came up… she got mad and drove to her mum's house."

"Shit."

"She doesn't live far away. About forty-five minutes from here, in the country. She'll be back tomorrow. It's no big deal."

"Well… I hope it works out."

I thought back to lunchtime, when I'd been sitting on the commons. I could have sworn I'd seen Wes with David. I suppose there wasn't anything to indicate that David wasn't something important. I didn't know anything about him either. I could understand why Rose would take offence if he was simply standing her up to have lunch with his best friend. The little I knew of him, Wes appeared to me the kind of solid guy who'd be nothing but doting in a relationship. The idea of him upsetting Rose without an explanation didn't immediately strike me as being in his nature. That was probably a na�ve and simplistic view of their predicament, but I wasn't about to start jumping to conclusions. For all I knew, Wes was intentionally keeping Rose in the dark, and with good reason. Like Wes said, I had stumbled in on a lot of established relationships.

Kurt wandered back in, biting his bottom lip.

"Any luck?" Wes asked.

He shook his head.

"He's probably just running late." Wes offered, "I'm sure he'll turn up."

He mumbled something under his breath as he refilled his glass, and I thought I heard, "… better not…" before he turned back to us.

"Stay single Blaine." He muttered, "Things you can't imagine ever being complicated suddenly get that way when you're attached."

I said, "I know," before I could stop myself, and I thought he raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, Kurt…" Wes, sighed sadly.

"Oh, Wes." He said, "You seem to be having the same problems."

"It was just a little spat! I'm fine! We're fine!"

"I know." He flapped his free hand, "I'm sorry. I'm projecting my bitterness. I'll shut up."

Santana, David and Quinn entered, toting bowls and plates.

"We have Pasta, we have salad and we have bread." Quinn sang.

I stood and David put down the bread board and formally offered his hand to me, "Hi. Good to see you in a more sober setting."

I shook it, "Tell me about it. Did you make all of this?"

"Quinn helped." He smiled modestly.

"I'm just the kitchen hand." She slid an arm around his waist and squeezed.

"It's nothing special," he added, "I actually enjoy cooking."

"It's more than I could manage." I said.

"It's nothing…" he repeated, possibly even blushing.

Where Santana was brash and sharp, and Wes was proper yet friendly, David had a sort of correctness to him. He seemed reserved and knowingly so, but not in an impolite way. Blend Quinn's boundless fervour and Kurt's wit and mystique in that mix, and they really were an odd group, yet somehow perfect. It was as if their broad personality traits had sought out every colour in the spectrum of human behaviour and filled it accordingly, complimenting and playing off each other seamlessly. I resisted pondering where I could possibly fit in that arrangement.

"I just have to get water glasses." Quinn spun and re-entered the kitchen.

"Let me help." I called, feeling the need to pull my weight and trailing after her.

The kitchen was fabulously dated, linoleum and Formica complimenting the medley of mismatched furniture in what I'd seen of the rest of the house. Quinn stood at the sink filling two jugs.

"The glasses are in that last cupboard up there." She indicated.

I started pulling them out, very few of them matching, and gazed around inquisitively. The microwave was on the bench in front of me, and on top of it, next to a shopping list and a jar of pens, was a little prescription pill bottle similar to, if not the same as the one Kurt had produced from his coat pocket at the party. I discerned the name Mr K. Hummel on the label as Quinn appeared at my elbow.

"Can you handle all of those?" she asked.

I jumped, stacking the glasses with a twinge of guilt, "Yeah, I've got them. Thanks."

I followed her out and placed the glasses in the centre of the table.

"Sit down guys," Quinn ordered, "Food's getting cold."

I pulled out the chair next to David as Wes tugged gently on my sleeve.

"Um… can I sit there?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, yeah. Sure."

He smiled weakly at me, and I noted the only other free chairs were on Kurt's left. I settled next to him, bumping his elbow with my own accidentally, and shuffling further away from him to compensate. It was unlikely I'd be able to handle conversation if I was constantly making contact with him too.

Wes handed me the salad bowl, and we all start dishing food onto our own plates.

"Want some of this?" I asked Kurt.

"Yes please." He smiled at me.

I repressed a sigh at the sight, "No problem."

"How are you liking Albarn, Blaine?" David asked politely.

I laughed, "Honestly, the only things I've seen are the college, a frat house and this place, but I love it so far. I don't know if I'm prepared for the cold though."

"You get good at layering." Santana deadpanned.

"We should take you out for lunch or a movie or something." Kurt suggested, "Show you around a bit."

"That'd be amazing." I beamed.

Quinn leant forward, "Kurt said he caught you playing guitar yesterday?"

"Yeah." I grinned bashfully, "I'm out of practice though."

"He can sing too." Kurt added.

"You hardly heard me!"

"Trust me, you can sing."

Oh, you… I thought.

"The rest of us were in Glee club in high school as well." Wes said.

"I think this calls for a karaoke night," Quinn chirped enthusiastically, "Or our own Glee club!"

Santana snorted, "That doesn't sound lame at all…"

"It doesn't!"

Kurt patted her hand, "Honey, it sort of does."

"Fine. I'll just wait until Christmas and then you'll all be forced to carol with me."

"God, save us." Santana groaned.

"Yeah, I don't think even he could stop her." Kurt rested his head on Quinn's shoulder briefly, "Don't worry. I'll sing with you."

"It's cute that you thought you had a choice in the matter." She pecked his forehead.

There was a banging on the front door, and we all turned to it, Kurt sitting somewhat straighter at my side.

"Hm." Quinn stood, "I'll get it. Keep eating."

No one did, everyone but Kurt still giving their attention to whoever was at the door. He was glowering at his plate, moving a sodden piece of lettuce around in a sea of pasta sauce with his fork. After a moment of unintelligible murmuring Quinn returned, catching Kurt's eye before taking her seat as Cedric appeared in the doorway.

"Well, hello gang." He purred.

"Hey Ced." David said carefully, Wes waving briefly next to him.

He tottered into the room, scarf hanging haphazardly from his neck, and squeezed between Kurt and I, towering over him and gripping the back of his chair with one hand. He grasped Kurt's chin and pulled him into a kiss. I could smell alcohol on him, sweet and thick and nauseating. Kurt stiffened and put his hands on his chest, pushing him away.

"Stop!"

"Why? I missed you."

"You missed me? Are you drunk?"

"Maybe." He scowled, "So?"

"If you missed me so much, you might want to check your phone. You've missed me at least twelve times in the past hour!"

He waved a hand, "I had it on silent."

"Where were you?"

"Nowhere important."

"But more important than here."

"I'm here now."

"And you're late, and you're wasted. Why are you drunk?"

"Because I've been drinking." He said matter-of-factly.

"It's like talking to a child." Santana said under her breath, earning a glare from Cedric.

"Who were you with?" Kurt asked sharply.

"No one." He dismissed.

"Really?"

I leant away from Cedric, feeling crowded and overwhelmed. He seemed to only just notice me, blinking blearily and looking confused.

"What's he doing here?"

"I invited him." Kurt snarled.

"Why?"

I blinked, caught off guard and struck dumb.

"Cedric, don't." Quinn said.

"What is wrong with you?" Santana yelled, "He's sitting right there."

"Can't he speak for himself?"

She stood up, "OK, shut the hell up! What, are you jealous? Like you have any right – "

"Santana..." Kurt said quietly.

"No. Honey, I don't care who he is, Blaine's a guest here. He actually deigned to show up, unlike your piece of shit boyfriend, who's now drunkenly insulting him."

Cedric glared at her, "Is there a reason why you hate me so much?"

"Oh, do you want a list?"

"Yeah, come on."

"Stop!" Kurt screamed, "Stop it! Both of you!" he pointed at Cedric, "You, get out!"

"Out out?" he sneered.

"Anywhere, just away from me!"

He straightened up, backing away, "I'll be in the bedroom, then." He sneered, "Enjoy the rest of your dinner. Good to see you all. Especially you, Blaine."

We were all silent but for Kurt's heavy breathing. Santana lowered herself into her seat, hands in fists on the table.

"Are you OK Kurt?" David asked.

"Yeah I'm just… I just need…" he stood slowly.

Quinn grabbed his hand, "Kurt…"

"I'm fine." He said quietly, "I just need a moment."

He walked into the kitchen. I bit my tongue, a sudden hot, sick feeling in my stomach.

"Blaine…" Wes said, "Blaine, he's like that with everyone. Or at least when he drinks. Don't… don't let it get to you."

"Why does that make it OK?" Santana growled.

"I doesn't," David sighed, "Quinn, do you think you should go see if he's alright?"

"I'll go." I stood.

"It'd probably be better if I did." Quinn looked up at me, eyes wide.

"No… I feel responsible." I said automatically.

"Well don't," Santana said, "I'm sure he'd have managed to upset him even if you weren't here."

"It's OK." I smiled weakly.

Kurt had his back to the door, hunched over with one hand on the bench and another bracing his side. He was standing in an awkward way that I'd not seen on him before. Previously his posture had always been nothing but impeccable, but now he looked defeated. Almost in pain.

"Hey," I said, "I'm sorry."

He glanced around. His face was flushed and his voice was thick when he spoke.

"It's not your fault."

"I'm still sorry."

"It's a waste of energy."

I swallowed and took a step closer, "Can I do anything? Do you need anything?"

"No."

"I – "

He turned to me, face screwed up like he was fighting back tears, though he'd have been damned if he let me see a single one.

"What are you doing?" he asked sharply.

"Pardon?"

"What are you doing Blaine? You met me two days ago and you're acting like you can help. Like you can change anything. You've seen me get dirt kicked in my face by my boyfriend. So what?"

"It's not like that."

"It's just like that!" he yelled, "You don't know me, you've just shared some embarrassment with me. You can't do anything."

He reached out and grabbed the bottle of pills from the microwave, turning his back again and struggling with the cap. I could think of absolutely nothing to say that wouldn't exacerbate the situation or make either one of us feel worse, so I walked out, hearing a quiet sob as I re-entered the dining room.

It was like I'd been punched in the stomach.

I felt like Kurt was miles ahead of me and I was lagging further and further behind, incapable of keeping up with him. I kept pumping my legs harder and he kept fading into the distance every time I thought I grew closer. Every time I thought I might be able to get a grip on him.

The scene at the dining table was sombre and mute. Wes had his face in his hands, Santana still looked irate and Quinn was staring at me with a gaze of infinite sadness and empathy.

I walked up to her, squeezing her shoulder gently, "I'm going to go." I croaked, nodding at David, "The food was lovely. Thank you. I'll probably see you guys at school."

"Oh, Blaine." Quinn whispered.

"It's OK. Don't apologise." I couldn't take one more 'sorry.'

"I'll call you." She added as I grabbed my coat and stepped outside, breathing in sharply at the cold contrast.

I was already on the footpath when I heard their front door slam.

"Blaine, wait!" Santana was hurrying down the stairs, feet bare.

I stopped, turning to her wearily, "I just want to go home."

"In a minute." She dismissed me, "Just hear me out."

Eventually I nodded once, exhaling.

"Wes is right. Cedric isn't worth losing sleep over."

"I figured."

"Kurt is though."

I blinked, "Huh?"

"Don't write him off." She said firmly, "He's just in a shit situation."

"Which isn't getting any better?" I droned.

"That doesn't make him a bad guy."

We stared at each other, the weak light from the street lamp washing out Santana's skin and leaving her looking ghostlike. Almost ethereal.

After a pause I said, "What are you getting at?"

She looked to the stars briefly, letting out what may have been a noise of frustration, "Oh, god…"

"Santana?" I said severely.

Her head snapped back down, "You're gay, aren't you?"

I opened my mouth, momentarily lost for words, "How did you…?"

"Don't worry, no one told me." She said in a voice warmer than I'd ever heard on her, "I want to make a joke that I knew the instant you said I wasn't your type, but that's bullshit. After the show in there, it's just kind of obvious."

I was shaken, "I thought I was subtle…"

"Are you kidding me? Breathy giggles and longing stares over your side plate?" she snorted "You flirt like a girl by the way."

I ran an unsteady hand through my hair, "Have the others noticed?"

"Not that I know of. You weren't like, crazy obvious. It's the kind of thing I'm just wired to pick up on. Those guys aren't quite as 'sex crazed' as I am." She made scornful quotation marks with her fingers, "Anyway, they all probably just thought you were being sweet."

"What do I do?" I whispered, surprising myself. I'm usually so self-contained that it was bizarre for me to ask anyone for advice.

"Do you want Kurt to know?"

"No!" I said, louder than I intended.

She put her hands up, "OK, then I won't tell him. Relax."

"Don't tell the others either."

"Hey, I don't know why you want to keep this from them, but I do know when to keep my mouth shut."

I buried my face in my hands and groaned.

"You do want Kurt though? Like, want him."

I peered through my fingers, "You're making it sound a whole lot simpler than it is in my head."

"Well, you either do or you don't."

"He has a boyfriend!" I hissed.

"Do they look that steady to you? Personally, I'm praying that Kurt sends Cedric on his way by the end of the month." She cocked her head, "I might even make a shrine to it. Feel free to join me."

"You can't know that though."

"Well, I've got to have some hope that Kurt'll come to his senses eventually. The alternative's just too depressing. So, do you like him?" she probed.

I closed my eyes, giving in, "I think I really do."

"OK, easy. We can work with that." She smiled, "Also, you should come back in. Quinn's in a state. Kurt and Cedric probably won't reappear unless Kurt murders him. Fingers crossed."

I furrowed my brow, "Santana, do you think I'm leaving because I have somewhere I need to be?"

She shrugged, "I think you're leaving because Cedric's an asshole and Kurt's complicated."

"Complicated."

"Trust me, it's the best word for him."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Look Blaine, I'm nosey and I'm pushy, but even I know when it's not my place to intervene."

"So what? I just tread on eggshells whenever I'm around him and get used to him biting my head off and treating me like shit whenever he gets in a mood? And what the hell are those pills?"

"No, either you stick around and get to know him as well as I do, or you get over him!" she said forcefully, "And I can't tell you that either. That's Kurt's business."

"Shit!" I yelled.

"Well?"

"How badly am I going to get hurt if I keep going after him?"

She laughed derisively, "Oh, I'm sorry. Isn't this easy enough for you? Are you used to everyone just falling for your doe eyes and your coy smiles without a second thought?"

"What?"

"How much does he even know about you Blaine?"

"I…" It was a valid question. Nothing. No one knew anything about me. I was always very careful to make that the case.

She nodded, "Yeah, that's right. How 'bout you quit whining for a second and let yourself trust him, then maybe he'll see it in his heart to do the same for you. Or is that a tad too logical for your liking?"

"Santana, just…" It felt so foreign confiding in someone, but I forced myself to keep talking, "If he takes a swing every time Cedric gets him riled up… I don't think that's something I can handle." I felt a mild panic creeping in, "I'm not the most… I suppose… healthy minded person myself… I mean… It's a very, very long time since I've committed myself to… well, to anyone. Even if he doesn't hurt me there's a pretty good chance I could end up hurting him."

"Look…" her eyes softened, "He needs us around to help, even if he won't admit it. If I can do anything to change things for him, I sure as hell will, and if I'm really lucky it'll involve maiming Cedric. In any case, I'm guessing you've got some serious history that's making you act this way, and I don't need to know what that is… but, Blaine, don't throw this away just because you're scared you'll cut each other down. That's the worst possible way to live… that's just me though" She looked down, "Understand? If you think he's worth it, then he probably is. Not everyone has that."

"It's not such a bad way to live." I murmured, looking at my feet.

"Maybe you've just gotten used to it." She shrugged.

I half smiled, reaching out and putting my hand on her arm, "I'm not going to come back in… but that doesn't mean I'm giving up…" I felt a sudden need remove the possible risk of making a liar of myself, "… I don't think."

"Yeah, OK. Well, I think my feet are going to fall off." She hopped a little bit, her soles making a soft padding sound on the pavement, "I… um… I hope you feel better."

"Me too. Can I call you?"

"You fucking better." I handed her my phone, and she punched her number in, slipping it back in my coat pocket and pulling me into a hug. I let myself fall into her, wanting her to take away any fraction of the tension I harboured, "Night Blaine."

"Yeah," I murmured into her warm neck, "Night."

I watched her until she'd re-entered the house before turning and walking slowly back towards campus.

My thoughts were a riot.

I had two very clear options, and wondered if I was closer to figuring out which to track. Either follow Santana's advice and open myself to the possibility of seriously pursuing Kurt, regardless of whether it ended in success or failure, or abandon any allusion of interest. Now that she knew I liked him it was as if whatever choice I made held a certain degree of weight.

As if once I decided, there was no turning back.