Spring break is over all too soon, and it's like there's a light suddenly visible at the end of the tunnel. College decisions are due in a month, and then there's the play, and Nationals, and prom. Blaine, as senior class president, has already set up the graduation countdown in the cafeteria, placed strategically high enough that no one without a ladder can reach it. Ripples of anticipation have become almost palpable in the hallway. Just 75 days until everything changes.

75 days until he walks across the auditorium stage for the very last time.

It's the end of so many things, traded in for a new beginning. He remembers how he felt at this time last year – like it was all happening too fast, like time was slipping away from him, like his life was slipping away. All he feels now is ready. He wants to get out. He wants his life to start. He wants to make these last few months count, so that he can meet the rest of his life with his head held high and the messes he's made finally far behind him.

Kurt calls him that Monday.

Blaine is wary when he picks up, but Kurt jumps right in and starts talking to him like it never happened. Maybe like none of it ever happened. It's actually kind of weird. He positively gushes when Blaine asks him about work, voice a little too bright, but full of the candor that Blaine remembers finding, god, so refreshing when they first met. His monologue is just beginning to pick up steam when he stops, falters. He clears his throat.

"So," he says. "How are things at school?"

Blaine tells him a few sparing highlights about glee and the play, still cautious, but Kurt listens, really listens, and doesn't just "uh-huh." Blaine starts to drop his guards. Somehow, the conversation takes a turn down one of the many branching paths of their shared interests, and before he knows it, they've spent an hour discussing makeovers for the cast of Jersey Shore and his mother is knocking on his door to call him to dinner.

"Wait," he says, before Kurt has a chance to hang up. "Why did you call me, Kurt?"

Kurt is silent for a moment before responding, carefully, "I'm trying to be your friend."

It's the start of something. Kurt calls him again on Saturday, and the following Wednesday, and soon enough, they're talking twice a week. It's not like it was before, when Blaine felt more often than not that he might as well be speaking Portuguese, for all that Kurt actually heard him when he opened his mouth. Kurt is careful, always, to ask Blaine about his life – he remembers names that Blaine has only mentioned in passing, helps him brainstorm ideas for his weekly glee assignments, lets him ramble on and on when he needs a sounding board for the complicated backstory he's devised for Mercutio. He never asks Blaine about his plans for next year, never talks about the future at all.

Blaine has missed having someone like this. Kurt was the first and only person in his life who really got him, who took the time to understand how his brain worked, and his heart, and made him feel like somebody's kindred spirit.

Blaine never had trouble making friends when he was a kid – he had a penchant for running around in the mud that endeared him to the boys in his class – but they were never really good friends. He didn't have anyone to tell his secrets to. And then he came out, and he didn't have anyone at all.

He remembers long weeks of eating lunch alone, fighting off the hurt and the embarrassment with anger. These people who he'd known since he was five, who'd come to his birthday parties and picked him first for dodgeball, they shoved him aside and decided he was worthless because of something he couldn't control, and wouldn't change if he could. They were ignorant and wrong and he wouldn't want them as friends at all, now, even if they begged him for forgiveness.

He quit soccer and joined a community fencing club that 14-year-old Cooper had gone to for about five seconds before he realized it was a lot harder than stage combat. He quit choir and dedicated himself to his piano. He got back into the riding lessons he'd abandoned when he started middle school. He made a few acquaintances that way, almost-friends who smiled at him instead of whispering behind his back, but that wasn't the point. He didn't need anyone to be happy and fulfilled. He could do it on his own.

That was the story he told himself on those nights when his parents were gone and Cooper hadn't called in months, and the stares and whispers were starting to turn into shoves and slurs. I don't need them.

His parents didn't find out about the bullying until the principal called them in for a meeting. Blaine had been caught shoving Brad Kendry in the hallway hard enough to knock him down – no one saw the way Brad slammed him head first into his locker or heard him tell Blaine to "go suck a dick, faggot." Blaine told his side of the story with his head held high and his eyes focused on the wall behind Mr. McAllister. He couldn't look at his parents and say these things, it just wasn't possible. McAllister told him he couldn't prove it.

His parents proceeded to tag-team berate the man until he agreed to clear Blaine of all charges. They grounded Blaine for a week for using violence.

He managed to curb the instinct, after that.

Things changed when he met Adrian, out and proud Adrian, who wore eyeliner every day and always smiled in the face of insults. The two of them became friends by default, allies behind enemy lines. It didn't matter that Adrian listened almost exclusively to death metal or that his favorite actor was Nicolas Cage, because he was somebody who understood. They could talk about guys and share internet resources and make joint complaints to the principal's office, for all the good it did them. It felt like relief, to no longer be alone.

It felt like weakness, too.

He hasn't seen Adrian since the dance. They talked on the phone, once, after Blaine transferred, but they didn't have much to say. Blaine had escaped. Adrian was still in the trenches.

Dalton was the first place Blaine ever really felt like he fit in. He liked the beauty of the school, and the majesty. He liked the spirit of fairness and acceptance it engendered in its students. He liked that everyone seemed so earnest and nice, and that they seemed to worship their glee club as if it were made of rock stars. It seemed like paradise after the storm of hate he'd been weathering for so long.

The Warblers adopted him as soon as they found out he could sing, and all of a sudden, it seemed, he was well-liked, well-respected, listened to. He was one of them. It was wonderful, being part of a team again. He'd missed that feeling of building something together from the ground up, of trusting each other and forging bonds and making music all at the same time. Wes and David took him under their wings and, soon enough, he was getting solo after solo. It meant a lot, their belief in him.

Being with the Warblers was so easy. They saw him exactly the way he wanted them to, and never looked any deeper. It was safe.

It was lonely.

Kurt was different. He changed everything, for Blaine. He looked. Blaine couldn't bring himself to hide from him, couldn't help but crack himself open like a raw egg. He'd been waiting all his life for someone to see him, to want to see him, even, to try. Someone who wanted to hold his hand and who smiled at him like he knew him. Of course he moved the stars for Kurt.

Having someone so close and so necessary to the integrity of his heart – it was scary, and amazing, and addicting. He grew to rely on it.

He knows better, now. But still.

That doesn't stop the tingle of pleasure that runs up his spine when he sees Kurt's name on his caller ID.

He starts spending a lot of time with Todd DeWitt. It happens naturally, after that strange but awesome evening Blaine spent at his house over spring break. They share an interest in Old Hollywood that results in multiple movie marathons, not to mention a competitive spirit that makes their bowling nights kind of a bloodbath. Todd is actually a really cool guy, once you can get him to relax, and easy to talk to.

He's so certain about what he wants for his future, too. He's going to Columbia to study English literature, then grad school and a Ph.D by 27 at the latest. He talks about it with that same fervor, that same reverence that Rachel always had when she talked about Broadway. It gets Blaine thinking.

"Can I ask you a question?"

They're lounging on Todd's bed, ostensibly working on French homework. Blaine has been staring at the ceiling for the last ten minutes. Todd doesn't look up from where he's furiously writing.

"Oui."

"You're really good, you know that?"

"Is that the question?"

"You are. You could be an actor one day, if you really wanted to."

He looks up.

"Well, thanks, I guess. Do I want to know where this is going?"

"Why don't you? Want to, I mean."

He furrows his brow, thinks for a moment. This is one of the things Blaine likes about talking to Todd. He never just speaks before he thinks, not when it's important.

"I guess I'm just...not passionate enough about it, you know? You have to be really committed to make a career in the arts, and I'm...not. I mean, I like it, it's fun, but that's it."

"Did you ever consider it?"

"For about two seconds. Then I realized I liked analyzing the script way better than actually performing it, so that was a bust."

Blaine has been weighing his options very carefully, and still it seems like his decision changes every day. His parents say he should choose the school that will give him the best career opportunities. Cooper seems to think it comes down to theater vs. film (and whether he wants to spend half the year trudging through dirty slush and getting felt up on the subway, but Blaine is ignoring those comments due to their obvious bias). Ms. Pillsbury tells him to follow his heart.

All of his life, he's thought he wanted music. Maybe he'd be a musician, or a singer, or maybe he'd be on Broadway – the details evolved, but the theme was always the same. Now, he's not sure what he wants. He knows he can't make this decision impulsively. He has to use his head alongside his heart.

It's just hard when the arguments keep going in circles; LA means sunshine and Cooper (and the heart of the film industry, can't forget that), New York means bagels and Broadway (and Kurt), and Boston is the great unknown. There, he could be anybody, do anything, start with the slate wiped clean. He has to admit, the thought has its appeal.

He applied to all of his schools undeclared, as the mere idea of going through the audition process was too much for him to handle last fall. He told his parents he was keeping his options open. They said they were proud of him. He smiled, politely. Now, he's starting to think they were right.

If only he could make a decision.

The deadline looms closer. Play rehearsals start to shift into high gear. Mr. Schue has decided that the only way to get himself out of his existential funk is to win a second consecutive national championship and has started making them come in for weekend rehearsals. Blaine is too tired, at night, to stare any longer at his miles-long pro/con list.

The play is starting to come together really well, at least. Now that they're all (mostly) off book and the blocking has been worked out, they can really start to get into the nuances and "dig into the text," as Ms. Dietrich likes to say. She works them, hard. She pushes for more, for deeper, she wants them to find what's real in the words and then spill their guts out onto the stage. It's...different from what Blaine is used to. He can't hide. He can't fake it. He can't substitute charm for sincerity.

He finds himself rising to the challenge.

There's this moment in the middle of their first dress rehearsal, when he's lying on the stage and clutching at his ribs, grimacing with remembered pain.

"A plague a both your houses!"

He feels it, then, deep in his gut. The hurt, the injustice, the regret of an impulsive choice and something precious, wasted. He knows that feeling. The auditorium is silent and still, frozen on the inhale. And he can tell that, in that moment, the audience knows it, too.

That the audience is made up entirely of his cast mates and directing team is immaterial.

In that moment, he knows with absolute certainty.

There it is.

He makes his decision.

&&&&&

He's backstage. The lights are down and the stage crew is changing sets for the next scene, a tightly choreographed dance lit only by the glowing strips of tape marking corners and targets. The next scene is his first entrance.

Cooper ended up having to change his ticket due to a last-minute audition, and their parents have been called out of town for some sort of distant-family emergency, so he really doesn't have anyone but the glee kids to see him tonight. Which is totally not a problem, and actually kind of takes the pressure off. It just niggles at some of those insecurities he's been trying to shake.

People leave. People lose interest and they leave. No one really cares.

It's not about him. His parents will watch the tape, Cooper will be here tomorrow. His friends are here to support him. He doesn't need anyone's validation.

He breathes in, breathes out, shakes out the tension that's crept back into his shoulders. He's not usually nervous before he performs, but this is different.

Todd shoots him a smile. The lights come up. This is it.

&&&&&

He might be biased, but he really thinks his death scene is the best in the play. There's the duel, which is so very cool and so much fun, and the verbal sparring, and then there's that moment when he gets hit under Romeo's arm and everything just stops. It's the pivot point, the first domino to fall, a stone breaking the surface of a glassy, still lake.

It's the first time, opening night, that the timing works out just right. He can actually hear someone in the audience gasp. It's awesome.

After that, he's got nothing to do but watch from the wings and wait for his turn at curtain call. He gets his own bow. The audience stands up for him, and there's not a thing in the world that could wipe the grin off his face. It doesn't matter that his family isn't there to see it because there will be more. He'll make sure of it. There will be plenty of standing ovations in his future, and he will have earned every last one of them.

He goes out to the lobby with the rest of the cast, smile still bright on his face, eager to see his friends and hear what they thought.

Tina and Sam and the rest of the glee club swarm around him and practically buzz their collective congratulations. Sam gives him a bro-hug and Tina gives him a real one, and soon enough they've faded into the crowd to find Artie and give him what Blaine can only assume will be similar treatment. He gives the room a last cursory glance before turning on his heel to head back to the dressing room. He's brought up short.

He nearly runs into Kurt.

Kurt's eyes are wide with the shock of their near miss, his hand clenched tightly around a bouquet of red roses. The other hand reaches up to smooth the line of his hair.

"Hi," he says.

"Kurt, what are you – "

"I took the afternoon off. I couldn't miss your debut."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know. I wanted to. You know I've always loved to watch you perform."

It's obvious from the high pitch of his voice and the way he very determinedly does not bite his lip that he's fighting nerves. Blaine doesn't know what to make of it, at all.

"Wow. That's – wow, that's so nice of you. Thank you."

"Oh! Here." Kurt thrusts the bouquet inelegantly in Blaine's general direction. "You were incredible, by the way. In case you wondered."

Blaine takes the roses gingerly and can't help but attempt to inhale them into his body. He's always loved roses.

"They're beautiful. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Um."

Blaine looks at him now, really looks at him, taking advantage of the momentary silence. His back is ramrod straight, giving the illusion that he's taller than he really is, or maybe it's just that he's hit another growth spurt. His face is written all over with that same uncertainty that's causing Blaine to fidget with his flowers. His eyes are a little raw and red, which makes Blaine's stomach lurch until he remembers. Kurt always did wear his heart on his sleeve, when it came to love stories. Blaine always thought it was sweet.

"I know you probably want to get out of that costume," says Kurt, finally, "but do you think we could get dinner, after? I mean, unless you have plans..."

"No, no plans. The cast party isn't until after closing."

"Will your parents – "

"Not here. Family emergency." Kurt's eyes widen in alarm. "No one you know. No one I know, for that matter."

"Great. I mean – "

"I know what you mean. Dinner sounds great. You know how hungry I get after a performance."

"I know."

"So I'll just...meet you here, then?"

Kurt nods his affirmative and smiles, relieved. Blaine takes one last look and heads backstage.

He takes his time changing and washing off the make-up. He doesn't want to keep Kurt waiting, but he needs some time to process. He's high off of performance adrenaline right now and not in the best place to make decisions. He knows that. He needs to be careful.

He pauses for a moment over his hair. Ms. Dietrich made him style it curly for the play. He tamed it with some sort of mousse recommended to him by Todd, and it looks fairly under control, even if a little strange, to his eyes. He decides to leave it.

Most everyone has dissipated by the time he comes out. Kurt is deep in conversation with Tina and Sam, gesticulating wildly as Tina laughs. Blaine walks up to them with his chin tilted high.

"Hey," he says, cheerfully.

Kurt looks over, and his eyes light up.

"You left it curly?"

"Just trying it out. There won't be balloons where we're going, will there?"

Kurt's eyes crinkle into that sly, affectionate smile that Blaine hasn't seen for so long.

"No balloons." His eyes flick up. "I like it."

Blaine narrowly resists the urge to run a hand through his hair.

"Thanks."

"Shall we?"

Blaine nods, then waves his goodbyes to Sam and Tina.

"Thanks again for coming, guys, I really appreciate it."

They both murmur some version of "it was fun," Tina looking between him and Kurt with confusion bordering on concern. Blaine plants a hand between Kurt's shoulder blades, a habit he hasn't had the opportunity to break. Kurt gets the message. They hurry to the exit.

Kurt's dad dropped him off, so they take Blaine's car. Blaine very carefully doesn't ask if Mr. Hummel knows why he came. He suspects the answer is no.

"Breadstix?" he asks instead.

"Of course. Would it be pathetic if I said I'd missed it?"

"Not pathetic. Maybe a little...surprising? New York is the Italian food capital of the country."

"I know, I know. There's just something about those breadsticks..."

He gets a far-off look of longing that causes Blaine to snort.

"Sounds like I know what to get you for your birthday."

Kurt grins at him.

"Send me a box filled with breadsticks and cheesecake and I'll love you forever."

The words fall, heavy, just as fast as their faces. Blaine practically jams the key into the ignition.

"We should probably get going. They stop seating people at ten."

He turns on the radio as soon as he can, not wanting to face all those things lurking beneath the silence. Kurt starts to sing along, quietly, and Blaine joins in.

"Do you get much of a chance to sing, these days?"

Kurt sighs.

"Just karaoke, generally. Sometimes I sing at Callbacks, but that's really more Rachel's thing."

"Do you miss it?"

"Of course. I can practically feel myself losing my high F."

"Do you think you'll ever try again?"

"I don't... No. Broadway is my first love, you know that, but I don't think... It's just not for me, you know? The more I watch what Rachel is going through this year, the more I think...thank god. I'm right where I need to be."

"That's great, Kurt."

He flashes Blaine a smile, then hesitates.

"Have you made your decision yet? I know the deadlines were coming up."

"This week, actually."

"So you've...decided?"

He's trying so hard for casual. It's taking all the willpower Blaine possesses to keep both hands on the wheel. Reaching out to comfort him is as natural as breathing.

"Yep. NYU it is."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know Tisch isn't a guarantee by any means, I'll still have to apply to transfer, but that would be true anywhere. I figure New York is the place to be if I want to be an actor."

"Not Hollywood?" The tone of his voice is teasing, but Blaine shudders anyway.

"God, no."

"Cooper will be disappointed."

"Probably. He's been trying to convince me that The Anderson Brothers Take Hollywood would make a good reality series."

Kurt laughs.

"He's not wrong, you know. I'd watch it."

They smile at each other. Katy Perry is on the radio, singing about the one that got away. Blaine can see the sign for Breadstix up ahead. Kurt clears his throat.

"Congratulations, Blaine. I'm really happy for you."

"Yeah?"

"Of course. I think...you're making the right decision."

"Good thing, because it's too late to take it back."

"I mean it. You've – you really do have a gift, Blaine. If anyone can make it, you can."

"Thanks. That's – "

"Absolutely true, and deserved. You made me cry tonight."

"Thanks, I guess."

"Not to mention... You're going to love New York. I swear. And you'll have a tour guide at your beck and call."

Blaine pulls into a parking space, stops the car. He smiles at Kurt, touched.

"I'll be sure to take advantage of that."

He unbuckles his seatbelt and moves to open the door.

"Wait."

He turns around. Kurt is looking at him, face and heart open.

"I just – I'm going to say this now, and then we can go eat. I want us to be friends again, Blaine. Real friends. I think after we started dating I got...complacent, about us. I assumed that it was enough, that we loved each other, and I didn't really – we stopped communicating properly. I don't want that to happen again. I really – I need you in my life, Blaine, I do."

"I...don't know if I really understand. We are friends, aren't we?"

"Of course we are. Just...I don't want you to come to New York and...disappear. I want to make the effort and I want us to really be there. For each other. Okay?"

"I don't – I mean, of course I want that, but..."

"Look, I know you're still...figuring some things out. I know that you don't think I should trust you and that maybe, well, maybe you don't exactly trust me. And you're right. We both messed up, and I want to fix it. I want to trust you again, and it kills me that you look at me like something you need to protect yourself against. I'm not running away from you. Please don't run away from me."

Kurt is holding himself, fingers clenched white around his elbows, eyes a little wild with the emotions he can't quite contain. He's so...he's making himself so vulnerable, and Blaine doesn't understand. He doesn't get it at all.

"How could you possibly forgive me?"

It slips out before he can pass it through his filter. Kurt searches his face, eyes softening.

"I don't know. Because...I love you. And because, what you did, it hurt you as much as it hurt me. Maybe more."

"But, Kurt – "

"You've punished yourself enough, don't you think? You don't really need me to do it for you."

Blaine can't help it, he reaches out and takes one of Kurt's hands. He's feeling a lot of things right now, but this one overrides.

"You have to know that I would never want to hurt you."

"I do know."

"And I've missed you, so much."

"I've missed you, too."

"Can we just...spend time together and not worry about what it means?"

"Of course. Yes. That's all I want."

"Okay then."

He smiles, shakily. Kurt smiles back, and squeezes his hand.

"Okay."

"Let's go get some breadsticks."

Kurt laughs.

It feels good.

&&&&&

They decide to meet for coffee the next day, too, and they end up spending the morning together. Kurt invites him over for lunch, but he can't bring himself to face Mr. Hummel after everything. They get sandwiches at the Panera by the mall instead.

He has a matinee at 2:00, and then there's Cooper. He takes Blaine out for an early dinner and spends the entire meal oscillating between detailed description of his latest Big Audition and last-minute advice for Blaine's Big Show. Blaine doesn't bother to fight the urge to roll his eyes when Cooper brings up pointing, gently, like it's really for Blaine's own good, but his strategies for "finding the light" are actually pretty helpful. Blaine knows he doesn't always do that very well, in the moment. It's with genuine gratitude and heartfelt affection that he thanks his brother for the tips.

Even if he did insist on speaking in the world's worst southern drawl whenever the server was within earshot (he gave up on iambic pentameter pretty quickly).

Cooper ends up filming the show with a camera he borrowed from his art director friend. He comes with Blaine at his call time to scout the auditorium for the best angles. Ms. Dietrich makes him settle for the back of the center aisle, where he won't be in anyone's way.

It goes well that night, better, maybe than it's ever gone before. Cooper whoops for him, loudly, at his bow and swoops in with the tightest of hugs when he emerges into the lobby.

"I am so, so proud of you, squirt," he says. Blaine waits for the "but" that he knows must be coming, but it never does. He squeezes his brother back and lets him hold on as long as he wants.

"Thank you," he says, when he can look Cooper in the eye and let him know how much it really means. "But please don't call me that."

Cooper just laughs and ruffles his hair a little.

"Come on, go change so I can call the parents and tell them what a star you are."

Blaine smiles, and he's about to nod his agreement when he freezes. Because there, over Cooper's left shoulder, is Burt Hummel. Kurt is hovering next to him. Mr. Hummel clears his throat.

"Hey, kid. You were really great up there. I was real impressed."

Blaine is torn. There's a big part of him that wants to turn and run.

"Oh, um. Thanks. That's really nice of you. I – didn't know you were coming."

"It was Kurt's idea – "

"I thought he could use some culture."

" – but I'm glad he convinced me to come. Support the arts and all that. I'm glad to see you're looking so...good. Happy."

"Thank you."

It's at this point that Cooper feels the need to interject and introduce himself. Blaine is glad for the moment to get himself back together.

"You really were wonderful, Blaine," says Kurt, with a bright, warm smile. "Again."

Blaine can feel himself start to go red under the force of so much attention, from people whose opinions really matter.

"Thanks for coming, really, all of you."

There's a short silence that Kurt deftly breaks before it can get too awkward.

"We'll let you go. I'll call you!"

He starts to lead his father away with an insistent tug. Mr. Hummel gives Blaine a short, sharp nod before acquiescing. Cooper turns to look at him with eyebrows raised.

"Long story," mutters Blaine.

The look on Cooper's face promises that he's in for a long night to go with it.