Some new feeling has made its home in Kurt's bones. Something good, he thinks.

Quinn dips her spoon into a giant bowl full of a strange ice cream-based concoction her pregnancy cravings created. Kurt can feel her eyes on him, feels her quietly discerning gaze that tends to raise the hackles on his neck. Not today, though. Today as they sit on the roof to kiss the cool nip of winter farewell, Kurt only smiles in response.

She laughs brightly, suddenly, and Kurt delights in the sound that comes with no explanation.

“What was that?” he asks, curious and charmed, when her chuckles subside.

Quinn doesn't reply, gives her attention to the sky like it's sharing something important, something private, solemn. She smiles, puts a hand on the growing bump signifying new life.

Kurt likes that idea: that life can be new.

There are no more corners to fill in his apartment, no more art to make that won't intrude upon his other work. His canvas is filled, this piece is complete, and Kurt thinks that might be a sign.

Quinn stares at him again, smile wide, but eyes just as probing as always.

“I love you, Kurt.”

That's it, and she's looking away, scraping her spoon for crumbs in an empty bowl. The words come out casually in the way of an offhand remark, but it echoes through his being like an epiphany at the end of a long quest. It's not a shock to know he's loved by Quinn – he loves her too, after all – but it's overwhelming somehow to have it stated so plainly, to be handed a present that can't be returned or exchanged or re-gifted, that isn't a trivial prize in a carnival game but the time-earned rewards for sharing himself with her.

Quinn carries on, sharing her secret smiles with the sky, oblivious to Kurt's overactive mind seeking out a reason, a cause that would prompt her to affirm her love. Maybe there is no higher reason than that it is true, that it occurred to her in the moment, and worked its way to her tongue and out into the air simply as an observation. For once, he stops questioning why someone could love him.

It's a faraway thought to act first and consider the consequences only as they come, or to consider the consequences and act anyway. For Quinn, it's as basic as breathing. She told Kurt she loves him, and then turned away; she'll never need him to say it back because her affections don't hinder on being requited. Not anymore. Quinn is strong, forged by the fire of a hostile youth and unbreakable now that she owns every piece of herself. She's more Kieron than Kurt ever was, he realizes.

“You're frightening.”

She laughs, an unexpected snort weaving its way through her giggles and making her laugh harder. This is Quinn, the same woman who strikes fear into the hearts of men who'll never catcall again once they've catcalled her. Who is a pillar in her parish, always courteous and kind, remorseful of a past in which she cared only for herself. Who also sits on Kurt's couch, venting about how awful Puck's mother can be. She's Quinn who is forceful and demanding, but always weighs her desires against her compassion. Quinn, who rips apart the seams when others attempt to sew labels onto her. She's unabashedly flawed and twists her flaws to her advantage, and that kind of poise makes Kurt scared and jealous and utterly awed.

Quinn is a friend. She's an equal in all the places it matters, someone who cares for him as he does for her, a reliable source of comfort, and who knows Kurt as well as he can be known and has the favor returned. Still there's a second version of her, a falser image, not a whole picture, that he's placed on a pedestal.

Quinn can be fiercely intimidating even when she's not trying. Kurt, who's always experienced a part of himself cowering in her presence, thinks the new feeling settling bone-deep might be courage.

“Blaine has a show tonight, you know?”

The spoon clanks against the bowl as Quinn sets them both aside. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

Kurt shrugs, a spark of terror running through him stomped out by the thought of seeing Blaine's reaction. “Yeah.” He bites his lip and smiles. “Will you come with me?”

She looks at him like a mother would, like his father always does when he sees Kurt's art. Proud. Quinn nods simply, looking like she wants to throw a party to celebrate this moment and holding back so as not to scare Kurt into changing his mind. She gives Kurt one long glance before turning back to the sky. “Yes, of course. Anything you want.”

:: ::

Kurt spends most of his time alone, interrupted on occasion by time with his father, his two best friends, his niece, and his boyfriend. He has customers to cater to even if he doesn't interact with them face-to-face. He's friendly with his delivery people for groceries, mail, and takeout. So he's not totally cut off from society, but he's forgotten how loud people can be. Maybe a bar wasn't the best choice of location for his reintroduction to the world.

It's crowded and a little smelly, honestly. He's been used to one place and one smell for so long and these scents are overwhelming enough on their own. If that's his biggest problem tonight, then he'll be good. He can do this. He hopes.

Quinn's hand hooks on his elbow, holding him upright with moral support.

“Should I have told him I was coming?” Kurt asks.

She pats his arm with her free hand. “Buck up, Kurt. You've got this.”

“If you say so.” He's not totally convinced.

“I do.” She pulls him along to find a seat. “Blaine will freak and you'll start blushing, and I'll tease you both, but you will be fine, Kurt Hummel. I promise.”

Perfectly postured Quinn makes his fidgeting feel more obvious. His fingers tap along the tabletop. Quinn pinches his thigh, quietly commanding him to “quit it.” His nerves don't obey, so he sits on his hands to hold them steady.

It's odd to be in public, to be surrounded by strangers and not feel his skin crawling. He'd thought at any point he'd have to tell Quinn the plan was off. That they should turn around, head home, and never speak of it. He thought each step away from the locked door he's used for protection would feel like one step closer toward the edge and that he'd be falling without a safety net. Now, he's racing toward that edge, desperate to fall and find his wings before he hits the ground.

Laughter ringing out from a group nearby pulls Kurt's attention away. For a second, he thinks he'll see Blaine in that crowd, but there are no familiar faces. Kurt doesn't have many familiar faces in his life to recall, but he plucks up all the courage he can scrounge and casts a wider look around the room. This would be the time he'd start taking shallower breaths, feel his throat closing up, draw in his shoulders, and try to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible. Instead, he squeezes Quinn's hand, takes a few deep breaths, and pushes forward.

Kurt hears Sam's voice first, loud and excited greeting his friends. Then he hears Blaine's name and when he looks up he sees Blaine's back as he's pulled into a hug by Tina, Kurt thinks. He's only seen her in pictures. Suddenly, Kurt's nervous. Blaine and his friends are mere feet away from where Quinn and Kurt are seated and this is kind of a big deal. Blaine's friends are here, which means Kurt will have to meet them. And he knows Blaine talks about him, but he doesn't really know what gets said. It's a little overwhelming to have this major moment for himself, but also to be here for Blaine. And… what if they don't like me? This had the potential to be a mostly private moment that only mattered to him and Blaine. But now there's all these people he hadn't considered factoring into the equation. And-

“Ow!” Kurt rubs at his likely bruised thigh and glares at Quinn. She just laughs, looking proud of herself. When he looks up again, Blaine is looking back at him. Kurt works his bottom lip between his teeth and fights back a smile. “Surprise,” he mouths.

Blaine beams like the sun itself has overtaken his body. At Kurt's side in an instant, he leans down to hug him before Kurt can even stand to meet him halfway.

When Blaine takes his hand and calls his friends over to make introductions, Kurt can feel his nerves settle. His cravings for more than the life he's been living have left him feeling so hollow for so long. Finally, the hunger is sated. The climb ahead is no longer as steep. The world is big and daunting, and his existence is dwarfed in the grand scheme of the universe, but Kurt matters. He matters to the man holding his hand and the woman living up to her promise of teasing. He matters to the man who raised him and the little girl growing up before his eyes. He matters to a man who trusts him to help tell his stories

In a way that makes him want to cry for only just now having the realization, Kurt matters because he loves himself. That's not so scary at all.