Every morning, Blaine opened the window in his room and the sound was like an egg being cracked open to reveal the golden sun. On the days when he woke up before his alarm clock went off, he would watch as the sun climbed the sky and say, “Today is the day my life will end,” before reluctantly getting up to change his clothes and brush his hair.

What he meant was the metaphorical death of his current life; the one in which he woke up alone and went to sleep alone; the one in which the only member of his family who still spoke to him was his reckless brother; the one in which he sketched pictures of people, animals, buildings, landscapes, and his character Curly; the one in which the only friends he had were the ones who shared his double life as an ordinary, law-biding citizen and as a street artist who had little regard for the critics who called their work “trash.”

He set aside his qualms about graffiti a long time ago, but he didn't want to spend the rest of his years toiling away at night, painting and pretending that he knew more about the world than he really did. Certainly it was fun right now and not so lonely with Quinn and Sebastian to keep him company, but Blaine believed he was capable of more.

He just wasn't sure exactly what more he could do.

He couldn't go to Quinn or Sebastian for help on this. Quinn was resigned to graffiti and worked at a tattoo shop, Tattoo for You. Sometimes he saw hints of the prim and proper girl she once was, the girl who looked as if she descended from British royalty. Now she ground cigarettes with her boots as she had ground her past to nothingness and he didn't know where she lived or went when she wasn't at work or out as the Pink Lady. She never talked about how she came from Ohio to here and he doubted she would start now.

It was even harder with Sebastian and not because they used to be friends with benefits. Sebastian had a stipend from his high-end parents who weren't too concerned with their son's shenanigans. His future was secure and graffiti was a way to pass the time as he loafed around, waiting for something else to interest him.

Blaine had nothing from his parents, not even a Christmas card. His brother Cooper occasionally dropped a line or popped up to show his face, and that was it.

Not only did he have to be gay, he also had to be an aimless two-bit pet store employee.

He had already been struggling with a low self-esteem after ending his not-relationship with Sebastian. He didn't have a career that was going anywhere, he had no resources, no family, and a few friends who wouldn't be any of help to his state of mind. Blaine started combing his hair back a little longer each morning in the mirror, straightening his clothes and wondering if he should try to make use of his Bachelor of Science in Business Administration.

Because as much as he liked being a pet store employee and nighttime street artist, he wondered if he could be making further use of his life.

That was when Kurt came into it.

Blaine actually did remember the night when he unofficially met Kurt as Curly Q. Quinn had a 24-hour flu and Sebastian was busy getting drunk at one of the many bars he frequented. Armed with a single red spray paint can, he doodled Curly wherever there was space, although he stayed away from houses and familiar stores out of principle. He tackled an empty warehouse going to waste and the city lights reminded him of senior prom, of the flickering lights and the pounding music and sweaty bodies clustered together uncomfortably. There was one guy who had worn a top hat and Blaine, amused by the memory, gave his last Curly sketch a similar hat.

Then his grip fumbled and he dropped the can.

There was a soft exclaim from the street below and Blaine panicked because what if there was a policeman down there? He spotted movement in the darkness and began to hurry away, mind mapping out possible routes for him to take.

A voice, high but definitely male, said, “Hello—?”

And Blaine imagined then. He imagined this wandering man seeing Curly and puzzling over it, face twisted with confusion. He imagined being seen, this suspicious character working at the night. He imagined eyes of any color (would they be blue? Brown? Green?) following his every move with awe.

Heart in his throat, he called back, “From your friendly neighborhood street artist!”

Blaine ran away into the night, hoping against the world that this man would see his work and like it.

When he found out that Kurt Hummel, the endearing cat owner with a sharp look and breathtaking features, and the stranger were one and the same, he thought, Of course.

Of course the one time he spoke to a stranger as Curly Q would be Kurt.

It was natural then to call Kurt, to text him, think about him, go out to lunch with him. Kurt already knew his biggest secret that wasn't really a secret; once you've shown the most secret part of yourself, how could you not latch onto that person? Oh, but Blaine was young and all he could see was the straightforward path of his life panning out, vague as that path was. For a man who was forced to cast away the past, how could he not pin his dream for a more rewarding life on Kurt?

I've been looking for you forever.

Oh, but Blaine was young and sometimes he forgot that romance was supposed to enhance life—it was not life itself.

How well could you know a person? Never well enough, or too well. Too far or too close, both extremes that led to a certain blindness on your part. His part. What he forgot was that he didn't know the Kurt from Ohio, the Kurt in Ohio. He didn't know that Kurt was used to keeping his bitterness bottled in pint-sized containers, small enough to carry around and small enough to hide under a sheer veil of cool sarcasm. He didn't know that Kurt's favorite flowers were sunflowers because they reminded him of his mother during the summer, bright sunshine pouring in from the off-white curtains to shine on her softly curling auburn hair. He didn't know that Kurt has had sex with exactly two people and he topped every single time because he still had trouble shaking off the jeering echoes of “I bet you like to take it hard, don't you, Hummel?” and “Should have known that a fairy like you would take it up the ass.”

A grape could never know it was becoming a raisin, and once it was a raisin, it was too late.

Not sentient, they say, it's not the same, you're talking about inanimate objects, food.

That didn't change the fact that grapes could become raisins, but raisins could never become grapes. That was aging for you, for the youth aged and aged until they were no longer youthful, and then what were they? What could they call themselves?

They were already too far gone to know those most intimate, pivotal moments that led to Kurt owning Timeless and Blaine haunting the streets.

But they could try.

“Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?”

Kurt blinked as Quinn Fabray brushed past him and entered his home without glancing at him once. Then he realized her eyes were fixed firmly on Marigold, who was reclining on his sofa. “How do you know where I live?”

“Wrangled it from Blaine when you kept ignoring him,” she yelled back. To Marigold: “Hey, gorgeous. Who would have thought that Kurt Hummel likes redheads?”

Marigold purred and closed her eyes as Quinn scratched under her jaw. Traitor, Kurt thought.

“What do you want from me, Quinn?” he asked, leaning against the walls of his apartment and thinking furiously because what if Blaine sent her? Why would Blaine send her? Oh no, what if Blaine was sending Quinn to break up with him by proxy? Marie Antoinette married by proxy and all right, that was over two centuries ago, but maybe it was still legitimate to do anything by proxy.

Quinn was quick to silence his hurried theory. “Curly Q, Meerkat, and I are going out tonight,” she replied while stroking Marigold's head. “I was thinking that you could come with us and film some of the process. Blaine said you did that once for him.”

“Why would you want that? You'd be giving me incriminating evidence of your activities.”

“Not my first rodeo, Kurt,” she chuckled wryly. “Being arrested isn't all that glamorous. Mostly it's a pain. But Blaine trusts you, so if we get caught because of you, Sebastian and I can just give him a good verbal lashing.”

“Clearly your friendship is one to last for the ages,” Kurt stated drolly, his eyes already drifting to the shelf where he kept his camera.

“So will you come with us?”

“I don't know...”

“I told you that whatever Blaine had with Sebastian is past now, didn't I?”

“It's not that.” Kurt went over to a window, pulling the curtains shut and brushing off the cat hairs he found. “It's so obvious that he's passionate about street art. And I get how exciting it is, making art, the whole dangerous and illegal part of it. But I don't want that to be the basis of our relationship, him going out every other night and me tagging along, sometimes with a camera. I want more than that, Quinn, and it's unfair to him to be with someone who doesn't share something as big as that. And it's unfair to me too.”

“How many times have you actually gone out with him at night?”

“...Once?”

“So how do you know this isn't what you want? Heck, how do you know this is what Blaine wants?”

“He's Curly Q for a reason. Why would he go around vandalizing the town if he wants to do something else with his life?”

“We don't really have heart-to-heart chats while we're painting the town red, but Blaine's like you. Ridiculously big heart and ambitious, even if he doesn't think so.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying that you should come out with us tonight and see if you can stick around for the short run, if not for the long. You don't get to make this decision all by yourself because that would be unfair to Blaine.” She gave Marigold one last scratch and then stood up, ruffling her pink hair. “I'm going to pick you up at no later than nine. Wear dark colors and bring your camera. Or better yet, bring a video camera if you have one. I'll tell Sebastian to stop dicking around with Blaine, but I make no promises that he'll actually listen to me.

“And you don't have to call Blaine back, but try not to ignore him tonight. He's not the sharpest lookout when he's sad and moody.”

She swept out the door after wiggling her fingers at Kurt, leaving behind the faint scent of smoke and iron.

At exactly 10:37PM, Kurt was clutching a video camera he'd dug out from storage with fresh batteries and an amateur's hand.

The four of them had gone out to dinner at a Chinese place. Sebastian kept a careful physical distance from both Kurt and Blaine, choosing instead to disregard the former and leer at the latter. Kurt retaliated by sticking the video camera into Sebastian's face until Quinn clapped her hands and said, “Now, now, children, break it up.”

They ate from platters of mixed vegetables, shrimp with peking sauce, and kung pao chicken. Blaine kept an eye on Kurt, his smile radiant whenever Kurt happened to look back. They drank pot after pot of tea, Quinn claiming that they would need the caffeine because “I'm going to stay up all night long, so you boys better keep up or else.” She and Sebastian swapped a few more insults and Kurt discovered that Sebastian was fluent in French, or at least prone to swearing in the so-called language of love whenever Quinn pushed his buttons. This led to a very intense discussion between Kurt and Sebastian, both of them using what French they knew to wield as weapons as Blaine sat off to the side, blinking at the tête-à-tête.

Then they were off into the shadows of the night, leaving behind the bright fluorescent lights of the Chinese restaurant, and Kurt readied his video camera.

As the Pink Lady, Quinn exclusively used pink paint. But to Kurt, the most fascinating part of her art was that she painted the shadows of objects. In some cases, she used an already-present object such as a mailbox and traced the elongated shadow in dark carmine. In other cases, she made up shadows, painting the shadows of a man and a woman locked in embracing, faces touching.

“Pink because it's an illusion,” she explained to Kurt as he filmed, “because it speaks of joy, contentment, a childhood wrapped up in childish fancies. It's bright and ditzy, almost ignorant. Now in contrast with shadows, you see the darker side of objects, a darkness that we take for granted and don't really pay attention to. It's not necessarily good versus evil because we don't think our shadows are evil, right?”

Sebastian apparently dabbled with different mediums, from posters to stickers to murals when he had the patience to paint one. Tonight he used the stencils he made the other day; most of them were rats going about on everyday human business.

“Rats?” Kurt raised an eyebrow. “I am shocked. Not meerkats?”

“He's emulating one of the first street artists in Paris,” Blaine told him, “Blek le Rat.”

“There's a surprising number of artists from Paris,” Kurt remarked, thinking back on the research he had done (mostly consisting of Google and Wikipedia).

“You know what they say about the French.”

Sebastian put rats everywhere; rats holding briefcases and umbrellas, rats carrying boomboxes, rats lifting giant cameras.

“I don't know what it says about a man when he's obsessed with rats,” Kurt whispered to Blaine, who only laughed and shrugged as if to say, “What else can you do?” Sebastian scowled when he caught the whisper, but a seering look from Quinn silenced him.

But intriguing as it was to watch Quinn and Sebastian, Kurt only had eyes for Blaine. He watched as Blaine went to work on the wall, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, and Kurt thought, I could love this man. Abruptly, he remembered that he was trying to ease out of Blaine's life, and he forced down the thought, refusing to think of a one-story house with white picket fences and 2.5 children because he didn't plan on settling down any time soon and thinking about starting a family with a man he'd only gone on one date with was usually filed under “Creepy Obsessive Thoughts.”

“How did you all meet?” he asked in order to distract himself.

Quinn wavered, a frown forming on her lips. “Well...”

“I don't care if Blaine and Sebastian were together. Just tell me.”

“When did you get smart, Hummel?”

“Are we on last names now? Is that how it's going to be, Fabray?”

“All right, you got me. I ran into both of them a couple years back, but they weren't together at that point. They were staggering around in the dark and it was obvious that they were both pretty drunk, Blaine a bit more because he was a stuttering mess. Apparently Sebastian was trying to pick him up without noticing that Blaine's a lightweight.

“So I slapped them both until they were black and blue because they were idiots and I knew Blaine was in no condition to be taken advantage of. If you're going to get fooled, might as well be coherent. I made Sebastian give up Blaine to me so I could take him back to my place and make sure he was okay, though Sebastian ended up tagging along and crashing because he said I owed it to him for ruining his one-night stand.”

“If you're trying to warm me up to Sebastian and stay with Blaine, it's not working,” Kurt deadpanned, although he had to admit he was disappointed. And he thought that he was naïve, but Blaine took that a step further.

“Trust me, they were a lot worse back then. Sebastian probably didn't even know the meaning of friendship and Blaine was a lot more careless with the drinking. It helped that they stopped encouraging that kind of destructive behavior with each other by ending their not-relationship.”

Kurt pursed his mouth, looked away.

“What, too squeamish to look at Blaine or any of us anymore?”

“A little,” he confessed, “but I'm mostly disappointed in him.”

“Why would you be disappointed?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“That means that you actually expect him to do the right thing every time. That's not realistic. That's not even life, Kurt.”

Before Kurt could answer, Sebastian shot his head up. “Do you hear that?”

And now that Quinn had fallen silent, Kurt could hear it too. The sound of sirens not too far away from their current location forced Kurt's heart to work overtime because suddenly he faced the reality of all street artists. What they were making was art, but not everyone saw it that way, and as the police cars pulled up, Blaine shuffled over and grabbed Kurt's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. It was too late to run and now Kurt stood close to Blaine, shivering. Slowly, he brought up the video camera and kept rolling.

As a male, middle-aged police officer came up to them, cinching his belt and looking grimly at all of them, Sebastian began to speak rapidly in French.

“Hey now,” the officer said, “you people not from around here? Because you can't do that here.”

“Sorry about that, officer,” Quinn drawled, propping up an elbow on Blaine's shoulder.

Kurt, on the other hand, didn't appreciate the way the officer shook his head dismissively at them and at the work on the walls. He also didn't miss how the man pointedly flicked his eyes at his and Blaine's joined hands, which caused him to protest, “But it's art.”

“It's not art, it's graffiti.” Now the officer saw Kurt's video camera and stiffened. “Sir, please put that away.”

“I was just passing by,” Kurt lied badly.

“Sir, put that camera away or else—”

“Okay,” Quinn broke in, “my curfew's coming up so if you'll excuse us, officer, we really need to get going.”

“Wait a minute—”

And they were running, running, running. Kurt felt rather than saw his vision blur, flashes of red and blue light and the edge of Quinn's skirt fluttering in front of him; she was a much faster sprinter than he would have thought. Blaine's hand still around his in a tightened grip, pulling him along firmly across the concrete road. The video camera in his other hand, pointed at the ground, still rolling—later he would check the long minutes of dark gray street, stretched out and jerking to the rhythm of his breathing—and he could hear Sebastian a ways ahead of them, laughing viciously, victoriously.

He heard his thoughts pounding in his ears, loose threads that chanted, We could get caught, we could get caught, we could get caught.

Then: I'm so alive. I'm so alive. I'm so alive.

“That was a pretty good show the other day.”

Kurt looked up from the display of vintage tea dresses he was adjusting. It was Sunday afternoon. Sebastian had his arms crossed, signature smirk slapped on, and a more fitting black tee that accentuated his flat chest. Damn him.

“Are all street artists stalkers?”

“Can't help it if Blaine has a loose tongue,” Sebastian countered breezily. “Though it's good for other things, if you know what I mean.”

“Not a virgin,” Kurt rolled his eyes, plucking a pale green dress from the display and feeling the tiny rip that escaped his notice before. He'd have to mend it. And possibly stick his sewing needle through Sebastian's own tongue because Blaine had called him several more times and he'd rejected every call. “And stop trying to rile me up.”

“Is it working?”

If you couldn't swat a fly, you had to ignore it. (Or kill it slowly via indirect methods.)

“Unfortunately, I'm not just here to watch you putter around in your princess castle. I need you to do something for me.”

“You're Blaine's friend, not mine. I'm not interested in spending the rest of my Sunday doing you any favors. And why aren't you asking either of your friends? I'm sure that Quinn would be thrilled to supervise your acid wash rear end.” He paused deliberately before spinning around and planting his chin on a propped hand. “Unless it's not something either of them would be thrilled by. More illegal than usual, I'm guessing? Something with higher stakes?”

There was a gleam of respect in Sebastian's eyes, but his tone remained sardonic. “Princess has some brains after all.”

“You're not endearing me to your mysterious cause.”

Sebastian leaned forward until their noses were touching. “How do you feel about going to Disneyland?”

“I have never missed this many days of work before,” Kurt repeated over and over again even as Sebastian gestured for him to hustle. “Never in my life, I swear.”

“I believe you,” the Meerkat groaned, “so please shut that big mouth of yours or put it to better use.”

“This is what getting involved with street art has done to me. This. I purposefully skipped manning the store—the store that I own and built up from the ground—in order to drive you all the way to Los Angeles so you can play with Mickey Mouse and his animal friends. Why did I let you manipulate me into doing this? I don't like you and I don't like the way you act around Blaine. Why?”

“Having fun venting?” Sebastian said distractedly, scanning his surroundings. “As for why, it's because I threatened to vandalize your precious store.”

“Oh yes. Now why are you still alive? I have so many terrific places where I can hide a body. You know my old house in Ohio had a basement? I'm telling you, it was perfect.”

“Uh-huh. Now quiet, Princess. I'm on serious business.”

“So. Many. Places.”

They had left the week after Sebastian first brought up his plan. Sebastian was adamant that Blaine and Quinn be left in the dark. (“Hey, you've been ignoring Blaine's calls and everything, it's so obvious, you should see the way he mopes.”) Kurt thought that was fair enough since Sebastian obviously hadn't gone to either of his friends for a reason. What he thought was unfair was how Sebastian wouldn't tell him anything about his plans for Disneyland. It would have irked Kurt a lot more if Sebastian hadn't insisted on paying for the tickets, gas, hotel rooms, and any “toxic food you want to consume because trust me, you need it.”

“That's surprisingly chivalrous of you,” Kurt had mentioned offhandedly.

Sebastian immediately crushed that belief. “Hardly. I just wouldn't want to bankrupt your precious store or else Blaine and Quinn would definitely find out. Just covering my tracks.”

Bastard.

Sebastian led the way down Main Street, a backpack slung over his shoulder. Kurt was carrying his video camera which Sebastian had also insisted on. “To take pictures,” he'd said, and continued to give cryptic answers when Kurt pressed for more information.

In the end, Kurt let himself relax in the light atmosphere Disneyland gave off. There was music playing, children running around, people screaming from nearby rides, and the scent of popcorn and cotton candy even early in the morning. He couldn't escape the feeling that he was too old now for any magic in this theme park to work on him, but he resolved to enjoy his first time at Disneyland and not to give Sebastian too much thought as long as they kept walking around the park.

But Sebastian walked quickly, eyes darting all over the place, and finally he settled on the ride Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. It appeared to be a fast roller coaster and as a mine train roared past, Kurt could hear the delighted shrieking that extended throughout the rest of the ride.

“Are you finally going on one of the rides?” he asked Sebastian.

The Meerkat didn't answer. Instead, he settled down on a bench and took out two items from his backpack: a pump and what appeared to be an inflatable doll.

“What is the date, Kurt?” Sebastian finally answered.

“It's October 12.”

“It's the twentieth anniversary of Matthew Shepard's death after he got attacked in Laramie, Wyoming.” Sebastian looked up and now Kurt could see a fierceness that he hadn't noticed before. Sebastian pumped and pumped and pumped until the doll was completely blown up. It was clearly meant to be a young man with a white shirt and dark pants, its hands tied behind its back. There were marks and streaks of red all over the doll's body, meant to be wounds, and a piece of duct tape covered the lower half of the doll's face.

Sebastian had taped a sign to the front of the doll's shirt, saying “In honor of Matthew Shepard, December 1, 1976 – October 12, 1998. May all faggot-hating homophobes go to hell.”

Kurt stared in disbelief. “Sebastian, this is...”

“Now you see why I didn't bring Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”

“Because you could land yourself in real hot water over this! Sebastian, this isn't worth it. What are you trying to say?”

“I should have known you wouldn't understand. You might as well be a girl—”

“It's got nothing to do with my face!” Kurt's voice rang out. “Sebastian, there will always be people who hate us. It's one thing to be yourself and one thing to deliberately rub it in their faces like this and in Disneyland.”

“Just listen to yourself!” Sebastian drew himself up so that he was a scant inch or two taller than Kurt. “How many people have told you that the way you dress is a way of 'rubbing it in their faces,' never mind that it's being yourself and all of that crap? Huh? How is this any different from the twinks who run around in kilts and high heels?”

“It's not—”

“You better take some pictures, Princess,” Sebastian said in a tone of finality, voice deadly. “Now shut it.”

The Meerkat took the doll and hopped over the first and shorter fence that blocked ordinary people from the site of the ride. Then he hoisted the doll over the taller second fence, black and with intimidating spikes on top, and made it face the oncoming mine trains. He hurriedly secured the doll to the fence, making sure that it could stand on two legs, before leaving the site and heading off in another direction.

Kurt filmed it all.

No one seemed to pay attention to Sebastian when he had been setting the doll in place, but now that he was gone and the doll was standing all by itself, more and more people began to stop and stare. They pointed and took pictures and whispered among themselves, and Kurt kept filming and took a few pictures on his own. The first few mine trains zoomed past, with a few of the riders drawing attention to the doll, but finally one train completely stopped in front of the offending object. There was an announcement: “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please. All of our trains are stopped...”

That was when Kurt detected movement from the gathering crowd. There were bulky men who weren't dressed like security guards, but had the hardened look down pat. Like they definitely weren't at Disneyland to have fun.

They headed straight for him and his video camera, and Kurt knew he had to leave.

It was a day of firsts.

First time at Disneyland. First time seeing a street artist work his magic at Disneyland. First time getting accosted by security. First time in an interrogation room. So many firsts. Kurt figured he could cross off half of his bucket list at this point.

There was a man on either side of Kurt's seat and one of them said, quite plainly, “You are in big, big, big trouble.”

It was like a poorly scripted scene from a heist movie. Kurt coughed to disguise his laughter.

Sebastian had told him what he was going to do after his mysterious task. The Meerkat had gone off in the opposite direction to change his clothes, go on a few rides, and then he would call Kurt so that they could meet up and scram. Neither of them had anticipated that Kurt would become the target and for what? Filming an interesting event that he was in no way part of?

It became clear that the Disneyland security team didn't know if Kurt had actually set up the doll or was an accomplice meant to capture the entire event, but they certainly suspected him of either/or. Now one man stuck by his side and the other faced him from across the table where the video camera was, one hand on the table and dark mustache twitching.

All Kurt understood was that he could not give Sebastian away.

“Gentlemen, I was at the wrong place at the wrong time,” Kurt repeated over and over again. “I took one picture, just one picture.

“Yeah right,” the man across the table snorted. “Turn on that camera and show us then.”

Uptown girl, she's been living in her uptown world...

The security guard next to Kurt fumbled with his pocket and drew out Kurt's cell phone, which had been confiscated. It was the ringtone Kurt had set for Sebastian and although his phone had caller ID, he'd entered Sebastian's name as “S. S.” as a precaution.

“Maybe it's your partner,” the guard scoffed and handed the phone to Kurt. “Now answer it.”

Thinking fast, Kurt held the phone to his ear. “Hello, sweetie,” he said too loudly and cheerfully, hoping that Sebastian would catch on. “How is the cat? I hope she's not causing you any trouble while I'm gone. I can't tell you how many times I've had to clean her litter box because you didn't want to touch it.”

He heard heavy breathing over the connection and then a click when Sebastian hung up. Kurt placed the phone on the table. “Just my sweetheart,” he chirped, noting the scowls both guards sported.

“Whatever,” the mustached guard announced. “Now hurry up and turn on the camera, and we'll see if you really only took one picture.”

Who would have thought that Disneyland hired people who looked as if the happiest place on earth was the worst possible place to be? Kurt was never coming back here ever again, not even if they let him stay at the Cinderella castle.

“Fine, I'll show you,” he said, reaching for his video camera.

The two men surrounded him, watching his every move. Kurt turned on the camera, holding it carefully in his hands. Going to the menu, he glanced at either man, and then deleted everything in one fell swoop. Then he leaned forward, planted the video camera back on the table, and leaned back, crossing his legs and folding his hands primly. “There,” he said smugly, “I have nothing you can hold over me. No pictures.”

The security guards stared at him.

“Son of a bitch,” the mustached one said after a moment of silence.

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

He was kept in the interrogation room for another four hours, but with no evidence, they were forced to release him. Luckily Kurt had stashed the tape with backup files in the sole of his shoe and now he walked somewhat stiffly toward the entrance of the park where Sebastian was waiting for him. He'd recounted the entire incident to Sebastian over phone as he made his way and Sebastian's reaction had been rather disappointing. He'd merely said, “Get your butt over here, we need to talk.”

Now he could see Sebastian with a different shirt and baseball cap shading his face. “One would think that I deserve a little more gratitude after the stunt you pulled,” he remarked, bumping shoulders with Sebastian as they exited the park.

Sebastian tossed his head up and said nothing.

“That's the thanks I get? I think I'd rather you vandalize my store instead of dragging me out here.”

Sebastian shook his head. “You don't understand,” he said lowly. “I didn't expect you to cover for me.”

“You had such a low opinion of me? Thank you, Sebastian. Let us part ways and never speak again.”

Now the street artist guffawed. “You may dress like you're at a pride parade every day,” he said fondly, “but you're all right. And I promise I won't scrawl all over your precious store, so don't worry about that. Let's get out of here.”

He touched Kurt very briefly on the arm and turned away, but not before Kurt saw something like a genuine smile on Sebastian's face.