Spin Me Round sat on a busy corner two blocks past the far-west end of campus. While it was near-ish to
the local high school, the relatively low number of teenagers in the college town meant that unlike many
record shops, it wasn't overrun every afternoon. Blaine was glad; he had work to do and didn't feel like
having to fight throngs of high school students to do it. Some of them were okay, but at every record
store he'd ever seen they took over the listening room until they had to be home for dinner, and he really
didn't want to need to wait until 7 to start working his way through the stack of potential 45's; he'd never
get the rest of his homework done at that rate.

He had run out of songs. Rather, the Mendicants had run out of songs, and he had run out of suggestions
for new arrangements. It was kind of his own fault, he thought with a faint smile as he pulled open
the glass door and stepped into the store. If he hadn't set the bar so high, insisting on at least one new
arrangement per performance and at least one performance a week, they could have spread the wealth of
songs over at least the full semester if not the whole year. He really couldn't feel bad about that, though,
about the way he'd gotten a group of guys who had barely sung together before - and most of whom had
never sung acapella before the previous year - so excited about performing new songs together.

He supposed he couldn't take all the credit for it. The reaction from their adoring public probably
helped incentivize them more than he did, but even so. He was proud of the group he had helped keep
together. They were getting really good if he did say so himself, and they were almost hitting Warbler-
level status around campus: people waited for them now on Thursdays at noon. When they marched out
from the practice room, there were always people gathered near the arches specifically to hear them. And
it seemed like the guys really looked up to and respected him - and not just because he was oldest or had
been doing this longer than they had, not anymore. It was bigger than that.

No matter what else he was doing wrong, he did have to admit he was doing something right.

There were a few songs he had in mind, most of which had been shot down for one reason or another at
the last practice. The guys had been in a collective mood this week - Blaine wasn't sure why, he guessed
it was just that point in the term or something - and had shot down every suggestion by every person.
Jerry's "She Loves You" and Craig's "Da Doo Ron Ron" (which Blaine thought would have sounded
great for them) and Fitz's "Eve of Destruction" (which Blaine thought would never work without a big
drum)...so that by the time Blaine had suggested "A Summer Song" by Chad and Jeremy, he had known it
wouldn't go over well.

But the good thing about picking songs was, there were always more out there. An entire store full,
as a matter of fact, he thought with a grin as he surveyed the rows of neatly-ordered bins. He could
guarantee there was at least one song in here the group would sound amazing on. With any luck, he'd be
able to find enough to get them through the end of the semester, because he had a feeling that the group's
disagreeability would only increase as finals drew nearer. At least if they could agree on a list now, they
might make it through without too many arguments about the direction of the group later on.

Mostly he just wanted an afternoon away. Lately everything had felt so oppressively thick with
memories, and talking to Peter would be the only thing worse for that than sitting around his apartment
with nothing but homework to try to occupy him. And since an evening at one of the fourteen nearby
bars was no longer an option, he had decided to take the afternoon to go somewhere safe - and get
something done that needed done anyway.

He began with the closest bin - Current Hits, A-E. Whatever other disagreements the Mendicants
might have, they at least could all agree that they wanted to keep doing songs girls on campus knew.

Ivy League standards might work in New England, or as a novelty like their first performance, but the
response was always better the more popular a song was. Blaine flicked through the cardboard sleeves,
pondering options as he gave each cover at least passing consideration. He wondered if the Beatles had
something new out - they did seem to be churning out a new album every month, and their four-part
harmonies did lend themselves well to acapella music...plus the songs usually landed right in his sweet
spot, which he never minded-

Before he even got to Af-, he realized why this hadn't been the best idea.

The Ad Libs sounded innocuous enough, like any other popular group that might sing doo-wop music -
which at least a few of the Mendicants thought was too old-fashioned but Blaine thought was a great way
to round out their repetoire with the advantage of being incredibly easy to arrange for the group - but as
he picked up the album and turned it over to see the listing of songs, one stood out immediately:

The Boy from New York City

Blaine swallowed hard, turning the album back over. That was the last thing he wanted to sing about.

Except it wasn't, not really. If he were being honest with himself, it was the only thing he wanted to sing about - wasn't it? Wasn't that why he'd wanted to sing the Chad and Jeremy song? It was all about a beautiful and carefree day in a summer romance that sadly had to come to an end but had been lovely while it lasted - why else had he wanted so badly to do that one if not because of Kurt?

He just needed to sing out everything somehow. He needed to get it all out - like throwing up the morning after drinking way too much. It would feel awful, but at least then it would be over and he could feel better.

But obviously the Mendicants couldn't sing this. Not unless it was a song they could easily enough convert to "The Girl from New York City," and even then he doubted they would want to sing something with a female lead - Craig seemed to be the only one who didn't mind it.

He wondered if Craig was...like him. The only boys he had ever known who didn't mind singing girl songs all were, so it might make sense, but he had no idea how to tell without asking him outright and he certainly wasn't about to do that.

Unable to put the album down, he tucked it under his arm as he continued to thumb through the records in search of something more useful. He was safe for a few minutes until he reached Co-. Connie Francis' photo smiled up at him, and he wondered if Kurt had this one yet. He assumed he did, he'd been a pretty big fan - and sounded really good on her songs. He wondered if Kurt still sounded the same, or if his voice had finally started to drop a little. Did Kurt still sing? If he wasn't in college, he probably didn't have many opportunities to - assuming the boy could stop. Blaine knew he never could, whether he had a place to perform or not, and Kurt had channeled so much emotion into his songs...

For that matter, he had no idea if Kurt was in college or not. He had certainly been smart enough, and Dalton strongly encouraged its young men to go to an elite school, but then...Kurt had always marched to his own drum, hadn't he? And he had talked about going into fashion and being a famous designer, which was more like an apprenticeship than something requiring a formal education. Though for all he knew, Kurt had never even gone to New York-

Who was he kidding? Of course Kurt had. He was the single most driven person Blaine had ever met, and he was the kind of boy who was certain beyond a doubt of what he wanted and then went after it. There was no way Kurt had let himself get derailed from his dream.

Which meant the only real question was whether Kurt was singing Connie Francis in the small but lavishly-decorated apartment high above Manhattan.

Blaine tucked the album under his arm, along with the Ad Libs and the new Beatles, and moved down the row. So far he had virtually nothing he could work with but two different records that would remind him of demons he really wanted to forget about.

Dusty Springfield surprised him at the back of the first bin. He hadn't expected to find- Peter said she was popular in the UK, but Blaine hadn't seen her on anything yet, so he assumed she hadn't invaded yet. No women really had, at least not the same way the Beatles and all the subsequent groups had... He picked up the album, studying her. She looked upbeat enough, much happier and younger than her music sounded. But then, he supposed that did suit him anyway, didn't it? No one but Peter knew how he felt all the time - they took his smile at face value. He added her record to his stack; if she was going to be the music that represented him, he thought he should probably listen to more than part one song, right?

By the time he got to the end of the row, he had a sizable collection under his arm - the Four Tops, Temptations, Manfred Mann even though he doubted any of their subsequent singles was quite as great for acapella singing as "Doo Wah Diddy." Glancing across to the listening room, he could see three girls through the thick glass. Blaine sighed and tried to figure out where would be best to kill time until they vacated the space. He had already picked through all the current albums, maybe the next row-

Blaine swallowed hard as he saw the sign informing shoppers that the next row held cast recordings.

He knew he should have expected that there would be a place within the store devoted to Broadway and movies - musicals were as popular now as they ever had been, and there were some great ones he was sure. He hadn't really kept up on them since coming out to college - he couldn't, not after- but he was sure there were great songs in those bins. The other guys might be harder to sell on the idea, but Blaine was confident if they could just hear some of the love songs...those songs would get any girl the Mendicants could possibly want. The soaring romance and the dramatic swells of music in the background as these two characters who had been yearning for one another came together-

He had loved musicals once. He had loved a lot of things once, but musicals...those had been among the hardest to give up.

It wasn't that the songs as a whole were inherently dangerous. Even though many of his father's patients enjoyed a good musical, plenty of them also enjoyed opera or classical music and his father had never seen fit to discourage that in the house. It was just too wrenching to hear songs and mentally recast Kurt in the role - to try to hear that voice singing those mournful, lovestruck lyrics- and at the same time, to try not to hear him, because that damned siren song of his...

He wondered if Kurt still sounded as incredible on "Somewhere" as he had when they had won Regionals, or if he still yearned to be "An Ordinary Couple", or-

Blaine practically cheered in relief as he saw the girls in the listening room gathering their belongings. Albums still tucked under his arm, he scurried away from the soundtracks. Never had he been so glad to close the door behind him and revel in the sanctuary of the private space where he could tune out everything except the music. He set his records next to a stack left by the girls and sat in the plush armchair closest to the turntable. The room was silent, the conversations and ambient sounds from the store unable to penetrate the thick window that served as the proprietor's lone assurance that teenagers weren't trying to fornicate in his private room. Blaine pulled a notebook and pen from his bag to make notes, then settled back in his chair and let out a long exhale as he finally felt more able to relax.

The relief was short-lived as he put on the first record in his stack.

Oo-wah, oo-wah, cool cool kitty
Tell us about the boy from New York City
Oo-wah, oo-wah, c'mon kitty
Tell us about the boy from New York City

He's kinda tall
He's really fine
Some day I hope to make him mine, all mine

He could imagine Kurt walking down Fifth Avenue, posture tall and proud as ever, in a strange but nonetheless exquisite overcoat, with his glasz eyes turned almost pure blue in the late afternoon light. His face would be radiant as he strode easily past men who hurried for cabs, cheeks pinked by the early bite of fall chill, all completely stunning-

Blaine swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. Yes, Kurt had been- had been and probably remained beautiful, and maybe the simple acknowledgment of that truth wasn't nearly as damning a fact as he'd once thought, but that didn't give him license to spend all afternoon daydreaming.

He didn't want to, anyway; it was nothing but painful.

He raised the arm quickly and removed the record, slipping it back into the sleeve. The song would have been great for an acapella group with a female member to sing lead, but even if he were willing to admit to anyone beyond himself and Peter how he felt about a certain boy in the Big Apple, he certainly would never sing something like that in public.

The rest of the stack was going to be just as painful, he thought to himself dejectedly. Why had he let himself pick up so many that he knew would remind him of Kurt? What in the world was he thinking, grabbing Connie Francis? He was supposed to be working on things for the Mendicants, and if they wouldn't sing The Crystals there was no way in a million years they would sing something by a female solo singer- he had picked it up for no reason but nostalgia, and the ache that seemed to grow with each passing day was at an all time high.

He just needed something to clear his head, Blaine concluded with a nod. Just something to erase the unhealthy obsession that was building again and let him get back to normal so he could get his work done. There were, after all, a few albums in there that had nothing at all to do with any boy, he just needed to get out of this mindset and let himself listen to chords and harmonies instead of finding too much meaning in everything.

Blaine reached over and snagged the single off the top of the stack the girls had left and placed it on the player without glancing at it. They had looked like your average teenagers, dressed neatly from school in bright pinks and greens and cheery yellows, their music was bound to be something popular and upbeat.

I walk along the city streets you used to walk along with me

Blaine froze. This wasn't at all what he needed - any song that began that way couldn't possibly be the antidote to the sort of obsessive remembrance he seemed to be doing these days. He should take this record off and pull another one from the stack. Any other one, any other-... But he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to do anything but settle back in the chair and listen.

And every step I take recalls how much in love we used to be
Oh how can I forget you
When there is always something there to remind me?

It felt like Kurt was all around him these days. After more than four years of not thinking of him at all, the sudden intrusion left him feeling strangled, like he couldn't breathe because everything was so full of reminders of what he had done, of the mistakes he had made-

It had been easier when he had been drunk, he realized glumly. It had been so much easier to force himself not to remember- let alone to let himself feel - any of the oppressive weight of regret when he could barely remember the night before. And feeling girls under him, reveling in the normalcy of it...or what he had thought was normalcy, anyway...it had all been so helpful in banishing the memories and convincing himself it had all been one big mistake best left unremembered.

But there had been good things, and seemingly magical times, and afternoons with just the two of them and a record player in a tiny dorm room, on a too-narrow bed with very little light peeking through closed blinds...

He knew it was probably just the way alcohol numbed things - like kissing and feelings of regret - but he swore he had felt more strongly for Kurt than for anyone since. Maybe it was just because he hadn't given anyone the chance...he hadn't spent more than a couple nights with anyone, and feelings took time to develop. Maybe it was because he really couldn't have those same feelings for a girl. Maybe Kurt was special even among boys.

Of course Kurt was special - he was apart among everyone. He was practically magical in his ability to hold onto optimism even in the most depressing circumstances. He had literally moved to Dalton because his own town had decided they would rather defy federal law than integrate, but Kurt believed in a world where no one would care that he was best friends with a black girl and dating a boy. He really believed it, too, he hadn't just put on a brave front for them. He could see men getting arrested for going the same place they did, and honestly believe it was just a problem in Ohio.

Always something there to remind me

Blaine couldn't listen to musicals anymore. He hated that, he hated how much he ached to give up a style of music that helped him let out everything he felt - to act out everything he could never say, to get swept up in the romance and emotion and the raw power of song...but how could he listen when he kept casting his ex boyfriend in every production in his mind?

I was born to love you
And I will never be free
You'll always be a part of me

That couldn't be true, could it? Blaine thought desperately, fighting the urge to panic. Even if he was unfortunate enough to be saddled with having to fall in love with men instead of women...that meant he had to be suffering enough already, surely. He couldn't be stuck feeling like this forever. That would be too cruel for any one person to bear - feeling this regret and longing so strongly for his life?

He ached just thinking about it, his chest tight and painful as he desperately wanted to struggle against the invisible bands restraining his midsection. This feeling had to go away somehow, didn't it? It couldn't possibly last forever, even if he had no idea how to get rid of it.

Blaine tried the only thing he could think of - the only thing that usually made the unbearably intense feelings inside him subside to a manageable level: he sang along.

If you should find you miss the sweet and simple love we used to share
Just come back to the places where we used to go and I'll be there

The singer's voice didn't sound half as anguished as Blaine's did. Maybe she was lucky enough to have never felt this. He envied the thought.

There was something that felt safe about the soundproofed room, that felt almost like the dorm room had so many years ago - it was a safe place to let things out. He guessed his apartment was, too, he'd just never tried. Usually that was where he went to stew and feel trapped inside himself instead of letting everything out, instead of draining the infected wound that just kept hurting and drawing his attention back to things he would rather not think about.

Oh how can I forget you
When there is always something there to remind me?
Always something there to remind me

He wasn't sure if that were really true, if he were being honest. On one hand, he wanted nothing more than to forget any of it ever happened, to shove all the memories back down under a heavy bottle of alcohol where they had unhappily resided for four years now. He wanted to be able to think about things Peter was trying to tell him without always coming back to the pain he had caused the boy who had loved and trusted him so deeply. He wanted to be able to imagine ever finding something that would make him happy without always returning to the time he had been happy - terrified, too, yes, but with moments of joy - but had ruined it.

But at the same time, the idea of a collection of memories without Kurt felt...wrong. Painful. Empty, like a hole had been ripped right in the middle of a piece of paper and there was nothing else he could find to fill it because nothing else would fit right. He didn't want to get rid of the memories, he wanted to change them, to be able to go back the way he could in his dreams and-...and go to Columbia or tell Kurt in advance and help him come out to California, to go back in time and maybe believe the boy's vision of the future enough to try to live it.

I was born to love you
And I will never be free
When there is always something there to remind me

Assuming anything like Kurt's vision of the future actually existed. Assuming he wasn't in jail somewhere from a raid, or miserable in a tiny college town, or drinking himself sick the same way Blaine had been.

Blaine knew it was dumb to worry - he couldn't do anything about it, and even if he could, Kurt was the most self-sufficient person he knew - but he couldn't help it. He wondered if he ever could.

Always something there to remind me

He couldn't tie a long necktie without remembering the way Kurt's fingers had delicately pulled the knot loose, then undone, while they listened to music, flicked open the collar button, and looked human for the first time all day instead of like some exquisite robot who was amazing at everything. He looked like any other schoolboy but so stunningly poised even in his casual state-

Always something there to remind me

He could never decide whether he should make a beeline for the latest issue of Vogue to see whether Kurt had any designs in there under his own name, or avoid it entirely because the idea of staring at a fashion magazine was just too problematic - and too painful as his brain supplied helpful commentary of what Kurt would think of each look, gleaned from all the times they had looked at the magazine together over the course of that year.

Always something there to remind me

Every so often, while he was walking past the practice rooms, he would hear a note in high, clear falsetto and stop, his heart racing a moment as he wondered if maybe Kurt had followed him after all. If maybe after all this time, he had gotten over his anger and chased him- but it was never him, and Blaine knew it never would be.

High F's and G's had never been so excruciating.

Always something there to remind me

He snapped out of the private world as soon as the song faded away and hopped off the table he had ended up on top of in his frenzied, emotional singing. What had he been thinking? This wasn't his apartment, or even his dorm room back at a campus far away and a lifetime ago. It wasn't even somewhere near the arches where he could pass this off as a deliberate performance for a gathering crowd of adoring fans. He was in public, in a store, had he lost all sense of himself and-

He looked up, expecting to see all the shoppers in the moderately busy store staring at him through the thick soundproof glass. He had certainly been visible enough- and foolish. There were so many appropriate times and ways to exorcise his demons through song, but this had been far too public. A mistake.

But no one had noticed. Blaine could see easily more than a dozen people, maybe closer to 15 or 18, in the small-ish store - teenage couples browsing for love songs and groups of friends picking through singles to share and a mom with a toddler on her hip searching through the soundtracks bin Blaine had managed to avoid...but not one of them so much as glanced his direction.

He was relieved...mostly.

Head slumping low, he picked up the only album he had any use for and made his way to the checkout; the clerk said nothing about his impromptu display in the listening room.

The Mendicants would just have to deal with the unseasonable song about a summer love. Blaine wasn't sure he would be able to concentrate on anything else long enough to sing it anyway.

* * * * *

When there was a knock on his door at 9:30 on Saturday night, Blaine assumed someone must have remembered where he lived and wanted to drag him out somewhere to loosen him up after his 'absence' from the Stanford social scene. After all, everyone else was already either at parties or - if the party was going to be really good - on their way to parties at this hour. Either that, or they were among the most studious degree candidates and had hunkered down in the library for the evening.

Or, like Blaine, they had hunkered down in their apartments for a long evening of doing nothing, followed by a full night's sleep.

He slipped off the bed and padded to the door, calling out a quick, "Who is it?" His pajamas were perfectly presentable, and very comfortable in navy blue silk, but the former campus party king simply could not allow himself to be seen dressed for bed at 9:30 on a Saturday.

"It's your knight in shining Italian wool, ready to save you from another weekend of boredom." Peter's voice sounded playful, which Blaine had heard only a few times - usually he was busy being serious and trying so hard to teach him that he couldn't let his guard down enough to tease very much. Interest piqued, Blaine opened the door to find the smiling young man dressed in a full-cut double-breasted suit. Chains looped down the baggy leg of his trousers on the left side, and he wore a red necktie as well as a red silk handkerchief in his breast pocket; the brightly coloured fabric stood out against the black wool with its white pinstripes. On his head, he wore a black fedora, and Blaine was surprised to see that the band wasn't white or red to match the rest of the outfit, but black satin that glinted only subtly against the black felt of the hat. Of all the times he had seen Peter, this was by far the most formally the man had been dressed, and that was saying a lot. "In your pajamas already?" He clucked his tongue and shook his head disapprovingly. "Understandable, what with your reformed ways, but unnecessary. Go change - I'm taking you out."

"Out where?" Blaine asked. He was surprised, considering Peter's edicts had always leaned in favour of him staying in on weekends and away from the sorts of temptations that were ubiquitous around campus this time of the week.

"It's a surprise. Get dressed."

"Dressed in what?" Blaine asked, hoping to gain some clues from the dress code. Judging from Peter's ensemble, it was formal...but then, Peter's ensemble was rarely related to anything that anyone else at the party would be wearing. Even so, Blaine went to his closet and pulled out his best pair of trousers and a crisp white button-down shirt.

"Whatever makes you feel best," Peter replied, striding into the apartment and closing the door behind him. His wingtips clacked authoritatively on the floor as he slowly approached the bed, smiling as he picked up the copy of The Berlin Stories Blaine had left on the nightstand. "You started reading the Isherwood?"

Reading might have been a bit strong of a word for it; Blaine had spent most of the time alternating between horrified and terrified by the behaviour described. "Bits of it," he replied, which he felt was honest at any rate.

"I wish you'd told me. I would have suggested you start on Peter and Otto - it's less scandalous than the excesses of Sally Bowles." In truth, Blaine hadn't made it to either story and simply smiled before disappearing into the bathroom to change into his clothes, snagging his favourite sweater from the closet as he went - red with a black plaid covering the cardigan. "And you bought- wait, did I lend you this? Oh, wait, no, it's new," Peter commented with an audible grin. "You bought Dusty?"

It had been Blaine's only purchase at the record store, but it had been on his turntable almost nonstop for the past three days. "You said she was my musical equivalent," he pointed out, and Peter chuckled.

"That I did. I don't have this one, but several of the songs are on albums I do have - it looks like she's trying to invade at least. Thank God. Do you know how difficult it is to orchestrate international record purchases? I can cross her off my list finally."

"Yeah, I found it at Spin Me Round."

"Where is that?" Peter asked.

"You haven't been there?"

"I've tried a few other record stores, but keep in mind you've been in this town four years longer than I have."

"I'll take you the next time I go," Blaine replied. "I can't speak for what their jazz section looks like, I've never looked, but-"

"Worth a check at any rate," Peter agreed.

Blaine fixed his hair in the mirror as he called, "So you never told me where we're going...did you?"

"No," Peter replied simply.

Blaine waited for the furtherance of a response - for Peter to add a 'you're right, how clumsy of me' and a location - and when none came, he began to feel uneasy. "Where?"

"You'll see."

The cryptic response made him more anxious still, and he swallowed hard to fight the urge to feign a stomach virus that would render him unable to go to whatever undoubtedly dangerous place Peter planned on taking him to. It had to be somewhere he wouldn't agree to go on his own, he knew, because otherwise Peter would just say it - he wasn't one for surprises, really, and he certainly didn't spring things on Blaine except when they were something that he knew would make him back out of the conversation...or, in this case, the outing. "Isn't it the kind of thing I should know before I agree to go?" he asked hopefully as he nervously tried to twist a curl back into place.

"My dear Blaine. Do you trust me?"

Blaine sighed, because Peter knew the answer to that. He had no idea why the answer was yes, but it was. It had been the last time Peter had asked, too, about the records... Blaine wasn't sure what it was about Peter that made him seem trustworthy even when he was doing something like tossing books about horrible things his way, or telling him scandalous stories about making out with Frenchmen, but still he was so darn likeable... And more than that, Blaine reminded himself, anyone who had literally carried him home and put him to bed when he was in an incredibly vulnerable state had to be the sort of gentleman who could be trusted. So far not a single thing Peter had done would indicate he would lead Blaine into harm, and so- "Yes," he replied reluctantly.

He could hear the grin in Peter's voice as he replied, "Excellent. Now. Almost ready?" Blaine stepped out of the bathroom, and Peter smiled broadly at what he saw. "The very picture of a scholar and a gentleman," he praised.

"Should I wear a bow-tie, or-" Blaine asked as he reached over for a black, red, and white one he especially liked that went well with the sweater.

"Clearly I always say yes to a good tie," Peter replied, indicating his own neckwear, and Blaine smiled faintly as he began to expertly knot the bow-tie, pausing to glance in the mirror only once. "Are you this good with all ties?" he joked.

"Well-practiced," Blaine replied. He tucked his wallet into his pocket and looked up at Peter expectantly, waiting for the next move. "Anything else I'll need?"

Peter shook his head. "Just me - now come along. We don't want to be late."