When Kurt entered the Lima Bean afterschool that next afternoon, he pushed the doors open with his heart pounding in his chest, eyes zeroing in on Blaine's table in the far corner. Kurt gave him a discreet little wave, conscious of the people around him.

Blaine returned it with a wide smile.

Kurt ducked his head and turned to face forward in the line for coffee, his face flaming. He texted his dad while on line, explaining why he would be late, and ordered a non-fat mocha from the barista behind the counter. A minute later his order was ready, and he wound his way through the tables and chairs to the small corner table in the back.

"You're here," Blaine breathed once Kurt approached.

"I am," Kurt agreed as he began to remove some of his outer layers. "I said I would be."

"I know you did," Blaine said with a small smile. "I just can't believe it."

"Well," Kurt said delicately as he removed his scarf, "I do have a very busy social calendar, Blaine Anderson, but I managed to squeeze you in in between a crucial Project Runway marathon and a new soufflé I've just been dying to try."

Blaine laughed. "Cool."

Kurt finished removing his coat and sat down. "Anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

Blaine shrugged, a smile lurking in the corner of his mouth. "Not much. After fifty years of being a silent observer, things sort of stop surprising you."

Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"Well," Blaine said, his eyes crinkling in the corners as his smile widened, "most things," he amended, raising a regal hand in Kurt's direction.

Kurt tipped his coffee in salute.

"Look," Blaine said quickly, leaning forward conspiratorially, "It's been bothering me all day. How can you see me?"

Kurt grimaced. "I just can."

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Really? That's the explanation you're going with?"

Kurt shrugged as he taste tested his coffee. "What do you want me to say, Blaine? I'm some sort of genetic defect? I was born with a couple of genes out of place? That I've been conversing with dead people for as long as I can remember? That I have," he gave a dry laugh, "A sixth sense?"

Blaine nodded. "Um, yeah?" he affirmed, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair as he surveyed Kurt solemnly. "That's pretty much it."

"Really?" he asked, eyes widening in surprise.

Blaine shrugged. "I mean, I was just curious. Doesn't mean I was launching an inquisition." He smiled and added in a lower voice, "But then again, nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition."

Kurt gaped at him. "Monty Python?"

Blaine beamed. "You've seen it?"

"My dad loves that movie," Kurt explained. "You've seen it? How?"

"Warbler favorite," Blaine explained with a stray wave of hand and. "They played it all the time in the 80s and 90s." He shrugged. "It's mostly died out, but the VHS is still in the back of the DVD collection in the Warbler lounge. God, I loved the 70s. What I wouldn't give to have been alive just so I could give Brian Ferry a high-five." He gave a regretful sigh. "But anyway," he said, his face turning serious, "Back to you, Kurt."

"What about me?" he asked, confused.

"You communicate with dead people?"

"I even mock them when they're stating the obvious," Kurt retorted, rolling his eyes.

But, instead of getting offended, Blaine laughed. "Well, it certainly appears so," he said, chuckling. "You said it's genetic?"

Kurt nodded. "My dad has the ability, and most of the men from his side of the family."

"So you can see us, hear us, feel us..." Blaine listed, his eyes going distant. "How have I not heard of you before?" he asked, half to himself half to Kurt. "I've been around fifty years."

Kurt shrugged. "I don't think there are many of us, around. Certainly not in Lima, probably not even in Ohio." He snorted. "It's not like we hold conventions."

Blaine laughed. "I guess not," he said, shaking his head.

"I don't think I've met anyone else either," Kurt pondered, tapping his fingers idly on the rim of his coffee cup.

"Does it ever get lonely?" Blaine asked curiously. "The secrecy?"

Kurt nodded morosely. "Yeah, it does, sometimes." He took a sip of his coffee. "But you would understand more than most, right?"

Blaine grinned, the dark subject matter not phasing his good mood in the least. "You got that right."

Kurt peered at him over the rim of his coffee cup. "Have you been on your own for the past fifty years?"

Blaine shook his head. "No, every year or so I run into some ghost, and I can talk to them." He folded his hands on the tabletop. "It's funny because they're older, died from cancer or whatnot, and we can usually talk about all sorts of things." His hazel eyes sparkled. "I'm usually just a blast form the past for them because I'm practically still stuck in the fifties." He shrugged.

Kurt frowned. "Forgive me, but you don't seem to talk like Bye Bye Birdie or Hairspray."

Blaine laughed. "That'd be all the television I watched at Dalton," he explained with a smile. "I'm very adaptable. I kept up with slang and lived vicariously through the Warblers. There was a solid five years where I spent my time eavesdropping on their conversations and making ridiculous comments just because I could. It's okay, Kurt," he said, with false solemnity as he lowered his voice to a whisper, "I'm officially the lamest ghost around, you can say it."

"I think you're fascinating," Kurt mumbled, blushing a bright red as he stared down into his coffee.

"Oh," Blaine gaped, tossing him a pleased little grin. "Thanks! I think you're pretty neat too."

Kurt snorted. "We don't say that anymore."

Blaine laughed. "I know. I just wanted to see you smile." His expression turned wistful, and he completely missed Kurt's wonderstruck stare. "I used to make people smile," Blaine murmured, his eyes dimming even as the smile remained. "I miss that, you know?" He drew himself up, straightening in his chair.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere," Kurt said bravely. "Feel free to entertain me anytime you want."

Blaine made a face, the skin between his eyebrows scrunching together as he curled his lip. "You probably shouldn't have said that," he said conspiratorially.

"Why not?" Kurt raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"Because, I usually cheer people up through song," Blaine told him with a completely straight face. "I'm talking about a whole musical number complete with choreography. I also tend to jump on furniture."

"Is that right?" Kurt questioned dryly.

Blaine chuckled. "Just you wait, Kurt Hummel."

"I won't hold my breath."

"Not for too long. You might end up like me," Blaine warned.

Kurt snorted. "Plus that's not that impressive, my glee club bursts into impromptu song all the time."

"Really?"

Kurt nodded. "That's how we best communicate because apparently the idea of talking to each other like civilized human beings is beyond them. There have been more break ups and hookups via songs than I can count on one hand," he explained. "Just last Monday, Rachel – our lead soloist – found out that Finn – our other lead – was cheating on her and broke up with him with a rather impressive power ballad."

Blaine whistled. "Wow."

Kurt shrugged and raised a hand to inspect his cuticles. "She has her merits."

"But not many of them?" Blaine guessed shrewdly.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Got it in one. She's loud and obnoxious, and she's the most driven person I've ever met. But she's got a fabulous voice - and I don't say that lightly – and she knows how to work it."

"Sounds like a character," Blaine commented coolly.

Kurt shrugged. "Don't get me started on her wardrobe – I mean, you might have a different opinion of embroidered animals – weren't those god awful poodle skirts in fashion when you were alive and kicking? But I swear its button eyes follow me around the choir room, begging me to put it out of its misery. Honestly, if I could sneak into her house and burn her closet, I would. It would be for the good of mankind, really."

Blaine snorted, and quickly tried to stifle his laugh into a sickly-sounding cough. "I'm sure it's not that bad, Kurt."

Kurt shook his head. "It's truly horrendous. You'd think with two gay dads she'd have been raised with some sense of style, but... apparently not."

"Two gay dads?" Blaine asked, his interest clearly piqued.

Kurt nodded. "Messrs. Berry. I haven't seen them around much, but Rachel absolutely adores them."

Blaine nodded, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "And they live in... Ohio?"

Kurt nodded. "I was shocked too, but they seem to make it work."

Blaine nodded, seemingly lost in thought.

"What's up, Blaine?" Kurt asked after a moment.

Blaine pulled himself out of his thoughts. "Nothing, nothing," he said with a perfunctory smile.

The corner of Kurt's mouth pulled down into a slight frown, but Kurt didn't say anything for a moment as he thought. He knew that he needed Blaine to open up to him. Kurt couldn't accomplish anything if he and Blaine remained polite strangers. He had to really know Blaine, and so if that meant a couple uncomfortable questions, so be it.

With a sigh, Kurt twirled his nearly empty coffee cup between his hands. "Really? Because it looks like you have something on your mind," he pressed gently.

Blaine swallowed and slowly shook his head. "No, it's nothing."

"Sure?" Kurt asked, one hand arresting his spinning cup. "Because no matter what it is, I won't judge you for it," he said, turning serious. "Well," he amended, "Out loud. I mean, I'll judge if it's something really stupid. Or if it's something I find morally offensive – and let's face it, there are quite a few things I find morally offensive. Rachel's sweaters, for one." He smiled. "But unless you're secretly hiding a cat sweater under that blazer of yours, I seriously doubt that whatever you have bottled up is that bad, Blaine."

Blaine sighed, his brow furrowing as he seemed to be wrestling with something.

"It's just..." He broke off, his eyes studiously ignoring Kurt's inquisitive gaze.

"Just... what?" Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I was just wondering if there are a lot of homosexuals in the area," Blaine said in a rush. "I've always been curious-"

"Well," Kurt interrupted, holding up a hand to cut off Blaine before he could say anything else, "Speaking as a very proud, very gay man myself," he began pointedly, "I can tell you right now there aren't many."

"Oh," was all Blaine could say, his eyes widening as he took in Kurt's answer. "You're gay?"

"Gayer than a unicorn leaping over a meadow of rainbows, Blaine," Kurt deadpanned. "You honestly couldn't tell?" Kurt didn't wait for an answer as he plowed on with a dangerous edge to his voice, "But that doesn't matter, right? Because in terms of that morally offensive thing I was talking about, homophobia ranks very high on that list."

"Excuse me?" Blaine gasped, his mouth falling open in surprise. "Oh, no, Kurt, of course not!" He immediately reached for Kurt's hand resting on the tabletop. His smile widened with a little twinge of desperation as he felt Kurt's hand twitch away from his. It only made Blaine hold on tighter. "No, I don't care." The corner of his mouth raised upward into a half smile as he tried to reassure Kurt. "Not at all."

Kurt gave a little sigh of relief. "Good." Then his eyes narrowed. "You're sure?"

"Positive," Blaine breathed.

Kurt hummed a little. "Good," he repeated, more to himself than to Blaine. "Because I like you, and it would have been a shame if I had to dump you like last season because you hated my guts," he said quietly.

Blaine paled. "I-I could never hate you, Kurt," he mumbled.

Kurt nodded, his face still serious.

Blaine waited a moment, but Kurt's expression didn't seem to be lifting all on its own. "Well," Blaine said, his smile still plastered firmly in place, "At least I'm cat free, see?" He slid his hands between his lapels and opened his blazer to show his crisp, white oxford button down and crimson tie.

Kurt smiled in spite of himself as he allowed himself to temporarily ogle Blaine's chest. "Well, thank god for that," he murmured under his breath.

Blaine chuckled as he let blazer close and his hands fall back into his lap. "Small miracles?" he asked hopefully.

Kurt snorted. "You're such a dork."

"Ah, but I can blame my social ineptitude on fifty years of being dead. What've you got?" Blaine asked, eyebrows wiggling.

Kurt's lip curled. "Fifteen years as a shrink for the dead," he said wryly.

Blaine huffed out a laugh. "Don't you hate ghosts by now?"

Kurt shook his head. "Every once in a while I meet some ghost who's really exceptional, you know? And I think about what a shame it would have been if I never met them." Kurt gave him a pained smile. "Usually it makes up for the late nights and midnight ghost-therapy sessions." His smile widened. "But never for the grass stains on my new Marc Jacobs messenger bag, of course," he said with mock solemnity.

"Of course," Blaine echoed, looking at Kurt with something akin to fascination. "Well, at least my sessions aren't at midnight," Blaine commented idly.

"I'd much rather keep these nine to five hours, if it's the same to you," Kurt said, grinning. "The late nights are starting to take a toll on my skincare regimen."

"Well, your skin looks just fine to me," Blaine told him, his hazel eyes roving across the pale planes of Kurt's face.

Kurt flushed at the compliment. "Thank you," he said, a tad breathless. "I had a late one two nights ago, so last night I took it easy."

"What happened?" Blaine asked curiously. "A ghost?"

Kurt nodded. "A girl who graduated from my high school last year. She started skipping school last semester and quit the Cheerios-" at Blaine's confused look, Kurt explained, "That's the cheerleading squad at McKinley. Anyway, Quinn, that's the girl, she basically dropped out and then we heard she died sometime mid July in a freak car accident."

"Wow," Blaine said. "That's quite a story."

Kurt laughed, but the sound was hollow. "You haven't even heard the worst of it," he said fervently. "Turns out, she was pregnant, and her parents didn't want anyone to know, so they stopped her from coming to school. Then there were complications with the birth because her dad didn't want her to go to a hospital and have people find out..." Kurt drifted off, his expression one of sympathetic pain for Quinn. "Anyway, she died about a week after she had her baby. Then, as if this story couldn't get worse, her dad had the child killed once Quinn was gone."

"I'm so sorry," Blaine whispered, blinking at Kurt.

"What?" Kurt demanded, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair as his eyes refocused on Blaine. "What are you sorry for?"

"That you had to be the one to hear all of this," Blaine told him seriously. "That's some pretty heavy stuff."

"You're telling me," Kurt sighed. "Sometimes I just wish..."

A moment passed. "What?" Blaine prompted.

Kurt shook his head. "Never mind," he said with a wave of his hand. "It's not important."

"Sure it is," Blaine said.

"Sometimes I just wish I had a normal life," he confessed.

Blaine laughed. "Who would want that?"

"Who indeed?" Kurt murmured before he drained his coffee. "I think that, but then I remind myself of all the great, um, people I wouldn't have met if I was n-normal." He shrugged, winding his finger around the rim of his cup absentmindedly. "Sometimes it feels like the only people I can be myself with are the ghosts, you know? Regular people – they don't get me like the dead." He gave a dry laugh.

But Blaine didn't laugh.

"The dead... they don't care about your sexuality or what you wear. They can see the bigger picture. What's important in life, you know? They get that Lima, Ohio isn't the entire universe." Kurt sniffed. "And sometimes it seems like there isn't anybody out there with a pulse that sees the world like that too."

Blaine sat stock still, staring at Kurt, his eyes tender as he listened.

"Yeah, they're still concerned with last messages to loved ones and lost trinkets with sentimental value, but that's about them. When it comes to me, they're genuinely curious about my life and what I do. They take their limited time to know me, to thank me, if I can help them. So yeah, I understand the dead a lot better than the living. How pathetic is that?" Kurt asked, trying to smile. He was sure he was failing miserably.

Without a second thought, Blaine reached for his hand. "That's not pathetic at all, Kurt," he said gently once it was clear that Kurt was done speaking. "We all search for that connection – that special bond with someone that shows us that we're not alone, that there's someone outside of ourselves who cares." He swallowed. "And if you find that in the dead as opposed to the living, who am I to judge?" he asked, giving Kurt a watery smile. "I'll tell you right now – I haven't had that connection in fifty years with anyone dead or alive, so hold onto it while you can." He gave a firm nod, blinking rapidly.

"Thanks, Blaine," Kurt said, his weak smile strengthening as he gripped Blaine's hand firmly.

"It's my pleasure, Kurt," Blaine returned, his smile there, albeit wobbly.

Kurt hastily swiped at the small bit of moisture that had gathered under his eyelids. "Well," he said, sitting up straighter in his chair and looking at Blaine squarely, "That's enough of an emotional rollercoaster for one afternoon."

Blaine chuckled. "I'd say so," he muttered.

"But that still leaves us with no clues as to help you move on," Kurt said.

Blaine shook his head.

"And... it looks like we won't do anything else until next time," Kurt sighed regretfully as he pulled out his phone to check the time. "I've got to go."

Blaine's face fell. "I'll see you around then, Kurt?" he asked hopefully.

Kurt shook his head at his tone, a small smile gracing his lips. "I have glee practice tomorrow, so this time Thursday, Blaine," he promised as he got up from their table.

"I'll be waiting," Blaine said, tossing him a smile.

Kurt chuckled to himself. "You think you're so charming."

"Not true," Blaine argued as he watched Kurt shuck on his coat and scarf, "I know I'm charming, Kurt. Fact."

"You're ridiculous." Kurt rolled his eyes as he turned to go. "Fact."