Sticky heat sits among the pitfalls of summer for a man who has enough trouble sleeping. The rise in temperature leaves the air in the loft heavy and stale, and the heat blankets Kurt uncomfortably. His limbs are heavy with fatigue, but he can't turn off his mind with the flick of a light switch. It's been a busy few weeks of struggling between trying to bury his problems and confronting them.

Night after night, he gets less sleep than the one before.

Keeping odd hours is commonplace for Kurt. Time is mostly irrelevant. He's woken to the loft brightening with fresh sunshine and drifted into slumber at the same sight. It comes in phases.

Tonight, he begs for sleep. Tossing and turning only makes the room seem hotter, so he flips his pillow for a taste of coldness and forces himself to settle.

Well, he tries.

Soon the restlessness creeps back into his body. He flops onto his back and stares up. The ceiling fan pushes around the hot air, only reminding him at every warm puff pressing into his body that yes, he is trapped in what's presumably a hell pit.

Except he's not – trapped, that is. Not really.

Past the panels that block out the sky is a rooftop garden. On occasion, he pops up there to fill his lungs with fresh air and to clear his head. These occasions are extremely rare, coming only ever when the moon is high and the world is quiet. They require so much forethought; the volleying of yes and no tends to prolong his decision-making until sunrise and the din of activity decide for him.

Impulsive is a trait that doesn't rank in the list of terms that describe him. Instead it sits heavy at the base of his spine, an anchor dropped on dry land so Kurt can get his toes wet without any threat of losing himself to the current. Tonight, he's feeling light. He's feeling brave.

Or maybe it's exhaustion. Maybe he's past the point of caring, buried this far under his frustration. Frustration for his lack of sleep, but also a niggling frustration that's been clawing its way forward from the back of his mind that he can't pin down to explain. Echoes of the feeling creep up on him like long-forgotten memories triggered by a color, or a scent, or a sound, and send shivers racing along his skin.

Whatever it is, it's screaming let me out! And there's no hesitation as he rolls to his feet. He pulls a rumpled sheet from the chair at his bedside, a sketchbook from atop his dresser, and a pencil from the canister loaded with them on a table by his front door. He takes his rarely-used keys resting on a hook beside the door, and holds them tight, lets them dig into his palms to keep them from jingling. He takes no chance on them giving him away, though it's 3 AM and unlikely he'll be caught. Even if he were, he'd be in no trouble but it feels like a cheat to the game he's been playing for so long. He feels like a naughty child, like the last twenty years of his life have been shaved off in the time between now and when he crept out of bed.

With his book and his blanket, and the pencil tucked behind his ear, he feels sharply that smallness. But also bold, adventurous. The fog that drifts over his thoughts lifts and fades and his suddenly courageous heart beams: his guiding light in the night's darkness.

Anxiety thrums at the fringes of his mind, but his concentration remains on putting one foot in front of the other. The stairs creak under his weight and the sound bounces through the empty hallway.

One foot. Then the next.

The door gives way with a little extra nudge. Outside, the air is leagues less stifling. The screaming in his veins has relaxed into a soft purr. The air is so light he feels dizzy with it. He thinks of barricading the door, of letting this instead be his hideaway.

There are lights along the wall, not bright enough to truly illuminate, but they chase away enough darkness for Kurt to find his way without tripping or knocking anything over.

He did it.

A small victory is a victory all the same. This feels like one.

He sits in a lounge chair, his legs spread out before him, boggled by how this short trip has cleared his mind. In trying not to think about his growing boredom, it's become a constant presence. One he ignores, of course. But not always. And the more often he does, the less it hurts.

Being out on this roof without any reminders of his obligations is freeing. For a few minutes, he feels relief. He hadn't known how tense he'd been, how much stress he's been creating and carrying around. Fresh air fills his lungs and he wants more of this so badly, wants to breathe so easily all the time.

This tiny escape, this tiny taste of the outdoors, feels so good; all he can wonder is what has kept him so afraid.

He knows the murky fear will come back once the sun is up and he's not alone, but it's nice just to have this: a feeling like he could have that elusive “more” he dreams about.

He chases the feeling, comes back to the roof periodically, until his trips become frequent and then nightly. He keeps these nights to himself, a private indulgence he fears will lose its power if he confesses. Nighttime recharges him. Whenever he sneaks back downstairs and crawls into bed, sleep swiftly overtakes him. When he rises, he's ready to work steadily through the day and sometimes he forsakes work altogether. Sometimes he can tolerate himself and his mind stays quiet while he watches movies or reads until his vision blurs. It feels like the glue is finally drying.

:: ::

Beth is nearly ten now, she can keep a secret if she's interested enough to do so. She's the only one Kurt tells about his rooftop excursions.

Beth stays over sometimes, for an afternoon or a night or a weekend. Kurt likes giving Quinn and Puck time to themselves, and loves spending time with Beth. She has her mother's eyes and tenacity, her father's dark hair and his colorful language. She grows fast. Every time Kurt sees her, she's taken on new traits or developed them more strongly. It intrigues him to see all the ways Beth is unfinished, and yet, blissful in figuring it out.

Kurt recognizes more acutely every day the twinges of stagnation. Beth's growing up, always changing in both subtle and overt ways, carving out her place in the world at large. He longs for that uniquely childlike freedom of finding out who you are without the baggage of having been someone else.

On the roof, he doesn't worry as much. Especially with Beth there beside him, yammering on about her parents and her friends, showing him silly websites on her phone. She's a better distraction from himself than Kurt could ever hope to create. A happier one.

Beth doesn't object when Kurt starts sketching her, sitting cross-legged and staring down into her phone. She only pulls a face. Not again, she must be thinking, but then she's smiling his way.

He sketches quickly, a picture drawn almost whole before he hears her yawn. It's late, not as late as he usually takes these trips, but late for Beth, he's sure. When he suggests leaving though, she shakes her head vigorously and pleads, “Not yet.”

So they stay. Beth asks to see what Kurt has drawn, looks it over, then asks for his pencil, claiming it's her turn.

Kurt curls up on his seat, facing her and the row of plants behind her. She talks while she draws, looking up at the stars and then telling Kurt about the upcoming school year and how having to go back-to-school shopping with her dad is “total bullshit because he wants me to dress like some whacked toddler like I'm not practically a teenager. Like, hello! I'm in double digits now. He even showed me a picture of this girl you guys went to high school with and tried to sell me on – get this – animal. Sweaters. Like, uh… no. Vomit.”

She rambles on and Kurt rests his eyes and falls asleep to the sound. He's woken by Beth roughly jostling his arm, delicacy no doubt passed on by Puck.

Kurt's never fallen asleep out here, never been fully at ease with the risk of being caught. He shakes away the sleep threatening to take him back under and leads them both down to his apartment, apologizing all the while though Beth isn't bothered.

:: ::

It takes until the next afternoon, a growing pile of finished drafts into a morning burst of inspiration, before Kurt thinks of the sketchbook he'd brought upstairs and doesn't remember carrying back. He asks Beth and her oops-face is all he gets before she holds up a finger and skips out the door to go grab it. Envious of her lack of hesitation, he turns back to his work. His own hesitation is waning; he's eager to bring Kieron to life and get out of his own head.

The trouble is this: the cruel children in Kieron's life easily remind him of the very real kids who mocked him. They teased him for his voice until he supposed it best to use it as little as possible, laying the groundwork for a lifetime of humbling his whims for the sake of survival. Moments remain from ages ago that sting enough to keep him cowering. They're the bricks and shadows that block out the light. On good days, he can ignore the slimy feeling lapping at his toes and smile without trying. Good days seem like rarities when he considers his life, but they keep him from going under, and he wants more of them. He's even starting to feel like he deserves them.

He'll finish these drafts, he resolves, suddenly filled with determination to prove he deserves better days. To prove he can handle better days when they come, so maybe they'll come more often.

It seems simple, but the light has never let in for long. There's always something to make him step backward and seek comfort in the shadows. Something always holds him there long enough for the holes through which light shines to patch themselves up before he's ready to try again, to stretch the struggle and make it trickier.

He doesn't need his voice in art; it speaks for him. This last year especially has been an exercise in unbinding his tongue.

Pencil to paper, the postponed pieces finally come together. Puck will be so pleased.

Beth comes back, breaking his concentration. She's empty-handed, huffing and puffing like she's just run a mile, and there's an all-too-impish grin on her face.

“Guess what,” she commands.

Kurt squints in curiosity. “What?”

Beth's eyes go wide like her growing smile as she claps her hands together. Her excitement has her taking heavy breaths every three words, but when Kurt strings it all together what he gets is that Beth ran into his neighbor – “he said his name is Blaine. Oh my god, Kurt, he is so hot. And totally g-a-y gay because his friend Tina was there and I asked if they were… you know… and, like, she totally laughed and so did he. Oh my god, his laughter is life. And, like, yeah. Confirmed gay. Like you. So you should… well… you should be boyfriends and stuff.”

Kurt buries his face in his hands, unable to keep the laughter down even as Beth goes on with her story. The laughter dies a horrible, tragic death, choked off at the back of his throat when he tunes back in at Beth saying “He obviously likes you, too. When I invited him over, he was all ‘are you sure?' but, like, he was not going to say no. And he didn't.”

“I'm sorry. What did you just say?”

Beth smirks, equal parts Quinn and Puck in the curl of her lips. “I, like, got you a date.” She shrugs. “Kind of, anyway. You're welcome.”

“Oh yes. Thank you so much.”

There's a knock at the door and Beth happily pulls it open. “Oh look, it's Blaine! What a surprise to see you…” She turns back to wink at Kurt. Kurt turns bright red as he looks from her to Blaine. Beth drags Blaine across the threshold and Kurt drags his feet to meet the pair. “Kurt.” Beth looks pointedly from Kurt to Blaine, eyes wide and head tilting toward Blaine in spastic nods meant to seem subtle. “Say hello to Blaine.”

Blaine's smile is barely containing the laughter he's trying to hide, and Kurt's teeth dig into his own grinning lips. “Hello, Blaine.”

Beth removes her hand from Blaine's elbow. “Don't mind me,” she says, backing away quickly to the other end of the loft.

Blaine's hands are behind his back and Kurt bites his lip at the cute gesture of Blaine rocking on his toes. Then Blaine stops rocking and he bring his hands around front. In them is Kurt's sketchbook. Kurt takes the book, aching at the lack of contact when their fingers don't brush as they had once before. “Consider me your own personal delivery man,” Blaine jokes. And then winks. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Is he flirting? Should I flirt?

Kurt looks anywhere but at Blaine, a tiny, insecure laugh escaping against his will. “Thank you. For this. Thanks.” His heartbeat starts to pick up with his flailing confidence. “Um… sorry about Beth. She's… I'm sorry.”

Blaine waves him off. “Don't be. She's cute.” Beth giggles from wherever she's eavesdropping, and Blaine winks at Kurt again when Kurt finds the courage to look up. “You're cute, too.”

Kurt recognizes the sounds of Beth's happy clapping hands, and scrunches up his face in resignation because yes, this is actually happening right now. He laughs again, overloaded with an internal lightness making his belly feel filled with bubbles and floating him up to rest atop his walls. He rests in this precarious place where he could easily tip over and crash land on either side, be immobilized in his humiliation. But Kurt's been learning to embrace the thrill of taking risks.

“Thanks,” Kurt ultimately says, quiet and sincere. He bites again at his lips, a question on his tongue he's not sure he should ask. “Uh…” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “Did she say anything awful? Because she's… verbose, and… I, uh…”

Blaine rests a hand on Kurt's arm and shakes his head. “Not at all.” He matches Kurt's whisper, adding, “If anything, she made me sound awful. I had no idea you could hear me playing through the wall.”

Maybe it's his loneliness combined with this successful run at a second chance he seems to be having, but a little bit of courage drips onto his tongue and he's complimenting Blaine unprompted before he can stop himself.

“No, it's – it's okay. You sound amazing. Your voice is… it's, uh, you sound amazing. You're really talented.”

Blaine pulls his hand from Kurt's arm, a move Kurt would rather he didn't make. “That's sweet. Compliment appreciated, really.” Blaine turns, eyes jumping around the loft like he'd been withholding himself permission to take it all in. “But if we're talking talent, Kurt, this is just incredible. I mean, wow.” His eyes land on a thoroughly stupefied Kurt. “This feels like a museum.”

“He doesn't just draw and stuff,” Beth informs Blaine, coming up beside Kurt. “Check me out.” She strikes a pose, dressed like a superhero. Kurt rolls his eyes and demands she take off his customer's clothes, so Beth rolls her eyes and marches off. Blaine however looks somehow more impressed, watching Beth's cape drift as she goes.

“How do I get one of those?” Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I'm not kidding at all. I totally want like eight of those. One for every day of the week, and another just in case.”

“You, uh… you just might be my number one fan.”

“Definitely. I've got plans to start a club and everything.”

Beth reappears then. “Did I miss anything good?” It's an attempt at whispering, but Blaine's too close for any attempt to matter, and he's smiling a little cheekily when Kurt looks his way.

“No, darling Beth, but I do have to go since I left my best friend roasting alone on the rooftop.”

Beth stops Blaine by the door, pulling him down so she can whisper in his ear. This whispering is far more successful than her last crack at it, and Kurt strains to hear her, then shivers at the assortment of embarrassing things she could come up with and shivers again at the wink Blaine sends him when he catches Kurt spying. Maybe it's a tick, Kurt thinks.

Blaine slips something into his pocket, then leaves with a wave. “See you later, neighbor.”

Kurt tries begging and bribery to find out what she said to Blaine, but she's invested in keeping her secret. When Blaine shows up the next day, starting a trend of meeting in Kurt's doorway for chats that grow longer as time goes on, he returns the pencil hastily nabbed and thrust in his hand by Beth the Budding Schemer.

Before long, Kurt finds himself pulling fantasy Blaine down from his pedestal and replacing him with the real thing.